“And none of them named, Peterson,” sighed Hazel dramatically. “Never mind, Storr; there may be compensations, and there’s one very good effect it has on us—we don’t marry young.”
“Some of you,” said Vic Wenham pointedly, “don’t marry at all.”
Storr smiled, as if the talk were merely froth; obviously he had no intention of committing himself.
Hazel lifted her shoulders. “Storr’s too old a hand to be drawn.” Then suddenly, “What do you make of him, Ann?” For an alarmed moment Ann said nothing. Then she leaned back and replied evenly, “I haven’t decided. He has theories that set my teeth on edge, a mightier-than-thou attitude that makes me militant and an air of indifference that puzzles me, to say the least.”
Storr stretched his long legs, indolently. “There must be something on the other side of the scale, to balance up.”
“Yes, there is. A slice of humor, another of generosity and a hunk of integrity.”
“What, no charm?” he said.
“Just a veneer.”
Hazel laughed. “You know, Ann, you’re the first girl I’ve ever heard say just what she thinks to Storr. It’s because you’re not involved with him in any way, I suppose.”
“I object to that”—but Storr still sounded lazy. “I don’t get involved with women.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not tangled up with you,” responded his cousin. “When an unmarried girl meets a well-off bachelor she instantly sums him up as a husband. If he’ll do, she’s involved. Take my word for it.”
“You cold-blooded wench,” said her husband. “You don’t mean a thing you’re saying!”
“Of course not, pet. You should know.”
But Ann was sure that Hazel had meant every syllable. In her smiling, uncaring fashion she was stating her own philosophy. She had had her feverish love affair and got over it; and later on she had found Vic Wenham, and because he was the kind of man she knew she could trust and live with for the rest of her life, she had made a play for him and he was sunk. But how the man enjoyed being sunk!
The twins came in then, grubby and panting. Prince, it seemed, was now confined in the cattle kraal, and the dogs were shut up in a bam. Anyone who was interested could come along and see the puppies.
“You come, Storr!” begged Fem, her round pink and gold face grave and imploring. “I think one puppy is sick.”
“Do you know what they’ll do when they grow up?” he said as he rose. “They’ll roam the pastures, kill the lambs, steal chickens and have to be shot.”
“But these,” the child stated reasoningly, “are going to be tame wild dogs.” She looked at Ann and added politely, “You can come too, if you like.
“Of course she’s coming,” said Storr. “One of the things she’s missed is life in the raw.”
An exasperating statement, but Ann didn’t rise to it. She got up and, with a smile at Hazel and her husband, went down into the garden with Storr and the children. They walked round the side of the house, and then Fern hopped ahead with Timothy in tow. There was an archway dripping with golden shower, and Storr held the flowering strands aside for Ann and let them drop behind him.
The garden sloped away gently. A lawn with a paved path round it, hedges of plumbago and tecoma, wild corners where Karoo succulents jostled spineless prickly pear, an arbour massed with climbers, an old bird bath set in crazy paving that sprouted rock flowers and miniature creepers.
“It looks as if it’s been here for ages,” Ann said. “And from this angle the house looks old, too.”
“It’s about thirty-five years old. Vic bought the place when he married Hazel, and she did all the modernizing at the front and in the kitchen. The rest of the farmhouse is unaltered.”
They went down stone steps into a pasture, took the path which had been worn across it, towards the white bam and sheds. Fern was waiting at the stable-type door of one of the sheds, impatiently beckoning them to come on. As they reached the child she hooked an arm over the lower half of the door and pulled the bolt. The door swung inwards, and with a theatrical gesture the little girl waved towards the occupants of the shed.
In a corner stood a large deep box floored with an old blanket, and nearby, among straw, crawled four puppies which were already showing the pointed ears and nose of their species. They were a nondescript brown and very silky, and one of them was more venturesome than the others. It tottered towards the kneeling Timothy and scrabbled its way up his shorts to his waist. The little boy’s eyes beamed happily.
Ann, crouching at his side, smiled at him. “I believe he knows you, Timothy. He likes the feel of your hands.”
“He never goes to Fern,” the little boy said proudly.
“They’d all come to me if I taught them to,” his sister said impatiently. “Look, Storr, the tiniest one is sick.”
Storr picked up the puppy in one hand, opened its mouth to reaming the gums. “He’s just drowsy. Being the smallest he needs more sleep than the others.”
“Why should he?”
“I sleep more than you do,” said Timothy.
“You’re younger,” she stated pompously. “Half an hour younger.”
Storr smiled. “This is probably the youngest puppy.”
Ann said, “You must make sure that he eats at every mealtime—don’t let him sleep through, while the others wolf the lot.”
“Do you know about dogs?” demanded Fern.
“I’ve always kept one. We have a ridgeback at home—he’s in kennels now.”
“Would you like one of these puppies?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t accept one. I live in Cape Town.”
Fern nodded understandingly, dropped the puppy she had been holding, took the weak one from Storr and placed it on the floor. Timothy was still cuddling his favourite. “I’m going to show him the farm,” he said.
Fern smiled at him pityingly. “Put him down. He still can’t keep his eyes open in the light.”
Ann heard herself saying, as she straightened, “But it might develop his sense of smell, mightn’t it, Timothy? And he does like to be held.”
The little boy gazed up at her with obvious pleasure. “Yes.” he said. “I’ll take him for a walk.”
He wandered off, and as the others came out into the sunshine and the door was bolted, Storr looked at Ann with a taunt in his smile.
“You’re quite some girl, Miss Calvert,” he said softly. “You’d turn him into an individual in no time.”
“I didn’t even think of that,” she said quickly. “Really I didn’t!”
“I don’t believe you did—it was automatic. Don’t excuse it, Pretty Ann. I liked it.”
A warm glow which had nothing to do with the elements ran through Ann’s body. She looked away from him, and Fern provided the necessary diversion. She had opened the door of the next shed, and out tumbled an assortment of dogs. They leapt and yelped, tore across the pasture and back again in a frenzy of liberation. But one of them let out a most ferocious crescendo of barking and dived into a bush. There was a scuffle, animal screams, and Storr wrenched the branches apart to reveal a scene which froze Ann’s blood. The dog, an Alsatian, had an animal in his mouth and he was shaking the life out of it. It was quite a large beast, rounded, beautifully spotted and squealing with terror at the top of its lungs.
Storr grabbed the Alsatian, gripped the back of its jaws and forced them wider and still wider, till the struggling victim literally hurled itself to the ground. Then Storr flung the big dog from him with such force that the animal understood he was in disgrace. For a long moment he stood there, licking his jaws and panting, and then, in the manner of Alsatians who meet their match, he did not surrender but lowered himself to the ground, to watch.
Storr picked up the leopard cub, and without thinking, Ann took it and cradled it in her arm. There were spots of blood on its throat and back, but it was more affronted than hurt. Suddenly it hissed at the dog and took a leap, but Ann was holding on to it
s forepaws and it couldn’t get away. The next second it had turned upon her.
Furiously, Storr grabbed the cub by the scruff and lunged with it across to the shed from which the dogs had hurtled. He thrust it inside and slammed the door, came back swiftly to Ann.
“Hurt you at all?” he demanded.
“No. I think you saved me a nasty bite.”
“They shouldn’t keep a damned leopard!” He slipped an arm across her shoulder. “You’re trembling a bit, and I don’t wonder.” He turned to Fern, who had stood, an interested spectator of the whole episode, under a nearby tree. ‘Tell your mother we’re going for a stroll, Fern. Shan’t be long.”
Fern nodded sagely. “I forgot Spotty was about when we let the dogs out of the shed. We generally have to find him and put him away somewhere.”
“Now that you’ve seen what happens when they meet,” said Storr a little grimly, “you’ll take more care, won’t you?”
“Well, Spotty’s going soon, anyway. He’s going to live with his brother in a private zoo.” And she sauntered off.
The following half-hour or so was one of the sweetest Ann had ever known. Storr showed her the horses and a good view of the lands, took her down the side of a small ravine where euphorbias and dwarf firs grew among the more lush kaffirbooms and proteas. He helped her to dislodge a root or two of rock-rose which she wanted to place in pots and take back home with her.
When they returned to the house the dining table was set, and Hazel, with a scarlet apron over her old slacks, was helping the Xhosa maid to serve the children at their own small table. After a container had been found for the plants and Ann and Storr had washed, the four adults had lunch and drank coffee, talked and smoked.
The time passed too quickly. The children pretended to snooze in long chairs, the afternoon sun soaked into the veranda, and Hazel kept saying she ought to get into a frock, in case Vic’s parents decided to descend upon them for tea. In the end it was Storr who made the move.
He stood up. “We’ll get along, Hazel. It’s been good seeing you and Vic. What about coming over to Groenkop?”
“Don’t count on it. You come here again as soon as you can. You’ll promise not to go back to Johannesburg without seeing us again?”
“I’ll come.”
“And do bring Ann,” said Hazel. “I like her candour.”
“You’re not on the receiving end,” Storr said.
They all drifted down to the estate car. The carton containing the plants was pushed into the back, and Storr made a mock effort at remembering hard, and found a box of candies under a seat for the twins. There were goodbyes, light kisses for the children.
Then, with her usual gravity, Fern said, “If Ann really wants one of the puppies I’ll keep it for her till she and Storr are married.”
Hazel threw back her head and laughed. Vic Wenham looked a little scandalized. Ann didn’t lift her glance to Storr’s face; she was crimson. But she could guess how he looked by his voice when he said casually,
“Start matchmaking young, don’t they?” From the age of one they try to get us just where they want us.”
“Well, they won’t succeed with you,” Hazel said comfortably.
Ann only smiled. She got into her seat and waved to the group who seemed so much a part of the background. The estate car purred away towards the road.
CHAPTER FIVE
NEITHER Ann nor Storr mentioned the little girl’s parting statement; Ann didn’t, because it had shaken her more than she would have cared to admit. She reflected, momentarily, that she would like very much to be part of that family, entertain them and visit them, talk over things of mutual interest; but beyond that she suppressed her thoughts. Storr, she knew, had taken Fern’s offer and implication for what it was, a child’s assumption that was of no importance. He was probably thinking about whatever he had planned to do this evening.
But when he spoke, it was a little amusedly, about his cousin. “Hazel used to be one of those smart golfing types,” he commented. “You wouldn’t think it now, would you? She’s like something that’s emerged rather carelessly from the soil—but it’s only a pose, of course.”
“I don’t think it can be; she’s too natural.”
“Let’s say it was to begin with, and now it’s grown on her like a skin.” There was a smiling dig in his tones as he added, “Well, you’ve seen a marriage where the idea works. You’ll have to agree it’s successful.”
“I agree entirely that your cousin’s marriage is successful, but not with your deductions about it. For one thing, if she’s not in love with her husband as you say, she does have affection and tenderness for him, though I think it goes deeper than that.”
“Carry on, child.”
“If you’re going to bait me...”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I knew you wouldn’t be converted to my way of thinking because you’re young and full of dreams. Cast back a little, and you’ll remember that we first got on to this loving and being loved business when I told you that first affairs should be allowed to die off.”
Ann considered. “Well, I’ll agree that it was sensible in your cousin’s case, but it’s possible she was infatuated and not really in love.”
“My contention, little one, is that all first affairs are infatuation or very near it. Hazel got over hers and had a few more years of freedom before she decided Vic would make a faithful and adoring husband. That was rather too sensible for most women; more often they marry on the rebound and the husband gets hell.”
“I didn’t like the way you said that. Anyone would think it had happened to you.”
His smile, directed towards the road ahead, had gone a little tight-lipped. “Maybe I was just visualizing the relationship. I can’t imagine anything I’d hate more than to find I’d married a woman who’d just recovered from or narrowly missed a headlong bout of juvenile passion for someone else. I think I’d be the one to give hell.”
“Dear, dear, you do feel strongly about it.”
“Yes, don’t I?” he said coolly, and it seemed to close the subject.
Ann sat withdrawn from him for a while, looking out of the window. The sun was westering in its usual golden haze, and Africans were plodding across the footpaths towards their huts. Donkey carts moved along the verge of the road at a leisurely pace and an occasional woolly-headed boy would have charge of a few goats grazing by the wayside on their way back to the kraal. There was peace in the atmosphere, a serenity that at any other time would have affected Ann quite strongly. But she was conscious of Storr, and serenity and Storr did not blend.
He said at last, with mockery, “You have to agree that Hazel just sits back and lets Vic squander his emotions all over herself and the family.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that that’s what he wants?”
“Oh, sure. It’s what Hazel wants, too.”
“And why does she want it so badly? Because she once did the same to someone who had no use for her feelings. It works with Hazel and Vic Wenham because they’re that kind of people.”
“All right, leave it.” A pause. “Glad you came?”
“Very glad. It’s been a lovely day.”
“You smiled more often than I’ve ever seen you smile before.”
“I believe I can say the same to you. You expanded considerably!”
“It’s easier in some places than in others. Don’t you like me at Groenkop?”
A treacherous pulse began to beat in Ann’s throat. “I don’t seem to know you there, and at times you do react rather more savagely than I’m accustomed to.”
“That’s the nature of the beast. I came down here to make a few decisions and half of them are already up the spout. I’m not used to that kind of thing.”
“But it does serve you right,” she said lightly. “Uncertainty in one or two directions might make you more human.”
“I’m not uncertain,” he said a little curtly. “Of other people, perhaps, but not of myself.”
“You’re a nice girl, Ann,” he said negligently. “It’s rather enjoyable, taking you to places and people I know very well. You give me a new, wide-eyed slant on them. You know, it could easily be arranged for you to spend the second half of your month’s vacation with Hazel and Vic.”
She turned to him a startled glance. “I couldn’t do that—the Borlands would be awfully fed up.”
“I’d fix it with Elva. Theo would understand ... wouldn’t he?”
The last couple of words were spoken softly, probingly, and for a moment Ann was at a loss. She even let her imagination wander fleetingly over the delightful possibility of spending two weeks with the Wenhams. And then she knew it couldn’t happen.
She shook her head. “I’m the Borlands’ guest, and I think in a way they need me. Yes, they do,” she added quickly, as he made an arrogant gesture. “You don’t know the inside details.”
“Tell me them.”
“They’re not mine to tell.” Then something came into her mind, and she made the error of divulging it. “Theo has talked to me about the ... mistakes that led to his being grounded by the Airways Company.”
A coolness came into his manner. “Yes, I daresay he has. You were all sympathy, I take it”
“I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault, you know—the sense of insecurity that made him do silly things, like taking a drink before he reported for duty.”
“No? Did it happen while he wasn’t looking?”
“I suppose you have to be hard about these things, but ... but don’t you ever review a decision, later? You ended his career—have you ever thought of it that way?”
“I’ve thought of it all ways, little one,” he said with chilly unconcern. “Theo was grounded because he broke the most important regulation in the book. He was offered a job in the office, but he wouldn’t work among men who knew he’d been a top dog. We couldn’t recommend him as a pilot elsewhere, and we were within our rights in giving him notice and a cheque. He seemed to want to hide—and as he’d grown up on a farm and Elva liked horses, I suggested the arrangement at Groenkop. It doesn’t work a hundred per cent because he doesn’t really like farming, but it’s better than having him kick around in Johannesburg and turn into a hanger-on.”
The Reluctant Guest Page 10