Dangerous Friendship

by Anne Hampson

  ‘Not until you’ve had a thorough rest! A week’s nothing, as Gerald told you last night when you began deploring your laziness, as you decided to term it. You came for a holiday, remember. If the holiday extends to a long stay, and that to permanency, then so much the better. But as yet, you’re on holiday—so there’ll be no gardening until you’re looking healthy and strong—and a good deal more rounded,’ she thought to add as her glance strayed to Lena’s figure. ‘Just take things easy; go for walks as you have been doing, then rest in between. I’m sorry I can’t be with you all the while, but, as you know, we’re two boys short and I’ve had to help in the fields. However, the boys are expected back tomorrow and I shall be able to spend more time with you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ returned Lena at once. ‘Naturally I’d love having your company, but I knew from the start that you wouldn’t be able to spend all your time entertaining me. I’m perfectly content, June, I assure you. I’ve really enjoyed being able to read, and to just sit and relax quietly.’ A frown appeared on her brow, but she did not know it. ‘Sometimes it was sheer purgatory in that house—bedlam!’

  June nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Those children hadn’t been brought up in the right way and that’s why they were such a problem. Well, let their aunt cope with their tantrums!’

  ‘She did say she was keeping them—’ Lena shook her head. ‘I rather think she’ll already have changed her mind.’

  ‘So do I.’

  June remained with Lena for about half an hour; by then Lulu, the dusky housemaid, came out to say that lunch was ready. After the meal Lena went to her pretty bedroom and lay down, going off to sleep immediately, and waking up an hour later feeling totally refreshed. The sun being no longer so high in the sky, the intense heat had subsided and after having washed and put on a crisp cotton dress Lena decided to take a stroll along the river bank.

  ‘I’ll be away a couple of hours or so,’ she told June, who was just going out to harrow the mealies for her husband. ‘I feel like exploring the river bank.’

  June smiled and nodded her approval. Then she added,

  ‘One of Kane’s boys came over while you were resting; we’re all invited to a barbecue on Friday evening.’

  ‘All? You mean I’m invited as well?’

  ‘That’s right. Gerald saw Kane in Fonteinville a couple of days ago and mentioned that we had a visitor—an old school-friend of mine. So naturally he’d include you in the invitation. I’m ever so pleased, as you’ll have the opportunity of meeting a few of our far-flung neighbours and friends.’ She glanced towards the mealie field. ‘I’ll have to go. That rain storm yesterday resulted in thousands of weeds springing up!’

  So she was going to meet the ‘patrician’… Lena’s feelings were mixed, since on the one hand she was apprehensive of the meeting but on the other she welcomed an evening out. June had previously mentioned a barbecue which Kane had given last year when he had friends staying with him. From June’s vivid description it had been a most enjoyable affair, with everyone from miles around being invited.

  Lena’s musings continued as she strolled in leisurely fashion along the bank of the Klein Umgola, a pretty stream whose waters merged with several other streams before finding a final outlet to the sea via the Limpopo River. Gerald had told Lena that during the dry season the stream—and many like it—was merely a meandering line of dark green vegetation, with a chain of pools remaining, and which provided sufficient water for the requirements of the cattle. The stream was now flowing fairly strongly, the result of the thunderstorm of the previous afternoon. On its banks flame-vines and ferns grew among the sere grass, with here and there patches of prickly pear growing on the low slopes which spread in gentle undulations away from the stream.

  Suddenly, through a clearing in the copse of blue-gums, Kane Westbrook’s house came into view. Stately and gleaming, it seemed a most fitting place for the ‘patrician’ described by June, and of whom Lena had formed a picture of a man whose character was not at all attractive; this despite the protestations of June that she had unwittingly given Lena a wrong impression of her neighbour. Stopping, Lena gazed at the house, noting the large windows which were attractively shaded by blue and white striped sunblinds, the vine-covered stoep which ran along what appeared to be the back of the house, the mature trees, and the exotic colour which even from this distance could quite easily be discerned. A magnificent mansion without any doubt, decided Lena and, for some strange reason, she found herself actually looking forward to meeting the owner—which of course she would be doing quite soon, at the barbecue to which she had been invited.

  Moving on again, Lena had been walking for some minutes when, rounding a tree-fringed bend, she saw a tree-trunk lying in the water, but seeming to be still held to the bank by some of its roots. It made an inviting place to sit and without hesitation Lena stepped on to it, and after cautiously treading her wav to the middle she sat down, and, taking off her shoes, dangled her feet in the stream. The soft lapping of the water was like music drifting over the still, limpid air; the sun, although hot, was no longer uncomfortably so, and in any case, the slender willows growing along the watercourse provided a welcome shade. She leant back, resting her weight on her hands, her eyes appreciating the immensity of the landscape, the harmony produced by the combination of shape and colour and the reflections of clouds in the water, while her senses absorbed the delights of the primeval solitude and the deep, deep silence into which the only intrusions were the murmuring of the stream and the occasional hum of an insect as it flew by, its wings flashing iridescent colours as the sun’s brilliant rays caught them.

  Time passed; the angle between earth and sun lengthening, giving an added depth to the landscape as new shades of colour appeared—every shade between pink and rose. Later, the bushveld would glow with deep crimson and gold, and, later still, the entrancing violet that precedes the deep purple of an African night.

  At last, and not without some reluctance, Lena decided that it was time she began making tracks for home. She felt she could have sat here for hours and hours, but she eventually comforted herself by the reminder that there was always another day. She was about to get to her feet when, without warning, the tree moved away from the bank and began to proceed downstream, carried by the current. Not at first grasping the fact that she was in any real danger—since the speed of the tree was such that she could have jumped without difficulty on to the bank—Lena hesitated just a moment too long, being unwilling to jump on to thorny ground without first putting on her shoes. The tree gained speed; it also drifted into midstream, and now she had no chance at all of jumping on to either bank. How stupid of her not to have jumped instantly she saw what was happening! A few thorns in her feet would have been far preferable to the danger that now faced her. She thought of calling out, then abandoned the idea, since she could not possibly be heard.

  ‘What am I to do?’ she whispered fearfully. Her shoes had gone, for she needed both her hands to cling to the tree. ‘If only I could swim!’ The stream meandered more than ever now and she soon realized that she was actually drifting through Kane Westbrook’s estate. Reaching a particularly wide meander, the log, swung right round by the increased velocity of the water, struck the bank, crushing Lena’s ankle and throwing her off balance. A sharp cry of pain broke the silence before, flinging out her arms in a futile attempt to catch hold of something, she plunged into the water.

  ‘What—?’ The one word, uttered by an astounded masculine voice, fell upon Lena’s ears and the next she knew was that a pair of strong arms had shot out and caught her before the current could carry her away from the bank. Hauled from the water, she managed to gasp out a spluttering.

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ as she stood shivering on the bank in her bare feet, a sorry figure indeed, her clothes and hair dripping with muddy water, and looked up into a pair of metallic grey eyes set in an angular sun-bitten face which she automatically knew belonged to Kane Westbrook
. What a way in which to be introduced to June’s neighbour! she thought, then gave a little moan as the pain in her ankle shot right up to her thigh.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering who I am,’ she began, when he interrupted her, his eyes having travelled to the foot which she was keeping off the ground.

  ‘I conclude that you’re Miss Ridgeway, the young lady who’s staying with Gerald and June.’ Abrupt the words, and dispassionate. ‘However, this is no time for questions and answers,’ he added, and before she could guess at his intention she found herself lifted right off her feet.

  ‘Your clothes!’ she protested, but Kane Westbrook made no response; he carried her across a wide sweeping lawn bordered by a luxuriance of exotic colour and perfume, and into the house, taking her straight into a bathroom where he set her down on a chair.

  ‘You’re Mr Westbrook?’ Again she looked up into those metallic eyes. He merely nodded before asking her what had happened to her foot. She told him that it had been crushed between the tree-trunk and the river bank, then immediately went on to ask him to send a message over to June.

  ‘Gerald will then come and fetch me,’ she added. ‘I don’t want to trouble you any more—’

  ‘Let me take a look at this foot.’ Stooping, he took it in his hand; she felt the warmth, and the pressure of his fingers as they probed about, examining the bone. ‘Bruised badly but not broken.’

  ‘That’s a relief. About that message—’

  ‘It’ll take time to get one of my boys from the fields. And as all my house servants have gone off to a celebration of some sort in the native village, you’ll just have to accept my hospitality.’ His tones, brusque and faintly arrogant, seemed to convey the message that she had somehow displeased him by her reluctance to accept his help. And, come to think of it, she had been rather ungracious in her attitude. Feeling unaccountably depressed by this unpropitious beginning, embarrassed by her appearance, and in pain from her injured ankle, she had the utmost difficulty in suppressing the tears that were gathering behind her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry if I offended you,’ she said in a small voice. ‘What have you in mind?’

  ‘A bath first of all,’ was his unhesitating reply, ‘and then I’ll attend to that ankle.’

  ‘A bath…’ She needed one, no doubt of that. But with her inability to put her left foot on the floor she did not see how she would manage to get into the bath. She looked into his lean unsmiling face and said, ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get into the bath, and in any case, I’d have to put these same clothes back on again—’

  ‘You’re shivering,’ he broke in curtly. ‘A hot bath’s imperative. As for your clothes—I can provide you with all that’s necessary. My cousin, who spends her holidays with me, leaves some of her things here.’

  ‘But…’ Lena was shaking her head, and indicating with her hand, as if to tell him once again that the injured foot was preventing her from getting into the bath.

  ‘Get undressed, and into a towel,’ he ordered imperatively. ‘When you’re ready I’ll lift you into the bath.’ Stooping, he turned on the taps. The next moment Lena was staring at the closed door, no doubts in her mind as to whether or not she should obey him. The coldly practical Mr Kane Westbrook was in no mood for listening to objections on her part.

  It was a relief to rid herself of the wet clothes and to feel the warmth of the bath-sheet which, when she heard the firm tread of Kane’s approaching footsteps, she wrapped securely around her damp and shivering body.

  He knocked, but entered without ceremony before she had time to say come in. Over his arm he carried a clean towel which he put within her reach. Then he lifted her into the bath.

  ‘Call me when you’re ready to come out,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll go and find those clothes I spoke of.’

  Once again she was alone, sitting in the bath with the towel still around her.

  Twenty minutes later, having bathed and also given her hair a good rinse, she called out; she was standing on one leg, the clean bath towel wrapped around her, when Kane entered carrying the clothes. He lifted her out of the bath and then, instead of disappearing immediately, he stood for a space looking at her with an impassive expression.

  What was he thinking? she wondered, automatically brushing the wet strands of hair away from her face. His eyes were coldly impersonal, his lips set and unsmiling.

  ‘When you’re dressed you can call me again.’ She was sitting on the chair where he had put her, the towel covering all but her toes. ‘There’s a clean brush and comb in the cabinet,’ he thought to add as he turned to the door. ‘Don’t be afraid to use it; Jennifer won’t mind.’

  The clothing’ he had brought included everything she required, and Lena could not help colouring as she put on the underwear. There was a white cotton shirt-blouse and a pair of dark blue denims and, lastly, a pair of sandals. The size would once have been right for Lena, but now the clothes hung on her, being far too big.

  Having found the brush and comb, she used them, but her hair was still very wet and it hung limply on to her shoulders.

  However, she was warm and dry, and, apart from the pain in her ankle, she was none the worse for her frightening experience.

  Reluctant to call him, she tried to put her foot down, but the pain was too much and resignedly she opened the door and called out. Kane appeared at once, lifted her up and carried her along the corridor, under an ornamental arch, and into the living-room. Here he put her on to a couch, and only then did the whole situation become unreal as, slowly, like the drifting of a cloud, the events of the past hour flitted across the edge of her mind. It seemed, as she pondered the situation in which she found herself at this moment, almost impossible that she was sitting here, in the luxury of the ‘patrician’s’ home, having been literally carried about by him. She recalled June’s description of him, mentally agreeing that it fitted. The aloofness was more than a little pronounced; added to it was an air of superiority which at this time was strengthened by the fact that he appeared to have little or no interest in Lena whatsoever, yet this impression was to fade on the instant as she saw the medicine box which he had placed on a small table, and out of which he was now taking a bandage.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ she began, feeling far from comfortable, mainly owing to the man’s silence. He seemed as if he had no desire to speak to her at all. ‘If you would be so kind as to take me back to Mtula Farm…?’ She bit her lip, her discomfiture increased by the compression of his mouth. She wondered if he were always as impatient as this. He certainly meant to attend to her ankle before taking her home, and she felt thankful that she had told June that she would be a couple of hours or so. By the time she arrived back home she would have been away rather longer than the two hours but not so much longer that June would have begun to worry about her.

  He sat down next to her on the couch, took her foot in his hand, examined it again and then, satisfied that she had sustained nothing more serious than a sprain, he fixed the bandage.

  ‘And now,’ he said with a sort of dignified courtesy, ‘you can tell me what happened?’

  She looked at him in some bewilderment for, bored and impatient as he appeared to be, he seemed in no hurry to be rid of her. His gaze was intense, penetrating; she had the sensation of being thoroughly examined… both in mind and body.

  ‘I started off intending to explore the river bank,’ she began, her voice low and musical, her smile hesitant, because she felt shy suddenly… and a little afraid of this man, just as she had predicted she would be when she had been discussing him with June. ‘But then I noticed the tree-trunk; it seemed to be anchored to the bank by some of its roots and as it never occurred to me that it might move, I decided to sit on it for a while. I took off my shoes so that I could dip my feet in the water.’

  Kane drew a deep breath.

  ‘Did it not occur to you that the roots must inevitably be rotten?’ he asked impatiently.

  Lena shook her head, returning
a meek,

  ‘I never even gave the matter a thought.’

  ‘How like a woman!’

  Her chin lifted, but the retort that leapt to her lips was stemmed immediately. She owed him so much—most probably her life. Also, he was the very good neighbour of Gerald and June.

  ‘I had been there quite a while, and had just decided to step back on to the bank when the tree began to move downstream.’

  He nodded his head.

  ‘And when it reached the large meander it gathered speed. That was to be expected.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She had felt embarrassed before; she now felt deflated. ‘It was lucky for me that you happened to be at hand,’ she said.

  ‘I had just been taking a leisurely stroll around the garden; your cry reached me as I was about to return to the house.’ The element of censure that had previously edged his tones was replaced by an impersonal formality. Lena strongly suspected that, had she not been the guest of his neighbour, she would have been subjected to some caustic remarks which would have made her cheeks burn. As it was, Kane Westbrook had decided to guard his tongue, in all probability remembering that she was to be his guest at the barbecue. ‘If you’re feeling better I’ll take you back to Mtula Farm,’ he offered at length. ‘I believe that your ankle will be all right, but you will of course make up your own mind whether or not to see a doctor.’ He went on to say that he would bring his car right up to the front of the house, and Lena, loath to have him carry her even yet again, seized on his brief absence to hop awkwardly to the door.

  ‘You managed?’ he looked surprised. ‘Let me see you get into the car, then?’ He sounded faintly amused, she thought, and hesitated, reluctant to make a fool of herself. ‘No?’ with a lift of his straight dark brows. ‘You’d prefer that I assist you?’ Which meant in effect that he would carry her. She looked at him, her big brown eyes expressing both apology and embarrassment. Perceptively he grasped her feelings and the trace of a smile touched the hard outline of his mouth. He stooped a little, caught her up in his arms, and put her into the car.