by Anne Hampson
'What's the matter with me?' she was asking herself as she drove along the dusty road where royal palms swayed in the breeze and little dark children played beneath them, waving delightedly to her as she passed. 'Why does everything seem bright and sunny all at once?'
It was wonderful to feel light-hearted like this! Almost from the first day at the farm she had known the full weight of unhappiness. Now, even Irma's plight seemed not to be such a burden on her; in this new uplifting sensation there seemed to be hope shining anew; Sara could actually see her sister walking again!
She was humming a tune as she entered the house; Irma called to her and she went into the cheerful, flower-filled room. The scent of roses met her nostrils as she moved to draw the curtains across the window, shielding Irma from the full glare of the sun. She turned; Irma was actually smiling!
'Want something, love?' asked Sara.
'I just wondered where you were. I don't think I want the curtains closed.'
'Okay! Let the sunshine come in!' Sara drew the curtains aside again, her appreciative eyes settling for a moment on the view—the open grasslands and hills winging away towards the mountains, the valley and the silver river, the eucalyptus plantation in which Carl's boys could be seen moving about.
'You're very cheerful today,' commented Irma from the bed. 'Had a fortune left to you, or something?'
A fortune… What would she spend it on? First and foremost, she would search the whole world to find a doctor who could help her sister.
'No, not a fortune. But it's true that I'm cheerful; some days are like that.'
'Where have you been this afternoon?' asked Irma curiously.
'Into Paulsville.'
'On your own?'
Sara frowned.
'Of course. I drove myself in the runabout.'
'Ray hasn't been around all the afternoon. I thought perhaps he was with you.'
Sara sighed, and there was a moment of distress in her eyes before she said, 'Ray's been busy repairing damage done during that terrible storm we had.'
'He's been long enough about it.'
'There was a lot of damage, Irma. Carl's sent some of his boys over each day and they're helping too.'
Irma leant back against the pillows; she reached for a box of chocolates and took off the lid, her lovely eyes roving over them until eventually she picked out a coffee cream and popped it into her mouth.
'I wonder why you're so happy today,' she murmured almost to herself.
Sara hesitated. Should she tell Irma that she was thinking of taking a holiday? No, better let Ray put it to her, and see what her reactions were. If Irma seemed in any way unhappy then Sara was determined to tell Carl she could not go.
'You're rather happier yourself,' she observed, turning the tables on her sister.
'I feel a little happier, I admit. Don't ask me why, Sara, since I couldn't tell you. I expect I shall be feeling as low as can be by this time tomorrow, though,' she added with a sigh.
'I've got your notepaper and envelopes, plus a couple of paperbacks which looked interesting,' Sara smiled, sincerely hoping that Irma would not be feeling low by this time tomorrow.
'You're good to me, Sara.' A wistful note crept into Irma's voice as she added softly, 'I don't deserve your tender care. I'm an ungrateful bitch—and I know it.'
CHAPTER SIX
To Sara's surprise Irma was in fact happy at the idea of her going away for a holiday.
'It'll do you the world of good,' she said with a smile. 'After all, you haven't had your annual holiday, not with coming out here, to look after me.'
Ray appeared to be happy, but Sara rather thought that, deep down, he was feeling somewhat depressed. Nevertheless he adopted a cheerful attitude, and when he left her at the airport he told her to have a good time and not to bother her head about Irma or himself. They would manage very well, he assured his sister- in-lay as he waved her a smiling goodbye.
A chauffeur-driven car awaited Sara at the other end of her journey and she sank into the soft upholstery with rather mixed feelings, being on the one hand content with the luxury offered but on the other hand naturally a little apprehensive at the idea of meeting Carl's mother. True, Carl had assured Sara that she did not resemble him, but he had also said—perhaps jokingly—that his mother would analyse her guest… and the last thing Sara wanted was to be analysed. She had always avoided fortune-tellers like the plague, unashamedly admitting that she was afraid of what they might tell her.
'I recall,' she murmured to herself, 'our neighbour, Mrs Weald, once saying that fortune-tellers and the like were only able to tell you what you told them. They had a subtle way of questioning you so as to gain information. You gave it, quite unknowingly, and then when they began telling you things you were amazed.'
So the thing was not to tell Carl's mother anything about herself, and then she would not be so clever at her game of analysis. True, analysing a person was not quite the same as telling her fortune, but undoubtedly the two were related.
The chauffeur was an African and after a while he began to chat over his shoulder, asking Sara how long she had been in Africa.
'Eight weeks,' she replied, and his next question was naturally that of whether she liked it or not. 'I like it well enough, what I've seen of it,' she added a trifle vaguely.
'Mrs van der Linden says you are here to look after your sister, who had a accident and lost the use of her legs?'
'Yes, that's right.'
'It is a terrible thing for a young lady to be an invalid.'
'Very terrible.' Sara, surprised at the excellence of his English, was not averse to hearing more of it. 'Although her doctors have stated quite definitely that my sister will never walk again I myself can't accept that.'
The man nodded, his jet black hair appearing to have a blue tinge as the curls caught the sun's rays filtering into the car through the side window.
'You are an optimist, miss, as I am myself. One should never give up hope.'
Sara said nothing for a space; she was conscious of a certain pleasure in the African's company and knew she was going to like him. She asked about his family, found he had a wife and two grown-up sons. His job was, he laughingly told Sara, that of chauffeur, gardener, handyman and general errand-boy.
'But you obviously enjoy it,' she said, and the man instantly nodded.
'It's an excellent job, envied by my friends. But the van der Lindens were always known for their generosity to their servants. They pay well and in return expect the very best.'
'Which is only fair.'
'True—which is only fair.'
At last the car turned into a tree-lined road, a quiet road of fine detached houses standing in their own mature grounds. This was a part of Africa so different from what Sara had seen that she gave a little gasp of surprise. Somehow, she had not expected anything quite so sophisticated as this. The chauffeur—whose name she had just learned was Joshua—turned the car into a wide drive and it scraped to a halt.
'Here we are, miss. I hope you enjoy your stay.'
'Thank you,' smiled Sara, turning to view the attractive house with its wide windows, prettily shuttered but at present shaded by gay orange and green linen sun- blinds, their fluted edges moving in the breeze. Tall palms made an avenue to one side of the house, while a border of glowingly exotic blooms framed the house on the other side and at the front. Sara was soon to learn that the back garden was given over to an orchard, mainly, with oranges, lemons and many other fruits flourishing under near-perfect conditions.
Joshua led the way to the front door, which was flung open before they reached it. He stood aside; Sara went forward, taking the hand extended to her and looking uncertainly into the face above it. And what an arresting face it was! Totally unlined and yet plainly giving the woman's age at between fifty-five and sixty. A serene face, with an astounding likeness to an Athenian sculpture Sara had once seen in the British Museum. Firm contours, and yet there was both understanding and compassio
n in the features, a certain softness in the large grey eyes that was most appealing. A smile came instantly to Sara's lips, and Carl's words to her ears, 'You'll like my mother… she isn't anything like her son.'
'Miss Morgan—Sara Morgan! Happy to meet you, my dear. I'm Carl's mother—but of course you know! Come right in, Sara! How kind of you to agree to stay with me.'
'No, indeed,' began Sara shyly. 'It's you who are kind, taking in a complete stranger. After all,' she added with a rather shaky laugh, 'I might be difficult to get on with————'
'Carl assured me you were quite charming.'
'He d-did…?' Amazement mingling with a sort of stupor brought a comical expression to Sara's face. 'Imagine that!' The last two words, speaking volumes to the perceptive Mrs van der Linden, were out before Sara could prevent them, even though she did lift a hand involuntarily to her mouth.
'You and he don't get along too well, it would seem. No matter. He never has had much time for our sex, but I've warned him that one of these days he'll meet his match and fall in love.' The grey eyes twinkled with anticipation. 'How I shall gloat! He tells me that if ever he does marry it will merely be to have a son and heir. He feels that Ravenspark ought not to go out of the family.'
'It's a very lovely house, and I can understand his wanting an heir.' But what a hard, unfeeling husband and father he would make! Both wife and children would never be allowed for one moment to lose sight of who was master in the house, whose word was law.
Sara followed Mrs van der Linden through the hall, with Joshua in the rear carrying Sara's two suitcases. A balustraded staircase led up to a galleried landing off which were several suites of rooms. Sara soon found herself staring at the luxurious apartment into which she had been shown, vaguely conscious that Joshua had deposited the cases and made an unobtrusive departure.
'It's beautiful,' she breathed, wondering how she came to be here, in the beautiful home of so gracious a lady as Mrs van der Linden. It was all unreal suddenly, as if she were living through a prolonged dream. 'Did you create all this———- ?' Sara swept a hand embracingly, swinging round as she did so.
'Create… ?' Mrs van der Linden stared at her for a long moment. 'What a charming way of putting it! Yes, I did create it. I rather enjoy planning things, and every year I alter at least one of the rooms, or suites of rooms as the case may be. It's a pleasant hobby which sometimes goes wrong.'
'It does?' Sara looked uncomprehendingly at her.
'If the design I create is not as good as the one I've obliterated.'
'Oh, I see. Well, that's bound to happen sometimes, isn't it?' Again Sara allowed her glance to sweep around the lovely mauve and cream bedroom. 'This, for instance—I can't conceive how it could be. improved upon.'
'You didn't see it before. It was a real dream! Even Carl, who never really notices such things, remarked on it, saying I ought to have known that I could never improve on the white and rose that I had as a colour- scheme the last time.' She spoke matter-of-factly, but all the time Sara was conscious that her grey eyes were wholly perceptive, and examining. There would be little that Mrs van der Linden would miss and once again Sara was determined to be guarded as to the information she imparted to her. 'I'm going to leave you, dear,' Carl's mother went on. 'I don't know if you prefer to do your own unpacking—I know I do. But if you want Rima you can most certainly have her.'
'No, thank you, Mrs van der Linden,' returned Sara with a smile. 'I do prefer to see to my own unpacking.'
The older woman nodded, and said in that charmingly musical voice that was one of the most arresting tilings about her,
'You must be like me. I love to take my time when I'm unpacking, having a good look around as I do it. In that way one gets to know one's surroundings right away. I even do my own unpacking when I visit Ravenspark—though I have no need to get to know my surroundings there!'
Sara watched her go, her mind switching momentarily to Carl's bathroom and those scented bath salts and that very feminine talcum powder.
The bedroom door closed behind Mrs van der Linden and a moment later Sara was taking some of her clothes from one of the suitcases. The scene from the window was one of quiet suburban inactivity and Sara felt already that her mind was at peace. When she was at the farm, seeing Ray every meal time, and often in between, the strain was bound to affect her nerves. Irma's incessant moods of complaint, her heartrending misery and hopelessness, her repeated wish that she could die… all these had made their contribution to Sara's unhappiness. Would this short break be of any real help, though? Sara could not imagine that it would have any lasting effect on her, since things would immediately resume their previous course once she returned to the farm. Still, thought Sara, determined to make the most of this holiday, it would be very pleasant while it lasted and, if Mrs van der Linden should desire it, she would be only too happy to come again.
She joined her hostess in the sitting-room half an hour later after having taken a quick shower and changed into a brightly-flowered cotton dress. Sleeveless and with the bodice held up merely by laces made of the same material as the dress, it was cool and fresh, and very feminine. When Sara entered the room where Mrs van der Linden was sitting by the window, looking out on to the back garden with its fruit trees and its palms, the older woman glanced up, then stared hard and long, seeing—as Ray had seen—a slender wand of a girl with a flawless skin and features that were inordinately attractive.
'I like what you're wearing,' was Mrs van der Linden's disconcerting remark as Sara came rather shyly forward. 'Sit down, dear, and I'll have some tea sent in.' She lifted a well-groomed hand to pull a bell-rope. The smiling Rima appeared, a plump African girl whose husband worked at the house next door. 'Tea and cakes, please, Rima.'
'Yes, very good, Mrs van der Linden.'
'You found everything you wanted in your room? Plenty of coat-hangers?'
'Yes, thank you.' Sara sat down, her gaze on the scene outside the window. 'How very different it is here,' she murmured, almost to herself.
'From where my son is, you mean? Yes, but both have their charms. I was tremendously happy when I lived at Ravenspark. My husband was living then, of course.'
'You didn't want to stay on when he died?'
'Not really. I rather think that my will would have clashed with Carl's. He's far too domineering for my liking. Perhaps you've noticed?'
Sara prudently let that pass without comment, simply saying that she and Carl did not have much to do with one another.
'He visits my brother-in-law's farm,' went on Sara conversationally, 'and is always helping him out in some way. You see, Ray is a complete novice and I don't know where he would be without your son's help.'
'Carl's helpful, yes.' A strange pause ensued and then, 'He's been telling me a lot about your sister. Carl and I have long conversations over the telephone,' she added by way of an explanation. 'It was the greatest tragedy that she was struck down like that.'
'Indeed, yes.' Sara gave a deep sigh. 'She's so beautiful, Mrs van der Linden. I hope that one day you and she will meet. Irma would love talking to you.'
'Thank you, my dear. Yes, I feel I must see this young lady who so interests my son.'
Sara glanced at her, noticing the faraway expression in her eyes.
'You feel that Mr van der Linden's—er—exceptionally interested in my sister?' Sara could not fully explain why those words came to her lips; she supposed it was curiosity to see what kind of an answer Carl's mother could produce.
'Yes, he certainly is interested.' Mrs van der Linden was frowning slightly, as if she were impatient about being puzzled over something. 'It isn't like him to bother about emotional———— ' She stopped, but of course it was too late.
'You believe he's interested in the emotional repercussions of my sister's accident?'
'He appears to be,' answered Mrs van der Linden with a sigh. 'I do become so frustrated when I can't grasp something.' She glanced at Sara with a hint of apology in her ey
es. 'I don't suppose you can help me to understand?'
Sara shrugged her shoulders.
'I feel you're attaching too much importance to the matter, Mrs van der Linden. 'Carl—your son, he's sorry for Irma, and for Ray too, of course. He sits with Irma and chats quite a lot—————'
'What do they talk about?' broke in Mrs van der Linden curiously.
'I've no idea. Irma's never said.' Come to think about it, Irma was as close as an oyster whenever Sara, just to make conversation, asked what she and Carl had been talking about for so long.
'Oh… nothing much. He reads a lot, and so we discuss books,' Irma would say.
'Your sister,' said Mrs van der Linden slowly, 'is she like you—in temperament, I mean?'
Faintly Sara smiled.
'No two people are exactly alike in temperament,' she said.
'Not exactly, no. But sisters can be very much alike.'
'I think we're very different.'
'You do?' Mrs van der Linden glanced towards the door as it swung inwards and Rima entered with a silver tray on which was some fine china and a silver teaset. 'In what way are you different, Sara?'
'It's difficult to say. I just know we're different.'