Walk in the Shadows

by Jayne Bauling

  They were gone, a beautiful young girl and an overwhelmingly scornful man, leaving Nicola clenching her fists.

  She had never felt so humiliated in her life. How much had they overheard before she and Todd had become aware of the pair's presence? She tried to recollect ... Nicola's mouth turned down ruefully. Her last words to Todd had been the traditional question women had put to men down the ages : 'What about your wife?'

  `Well! Thank goodness they've gone,' Todd murmured now, putting a hand out towards her. 'Darling, weren't we embarrassed!'

  Nicola turned on him, her hazel eyes blazing. 'I've had enough, Todd. I've done what was asked of me, and Miss Graeme's fiancé came to the desired conclusion. I'm going in now. You'd better accompany me in case they're still about, but after that we're separating and I'm staying well away from you. You make cruel fun of your wife, but you've the hypocrisy to be grateful to someone who offers to remain discreet about your present activities. Why the muttered thanks to the girl otherwise?'

  `Hilary keeps me very comfortably,' Todd Baxter drawled. 'She knows why I married her, but I don't want her to know anything else. She might turn the tap off out of spite if she did.'

  `You married one woman for her money and enjoy spending it on others,' Nicola said coldly.

  `Be your age, darling. Men do that, you know.' Nicola drew away from him in disgust. 'I've often, thought deserted wives were vindictive, but perhaps

  they have just cause for it,' she told him icily. 'I certainly wouldn't think any the worse of your wife if she did turn off the tap. In fact, I'd applaud her.'

  She turned abruptly and went back into the house, forgetting in her anger that she had suggested that they enter together. However, it didn't matter, she realised when she had calmed down a little. Denise and her fiancé were nowhere to be seen, so they had obviously left. It was not merely Todd's callous attitude towards his wife that made Nicola so furious—after all, the unknown wife might enjoy a life of her own as Todd did —but the fact that she had looked such a fool when the couple had come out to the veranda.

  Oh well, it was unlikely that she would ever meet them again, and she hoped Todd Baxter would keep away from her father's home in future. Nevertheless, Nicola continued to burn with humiliation. The memory of the girl's creamy smile and the man's cold glance continued to torment her.

  Nicola joined her father and remained close to him until after they had seen the New Year in, trying to lose herself in the discussion on Matisse.

  But as soon as the noisy gathering had hilariously exchanged New Year wishes and kisses, Nicola retired to her own part of the house. She had a tiny flatlet which her father had had added to the building when her brother Clive had married while still a student and had required a place where he and his young wife could set up home without too much expense. Nicola had been the occupant for three years now, ever since Clive had qualified and taken a post in Bulawayo, while Alison continued her studies through Unisa.

  On reaching her room, Nicola immediately removed her make-up. The improvement was startling, although she remained pale as a result of the relentless heat which continued well into the night. She appraised her reflection as she stood before the full-length mirror. She was of medium height and she had a slim figure. Pretty average all round, she thought wistfully, and then wondered why that should be so. It was the girl Denise, of course, she realised almost immediately, for Nicola had always been honest with herself. Denise had a flawless beauty coupled with a flowing grace of movement, and two men had wanted to spend New Year's Eve in her company; the fiancé and Todd Baxter. The fiancé was too supercilious by far, and as for Todd ... But she, Nicola, had no one. That was nonsense, of course; she had plenty of warm friends, both men and women, but she had elected to attend her father's spur-of-the-moment party instead of accepting other invitations, and if she had been surrounded by strangers tonight, it was her own fault. But she couldn't regret her decision—her father had wanted her there. Robert Prenn set great store on the family unit and she knew that he had missed Clive and Alison since they had moved to Rhodesia.

  Nicola continued her assessment of her reflection. She saw-a girl whose experimental movements contained an angular grace, cultivated as the result of childhood filled with mishaps caused by a tendency to move with a freedom which had been better suited to the open beaches than her grandparents' small house. Perhaps that was why most of her painting, like her father's, was given to nature. With four walls around

  her, Nicola always found a measure of restraint to be necessary. Moving, painting ... everything.

  She examined herself critically. Her long silky hair was a rich shade of auburn and slightly untidy at the moment, surrounding a face which was just a little too positively drawn for prettiness. Wide hazel eyes stared back at her dispassionately from the glass, fringed with dark spiky lashes, while the tan she had acquired this summer, deepened by the brief -holiday in Natal, was robbed of its healthiness by ,her present pallor. Her cheekbones were high, below hollow temples, and her nose was straight. It was too bony a face, she decided with dissatisfaction. She didn't like her mouth either; she found it such an ordinary feature, failing to discover the allure of a slight sensuousness in the gentle curve of her lips.

  Her smile, as she turned away from the mirror and headed for her bathroom, was self-conscious. Contemplating herself in this way was an occupation foreign to Nicola. She Was more used to seeking beauty in rocks and expanses of veld than in people's faces, particularly her own. She recognised this divergence for what it was; Denise Graeme had been so beautiful. She probably made all other women feel 'dissatisfied with themselves. Nicola had never been envious of anyone in her life, not even the girls whose lives had held the one thing lacking in her own : a mother. Because all those mothers, warmly caring and comfortable though they might be, weren't Ruth Prenn, and if Nicola sometimes needed a mother, it had to be her own, although she remembered little of her.

  But she knew she was coming dangerously close to

  envy now, when she thought of Denise Graeme—and it was going to be difficult not to think of her, Nicola realised as she got into bed after a quick shower. The humiliation she had experienced this evening would make her kick the sheets for nights to come. She was sensible enough to know it couldn't matter. The likelihood of her ever meeting the couple again was very remote. Nevertheless, the memory of a pair of ice-grey eyes regarding her scornfully continued -to make her burn with mingled resentment and mortification. She was haunted by a dark, powerfully built man, scorn expressed in every strong feature, and beside him, the girl who had been the cause of the whole embarrassing situation. -

  She ought to make a New Year resolution never to allow herself to be inveigled into assisting anyone again, Nicola thought wryly as she pulled the top sheet over her. But that was an impossibility, the knowledge came to her as she sleepily recalled the many occasions when she had felt herself obliged to help people out of awkward situations—usually ending up in a further awkward situation herself ... like tonight. With her experience of trouble, she ought to have learnt to leave well alone ...

  She rose early the following morning. It was too uncomfortable, lying in bed in the steamy heat which was even more persistently energy-sapping than the previous day's sizzling weather. Consequently, she spent most of the morning in the sparkling blue kidney-shaped swimming pool which her father had insisted on having built and now claimed was the ugliest thing he had ever set eyes on. It might detract from the

  rambling beauty of the garden, but it was infinitely welcome on such a day, Nicola thought. The sky was veiled by a white haze of heat, and hopes of a storm coming to relieve the intensity of the day were faint.

  She was grateful for the fact that she wouldn't have to cook a full-scale New Year dinner for her father and herself. They had been invited to dine with friends who lived out at Honeydew.

  When the time came for them to leave, she changed into a thin dress and put on a pair of strappy sandals. It
was too hot for anything smarter, and even jewellery cluttering her person would only serve to irritate her on such a day. Her hair had dried immediately she had left the pool and now she tied it back at the nape of her neck with a thin scarf.

  Before leaving, her father invited her into the room he had turned into a private den for himself. It led off his untidy studio, and Nicola was conscious of the honour he accorded her by asking her to come through. Not even his closest friends were allowed into Robert Prenn's hideaway, and Nicola could count on one hand the occasions she had been requested to join him there in the three years she had lived in the same house.

  Robert provided his daughter with a gin and tonic and helped himself to a beer, and they settled down in the comfortable armchairs he had chosen for his room.

  Hobert looked across at his daughter as he raised his glass. 'The hottest day of the year so far,' he commented.

  `The only day of the year so far,' Nicola laughed.

  `I think it will be a good year for us both, my darling daughter,' Robert said. 'I feel it.'

  `Then it will be,' she replied. 'You believe you have a divine right to happiness, don't you?'

  `I suppose people who've met with success often start to feel like that,' he said thoughtfully. 'But it doesn't always work out.'

  `I wonder if I'll ever feel that way.'

  `Perhaps. But you lack arrogance, Nicola. I worry about you sometimes. You're not ... eaten by fire.' `Of course not. I haven't your genius.'

  `That's a strong term.'

  `Do you think I'm flattering you, Dad? You ought to know better. But I'll never give .up my painting, so maybe I am devoured—just a little.'

  `You'll never give it up, no. But I can see it taking second place in your life.'

  `Not in the near future anyway,' Nicola said with a smile. 'I'm content to drift awhile yet. I'm very happy.' `Touching heaven?'

  She shook her head. 'I'll amend that and say that I'm contented. I don't think I want anything more. I don't like life to be too exciting.'

  `I do.'

  `Everything excites you, Dad; a tree, a rock ... maybe you're the lucky one and not me.'

  It was true. Robert Preen had never lost a youthful capacity for wonder. He pondered her words in silence for a while, and Nicola studied him with affectionate eyes.

  `Did you enjoy the party?' he asked suddenly, staring at Nicola very hard.

  She smiled her special diplomatic smile, knowing she had no hope of fooling him, and said, 'Yes, thank you.'

  `I thought not,' her father said, sounding satisfied. 'I saw you with that chap Baxter—what were you playing at?'

  Nicola sighed. It was something she desperately wanted to forget. 'Playing is right ! Or play-acting. I was helping out an idiot eighteen-year-old who apparently hadn't realised until last night that running two men at once can lead to trouble.'

  `Poor Nick, you do get yourself involved,' Robert chuckled. He swallowed some beer. 'But I seem to remember your trying the same thing at eighteen yourself.'

  `So I did. That's youth for you. You leave school and it goes to your head, but no one I tried two-timing was my fiancé,' she told him.

  Nor was there .ever a married man, unless you've not been as honest as I've always believed you to be,' her father added. 'I don't like the way Baxter talks about his wife.'

  `Neither do I, and I was always honest with you, Dad,' said Nicola. She had had no secrets from her father. He had always been told about the men she went out with, the ones who were friends, and the few who had been in love with her. She had imagined herself in love often, but the spark had been repeatedly snuffed, so that by now she had learnt to recognise infatuation.

  `I'm glad,' Robert said. He paused. 'I wanted to talk to you. Nicola, I have a commission for you.'

  `Dad!' Nicola sounded reproachful. Her father was welcome to criticise her work and he often did so, wholly unmerciful in his strictures, but there was an

  unspoken agreement between them that she should go her own way, accepting no help from him, making her way up alone.

  `No, listen, darling,' he said hastily. 'I want you to accept this. It means going to the Northern Transvaal —the Soutpansberg and the Piesanghoek area. You know how I've always said you ought to see that part of the country. Look at that picture here—Blaauberg —though that's not really near Piesanghoek. Some years ago I spent a wonderful few months in that, area. Incredibly beautiful country.'

  `Then why don't you take this commission, whatever it is?' Nicola demanded.

  He shook his head. 'I feel it's something you should try.'

  She asked, 'What is it?'

  `A portrait', Robert sounded sheepish, as well he might, Nicola thought.

  `Dad!' She was even more reproachful this time. `You know I can't do portraits. I don't like them any more than you do. My efforts in that line have resulted in paint on canvas, and nothing more. I can't capture character—any portrait I attempt turns out to be insipid. I've never felt an urge to paint anyone. I don't think I like human beings much. I prefer mountains.'

  `Then you'll be the poorer for that,' Robert said firmly. 'Listen, Nicola, I've accepted on your behalf. This man, Sorensen, was at the party last night—' he broke off. 'Nicola, why are there always so many strangers at my parties?'

  `You should be. used to it by now. Friends bring other friends,' Nicola said.

  `I suppose so. Anyway, Sorensen said his old uncle had expressed a wish to have me do his portrait.' `How vain!' Nicola snapped.

  `Maybe. Anyway, I told Sorensen that I couldn't do the painting, but he seemed agreeable when I told him you would do it. He said his uncle might be annoyed at not getting the artist he particularly wanted, but that he'd come round in the end.'

  `Charming! And I suppose you conveniently forgot to mention that your daughter is no more a portraitist than you are?'

  `It didn't seem necessary. If the old chap can't have Robert Prenn, then he'll probably regard another Prenn as the next best thing. And even if you do make a mess of it, they'll pay you well. They can afford to,' Robert added drily. 'You will accept, won't you, darling?'

  Nicola laughed. 'I suppose so. It won't waste too ' much of my time, even if it is a failure, and if you think I ought to visit the Soutpansberg region ... do they have a farm there?'

  `Yes, avocados. They do very well. It's the nephew's farm. Old Traugott Sorensen had a citrus farm in the Nelspruit area but sold it when he retired. He only had a daughter, and neither she nor her husband wanted it, and the nephew had already inherited this avocado place from his father—Traugott's brother.'

  `Did the nephew tell you all this last night?'

  Robert shook his head. 'Some of it I heard when I was up in the Soutpansberg. They're much talked about up there. I never met them then, of course. The entire family were on an overseas pilgrimage, visiting

  the places their forebears had come from, during the time I was there, and there was only a manager on the farm.'

  `Sorensen? That's a Scandinavian name, isn't it?' she said.

  `Danish, to be more specific,' Robert said. `Traugott Sorensen is half Danish, half German, but he calls himself a South African. He's the youngest and only surviving son—he had nine brothers—of a Lutheran medical-missionary, Olaf Sorensen, who came out from Denmark in the last century.'

  `You don't get families of that size these days,' Nicola commented. `Traugott must be pretty old if his parents came out in the last century.'

  `In his seventies, I think,' her father said, setting his glass down on the small table beside him. 'There was a big gap between the first eight sons and Einer and Traugott—so great a gap, in fact, that those two never really knew their brothers well at all. They were the only ones who went into farming and there was always a strong link between them. Barek, the nephew who was here last night, was Einer's older son and as his younger brother wasn't interested in the land, Barak inherited his entire property.'

  `And is it Barak or his uncle who will be pay
ing me?' Nicola enquired.

  Robert spread his hands. 'I've no idea,' he said vaguely. 'The nephew put the proposition to me, but he did say that the portrait had been Traugott's own idea. You'll find out when you get there, I expect.'

  Nicola looked at him helplessly. Robert Prenn never

  did things in a businesslike manner. 'When do they want me?'

  `As soon as possible,' he said. 'I know nothing about Traugott Sorensen's state of health, but as he's elderly, they may be justified in wanting the portrait completed as soon as possible. You're to stay on the farm as a guest while you're working. I have their address so you can write and tell them when they can expect you. Will you travel up by car?'

  `Probably,' Nicola said. 'That's the best way to see the country. I'll have to think about how soon I can leave. I have a few things that ought to be seen to immediately, but I should be ready in a few days' time if I'm going to do this portrait, I'd like to get it over with as soon as possible.'

  `Don't rush through it,' her father warned. 'Even if you're not very confident about it, try to do a good job. Remember your professional integrity.'

  Nicola smiled. 'Of course. I'll make an effort, and if it turns out to be a disaster, I'll still be able to say that I gave of my best.'

  Nicola set out for the Northern Transvaal on the morning following Twelfth Night. She had written to the Sorensens after deciding the date for her journey so that they would know when to expect her. She had been in two minds as to whom she should write to : Traugott Sorensen, her prospective subject, or Barak Sorensen who had put the proposition to her father. In the end she had decided to address the letter to Traugott.