“Will you ask her for me?”
“I couldn’t. She’s one of these soft, motherly young women—I can’t stand the type. Go over and see her yourself.”
“I’ve no way of carrying the machine.”
“She’ll send it—they have two cars.”
“How do I find the farm?”
“You turn right along the Peterson land on the road, and keep going till you reach the bridge over a big sluit—that’s actually the Drift. Turn right again and Aapie’s Drift Farm is on the left. It’s signposted. The whole distance is not more than six miles. You can use the roan.”
Ann hesitated. “Won’t it seem awfully odd?—I haven’t even met the woman. If you’d go with me...”
“Not a chance,” said Elva firmly. “Mrs. Newman won’t mind your asking a favour. That’s the type they are—always lending each other things and helping out with servants when one of them gets sick.”
“They sound nice.”
“They would—to you.” Elva caught herself up. “That’s not meant as an insult. I guess I’m just not womanly enough to mix, that’s all. You go over; she’ll be glad to see you.”
Ann didn’t decide at once, but after she had sewn a few seams of the cushion-covers she realized how difficult it would be to tailor the chair renovations by hand. The material was too thick and frayed too easily for hand-sewing. So after lunch she put on her dark slacks and a white shirt, saddled the roan and trotted away.
It was a brilliant afternoon. A strong breeze kept wisps of white cloud drifting across a deep blue sky, and it bent the grass and rustled the gum trees but made no impression at all on the mimosa thorn bush. The veld was remarkable, Ann thought. No fences anywhere, just mile upon mile of pastureland backed by the rocky brown hills that grew clumps of flowers and red-hot-poker aloes where were now in bud. Sheep dotted the landscape like a wide scattering of stones, and an occasional sheep-boy lay in the sun or sat on a rock, always facing the wind.
One of the shepherds Ann saw was old and bearded; he smoked a long-stemmed pipe which had a metal cap attached to it by a chain, and he doffed his worn felt hat politely as she passed on the grass verge. At the Drift, some children were playing beyond the bridge; their smooth brown faces smiled up at her and most of them waved, though one venturesome lass held out cupped hands.
“Sweeties?” she said.
Ann took from her pocket the handful of sugar lumps she carried for the horse and tossed them over the bridge amid laughter and scrambling. Smiling to herself, she turned right and crossed to the other verge. She felt free, and happier than at any time since she had arrived at Groenkop. She saw tall mealie stalks drying off to make cattle fodder, a thriving expanse of giant lucerne, a few acres of fruit trees and then again the veld. The vast growing lands seemed endless. But she found the sign pointing to Aapie’s Drift Farm, and turned along a lane between clipped acacia. A hundred yards from the road stood the house, square and rather modern, with a gravelled yard in front of it. Under an umbrella tree there was a bar with hooks for the tethering of horses, and Ann dismounted and made use of one of the hooks before dusting down her slacks and going up into the porch of the house. She pressed an ordinary electric bell and waited.
The door was opened by a native maid; from the way she intimated that the missus should enter the house it was obvious that she had not long left the kraal. But she was trying hard.
“I tell the missus,” she said, and departed.
The room was comfortably furnished in a solid, everlasting fashion. At one side of the large window stood a baby grand piano and at the other was a bookcase. The brick fireplace was so placed that when it was cold one could warm one’s toes and still enjoy a view of Africa.
The woman who came into the room was no taller than Ann and only a little plumper, and she had a sweet smile. She could have been no more than thirty-two or three, yet the mid-brown hair was sheened with silver.
“I’m Shelia Newman,” she said. “You’re Miss Calvert, aren’t you?”
“Ann Calvert, yet. It’s a relief that you know me.”
“There aren’t so many newcomers to the district—everyone always hears about them. I happened to see you the other day in town, with Elva. Do sit down.”
Ann said, “You’re very kind. I felt rather strange about coming here and introducing myself.”
Mrs. Newman took a chair nearby. “I’m glad you did come. Elva is a little peculiar about friendships—she’s introverted, I suppose, and just doesn’t care very much for other people. One respects the kind of person she is, but when I saw you together I thought that staying with her must be rather dull. She’s so fond of going off on her own.”
“I’m not dull, as it happens. We’re spring-cleaning.”
Mrs. Newman smiled. “This is our autumn! But we have a good clean through any time we fancy it.” She paused. “You’re Theo’s friend, aren’t you—not Elva’s?”
“You might put it that way, though it was Elva who invited me.”
“Really?” The woman looked genuinely surprised. “She’s such an amazing girl—you never know what to expect of her. You know, she never visits or entertains. The most you get from her if you meet her is a nod. Since she came here three years ago this is the first normal thing she’s done—inviting you, I mean. I’m very glad. You’re from Cape Town, Miss Calvert?”
For half an hour they talked, about the Cape and Belati West, about shops and farms, the sea and the Great Karoo. Then Ann came to the point.
“You must be wondering why I’m here, Mrs. Newman.”
“Not particularly, but if I can do anything for you...”
She made it easy. Ann stated her needs, the old sewing machine was promised and would be delivered at the Borland house tomorrow morning. Mrs. Newman asked about colour schemes and other details. Then she rang a bell, and five minutes later the perspiring servants brought a tea tray. Ann had again expressed her thanks and was in the porch saying goodbye, when Mrs. Newman, giving that soft and charming smile, said,
“By the way, Storr Peterson is home, isn’t he? I heard he gave a small dinner party the other night.”
“Yes, he did.”
“My husband was saying that he wished Storr would stay, but it seems unlikely. With him, the farm always came second to planes.”
“I suppose that happens sometimes—a member of a farming family going off into something quite different. I believe the farm is in good shape, though.”
“It’s bound to be, but it’s not the same as having the owner always there. How long is Storr likely to be here this time?”
“A week or two, I think.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard whether he’s going to live in Johannesburg after his marriage?”
“His ... marriage?” queried Ann.
Mrs. Newman gave an embarrassed little laugh. Tm shameless, aren’t I—but I did think the Borlands would know all about it. Through friends of ours who often go to Johannesburg we heard that Storr is going to marry the daughter of one of his partners in Peterson Airways.”
“No,” said Ann a little hollowly, “we’ve heard nothing about it.”
The woman’s smile faded a little. “I think it’s true enough, but please don’t say anything to Elva or Theo. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if we hadn’t heard it only recently; our friends told us last night.”
“They may have been mistaken.”
“They’re not gossiping types; they were just happy about it because it may mean that Storr will spend more of the year here at Belati.”
“Oh, well, when he wants people to know he’ll make it public, I suppose,” Ann said brightly. She repeated her goodbye and went down the steps.
Five minutes later she was out on the road and making for the Drift. She felt disturbed and annoyed, and wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t as if she cared what Storr Peterson did, and it certainly wasn’t her business to wonder why he had been silent about the woman in his life. He had made it fairly cle
ar that he intended to marry some time, and it was natural that he should find someone in Johannesburg, where he spent most of his time. He had no illusions about love...
But what about Elva? She was carefully and circumspectly doing her darnedest to show Storr that she was not only a good horsewoman and passable farmer, but a housewife with ideas and ambitions. For months, perhaps for a year or two, she had mulled over the possibility of marrying Storr Peterson and allowed herself to fall in love with him. Was Storr unnoticing, or just uncaring? Had he ever whipped up Elva into some mood where the only remedy was one of his merciless kisses?
Ann found her hands clenched tightly on the reins, and with an effort she slackened off. She didn’t really like Elva, but she did not want her to get hurt. But was it possible to hurt a person like Elva Borland? She seemed so self-sufficient, so utterly untouched by people and events; yet she had said, baldly, “I’m in love with Storr Peterson.” Surely no woman, least of all one like Elva, would make such a statement to someone who was almost a stranger, if she had not decided to make an all-out bid for marriage with the man?
Ann found herself wishing to heaven she had stayed in the house this afternoon. Sheila Newman at Aapie’s Drift hadn’t meant to be gossipy or ill-natured, but her natural curiosity about the owner of one of the largest farms in the district had led her to disclose more than she had learned. At least one other family knew about the woman in Johannesburg, but Elva, because she cut herself off from her neighbours, might never know till the marriage became a fact. Yet Ann could see why Mrs. Newman had not wanted the news carried farther. In any case, none of it was Ann Calvert’s business. Elva was twenty-five and extremely capable of running her own life.
But the nearer she approached to the house the more uneasy Ann felt, and somehow most of her uneasiness was unconnected with Elva. It had a deeper root, in some part of her consciousness of which she was hardly aware. She walked the horse along the lane, felt the breeze through her shirt and looked to the west, where the sun was spreading a vast haze of gold over the blue. Southwest was Cape Town ... home. The little villa in Newlands had never seemed more like home that at this moment, when she knew it was locked up and empty of comfort and companionship.
On the path in front of the house stood an old station wagon whose wings had been bent and straightened many times. It was green and lustreless, the tyres needed air and the sun-visor was crooked. A delivery van from town, probably. Ann slid from the roan and unsaddled, gave the flank a smack and carried the saddle into the shed. She was reaching to place it over the bar when the doorway darkened and she felt the load taken from her arms and shoved into position. She stared at the thin brown face and gleaming fair hair, the familiar nonchalant smile.
“Theo!” she exclaimed. “Theo, I’m so glad you’re back!”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad to be here.” He dropped an arm across her shoulder and squeezed slightly. “I thought you might have given me up, and gone.”
She couldn’t stop looking at him; knew, suddenly, that she had half forgotten everything about him except the stupendously fair head and the light blue eyes. He seemed thinner all over than she remembered, and of course he was less immaculate. In Cape Town he had worn newish sports clothes and gay ties, or a well-cut lounge suit. At the moment he was shabby in crumpled slacks and a dark blue shirt that was open at the throat.
An awkwardness mounted in her. “How’s your wrist?”
He showed a white bandage. “All right. The house is empty—let’s go indoors.”
“Haven’t you seen Elva?”
“Not yet I got in about half an hour ago.” He sounded guarded and unnaturally cool, and said no more till they had entered the living room. There he nodded at the walls, smiled faintly. “This is you, I suppose. I thought I’d come into the wrong house.”
“It isn’t finished yet. Would you like some tea?”
“No, thanks. I had a drink as soon as I got in.” Then, a little offhandedly, “That’s why I didn’t kiss you.”
She said quickly, “We weren’t really on kissing terms, were we? There was only the peck as we parted.” Before he could speak she hurried on, “Im terribly sorry you didn’t know your sister had invited me. I felt horrid about it; in fact, if you’d been here I might have left the same day.”
“You mustn’t feel badly. Elva meant well, and I’m happy to have you here.”
She gave him a direct, hazel-green stare. “Are you—really?”
“Of course. We’ll have to have a talk soon.”
She moved slightly. “Theo ... I don’t want to stay.”
“Oh, come now.” He sounded a little more at ease, as if he felt safer now that he knew she was uncertain of herself. He sat on the edge of the table, looking sideways at her. “I didn’t invite you here, because ... well, I’d given you a different picture in Cape Town. I’ll never forget those two weeks. They were something I couldn’t possibly have had if you and your parents had known I wasn’t particularly respectable. They thought I was a comfortably-off farmer—not rich, but sound and straight. Instead of which I’m a pilot who was grounded—and that isn’t the same as being retired!—and I detest growing mealies and watching cows.”
“You did tell me you’d been a pilot.”
“It added glamour ... didn’t it?”
She nodded. “It isn’t very important, now. Even if I leave right away we can still be friends.”
“Not with two or three hundred miles between us. And I’ve a hunch that once you leave this place you’ll never want to come back, or see any of us again.”
She was startled. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “I happen to know myself—and my sister. I was unwise enough to tell her about you and the house you live in. A week or so later there was an item in the daily paper; it said that Storr Peterson was back in the Union after a successful tour of North Africa and Europe. She must have thought things out and written you. I wasn’t sure of it till I came here and saw this room—but I’m sure ... now.”
“But, good heavens, anyone could have done this job.”
“Not so swiftly, thoroughly and cheaply. And it wasn’t only the house. I’d told her the sort of person you were—correct and fastidious and rather sweet. You have all the qualities she lacks, and I’m sure she wrote to you with the intention of getting what she could out of you before Storr showed up. Too bad for Elva,” he ended laconically, “that he made his appearance before you did.”
“It’s fantastic. I just don’t understand.”
He stood up and looked out of the door. “We can’t talk here; Elva will be in at any moment. Let’s run out and park somewhere...”
But it was too late. A horse cantered into the garden, the grey with Elva in the saddle, and straight behind her came the big black horse named Joe. Ann felt her sinews contract, a coolness over her skin.
Under his breath Theo said, “Just my luck. Stay right here, Ann ... please.”
She stood erect beside the table, put on a smile as Elva came in with Storr. Elva, in riding breeches and a sparkling white shirt, her blonde hair tied back carelessly and a rub of colour on her lips, looked gay and sporting.
“Well, if it isn’t the old boy himself,” she said. “You made it in the four days, after all. Are they going to amputate?”
“Not this time,” Theo said easily. “Hallo, Storr.”
“How goes it?”
“Nothing wrong with the wrist-bone, I’m told. Staying long at Groenkop?”
Storr’s eyes had narrowed. “Everyone asks that, and they’re all surprised when I say a couple of weeks.” He glanced at Ann a little sharply. “Happy now?”
“What do you think?” said Elva with a grin. “Let’s have a drink to Theo’s return. Whisky, Storr?”
She poured liberally, gave Ann a glass of orange with her usual remark, “You’ll never get rash on that,” and tossed down half of her own rather stronger mixture. Theo sipped his whisky.
“I rang
those people in Wegersburg this morning,” he said. “The machine is already on a freight train.”
“Too bad you had to try and lift it all by your little self,” commented his sister. “Did you get into one of those moods?”
“Maybe.” He surveyed her. “You look pretty good today.”
“I feel pretty good.”
“I notice the lane is in better shape, and someone has mended the gate.”
“Brave of you to come that way, not knowing. Didn’t you like the idea of driving round Storr’s land?”
“I arrived at our own gate without thinking.”
“You’ve been coming the other way without thinking for a long time.” Elva smiled the sting from her comment. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, anyway. Do you like my alterations here?”
Without looking about him, Theo said, “They’re quite an achievement. Don’t you think so, Storr?”
“Remarkable,” was the answer. “Now you’re back you’ll need your own horse. I promised to lend Miss Calvert the chestnut gelding, and if she cares to go with me now she can ride it back.”
“Tomorrow will do,” Ann said quickly.
“The horse may not suit you. Come and see it first.”
Theo said, a little tautly, “Yes, go on, Ann. You’ll be glad to have a horse of your own while you’re here.”
She hesitated, then crossed the room and went out. She heard Storr say, “So long. See you later,” and then he was at her side and whistling Joe. They walked ahead of the horse, out of the garden and into the orchard, and neither spoke till they were halfway towards the big house.
Then Storr said, with sarcasm, “Not too happy, our Theo. Didn’t you greet him lovingly?”
“I daresay he has problems, like the rest of us,” she answered shortly. “Do I really have to look at the gelding today?”
“There’s no compulsion. I only insisted on it because you looked tightened up.”
“Being with you is hardly relaxation.”
He smiled down at her with some of the charm she knew he reserved for his own special occasions. “I won’t kiss you today—not even if you infuriate me. I promise. Why were you wound up in there?”
The Reluctant Guest Page 6