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burning frustration behind those smouldering almond-coloured eyes. She
could almost have felt sorry for her if it was not for the fact that Sybil was
out to claim what she considered her private property, and she would make
use of whatever method she could lay her hands on, Janey realised.
Each time her eyes met Sybil's, it was like a clashing of wills, and the
tension grew inside Janey at an incredible pace. When Rudolph finally
announced that it was time they returned home, her teeth were clenched so
tightly together that her jaw ached. The slow drive out to Houghton did not
relieve the frightening tightness~at the pit of her stomach and when Rudolph
eventually parked the car beneath the pergola in the driveway she was in a
mood to do him a terrible injury without the slightest provocation.
'Janey.' His fingers closed about her wrist as she was about to open the car
door. 'We declared a cease-fire, remember?'
She stared at him in the moonlit darkness, but could not read his
expression as he raised her hand to his lips. Her pulse rate quickened
alarmingly and, for fear of giving herself away, she wrenched her hand from
his.
'Don't do that!'
'Have I offended you?'
Was there a touch of remorse in his voice, she wondered during the starded
silence, or was her imagination playing tricks on her?
'I'm sorry, Rudolph,' she whispered haltingly. 'I think I must be tired.'
He nodded briefly and, moments later, they entered the silent house,
making their way up the stairs to their respective bedrooms. He hesitated at
her door as if with indecision, and her heart leapt " to her throat.
'Thank you for inviting me to have dinner with you this evening,' the
words rushed from her. 'Goodnight, Rudolph.'
'Goodnight, Janey,' he echoed mockingly as if he sensed her fear, then,
turning on his heel, he entered his room and closed the door.
Alone in her own room, Janey closed her eyes and felt her body shaking
with tremors as the tension uncoiled within her. What had she expected?
That he would force himself upon her, demanding payment for his attentive-
ness?
'Oh, God,' she moaned softly, subsiding weakly on to her bed. 'What am I
going to do?'
She was afraid. Afraid of his nearness, his touch,*and his virile
masculinity that still succeeded in leaving her defenceless and vulnerable.
She'wanted his love, but she feared the consequences of her surrender. Could
she risk the possibility of further pain?
After her second week in Johannesburg, Janey settled down into a more
relaxed routine. With Esme displaying a more than superficial warmth
towards Andrew and herself, a comfortable friendship soon developed
between them that alleviated much of die tension in the home.
Rudolph played golf on Saturday afternoons, bringing Sybil to the house
for a drink afterwards before he drove her home. Sybil's possessiveness
annoyed Janey, but she hid her feelings with a grim determination. During
the week Rudolph encased himself in his study most evenings, but he
appeared to reserve Sundays for spending time with Andrew, either by
romping on the lawn with him, or taking them into the country for a picnic.
It never ceased to amaze her when he shed his image of severity to amuse a
small child such as Andrew. He had a natural affinity with children, it
seemed, for, in a relatively short space of time, he had captured Andrew's
affection. Their relationship did not lack discipline, however, and one glance
from Rudolph usually silenced his son's tantrums.
His son! It was difficult for Janey to think of Rudolph as the father of her
child when, for so long, she had shouldered the responsibility alone.
Physically and mentally she and Rudolph were so far removed from each
other that it seemed impossible to believe that they had once been close
enough for Andrew to result from their relationship. It was a thought she
seldom dwelt upon, for it brought with it a pain she had imagined forgotten.
There was very little for her to do in this enormous house with its bevy of
servants, and she found herself returning repeatedly to the room in the attic
with its faded wallpaper and furnishings. The opportunity to question the
family with regard to the mysterious portrait of the young woman had not
arisen, and she found herself placing her own interpretation on its history.
The woman in the portrait was the black sheep of the Brink family, locked
away from society to die in poverty. It was ridiculous, of course, Janey told
herself, but somehow exciting to conjure up a few villains in Rudolph's
ancestry; villains with flaming hair and grey-green eyes who wrenched the
hearts from unsuspecting maidens.
The grey eyes in the portrait seemed to laugh at her foolish thoughts, and
Janey had to admit that she was allowing her imagination to run wild. There
was most probably a very simple explanation for this room being preserved
as it was, an explanation she was bound to find
totally without the romantic interludes she had imagined.
This room, and everything about it, continued to haunt her, and yet she
was almost reluctant to probe deeper. It would involve having to admit that
she had trespassed beyond those heavy curtains concealing the entrance. The
attic had become her retreat when things became unbearable, for an air of
peace mingled with the sadness of her surroundings. It seemed to reach out
to her, cloaking her in a mist of solemn tranquillity, while the threadbare
carpet and the faded lace on the table reminded her of the home she had
loved as a child.
Janey sighed and rose to her feet, plumping up the cushions of the cane
chair where she had sat dreaming away the time, and leaving the room
exactly as she had found it before she joined Mrs Brink for tea in the living-
room.
'You're looking rather pale and sad, my dear,' Mrs Brink remarked,
observing Janey closely. 'Is my grandson not well?'
Janey's hands stilled for a moment over the tea-things as she smiled
reassuringly at the older woman. 'There's nothing the matter with Andrew,
Mother. Dora passed me in the hall when I came down, and he was
demanding his tea in no uncertain terms.'
'He's very like Rudolph was as a child, I notice. Obstinate and determined,
driving you to distraction until you felt sure you'd have a seizure. Then,
unexpectedly, he would disarm you with a beguiling smile, and your anger
would evaporate like the morning mist.' She smiled reminiscently. 'I never
could get the better of him.'
'Your tea, Mother.'
'Thank you, my dear,' Mrs Brink smiled faintly, taking her cup from Janey
and stirring thoughtfully. 'I have a confession to make, my dear, and I'm
finding it very difficult to do.'
There was an unmistakable plea for understanding in
the eyes that met Janey's. 'What is it, Mother?'
'When Rudolph arrived home and announced that he was married, my
immediate thoughts were most uncomplimentary, but the moment I saw
Andrew I realised my error.' There was a guilty silence before she added:
'I'm ashamed of myse
lf.'
Janey could not find it in her heart to be angered by her confession,
despite the trace of bitterness she experienced. 'I don't blame you for
thinking I'd trapped your son into marriage.'
'Trapped is a harsh word, Janey, but what exactly prevented you from
marrying Rudolph two years ago?'
Janey's hands shook a little, rattling the cup in its saucer. 'There were
various reasons for the break in our relationship at the time, but I ... don't
want to discuss it now, if you don't mind.'
She felt the gentle pressure of Mrs Brink's hand on her arm, but found it
difficult to meet the older woman's shrewd glance.
'I shan't press you for an explanation, Janey,' she said softly, 'but I do
know that your relationship with my son isn't all that it should be at the
moment.'
Janey raised her glance sharply, her heart leaping into her throat. 'What—
what do you mean?'
An apologetic smile flickered across Mrs Brink's face. 'I've seen the way
you behave towards each other, and the servants do talk among themselves,
my dear, of how the Master and his wife occupy separate bedrooms, and
show no signs of living together as a husband and wife should.'
It had been a mistake to underestimate her mother-in- law's powers of
observation, and the natural ability of the servants to gossip, but neither she
nor Rudolph had made any effort to hide the fact that they were married in
name only.
'Mother ... the two years of separation has left a cavity
in our relationship. We need time to adjust...'
'Nonsense,' Mrs Brink protested adamantly. ‘My husband was away for
"almost three years during the last war, and we found no difficulty in
continuing with our marriage where we'd left off.'
'Perhaps,' Janey conceded firmly, 'but Rudolph and I didn't have the
security of a marriage licence when we parted company.'
'I suppose it does make a difference,' Mrs Brink agreed sadly, pouring
herself another cup of tea.
Janey rose to her feet and walked about restlessly, stopping for a
moment beside the window to stare out on to the sweeping lawns bathed
in sunlight, the scarlet roses climbing the pergola lending a vivid splash of
colour to that part of the garden. A border of pale blue daisies was the »
exact colour of the eyes in that mysterious portrait, she thought, losing
interest suddenly in the colourful scene beyond the living-room window
as she turned towards the woman seated on the elegantly carved chair.
'Mother ... that room in the attic at the end of our passage,' she began,
swallowing nervously at the dryness in her throat. 'The one with the heavy
curtains concealing the door ...'
'Don't go in there, my dear,' Mrs Brink warned swiftly, a glimmer of
tears in her tired eyes. 'That room is filled with unhappy memories which
I can seldom bear to talk about.'
Janey stood for a moment, staring at the older woman uncertainly before
relinquishing her desire to probe further. Whatever secrets were hidden
behind that door, Mrs Brink was obviously not the one to question, she
realised, disappointment filling her with a certain agitation.
If Rudolph had not wanted her to enter that room, she felt sure that he
would have said so, yet she could not help feeling guilty at trespassing
into a room that obviously contained a family secret—a secret she was
determined to unravel.
Alison's letter arrived at the end of that week, and, slipping it into the pocket
of her cotton frock, Janey escaped to the summer-house where she could
read it in private. Seated on the wooden bench inside the spacious enclosure
with the ivy creeper climbing up the rough bark of the outside wall, she tore
open the envelope and extracted two sheets of the pale pink, scented paper
Alison was so fond of using. It's scented with roses,' she recalled Alison
saying once when she had teased her about it, 'and I use it only for those I
care about.'
Janey's vision clouded momentarily as she recalled the warm friendship
she had shared with Alison during those trouble-free days at college, when
her only problem had been not to waste the money her parents had spent on
her. They had not suffered financially, for she had managed to repay them
every cent they had spent on her, but the disgrace resulting from her
foolishness had been a bitter reward for the faith they had had in her.
Sighing heavily, she brought her thoughts back to the present and
concentrated on Alison's somewhat, flowery handwriting.
'Dear Janey,' her letter began, 'you haven't written since you left Cape
Town, but I telephoned your mother and she gave me your address. I do
hope you've sorted out your problems with Rudolph and that you've found
happiness at last.'
Would she and Rudolph ever be able to sort out the problems that stood in
the way of their happiness? Janey wondered bitterly before returning her
wayward attention •to the letter lying in her lap.
'I met an old college chum of ours three weeks ago,' she read further.
'Derek Reed—you remember him, don't you?
He was doing his final year when we were fresh from school, and he was
always so quiet and reserved. I was certain at one stage that he fancied
you. Well, he did three years at university after leaving college, majoring
in English, and he's a lecturer at the moment.'
Janey had a vision of a tall, fair young man with dreamy eyes, who
appeared to be much happier with his books than joining in with the
frivolity of the other students. If Alison was interested enough, it could be
that he would turn out to be the steadying influence her friend needed so
badly.
'What an absolutely fabulous man, Janey! He's been out to the farm
several times, and each time we meet I discover new depths to his
character. Three years ago I would have considered him terribly dull, but
now I find him quite intriguing.
'Janey, I think I'm in love. I can think and talk of nothing else but Derek.
He's asked me to marry him, but I've insisted that he give me a litde more
time. I've been in and out of love so many times in my life, as you know,
so I have to be sure this time that this love will last for ever. Am I being
silly, Janey, when every part of me is urging that I should fling myself
into his arms and say yes?
'I realise now, for the first time, how you must have felt about Rudolph
when you first met him. If Derek had to walk out of my life now, I think I
would want to die.
'Please write, dear, and tell me that you're happy now that you and
Rudolph have found each other again. I can't help feeling responsible for
what happened, and I couldn't be happy unless I knew that you were
happy as well. Regards to Rudolph, and give Andrew a kiss from me.
Best love, Alison.'
Janey's eyes Were misty with tears as she read the postscript which was
added a few days later. 'I've made up my mind, Janey, and I've given
Derek my answer. We shall be
married during early summer. Shall let you know definitely later. Love,
Alison.'
Janey checked her tea
rs and sat for some time thinking about her friend,
and wishing that her own life could h^ve been so uncomplicated. With Sybil
Rampling out of the way, it might not have been so difficult to allow herself
to love Rudolph once more. But what was the use when everything pointed
to the fact that he had married her merely for Andrew's sake, and that his
interests clearly lay with the woman who had stated so boldly that Rudolph
could only find happiness with her? Why bash herself against the same wall
she had encountered two years ago? Janey asked herself with a measure of
defeat. What was the use of loving him, when Sybil was the woman he had
been destined to marry when his love for her overruled his sense of duty?
On her way back to the house she encountered Rudolph in the driveway as
he was about to leave for his golfing appointment with Sybil. He looked
striking in his pale grey slacks and dark blue, short-sleeved towelling shirt,
the material hugging his powerful shoulders and accentuating a muscular
back. He turned as he heard her approach and his hair flamed when the
sunlight caught it.
'How nice of you to want to see me safely on my way,' he teased as she
drew near. 'Perhaps next time you could join me in a round of golf?' 1
'And be an unwelcome third?' she mocked. 'No, thank you.'
Strong hands caught at her shoulder-length hair, forcing her to draw closer
to him until she leaned against his hard, sinewy body. 'I wouldn't have
suggested that you join us if I hadn't meant it,' he said accusingly, his breath
fanning her forehead and sending shivers of awareness through her.
'Yes, I know. You never say anything that you don't mean.'
There was a note of cynicism in her voice that did not escape him, for he
tugged hard at her hair, bringing tears to her eyes.
'There's a lot you still have to learn, Janey,' he said harshly, 'and you
obviously prefer to learn it the hard way. If that's how you want it to be, then
I shall oblige you in every respect.'
'What do you mean?'
His eyes flickered strangely and her cheeks grew hot under his intense
scrutiny. 'I haven't the time to explain now,' he replied, a tight smile about
his usually stern mouth as he released his hold on her hair and slid his hands
down her back. 'Mother is watching us from her bedroom window.'
Janey only just prevented herself from glancing that way, but her