Fair Horizon

by Rosalind Brett

  Down at the crossroads, which branched to several farms, the school site presented an encouraging appearance. The foundations had already been dug and several natives, spared from their usual work in the fields, mixed concrete and tipped it into the channels.

  "If the rain has cleared for good we'll have the whole building complete within six weeks," said Roy. "You and I ought to go into Nairobi for equipment, and to engage a teacher."

  "I thought you planned to advertise."

  "There's one person I'd like to try, first. Some people I used to stay with in town had a daughter who was training in Cape Town for teaching. A couple of mails ago I heard from Mrs. Lawson that Nova is back in Kenya. What her plans are I don't know, but I mean to find out. If she's the right sort we'll offer her every inducement to come here and take over."

  "You've never seen the girl?"

  "No." He smiled disarmingly. "In the picture that stood on the piano in Mrs. L awson's lounge she was dark and thin—not very old but eaten up with teenage ideals at the time it was taken, I should say. It's possible she still has them, of course, but I'd prefer to engage someone born and bred in the country. Less likely to jib at conditions."

  AT the weekend another spell of rain set in, and this time there was no Mark to banish the fretting monotony. Mark had taken advantage

  of the dry interval to make a trip to Nairobi. He, who could read weather portents days ahead, must have known that more rain was on the way, and apparently he had no intention of wading through another month of damp boredom.

  The days dragged, leaden as the teeming sky, till three weeks had passed. Then the long rains petered out, and the sky took on the cool blue of June, while the dark hours became incredibly chilly Just after tea on the third day of brilliant sunshine, a man came running with a message from Mrs. Harding. Her husband had badly injured himself at the sawmill and she'd be grateful for assistance.

  "We'll both go," said Elizabeth promptly to Justin. "Harding's a heavy man. We may need your help, and besides, a worried woman always feels better with a man about. Karen can stay here with Keith. You won't mind, will you, pet? And if we're late, don't get anxious. Elsa Harding's the nervous sort."

  Karen saw them off in the bush car and went back indoors to take up Gulliver's Travels where she and Keith. had left them the night before. Presently, the room darkened, and Jimmy moved quietly from one end of the room to the other, setting a match to the two lamps.

  "Bedtime," Karen said, laying the book aside with a yawn. Reading aloud always made her sleepy. "What do you want for supper?"

  "A glass of milk and four cookies. Do I have to clean my teeth tonight?" "Every night," she answered decisively.

  When Keith had gone through his ritual and the house was quiet, Karen sat with her sewing, the fire warm upon her legs.

  The crunch of a car on the drive broke into her reverie.

  "Jimmy," she called, "will you make the coffee and lift the casserole from the oven?"

  Her work thrown aside, she got out a supper cloth and cups and saucers. They'd be glad of an early meal after the ordeal with poor Elsa Harding. But a second before the door swung open she knew that neither Elizabeth nor Justin stood there. Spoons grasped in one hand and the sugar bowl in the other, Karen stayed momentarily transfixed.

  Mark said, "Sorry to intrude, Kitten. I've brought you an unexpected guest. Inga, this is Miss Ainsley—Mrs. Sanderfield."

  In a small voice Karen said, "How do you do? Won't you come in and sit down?"

  Inga Sanderfield smiled, a practised widening of full red lips, and gracefully sank her long slim figure into a well-cushioned corner of the chesterfield. The slate blue of her short-sleeved linen suit accentuated a sultry quality in her eyes. Her features were longish and perfect; her hair, worn in a heavy coil right round her head, had that silky, wheaten quality peculiar to Scandinavian women. Yes, Karen told herself, Inga was beautiful. The exquisite texture of her skin, the pink of her cheeks, the whiteness of her teeth, combined to

  remind one of the eternal loveliness of the snows of Sweden. But snows had been known to hide volcanoes.

  "Where's Elizabeth?" asked Mark. "I want to ask her to put Inga up for the night."

  Karen took a startled glance at her hands which still gripped spoons and sugar bowl and moved to the table. "She and Justin are at the Hardings'. Mr. Harding had an accident. I—I think we can manage to sleep Mrs. Sanderfield. She can have my room and I'll use the camp bed in Keith's."

  "That's a relief. You'd like a wash, wouldn't you, Inga?"

  "Please." The voice was husky and alien. "You Will wait, Mark? I wish for a few more words."

  "Of course I'll wait."

  Languidly, with a backward smile at Mark, who was helping himself to the coffee Jimmy had brought, Inga followed Karen into the bedroom. "There's fresh water in the jug, and the pink towels are clean," Karen said quickly. "I'll change the bed linen when you've finished. Is there anything else you'd like?"

  "No. No, I think not. You are kind."

  Karen said, "Well, if there's nothing else you need—" and left Inga to tidy up.

  IN the lounge, Mark said, "Fixed Inga up? It's good of you to give up I your bedroom. I dare say the Winchesters could have taken her with less trouble—their place is bigger—but Evelyn probes. I don't like your having to do this, especially for a stranger." For the first time he looked directly at her. "What's wrong, Kitten? You look as though someone had stroked your fur the wrong way."

  "Don't call me that!" she cried.

  Frowning, he set down his cup. `You're very temperamental all of a sudden. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." Except that she was obscurely angry at him for bringing Inga to the house. "Would you prefer sandwiches with the coffee, or will you wait and have dinner with us?"

  "Neither, thanks." He was still gazing down at her, the green very apparent in his eyes. "Kenya's not such a catch after. all, is it, when you're stuck on a plantation in the rains miles from anywhere. But I hardly thought it would bring you to screaming point. Why don't you take a week off in Nairobi? There's nothing like a spell in Town to make you appreciate the quiet places."

  She refilled his cup and turned away. "Have you had a good holiday?" she asked offhandedly.

  "Not too bad, but I dislike living in hotels. Inga offered to turn out of my house while I was there, but I couldn't let her do that. What have you been doing with yourself?"

  "The usual."

  "It's made you rather short-tempered." He picked up her piece of embroidery. "What's this thing you're always stitching?"

  "A luncheon mat. I'm making a set."

  "How many?"

  "Twelve altogether."

  "Towards your trousseau?"

  "For Elizabeth. One generally waits till there's a fiancé in the offing before embarking on linen for a trousseau."

  "You've been here about five months, haven't you?" with a faint smile. She nodded.

  "No strings yet?"

  Karen's mouth set, painfully. He had spoken with playful mockery, wrinkling his nose in a way that made her want to lift a finger and smooth it over the arrogant curve and perhaps brush it lightly across his lips. No strings, when her heart itself reached out to bind him. She managed a stiff, responsive smile. "In view of your ideas on women and marriage, you won't blame me if I refuse to answer that."

  "Which means that you can't give me a straight No. I hope he deserves. you. Come on, now. Forget the tribulations of young love. If you could but realise it, this business of relations between the sexes is a comparatively simple problem at twenty-one. It is as you grow older and more critical that complications crop up."

  "Is that the reason for your armour of cynicism?"

  "Don't you like it?" he grinned. "It's a quality you could do with a little of yourself. You take everything far too seriously Like most settlers, you came here determined to do your bit to help the country. A laudable ideal, but the efforts have to be harnessed."

  "I suppose y
ou're hinting at the school," she replied coolly. "If you're still so set against it, why do you help?"

  "Can't you guess?" he said softly, teasingly.

  Karen wished it were true that he did it for her. She didn't know if she was glad or sorry that Inga chose that moment to come back into the room. "That is much better," she said, "to have washed off the Kenya dust. Tired, Mark?" The final inquiry was infused with solicitude. "It is very wearying to drive so far without a break, but you are indefatigable. I envy you."

  "You needn't, my dear Inga. Take another look in your mirror," he advised. "Perhaps you had better tell me those last few words that were on your mind."

  Inga cast an oblique glance at Karen. "If you are going now, I will come to the car with you. Miss Ainsley will excuse us?"

  "Certainly," said Karen swiftly. "Good night, Mark."

  "Good night, little one."

  AS they walked out into the scented night, Inga took Mark's arm. "I like your country. It is so sunny and vital." "We have everything. If you should feel homesick for Sweden you can live in an igloo on Mount Kenya for a couple of months."

  She shook his arm. "Always you joke. I am serious tonight. You know why I come to Guaba?"

  "Frankly, I don't. The Patersons can only put you up for a night or two—and at some inconvenience."

  They had reached the car before she spoke again, and now there was a tremulous note in her voice. "You are my only real friend in Kenya. Oh, yes, I know there are many in Nairobi who come to my parties and call me friend, but they are acquaintances that come and go. Where will they be when my money is ended?"

  "Is it like that?"

  She heard the concern in his voice and was clever enough to answer with a wordless gesture of helplessness.

  "I hadn't guessed," he said. "George always had plenty. You must let me help you."

  "I knew you would say that, but I will only be helped—how is the English? —to help myself. I have been thinking about this land you have bought for planting. May I buy a half share and help to run it? I mean it, Mark. Since I decided to come back to Kenya it has been in my mind to go partners in a farm. You I can trust."

  "I'm not a farmer."

  "You I can trust," she repeated with a tiny, bleak shiver, and the hand she laid on his quivered ever so slightly.

  "Don't worry," he said. "We'll sleep on it and talk it over again tomorrow. I don't see why you shouldn't farm, if you want to."

  With a husky good night in Swedish, she turned and left him.

  In the kitchen, Karen was trying to concentrate on whipping a bowl of cream to serve with the tinned compote. Rigidly she kept well away from the window, but Inga's flush when she came in, and the sparkle of triumph in those sultry eyes, confirmed her conviction that this woman was determined to marry Mark. And with her mature beauty and experience and tricks, Karen could think of no reason at all why Inga Sanderfield should not succeed.

  Inga Sanderfield stayed two nights. The whole of the day following her arrival she spent at Grassa with Mark, and the next morning she started back for Nairobi in his car, driven by the imperturbable Hanim.

  "Her accent's rather fascinating," remarked Elizabeth. "Quite a change from Continental broken English."

  Her husband gave his slow laugh. "She called me Yustin."

  "And told you that farmers are the salt of the earth," retorted Elizabeth. "Don't preen, darling. She's like that with all the men, except Mark Howard. He needs more subtle handling. Her clothes are lovely," she added inconsequently.

  "Was George Sanderfield wealthy?" Karen asked for something to say.

  "According to Evelyn Winchester, he was a man of leisure and a staunch friend of Mark's. Apparently Mark and he were on safari together when George caught blackwater fever. Somehow Mark got him back to Nairobi alive, but the poor fellow had had a lot of malaria, and the blackwater finished him."

  "Was Inga there?"

  "She was at the Cape with friends. Mark went down by plane and brought her back. After that he held her hand through all the proceedings, flew with her to Cairo, and put her on a plane for home."

  "I wonder why she has returned to Kenya?"

  "That's anyone's guess, but it's Evelyn's opinion that she and Mark have been corresponding. The year demanded by convention has passed, and she's once again in circulation. Quite a situation, isn't it?"

  ROY had received instructions to report to his chief in Nairobi. "I hope they're not thinking of transferring me to another district just as the

  school is taking shape," he said to Karen. "I don't think they will, but if they do, will you go ahead with it as far as you can? I'll get back and help you whenever it's possible."

  "What about the teacher you were going to look up?"

  "I'd forgotten her for a moment. Look here, can Elizabeth spare you for a few days' visit to Nairobi? We did say we'd go together. Even if I'm transferred. I'll bring you back, and if you're there we can decide things. Besides, you've been so patient and understanding that I'd love to show you round Nairobi, if you'll let me."

  "It's nice of you, Roy, but—"

  "No buts. We'll both ask Elizabeth."

  Elizabeth, of course, was delighted with the idea. "You're not planning a quiet wedding, are you?" she demanded, her eyes twinkling. "As it happens, I mean to be in on it."

  "No such luck," groaned Roy theatrically. "The woman won't have me."

  It may have been the complete contrast with the quietude of the farm that made Karen so grateful for the week in Nairobi. She stayed at one of the smaller hotels in an avenue lined with palms and eucalyptus. Her bedroom looked out over a garden rioting with tropical and sub-tropical plants such as plumbago, frangipani, hibiscus, datura, and coral vine, and straight below lay a small bed of pink and red carnations, whose scent rose strongly, especially in the cool of evening. Each night she danced with Roy and others in one of the hotels, or at the club, and the days were crowded with sightseeing, short drives round the city, and a couple of polo matches.

  One evening at the club, she saw Inga Sanderfield surrounded by friends of all ages, predominantly male and adoring. To Karen she accorded a noncommittal nod, but later she deliberately crossed the room between dances, to flicker her sultry glance over Karen's simple dress and to

  inquire after Mr. and Mrs. Paterson. "Never will I forget their kindness to me," the thick, sweet voice stated. "I hope one day they will come to my house in Nairobi, so that I may show them my gratitude."

  Just as Karen thought she was going, Inga alluded to Mark. "We keep in touch, of course, but he never mentions his bridge. How is it going, the perfect piece of engineering?"

  "I haven't seen it."

  "No? I thought you and Mark were friends. He called you `Kitten'."

  So she, Karen Ainsley, had caused a pang, albeit brief, in the breast of Inga Sanderfield. Karen could have laughed at the absurdity had it not possessed an element of heartbreak. For a moment she was tempted to look enigmatic and shrug her shoulders. Instead, she said, "We have no reason to go to Grassa, though Keith, the little boy, rides down often. Mark visits us about once a week."

  "So frequently?"

  The nerve of the woman! Nevertheless, Karen explained, "Mark is taking on a farm next to Justin's. The two men have plenty to talk over."

  "Ah !" A small, comprehending smile. "The farm. Our farm—Mark's and mine. It is going to have success, that farm."

  "You and Mark are joint owners?" Her own voice sounded distant in Karen's ears.

  The blonde head inclined. "Soon I will come to inspect the groundnuts. My friends tell me I am lucky to go in on—how is it?—the bottom floor, with Mark as my partner."

  As Karen could summon no reply to this, Inga strolled into the middle of a nearby group, leaving behind a sting and a gust of expensive scent.

  it seemed, was to be withdrawn from Guaba for two months, during

  which time he would act as relief to a colleague in Mombasa who had gone sick. On the Friday morning of tha
t week, he drove Karen out to the Lawsons' villa on the Nyeri road.

  In contrast to her homely mother, Nova Lawson was thin and dark-eyed, and about Karen's age. She had-come back to Kenya, she told them frankly, because she had failed her finals and refused to stay and take them again. "My parents have already given up enough for my education," she said a little defiantly. "I'm a receptionist at an hotel in town, and I like the work."

  'You'd rather teach, though," said Roy, assuming his most winning expression. "You look the sort who'd wade through finals with no trouble at all."

  Nova's short, thick lashes lowered. "Others told me so, too. Perhaps that's why I did no last-minute cramming. Well, I had to give it up. I'm not sorry."

  Roy plunged into his proposition. Karen, listening and watching the girl, noticed a guarded, eager light creep into the thin face. "You'd take me on without a degree?"

  "I bet you know a heap more than I do," said Roy.

  It was finally arranged that Nova should give notice at the hotel and let Karen know when she would be free to start at Guaba. She would live with the Winchesters, but the living-room at the schoolhouse was hers, too, whenever she felt the need for privacy.

  "That's grand," exclaimed Roy, when he and Karen were driving back to Nairobi. "Not a bad girl, is she? A bit of a dark horse, I should say, but genuine." After a pause, he added, "I wonder why she fluffed her finals? A girl like her wouldn't need last-minute cramming. I'll wager there's more to it than she has ever told her mother. From what I've heard she made rings round everyone at college. I suspect there was a man."

  "Be thankful we have her. Her private life isn't your business," Karen defended the absent Nova.