The golden valley

by Hilary Wilde

  CHAPTER II

  ONCE Sally had driven round a corner and knew that Jonathan could no longer see her, she slowed up and drove at a steady pace, looking round her, trying to make note of interesting things she saw partly for the sake of the book yet to be written, and partly to help her forget Jonathan and the scorn in his eyes as he had pointed out that she must have lied about the signpost. But she had not lied, she reminded herself again and again. The sign had said Ubito. Someone must have changed it. But who? And for what reason? She felt exhausted, as if she had been beaten all over. Her head throbbed, her body ached and inside her, deep inside her, she knew a great unhappiness. How could a man like Jonathan Nesfield believe that she could lie? Was the impression she gave people the kind that made them distrust her? And why hadn't Malcolm White or Piet McSeveney warned her about Ouma and her shotgun? Yet even if they had, she told herself honestly, what difference would it have made? She would still have unwittingly taken the wrong road. Rounding a corner, she stamped on the brake and the Land Rover slowed abruptly as she swerved to avoid a strange figure. Sally half paused on the grass verge, but the girl ignored her, walking along the centre of the road, completely oblivious to the fact that she had nearly been run over. She turned to look at Sally, but her eyes were blank and obviously did not see her. Strange eyes, rimmed round with white circles painted on her dark brown skin. Sally was accustomed to noticing things and she filed away in her memory the fact that the girl only 25 THE GOLDEN VALLEY wore a short leather kilt that swung round her waist but that round her neck was a bead necklace and heavy copper bangles were clustered on her arms and legs. Huge ear-rings were forced into the holes made in the lobes of her ears. They must measure at least five inches across. Sally thought. And what must those bangles weigh? Imagine carrying that lot on a swelteringly hot day! Straightening the Land Rover back on the road still earth but no longer so badly rutted as the: other road Sally wondered what the Xhosa girl's attire had signified. Some traditional ritual, perhaps. Once back at M'Lita, she would look it up in one of the books they had brought with them, she planned. The road was climbing a little now and the space between the trees wider so that Sally could look up and see the mountains that enclosed the valley mountains that looked mysterious in the mists that suddenly drifted across them, or that, as now, had a scattering of snow on the mountain tops. She had to drive down through a drift in the river, so narrow and straggly now in the winter drought, and as she climbed the steep bank the other side, happened to glance in her mirror and caught a glimpse of a big blue car following her. So Jonathan had not trusted her, she thought miserably. He believed her to be a liar and someone that must be treated as an enemy. She jammed her foot down on the accelerator and then regretted it as she rounded a corner and a group of Xhosa men scattered out of her way She was past them before she could stop she had just time to notice that they had bright orange or red squares of material draped round their bodies and that one wore a loosely-swinging red blanket. How could he wear it in this heat? she wondered. As she slowed up, she could see them in the mirror, not bothering to turn THE GOLDEN VALLEY to look at her angrily, but forming a casual group again as they walked on together. She felt ashamed. What would her father have said? she asked herself. She felt she should go and apologise to the Xhosas but how could she? She could not speak their language and probably they knew no English. Had Jonathan seen the little incident? she wondered unhappily. If he had, it would only convince him still more that he was right and she was untrustworthy. What a strange man he was, a mass of contradictions. One moment so charming and friendly when he wanted something out of you and then suddenly, cold and hard as an iceberg. Why had he been startled when she spoke of the tokoloshe? His body had tensed and his eyes had been like stones. Why had he asked if Malcolm White had told her about the tokoloshe? When people are so zealous of their privacy as Ouma obviously was didn't it usually mean they had something to hide? Had that something. Sally wondered, anything to do with the tokoloshe? She drove down the steep incline to the rickety gate that was open. How could the tokoloshe, something like a leprechaun or an elf, something fairy-like and purely imaginary how could that have anything to do with a secret? she asked herself. Driving down the overgrown driveway the grass either side was yellow and shoulder-high she looked at the building before her and remembered the strangely tolerant, almost affectionate way Jonathan had spoken of Piet McSeveney. Yet how could anyone with love of beauty and any intelligence at all allow a house like this, with big gables either end, and pillars supporting the roof over the verandah that surrounded the single-storied building, to fall into such terrible disrepair? The walls were engulfed by creepers, some attractive, such as those with huge bunches of purple flowers, also the ivy that had THE GOLDEN VALLEY pushed its way through cracks in the plaster or lioles in broken window panes. She parked the Land Rover under the thatched car port and walked on to the verandah. The group of people seated round a table covered with bottles and glasses turned to stare at her. Douglas Monterey was the first on his feet. He moved towards Sally with his deceptively leisurely way of walking, his voice quiet as he stared at her bandaged head. "What happened. Sally?" he asked. "Sit down," he said, pulling a cha.ir forward and helping her to sit in it. "Sally!" Kay was following him, her face shocked. "Are you hurt?" Before Sally could speak, Douglas looked at Kay. "My first aid kit is on my chest of drawers, Kay. Get it for me, and tell Santosi to bring me a bowl of hot water." Sally sat back, content to be ordered about and cosseted as Douglas examined the wound, bathed and bandaged it. He made her take a drink and told her it was brandy as it burned her throat, but it also lifted some of the exhaustion that had filled her. She stared at the tall man who was almost a stranger and yet had taken complete charge of the situation, with Kay hovering like an adoring nurse. Douglas had a lean humorous face with a surprisingly square chin and brown hair. His clothes were elegant in a shabby way, well cut but slightly outdated, his shoes always shone, he was scrupulously clean. He had a quiet strength that she had noticed and liked at once, for on the plane she had begun to feel lonely and unsure although she told herself that once they settled down to work on the book, everything would be better. Now Kay was asking questions that Douglas would not let Sally answer. Kay had curled up in a chair, THE GOLDEN VALLEY tossing off her shoes, wriggling her toes with their painted nails, stretching her arms lazily over her head, touching her ash-blonde hair that was swept up high on her head. "But how did it happen. Sally?" she kept asking. Malcolm White and Piet McSeveney had joined them. As Sally began to feel better, she stared at the two men and wondered what on earth they found to talk about during the long hours they were alone. Malcolm was tall and thin as a lathe, his black hair brushed smoothly, his white shirt immaculate, his white shorts well cut. "My dear girl..." he began. Piet McSeveney lumbered close to Sally and stared down at her. Could he really be related to Jonathan? Sally wondered, as she smelled the aroma of beer that moved with him and saw the food stains on the front of his torn grubby khaki shirt. He was a fat man, too fat for the brief shorts he wore, and his eyes had deep bags under them. His mouth was discontented, the corners drooping, he had several double chins and he looked much too red in the face for it to be healthy. Now he patted the few white hairs that were carefully spread out over his bald head. "My mother shot you," he said. It was a statement and not a question. Kay gave a little scream. "You were shot!" "No," said Sally, and when Douglas tried to stop her, she smiled at him. "It's all right, Douglas, thanks," she said. "I feel better now." She turned to look at Piet. "Why didn't you tell me your mother shot at strangers?" He looked uncomfortable. "Because I never thought she'd do it." His voice was suddenly proud. "She's got spunk, that one." Malcolm interrupted. "Suppose we all sit down and let Sally tell us what happened." Sally did her best to make it brief, describing her careful look at the signpost, her certainty that it said THE GOLDEN VALLEY Ubito. her realisation as the road went down into the valley that she was lost. "I was standing there, looking down at th
e river and wondering where I could have got lost when two shots rang out. I ran and fell, and I cut my head. Ouma didn't . . ." "Ouma?" Malcolm echoed. Sally turned to him. "Mrs. McSeveney Piet's mother. Jonathan called her that." "Jonathan?" Malcolm's voice had an odd note in it. "Jonathan Nesfield? He was there?" Sally nodded. "He was driving there when he heard the shots and arrived just as Ouma was calling me a liar and a trespasser." Sally smiled at Piet McSeveney. "She was livid with me! She said next time she would shoot to wound and then, if we still took no notice, she would shoot to kill." "Ridiculous!" said Malcolm, staring at Sally. "Don't count on it," Piet butted in. "She's got courage, and . . ." his voice changed and became bitter, "she's hard as they come." "I thought she was rather wonderful," said Sally. "So small and brave and angry. After all, she has a right to privacy if that's what she wants. I told Jonathan we would never trespass again. How do you know what is her property?" Sally asked Piet. He gave an odd chuckle. " 'T'aint so easy," he said. "Hers is her side of the river, our side is mine." "But the river winds and you keep crossing it. How can you be sure?" asked Sally. Piet gave a subterranean rumble of laughter. "That's it. You can't. Just keep your fingers crossed," he said, and chuckled. "This " Malcolm spoke slowly, as if picking his words "Jonathan Nesfield. How did he treat you." Sally smiled ruefully. "At first, he was kindness itself. THE GOLDEN VALLEY sent Ouma home and made me sit down and really was friendly. Then I discovered it was only because he had thought I was getting hysterical. Once he saw I was all right, his whole manner changed. He accused me of deliberately trespassing, of being a liar." Her face was suddenly bright red. "The awful part was that it looked as if he was right. He drove back with me and showed me the signpost and I had taken the road marked Private." There was a startled pause as they all looked at her. "I'm sure it said Ubito," she said. 'You might have looked at the wrong sign?" Kay suggested. "Perhaps someone altered it," said Malcolm White. Sally turned to him gratefully. "That's what I said." "But who?" Kay asked. "And why?" Piet said nothing for a moment. He was turning his tankard of beer round slowly in his hands. "Jonathan was mad with you," he said abruptly as they all sat silently. "Very angry. He even had the nerve to follow me home," Sally said, her cheeks hot again. Douglas smiled at her. "Perhaps he wanted to see that you got home safely. You must have suffered some shock." "Oh no," Sally said firmly. "Jonathan couldn't care less what happened to me. He was afraid I'd go back and try to see Ouma." She turned to Malcolm .indignantly. "He even had the audacity to suggest that you had sent me to try to ingratiate myself with the old lady!" Douglas stood up. "Sally, I think you should go to bed. You've had quite a bad shock." Sally laughed. "I think the biggest shock was when Jonathan turned up like that. The last person I expected to see." THE GOLDEN VALLEY Malcolm White leaned forward, his face interested. "You knew him?" Sally gave a little shrug. "Not socially." She laughed without amusement. "Ouma was furious when she found we had met before, but as Jonathan told her 'not socially'." "What on earth did he mean?" Ray chimed in. She had curled up on the wicker couch, for she was always restless. Sally wished she had said nothing. She realised that both Jonathan and Douglas were right what she needed was a good long rest in bed. The tiredness was returning and her head was throbbing badly. "Well, the day I came to see you about the job," Sally said, addressing herself to Malcolm White, "I was an idiot I was dreaming as usual and walked off the pavement in Sloane Square a bus was coming along and a man grabbed me and saved my life." "Jonathan?" Kay gasped. When Sally nodded, Kay said: "How romantic! " Sally laughed. "It wasn't. Then later, just outside your block of flats, I was just coming to see you and he came hurtling down the steps, bumped .into me and just grabbed me before I fell." "No!" Kay breathed excitedly. "He'd just been to see Dad. I thought he was absolutely gorgeous. But he just didn't see me." Sally's mouth quivered with a smile she quickly hid. She wondered what Kay would say if Sally told her that Jonathan had seen her, and had noticed that her eyelashes were slipping! "He . . . well, he was as much surprised as me, I think. Anyhow we didn't part the best of friends, and then for him to walk in when Ouma was waving her shotgun zbout.. ." "She's a very good shot," Piet said. THE GOLDEN VALLEY "But even good shots sometimes make mistakes," said Sally. "She might have missed and hit me." Malcolm stood up. "I think Douglas is right and Sally should go to bed. Come, Sally, I want to talk to you," he said. Douglas made a half movement and then sat down. "Don't hurry up. Sally," he said quietly, his grey eyes concerned. "I couldn't do the shopping ..." Sally was saying. "You can go in tomorrow," sa.id Malcolm. "If she's all right," Douglas put in. Malcolm was frowning as he walked down the corridor to Sally's room. "That young man gets more objectionable every day," Malcolm said crossly. "Why I tolerate him, I can't think. A cheap remittance man, no doubt," he added sneeringly. "Paid to keep out of his family's hair." Sally looked at him. "Hike him." Malcolm smiled ruefully. "You would all the girls do. Kay's making a fool of herself over him and he thinks he can call the tune. He's due for a nasty shock one of these days." Sally's room was at the end of the corridor that ran the length of the house, a shabby house with furniture that had once been good but had been woefully neglected. Antique furniture covered with scratches and that had not known the taste of polish for years faded curtains that needed mending, carpets with worn patches. The whole house had a musty smell, a smell of decay and age, yet once it must have been both gracious and beautiful with its large lofty rooms and huge windows that led on to the wide verandah. Outside her door, Malcolm put his hand on Sally's shoulder. "I'm sorry about your nasty experience. Sally. Most unpleasant and quite unnecessary. I thought young THE GOLDEN VALLEY Nesfield was bluffing when he talked of his great-aunt's refusal to accept strangers. I thought the old lady would come round and let us wander where we like. After all, we won't harm the place." "That's what I told Jonathan." "And what did he say?" "That she liked a quiet life and we had no right to intrude." Malcolm sighed. "I suppose he's right. I'm sorry, though. I would prefer there to be no hard feelings on either side." He hesitated and then, his hand tightening on Sally's shoulder, went on: "Jonathan Nesfield is quite a famous man, very wealthy and well known for his knowledge of diamonds and his skill at playing the Stock Exchange. He works as consultant for several big firms and travels all over the world. His great-aunt is about as narrow-minded and fanatical as it's possible to be, but they are devoted to one another. Once Nesfield accepts us, his great-aunt will, and doors that are now closed to us will open." He paused, and Sally waited, wondering what Mr. White would say if he knew what Jonathan thought of him. Malcolm went on: "Sally, you're a very pretty and intelligent girl. The old lady must be eighty years old. I feel that once she realises we are seriously studying anthropology, she would help us. She must know so much about local legends and the history of this . . . this fascinating land. What did Nesfield say about it? Was he impressed? Interested?" Sally laughed ruefully. "I think he was bored, I men tioned the tokoloshe ..." "What on earth is that?" Malcolm asked. "A sort of elf, like a leprechaun. Half hairy, half naked, sometimes it teases, sometimes kills. It loves small THE GOLDEN VALLEY children and hates women," Sally told him. What was it Jonathan had said? That the tokoloshe was like him, allergic to women. Had he meant that he disliked women? she wondered. He certainly had an abrupt arrogant manner with them. "Oh. He was bored ?" asked Malcolm. Sally saw that the word "tokoloshe" meant nothing to him, so she decided not to say anything about Jonathan's strange angry reaction when he heard the word. "Yes." She wished that Malcolm would leave her and let her go and lie down, but he obviously still had something to say. "I'm sorry you had to meet this young man under such unpleasant circumstances," Malcolm went on. "Supposing you had met socially. Sally to use his expression. Could you have got on better?" Sally hesitated. "I think so. It's just that he's very arrogant and it annoyed me. He's quite pleasant " she smiled "when he wants to be." "Well, the point is this. We need his help. He knows everyone in the district. The Xhosas respect him. He could be the open sesame we need to meet local chiefs an
d witch doctors. I had hoped Piet would do that, but his name here . . . well, it isn't very good. Had I realised that . . ." He paused, looking keenly down at Sally. "I would appreciate it. Sally, if you could be on friendly terms with Nesfield and see if he would help us." Sally hesitated again. She wanted to ask no favours of Jonathan. But perhaps if she did ask for introductions, she might make him believe in the existence of the book. Perhaps then he would stop distrusting Malcolm White and them all. "I'll do my best, Mr. White," she promised. He smiled approvingly. "I knew I could count on you. Now have a good rest. Sally, and don't get up until you feel fit." THE GOLDEN VALLEY "Thank you," she said. It was a reli.e{ to be i.n her room alone, to look round at the simplicity of it. A small room with a single bed covered with a white crocheted cover. A large old fashioned wardrobe with a door that refused to stay shut, a dressing table with a cracked mirror. White curtains at the windows that looked out on to the over-grown garden. Although the windows were wide open, the heat was oppressive. Ten minutes and a cool shower later, she felt less dusty and tumbled into bed, closing her eyes with relief. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, the door opened. "Are you asleep. Sally?" Kay asked, tiptoeing with exaggerated care to the bedside. Sally felt like saying, "Not now," sarcastically, but held her tongue. Kay didn't mean to be selfish, she was just thoughtless. She always had been, even when they were at school. Sally remembered. "No ..." Sally mumbled. "I think it's most frightfully romantic," said Kay, curling up on the bed. "I mean, to meet three times like that. Sally. You're well in his mind." "He thinks I'm a liar," Sally said wearily. Kay laughed. "Of course he doesn't. Why, you've only got to look at you. Sally, to see how frightfully ethical you are. That's what Dad said after you'd been. With Sally to help us, everyone will trust us, he said. You know what. Sally?" Kay asked, leaning forward eagerly. "What?" Sally mumbled through a yawn that was a hint, and not a very subtle one; or very much use either, for Kay did not even notice it. "I think Jonathan knew you were here and going to Ubito today and he deliberately turned the signpost round," Kay said. It woke Sally up successfully. THE GOLDEN VALLEY "Jonathan did it? But why would he?" she asked. Kay laughed delightedly. "To have the chance to rescue you again, of course, silly. Probably it was all rigged. He may have talked his great-aunt into firing to scare you so that he could come along, the knight on a white charger." She giggled. "I think that's what happened." Sally laughed. "The romances you think up! I can tell you this, Jonathan told me he was allergic to women and he never trusted girls with green eyes." "But that's just his line," Kay said, wriggling excitedly. "Can't you see? It's the old, old game. I hate you, he says, so that makes you want to make him like you and . . ." There was a gentle knock on the door. "Kay?" It was Douglas. "Sally wants to sleep. Come and help me take some photos for your father's book." Kay slid off the bed. "Hark at lover-boy, always thinking of work," she said with a laugh. "See you." Alone at last. Sally could relax. What an imagination Kay had! Who, having seen the tall arrogant man that Jonathan was, could imagine that he would stoop to a childish trick like that? Sally yawned and curled up into a ball. But it would be rather exciting if Jonathan had ... He was the sort of person who irritated you and yet made you want him to like you, too.