The House Called Green Bays

by Jan Andersen

  “But that won’t be till May or June,” Tracy pointed out, “so it’s better for me to have some idea now so that I know where we stand. At the moment we send our fruit away, do we?”

  It was Alex who nodded. “Yes, to a central depot. It’s fairly satisfactory, but it wastes precious time. Of course you haven’t the labour to deal with this kind of operation, that’s what Father offered to help.”

  One of the staff called for Julia, so Alex and Tracy wandered out of the shed and back towards the house. “Won’t you come in for a little while” Alex asked. She shook her head. “I’ve had a lovely break, but I must get back. There’s so much to see to.”

  He put his hand on her arm. “Well, don’t forget to come and use the pool whenever you want to. Father insisted I should tell you that. With me away there’s really only Julia and her friends who use it, so you’d be doing us a favour. And, Tracy—”

  “Yes?” She paused, her hand on the car door.

  “I’m sorry things had to turn out so badly for your father. But I’m glad something brought you to White River.” His touch on her arm was warm and strong. “I’ll be in touch, to make sure you get an official invitation to the Park—soon.”

  She drove back to Green Bays feeling relaxed and happy. She was going to enjoy this new life. It might be hard at first, but there were many compensations. It was difficult to imagine herself sitting in a stuffy little office in London, where outside it would be still cold and blustery. With a pang she thought of her mother, but she had already written suggesting she should come out to White River as soon as she could clear things up in England. Before that happened she hoped that Mr. Rens would have taken the first steps to find Uncle George.

  As she drove in to the garage she caught sight of Roger only just trudging up from the orchards, and felt a pang of guilt that she should have slipped away so easily.

  Noni caught her as she was going upstairs to wash and change and asked what time she would like supper. Tracy told her to carry on just as she always did, then added casually, “In which part of the house does Mr. Louw have his room?”

  “Oh, missie, he does not live in this house. There is a little bungalow at the other side of the trees. He prefers to live there. But he comes over here for my cooking,” she finished with pride.

  Tracy smiled. “I’m not surprised. You’ll have to teach me one day, Noni.”

  “I shall be happy,” the other woman said seriously, “but it is quite unnecessary for you to think of cooking. I shall always be here to do it for you. It makes me very happy to look after the master’s daughter!”

  “Thank you, Noni. Well, we’ll eat at eight as usual, then.”

  When she came down into the small sitting room the lights were on but the curtains undrawn. Through the open window she watched the last streaks of light fade from the sky. Then she fetched the manual of fruit farming and waded on to the next chapter.

  “Enjoy your swim?” She was so engrossed that she had not heard Roger come in.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She saw that he had changed into long cotton trousers and jacket, but for some reason he was hesitating in the doorway. “It occurred to me,” he went on, “that you might prefer me to have my meals over at my own place. One of the boys can easily bring it over. Your father and I slipped into our own rather casual _ routine. But you may well want to change that. There’s no need for you to be polite about it.”

  “Of course there’s no need to change the routine,” she said, more sharply than she intended. It had taken her only a couple of days to learn how easily he could make her edgy.

  He came into the pool of lamplight and glanced down at her book. “Well, you’re sticking at it, anyway.”

  “Yes. I told you earlier that there was a lot for me to learn.” He crossed the room to pour himself a beer. She noticed he did not ask her what she would like to drink, but took it for granted that what he handed her would serve. She did not know quite what it was, but it had a pleasant, rather sharp flavour.

  She sipped it for a few moments, then said carefully, “Will you tell me please what exactly happens to our fruit once it’s picked?”

  He was suddenly very still, his glass halfway to his lips. Equally carefully, measuring up his words, he replied, “It’s collected daily in lorries and taken to a packing station at White River.”

  “Don’t we lose time by not having it done on the spot?”

  “Two or three hours maybe, but not enough to worry about. Your father had plans for building his own packing station in the next couple of years now that the fruit is getting established.”

  She sat for a moment thinking over what he had said, exactly what the Lawsons had told her, then decided it was better to be blunt with him. “Is there any reason,” she asked, “why we haven’t taken up the Lawsons’ offer to put our fruit in with theirs?”

  He put his glass down and walked over to the window. “So they’ve been getting at you. My God, it didn’t take them long!”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice under control. “They told me that my father was considering their offer, but that you appear to have vetoed it.”

  He swung round and looked down at her, his eyes black and fierce. “Your father, being a polite man, was trying to find a way of saying ‘no.’ Unfortunately he died before he was able to.”

  “How am I to know that?” she demanded.

  “You have to decide whether I’m telling the truth. In fact,” he came a step nearer, “you’re going to have to decide this quite often in the future. Either you believe what I say, or you believe the Lawsons. Take your pick. But I’d just like to know where I stand!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TRACY was so taken aback she did not know what to say. Yesterday she had thought they were going to settle their differences, that he had accepted her and was prepared to make the best of it. She had even briefly but foolishly imagined that they might be friends, when he had clumsily tried to compliment her.

  She took a deep breath at last and faced eyes that glowed like dark coals in that narrow, hawk like face. “You don’t give me much chance, do you? Anything to do with the Lawsons you jump on like a ton of bricks. What is your personal hate against them, anyway? Whatever it is I don’t see that you can force me to become involved until I see for myself that they don’t mean well.”

  He turned abruptly away. “I wish I could explain it. Just at the moment it’s only a feeling I have. I hoped you might trust me—after all, I’ve nearly as much reason to want Green Bays to prosper as you have.”

  In a more reasonable tone she replied. “If it’s to prosper, then I must learn, and if I’m to learn I must ask questions. All I want to know at the moment is what your reason is for not wanting to go in with the Lawsons.”

  “I’ve got no more reason than your father had,” he confessed. “Shall we just call it a desire for independence?”

  That at least made more sense, even if the desire was misplaced.

  While they were still facing each other, still wary, Noni came in and cheerfully announced that dinner was on the table, so it was time for a truce.

  “I’m sorry, Tracy, for that outburst,” he said, draining the last of his beer. “It’s a habit of mine to speak before I think. Tomorrow, before we think of making any decisions about the farm, it would be better if we did a full tour and I explained the reasons why we do things in certain ways. Then later you’ll be able to judge for yourself if they are right.”

  “All right,” she agreed, “that seems fair, but I just want you to know that I won’t be cutting myself off from the Lawsons yet. They’ve offered me the use of their pool to start with, and I don’t think I’ll be able to take this heat unless I find some kind of relaxation.”

  He made no comment to that, so for the moment peace lay uneasily between them, but the following day he was as good as his word, taking her on an extensive tour of the farm which lasted throughout the mornin
g. After asking her if she could ride, and she told him she could but was rather rusty, he produced two sturdy mares. He said that with over five hundred acres to cover he had found this was a better way than by truck. He also persuaded her that the best time of day to get started was before sunrise, soon after five. Privately the idea appalled her, but she knew there would be many more tests like this before Roger satisfied himself her intentions towards the farm were serious. So she set her alarm for four-thirty, splashed cold water over her face and struggled blearily into cotton slacks and a loose blouse. She took nothing with her but sun-glasses and a shady hat.

  In the kitchen she found fruit and cold milk, and with that inside her she was surprisingly awake.

  Out in the yard Roger was already checking on the horses with one of the head boys whom they all called Dinga. He was a big man with a broad smile and bright eyes that seemed to flick backwards and forwards as if afraid they would miss something. As a child he had suffered some injury to his mouth and only talked in short grunts, but, Roger told her, he was fanatically loyal to Green Bays and could be relied on to do almost anything

  He was holding the reins of Tracy’s horse which she was about to mount when Roger said, “I don’t want to start being difficult early in the morning, but you would be wise to wear long sleeves. In a couple of hours the sun is going to be hot, but hot.”

  “I know,” she said calmly, “but I’ve got my shoulders covered. My arms won’t bum.” But silently she cursed her forgetfulness. He was always so damnably right.

  The air was cool and fresh and the sky just beginning to lighten as they moved off through the sweet-scented corridors of dark green, shiny leaves, with Dinga a respectful distance behind. Roger rode in an easy relaxed fashion, looking completely at home on a horse. All Tracy wondered was whether she would be able to stay the course without showing the effects from her long absence from riding.

  There was nothing moving in the still cool air, but as the morning began to lighten so did the birds come to life, one song joining another until the whole valley rang with their joyful songs. In the distance was a strange howling noise, and when Tracy looked questioningly at Roger he said succinctly, “Hyena.”

  “Here? On the farm?”

  “No, but sound carries. We see very little actual animal life now that the area is so cultivated and most species have drifted of their own accord to the safety of the Parks, but at night we hear an occasional animal sound to remind us we’re in Africa.”

  At the beginning of each new grove Roger stopped and told her how old the trees were, what fruit they would be expected to yield and what had to be done to the crop in the next few weeks. As he explained things to her she was reminded of Julia yesterday, the same crisp exacting tone that only someone who knows the very heart of his subject can use. She wondered idly if one had learned from the other, or whether it came naturally to these farmers.

  They had ridden out of one stretch of orange groves, climbing slightly all the time, and now they were in a rough, uncultivated area of trees and tall dry grass. Single file they went along the narrow path, and somehow Tracy had drawn in front. From just behind her Roger said, “I had to bring you here because it was a favourite sport of your father’s, a few acres left wild that he called his own private bit of bushveld. It’s inaccessible except on horse or on foot. There are also some rather unusual trees growing here. That’s a Transvaal Ebony over there and just below it a white Seringa.

  One day he was going to do something with it, not grow fruit.”

  As he talked she looked about her with interest. It seemed suddenly she was plunged into the heart of wild Africa. Also there was complete silence except for Roger’s voice, then above it some strange jerky grunts from Dinga. Before she could turn round Roger said swiftly, very quietly, but in a voice that commanded instant obedience, “Tracy, pull gently on your reins and don’t move one single inch until I say so. Our lives depend on it.”

  She recognised that there was some hidden danger, but what kind she had not the slightest idea. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Her whole body was tense, still, but she could not stop her knees pressing agonisingly into the saddle. Otherwise she knew they would have begun to tremble.

  In the deathly silence the whole bush seemed prickly with menace. She had obeyed Roger instantly, but now she discovered she could of course move her eyes in a small circle without shifting her position.

  On one side the rough grass grew as high as the horse’s flanks. On the other there was mainly scrub. Still in her line of vision were the two trees Roger had pointed out and another taller one, a little further to the right. As her eyes fixed on that the colour of the lower branch changed from brown to a tawny orange; she saw spots, rosette-shaped spots that seemed to ripple, although the branch was motionless.

  Tracy had seen enough photographs of leopards to recognise this one.

  From the stiffening of her body Roger must have sensed her horror. She still did not move, but how long she would be able to look at that flat-looking head, those bright, sinister eyes without doing something, she did not know. Roger’s voice, hardly above a whisper, was remarkably calm. “Hold on, Tracy, he’ll tire before we do. Hold on tight, think about anything but what’s in the tree.”

  She tried, oh, how hard she tried, but her eyes were riveted to those rippling spots. It was difficult not to imagine that powerful body springing in majestic flight, those claws tearing away at flesh. She closed her eyes, but the image was as strong as ever.

  Think of England, mother, home, all the friends she had left. What would they be doing now? Did Susan marry her doctor after all? When would Mother decide to come out to White River? Oranges, acres and acres of oranges...

  She opened her eyes in time to see the tree begin to shake, as the huge body moved indolently. She thought, now, it’s going to jump. Her teeth were biting so hard into her lips that she could feel the warm blood in her mouth. But the leopard turned its back on them, and moved off unhurriedly through the bush in the opposite direction.

  “Wait,” commanded Roger. “Wait just one more minute.” Then when she thought she could bear it no longer, “Now just gently turn your horse round and follow me. Dinga will be behind you. Don’t try to hurry.”

  So they came back to the haven of the orange groves, hot, scented and infinitely beautiful, but still Roger rode on for another five minutes until there was a break between two groves and they could see in all directions. Then he dismounted and without a word helped her down. She thought she would have fallen, but he gripped her arms tightly. “Dinga!” he snapped, adding something in dialect. And a few seconds later he held up a small leather bottle to her. “Here, have a sip of this. It will stop your knees wobbling.”

  She took a mouthful of the brandy and it seemed to pull her together almost immediately.

  “Are ... you prepared for all occasions?” she asked shakily.

  Lightly he answered, “I always wanted to be a cowboy.”

  Their eyes met and smiled. “You were terrific,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know a girl could have quite so much courage.”

  “That wasn’t courage,” she assured him. “It was just plain terror. I don’t think I could have moved even if you’d told me to.”

  “Well, call it what you want. A leopard is a cunning animal—savage, too. Had any of us run for it, he would almost certainly have pounced.”

  “Is it usual to see wild animals around the farm? I understood they were all up at the Game Reserve?”

  “I promise you, Tracy, as far as I know that’s the first leopard to be seen for many years. Very occasionally they prowl at night... we’re not all that distant from the Reserve. But even there you’ve got to be lucky to see a leopard. By soon after sunrise they’ve usually gone to ground for the day. I shall have to tell the authorities as soon as we get back. How do you feel now?”

  “All right, I think.” She had found a patch of grass beneath one of the trees and was sitting dow
n, trying to fight off the fit of trembling that was threatening her.

  “Well, it’s as good a time as any to have a rest.” From a small pack on his horse he produced hard-boiled eggs, fresh rolls and fruit. “I think it would be a good idea for us all to catch our breath before we start for home.”

  “But I want to see the rest,” Tracy protested, determined not to give in.

  He gave her a long, hard look and shrugged. “Well, it’s up to you, but you had a nasty scare. You might find reaction will set in. In fact it undoubtedly will.”

  “I’m perfectly all right,” Tracy snapped, hardly aware that her tone of voice told him that reaction had begun to set in. A minute ago she had been about to tell him how grateful she was that his own calm reactions had saved the day, but now his insufferable certainty of his own superiority had taken over and the moment was lost.

  Afterwards they rode away from the orchards and into the grazing fields to see the small dairy herd that her father had been determined to build up. Roger explained that it would still take some time, but now the fruit was beginning to pay they could afford to give the cattle more time and attention.

  By the time they came back to the house for lunch Tracy was tired and a little bewildered by all she had seen. To think she was part owner of this seemed almost unbelievable. The responsibility was even greater. Roger had explained the enormous care that had to be taken with the crop, even at this stage in the season. She could hardly afford to antagonise him now, even if she wanted to. If he walked out ... the thought filled her with unreasonable panic. He had told her that the successful export of this year’s orange crop was vital to put Green Bays completely on its feet. Yet, looking round now at the acres of steadily ripening fruit, it was difficult to believe that anything could go wrong.