Hunter did not put in an appearance, in fact, until lunch time, and he left again immediately afterwards muttering something about a faulty gauge.
When the weather cleared later that afternoon, Jennifer went for a walk, and she wandered absently towards one of the outbuildings. The door stood open and, drawn by curiosity and the array of ostrich feathers displayed on a work-bench, she stepped inside, but her heart leapt into her throat when she found Hunter there, examining a bundle of white plumes which he covered up quickly with a sheet of canvas when he looked up to see her standing just inside the door.
His wide shoulders tensed as if in anger, but a peculiar little smile hovered about his mouth as he asked, 'Were you looking for me?'
A pulse was beating madly in her throat. 'No, I—I was going for a walk, and when I saw the open door I—I was curious.'
'Then let me satisfy your curiosity,' he said, gesturing vaguely with a muscled arm. 'This is the sorting room, if you haven't gathered that already, and if you're interested, I'll show you around.'
Jennifer felt very much like an intruder, and was tempted to turn tail and run, but his eyes, intent and probing, met hers, and when she found no mockery there, she decided that she could not brush aside the proverbial hand of friendship he seemed to be offering her.
'I'd like that, thank you,' she heard herself say a little breathlessly, and he gestured her towards the long workbench on which ostrich feathers of all colours, shapes and sizes were sorted together, and neatly grouped.
'As you can see, when the birds are plucked their feathers are sorted into the various types and sizes. A chick is plucked for the first time when it's six to eight months old, and his wing feathers are called spadonas,' Hunter explained, pointing out the drab, mottled feathers of the young birds, then he picked up a neat bundle and held it out towards her. 'You'll notice that the wing feathers of all the birds are clipped, and the quills are pulled out about two months later when they're ripe and dry.'
'Isn't it painful?'
'Not at all,' he said abruptly, then he continued his informative explanation. 'The smaller feathers are, of course, used for feather dusters, but the larger ones are used mostly for millinery purposes.' He picked up a bundle of large white feathers and ran an expert hand almost caressingly over them. 'These are the selected primes, naturally. The white plumes of the male bird are the most sought after in Europe and other countries, but the hen has an equally beautiful wing feather.'
Hunter proved the latter by showing her a white wing feather with the drab colour of the hen clearly visible around the outer edges, only it no longer looked drab, it looked remarkably beautiful, and she said as much.
'You can trace a hen by the markings in her wing feathers,'
Hunter told her as he handed her the feather and watched her run her hand lightly over it. 'This hen will yield the same markings each time she's clipped, and each hen's markings are different.'
'Like fingerprints?' she questioned, intensely aware of his large, muscular body standing close beside her.
'Something like that.' His lips twitched slightly, then he moved away from her to fetch a bundle of feathers further down the table. 'After about fifteen years the quality of the plumage decreases, as you can see here, for instance,' he said, demonstrating his point by indicating the tatty appearance of the feathers in his hands.
'What happens then?'
'The birds are slaughtered for their meat, and the skin is used for the manufacture of handbags, shoes, and so forth.'
'I think that's terrible!' Jennifer exclaimed with a grimace when she thought of those graceful birds being used for that purpose, then she caught sight of a hooked stick leaning against the opposite wall. 'What's that?'
'This,' he said, taking the stick and holding it in his large, perfectly shaped hands for her inspection, 'is what is commonly called a vangstok. The ostriches are driven into a small enclosure, then they're caught individually by slipping this hook around their necks and led into a triangular box, where they're masked with a sock to keep them docile while they're clipped and plucked.'
She was not looking at the vangstok now, but at those large capable-looking hands. For some obscure reason she was recalling the strange sensations aroused by their light touch, and she said in nervous haste, 'I must get back to the house.'
'I have something else to show you,' he said, taking her arm in a firm grip as he placed the hooked stick against the wall where he had found it, then he ushered her from that building into another where a hatch of chicks were huddled together in a partitioned-off section of the incubator room. 'These chicks hatched out yesterday,' he explained.
The heads and necks of the chicks were speckled and striped, and the down on their bodies looked unimpressively like dried grass, but they were nevertheless adorable.
'May I hold one?' she asked, and it looked for a moment as if he would refuse her request, then he scooped up one of the chicks and placed it in her waiting hands. She was surprised to discover that the chick was amazingly docile, while the down was incredibly soft to the touch, and she felt strangely like a child experiencing something new and exciting.
The chick exchanged hands once more a few minutes later, and as his frowning glance travelled over her, Hunter said: 'The chick has dirtied your overall.'
'That doesn't matter,' she laughed, removing the excess dirt from her white overall with a handkerchief, but when she glanced up at him she found no answering smile on his lips. 'Thanks for showing me around,' she said selfconsciously now, and his eyebrows rose a fraction.
'You found it interesting?'
'Very much,' she assured him calmly, but there was something about him that set her nerves jangling; an indefinable something that flashed an urgent warning through her brain, and her voice was shaky when she muttered, 'I—I must go.'
She backed away from him nervously, but her heel kicked against something, and she lost her balance. Strong hands shot out to steady her, and the next instant she was crushed against the hard wall of his chest with his mouth taking advantage of her lips which had parted to utter a startled cry.
Shock numbed her brain and retarded her initial reactions to this unexpected invasion of her mouth, then a strange, throbbing sensation took possession of her, draining away all thoughts of resistance, and leaving her weak and pliant in his arms. She had been kissed before, but never like this, and even though her sluggish brain warned against it, her lips responded with a will of their own to the sensual exploration of Hunter's hard mouth.
Her body relaxed against his, finding enjoyment in the muscled thighs against her own, but the next instant she was set aside, and the strange magic ended as his harsh voice sliced chillingly through the warmth which had invaded her heart.
'You've got what you came looking for, and now you may go, Sister Casey.'
Jennifer felt too stupefied to react at first, but understanding finally dawned, and humiliation sent a wave of heat surging through her trembling body.
'You're an insufferable brute!' she accused, her hazel eyes flashing sparks of mingled pain and anger. 'I should have guessed that your friendliness would have a sting to it, but like a fool I believed you were willing to forget your prejudiced feelings towards me.'
'Is it an apology you want, or more of the same treatment?' he demanded, cynicism in every hard line of his face as he stepped towards, her, and she backed away, clenching her shaking hands at her sides.
'I never thought I'd ever come this close to hating anyone, but you're certainly making it very easy for me to hate you, Mr Maynard.'
'Are you peeved because I haven't taken the time to lure you into my bed?'
Jennifer flinched as if he had struck her, and her voice had a husky quality to it as she said fiercely, 'You disgust me!'
'I may disgust you, but I'm willing to bet that you enjoyed my kisses a moment ago,' he mocked her ruthlessly and, unable to take more, she turned and fled with the sound of his mocking laughter ringing hatefully in her
ears.
Her head was throbbing painfully when she reached the house, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing agony in her heart. She had done nothing to deserve Hunter's scandalous insinuations, but the most dreadful part of it all was that she could do nothing to prove how wrong he was about her. He would never believe her. Why should he? Why, moreover, should she bother? He cared nothing for her, and she cared—! She pulled herself up sharply, mentally reprimanding herself, but those last two words rang through her mind with a force that made her face the agonising truth whether she wanted to, or not. She cared!
Colin's boyishly endearing face had faded from her mind during these past weeks, to be replaced by the mocking, cynical, and often cruel features of a man who had, only moments ago, shown how much he despised her. She would get over it, no doubt, as she had got over Colin's death, but she had a dreadful feeling that this time the scars would go very much deeper.
'Jennifer?' Alice Maynard's voice halted her in her flight across the spacious hall, and she retraced her steps rather reluctantly to join her patient in the living-room. 'Why are you crying?'
'I'm not—' Jennifer paused abruptly when her fingers brushed against her cheeks to find them surprisingly damp, and unable to explain the reason for her tears, she said vaguely, 'I'm just being silly, that's all.'
'It's Hunter, isn't it?'
Alice was much too shrewd for comfort, and knowing the futility of being evasive, Jennifer nodded and sat down heavily in the nearest chair.
'Perhaps I was wrong to accept this job when he was so strongly opposed to having me here,' she found herself trying to make excuses for him.
'Nonsense!' Alice contradicted her sharply. 'It was for me to say whether I wanted you or not, and I wouldn't have had anyone else.'
A warmth surged into Jennifer's cold heart, and she smiled shakily. 'You're very kind, Mrs Maynard, but—'
'I won't have you feeling guilty about being here, is that understood?' Alice interrupted firmly, but gently, and Jennifer pulled herself together with an effort.
'I understand perfectly, Mrs Maynard.'
Hunter did not come in to dinner that evening, and neither did he join them for breakfast the following morning, but he came in afterwards and pressed a bundle of white plumes into his mother's hands.
'I thought this might interest you,' he announced, and only then did Alice and Jennifer notice the two black spots, perfectly spaced, near the tip of the feathers. 'It's unusual, isn't it?' Hunter remarked.
'Very unusual,' his mother agreed, examining the feathers more closely. 'Where did you get this?'
'It's from one of the young birds which was plucked yesterday morning,' he explained, smiling twistedly. 'If this was the nineteen-twenties then this bird's plumage would have amounted to an unearthly sum of money, but in this day and age it's considered as a freak.'
'Why should it be considered a freak?' Jennifer asked before she could prevent herself, and those blue eyes focussed on her for the first time that morning with a coldness that pierced right through her heart.
'Since the feather industry discovered the art of dyeing the white male plumes any colour they wished, feathers such as these lost their intrinsic value,' he explained with' an unmistakable hint of impatience in his voice at her ignorance, and she felt herself colouring beneath his direct gaze.
'What are you going to do with this?' Alice asked, gesturing with the spotted plumes, and Hunter shrugged carelessly.
'I might make something out of it privately, or I might just send it along to the K.K.L. to do with as they please,' he said, and before Jennifer could formulate the question in her mind, Hunter turned to her once more and explained with a great deal of sarcasm, 'K.K.L. stands for Klein Karoo Landboukoöperasie. It's a co-operative society to which all ostrich farmers have to send their produce to be auctioned, or slaughtered.'
Alice Maynard frowned up at her son, but before she could say anything, Jennifer remarked with equal sarcasm, 'Thanks for the information.'
His mouth tightened ominously, but he turned without a word and strode from the room, leaving Alice and Jennifer to examine the feathers at their leisure.
'Oumies Maynard? Where did Oumies get that?' Agnes demanded in surprise when she came in to clear away the breakfast dishes, and when they glanced up at her she pointed towards the feathers Alice held in her hands. Alice explained that it came from one of Hunter's young birds, and Agnes' eyes widened with a certain excitement. 'Do you know what that means, Oumies?' she asked Alice Maynard.
'Am I going to have to listen to one of your strange beliefs again, Agnes?' Mrs Maynard sighed with a humorous twinkle in her eyes.
'Oumies!' Agnes continued excitedly. 'Before this year ends Baas Hunter is going to be married. You'll see, Oumies.'
It felt as though a cold hand was clutching Jennifer's heart, the fingers squeezing until it ached, and it was only when Agnes had returned to the kitchen that Alice Maynard stirred in her chair.
'I sincerely hope she's right, and I can only pray that Hunter makes a sensible choice,' Alice announced with a severe look on her face as she levered herself up on to her crutches and left the room.
The spotted plumes remained behind on the table, and Jennifer picked them up idly to study them more closely. On each feather, in precisely the same place, two spots like black eyes in a white face stared back at her, and she was fingering them lightly, almost reverently, when Agnes returned to the breakfast-room to clear the table.
'What's so special about these feathers, Agnes?' she could not prevent herself from asking, and Agnes' face lit up with importance.
'Nonnie Jennifer, I know of two men who bred an ostrich with markings like this one. The one man was young, and the other was Oumies Maynard's age, and they were both married before that year came to an end.'
'Don't you think you've become superstitious as a result of an unusual coincidence?'
'Call it what you like, nonnie,' Agnes shrugged, then she waved her finger almost admonishingly at Jennifer. 'You will see that I am right. I'm always right about these things.'
Those cold fingers which were wrapped around Jennifer's heart seemed to squeeze harder and, leaving the bundle of plumes on the table where Hunter would find them, she went in search of Alice Maynard.
No matter how much Jennifer tried, she could not forget Agnes' prediction that morning. It was ridiculous, of course, to think so much about it, but she could not help herself. What if Agnes was right, and what if the woman he chose to marry was Carla von Brandis? It was none of her business, really, whom he chose to marry, but it left her with an achingly empty feeling she could not rid herself of.
Hunter's cousin arrived at Vogelsvlei that day just as they were lingering over a cup of tea at the luncheon table, and Alice was the first to recover from her surprise to say, 'You've arrived just too late to have lunch with us, Stanley.'
'I've had something to eat, Aunt Alice,' he said quickly and, looking as though he did not quite know what to do with his hands, he added: 'I came, actually, to ask if you could spare Jennifer for this afternoon.'
'Is something wrong out at Featherstone?' Alice asked at once.
'Nothing is wrong, Aunt Alice,' Stanley smiled a little selfconsciously. 'I'd like Jennifer to spend the afternoon with us, that's all.'
Alice Maynard hesitated momentarily, then she smiled with a peculiar sparkle in her eyes. 'You should ask Jennifer that, shouldn't you?'
Stanley turned his enquiring glance on Jennifer and asked, 'Will you come?'
Three pairs of eyes were suddenly focussed on Jennifer, but she was conscious, most of all, of the derisive mockery in Hunter's glance as it met hers and, disconcerted, she looked away again.
'Well, I…' she began hesitantly, bordering on a refusal, but something made her decide against it and, glancing at the woman seated opposite her, she asked resolutely, 'Will you manage without me, Mrs Maynard?'
'Of course I'll manage,' she replied at once and, taking her at her word,
Jennifer glanced up at Stanley.
'When did you want to leave?'
'At once, if you don't mind.'
'I'll just go upstairs and change,' Jennifer nodded and, excusing herself from the table, she went up to her room.
She did not feel like going out to Featherstone at all, she admitted to herself, and neither had she any desire to strike up a closer relationship with Stanley, but Hunter's manner had driven her to accept Stanley's invitation. She was angry with herself for allowing herself to be enveigled into this position because of Hunter's attitude, but there was nothing she could do now to alter the decision she had made. She was going out to Featherstone with Stanley, and that was that.
After wearing white every day for the past few weeks, she felt good slipping into an emerald green dress of fine silk which clung softly to her slender figure. She loosened her hair from its confining chignon, and after brushing it vigorously until it shone she decided to leave it hanging loose on to her shoulders.
'Well, well, well,' Hunter remarked mockingly when she encountered him in the passage just outside her room a few minutes later, and his glance was almost an insult as it travelled with slow deliberation from her shining head down to her small, sandalled feet. 'So Stanley is going to receive the full treatment, is he?'
Jennifer stiffened, her veiled eyes taking in the height and breath of the man barring her way. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'No, of course you don't. You're an innocent little girl going out on her first party.'
His mockery was uncalled for, but she decided to ignore it as she said coldly, 'Let me pass, please.'
'In a minute.' She stepped back as he advanced towards her, and the next instant she was imprisoned against the wall when he placed a hand on either side of her. The clean male smell of him stirred her senses, and a tell-tale pulse jerked in her throat when she looked up into his angry eyes. 'Don't play around too much with Stanley,' Hunter warned in a grating voice. 'He's really a trusting soul, and he might just take you seriously.'
The Spotted Plume Page 6
