Walk in the Shadows

by Jayne Bauling

  Barak shook his head and his eyes were a darker grey than she had seen them before. His voice was still harsh as he said, 'You're just a child, then, untouched by love ... that which possesses the soul. Otherwise you wouldn't talk that way. It's very clever, and artists and poets and musicians do it a lot, but I don't think even the truly great ones mean it. And you're a good artist, Nicola, but never a great one. You can't match your father. You mean what you say now, because you don't know otherwise. You don't know love. I don't know what your life-style is. You may have had innumerable lovers ... but you can't have loved, or you wouldn't talk that way. You're totally unawakened.'

  She was angry, because he made her feel so young, and it was all true anyway. She was untouched by love. There had never been any experience of it, either physically or spiritually, because her passions were always feeble flames, quenched even before they could begin to demand fulfilment. She said sharply, 'You don't understand what it is to be driven ... as I am.'

  `By your art? It's just a career. Oh, it may possess you, and I can understand that. It isn't only the arts that have that power—the land has it too; it can lift a

  man up or drag him down, but that possession is not supreme.'

  `And you who know so much of love,' she taunted outrageously. 'Don't even you make it shoddy by seeking to replace the loved one with the sister? Even Melanie ... I think you only care for her because she looks like Vanessa, because she's Vanessa' s child. She probably senses it and that's what makes her so strange and serious.'

  His eyes were very dangerous, and again she thought how the colour of them had changed. They were dark, smouldering with something Nicola couldn't quite comprehend.

  `Evidently Ellen has taken you through every step of our lives,' Barak said roughly. 'How can a child like you possibly begin to understand? So kindly withhold your opinions in future. You've no right to an explanation, but yes, I loved Vanessa ten years ago when she was eighteen. We had an affair, but when it came to marriage ... Karl wasn't a farmer. But you do me an injustice if you think my feeling for Melanie is based solely on Vanessa's memory. I love the child for her own sake, and you can have no idea of the factors that have gone into moulding her into the strange person you find her.' He made no mention of Denise.

  Nicola by now was feeling horrified by what she had said, by the personal remarks she had made and by the man's reaction.

  She put a hand to her trembling lips and said shakily, `I'm sorry, Barak; I had no right to say such things to you. I can't possibly know the circumstances, and anyway, it's no business of mine '

  His dark face was 'totally expressionless, but Nicola knew it would be a long time before she forgot what had passed between them a few seconds earlier, before the memory of his anger would be dimmed.

  `Then we understand each other. My life and emotions don't concern you, and I have no interest in your affair with Baxter, as it was, or is.'

  `Was,' she said, because she wanted him to believe that.

  `Very well,' he said. He turned to go, then suddenly faced her again. His smile was sardonic. 'You might say that we have communicated this afternoon, even if it took the form of disagreement on a highly emotive level.'

  He strode away from her, a tall man going up towards the windmill, and Nicola stared after him, her hazel eyes oddly blank.

  She drew a deep, shaking breath and turned back to her canvas, but its hold on her had been loosened and she was no longer its captive. She made an effort, but the mountain had lost the magic it had held for her, and the encounter with Barak Sorensen had left her feeling drained and exhausted, so presently she packed up and returned to the house.

  They had called each other by their first names, she realised as she changed out of the old jeans and faded top.

  At dinner that night, the man had reverted to his customary distant manner when addressing Nicola, and she was annoyed to find herself feeling chagrined because of it. In his eyes she had again become insignificant, a mere cipher, evoking little interest in him,

  and it proved unexpectedly disappointing for Nicola. After the small spark that had flared briefly as a result of verbal collision that afternoon, she felt that there ought to have been something more now ... But there was nothing, not even a brief flicker of stirring interest in the icy grey eyes which occasionally came to rest on her face with hurtful indifference.

  Because she was annoyed, Nicola's resentment of him was heightened, but even as she entertained uncomplimentary thoughts about him, there kept returning to her the oddly distracting memory of the way he had spoken, with darkened grey eyes, of Melanie's mother. She didn't understand him, and some measure of frustration rested on her now, leaving her with a feeling of bewilderment.

  But—oh, what did it matter? Nicola shrugged mentally. Presumably Barak Sorensen had suffered over Vanessa, but for all that he was a strange, intolerant man. He was hard, and she didn't like him. There were others close to him who might be able to reach him; but with sudden insight-she realised that he was a man who would never ask for anything, never admit to needing anything : he would only endeavour to provide his own help, and in this matter, he sought to make Denise Graeme a substitute for Vanessa.

  She wondered how deeply Denise's likeness to Vanessa went. What had Vanessa been like? It was possible that Denise's resemblance to her older sister had been built up in the minds of these people in the four years since Vanessa' s death, the consequence of clinging morbidly to a memory, ever seeking reminders.

  Barak rose early from the table, informing his assembled relatives that he was going over to visit the Graeme family and he didn't know when he would be back.

  `Have they found that dog suspected of having rabies yet?' Traugott asked just before Barak left.

  `Not yet. Of course, it may be miles away by now,' Barak said. 'But I don't want Melanie roaming about on her own as she usually does until we've heard they've found the animal.'

  Nicola spent a quiet evening in the lounge with Ellen and Traugott. Quite early on, the telephone rang and Sarah came to call Nicola.

  Surprised, Nicola went into the hall and picked up the receiver.

  `Hullo?'

  `Nicola? It's Todd here,' said the voice which she was beginning to find a source of irritation.

  `What do you want?' she demanded rudely.

  She heard him laugh at the other end of the line. `That's a charming way to speak to an old friend! I thought you might be feeling out of place in this alien territory, and as I'm someone you knew in Jo'burg, I thought I'd cheer you up.'

  `Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped. 'This isn't the South Pole and I'm not going to spend the rest of my life here.'

  `Lucky you; it's just what I might have to do,' said Todd. 'Look, how about my coming over to the farm? I happen to know that Sorensen is with Denise this evening, so I'm at a loose end.'

  `You have a wife, remember,' snapped Nicola. 'And

  thanks very much, Todd, but I've no desire to provide you with my company just because Denise isn't available for the evening. Why don't you leave that girl alone, anyway? She's practically engaged to Barak. Doesn't your ego object to being second best with her?'

  `I wouldn't be so foolish as to jib at accepting the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table,' Todd replied with a laugh. 'So shall I come over, Nicola darling?'

  `No,' she said shortly. 'And I mean that, Todd. If you turn up here, I shall refuse to see you. I've had enough of you to last me a lifetime !'

  She put the receiver down without troubling to say goodbye, and returned to the lounge.

  Ellen looked up from the chessboard over which she and her husband were pondering. 'Was that your father ringing from the city, Nicola?'

  Nicola hesitated, then shook her head. 'It was Todd Baxter. He's acquainted with my father, and I've met him a few times in Johannesburg. He knew I was here, so he rang up.' It was as honest as she could make it, and Nicola wanted nothing more to do with deceit.

  `You'll probably be seei
ng him while you're here then,' Ellen told her 'At the braaivleis on Saturday, at any rate I think he and Hilary have been invited.'

  Braaivleis?'

  `Didn't we tell you?' said Traugott. 'It's for Melanie's sake, really; to make up for Barak's having to miss the New Year's Eve affair we had here. She was so disappointed and we promised her this.'

  `It won't be a big affair,' Ellen said. 'Ilse and Peter and the children will be coming from Messina for the

  weekend. They'll leave after Peter finishes work on Friday evening. Let me see—who else is coming, Traugott? There'll be the Baxters, the Graemes ... oh, and several other parties ... and you, of course, Nicola.'

  `Thank you,' smiled Nicola. 'But will it be a dressy sort of braai, or the traditional use-your-fingers-andwear-jeans sort?'

  Ellen looked thoughtful. 'We'll be having it a little way up the hill. The younger women have usually worn a long skirt or something of that sort when we've had a braai in the past, haven't they, Traugott?'

  don't remember,' said Traugott. 'Perhaps you're right, Ellen. I seem to remember young Denise in something like that ... but she'd look charming in anything. Beautiful girl, Denise.'

  Yes, her beauty was part of the charm, Nicola thought later that night when she was awoken by the _ sound of a car arriving. Barak, she supposed. She heard a clock chiming sweetly somewhere in the house ..,. one o'clock.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR the next two mornings, Nicola worked hard at Traugott's portrait, anxious not to waste time. Ellen gave them a flask of coffee to take up the hill with them, so that they need not lose valuable time walking back to the house for refreshment. Traugott carried a rifle with him because, he explained, the rabid dog's where-

  abouts remained unknown, although a local man thought he had spotted the animal moving west from the top of a neighbouring hill which he had climbed while engaged in bird watching activities.

  Nicola had begun the portrait tentatively, but as she became immersed in the familiar urgent need to fill the canvas, she started to work with all her customary enthusiasm, urged on by an eager desperation. At times, drawing back from the need for a whole picture which was her spur, she was afraid Traugott might be tired, but when she questioned him, he assured her that he felt fine, and he never complained.

  be sure to let you know if anything is wrong,' he told her when she remarked on it.

  `I never expected that you would prove such an easy subject,' she teased him. 'Why, you're quite docile ! I thought you'd be a tiger.'

  `Ach, so?' Traugott laughed. 'Perhaps I have mellowed in recent years. Now it takes a great deal to turn me into the tiger. You learn patience along with the years.'

  While actually working, Nicola never doubted her ability or the success of the portrait, but at odd moments, studying it, she was assailed by doubts, afraid that it wasn't going to be any good. Then she would want to start all over again. But Nicola, however, was wise to herself by now; it had happened so many times before. She couldn't judge the work until it was finished. And Traugott Sorensen, with his healthy complexion, thick white hair and startlingly blue eyes in conjunction with the fine figure he was and the highbred sculpting of his features, was at least someone in

  whom she could take an interest and thus enjoy painting.

  On the Friday afternoon, Melanie came to Nicola on the enclosed veranda between their bedrooms.

  `Hullo,' Nicola said with a smile as the child planted herself in front of her. She still found the solemn countenance a barrier against any attempt to know the little girl. It was impossible to read the smoothly exquisite face, because nothing was ever written there, and the shadowy grey eyes spoke only of mysteries and secrets.

  `Hullo, Nicola,' Melanie answered politely. 'What are you doing?'

  Nicola indicated the sketches of Traugott on her lap. 'I'm just having a look at these.'

  'Why?'

  `If I study them, it helps me when I'm painting your uncle.'

  `Oh.' Melanie considered the statement. 'How does

  it do that?'

  Nicola spread her hands. 'Oh, Melanie, it's hard to explain. I suppose that by studying, these sketches, I can fix in my mind what's required for the painting ... I like to be very sure, so that there's no hesitation when I'm working.'

  `Do you have to go on looking at them right now?' Nicola was puzzled. 'No, it's not essential. I can do it any time. Why?'

  `Nicola—?' Melanie paused.

  `What is it?' Nicola said kindly because for once Melanie had sounded doubtful.

  `Could you come for a walk with me?' Melanie re-

  quested gravely. Then she hurried on, 'You see, I promised Uncle Barak I wouldn't go out far from the house on my own—because of that dog, you know? The one with rabies. Wouldn't it be awful if Donkey got rabies? He'd have to die then.'

  `Horrible,' Nicola agreed. 'Very well, Melanie, I'll come for a walk with you. Do you want to go right now?'

  `Yes, please,' said Melanie. 'Thank you very much, Nicola.'

  She was a very polite little girl, but Nicola thought an extra measure of casualness would have rendered her more like other children of her age. She was so very solemn.

  `Where are we going?' she asked as they left the house.

  `Up the hill a little. You don't mind, do you?' Melanie queried, sounding slightly anxious. 'Would you rather go another way?'

  `Of course not,' Nicola assured her. 'This whole farm is so beautiful that it makes no difference where one goes.'

  `But some places are better than others,' Melanie stated with assurance. 'Like the windmill, and the trees where you first saw me the other day. You might have run me over if you hadn't been going slowly.'

  `Yes,' Nicola agreed drily. 'It was silly of you to run across the road like that.'

  `I know,' Melanie confessed expressionlessly. She reverted to the subject of the farm. 'One of the nicest things is when we go up to the top of the mountain. The very top. Sometimes we have a picnic up there,

  and there's short grass and we sit on it, under the trees, and there's always a hot wind blowing, and we look over the other side.'

  It sounds wonderful,' Nicola commented. Idyllic, she thought. So nice and normal.

  `But today,' Melanie continued, 'I feel like walking up the hill. It's hard, and either you go fast and get tired quickly, or you walk slowly and your legs hurt, and you feel as if you're pushing against something all the time, and it's trying to push you back downwards. But I like to do hard things sometimes, things that make me tired. Do you ever have that feeling?'

  `Quite often,' said Nicola. 'Usually when I'm in a temper.'

  But Melanie wouldn't be in a temper when she did it, not this stolid, stoical young girl. Did she ever feel enraged, or was there always the calm acceptance of whatever came her way? Perhaps the blows fate had already dealt her had taught her that passionate feelings were of little use. Things happened, and no amount of argument could change them.

  `Uncle Barak is just the same. I'm not, though,' Melanie confided. She cast Nicola a sidelong glance. `What puts you in a temper?'

  Nicola laughed softly. 'Oh, all sorts of things ; injustice; cruelty; people who insist on voicing their own opinions but aren't prepared to give anyone else with different views a hearing; blind people who simply won't see wrong where it exists ... and many other things. I'm afraid I must be intolerant myself, there's so much that annoys me.'

  `Why,' Melanie said slowly, and she actually

  sounded surprised, 'you're just like Uncle Barak! Exactly the same. I never thought you were till now.' Nicola blushed, unable to say anything.

  Melanie digressed again. 'Ilse is coining tonight. She's Aunt Ellen's daughter, but her name is Lewis because she's married to Peter. They often come for a weekend, and then I'm allowed to stay up until they arrive on Friday nights. They've got two children, Martin and Erika. Martin is ten and Erika eight, so I'm · the one in the middle. Erika sleeps in my room, and sometimes we stay awake for a very long
time, and we make up stories for each other. Do you think you'll like them?'

  `I can't say, but I think I will,' Nicola said honestly. `Do you like Aunt Ellen?'

  `Yes, very much.'

  `And do you like Uncle Traugott?'

  `Also yes.'

  `And do you like Uncle Barak?'

  `I ... yes,' Nicola lied.

  She didn't like Barak Sorensen. She resented him. Did she even respect him? Admire him? He invoked in her a feeling of nervousness and also, when she recalled some of their exchanges, confusion. What else? Nicola found it hard to decide what she felt about him.

  `And—' She was distracted from her thoughts by the suddenly and amazingly mischievous tone that Melanie's voice had taken on. `Do you like me, Nicola?'

  Nicola smiled down at her. 'Yes ... but I don't know you very well, do I? You're not easy to understand.' For the first time she saw a fleeting half-smile, in-

  finitely sweet, cross the child's smooth face, evanescent and wholly bewitching in its very transience.

  `I think you understand,' Melanie said sedately. 'I'm not really strange as everyone says I am. I just don't like talking unless I have to. Sometimes it can be awkward when I feel I must talk. Like in class at school.'

  `Don't I know it ! ' Nicola exclaimed with rueful memory. She was now wholly captivated by Melanie, who had partially thawed—enough to reveal that she was a perspicacious young person. She knew how people thought of her; the odd one who didn't talk much.

  They walked in the shadow of a very high wall which ran vertically up a wide grassy slope, a part of the farm Nicola had not yet seen.

  `What's on the other side of the wall, Melanie?' Nicola asked.

  `Nothing much at first, then Uncle Traugott's strawberry patch,' said Melanie.