A Plume of Dust

by Wynne May

  ‘And who was the brains behind this?’ Lyle’s eyes swept over Glen before he turned to Michelle.

  There was nearly an accident,’ she said. ‘He turned the steering wheel to stop it from going over.’

  ‘Michelle turned the wheel,’ Glen’s voice was quiet, ‘to stop us from going over. I was incapable. There, that should make your day.’

  ‘Get into the Land-Rover back there.’ Lyle’s voice, as he looked at Michelle, was vibrant with authority. ‘Out of the rain and the cold.’

  ‘No, I’ll stand here.’ She wished she could stop shaking. ‘I’m afraid it might start moving.’

  ‘You’re not dealing with a fool now. It won’t run backwards. Get out of this cold rain.’

  ‘Why did you come?’ she found herself asking.

  ‘To find you. Why else would I come?’

  For a moment her blue eyes questioned him, then she turned and walked slowly in the direction of his Land-Rover, the soles of her shoes causing the small stones to roll beneath them. The rain was coming down harder. Far below, there was no sign of the sunlight which had been breaking through the clouds earlier on.

  From this distance, Michelle could not hear what Lyle and Glen were saying, but obviously they were quarrelling. The smell of liquor on Glen’s breath alone would have been enough to start Lyle off.

  Miserably, her teeth chattering, she watched Lyle as he got into the crippled Land-Rover, then she heard the engine revving. The huge tyres slipped as they were worked loose from their jammed position.

  Finally tie vehicle was free. Through a curtain of rain Michelle saw some small boulders which had been dislodged begin to roll down the side of the mountain and scatter into the road. Some of them went over the side, plunging out of sight.

  Lyle stopped the Land-Rover and got out and Glen climbed in and started to move forward slowly. He pulled up next to Lyle’s Land-Rover and called out, ‘I’m going on down alone. I’m okay now. You’ll feel better with him, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ She mouthed the word back to him and lifted a hand.

  When Lyle came back and opened the door on the driver’s side the wind hurled itself inside, carrying rain with it. ‘Well,’ he turned to look at her, ‘that was a magnificent display of skill - ramming the Land-Rover into the side, like that - if nothing else.’

  ‘I can’t take any more,’ she told him in a small voice.

  ‘You won’t have to. I’ll have to go up a bit further to do a turn.’

  He had turned the wipers on and they moved the rain to one side, clearing the big windscreen for a moment and then going to work again. Lyle was completely absorbed in his task of driving to a point where, incredibly, he managed to turn after manoeuvring the Land-Rover backwards and forwards several times. The engine roared.

  Some time later he said, ‘What shall we talk about, Michelle? Your trip up? It must have been some trip if what happened on the way down is any indication.’ His voice was hard.

  Michelle flinched at the sound of it. ‘If we must talk about it, let’s just say that coming on the trip was a dumb decision on my part, and be finished with it.’ Her voice shook slightly. ‘But it seemed almost like a good idea at the time.’

  Lyle glanced at his watch. His temper had cooled. ‘I began to worry.

  You should have been back at three-thirty, or thereabouts. I know about his drinking problem.’

  Michelle had lost track of the time. She wondered what the time was.

  After a moment she said, ‘Thank you. I’m grateful.’

  The rain had turned the trunks and the branches of the trees in the valleys black. The wheels were slipping. In the distance they could suddenly see Glen’s Land-Rover as it crawled like an ant, partly obscured by the rain and the mist. Behind, way above, the peaks were out of sight, thrust into the black clouds.

  Gradually the shock was wearing off and Michelle felt calmer, but she had nothing to say. She felt all used up. This was a situation she felt ill equipped to meet. After a while she said, ‘I’m sorry. It was good of you to come.’

  For the moment Lyle was too preoccupied with driving matters to answer her, then he said abruptly, ‘Are you in love with him?’

  She turned her head. ‘Would I be here with you if I was?’

  ‘Well, let’s not waste any more time.’ She watched him take a sharp breath. ‘I called in at the farm, before I left - to see if you were there.

  Before that, you see, I’d rung Hayes’ chalets to see if you’d gone back there with him. Laney gave me some clothes for you - they’re in the back there. She said you always left some of your things in a cupboard. We thought you might be wet and cold. It was obvious what was happening up there.’ He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the mountain chalet.

  ‘I’m not very wet.’ She had to lift her voice above the noise of the Land-Rover and all she felt like doing was to whisper. ‘Just a little damp.’

  After a moment he said, ‘I’m taking you to my place.’

  The Pass was straightening out now. There was no sign of Glen’s Land-Rover.

  ‘I’ve told you - I’m not wet,’ said Michelle, her tension climbing again, ‘so I fail to see the connection.’

  ‘The connection is very simple. You’re going to change out of your wet things and get into the things Laney sent along. And then I’m going to give you a drink, followed by dinner.’

  ‘But why?’ she heard herself ask, in a small voice. ‘I could do that at the hotel - or at Laney’s, if you’d take me there.’ She felt herself beginning to panic at the thought of going to his house again.

  ‘Because it seems to be the reasonable thing to do,’ he told her, as the Land-Rover rattled over the small bridge which led to it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WARM and inviting, the house awaited them. Lyle turned the Land-Rover into the sweeping brick-paved driveway, past the twin obelisks which were vaguely white in the shrouding, pelting rain. The lanterns on top of them were lit, spilling their light on to the wet driveway.

  The leaves of the exotic plants in pottery urns flanking the blue-tiled archway glinted with water and the wrought-iron gates were open to the tropical oasis of palms, ferns and pond.

  Bringing the Land-Rover to a halt, Lyle switched off the ignition and, pocketing the keys, turned to look at Michelle. ‘And that’s the position.’ There was the fine edge of mockery to his voice.

  ‘What is?’ Michelle could not resist meeting his eyes.

  The light was poor now. Lyle’s lips quirked as he studied her. ‘You’re going to change - but have a bath first. And then you’re going to let me mix you a drink and you’ll have it in front of the fire. Afterwards, Usef will serve dinner.’

  Tired, furious and rebellious, she made a small clearing-of-the-throat noise. ‘I don’t seem to have much choice, do I?’

  ‘No, you don’t. I’ve made the choice for you, which will save a whole lot of trouble.’

  ‘It would be interesting to know what kind of trouble.’ Instantly she regretted her brittle, flippant remark and saw his shoulders move impatiently. ‘Well, it won’t take all day for you to decide whether you’re going to accept or not,’ he said.

  ‘I’d rather have gone back to the hotel,’ her voice was choked and furious. Afraid of her feelings for him, she said, ‘Have you brought me here to gloat over me?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he replied, opening the door and getting out.

  He came round to her side and for a moment she refused his outstretched hand before she placed her fingers in his and he almost lifted her from the Land-Rover. He held her against him and the physical impact caused a shuddering emotion to pass over her.

  ‘You’re so damp, Michelle,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Come on.’

  She had made her protest, but he had not been prepared to listen to it, so she found herself following him, past the white pillars which supported the wood-panelled canopy sheltering the short pathway leading to the front door.

  Usef, in
a white linen suit, let them in. ‘Good evening, Usef,’ said Michelle. ‘It - it’s very wet, isn’t it?’ She hoped her voice sounded normal.

  ‘Hold it,’ Lyle was saying, ‘I forgot your things in the Land-Rover. I’ll go back and get them.’

  Moodily, she watched him leave the high-ceilinged entrance hall and then, feeling uncertain and unhappy, went in the direction of the lounge where the twin lamps on either side of the five-seater couch burned invitingly. Above the couch a long, exquisite artwork in brass, copper and enamel reflected back jewel-like colours.

  Michelle’s eyes dropped to the brass standard telephone which stood on the coffee table to one side of the gold Turkish coffee set. Was the telephone just for show? she wondered. Or did it work? Could she phone Laney from here? All of a sudden her eyes were moist. More than anything, she wanted to talk to Laney - then she started as Lyle came into the room. He held out a small tartan case which had a zip fastener. ‘From Laney,’ he said. ‘Your clothes.’

  She met his eyes and felt the usual shock at their blue-green magnetism, but shock was giving way to anger. ‘Thank you.’ She took it from him, but remained standing. There was so much she wanted to say. In the first place, she wanted to inform him furiously that she did not intend to stay here, to bath here, change here and to eat here. The whole set-up was ridiculous. Her nerves were shattered enough without all this. A log shifted in the fire which was burning in the unusual fireplace set in a large recess backed by a wall of glass.

  ‘You know where to go, Michelle.’ Lyle’s voice was soft. ‘To the main bedroom or the guest-room. Take your choice and take your time.’

  ‘I feel tired and - and - fed-up,’ she told him, on a tiny breath, ‘and I’m not overstating the facts.’

  ‘Yes, I know. That’s why you’re here. I intend to change all that,’

  With a small helpless shrug she turned and left him, then stood in the hall for a few moments, her mind suddenly a blank, before she went towards the burnt-orange carpeted stairway which swept past an indoor garden to the bedrooms up above.;

  There were lights burning in the master suite which cast a sherry glow over everything. Michelle caught a glimpse of the huge double bed covered in the shaggy goat-hair bedspread, on either side of which burned the bedside lights exotically suspended from the ceiling to hang over low kists on either side of the bed. Memories of the party in her honour moved in her mind.

  In the guest-room, with its vibrant purple carpeting, she opened the tartan case. The zip made a tiny innocent, whirring noise as she moved it along. Outside, die wind could be heard buffeting the house with its arched grilles, through which a view of the flower-beds, during the daytime, could be seen. Michelle crossed over to the huge windows and looked out. The sky was dark now. What a time she and Glen had been away, wasting time up there when the weather was changing every minute. There were, she saw, flashes of lightning in the high mountains, but not down here, although it was raining steadily.’

  With her head bent forward, her tawny hair curtaining her cheeks, she began to sob quietly, lifting a hand to push her hair to one side now and then, but continuing to sob because the man she loved was a traitor - a traitor to the two people she loved most in the world. A man who had suggested that she had been responsible for carrying tales to Glen Hayes.

  When she had calmed herself sufficiently she went back to the bed and opened the case. Laney, she saw, had packed a trouser suit of the finest honey-coloured wool. There was amber beadwork at the high neckline and she had left it at the farm because it was an outfit she wore only on special occasions. No doubt Laney had packed it because it was warm. The bra was her own, but the briefs were Laney’s - new and still in their sealed packets.

  Somewhere in the house a door thudded. The doors in this house were too heavy just to bang. They were outsize and larger than life, like the house itself, and the exotic furnishings which went along with it. Like the film, no doubt, which had been filmed here.

  Suddenly Michelle shivered and went through to the adjoining bathroom. Her eyes went longingly towards the bath and, before she could change her mind, she crossed the vibrant purple carpeting and turned on both taps. The water gushed, steaming, into the bath. The steam began to gather and clung to the leaves of the plants in yet another indoor garden of this fantastic film-set house. Moisture clung to the mirrors.

  After her bath she felt better and, as she slipped into the trouser suit, the fine wool felt snug against her skin and immediately warm, without being overpowering and heavy to the touch. Using the cosmetics she carried in a little vanity bag in her handbag, she made up her face, then combed out her tangled hair. Shoes? Her startled eyes went to the case. Laney had forgotten to pack shoes. Well, there hadn’t been any to pack, obviously, and besides, she had been wearing shoes, discarded now and damp and muddy. Wildly her eyes scanned the beautiful carpeting for mud-marks, but there were none.

  She decided to go barefoot, no real hardship in these luxurious carpeted rooms, and leaving her case where it was, she went downstairs.

  Lyle turned as she entered the lounge. He had changed, she noticed at once, into white levis and a black turtle-necked sweater. Very dramatic. To go with the house, she thought bitterly. His blue-green eyes went over her and came to rest on her mouth. ‘I like what I see,’

  he said, ‘but where are your shoes?’

  ‘Laney didn’t send any. I suppose there weren’t any at the farm. I forget, right now. The others are wet and muddy, so I thought it best to leave them off.’

  He had put on a record at a volume turned on just audibly. A girl was singing, ‘You might as well surrender, surrender.’ The piano notes were indolent, keeping just behind her. A burning log shifted in the fire. Michelle was aware of the wind outside, the rain, the mountains, the luxury of this magnificent house, of the feel of the finest wool against her skin, but most of all, she was aware of Lyle Cunningham.

  There was a long moment of what seemed like recognition for the first time between them, then he said, ‘Your feet will be cold.’ His eyes did not leave her face.

  ‘No - all this carpeting.’ She looked down. ‘My feet sink into it. Then the fire.’ She wondered whether he could see that she had been crying, then remembered that she had cried without tears, long shuddering sobs, coming from way inside her - too deep for tears.

  ‘Sit near the fire,’ he told her, ‘while I pour you a drink.’

  Michelle crossed over to the fire, keeping her eyes away from him, her feet, rosy from her bath, lost in the thick pile of the honey carpeting. One level down was the sheikh’s harem, as she had come to think of the conversation area, with all its cushions and the black iron standard lamps which were topped with crowns of the palest amber glass. She tried not to be aware of it - of the waiting, vibrantly coloured cushions of shocking-pink, turquoise, orange and purple -

  tried not to see herself in Lyle’s arms there.

  He brought the drink to her and she remained standing. As she took the glass from him she tried to avoid touching his fingers - but failed.

  There was a tiny caught breath on her part, while their eyes met slowly, locking, then the telephone shrilled in the hall.

  ‘I’d better answer it,’ said Lyle, and she watched him as he went in the direction of the carved sliding doors, her heart thudding heavily.

  While he was gone Michelle took a sip of her drink. There was an open magazine on a table and she glanced at the headlines. THE

  MIGHTY SANI PASS TO BOW TO THE FAMILY CAR. Sani Pass, she read, interested, the tortuous boulder-strewn road link between Natal and Lesotho, which rises nearly 1,200 metres in seven kilometres and has gradients of 1:3, is being rebuilt to enable family cars to get up it. The Pass, still officially described as a bridle path, was first opened to vehicles in 1949 but did not come into regular use until 1955. Since then, this ruggedly exciting route to the top of the Drakensberg escarpment, at a height of 2,850m, has been traversed by many tourists in four-wheel-drive vehicles
, the only vehicles allowed up. Michelle’s eyes hurriedly scanned the article. There was to be a new route, apparently.

  The article came to an end, reading: Most tourists will, however, still prefer to travel in four-wheel Land-Rovers, in view of the fact that they prefer to travel the route with experienced and skilled drivers.

  Lyle Cunningham was one of those drivers, she thought. Glen Hayes was not, and never would be.

  Lyle came back and she turned. ‘I’ve been chatting to Laney,’ he told her. ‘She’s worried about you and wants to talk to you. My mind was on other things. I should have thought to phone her.’

  His eyes went to the magazine.

  ‘I saw the headlines and couldn’t stop reading,’ she said.

  ‘It will be an important trade route and a potential wilderness region for tourists. The new road will still remain very steep, I gather, particularly the final stage, but the maximum gradient will change, making the journey possible in an average car. It will remain untarred, otherwise it would prove dangerous in slippery conditions -

  I’m referring to a hard surface now.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I can see that,’

  ‘Laney is holding on,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Of course.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I’m not functioning properly.’ She glanced hurriedly around for some place to put her glass, then, barefooted and slender, she walked across the carpet.

  In the hall she said, ‘Laney?’

  ‘Are you really all right?’ Laney sounded frightened. ‘Lyle tells me you are, but why didn’t he bring you here - or take you back to the hotel? I’ve been practically out of my mind. So has Pete. What happened exactly?’

  ‘It was a disaster, Laney. Glen started drinking soon after we left.

  Apart from that he was - well, he’s just not the Land-Rover type. So it was a nightmare. When we got to the top there was more drinking in the little pub. He’d also brought wine along to have with our lunch.

  The weather was changing all the time and he made absolutely no move to get going. I should have phoned you, but I’ve been rather upset.’