in fear that Barak would marry someone else, because then I had only my resemblance to Van with which to keep him interested. But this last year or two, I've known that my dreams would eventuate in reality. After I left school he started to notice me as a woman, and of course I'm even more like Vanessa now ... I'm at the age she was when they were in love.'
Denise sat down again, and as she stopped talking, she looked at Nicola expectantly.
`What do you want me to say?' Nicola asked flatly. For some reason it had hurt her to learn that Denise apparently loved Barak's home more than she loved Barak. And this teenager's dreams would come true, because she reminded him of her dead sister, and Barak had loved Vanessa. That Denise should use that old love to gain her ends ... It was cruel, Nicola thought suddenly.
At the same time, she could feel pity for the willowy girl sitting opposite her. It must be a terrible form of possession, to be so driven by a desire for something as material as a house and its contents.
`I suppose you think I'm grasping and acquisitive?' Denise commented with cool amusement.
`I don't know,' Nicola said honestly. 'It hardly seems fair to Barak as a man to use your likeness to your sister in order to become mistress of his house, but on the other hand, I can see how badly you want to be part of this, so why not use any means to achieve it?'
`Exactly. All's fair in love ... and I love this house, is that it?' said Denise.
`I suppose so,' Nicola said doubtfully. It was ridiculous that she should feel so hurt for Barak's sake,
offended that anyone should rate his house above the man himself. 'Do you love him at all?' she asked in a small voice.
Denise shrugged. 'I suppose I do to some extent. I don't find the idea of being married to him actually distasteful, at any rate. But I will regret the fetters marriage puts on me. What would be ideal would be for me to have this house and remain free. I'd be in my element then. After all, I'm only eighteen and there are so many things I want to experience.'
`Why hurry into marriage, then?' Nicola said carefully. 'You seem to be fairly sure of Barak, so wouldn't he wait for you?'
`I can wait for marriage—I can't wait any longer for the house,' Denise said fiercely. 'It must be mine, and soon now. I've waited long enough ... most of my life, in fact. I won't do so any longer. That's why I must ask you, Nicola, not to let whatever there is between you and Barak progress. It might delay our marriage. I know you can't help what's happened; Barak is a man, after all.'
`There's nothing I like better than a good cliché,' Nicola snapped, suddenly resenting the fact that Barak's interest in her was of a purely physical nature.
Denise smiled ruefully at herself. 'It happens to be true.'
`I'm not interested in Barak, so you needn't have any fears of my distracting him during the final lap to the altar,' Nicola assured the other girl.
`No, but I'll be glad when you've gone,' Denise said frankly. 'I know Barak finds you attractive.'
Nicola didn't want to talk about Barak any more.
Introspection had made her aware of the ambivalence of her feelings towards him, and had taught her that she would need to walk carefully in future while she remained in his home.
She said lightly, 'It won't be long now —Traugott's portrait will be completed very soon.'
Denise appeared to be satisfied with that, and left shortly afterwards to go and see Barak among the avocado plantations.
That evening Nicola studied herself in the mirror when she was preparing for dinner. She was wearing a dress with tiny black flowers all over it, and although it made the colour of her hair look richer than usual and its cut emphasised the slimness of her waist, she wasn't sure if it suited her. Oh well, black fitted her mood, she thought impatiently as she banged down her hairbrush and lifted her head in a sharp angry movement, so that the long auburn hair swirled about her shoulders.
She noticed angrily that her face was paler than usual. The hollows at her temples were shadowy, and her high cheekbones were more accentuated than ever.
`Bony face,' Nicola mocked her reflection irritably, before going out to the front veranda where the Sorensens were already gathering with their pre-dinner drinks.
After dinner was over, Barak joined them in the lounge for coffee.
`Aren't you seeing Denise tonight, Barak?' Ellen enquired.
`No,' he said shortly, and Ellen looked offended. `Well, she was over here this afternoon, wasn't she?' Traugott said peaceably. 'I saw her come out of the
house and join you on the top plantation while I was up at the windmill.'
Barak didn't reply. He remained silent for most of the time they were in the lounge, and as Nicola was in a similar state, most of the conversation came from Ellen and Traugott.
Barak was looking strained, Nicola thought, eyeing him covertly. His dark face was shadowy, and harsh lines appeared deeply grooved, bracketing his hard mouth and interwoven about his eyes. He sat in silence, smoking, and seeming to stare through Ellen and Traugott to a place in the distance, and Nicola wished she could see that faraway place too, and share in his looking.
Perhaps he was starting to discover that Denise was an unsatisfactory substitute for Vanessa. How could she prove otherwise? If the girl had brought to him a loving instead of merely a desire to live in his house, he might not now be looking as he did, as if he found little pleasure in the world. The spectre of Vanessa - must be with him, Nicola thought. Did he find that Denise was not after all so very like her sister? He and Vanessa had loved, but this second time around, with the younger sister, there was only the wish to re-create the past where he was concerned, and a burning ambition to be mistress of his home on Denise's part.
Was that what had drawn those lines about his mouth?- The discovery that Denise only looked like the woman he had loved? For every human being was different, in compliance with the miracle of life, Nicola knew, and for Barak, Denise would sooner or later start to appear merely a picture of her sister. Like a
bad painting, Nicola thought, where a scene is portrayed flatly on the canvas, merely echoing faintly what the artist has seen, and lacking all the inward factors and depths of what had been reality. Barak would find Denise only superficially like Vanessa, and her spirit would look empty to him, because he searched only for Vanessa's spirit, not seeing the girl Denise as an individual young woman.
Looking at his face, Nicola thought that the disappointing process of finding Denise unlike Vanessa had already begun. Disillusionment might make him look like that.
She found herself wanting to go across the room to him, and touch his face; to draw the tenseness out of him and make him smile with eyes that looked only at her. She wanted to put her arms about those firm shoulders, and touch the dark hair, and feel the warmth of him, and see the ardour in his eyes, and know that for him, all thoughts of two tawny-haired women had melted away, and he was aware of only one, Nicola Prenn, who loved him
Nicola's face was a pale, stiff mask as she came to self-knowledge. How had she travelled to reach this bitter loving? She had resented him, yet had felt interest in him; she had desired him, and insisted to herself that she disliked him; and through the tortuous passage of pain she had come to this longing to know that she was loved by him, that she was the only woman for him. How had it grown up? Nicola questioned herself blindly, unable to discover that physical and emotional formula which had brought her to this knowledge of her own heart.
Presently Melanie entered, clad for bed, to say goodnight and demand that her uncle come and tuck her in.
`What's wrong with you, Nicola?' the child asked, coming to stand in front of her and contemplating her gravely. 'You look funny ... as if you had a pain inside you.'
I have, Nicola wanted to cry. It was a pain which scorched deep into her, explaining the empty unfulfilled feeling which had nagged continuously at her lately.
`Yes, I've noticed you were looking pale, Nicola,' Ellen said, examining her face. 'I think you've also got thinner
since you came here. Perhaps our climate disagrees with you.'
`Or perhaps it's the company,' Barak said coldly as he stood up. He walked out of the room, leaving Melanie to follow.
Ellen sighed. 'Oh dear, Barak is always in such a bad mood these days. I suppose he's still not sure of Denise and it's preying on his nerves.'
Nicola didn't answer. She was looking inward, with hazel eyes grown dark; looking at what she had been, what she had become.
There had been such freedom once, until she had come here. She had walked in that freedom, all her life, and none could tie her, but now she lay in chains, and there could be no walking out of this bondage because it was love which imprisoned her; a love which had a frightening power because, reciprocated, it could have lifted her up to touch the heavens of a searing
joy, but unrequited, it dragged her down into black misery and despair.
And her despair was all the more painful for Nicola because a new wisdom told her that there could be no going back along the road which had led her to this. You couldn't retreat from love.
CHAPTER SIX
NICOLA worked energetically on Traugott's portrait for the next few mornings, and they were both tired by the time they went in to lunch each day, but within a few days Nicola was satisfied that one more morning's work would see the picture completed. After that she would leave, she decided thankfully. Both Ellen and Traugott had suggested that she stay on for a while after her task was completed, and if it hadn't been for Barak, Nicola might have accepted their invitation. There was so much here that she would enjoy painting; she had come to believe that the Soutpansberg was the most beautiful region in South Africa.
But Barak was here ... so she couldn't possibly stay on. She would do herself no good by remaining here, constantly upset by his presence, disturbed by him She would only wear herself out, loving him and knowing that his heart had gone to the grave with the dead girl who had been his brother's wife.
That afternoon Nicola and Melanie walked to the copse from which Melanie had come running on the day of Nicola's arrival. Nicola had started painting the
woody scene because Melanie had expressed a wish to own a picture of 'my trees'. The work was a secret between them, one in which Melanie took solemn enjoyment, and Nicola aimed to finish it that day.
When they reached the spot, Nicola set up her easel in an open space on the side of the track opposite to the trees, and Melanie, who was not interested in watching her at work, went running off, a small figure in blue jeans who was soon lost to sight among the trees.
Nicola smiled to herself as she set to work. She wondered what imaginative games Melanie enacted on her own in the coolness among the trees. It was a very special place for the little girl, and certainly not somewhere for adults. Nicola had learnt that even Martin and Erika Lewis were only rarely invited to bring their solid persons to join the shadowy figures who peopled Melanie's games.
Nicola had not been painting long when she glanced up and sighed impatiently. Todd Baxter was coming up the lane on foot, and he was one of the last people she wanted to see.
She didn't even smile in his direction. He was still a fair way off, so Nicola continued painting for a while. Then she stepped back and examined the canvas. It was a small one and had needed even less work than she had anticipated, and any further additions would spoil it. She disliked painting on so small a scale as it made her feel confined and inhibited, but Melanie had wanted something which would look well in her own bedroom.
No, there was nothing to be added, she decided, and started to tidy up her paints.
`Nicola darling!' Todd exclaimed warmly as he reached her.
`Oh, hullo, Todd,' Nicola greeted him indifferently. `What are you doing here?'
He came forward and caught her hands in his. `What do you think? A girl like you ought to be confident that every visitor has 'come exclusively to see her.'
`A girl like me doesn't fall for flattery,' Nicola retorted. She released her hands from his grasp.
Todd pushed at a stray lock of his floppy brown hair and eyed her with a smile. 'One could hardly call this a warm welcome ! I'm disappointed—I expected better of you, Nicola. Aren't you at all glad to see me?'
`No, not if you're going to continue in this vein,' she said bluntly.
`But haven't you missed me?' Todd persisted. `I hadn't noticed your absence,' she said drily.
`Heartless woman ! I've been in Johannesburg
again,' he told her, and paused expectantly.
`Oh yes?' said Nicola, examining her painting again. `Oh yes, indeed,' Todd retorted. 'I saw your father while I was there.'
`Oh!' Nicola said, with genuine interest this time. `How was he, Todd?'
`As well as ever,' he said.
`Still painting?' she asked.
`With the greatest enthusiasm,' Todd assured her.
He took her hands again, but Nicola hardly noticed, so intent was she on yet another reappraisal of the painting.
He peered at her more closely now and said, 'But as
for you, now I come to think of it, you're not looking too bright, darling. What's up with you? Could it be that I'm finally beginning to wear you down at last?'
`Nobody can say you aren't persistent,' Nicola said sardonically.
`Then you'll come out with me tonight, won't you?' he said persuasively.
`No, I won't,' Nicola said, abandoning interest in the painting. She pulled her hands away from Todd.
`What an obstinate creature you are,' he said resentfully. 'What's wrong with you, that you're not prepared to enter into a little fun? We could get on very well together.'
`Why can't you take no for an answer?' Nicola demanded impatiently. 'I've told you I don't want to go out with you, Todd. It's not what's wrong with me but what's wrong with you that could be my reason for that. Do you imagine any girl with sense is going to see a married man as a good bet for some of that fun you're always going on about?' she taunted. 'I prefer my men friends to be single—and young,' she added mockingly, remembering what she had once said about his fear of age.
Todd looked angry. 'I can see you've been influenced by those Sorensens,' he said viciously. 'And I suppose they've had a hand in setting you against me. Why don't you judge me for yourself, instead of heeding their opinions? As I've said, we ought to be very compatible.'
`I doubt it,' Nicola said shortly, tired of Todd and the whole conversation.
`I don't. Let me prove it to you,' he said, attempting to draw her into his arms.
`Todd! Stop playing the fool,' she said sharply as he bent his head.
`Who said I was playing?' he muttered.
Nicola turned her head sharply so that his kiss landed on her cheek, instead of her mouth as he had obviously intended.
`Here comes Melanie,' she said coldly, but with a sense of relief. 'Kindly let go of me immediately— unless you want a nine-year-old child to see you making an utter fool of yourself.'
Todd obeyed and turned to regard the approaching Melanie with angry brown eyes.
`What does that damned kid want?' he said venomously.
`Hullo.' Melanie stopped and stared at him unblinkingly. 'What do you want here, Mr Baxter?' she asked politely.
`Mr Baxter is just about to leave,' said Nicola. She heard Todd mutter a curse.
`Oh,' said Melanie, still staring at him. 'Goodbye then, Mr Baxter.'
`She's certainly seeing you off with a vengeance,' Nicola murmured to Todd. 'You'd better go.'
`Very well, then,' he said sulkily. 'I'll be seeing you some time soon, Nicola.'
Nicola hoped not. She watched him turn away and start walking down the lane once more.
Melanie looked at her blandly. 'That's got rid of him. You don't like Mr Baxter, do you, Nicola?'
`Not much,' Nicola agreed.
thought not, and that's why I can't understand why he was kissing you.'
`I couldn't very well stop him just then,' Nicola said shortly. She paused, looking at
Melanie speculatively.
`I know what you're thinking about,' Melanie announced surprisingly. 'You're wondering if I'll keep it a secret again, just like the other time when he held your hands. You can trust me, Nicola.'
Nicola flushed. 'Thank you, but please remember, Melanie, that ... there oughtn't to be such secrets,' she concluded helplessly, looking at the child with distressed eyes. It wasn't right that Melanie should be learning the passive deceit embodied in saying nothing.
`No, but I can always tell what people want, and you want me to keep quiet,' Melanie said. 'Not that I think it'll be much use, Nicola—I caught a glimpse of Uncle Barak up at the top plantation and he could easily have seen from there.'
Of course. That would be just her luck, Nicola thought bitterly. She was fated to be seen by Barak when Todd was with her, as on that occasion outside Hilary's farm.
`Oh, Nicola, thank you! You've finished my picture,' Melanie's voice interrupted her muddled train of thought.
They returned to the farmhouse and Melanie shut herself into the library in order to do her homework, while Nicola, too overcome by sudden ennui to do anything, sat on the front veranda and watched the distant blue mountains which were still and majestic in the late afternoon sunlight, while Donkey, the black lab-
rador, lolled drowsily at her feet, twitching occasionally in response to his dreams.
When she heard a step beside her on the veranda, she didn't need to turn her head in order to ascertain who it was. Barak had been sure to come. Perhaps that was why she had come to sit out here; to gather strength for the storm she had subconsciously been expecting.
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