Forgetting herself, she turned to the man beside her. `Isn't it thrilling' she said breathlessly, in the state which only a rare few of her father's most dramatic works induced.
`Very thrilling,' Barak said drily, and the lamps in Nicola's eyes were switched off again. Her smile died abruptly.
`Don't you like it?'
`Does one like that sort of painting?'
She realised what he meant. 'No, one experiences it,' she said softly.
He appraised her expressionlessly. 'It's little wonder I hardly recognised you at first. Nothing could be more different from the woman I saw the other night. Very
Much dressed for the farm now, aren't you?'
Nicola knew how vivid the contrast must seem. On New Year's Eve she had been over-made-up and wearing a very brief dress. Today she had donned slacks and a plain shirt as being the most comfortable apparel in which to make a fairly extended car journey. Her lightly tanned face was innocent of make-up and her straight auburn hair was tied back at the nape of her neck.
She was embarrassed by his scrutiny and didn't know what to say. Usually Nicola was rarely embarrassed, but this man succeeded in making her so nearly all the time, and she resented it.
`What a contrast,' he continued softly, and she wondered if she was imagining the threat in his voice. Threat of what? 'What are you, Nicola Prenn? How many other personalities have you? All things to all men. I never liked it—it's too easy.'
`Why easy? All things to all men is what some politicians are. Why don't you say canny, devious ... tricky even? You wouldn't buy a used car from me, would you?' she flashed.
`It's a pity I saw you the other night,' he said, 'or you might have succeeded in putting over the present image.'
Nicola turned away from him, feeling inexplicably hurt. After a moment she said tentatively, 'Mr Sorensen, you mentioned ... carrying the fight into the enemy's camp. Does that mean the Baxters live near here?'
`Didn't you know that? Their farm is a few miles from here—Hilary's farm, to be accurate.'
`Thank you. No, I didn't know.'
`I'm surprised,' he said sarcastically. 'If Baxter told you he was married, I'd have thought he'd have told you something of the circumstances.'
`Well, he didn't. I don't know him all that well.' `No? I could have sworn otherwise,' he said quietly, and Nicola flushed.
Before she could utter the hot words which had sprung to her lips, they were interrupted by the entry of an elderly couple. Here indeed was the typical Scandinavian, Nicola realised as she looked at Traugott Sorensen. Thick snow-white hair which would once have been flaxen, bright blue eyes, a deep tan and ruddy cheeks. He was a big man, in excellent condition for someone in the mid-seventies. There was no trace of flabbiness and very few lines on the face. It was a noble face, she thought, and she might with luck be able to do it justice.
`This is Miss Prenn,' Barak said briefly. 'Miss Prenn, Mr and Mrs Sorensen.'
`How nice to have a visitor,' Mrs Sorensen said when they had shaken hands. 'I love meeting new people.'
`You're not to hinder her from her work, trying to extract her life history, Ellen,' Traugott Sorensen said with only the faintest trace of a guttural accent.
Ellen was much younger than her husband, possibly as much as fifteen years, and Nicola liked her at once. There was a natural sophistication about the tall, still slim figure clad in navy, and the silvery-grey head. Nothing contrived or even acquired in this legance : Ellen Sorensen would have been born this way.
Nicola, said to Traugott, 'I hope I can provide you
with a satisfactory portrait, Mr Sorensen, but I feel it's only fair to warn you that like my father, I have never specialised in painting people. Dad told me he hadn't mentioned it to Mr ... your nephew.'
`Probably knew it wasn't necessary,' the old man said. 'Barak himself warned me that the Prenns aren't portraitists—he knows more about art than I do—but I wanted a Prenn. He's about the only South African artist I care for, and if I can't have him then his daughter will have to do. We won't pass any judgment until we see what you've turned out, young lady. But you're younger than I had anticipated ... I don't want you painting me with one eye in the middle of my forehead.'
Nicola laughed delightedly. 'I promise you I won't do that.'
Ellen Sorensen's blue eyes twinkled. 'Both Traugott and I are ultra-conservative when it comes to art. Now, what about my showing you to your room? You give me that apparatus you're carrying, Barak; then I wish you'd look for Melanie. Sarah says she's missing again.'
`Oh, the little girl!' Nicola exclaimed. 'I saw her. I offered her a lift up to the house, but she refused. She was near a little copse of trees ... before you come to the avocado plantations if you're coming from the road to the house. Oh, it's hard to explain.'
`I know where you mean,' he said. 'She's been found there on previous occasions. All right, Ellen, I'll go and fetch her. Miss Prenn, have you left the keys in your car? I'll move it into the garage for you before I go for the child.'
He departed, and Ellen turned to Nicola. 'Let's get
you settled in, shall we? Being farming people, we dine fairly early and Sarah will be setting the table soon.'
They went out of the lounge, leaving Traugott Sorensen alone. 'I've given you a room at the end of one of the side verandas,' Ellen explained. 'That way, you can have privacy if you get tired of us. Melanie has the room opposite you, at the other end, but she won't disturb you. She's a quiet child, too quiet.'
Nicola followed Mrs Sorensen into a big comfortable bedroom which, like the lounge, spoke of good taste, and it was evident that no expense had been spared over the furnishings. The wide bed was an antique, with a wooden frame and beautifully gleaming headboard, and the heavy cover was cream, like the carpet. The walls were papered in, sunshine yellow and the dark wood of the furniture made an attractive contrast.
`All my favourite colours,' Nicola said happily. 'It's beautiful, Mrs Sorensen.'
`I thought you'd like it,' the older woman said, looking pleased. She sat down carefully. on a high-backed chair. 'Sarah tells me you brought a cat with you?'
`Yes, I found her at the roadside and I just couldn't leave her. She was starving. But I'm sorry if it's going to be a nuisance to you,' Nicola said anxiously. 'I understand you already have three cats. I'll take her back to Johannesburg when I leave.'
'It might be unwise to uproot her if she settles well,' Ellen said. 'One more cat won't make much difference, and none of us has any objection to the creatures.'
`I don't think Mr Sorensen—your nephew, I mean —was very pleased,' Nicola said doubtfully.
Ellen smiled. 'You mustn't mind Barak. He's been
under a bit of strain lately, what with the worry Melanie causes us, and Denise's restlessness. Of course, I expect the situation will resolve itself eventually, but I've always thought Barak was trying to make Denise a substitute for Vanessa. She's just like her sister was at that age. Barak and Vanessa had a somewhat stormy affair more than ten years ago, but she married his brother Karl in the end, because she wanted to get away from farming and he had this job in Pietersburg. That's what makes Melanie all the more precious to Barak—the fact that she's Vanessa's daughter. Oh dear, I suppose you think it's in very bad taste for me to be talking in this way when we've only just met, but I knew immediately that you were someone I could talk to. And I do miss a woman's company. All my friends around here are farmers' wives and consequently very busy women, so sometimes I go for days without seeing them. Occasionally it gets so bad that I simply have to get out the car and run into Louis Trichardt.'
`But you're happy in the country?' Nicola said a little absently. She was thinking about Barak Sorensen. How would he have taken it when Vanessa had chosen to marry his brother? He would be as proud as Lucifer, she was sure. And Denise Graeme now, a substitute for the older sister, and restless, perhaps because she suspected the truth, was even trying to test his feelings for her as a woman, an individual, a
nd not the sister of Vanessa. Maybe that was why she had gone to the party in Johannesburg with Todd Baxter.
Denise. Of course, that had been who Melanie's small, smooth face had reminded her of. The pale
brown hair was different, and the child's eyes grey where Denise's were tawny, but the expressionlessness of the faces was identical. Then Denise was whom Melanie had meant by her 'auntie'.
`Oh yes, Traugott and I are very happy here,' Ellen Sorensen was saying, and Nicola cast aside speculation on the subject of Denise and Barak. 'As long as we have occasional visits to Pretoria and Johannesburg, I love it. And Barak has assured us that he wants us to stay on when and if he marries, so we don't have to worry about the future. My husband worked a citrus farm in the Eastern Transvaal, but when he decided to retire we sold it, as it would have been no use to Ilse and Peter. Ilse is our daughter, our only child. They live in Messina, so this is nice and near, and they frequently come up for weekends, so I see quite a lot of my grandchildren. use and Peter actually met in Messina, when she was working at the Beit Bridge customs post. He's with the mines.'
`Messina is a major copper centre, isn't it?'
`That's right. The name is a corruption of the native word murina, which means copper,' Mrs Sorensen explained.
`Is it? And I always thought it was named after Sicily's Messina,' Nicola confessed.
When Mrs Sorensen had left her, she had a quick bath in the private bathroom which adjoined her room and boasted the same colour-scheme, before opening her cases. She spent quite a while deciding what to wear, and was astonished at herself. Usually neat comfort and cleanliness were her only concerns but somehow she felt that tonight she must look her best.
Eventually she decided on a panelled cream skirt and a jade-green blouse, adding a matching necklace which enhanced the slenderness of her tanned throat. She rarely wore jewellery anywhere other than about her neck, not liking to have her fingers and wrists encumbered. For the same reason, she would always remove her watch and work with her forearms bare, even in winter.
She took her time over applying the most discreet of make-up and even troubled to varnish her nails with clear polish. If only she could erase the impression she had made on Barak Sorensen the previous week ... But she knew that it was a forlorn hope. That night in her father's house, it hadn't been merely her appearance that had contrived to make him dislike her : it had been what he had seen and overheard as well, and she couldn't explain hey behaviour to him without causing further trouble between him and Denise.
Nicola paused in the act of brushing her hair. The time she would spend in the Sorensen household was going to hold much in the way of discomfort for her, if it was to be under the cloud of Barak Sorensen's dislike ... or was it disapproval? It could hardly be said that their acquaintance had got off to a harmonious start. And he would be even icier in his attitude towards her if he suspected that Ellen had told her so much about his personal affairs; about Vanessa who had married his brother Karl after an affair with Barak, and about his present problems concerning Denise Graeme. Strange really : he looked the sort of man who would regard fortune as a divine right of his, someone who would always get his own way. Nicola
wondered what the brother had been like.
She picked up her brush again, feeling strangely depressed. No, it wasn't going to be an easy interlude, but she would make the most of it, here amid the beautiful mountains north of the Tropic of Capricorn. Her father had warned her not to hurry over the portrait and she was determined to heed his advice. It would be an abuse of the professional integrity he had instilled in her if she executed a work made bad through haste. Nevertheless, she hoped it would not take too long.
Nicola left her hair loose, and its auburn richness swung silkily about her neck and shoulders as she went through to the lounge. There she was met by Sarah who told her that the family was on the veranda at the front of the house and expected her to join them there.
They were all there, including Melanie, now no longer in jeans but wearing a short pink dress,
`There you are !' Ellen Sorensen looked pleased. 'We always sit out here before dinner in the summer. You do look nice, Miss Prenn.'
`You do look nice, Miss Prenn,' Barak mimicked in understones so that only Nicola could hear as he drew up a chair for her. 'Which image is it now? Demure yet sophisticated, perhaps? The type who'll ask for a small dry sherry?'
`I'm not a type at all, Mr Sorensen,' Nicola retorted in the same low voice. 'I'm all things to all men, remember. And I always ask for gin and tonic.'
`So be it,' he said, unperturbed, and with just the faintest trace of amusement in the pale grey eyes. `What are you talking about?' Melanie asked
blandly. 'She's not Miss Prenn, Aunt Ellen—she's Nicola Prenn. She told me so. We don't have to call you Miss, do we?'
Nicola laughed as she sank into her chair. 'Nicola will suit me fine,' she said.
`Oh, good,' Ellen said happily. 'I do dislike formality between people living in the same house. I'm Ellen, and you'll have to call the men by their Christian names too, as two Mr Sorensens will lead to all kinds of confusion.'
Nicola turned faintly pink. She wasn't going to call Barak Sorensen by his first name, and the dignity of Traugott Sorensen demanded formality.
Melanie got up from her chair and came to stand beside Nicola. She stared at her for a few moments, then : 'Did they want you after all?'
Nicola accepted a glass from Barak, and turned to the child. 'Well, they want someone,' she said, 'and as I paint, I hope I'll suit your uncle.'
`I hope so too,' the old man said. 'Have you really never done a portrait, though?'
`Oh, I did at art school, and I've experimented since when the mood has been on me,' Nicola explained. 'But I've never seriously attempted anything like this before.'
`Evidently your father thinks you can do it,' Barak pointed out. 'Otherwise he wouldn't have arranged for you to come up here.'
It was true. Robert Prenn might often feel it unnecessary to make a truth known, but he would never accept a commission on behalf of himself or his daughter unless he had absolute faith that the client
would receive a hundred-per-cent effort, even if the result might not measure up to expectations. For Robert, as for Nicola, endeavour counted for more than results.
`I'll do my best to satisfy you, Mr Sorensen,' Nicola promised Traugott quietly.
`Thank you,' he said simply. 'I have always wanted a portrait of myself.'
It wasn't merely vanity that had given birth to the wish, Nicola realised presently when they went through to the big dining-room. Two walls were hung with portraits of big men with blue eyes. Nicola counted swiftly. Nine of them. All the brothers save Traugott, the youngest. She wondered which of them was Barak's father. The portraits varied in size, and some had been sat for by Sorensens still young, while others showed men who had reached the ripeness of maturity. If she succeeded in her task, Traugott's portrait would presumably fill the empty tenth space.
Ellen saw her appraisal of the portraits and smiled. `Now you realise why Traugott wants his portrait. I must say, the brothers are a bit overpowering seen at once, but he feels he ought to have his likeness join them up there. We don't see much of the descendants of the first eight these days, partly, I suppose, because only Einer and Traugott went into farming. Their brothers' children are scattered all over South Africa, but in cities. That's Einer over there—Barak's father.' She pointed to the portrait of a lean fair man, opposite the space Traugott's would soon occupy. 'Barak takes after his mother in colouring, of course, but his brother Karl was fair. He also had Grace's grey eyes, though.'
Nicola glanced obliquely at Barak. She was seated between him and Melanie at the round table. He caught her look and smiled frostily. 'I suppose you've had our entire family history from Ellen by now?'
`Not quite,' Nicola retorted. 'What nationality was your mother?' she added daringly.
`English. Like Ellen, she was a descendant of o
ne of the British settlers,' he informed her without bothering to look at her again.
They were served their meal by Sarah, who quietly assured Nicola that the black kitten was very happy in the kitchen. The food was excellently prepared. They started with an attractive raw fish dish. 'Do you do the cooking?' Nicola asked Ellen Sorensen.
`Sarah and I share it,' Ellen told her. 'It's a fallacy that two women can't share a kitchen. We're quite happy working together. Sarah is much more practical and unsentimental than me, though. The other day I broke my favourite egg-timer and I wept. Sarah thought I was mad because I never used it anyway. But one gets so attached to things, and it was a wedding present from a young cousin of mine, thirty-six years ago.'
Melanie brought them back to their earlier subject by saying solemnly, 'I've also got Granny Grace's grey eyes, haven't I, Uncle Barak?'
`You have indeed, darling,' he assured her, and it was the first time Nicola had seen the arrogant face soften..She glanced at the child who sat on her left. The grey eyes, inherited from Grace Sorensen, were darker than Barak's, but it wouldn't be the eyes that Barak saw. No, it was the Graeme face, smoothly
lovely, which he saw and softened towards. Vanessa's face, mirrored in her daughter; mirrored too in Vanessa's young sister Denise. Denise, whom he sought to make a substitute for the woman he must have loved.
He was quiet during the major part of the meal, as was the child who ate little and stared at Nicola a great deal. It was disconcerting, and she knew so little about children. This little girl was surely stranger than most. Ellen Sorensen did most of the talking, pleased to have a fresh face at the table. Consequently it was from Ellen, with some assistance from her husband, that Nicola learned some of the facts appertaining to Barak Sorensen's farm.
Traugott started asking her about her painting and she told him a little about her art-school training and the work she did now.
Walk in the Shadows Page 4
