Magic of the Baobab

by Yvonne Whittal

  ‘You’re imagining things,’ she said at last, despising herself for the shakiness of her voice.

  ‘Am I imagining it that you’re as jumpy as a nervous kitten whenever I’m about, that you’ve steadfastly refused all invitations to come out to Mountain View, and that you seldom smile these days except when you’re with Frances?’ His eyes raked her from head to foot, scorching her through the cool cotton frock. ‘Am I imagining all that?’

  ‘I’ve agreed to come out to the farm this Saturday, haven’t I?’

  ‘After initially refusing, yes,’ he agreed with a cynical twist to his lips that made her wince inwardly. ‘Do you dislike me so much, Olivia?’

  Her hand tightened on the back of the chair. ‘I don’t dislike you.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I—I can’t explain,’ she whispered hoarsely, frightened by the leaping flames in his eyes and the way the faint odour of his particular brand of shaving lotion attacked her senses which were now vitally alive and alarmingly receptive to his physical appeal.

  ‘If you can’t explain, then you must be confused about something,’ he persisted harshly. ‘Perhaps this will settle the matter for you. ’

  Her numbed brain flashed out a warning, but it came too late as she found herself crushed against the hardness of his muscular body, with his arms like steel clamps about her ribs, almost squeezing the breath from her lungs before his mouth settled upon hers with a demanding intensity that shook her physically and mentally as she fought against the darkness which threatened to envelop her. She was unable to think straight as she clutched at his arms and felt the muscles ripple beneath her hands, and then, to her horror, she began to tremble, her lips responding of their own volition to his lingering kiss, while her body, aflame with sensations she had never known before, relaxed against him. Her heart was racing at a suffocating pace, beating almost in unison with his, and leaving her devoid of any desire to be released from this well of exciting emotions into which she had been plunged. But she was set free as suddenly as he had taken her, and she stood swaying dazedly, clutching at the chair beside her while her breath came unevenly over parted lips that were still throbbing from the mastery of a kiss which had seared her to her very soul.

  ‘Goodnight, Olivia,’ she heard him say harshly as if from some distance, but ashamed and alarmed by what had happened, she could not raise her eyes to his, and moments later the front door slammed behind him with a force that ratded the windows and shattered the peaceful rose-scented night.

  She heard his car being driven away, but she was shaking so much that she was afraid to move from where she stood for a moment. No man had ever kissed her in that way before. She should feel insulted and degraded, but she only felt deeply ashamed at the thought of her own ecstatic response. A sudden incredible anger gave her the necessary strength, and, scooping up the empty coffee cup, she took it through to the kitchen.

  Bernard had had no right to kiss her in that brutal fashion, she thought furiously as she rinsed the cups and stacked them in the rack. Neither had she given him the right to force himself on her in that way, she told herself, tears blurring her vision as she dried the cups and saucers with more vigour than was necessary, and she had certainly not given him permission to continue kissing her until she had felt as if—as though—Oh, lord, no!

  A cup crashed to the ground at her feet and, ashen-faced, she stared at the pieces scattered across the tiled floor with wide, feverish eyes. It couldn’t be! Not Bernard King! Not himl He was detestable, insufferable, overpowering, and she hated him! But hate was not what she had felt when he had held her in those powerful arms of his, and hate was not what she was experiencing then as she relived those moments. She loved him; impossibly and irrevocably she was in love with a man she had feared, and still feared because of what he could do to her emotionally.

  It was madness! she told herself, but her heavy, erratic heartbeats told her something else, and she dropped into the nearest chair with a moan on her lips as she faced the incredible truth. What would Ilona say if she should find out, and Tante Maria, and Vivien, and—Oh, God! —there was Frances too!

  Heaven only knew what she was going to do. She had not wanted to love him. If she had had a choice she would much rather have fallen in love with Gerald, but certainly not with Bernard King whose brute strength she had been made aware of from their first encounter without him even touching her. No wonder her nerves had always reacted so violently whenever he was near, almost as if she had been subconsciously fighting against something she had been unable to put a name to, and now it had happened. It had taken only one brutal, lingering kiss, so typical of the man, to cause her neatly organised world to crumble about her, and to awaken her to the frightening reality of what he meant to her. Oh, lord, why did it have to be him?

  The remainder of the week had loomed ahead of her like a dark, menacing cloud. She dreaded meeting Bernard again while she felt the way she did about him, but it seemed that he, too, had no wish to see her or speak to her, for it was Vivien who telephoned to say that Frances would not be coming to the shop that Saturday morning because Bernard would have no time to bring her to town.

  No matter how much Olivia schemed and planned, there seemed to be no way she could wriggle out of going to the braai, but she finally pacified herself with the thought that she would be going with Gerald and Sanet, and that there would undoubtedly be several guests who would claim Bernard’s attention. Whatever happened, she did not want to be alone with him. Not for one single minute.

  It was almost five-thirty when she arrived at Mountain View that Saturday with Gerald and Sanet. Several cars had already been parked in the driveway, and the sound of laughter drew them towards the secluded area on the west side of the house. The sound of Gerald’s car had apparently attracted Bernard’s attention, for he appeared suddenly in the gap of the honeysuckle hedge to welcome them.

  Olivia’s treacherous heart leapt wildly, and the colour rose in her cheeks as she hung back, hoping to slip in as unobtrusively as possible, but, as Gerald and Sanet moved forward towards the guests reclining in garden chairs on the spacious lawn, a miniature whirlwind in the shape of Frances dashed past them and Olivia opened her arms automatically as the child flung herself into them.

  ‘Olivia!’ she cried chokingly, her arms clutching at Olivia as if she was afraid she would disappear.

  ‘What is it, Frances?’ she asked anxiously, pressing the smooth dark head against her, and forgetting momentarily that Bernard stood observing them with that brooding expression she had become so accustomed to.

  ‘I was afraid you mightn’t come,’ Frances’ muffled voice replied tremulously.

  ‘We were both a little anxious,’ Bernard added as her startled, questioning glance met his, and she knew instantly, and embarrassingly, that he was referring to their last encounter.

  She lowered her eyes before his dark, disturbing gaze and loosened Frances’ arms about her gently. ‘Now that I’m here, Frances, will you take me to your Aunty Vivien so I can give her her birthday present?’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen supervising the salads,’ Frances enlightened her, brightening instantly as she drew Olivia into the house and away from Bernard who stood watching them go. ‘What did you get for her?’

  Olivia pinched her cheek lightly and smiled. ‘I think it’ll be more exciting if you wait until she opens it, don’t you?’

  Frances nodded contentedly, and led the way into the large surprisingly modern kitchen where Vivien, with the help of the buxom, dark-skinned Evalina, was putting the finishing touches to an array of salads that was enough to quicken the appetite.

  ‘Olivia!’ she smiled warmly, glancing up from her task. ‘We’ve had some dramatic doubts this afternoon about whether you’d come or not, but I’m pleased to see you’re here after all.’

  ‘Dear heaven!’ Olivia thought distractedly, her cheeks flaming. Did Vivien know what had happened between Bernard and herself, or was she merely re
ferring to Frances’ innocent anxieties? Pulling herself together sharply, she kissed Vivien lightly on the cheek and pressed a package into her hands. ‘Happy birthday, Vivien.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, you shouldn’t have,’ Vivien whispered, obviously taken aback, but Frances could no longer control her curiosity as she bounced up and down beside Olivia.

  ‘Open it, Aunty Viv, please!’

  An amused but understanding smile flashed across Vivien’s face as she obliged, removing the tissue paper to reveal the glittering evening purse with the delicately carved ivory handle.

  ‘My dear! ’ Vivien gasped wide-eyed. ‘Where on earth did you find this beautiful purse at such short notice?’

  ‘I bought it originally for my aunt, but she died before I could give it to her, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather give it to than yourself,’ Olivia explained, aware of Frances’ openmouthed delight as she lightly fingered the small purse.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Olivia,’ said Vivien, a glimmer of unexpected tears in her eyes, ‘except “thank you”, and that sounds so inadequate.’

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ Frances crooned, sliding her fingers over the handle. ‘Really beautiful.’

  ‘What’s so beautiful?’ a deep voice asked directly behind Olivia, making her heart leap into her throat.

  ‘This evening purse that Olivia’s given Aunty Viv,’ Frances elaborated excitedly. ‘Isn’t it beautiful, Daddy?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, but Olivia had the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking down at her and not at the purse at all when she felt her nerve ends vibrate at his nearness. ‘I think it’s time you went out and welcomed your guests, Vivien.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vivien nodded absently, glancing down the length of the table and back. ‘Oh, I hope I’ve done everything now.’

  ‘Of course you have,’ Bernard insisted forcefully, giving her a gentle push towards the outer door. ‘Now go out there and mingle.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Peter yet,’ Olivia remarked nervously when she found herself alone with him and Frances.

  ‘He was called out at the last minute, but he should be here shortly,’ Bernard told her, taking her arm and sending a current of electricity through her as he guided her from the kitchen. ‘Come through to the verandah and I’ll get you something to drink. ’

  ‘Can I have something to drink too, Daddy?’ Frances chipped in, and Bernard glanced at her over his shoulder.

  ‘If you ask Evalina very nicely, she’ll give you some of that ginger beer she’s made.’

  ‘Oh, goody!’ Frances said excitedly, flying back into the kitchen. ‘Evalina ... ’ Olivia heard her say, but the rest of her sentence escaped Olivia as Bernard led her away.

  ‘Thank you for not disappointing Frances and Vivien,’ he said finally, placing a glass of sherry between her fingers.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ she replied, her pulses

  fluttering nervously as he drew nearer to her.

  ‘Are you still angry with me?’

  The closeness of his tall, muscular body attacked her senses and sent a now familiar weakness surging into her limbs. She wanted to strike out at him, call him all the names under the sun she could think of, but nothing rose to her lips except a polite denial. ‘I’m not angry with you, I—’

  She broke off sharply as the gauze door swung open and, as they turned to face Ilona Haskins, Olivia could have sworn that she heard Bernard mutter an angry oath beneath his breath.

  ‘Bernard, my dear, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ Ilona’s voice held a hint of a rebuke, her eyes disinterested yet watchful as she acknowledged Olivia’s presence with a slight inclination of her immaculately styled red head.

  ‘Would you like something to drink, Ilona?’ Bernard asked calmly.

  ‘Please, my dear,’ she murmured, closing the distance between them and placing a slender, manicured hand on his arm with a possessiveness that made Olivia feel slightly sick. ‘The usual, of course.’

  In the fast gathering dusk Olivia saw Bernard smile down at Ilona with a certain warmth she herself had never seen, and her throat tightened mercilessly as she edged towards the door and mumbled, ‘If you’ll excuse me, please.’

  ‘Don’t look so agitated,’ Gerald teased when she reached his side moments later.

  ‘I’m not agitated,’ she argued with an anger that was directed mainly at herself as she looked about her. ‘Where’s Sanet?’ Gerald gestured with the hand that held the can of beer. ‘Over there talking to Vivien O’Brien and a collection of mothers whose children happen to be in her class.’

  Olivia’s eyes followed the direction he was pointing in and, as she glimpsed Sanet’s gently glowing features among those of the other women, she turned back to Gerald and said: ‘Don’t neglect her this evening, will you?’

  ‘I don’t intend to,’ he smiled, not taking his eyes of Sanet. ‘There’s something indefinably different about her this evening,

  don’t you think?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re just seeing her for the first time in a different light,’ Olivia replied absently, her glance going involuntarily towards the verandah where Bernard and Ilona stood close together, apparently engrossed in conversation.

  Something hard and painful lodged itself in her chest as she dragged her anguished glance away to stare down into the crimson liquid as she raised it to her lips with a trembling hand. If to love someone meant one had to suffer agonies of mind and heart, then it was better not to love at all, she told herself, and to love Bernard King was certainly not what she had wanted. This love had been thrust upon her in the most unexpected manner, suddenly and forcefully, and she hated herself for letting it happen.

  The fires were lit as darkness fell and the pungent smell of wood burning permeated the air as coloured lights were switched on in the trees to illuminate the enclosed area. Olivia found herself mingling somehow with the other guests, and she guessed roughly that there could be thirty or more. A number of them she knew by name, but others were no more than familiar faces she had become accustomed to seeing in her shop. With Frances at her side most of the time, as well as Gerald and Sanet, Olivia began to relax and enjoy the evening, and later, when it came to roasting the meat over the open fires, the men took over, leaving the women to gossip. The subject most discussed was the Show in January, and the articles which would be entered. Bernard, she gathered, always entered his cattle, and sold most of them at the cattle auction afterwards, which was something everyone insisted she should attend.

  Considering that this was cattle country, Olivia was surprised to discover eventually that they had a choice of beef and mutton when it came to helping themselves to the food. Bernard appeared at her side as she circled the table with her plate, and her heart hammered wildly in her breast as she felt his arm about her waist, his hand warm against her side.

  ‘Stay close to me,’ he murmured, lowering his head towards her, but a stout-looking farmer drew him into a serious conversation concerning cattle breeding, and Olivia escaped unobtrusively, retiring to a quiet spot to enjoy her food with Frances sitting on the grass beside her chair, a heaped plate on her lap.

  ‘There’s going to be dancing a little later,’ Frances remarked eventually, and Olivia was still trying to hide her disbelief when two elderly men brought out their instruments, a guitar and piano accordion, and amid enthusiastic hand clapping, the tables were pushed aside and the music began.

  Peter, who had arrived some time earlier, swept Vivien into his arms and started the dance, then others followed suit as the bouncing melody set everyone’s feet tapping. Olivia did not lack partners, and almost fell into the arms of some of them when she happened to see Bernard approaching her. She did not want him to touch her, and dancing with him would merely remind her painfully of the few moments of shattering intimacy they had shared earlier that week.

  A rugged-looking farmer with a sunburnt face claimed Olivia for the third time since the dancing had started,
but a large hand came down on his shoulder in a firm but friendly manner, and held him back.

  ‘It’s my turn, I think,’ Bernard smiled mockingly down into her startled eyes, but the next instant she was drawn into his arms and found herself matching her steps to his across the smooth lawn. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ he asked eventually, lowering his head towards hers in a way that heightened her colour.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she managed, a breathless note in her voice as she strained against him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You’re holding me too tight,’ she gasped, her heart hammering so wildly against her ribs that she felt sure he must be able to feel it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, instantly relaxing his arm about her slender waist, ‘but if I’m holding you too tight, then it’s because I have no intention of letting you slip away from me again. ’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded, looking no higher than the top button of his V-necked safari jacket where a smattering of

  rough, dark hair was cleatly visible on his tanned chest.

  ‘Every time I’ve come near you this evening, you’ve darted away in the opposite direction,’ he accused, his breath warm against her forehead and sending little shivers of delight through her.

  ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘You know it is, so it’s useless to argue,’ he laughed briefly, drawing her closer to him so that their bodies touched, igniting a spark of unwanted emotion in Olivia. ‘Don’t disappear at the end of the evening, because I’m taking you home.’

  ‘Gerald will—’

  ‘Gerald is tied up quite nicely with Sanet Pretorius, and I don’t somehow think you’ll enjoy playing gooseberry,’ he interrupted firmly.

  A wave of helplessness swept over her, for she had forgotten how wrapped up in each other those two had become, but she would rather be an unwelcome third than have Bernard take her home, she decided. ‘I don’t think they would object—’