The House Called Green Bays

by Jan Andersen

  As Dinga took their horses from them in the yard Roger said, “I should put some lotion on your arms if I were you, Tracy, you’ve got the beginning of some nasty sunburn.”

  She was about to retort that her arms were perfectly all right when she glanced down and noticed the ugly pink patches for the first time.

  “All right, tell me again that I should have taken your advice and worn long sleeves!”

  “You should,” he replied calmly. “I’ll see you later. And if I were you I should have a good rest this afternoon.”

  Oh, darn the man! He was doing his best to try to prove that a girl was incapable of coping with a job.

  Noni saw her arms and exclaimed in horror, scuttling into the kitchen to return with a bottle of pink lotion. “You put this on, missie, or you will have a very bad time. How could Mr. Roger have let you go out for the riding without telling you to cover your arms? Oh, I shall scold him! I shall tell him...”

  “No, please, Noni, don’t say anything,” she said quickly. “It was my fault entirely. I ... I didn’t realise the sun would be quite as strong. Do you think I could have a spot of lunch now, so that I could sleep for an hour in the early afternoon?”

  “Of course, missie, you shall have it now. Just sit straight down and I’ll bring it to you.”

  Tracy intended to do exactly as she said, eat and sleep for just an hour, then get out to the orchards to start work. But to start with she slept for more than two hours, and when she woke her arms throbbed and her whole body ached from the unaccustomed riding. She cursed her own stupidity, but knew it would be senseless to try to go out again today. Instead she went downstairs, made a cup of tea and took it into the study in a determined effort to go through the rest of her father’s papers.

  The next week disappeared in a flash. When she had told Roger she wanted to take her full share of the work he had looked at her thoughtfully for a moment as if to assess the truth behind her words, then had decided to throw her in at the deep end. He explained that during March the main jobs were clearing the orchards of the wet season’s growth of grassand weed, and preparing for winter irrigation. Since the last couple of ‘wet’ seasons had been unusually dry correct irrigation was vital. He showed her what the men were supposed to do. She spent two days at his elbow while he planned out the work, then abruptly he said to her, “Well, I’ll leave the rest of the supervision to you. Ask me if there’s anything you want to know.” But she gritted her teeth and said, “I’ll manage.” She fell into bed each night, exhausted, but refusing to admit it aloud. Although she wore slacks and a shirt and a shady hat she was growing as brown as a berry. At the end of the first week, she realised she was becoming a little less tired each day, she was feeling healthier than she had done for years and was beginning to grow excited about the prospects for Green Bays.

  Early one afternoon when Tracy and Roger were finishing lunch, a small red sports car turned in the drive, and when it stopped, Julia Lawson got out.

  She was impeccably dressed in ice-blue slacks and matching shirt. Her smooth blonde hair looked as if it had come directly from a West End hairdresser.

  “Hello there,” she called. “I came to see if you two had forgotten how to swim.”

  As Roger pushed back his chair and rose to his feet Tracy happened to glance at him. He might not approve of the Lawsons, as a family, but he certainly approved of Miss Julia Lawson personally.

  “I’ve been working Tracy too hard,” he admitted. “She could do with a break.”

  “Then come over this afternoon,” Julia turned her bright blue eyes on them both. “I have some friends driving up from Barberton. They’d like to meet you, Tracy. You English always seem to charm people.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Tracy laughed, “but I’d certainly like to come for a swim. How about you, Roger?” She turned to him questioningly.

  He seemed to hesitate, then shook his head. “I’d like to, but I can’t afford the time this week. I haven’t finished the crop estimate, and it’s also time the early samples were sent in.”

  For some reason Tracy felt herself growing exasperated. As far as she knew he had not taken one day off since she arrived. No man could be that conscientious over someone else’s property, so reluctantly she was beginning to wonder if it was all for her benefit.

  In a cool voice she retorted, “Then if you can’t spare the time, Roger, then naturally I can’t either. It wouldn’t be right, would it?”

  “There’s no need...”

  “I know there’s no need,” she met his glance with her own challenging one, “but for either of us!”

  “All right,” he said curtly, looking at Julia, “we’ll come over for an hour around five.”

  Julia’s friends, Tracy decided, must have been cut from the same mould. They were young, attractive, obviously wealthy and with faint outward signs of brittleness as if the real world was passing them by. Nevertheless Tracy enjoyed herself. She had seen few young people lately and it was pleasant to be gay and forget all the responsibilities of Green Bays for a couple of hours.

  Afterwards, lazing in the sun, she found herself talking to Dick White, the most friendly of the visitors, who had driven up with his wife, Julia’s old school friend, from the Cape a few days ago.

  He wanted to talk about England, telling her he would like to spend a few years there before he settled down for good in the family business.

  “Are you a citrus farmer too?” Tracy asked.

  “Lord no, I can barely tell a Navel from a Jaffa—and that’s a terrible admission from a South African. My grandfather was one of the original prospectors in the country, then he started selling diamonds instead of digging for them. My father finally turned the business into a straightforward jewellers. We have a branch in Cape Town, one in Durban and a small one in Kimberley for old times’ sake. Ever been to Kimberley?” She shook her head. “No, but everyone tells me I should. At least I did go there as a small child, but I don’t remember anything except the house we had, and even that’s a bit misty.”

  “Then you must have met some Kimberley inhabitants. They—and my father too, I think—believe that Kimberley is South Africa. Certainly most of the country’s wealth stemmed from there.” He frowned. “Jamieson, you said your name was—that somehow reminds me of Kimberley. Have you relatives down there?”

  “No, my father’s dead, there’s only my uncle left with that name ... oh, Uncle George, how silly of me! Can you remember who you knew with that name?”

  “Jamieson ... Jamieson, there’s something about the name that rings a bell, but why, or who it was, I can’t think.”

  “Please try,” she begged eagerly. “You see, my father’s brother George owns half this farm and he can’t be traced anywhere. We don’t even know if he’s alive or dead. But if you say you’ve heard the name Jamieson, then—well, it might be worth following up. There can’t be that many in this country...”

  He clapped a hand against his forehead in an effort to remember, but in the end he had to say, “I’m sorry, but if I did know the answer, it’s gone now. I’ll tell you what, though, I’ll be spending a few days in Kimberley in the next couple of weeks, I’ll ask around and see if the name means anything. It’s a small place and people tend to know each other. I might be lucky.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Tracy said gratefully. “It’s very difficult not even knowing where to start.”

  While the others went in for a final swim Tracy wandered across the garden to admire the magnificent view of the mountains beyond the citrus orchards. The enormity of the Lawson estate was too big to grasp. “Admiring my trees, eh, Miss Jamieson?”

  She spun round to find Paul Lawson watching her with narrowed eyes.

  “Why ... why, yes, Mr. Lawson.”

  “About one hundred thousand trees here, you know. We’ve got a nice little set-up. Used to be the envy of your father.”

  “I’m proud of Green Bays, Mr. Lawson,” she said loyally. “I know it’s much
smaller than yours, but it’s still a fine farm.”

  “Oh, indeed, it has possibilities, I’m not denying it, but you’ve got no room for expansion.”

  “You want to buy it, don’t you, Mr. Lawson?” she said bluntly.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say no, and it’s not only to increase my own acreage. It’s to save you a lot of heartache.”

  “Oh?” She looked at him uncertainly. “I don’t think I understand.”

  “Well, to begin with, your young man’s ambitious.

  He wants a farm of his own, had high hopes of yours that were dashed. How long do you think he’s going to stay around? And if he leaves, what will you do?”

  “I don’t think I can worry about that until it happens,” she answered more bravely than she felt. What would she do if Roger went? She would have no idea how to select the right sort of replacement.

  “Well, it’s up to you, Miss Jamieson,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I’d make you a good offer now, but later ... well, that’s a different thing. With an unreliable manager many things could go wrong with a fruit farm. Like rearing a lot of delicate children, you know?”

  “What could go wrong, Mr. Lawson?”

  “Well, for instance, you might keep an eye on your eastern orchard. Signs of red scale there, and once you’ve got that your troubles are really beginning. Enjoy your swim, Miss Jamieson, come over whenever you like.” With a wave of the hand he was gone, striding back towards the farm buildings.

  She went thoughtfully back to join the others, who were still sitting round the pool talking and laughing. Only Roger seemed apart, as if he did not quite belong. But there was no awkwardness or resentment in his pose, only the faintest air of boredom.

  He was different, she had learned that very fast, but she was not sure that she admired that difference. The bluntness, the almost belligerent desire for independence, the indifference to other people’s opinions—for that matter the belief that his own opinions were always right. Yet, even while she silently criticised him, she wondered just how many of the bright, relaxed people here would have behaved with such calm presence of mind with a dangerous animal poised over their heads.

  “Did you want to go, Roger?” she asked, sensing his restlessness and not wanting this time to be told to go home like a child who had overstayed its welcome.

  “I think I’d better,” he answered, and they both offered their thanks to Julia, who looked put out that Roger at least refused to stay on for a drink. Tracy found it difficult to assess exactly how deep their friendship lay. He gave little of his feelings away—except for that brief look of stunned admiration when Julia drove over earlier.

  On the way home Tracy said curiously, “Don’t you ever take any time off?”

  He laughed and for a moment looked young and relaxed. “Of course, but I’m a doer rather than a watcher. I see no point in sitting around doing nothing but chatter uselessly when there’s work to be done. Do you?”

  “Well, no, I don’t,” she admitted, “but...”

  “But you’ve never seen me leave the farm? Well, that’s true, at this time of year. It’s my first crop and I’d never forgive myself if anything went wrong at this stage.”

  She was about to ask what red scale was and thought better of it. But when they got home she dug amongst the technical books and found a large coloured photograph of an orange stricken by the red scale insect. Its skin was covered with disfiguring blemishes. No packing station would accept an orange like that; she had already learned how strict the government was over its fruit. Whatever the actual orange was like, none but the most perfect-looking could be exported.

  Still carrying the book, she slipped out of the house, making her way to the eastern orchard. Once she glanced furtively behind her, imagining human movements in the soft evening rustle of the trees.

  She was not entirely certain what she was looking for. The picture showed an orange in an advanced stage of the disease. If there was anything wrong in Green Bays’ oranges they would certainly not have reached this state from neglect. For neglect it seemed to be that caused the trouble.

  She went from tree to tree examining the green, ripening fruit, plunging her hands through the glossy leaves, searching them for the faint, first disfiguration. She looked at the book again, but it only appeared to be helpful if you knew what you were about.

  Mr. Lawson must have been imaging things—or else he was trying to scare her. She was about to turn for home when a lean brown hand reached from behind her and took the book. He glanced down at the damning page and looked at her with an extraordinary expression.

  “Well,” he said at last in a flat voice, “are you satisfied that I haven’t been neglecting my job? This afternoon I understood you were accusing me of being too particular. What made you change your mind?” Before she could answer, he added, “No, don’t tell me, our friend Lawson dropped the suggestion in your ear that some of the fruit at Green Bays might be suffering from red scale.”

  Tracy wanted to apologise, but the humble words stuck in her throat and instead she matched anger with anger. “Who asked you to come spying on me?” she flared. “This is ray farm, do you understand? If I want to come and look at my fruit and find out for myself that it’s not diseased, then what right have you to follow me?”

  “For those reasons, none at all,” he answered quietly.

  “Well, what other reasons could there be?”

  “A leopard? They haven’t caught it yet and there might be a danger at dusk. How was I to know you weren’t going to walk farther?”

  For just a moment she was floored, then anger took over again. “Well, you seemed to know why I had the book and what I was doing.”

  “It didn’t take long to discover that! Your father was an honourable man. He had the idea that most people were like himself—innocent unless proved guilty. It’s a pity his daughter doesn’t take that view.” He turned on his heel as if to go, then added, “Oh, and by the way, I’d like to add something that you may not have found in the book yet. One of the things that does harm oranges at this stage is to handle them with bare hands. Our pickers use gloves.”

  She made no answer. She could only gaze after his diminishing figure, ashamed and appalled.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRACY could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned, fighting both heat and sleeplessness, instead of giving in to it. Perhaps she was wrong, after all, to think she could keep Green Bays. Perhaps she simply did not have the temperament for this kind of life. It might solve everything if Roger did go and find a farm of his own. At least they would not be continually rubbing each other up the wrong way.

  The awful thing was she had known it was mean and deceitful to jump on Lawson’s hint of disease. She should have gone straight to Roger and tackled him with it. To be called dishonourable ... that hurt. That really did hurt. And yet she had hit back, all the time, instead of admitting she was in the wrong.

  She dozed off at last, into a light uneasy sleep, to be woken with a shuddering start by what sounded like an explosion. She sat up, waiting, fearful of what might happen next.

  She was looking directly out of the window when the fork of lightning ripped across the sky. The next thunderclap boomed through the roof.

  Oh, God, no, not thunder like that! She was terrified of it, yet had never heard it loud like this. She grabbed her housecoat and made her way down to the kitchen, hoping that in its homely surroundings she would forget her old fears.

  But at the next clap she sat heavily on a chair, rigid, afraid to move again. The awful emptiness of the house added to her terror. Surely Noni could not be sleeping through this? Yet even now her pride forbade her going to wake a servant to ask for protection. She did not know how long she sat there immobile as the thunder crashed round the sky. Her hands ached from pressing them harder and harder to her ears. Her whole body was damp with sweat. Oh, please let it stop, please.

  The back door was pushed open and Roger took in the situation at
a glance. “It’s moving away, Tracy,” he said, snapping on the light, which she had been afraid to touch. “Here, put my jacket round your shoulders, you’re shivering.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and gladly took the drink of water he offered her.

  “Brandy?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be all right in a moment. I’d forgotten I was so stupid about thunder.”

  “Well, it is rather nerve-racking out here,” he said gruffly, “our storms are short but vicious.”

  Gradually Tracy regained control of herself, bitterly ashamed that she had made her weakness so apparent to Roger. Then Noni timidly put her head round the door, woken not by the thunder but by the voices downstairs. She too took in the situation and announced that she would make tea for them both.

  The thunder had almost disappeared, rumbling occasionally round the mountain, but the rain came down with abrupt and stunning force.

  “Rain,” said Tracy, walking to the window. “You said we were going to be in trouble if this season was as dry as the last.”

  “Yes, we could do with it about three days solid, but I doubt if that will happen. We need...” He stopped suddenly, his ear cocked to a slight change of sound. “No, it can’t be ... no!” He ran out to the terrace, and Tracy, worried by the anxiety in his tone, rushed after him.