by Peter Rimmer
Harry checked the buildings rising in straight lines. He went down to the brick kilns that were burning the brush from the trees he had torn out of the soil the previous year. Everywhere he found intense activity. The long seedbeds had been prepared in a closed off area, sanitised by burning more of the brush over the turned soil to kill insects and worms that would otherwise eat the tobacco seedlings. The sun was almost down, and some of the labourers had already gone back to the village of grass huts that had sprung up on the banks of the Mazoe River a mile downriver from the family compound. The big, wide-brimmed hat had kept off the sun all day but his sweat had soaked the grey-green felt of the hat. His face was filthy from all the times he had wiped the sweat from his brow. His shirt was soaked through with perspiration, and the part of his legs between the bottom of his khaki shorts and socks was covered in the fine red dust of Elephant Walk. The socks had sunk unnoticed to his ankles long ago. Climbing up onto his horse for the last time that day, he turned to go home, the idea of the first drink already screaming in his head. The stallion broke into a gallop, sensing the end of the working day. From the cluster of newly thatched huts down by the river, the drums began to play. Only in years to come was Harry to know that when the drums stopped beating there was trouble on the way.
By the time Harry reached the family compound, there was no warning of the visitors. Tembo had taken the three horses down to the stables for a rub-down and a feed of oats. Giving comfort to strangers included their horses.
Tina Pringle saw him for the first time through one of the screens she had watched earlier being slotted into place down the veranda by a black man in a white shirt and shorts and no shoes. The lamps had not been lit. With the fly screens in place, she was invisible from the outside, even though she stood with her face close to the screen. Everyone seemed to be off doing something and no one took any notice. He had got off the horse without any semblance of effort and handed the reins to a black man who went off in the opposite direction with the horse. Even at that distance across the lawn looking through the flowerbed-ringed trees, she sensed they were friends rather than master and servant.
Tina had no doubt in her mind it was Harry Brigandshaw striding across the lawn, slapping his bare legs once to rid them of the red dust. Halfway across he took off the big, wide-brimmed hat and she could see his face. His hair was long. Even in the last glow of the sinking sun, she could see his face was burnt the colour of mahogany by the sun. He was tall, probably close to six feet, she thought, and slim. But most of all he was lithe. Everything about him was easy. The walk, the knee slaps, the sureness of tread, the expectant smile on his face.
Then the screen door was pushed open and they were facing each other, the smile on Harry’s face turning from expectation to astonishment. She thought he even shook his head slightly to make sure. Their eyes locked, as a shaft of light burnt through the screens as the sun found a small gap in the clouds, before quickly sinking towards the horizon. Neither of them could speak. Then her brother came through from inside the house and the spell was broken.
“Hello. You won’t remember me and it’s all my fault.”
“Of course I do,” said Harry, finding normality. “You worked for Jack Merryweather. Did well for yourself. Albert Pringle, isn’t it?”
“You have an amazing memory,” said Albert.
“Not really. You’re quite famous, you know. Even though we’re in the sticks, we do sometimes read the Joburg papers.”
“This is my sister Tina. We’re on safari. Tina, this is Harry Brigandshaw. He’s the boss around here.”
“Don’t you believe it. My mother runs the show. Doesn’t miss a thing… Now there we go,” he said looking over his shoulder. “The sun is officially down. Light the lamps and let’s have a drink. I’ve been parched for a whisky for an hour. Been in the lands since the sun came up… You’re staying with us, I hope?”
“Yes we are,” said Tina sweetly, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue.
It was the first time in her life she actually felt weak in the knees in the presence of a man. He was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen. And when he bent over to light the first lamp with a long match he had found on the table she could see his eyes were blue. Which was when she sat down with a plonk to save herself any embarrassment. The room filled up and she was able to watch him from the safety of the couch. When he caught her looking at him she winked. She had recovered her composure. She was back in control.
When a very old man came onto the veranda with Henry Manderville and took over the conversation, Harry sat down next to her on the couch.
“Your brother says you can only have two drinks. Here’s the first one.”
“Oh, does he? We’ll see about that, old cock.”
“I’ve met your mother and father. Stayed with Robert St Clair in ’07. We were up at Oxford together. Albert was then in London. A brother in Australia. Where were you, Miss Pringle?” His blue eyes were smiling at her, full of mischief.
“In and around… Don’t you remember the little girl with Barnaby?”
“I remember Barnaby had a friend.”
“That was me. I was about nine then. Grown a bit, don’t you think? Has anyone told you you’re plain gorgeous.”
“Not that I remember,” he said, laughing to cover his embarrassment.
“Well, you are… You goin’ to show Tina the farm tomorrow?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, I’d like all right… Just the two of us… Mind if I call you Harry?”
“Not at all.”
“That’s good… That’s nice. Cheers, old cock. Down the ’atch… Now what the bloody ’ell was that?” The sound from the night which Tina knew well enough, still made the hair stand up on her neck.
“A lion. Probably a mile away. Sound travels far in the bush.”
“Who’s the old geezer?”
“Peregrine the Ninth.”
“Funny name.”
“He’s actually the ninth Earl of Pembridgemoor. Grandfather got it out of him.”
“Try and tell that to my brother. The bloody old earl you’re talking about is a fat old sponger. He’s on the board of Serendipity Mining and Explosives Company. Bert needed his name.”
“Now that is a bad coincidence. Forget what I said. You’re probably right. The old man over there has been telling tall stories.”
“There goes the lion again!… It’s quite nice when you know what it is.”
“And a mile away.” She had moved up an inch closer to him on the couch. She could feel the heat from his bare knee.
Across the room, Harry’s mother was in deep conversation with Benny Lightfoot. Tina thought the old lady had tarted herself up a bit. The hair was in place, and though the dress was out of fashion, Tina could see it had come from an expensive shop. Then Benny and Harry’s mother were coming towards them and Harry got to his feet.
“This is my son, Mr Lightfoot,” she introduced, “my son Harry. Mr Lightfoot’s an American, Harry, but he lives in Johannesburg. Been all over the world. Quite fascinating. I see you have been introduced to Miss Pringle. We’re going to sit down to supper tonight. At the dining-room table. I had your grandfather open the red wine, Harry. Not often we have company in these parts. It’s so nice to talk about something other than the farm and the war in France.”
From across the room, where he had been trying to catch his grandson’s eye picking up the wink for some time, Henry Manderville gave Harry a wink.
It was going to be a party, Tina thought, picking up the wink.
The long dining-room table had been made by Sir Henry Manderville from a piece of bush timber that was now known as Rhodesian Teak. The colour was a rich brown and shone from years of polishing. It had been made with loving care when Henry was trying to make himself useful. The Africans called the wood mukwa and it was as hard as nails. Henry remembered; he had done as much saw sharpening as wood cutting but the result still pleased him. Emily was at one end
of the long table with Benny on her right. At the other end, Harry had the girl Tina on his right. Madge might be pregnant with Barend Oosthuizen’s child on the new section seven miles away but Henry wanted a son by Harry to cement the new Rhodesian dynasty. The third generation in Africa would make them permanent. The girl was possibly too young and spoke with a dreadful Dorset accent, but that would change. Her brother, now in high finance, with a company listed on the London Stock Exchange, had most likely once spoken like his sister. In the bush where there was no one to raise an eyebrow, Henry found the directness of the girl a pleasant change. It had all happened rather fast, starting on the couch on the veranda during sundowners. He had never seen people more aware of each other from such a short acquaintance.
Peregrine had eaten his food, excused himself from the table, and gone off to bed, followed by Albert, who was making an early start in the morning. Peregrine could only manage two small glasses of whisky and a little white wine with the roast chicken. Henry was not looking forward to getting old. Mostly, Peregrine sat in a chair with his eyes shut, or he went to bed. It was good he had people to look after him. His days of living in the bush alone were finally over. Henry had walked his old friend to the new rondavel and then came back for a second helping of roast chicken. Tembo had been sensible and killed two birds. If there was anything over they would have it cold for lunch.
A message had come back from his granddaughter Madge, saying she was not feeling well, and if she felt better they would come over in the morning. Henry hoped nothing was going wrong. The marriage had been rushed. As soon as Alison had arrived from Cape Town, leaving her daughter Katinka behind in the Cape, they had gone off to the new missionary at Uncle Nat’s old church and had him read the banns of marriage. Three months after Barend came back from the wilderness he was married. Now he was going to be a father. It was all too fast for Henry’s comfort. A man didn’t change from being a wanderer overnight. For all intents and purposes, the man had been a vagabond. And now with the diamonds sold he was going to stay put in one place for the rest of his life and be a farmer. Henry could only hope and pray. The poor boy was being smothered by two women, his wife and his mother, competing for attention.
If no one came over by lunchtime, he would ride over and pay his granddaughter a surprise visit. It was all right for grandfathers to pay surprise visits. Part of their duty, he rationalised as he poured himself another glass of red wine. They had visitors. It was a dinner party. There were not too many yards to walk to find his bed. Being a little drunk was also good for grandfathers. For good measure, he gave Harry another wink. He left them to talk to each other. Harry to Tina. Emily to Benny. He was quite happy with his memories. It was enough for him to be part of the family. He had rather hoped Alison would be at the dinner party but he couldn’t have everything. He would definitely ride over in the morning. Pushing his glass away, he quickly got up from the table and left the room.
Barend Oosthuizen had come in from clearing the lands for breakfast. The idea of sending his breakfast out to the lands to eat watching the blacks never entered his head. If they didn’t do what they were told he boxed their ears when he came back, so watching them all day was a waste of time. He would leave that kind of farming to Harry Brigandshaw.
He had never been quite sure how much of Elephant Walk had belonged to his father. There was talk he had sold his share when the family had moved to the Cape and bought the farm Kleinfontein in the Franschhoek Valley that had been confiscated by the British after they hanged his father for treason.
He had managed to sell the diamonds with the help of Harry, and Emily had had the surveyors out from Salisbury to divide the farm. He had title to his six thousand acres of land, half what had been the farm Elephant Walk, capital enough to employ a gang of black men and build a house, and still not have to make a profit for five years. He had Madge, the only woman he thought he had loved in his life. He had a son or a son it surely would be. He had his mother living under his roof to assuage his guilt for running away from her. And it felt like they had put him in prison. Despite the wide open space, he was claustrophobic. He wanted to run away. Be on his own. But mostly, he did not want any part of the responsibility.
Dawdling over coffee on the veranda of the bush timber new house he had built with the gang, he saw the old man on his horse from a long way off. Coming to see what was going on. Why they had not ridden seven miles for dinner. The wooden floor was uneven in parts but it served his purpose. If he moved his chair he could stop it rocking on three legs. Why people couldn’t leave them alone he would never understand. Ungraciously, he got up from the chair when Sir Henry rode in and dismounted in front of the veranda. Barend was wearing long black trousers held up by braces. Over the braces, he wore a black waistcoat with the buttons undone. His big feet were covered by thick socks and the right sock had a hole in the heel. Since returning to Elephant Walk with Peregrine the Ninth he had put on weight and given up shaving. Shaggy hair, the colour of dirty sand, covered his face. Only the slate-green eyes commanded attention. He was a married man. The house was his. What did it all matter? They had finally trapped and caged him. Rudely, he waited for the old man to speak first.
Alison had watched from the kitchen and her heart sank. It had all seemed so wonderful at first. The son back from the wilderness. The young love come to fruition. The farm and the money from the diamonds. Madge so happy. So happy to be pregnant.
She watched her son get up from the chair in his stockinged feet, not bothering to put on his boots, which were next to him, not thinking of buttoning his waistcoat. The son she had loved was breaking her heart. He looked more like a caged animal than a man just married, expecting his first child. The man was miserable, plain to see. And there was nothing in the wide world she could do about it. Only the father they had hanged so long ago could make her son the man she wanted him to be. Only Tinus could have made him happy. Instead of going out to greet their guest, she began to cry. Not even her daughter was there to give her comfort. At the age of not yet fifty, she felt more like a hundred.
Remembering there was more to life than feeling miserable, Alison went into her bedroom to powder her nose. Even if he was Emily’s father, she was still a woman. Then she heard Madge retching from the bathroom and smiled. There was a grandchild of hers on the way. Tinus’s first grandchild. It made it all worthwhile. Checking in the mirror that her eyes were not puffy, and patting her hair, she took a deep breath as she prepared herself to face the morning.
Madge, hearing her grandfather’s voice from where she was squatting in the bathroom, got up and washed her face. Even though her stomach was sick from the baby, her face was radiant. She even loved being sick in the mornings from the baby. She was so in love that everything around her was beautiful. If the sky had fallen on her head she would have found in the clouds exquisite joy. She was blind to anything but happiness. Keeping her stomach under the power of her will, Madge left the bedroom to join her family. All her life she had had a special place in her heart for Grandfather Manderville. She knew to him she was special. She was his only granddaughter. Father’s liked to have sons. Grandfathers liked to have granddaughters. That was what he had told her when she was five years old. He probably told the boys much the same in reverse. But she loved him just the same. If only her father had not been killed by a rogue elephant her life would be perfect. She was luckier than any woman alive. They were going to call their farm New Kleinfontein after the one confiscated by the British. Barend thought it would lay a ghost to rest.
Alison had had the cook boy make a pot of tea and bring it to the veranda. Like all Rhodesian houses, the veranda ran the length of the house and was used for entertaining. She politely shook hands with Sir Henry Manderville. She made signs to Barend to put on his boots and button his waistcoat. The boy needed a good haircut and his beard trimmed. He reminded her of his father. She had seen the hole in the sock and would reprimand the wash boy for not having it darned. Maybe it was a new
hole. She hoped so. She had been a servant herself those long years ago. Harry’s nurse at Hastings Court, the ancestral home of the Mandervilles, bought by the Pirate, Madge’s other grandfather, now long dead and buried. And here she was entertaining the current Manderville baronet whose blood would be mixed with hers when Madge’s child was born. There were so many complications in life. The cup rattled a little as she gave Sir Henry his tea. She was in awe of the man’s ancestry, rather than the man. When he thanked her for the tea he looked her straight in the eyes. In someone else, she would have understood the look. She would have offered the baronet a second cup of tea but she knew her hand would be shaking.
Madge, not understanding the problem, poured her grandfather the second cup. She had taken his cup and saucer to the sideboard, which looked out onto the bush and the track that led to the family compound on Elephant Walk. The new house was in a hollow close to the Mazoe River where it flowed towards the distant hills. The farm was in a valley, ringed by a low range of mountains covered in msasa trees. It was the prettiest spot on the whole farm and she had chosen it herself. The bitch at Elephant Walk was with pups and soon three of them would be brought to New Kleinfontein. Her very own cat had refused to move to her new home. They had tried three times. Each time the cat had walked home the seven miles unscathed.
As she picked up the saucer with her grandfather’s second cup of tea her eye was caught by a horseman galloping fast down the track from Elephant Walk. Standing and staring, with the cup and saucer still in her hand, she recognised her elder brother. She put it down the on the tray and waited. She had never seen Harry ride so fast.
“What are you staring at, darling?” asked Henry Manderville.