Welcome to Paradise

by Jill Tahourdin

  “We take this little path now,” Sandra said. “There’s Leopard Kopje—you can see its top about that spinney of gums.”

  “Are there leopards?” Alix wanted to know, hoping for another thrill.

  “Somebody shot one there once,” Bernard said. “None now. Quite safe. It’s a good spot for a picnic, isn’t it, Sandra?”

  She nodded rather dreamily. Had they had picnics there together before, then? Alix thought they surely had.

  The kopje was very rocky and woody, but on the near side there was a patch of short grass with shade above it.

  Here Faami, the cook boy, had spread a cloth and set out big coffee cups, plates, knives and forks and rolls of new-baked bread. He had a fire going and was brewing coffee in a big jug. It smelled delicious.

  “Hurry up with food, Faami,” Sandra urged. “We’re starving.”

  “Bakin-eggs comin’, Miss Sandra,” the boy grinned, and in a minute or two the smell of frying rashers was added to that of the coffee, and he was breaking eggs and more eggs into the pan. They watched him hungrily; they could hardly wait to begin.

  Sandra turned on a portable radio she had told the cook to include in his load.

  “Music while you eat,” she said gaily.

  They ate till they could eat no more; drank cup after cup of the good coffee. Then they lay on the grass for a while, replete, and smoked and listened to the radio.

  After a time they climbed up to the summit of the kopje by a steep man-wide path, and gazed at a view that stretched away to north and south and east and west, till it melted away into the haze that was the sky.

  Then, as it was beginning to warm up, they fetched the horses and started to ride back.

  They came, when they were nearly home, to the long belt of flowering wattles down one of whose rides Alix had first tried out Trojan.

  “Victor won’t go slow here. He pulls like anything if I don’t let him out,” Sandra said. “Come on, Bernard, race you to the end.”

  The pair of them set off. The gelding soon outstripped the roan, and Trojan and the mare, held in by Richard, came along some way behind.

  Not too far behind, though, for long-sighted Alix to see what happened, when it did.

  Something white, small and low on the ground, flashed out of the trees just as Sandra was nearing the end of the wattle ride. A cat, Alix saw—one of the many cats, white and tabby and ginger and mixtures of all three, that lived about the farm.

  This one must have caught Victor’s eye. hates white things, Sandra had said.

  He hated this white thing. He swerved wildly to avoid it. He caught Sandra, for once, unawares. Alix cried out as the slight figure was flung out of the saddle and hit the ground head-first. Victor galloped on, mane streaming, towards his stable. Bernard flung himself off the mare and ran to Sandra. When Alix and Richard came up he was kneeling beside her, trying to straighten her out and lay her down with her head on his knee.

  Alix and Richard had dismounted. Richard had hold of both horses. Alix ran forward. Both of them heard Bernard cry, in anguish, “Sandra. Darling, my darling. Are you badly hurt?”

  When they spoke to him he looked up at them with ravaged eyes.

  “She fell on her head,” he stammered. “She’s p—probably concussed.

  Sandra’s eyes were closed.

  “Oh, God,” Bernard muttered. “Oh, God, what’s the best thing to do?”

  “I’ll go off to the house and get transport,” Richard offered practically. “Here, Alix, take Trojan.”

  But before he could mount the mare Bernard said, “She’s coming round.”

  Alix saw that Sandra’s eyelids were fluttering. They waited breathlessly. A few seconds later she had opened her eyes and was looking up at Bernard in a daze.

  “What’s the matter, darling?” she murmured. “Was I thrown?”

  “Yes. Lie still, Richard’s going to get the station wagon or something to take you back.”

  But Sandra shook her head and began struggling to sit up.

  “Ouch!” she said, a hand to her head. Blinking her eyes, she told them, “Now I know what it means when they say people saw stars. Whole purple drifts of them. Help me up, Bernard. I must get back on Victor and ride home. I’ll lose my nerve otherwise. They always say that after a fall you must remount as soon as you can. Where is Victor? Poor darling, it was a white cat. I remember now. It simply flashed by. He shied, of course.”

  “You’ll have to get rid of him,” Bernard said with authority. Sandra laughed—though weakly.

  “No, no, not necessary,” she said. “Let me ride Trojan, will you, Alix?”

  “Only if you let me walk beside you, just in case,” Bernard insisted. “And take the roan, Richard, and bring that transport—if only to pick up Alix.”

  Richard said “Surely” and rode off, urging the roan to speed. With help from Bernard Sandra mounted Trojan. She sat in the saddle, swaying a little. “Such a headache I’m going to have,” she said, pulling a wry little face. She was white as paper—Bernard looked beside himself with anxiety.

  “I think you ought to lie down and wait for Richard to come back,” he urged. But Sandra was a girl who knew her own mind.

  “Please let’s move,” she begged, and started Trojan off at a walk.

  Bernard and Alix walked alongside. They both felt too worried to talk. Once Bernard muttered, “There was no sign of blood. It can’t be a fractured skull, can it?”

  “I should think just concussion,” Alix comforted him. She found herself feeling desperately sorry for him.

  Richard met them minutes later with the station wagon, and now Sandra gave in and allowed herself to be lifted down and made comfortable along the seat behind the driver’s. Richard took the wheel again and drove carefully back to the house.

  Mr. Barrett met them as they drew up, his face haggard.

  “I saw Victor just now, riderless,” he said. “Has Sandra...?”

  “It’s all right, Daddy,” Sandra said. But by the time they got her indoors she had passed right out again. Mr. Barrett rushed to call up the family doctor. He knew where he would be on Sunday morning—on the golf course.

  “It may take some time to get him to the telephone,” he muttered distractedly as he waited.

  But it didn’t take so long after all. And Dr. Anderson, when he heard what had happened, wasted no time in getting out to Punchestown.

  His verdict when he had examined Sandra, was, “A depressed fracture. She must come to hospital right away. I’ll phone for an ambulance.”

  “Will it be for long?” Mrs. Barrett asked fearfully, staring with frightened eyes at Sandra’s white face and closed lids.

  “A few weeks. Now don’t worry, Mrs. Barrett. Leave me to do that,” the doctor urged cheerfully. “Never fear. She’ll be all right.”

  When the ambulance came Mr. Barrett and his wife went in with it. “We’ll telephone as soon as we can,” they promised.

  The others stood on the veranda and watched them go. Richard saw that Alix’s face was white.

  Shock, he thought. And aloud, “I’ll get us all a drink,” he said. “Do us good.”

  But Bernard had left them, without a word. Alix said tautly, “So now I know.”

  Richard was pouring out brandy and squirting soda from a syphon.

  “So now you know,” he agreed quietly. “So what, Alix? You knew before, didn’t you? Only you didn’t want to believe it. Here, drink this, you look as if you need it.”

  Alix took the glass he offered and drank. The spirit slid down inside her and gave her courage. She said wanly, “Such a c—comfort you are to me, Richard.” She swallowed the drink quickly and said, “Another, please.”

  As he gave it to her, “I hope I’ll always be on hand—to be a comfort to you,” he said. But he lifted his eyebrow as he said it. There was the familiar glint in his eyes. Alix was reassured by that.

  He wasn’t serious, she thought. He was just being very kind, very nice. He was just
being Richard...

  The four of them—Alix, Bernard, Richard and the old grandmama—had lunch late, but in improved spirits, for Mr. Barrett had telephoned to tell them that Sandra had been X-rayed and was now back in bed, “resting comfortably.”

  “Sandra had no one but herself—and perhaps the white cat—to blame for her accident,” the old lady declared forthrightly. “I told her she shouldn’t ride Victor. Shying is too dangerous a fault. But no, she wouldn’t listen. Young people don’t listen nowadays. When I was a girl, what my grandparents said was what I did—I’d have been made to regret it otherwise. But nowadays...”

  She sounded severe, but her beady old eyes were twinkling. She knew very well that every generation of grandparents shakes its old head despondently—and with secret pride—over every generation of grandchildren—and always will.

  After the meal was over Alix walked over to her cottage. She wanted to think what she should do next. She had all her evidence now. She knew that not only was Sandra in love with Bernard, but Bernard loved Sandra—and loved her with far more passionate devotion that he had ever felt for herself. His voice, his ravaged face—when he was caught off guard—had left her in no doubt of that.

  So—how to make the break with the least possible fuss? No good hanging on, now, to that dream of the future which she had lived on so contentedly for the past two years. That was over. She must forget it, make new plans, go on alone...

  Her mood, however, wasn’t one of self-pity. That was a sentiment for which she had small regard. Rather it was of perplexity—how and when to tackle Bernard. Not now, when he was so upset. This evening, perhaps—if the news continued reassuring. She would try to get him alone after dinner; and then tomorrow she would see about booking her return passage. She had promised her aunt she would go back to Paradise if things went wrong. So Paradise it should be. After that—who could tell?

  Bernard, however, took matters into his own hands. Before she had time to take off her riding things in readiness for a nap he was knocking at her door.

  “Are you there, Alix?”

  She came out at once on to the little stoep.

  “I must talk to you.”

  She gave him a level look.

  “Yes, Bernard. I think you must. I was just thinking so now. Let’s sit down, shall we? My legs still feel wobbly—shock, I guess.”

  “Mine, too. Cigarette, Alix?”

  “Please.”

  They sat down, and he brought out his lighter. Over its small flame their eyes met. Bernard said, “I gave myself away, good and proper, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  He lit his own cigarette, drew in smoke, blew it out. His blue eyes were clouded with trouble. He stammered, “D—did it... were you ...?”

  “Surprise me? No, I suppose I already guessed—knew.”

  “I feel every sort of heel about it, Alix,” Bernard burst out. “At first Sandra and I decided we’d never let you know. But then it seemed all wrong. I mean ... three people’s happiness sacrificed instead of ... I mean...”

  “You mean instead of one?” Alix prompted gently. She was trying to keep all trace of bitterness from her voice, but she couldn’t quite manage it when she asked the next question.

  “Why did you ever let me come here, Bernard? That’s what I can’t understand. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  He flushed darkly.

  “You must believe me, Alix, when I tell you that we didn’t know ourselves—how we felt about each other—till after you’d sailed. We’d played fair by you till then. It was when this thing about the farm fell through and Mr. Barrett asked me to stay on that we suddenly—well, knew.”

  “Yet you didn’t tell me when I arrived here. You haven’t said a word all these four days. You...”

  He made a gesture with his shoulders.

  “How could I? You were so gay, so happy, so trusting. I tried, believe me, but I just couldn’t bring it out. And till I did, Sandra wouldn’t give herself away either. You must forgive us, Alix. We wouldn’t want to hurt you for the world. But this—it got too big for us. You see, it was all our lives...”

  Alix crushed out her cigarette. She put a hand on his. “Look, it’s over, don’t let’s say any more. I expect you and I were too young, when we got engaged, to know what we were about. We had fun, we were awfully happy together, but I suppose it was just attraction, not really love. I wasn’t really your one-and-only. I—I suppose you weren’t really mine....”

  She smiled at him, and Bernard managed to smile too.

  “I hope not,” he said. “I hope you’ll find...”

  “Of course I shall,” she interrupted robustly. “Not just yet—I’ll wait till my judgment is a bit more mature this time, I think.”

  He grinned ruefully.

  “I deserve that, Alix. But you’re right, of course. We were—just kids, I suppose. It was sweet while it lasted, though, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded. There was a lump in her throat.

  “Very sweet.”

  “What will you do, Alix?”

  “For the present, go back to Aunt Drusilla. She made me promise. I showed her your letter, you know, and she said...”

  “What? Go on, tell me. I can take it. It can’t be worse than what I’m thinking of myself.”

  Alix bubbled into sudden laughter.

  “She thought you wanted to jilt me, but hadn’t quite got the guts to say so.”

  Bernard said again, “You must forgive us, Alix. You’ve been so wonderful about it. And you’ll let me take care of your air passage back to the Cape, won’t you?”

  Alix shook her head.

  “Of course not,” she said crisply. “Because if I’d only had the sense to hear what Aunt Drusilla was trying to tell me, I’d never have been so foolish as to come here at all.”

  He tried to persuade her, but she was adamant. When he gave up, she took the signet ring from her finger and handed it to him.

  He took it without a word. She guessed at his relief that there hadn’t been a scene. She supposed he had expected her to make him one.

  She said with a smile, “I hope you and Sandra will be very, very happy.”

  “You do like her, Alix?”

  That maternal feeling she had had for him when he loaned her the signet ring came over her now. She felt as if she were years older than he. She said warmly, “Of course I like her. How could anyone not? She’s lovely, too. You’ll have a wonderful life together.” You’re being too noble and forgiving to be true, she was telling herself derisively. Can’t you feel your wings sprouting?

  But it was true that she liked Sandra. It was true too—she knew it now—that she had grown out of Bernard. Now that she had faced up to the situation, ended it, got it over, she found she wasn’t heartbroken after all. What she felt was no more than a faint nostalgia for those happy, busy, comparatively carefree days at the Priory when they—and love—were young and new. She had grown up since then. She was a wiser—and only a little sadder—girl. So—

  “God bless, Bernard,” she said cheerfully. It had been their old way of parting. Bernard bent and kissed her. “God bless, darling,” he said. She saw with surprise that the blue eyes were wet with tears.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MR. AND MRS. BARRETT returned from Salisbury soon after sundown, with the cheering news that Sandra’s accident had not been so serious as the doctor had at first feared. They had seen the X-ray pictures—“Of course they meant nothing to us, absolute gibberish,” Mr. Barrett said, “but the fellow explained them for us.”

  “You’ll soon have her back at home with you,” the doctor had assured the anxious parents. “She’s had a lucky escape—might have been a much longer job. She’ll have headaches off and on for a time, but that’ll pass, and she’ll be as good as new.”

  “Better sell Victor, or send him away, while the child’s in hospital,” Grandmama advised shrewdly.

  “You bet I will, Mother,” Mr. Barrett agreed. “I blame myself for
ever buying him—but she was so set on him.”

  “And of course you never can refuse her anything, eh?” cackled Grandmama. “I pity the young man she marries. If he doesn’t take a firm line from the start he’ll never control here.”

  Alix couldn’t resist glancing at Bernard. She caught his eye and he reddened and bit his lip. He meant to speak to Sandra’s father after dinner. He would tell him that his engagement to Alix was over, and ask for Sandra’s hand in the good old-fashioned way. Mr. Barrett was that sort of father. He would expect to have his consent asked, even in these modem times, before giving his adored child to any man.

  It’s a good thing, Bernard reflected, that I’m in his good books and under contract for another year. He can’t very well kick me out.

  After dinner, when Mrs. Barrett had gone up to Grandmama’s room to settle her for the night, and Bernard had disappeared with Mr. Barrett into the estate office, Richard and Alix walked down to the pool and sat by its edge, talking.

  The night was warm, and though there was no moon, the stars were very bright and the constellations made emphatic patterns against their background of gold dust. Away in the distance sheet lightning flickered, and now and then some celestial writer scribbled fiery zig-zags on the sky.

  Richard had carried down some of the rubber cushions from the hut that served as a dressing room, and they made themselves comfortable on these, and lit cigarettes, and for a time didn’t talk, but watched the dancing fireflies that ought to have meant rain, but like the daily thunder and lightning, probably meant nothing at all.