by Anne Mather
‘And did you want more?’
‘I wish I had now,’ Helen nodded. ‘Maybe if we hadn’t doted on Michael the way we did—tried to ensure he had the best of everything—clothes, schools, education—he might have turned out differently. But you know how it is. We wanted to equip him as best we could for this competitive world I’ve been talking about.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Unfortunately we didn’t give Michael much choice in the matter.’
‘Helen, please—’
‘No, I want to go on.’ She shrugged. ‘The upshot of it all was that Michael rebelled—in the only way he knew how. By letting us down…by being expelled from school.’ She put down the eraser and rubbed the chalk from her hands. ‘You can’t imagine how shocked Laurie was—how upset! At first he wouldn’t even talk to Michael, and then after I’d begged and cajoled him he did try to come round. I said to give Michael time—that sooner or later he’d find something he wanted to do. I never guessed that something would turn out to be working in a garage in the village in which Laurie had his living.’
‘But garage work isn’t so bad,’ put in Caroline quietly.
‘Yes, I know. But Michael was the vicar’s son. Greater things were expected of him. Oh, maybe it sounds foolish to you. I suppose it was, but Laurie was always so conscious of what other people thought—of appearances, if you like. He’s a good man—but I’m afraid he felt ashamed that his son should let him down so badly.’ She looked up. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t the end of it, as you may have guessed. The garage proprietor’s daughter became pregnant—Michael admitted responsibility, and instead of going on to university, making a career for himself, he got married to this—this Eileen Morrison.’
‘I see.’ Caroline nodded. ‘That must have been very distressing for your husband.’
‘It was. Oh, Eileen’s a pretty girl, but she hasn’t a brain in her head. And despite what Michael said at the time, I’m convinced that the marriage won’t last. Michael has brains, you see. He simply wouldn’t use them to his best advantage. As I say, no doubt we were to blame.’
‘I don’t think you should blame yourselves entirely,’ asserted Caroline firmly. ‘After all, there are lots of children who would give their right arm to have his opportunities. I think probably he will live to regret it, but don’t you take responsibility for his mistakes.’
Helen half smiled a trifle wistfully. ‘Well, anyway, it’s all water under the bridge. But that was how we came to leave England. Laurie’s work began to suffer dreadfully after Michael got married and then he conceived this idea of coming to Africa.’
‘Didn’t you mind?’ Caroline stared at her admiringly. ‘I mean, leaving all your friends—your family?’
‘I did at first, yes. I went through a period of blaming first Laurie, then Michael, and finally myself. But now I see my children here developing—I take a share in their somewhat deprived lives—and I’m almost content.’
Caroline looked round the cheerfully decorated room. ‘Well, I think you’re doing a marvellous job. I just wish—I mean, I envy your courage. Not many women would pack up and start life afresh at—at—’
She halted uncomfortably and Helen laughed, relieving the tension. ‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘Say it! At my age. That’s what you meant, didn’t you?’
Caroline flushed. ‘Well, I meant—after having a child and so on. Not—not everyone would do it.’
‘Thankfully not everyone has to,’ returned Helen drily, and they walked companionably back to the house.
The children were awake now and in the garden at the back of the mission playing with two black children who Helen explained belonged to her housemaid, Lucy. They were of a similar age to the Laceys’ children and while Helen went to make some tea Caroline went to join them.
David and Miranda were trying to teach the others the rudiments of rounders, and called to Caroline to field for them. Goodnaturedly, she agreed, taking up a position at the edge of the cropped area which served as the Barclays’ garden. But her attention was soon distracted by a movement in the undergrowth at her feet. Although her skin prickled with apprehension, she had to find out what it was, and bending, she parted the blades of grass to reveal, astonishingly enough, a puppy.
She lifted her head to call David and Miranda to come and see, but the boys had started kicking the ball about and all four children were chasing it across the compound to the schoolhouse. Sighing, she looked again at the puppy, her heart going out to the helpless little animal possibly abandoned here by its mother.
Perhaps they could look after it, she thought. They were to be here several weeks yet. By then it might have grown bigger and strong enough to care for itself. At least the children would love having a pet to care for, and she was fond of animals herself.
With this thought in mind, she went down on her haunches beside the puppy, smiling at it encouragingly, delighting in the limpid depths of its brown eyes. The poor thing was half starved, she saw, its little bones protruding from its skin in places.
She spread the grass again and put her hands under the small body to lift it into her arms. But suddenly sharp little teeth dug painfully into her wrist, and the puppy ran off through the undergrowth.
Caroline gasped and drew back, cradling her injured wrist in her other hand. She looked down. The puppy’s teeth had broken the flesh and blood was oozing messily on to her hand.
She got to her feet at once, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping away the blood, cursing herself for being so silly. She ought to have guessed that the creature was no tame domestic animal, that it would defend itself automatically.
She walked back to the mission house and surreptitiously washed her hands at the kitchen sink. Helen was too busy setting out cups and saucers on a tray to pay much attention to her, and Caroline was glad. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to notice what had happened and make a fuss about it. She had been foolish, and when she got back to the bungalow she would cover the punctures with iodine. Fortunately they had all had anti-tetanus injections before leaving England, and she saw no reason to suppose that it would not heal normally.
But by the time she went to bed that night, the bite on her wrist was red and inflamed. She had managed to conceal this fact from Charles and Elizabeth by wearing a long-sleeved blouse at dinner, and afterwards they had gone to the Macdonalds’ for an hour or so for drinks. During these days that Charles had been on holiday he had endeavoured to introduce his wife to most of the European population of La Vache, and the fuller social life she was enjoying had reduced Elizabeth’s complaints to a minimum.
Caroline made sure she was in bed before the Laceys returned, but she was not asleep. Her wrist throbbed painfully, and even the palliative she had taken had done little to relieve it. Her head ached, and she felt sick, and she wondered miserably whether the animal’s teeth had been poisonous.
She heard Charles and Elizabeth go to their room and then the bungalow was silent. Outside, the calls of the night creatures seemed harsher, certainly louder, and the scufflings outside her window seemed more menacing to her increased vulnerability.
She chided herself for allowing her imagination to run away with her. Nothing was any different. It was simply that she was feeling sorry for herself. Yet lying there in the darkness of a moonless night she had the distinct feeling that she hadn’t a friend in the world. Who could she turn to in time of trouble? she asked herself tearfully. She had no parents, no blood relations of any kind. There was only Jeremy to care a scrap about her, and she had virtually told him that she wanted nothing more to do with him. The man she had foolishly dreamed might think something of her had made it plain that he disliked and despised her.
She must eventually have slept because she was brought suddenly to consciousness by the clamouring of the children as they scrambled all over her bed. It was broad daylight beyond the shutters on her windows, and the heat was already making the room intolerably hot.
‘Come on, Caroline!’ Miranda was urging, ‘aren’t you ev
er going to get up?’
‘It’s late,’ announced David, tugging the sheet off her. ‘Come on! We’re hungry!’
Caroline blinked rapidly. The idea of geting up was not appealing. Her head ached abominably, and her tongue felt dry and swollen.
‘Oh, give me a chance!’ she exclaimed weakly. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s nearly nine o’clock!’ stated David defensively. ‘You’re always up at eight.’
‘I know, I know.’ Caroline felt the pain in her wrist but was unable to look at it without attracting the children’s attention. ‘Go on. Get out of here, and I’ll get dressed.’
David regarded her frowningly. ‘What’s the matter? Are you feeling sick or something?’
‘Now why would I be feeling sick?’ returned Caroline, forcing a smile. ‘Go on. I promise I’m getting up now.’
They went unwillingly, squabbling over who was going to eat the most rolls at breakfast, and Caroline got unsteadily out of bed. Her head swam when first she got to her feet, but gradually the dizziness subsided to be replaced by a dull throbbing somewhere near the base of her scalp. She washed lethargically and as she put on her clothes she recalled that Charles would be back at work today. No doubt Elizabeth wouldn’t be seen much before lunch, so she would have to pull herself together and take charge.
Thomas’s cheerful face helped a little, but he looked a little surprised to see her wearing the long-sleeved blouse she had worn for dinner the previous evening. Usually she wore the minimum of clothing, and her skin was already honey-tanned.
Refusing any food, she managed to swallow some coffee while the children ate and pretend that nothing was wrong. They chattered away happily and it was not until Miranda dropped the banana she had been peeling and Caroline automatically reached for it that David’s sharp eyes noticed the swelling on her wrist.
‘Gosh!’ he exclaimed, with wide eyes. ‘Why is your arm all red and puffy like that?’
Caroline sighed, thrusting her hand down into her lap, hiding the tell-tale injury. ‘It’s nothing,’ she denied, indicating that Miranda should take a fresh banana. ‘What are you going to do this morning—’
‘I thought you looked sick before,’ declared David, not to be diverted. ‘Have you had an accident?’
Caroline tried to control her patience, but it was very difficult not to get annoyed when she had tried so desperately to keep the problem to herself and now David was insisting on discussing it.
‘It’s nothing, David,’ she repeated, determinedly taking a sip of her coffee. ‘And I wish you’d say no more about it.’
‘Why?’ David was not to be put off. ‘Doesn’t Mummy know?’
‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Caroline severely, ‘and nor do I want her to. I’ve told you. Forget about it.’
Miranda put the second half-eaten banana aside. ‘Well, I think you should tell Mummy,’ she said, in her childish treble. ‘It looks awful! I don’t like it. It makes me feel sick.’
‘Oh, really, Miranda—’ Caroline was beginning, trying not to give in to an intense desire to scream at both of them, when there was the sound of a car drawing up outside. David immediately ran to the windows, bouncing up and down excitedly as he shouted:
‘Hey, it’s Gareth, Miranda. Do you think he’s come to take us to the river again?’
Caroline sagged. The very last person she needed to see at this moment was Gareth Morgan. She wasn’t strong enough. She couldn’t face another confrontation with him, not right now.
She got to her feet shakily, and walked to the door. ‘I—I’m going to make the beds,’ she said, and both children turned to stare at her in surprise.
‘But Gareth’s here!’
‘He’ll want to see you.’
‘I doubt it,’ replied Caroline, shaking her head.
She had reached her room when she heard the children opening the mesh door, greeting Gareth, asking him why he had come. She closed her door firmly behind her and sought the bed, sinking down on to it weakly. Why had Gareth come? Was he alone? Had he decided to take the children out again now that their father was back at work?
She rested her elbow on the iron end of the bed, supporting her aching head with her hand. She felt pretty rotten and she wondered whether she ought to tell Elizabeth after all. There was Sandra’s father, of course. Nicolas had said that Lucas Macdonald was the physician in charge of the men’s welfare at the mine. He would know what she should do. Perhaps, after Gareth had gone, she could make an effort and walk to the Macdonalds’ house.
Suddenly there was a sharp rap at her door. Instantly she stiffened, but before she had a chance to ask who it was the door opened and Gareth stood there. She supposed he was used to entering a woman’s bedroom. He had been married for five or six years when all was said and done, so the appearance of a woman’s undergarments could be no surprise to him. Nevertheless, Caroline was not at all used to any man entering her bedroom, least of all one who was regarding her with such anger and frustration.
‘Do you mind getting out of here?’ she asked coldly, turning so that her back was towards him.
Gareth came into the room instead, walking round her to look down at her with grim eyes. ‘What’s this I hear about some swelling on your arm?’ he demanded. ‘Where is it? Let me see!’
Caroline heaved a sigh, showing by the way she was holding her left arm so stiffly which arm was injured. ‘I told the children not to tell anyone—’
‘Don’t be so damn childish,’ he snapped. ‘Show me!’
When she didn’t make any move to obey him, he came down on the bed beside her, grasping her forearm so that she winced in agony. Then with curiously gentle fingers he unfastened the cuff of her blouse and peeled it back, his lips tightening when he saw the inflamed teethmarks.
‘Lord!’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘What did this?’
Caroline was feeling slightly faint herself at the sight of the bloated flesh. ‘A—a dog,’ she breathed unevenly.
‘A dog?’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘What dog?’
‘It—it was a puppy, actually. Yesterday, at—at—the mission.’
‘One of those mangy scruffs that Helen insists on feeding, no doubt!’ said Gareth shortly. ‘I’ve told her not to encourage the blasted things! It’s a wonder she hasn’t been bitten herself before now.’
‘It—it was no one’s fault but my own. I—I tried to pick it up—’
‘What!’ Gareth stared at her in horror. ‘What the hell did you try to do that for?’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, never mind, I can guess.’ He looked down at her wrist again. ‘Well, something’s got to be done about this—and fast. Tell me, does this hurt—or this?’
He massaged her forearm, but she shook her head, tears trembling on the brink of her eyes.
‘Good.’ He got to his feet. ‘Hang on a minute. I’ve got a call to make.’
Caroline waited dully for him to come back. She was scarcely aware of David and Miranda coming to stare at her from the opened bedroom door, or of Thomas, sent by Gareth, to shift them away. She remained in a kind of numbed lethargy until Gareth came back again.
He came into the room slowly, clearly intent on his thoughts, and stood looking down at her pensively. Then he said: ‘I’ve spoken to the mine superintendent, but I’m afraid Lucas is away at Luanga today.’
‘Lucas?’ Caroline was vague. Then she remembered. Of course, Lucas Macdonald!
‘It’s essential that that swelling is relieved as soon as possible,’ he went on. ‘Do you want me to do it?’
Caroline’s lips parted. ‘How?’
‘Well, I’ve no anaesthetic—it’s going to be pretty painful—but I wish you’d let me.’
Caroline made a helpless movement of her head. ‘Why? Why should you want to help me?’ she asked, her voice a trifle shrill. ‘I—I thought you hated me!’
Gareth’s expression hardened. ‘Don’t be silly, Caroline. I’d do as much for any human being.’
‘Would you?
Would you really? Aren’t you afraid I’ll develop some kind of hero-worship for you? That I might take the fact of your saving my life as some kind of sign on your part—’
‘You’re being hysterical, Caroline. Look, I realise the fever you’re developing is partially responsible, but let’s be sensible about this, shall we?’
‘Oh, yes, sensible!’ Caroline’s lips twisted. ‘Let’s be sensible, by all means!’
‘Caroline—’ He clenched his fists. ‘Are you going to let me—’
‘Is she going to let you what? What is going on here? Does no one care that I have the most blinding headache?’
Elizabeth stood swaying in the doorway, Charles’s dressing gown wrapped closely about her. She looked at Gareth with an obvious lack of comprehension, and there was a petulant droop to her lips.
Gareth turned. ‘Caroline has a swelling on her wrist,’ he explained, with controlled brevity. ‘It needs lancing.’
Elizabeth raised a hand to her forehead. ‘A swelling,’ she repeated helplessly. ‘What kind of a swelling?’
‘This!’ snapped Gareth, losing patience, grasping Caroline’s wrist with a distinct lack of gentleness now and displaying it for Elizabeth to see.
‘Oh—oh, how revolting!’ Elizabeth caught the doorpost dramatically. ‘Caroline, in God’s name, how did that happen?’
Caroline was weary. There were beads of sweat standing on her smooth brow and her hair had become quite damp. ‘A dog bit me,’ she replied dully. ‘Now will you all go away and leave me alone!’
‘No. I don’t intend leaving here until something is done about it,’ retorted Gareth coldly. ‘Caroline, have some sense! Do you want to develop paralysis—or worse?’
Caroline shook her head, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. ‘Oh, all right,’ she agreed weakly, ‘all right, do what you have to. I don’t care any more.’
Gareth smote his fist against his thigh. ‘Right.’ He looked at Elizabeth. ‘Are you going to help me?’
‘Me?’ Elizabeth shrank back. ‘Heavens, no! I’d be no use. I—I’d faint at the first incision.’