Red Feather Love

by Suzanna Lynne

  The ponderous bull was lumbering back towards the thorn trees as though nothing had happened.

  For one blessed moment Gillian surrendered herself to the protecting arms. With closed eyes she lay against Dirk in the grass, keenly aware of the whipcord muscles of his chest and arms.

  The slam of a car door jerked her to her senses. She opened her eyes as Eve de la Harpe, glamorous in a red slack suit with black flowing scarf, appeared from behind the bushes that partially screened her golden Jaguar by the side of the road. So much was she shaking with helpless laughter that she could hardly keep a straight course. Angrily, Gillian pushed away Dirk's arms and struggled up clumsily. Her beautiful white slacks were a sorry sight. Eve, as she reached them, threw all restraint to the winds and the silent veldt shook with peal upon peal of raucous laughter. A kiwiet flew up startled from its nest in the grass, and the bull turned a surprised eye towards them.

  Dirk's blanched face was inscrutable as he picked up his lithe body with easy grace and attempted to brush the dust and grass from his brown corduroy trousers.

  It was then that Gillian saw the white bandaged hands, now soiled with dirt. Like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle everything fell into place. 'How could I have been so dumb?' she cried silently. She should have guessed that his hands would be injured in extinguishing the flames threatening her death! She was filled with remorse. Obviously, the damage done to his hands was far worse than that done to her body, for she had long since discarded her bandages. Of course, of course! he had not lied about going to Johannesburg. He had been flown there for expert medical attention, but not before he had assured himself that she would regain consciousness, and live.

  And now, again, on this hot Sunday morning, an ironic fate had played them another sly trick, and placed them once more in the untenable situation: Once more he had saved her life; once more he had earned her unwelcome gratitude.

  She would not bother him with it.

  She looked at him, where he stood with arms crossed, nursing his hands in his armpits.

  Eve, recovered from her fit of hysterical laughter, was giving him the mothering touch. 'You poor, poor darling,' she crooned, pursing her red lips seductively and stroking his gaunt cheek gently with a brightly taloned finger. 'You've hurt your hands again.' She looked at Gillian with reproach in her beautiful dark eyes.

  Dirk did not repulse her demonstrations of sympathy, Gillian noticed with a pang of unreasonable jealousy. Eve put an arm round him;

  'Come, darling,' she murmured. 'Let me drive you to the doctor this instant.'

  'Not on your life,' he protested. 'You've come to spend Sunday on my ranch, and spend it here you will. But if you want to be a good Samaritan you may drive Miss McBride home.' He looked at Gillian with inscrutable eyes. 'Unless she'd like to join us for a cup of tea at my humble abode?' Now the eyes changed. She saw again the devilish mockery.

  She mustered all the dignity she was capable of under the circumstances and replied coldly: 'I've come for a walk, thanks all the same. I need exercise.'

  'Next time, please think up a better mode of exercise than running away from a bull,' he taunted. 'And don't you ever again wear that sweater my side of the fence. You know what red does to a bull.'

  She caught the note of subtle meaning in his voice. 'I know, I know,' she purred, looking down her straight little nose at Eve's red suit. 'If you're observant, you'll find the bull in question has its back turned to me and has its baleful eye lined on a cow on the other side of the fence.'

  Eve, still clinging to Dirk, joined in the subtle sparring. 'I hope you've learnt your lesson, Miss McBride.'

  Gillian arched an attractive eyebrow. 'Lesson? What lesson, Miss de la Harpe?'

  'That it's dangerous to trespass!'

  'Right. So I'll take a short cut back to my own safe territory.'

  To Eve's consternation and Dirk's amusement, she slipped quickly back through the fence and ran swiftly and gracefully back to the river, keeping a wary eye on the back of the unsuspecting Brahmin, now grazing peacefully on the far side of the paddock.

  'Have a care!' she heard Dirk's voice shout. 'You can tempt a bull once too often!'

  Madelisa threw up her hands in consternation when a dishevelled Gillian presented herself at the kitchen door. Having heard the tale of woe, she bustled the girl into the bathroom. 'Hurry! Nkosan Grem is coming with the books.'

  'He's not in bed, then?'

  'The messenger says he's up.'

  Soon after, Gillian, spruce in the new cinnamon slacks and sweater from Eve's boutique, was poring over files and ledgers on the front stoep where it was cool. She looked up into Graham's tired blue eyes, noticing the dark circles underneath them.

  'All this is above me,' she admitted ruefully. 'It's pretty obvious, though, that we're solvent.'

  They agreed that Graham would continue the management of the ranch and Gillian would concentrate her efforts on the renovation of the house. Later he would teach her ranching. Graham promised to recruit a builder and workmen immediately and assured Gillian that money would be no problem if she wished to install her own electrical plant.

  'But, my dear,' he said, his clear blue eyes full of concern, 'do you think you're strong enough to tackle this project?'

  'I feel fine,' she assured him laughingly. 'Besides, it would do me the world of good to have something to concentrate on.'

  After a refreshing iced fruit drink, Graham returned with the books to the cottage. Gillian leaning back in her chair, followed him with compassionate eyes. She noticed the slight and pathetic stoop of his shoulders. Despite his fair handsomeness and elegant build, there was something vulnerable about him that aroused her motherly instinct.

  Her father had always spoken highly of Graham and trusted him implicitly. She remembered him saying that Graham earned every penny of his excellent salary. Gillian wondered why her manager was still unmarried - and Dirk von Breda too. Both were personable men and obviously well-to-do. Riches attracted women, though they would never influence herself in the choice of a husband. All she would ask of marriage was to love wholeheartedly and to be loved in return.

  It was a pity that Graham was so much older than she was. Twelve years' difference was too much. It would have been a fitting close to a romantic story if they could end up by getting married - the handsome, charming orphan boy making good and marrying his employer's daughter. So deeply was Gillian plunged in idle reverie as she lay lazily in the cushioned chair, eyes closed, arms behind her head, her lovely legs stretched out, that she was unaware of the approach of footsteps across the grass.

  'Sawu bona, Nkosazana,' a deep voice greeted her. 'Good morning, madam.' Startled, she sat up quickly. A tall, middle-aged Swazi of magnificent physique stood before her, eyes cast down deferentially.

  She replied to his greeting, and waited for him to speak.

  'I'm Dabula, Nkosazana. I was u-yihlo's gardener. I worked for your father for a very long time.'

  Gillian welcomed him enthusiastically. 'I'm very glad to see you, Dabula.'

  He looked up at that and the black eyes smiled shyly. He wore a discoloured sleeveless vest and his faded grey trousers were patched in a dozen different places. His feet were shod in rough sandals made from a discarded motor tyre.

  Gillian gave his face a quick scrutiny and liked what she saw. 'I hope you will work for me too, Dabula,' she said gently. The black eyes looked searchingly into hers. It was obvious that she too was being weighed.

  'I will start soon, if the Nkosazanas so wish,' came the verdict. 'But not before the Incwala.'

  'Only then?'

  'After the Incwala,' he reiterated.

  'That will probably suit me.' Gillian rose. 'Go round to the kitchen. I'll tell Madelisa to give you coffee. Then wait for me and we'll speak further.'

  Dabula put a black hand smartly to his forehead in salute. 'Nkosazana!' he cried, happy as a child, and disappeared round the corner of the house.

  Gillian had no idea what ar
rangements to make as regards sleeping quarters, food or wages for her new employee. She ran through to the kitchen and quickly asked Madelisa's advice.

  'It is better to ask Nkosan Grem. The Swazi men do not like to take orders from a woman.'

  'But that's ridiculous, Madelisa; I can't run to Nkosan Graham each time I want to tell Dabula: "Do this. Do that". Can I now?'

  'It is not like that,' explained Madelisa patiently. 'He will obey if the Nkosazana tells him to. But the boss must employ and pay him.'

  'I am the boss!' Gillian cried in exasperation.

  There was a timid knock on the closed kitchen ( door.

  'Listen to me, little one,' Madelisa whispered hurriedly. 'It is best so. Go now. I will keep Dabula here and feed him.'

  Gillian hurried to the bedroom to put a brush through her hair and peep into the mirror. The fit of her slacks and yellow silk blouse was good and showed her young developing figure to perfection. The yellow of the top brought out the gold flecks in her eyes and enhanced the beauty of her pure skin and shining hair. Only vaguely conscious of her beauty, she studied herself in the mirror of the exquisite old wardrobe and decided that the new outfit demanded a dash of cosmetics. She looked fresh and lovely as she took the short cut through the bushes.

  She was completely taken by surprise by the riotous colour that blazed at her from Graham's garden. The cottage stood dwarfed by a giant msinsi tree, of which every branch, every twig was splashed with the dragon's blood of small tubular blooms. Close by, a flame tree blazed with clusters of brilliant orange-red tulip-like flowers. Cerise and salmon bougainvillea in full bloom clambered against the walls and the whitewashed stoep pillars. Brilliant poinsettias waved their banners defiantly at the scorching sun. Rose and gold cannas, orange strelizias and pink hibiscus - Gillian gazed .in a wonderment at the exotic profusion of the garden. A sweet scent filled her nostrils. Curious to discover its origin, she broke off a small twig of a flowering shrub nearby, and drank in the honeyed smell of the plant, 'yesterday, today, and tomorrow'. She marvelled at nature's trick of producing, cheek-by- jowl, on the same twig, three different shades of flower - white, mauve and purple.

  'Hi there!' Graham's voice shouted from a window opening to the stoep. 'We've spied you! Aren't you coming in?'

  It was then that she saw the golden bonnet of a car parked behind the pink-flowering hibiscus hedge at the further side of the cottage. She recognized Eve's Jaguar. Her heart began hammering against her ribs. Was Dirk there too? The urge to turn tail and flee gripped her, but already the double front door had opened and Graham' was coming down the flagged steps to meet her. Dirk's tall figure appeared in the door, where Eve joined him, crooking her arm intimately through his. Her hair was coiled in a smooth black chignon on top of her head. It made her look sophisticated and elegant.

  'Well, well!' Dirk cried. 'Look what the cat's brought in.' His eyes, bright with mockery, raked her exquisite figure. 'Surely,' he railed, 'the Mother Superior would never agree that one of her pure; white lambs should visit, unchaperoned, the den of a dangerous lone wolf!' He growled the last three words in mock threat.

  'Tch! Tch! Tch!' Eve clicked her tongue in pretended disapproval.

  With a proud toss of her well-shaped head, Gillian flung her fine golden hair back, and faced them defiantly. 'If it gives you pleasure to consider me a child, go ahead,' she retorted tartly. 'I should hate to deprive you of the joy.'

  'You just ignore the imbeciles,' Graham counselled laughingly, ushering her into the lounge. Again she was pleasantly surprised. It was obviously a man's room - spacious, with skins of wild animals on the polished, stone-flagged floor, a wide open grate, a comfortable settee and armchairs. 'What a lovely room!' she exclaimed impulsively. Her eyes swept admiringly over the original paintings on the wall, the low book-filled shelves running the width of one wall and the impressive radiogram and record cabinet against another. 'So my impression of Graham as a cultured man was correct,' she thought to herself.

  Beer cans and half-filled tankards stood around on low stinkwood coffee-tables. The company settled down, Graham guiding Gillian to the settee.

  'Sit here,' he said. 'I'll join you in a minute. First let me pour you a drink, and afterwards you're joining us for lunch. Eve took pity on the poor old bachelors and brought us a hamper from Mbabane.' He bent down, bringing his smiling eyes on a level with and close to hers. 'Well? What will it be?'

  She gave him a fleeting grin. 'Does your establishment run to a cool drink?'

  'Oh, be your age, darling child!' Eve exclaimed irritably from the depths of her comfortable chair.

  'Graham makes pineapple ale - utterly innocuous,' Dirk suggested with a wicked glint in his black eyes.

  'On your recommendation, I'd like that,' Gillian said, giving him a cold stare.

  'Ice?' Graham asked.

  'Please.' Her eyes strayed involuntarily towards Dirk's freshly bandaged hands, as he cupped his beer tankard clumsily between them. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, while Graham fetched the ale from the fridge in the pantry.

  Gillian felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She was painfully aware that Dirk was watching her with bold black eyes, and a twitch of amusement round, the corners of his mouth. Suddenly the memory that he had carried her naked in his arms swamped her with embarrassment and hate. She kept her eyes lowered and the lovely silken lashes swept her blushing cheeks. When Graham re-entered the room with a glass jug of ale, Eve broke the silence. 'You'll be pleased to know, Miss McBride. ...'

  'For Pete's sake, Eve,' Graham interrupted testily, 'call her Gillian, won't you?' He carried a tall glass of sparkling pineapple ale with ice across to the settee. Gillian took it from him with a winsome smile and he sat down beside her.

  'I was going to say,' Eve continued, 'that when I dressed Dirk's hands...'

  'Oh, shut up!' Dirk barked, his eyes sparking dangerously.

  'Stop interrupting me, everybody!' Eve exclaimed petulantly. 'I will have my say!' Turning again to Gillian, she went on, 'The unfortunate episode this morning - I refer of course, dear, to your little roll in the grass with Dirk — could have undone the surgeon's good work. As it was, the pain must have been hell.'

  Angrily Dirk banged down his beer tankard on the coffee-table beside him and rose glowering above Eve.

  'If you don't shut up about my damn hands, I'm leaving!'

  Eve caught at his arm to detain him. 'Okay, darling,' she tried to appease him. 'I'll stop. Come on, darling.' Her mellow voice was caressing as her red lacquered nails scratched coaxingly at his amber silk shirt sleeve.

  'Well, you just behave yourself, then,' he warned, and sat down once more at her side, his face gaunt, his eyes smouldering.

  To break the tension of the moment, Gillian took a quick sip of ale and sent an appreciative glance over the rim of her glass towards Graham. 'This is a delicious drink,' she declared. 'You must teach me how to make it.'

  'There's nothing to it,' Graham assured her. TH teach you with pleasure.'

  She turned to the silent couple opposite. 'Poor old Graham. There are so many things he'll have to teach me,' she said.

  Dirk's mood had passed. He contemplated her with amusement. 'Some of the things, I swear, will be such fun that I wouldn't call him "poor",' he remarked pointedly.

  Eva giggled. Gillian's eyes flashed into his. Her voice was freezing. 'Meaning?' she almost spat the word at him.

  'We-ell,' he drawled, 'there are things, you know, that one wouldn't expect the nuns to teach their innocent young charges.'

  Eve laughed.

  'And there are things, you know,' Gillian mimicked Dirk's intonation expertly, 'which I'd like to say to you, but as we're fellow guests under Graham's roof, I'll refrain.'

  'Pax vobiscum, children!' Graham intoned pontifically.

  Gillian curbed her anger. 'The things Graham must teach me,' she said in a matter-of-fact voice, 'are in connection with ranching. What would you two ranchers say was most important for a gre
enhorn to learn?' There was no mistaking the sincerity behind the question.

  Dirk's amused expression changed to one of interest. 'The first thing to learn,' he said, 'is that ranching is hazardous. A rancher puts his capital into cattle. If he's a breeder, his aim is the improvement of his herd. The purchase of pedigree animals - mostly imported - is imperative. That costs money. The Brahmin bull whose acquaintance you have made,' she caught a gleam of mischief in his dark eyes, 'cost me around two thousand rand. You can imagine how much capital is involved when one considers a whole herd of well-bred cattle.' Dirk was warming to his subject. Gillian listened with intense interest while Eve, in boredom, tapped her long painted nails on the arm of her chair. 'On the other hand,' Dirk went on, 'if the rancher aims at the sale and export of meat, and he's progressive, he'll sink his money into the purchase of young, beef- producing oxen, which he fattens rapidly on his farm, with fodder which more often than not he purchases at an exorbitant price. When the beasts are ready for slaughter, he sends them to the abattoir. The meat is exported or sold locally, and he recovers his capital with a goodly profit. But the breeder reckons on returns from the sale of his well-bred cattle to other farmers, for stock improvement.'

  Gillian set down her empty glass and sat with elbows on knees, her pretty chin cupped in her hands. Her shining eyes were serious and full of interest. 'And in both these cases, a continuous drought would spell calamity?' she asked.

  'That too,' Dirk conceded. 'But the biggest threat is foot-and-mouth disease.'

  'I remember you mentioned that on our journey from Mbabane, Graham.'

  Dirk frowned. 'So your mentor has already instructed you. Am I wasting my breath?'

  'Indeed no!' Gillian exclaimed. 'Graham just mentioned it in passing. Do go on,' she coaxed softly. 'I'm most interested.'

  'If foot-and-mouth disease breaks out, it's disastrous. Immediately the whole area is placed in quarantine and picketed. Sale and export of meat are frozen. Also, all cattle movement is halted. Not a hoof is allowed to enter the area. A cordon of double-rowed, barbed wire fences, thirty feet apart, is erected to control the movement of cattle and the spread of the disease. Should my Brahmin bull break through the cordon, the Government's appointed gunners will immediately shoot him down, and burn the carcass.'