Walk in the Shadows

by Jayne Bauling

  They walked on beside the high wall, Melanie continuing her new game. Did Nicola like Granny Graeme? And Auntie Denise?

  `Oh !' Nicola interrupted suddenly as the still peacefulness of the wide grassy slope was destroyed by the tan streak hurling itself towards them. 'What's that?'

  `Nicola! ' Melanie's voice contained horror. 'It's that dog! It's got rabies ! '

  Nicola could see that. Her heart seemed to stop and turn over.

  `We can't run,' Melanie added desperately. 'What can we do?'

  `Get over the wall,' Nicola commanded, despera-

  don sharpening her wits. There was so little time and the sick beast was crossing the slope at an unnaturally rapid pace.

  `I can't,' Melanie wailed. 'It's too high !'

  `I'll help you. Quickly, Melanie!' Nicola helped to hoist the child up, straining every muscle to make the required effort. 'Get over and run back to the house.' She shoved at Melanie's rear end and was rewarded by a winding kick in the chest.

  Her thought processes seemed to speed up in response to the urgency of the situation. Rabies ... did you die if you were bitten? No, you couldn't ... or could you? She had heard of a man who was bitten; he hadn't died, but there had been painful stomach injections ... Or was that bilharzia? No, you got that from the rivers. Rabies was hydrophobia ... surely you didn't die?

  Nevertheless, Nicola found herself repeating aloud the comforting familiar words of childhood, 'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death ...'

  `I'm up !' Melanie shouted as she gained a hold on the top of the wall. 'Come on, quickly, Nicola!'

  `There isn't time,' Nicola gasped, adding urgently, `go on, Melanie, get back to the house and tell them!'

  The dog was so near now, she could see its eyes, its tan fur, and the foaming mouth which indicated the madness.

  `Hail Mary ...'

  At the last moment she flung herself aside, in a forlorn attempt to escape this horror ... There was a thud, and a sickening crunch as the impetus of the dog,

  unchecked, hurled it against the wall.

  Disbelieving, Nicola stared down at the unconscious animal. Concussed. She giggled weakly in reaction and closed her eyes. But how long would the senselessness endure?

  Melanie had gone, long ago. A moment later Nicola's long slim legs were running down the hill. She ran blindly in the direction of the farmhouse, stumbling slightly on unevenness concealed by the grass. She ran, with the terrible fear in her that any moment now the animal would recover and come pelting after her ... down the hill.

  She gained the kitchen door and paused, breathing hard. There was nothing behind her.

  There were voices from within, Melanie shouting, and then Traugott and Barak, both carrying rifles, came out, Melanie following, while the maid Sarah attempted to haul her back into the kitchen.

  `Nicola!' Barak exclaimed as he caught sight of her. `What happened? Where's the dog?'

  `He knocked himself out, running into the high wall,' Nicola gasped painfully. 'Oh, do something quickly ! He may come round at any minute. I ran all the way.'

  `Thank you.' He glanced at the maid. 'Sarah—see to them.'

  Then he and Traugott had gone and Sarah was drawing Nicola into the kitchen and embracing her and insisting on making tea.

  `You are shocked—Melanie too. You must sit down in the lounge and I will bring you tea.'

  Melanie, completely shaken out of her habitual calm,

  couldn't even stop talking in order to drink the tea when they were settled in the lounge. Ellen was out, so Sarah remained to hover over them both, demanding to be told that they were all right.

  `I think so,' Nicola said breathlessly, attempting a smile.

  `But how did it happen, Nicola?' Melanie persisted in asking.

  `I ... I stepped aside when he hurled himself at me and he hit the wall,' said Nicola, still hardly believing recent events.

  `Weren't you scared?'

  `Terrified,' Nicola said drily.

  `Imagine ! You were so lucky ... Aunt Ellen will say it was providence,' said Melanie, sounding impressed.

  `It was a miracle,' Nicola said shortly, giving silent thanks for the indeed miraculous fact that she was sitting here in this beautiful room, with her father's view of Knysna on the wall, and drinking tea, untouched by the beast which had hurled itself at her such a short while before.

  Melanie seemed wholly unshocked by what had happened, although she was visibly impressed by the brief drama and the escape they had both had. However, she admitted, 'I was so frightened, trying to climb over the wall—it's awfully high. If you hadn't pushed so hard I'd never have reached the top. I tore my jeans. I hope Aunt Ellen will buy me some new ones. Blue again, I think.'

  `I expect she will,' Nicola said absently. There would be no talk of mending the rent—in this household they didn't have to economise, she thought wryly.

  `I kicked something, going over,' Melanie continued. Was it you?'

  `It was indeed. Right in the chest,' Nicola said with a weak giggle. Then she grew sombre. 'Don't let's discuss it any more, Melanie.'

  `That's right,' Sarah said approvingly. 'You talk about something else now.'

  Melanie's dark grey eyes rested briefly on Nicola. `Does it make you feel horrible to think of it?' she enquired, and Nicola nodded. 'O.K., I won't talk about it again, but can't I just quickly phone two of my friends so that they can hear? And when I tell Martin and Erika tonight, I'll make sure you can't hear. Maybe I'll make it my story for Erika when we go to bed. D'you think she'll believe it?'

  `You'll probably give her nightmares,' Nicola retorted.

  Melanie ran out to the hall and presently Nicola could hear her talking away into the telephone.

  Nicola sat in a deep comfortable chair, but she remained tense, remembering the horror of the moment when the dog had flung itself at her. Then she thought of Barak and Traugott, and her heart stood still for the second time that day. Why hadn't they returned yet? Suppose the dog had regained consciousness? They had rifles with them, but anything might go wrong ...

  She would have worked herself up into a panic if Barak himself hadn't entered the lounge just then. He was no longer carrying his rifle and he looked grim.

  `Everything is well,' Sarah assured him, turning to exit the room.

  `Thank you, Sarah,' he said courteously. 'That

  animal won't worry anyone again. Traugott is fetching a couple of the men.'

  Sarah nodded and left them. Nicola stood up.

  `Nicola,' Barak said rather oddly, and she saw that his grey eyes had darkened—yet they remained unreadable.

  `All right, all right,' she said shakily, but forcing herself to feel resentment because she needed to defend. She always did where he was concerned. 'You don't need to tell me how I endangered your niece's life by allowing her to go so far from the house. I'm just a poor fool in these surroundings, it seems. I can't do anything right,' she concluded bitterly.

  `Uncle Barak, Nicola was brave,' came Melanie's calm voice as the child returned from the hall.

  `Thank you, Melanie,' he said tightly, repressively.

  `She helped me get over the wall,' Melanie continued insistently, 'while all the time that horrible dog was tearing down the slope towards us. Oh, I do hope Donkey never gets rabies !'

  `That will do, Mel,' Barak said impatiently, noticing that Nicola had grown even paler. He stepped towards her and grasped her bare arms. 'Perhaps you are just a poor fool, Nicola, but—' He shrugged, suddenly thoughtful.

  Nicola lifted heavy lids from her hazel eyes, still uncertain of his mood.

  He went on, 'Thank you for what you did, Nicola.'

  `It ... I wasn't thinking about anything at all when it happened. Oh, it was horrible !' Nicola finished, and burst into tears.

  `Poor Nicola,' said Melanie in tragic tones.

  She found herself drawn, just briefly, against a lean hard body by the hands that had gripped her arms, but the co
ntact was impersonal, as was the voice which advised, 'Nicola, stop crying. I really can't stand weeping women, you know. Melanie, I hear Ellen's car. Go and tell her what's happened, and say Nicola needs her.'

  `All right.'

  Nicola discovered that her knees were shaking, and it was no longer due to reaction, but the result of Barak's nearness, for although he was no longer touching her, he still stood very close. Knowing herself to be suddenly vulnerable, she moved away from him and, making an effort, stopped crying.

  `Sorry,' she muttered, embarrassed.

  `That's all right,' he said drily. 'Incidentally, Melanie appears to be totally unaffected by what happened, unless you count her being more animated than usual. As I said, thank you, Nicola.'

  For a fleeting moment there was something in the grey eyes that puzzled her. Then it was gone and she was feeling the familiar need to attack in order to conceal the nervousness he somehow instilled.

  `Oh, you mustn't let gratitude or whatever it is alter your opinion of me,' she lashed out.

  `And what is my opinion of you?' he enquired quietly, and everything was back to normal.

  Nicola turned her back on him. 'Unfavourable, to say the least,' she said.

  `Quite wrong, Nicola,' he replied. 'I don't hold any opinion where you are concerned. Emotionally, at any

  rate, you're just a child and, as such, you hold little interest for me.'

  Strangely, that hurt more than if he had said he hated her. She faced him again. 'Thank you,' she said with tremulous anger. 'You're very polite, aren't you? However, I'm glad to know I don't interest you in any way. It's very boring when someone you don't like persists in taking an interest.'

  `I didn't say you don't interest me in any way,' he reproved her. 'I meant that emotionally you don't interest me. Nevertheless, you're a very attractive girl.' His eyes, narrowed, travelled slowly down from her face to her slim waist and hips, and Nicola felt her cheeks grow warm.

  `I wonder if you know how insulting that is,' she snapped, taking a step backwards. `To dismiss a woman's mind while maintaining an interest in her as a physical entity ... I know it's often true enough, but to actually tell her so is the height of tactlessness. Better to pretend you're indifferent to her in every way.'

  `So you do have some sort of code which you apply to your relationships? Was Baxter interested in your mind? Did he give a damn about your soul?'

  `You know nothing about it,' Nicola stated dismissively.

  `Perhaps not, but I do know that if your affair with him had involved the emotions, you wouldn't speak of it in the manner you have done.'

  `What has my manner of speaking to do with it? My relationship with Todd was a personal matter, not something to be discussed with all and sundry.' Nicola stopped, realising that, ridiculously, she was arguing

  about nothing, merely for the sake of it. After all, there hadn't even been an affair with Todd, emotional or otherwise. Oh, why did Barak Sorensen always have to make her feel so antagonistic? The episode with the dog entirely forgotten, she found herself wondering what the reaction would be if she suddenly became all sweetness and light in her dealings with him. Her mouth curved at the idea. He might be surprised; he would certainly be suspicious, after the hostility which had so far coloured all their encounters.

  `What's amusing you?' he asked, appraising her sardonically.

  `Just my thoughts,' she replied, her hazel eyes limpid.

  `Obviously.'

  `Please don't be concerned. My amusement wasn't at your expense,' Nicola assured him gently.

  His dark face was sphinx-like in its impassivity. 'I'm not concerned.'

  `I'm so glad,' she said sedately.

  `Another image, Nicola? Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, but you could be a witch,' he said softly, and the cold grey eyes were dangerous.

  `Then you'd better take care, hadn't you? Where can you find a clove of garlic? I might cast a spell on you.' He laughed. 'I'm immune.'

  Yes, he would be; hardened to any influence other than his own, Nicola thought with a sigh. One experience had embittered him, and now no one could lay emotions on him or touch his soul. He would fashion his own happiness and sorrow, independent of the world.

  Ellen entered then, very concerned about Nicola, who was glad when Barak left the lounge.

  Melanie, who had come in with her great-aunt, asked gravely, 'Are you feeling better now, Nicola?'

  `Yes, thank you,' Nicola said, smiling. It was true. The brief parrying with Barak Sorensen had pushed the afternoon's earlier events to the back of her mind, and she was confident that in time they would recede to become only a vague and intermittent remembrance of fear.

  The Lewis family arrived from Messina after dinner that night. Nicola had intended to slip away, feeling it to be a time for the family only, but when she would have taken herself off to her room, Ellen protested :

  `Oh, you must stay and meet use and her family, Nicola.'

  So Nicola remained. She caught Barak's sardonic glance as she sat down again and remembered his saying that it would be easy for her to take advantage of Ellen and Traugott. That had been on her first night here ... Nicola drifted into a dream, recollecting all that had happened in the few days she had been on the farm. There had been so much involving the emotions, and so much anger. She wasn't used to it. Previously her existence had been on a smooth, ordered plain, uncluttered by the confusions she had found here. The deceptions too, which had been forced on her. She must finish Traugott's portrait as soon as possible, in order to escape the choking muddle to which these people had brought her usually clear-cut emotions.

  She found she liked the Lewis family immediately, and they, in their turn, accepted her presence easily.

  Ilse Lewis, in her mid-thirties, was very like Ellen, and Peter, a few years older, was a pleasantly quiet man, while their pigeon pair had inherited their mother's fair hair and Peter's brown eyes, and were a lively twosome.

  Watching them quietly as they all sat together in the lounge, Nicola was struck by the congeniality of the situation. It was so very much a family gathering, with the three children sprawled inelegantly on the couch, and the adults sitting in comfortable chairs, talking with the ease instilled by long familiarity. It was a happy scene really; you couldn't guess that there was a child who had lost her parents tragically, and that the tall man had long ago lost the girl he had loved. This was the first night Barak had stayed in since the evening of her arrival, Nicola realised.

  They didn't sit long. Peter had undertaken the drive from Messina immediately after finishing work for the week, and freely admitted that bed was the most pleasant thing he could think of just then.

  In her own rooms Nicola bathed and slipped into the delightfully frivolous short nightie which was a delicate shade of apricot and had been a Christmas present from Alison, her sister-in-law. She got into bed and opened Guy de Maupassant's short stories, but found she wasn't in the mood for reading. She picked up her sketches of Traugott from the exquisitely carved antique night table beside her wide bed, and tried to concentrate on studying them.

  She was oddly restless tonight and was unable to fathom the reason for it. The afternoon's excitement over the dog couldn't be the cause as she had hardly

  thought about it in the last few hours, but beyond that, she was unable to reason. She listened absently to the murmur of childish Wires coming from Melanie's room at the other end of the veranda, and attempted to analyse whatever it was that nagged at her so persistently.

  But her introspection brought no answer to the problem. Self-questioning was of little use. There just remained the irritating feeling of emptiness, as if there was something missing from her very spirit—almost as she felt when she viewed the inherent drama of some exciting landscape and knew that to portray it in paints was beyond her meagre talent and any attempt would only result in a flat picture from which the voice was missing. The feeling was almost desolation.

  `Nicola! ' She cast aside her sketches
of Traugott as she heard Melanie's flat voice calling from across the veranda. 'Nicola!'

  She got out of bed, put on the flimsy short dressing-gown which matched the nightie, before going across to the child's room. A bright moon lit the veranda and her figure cast a long shadow on the floor as she walked.

  Melanie's bedroom door was ajar and Nicola entered the room. The small bedside lamp was still on, and the two girls were in bed, while Martin was curled up in a chair beside the curtained window.

  `Were you asleep, Nicola?' Melanie enquired. `No; what did you want?'

  Erika sat up and leaned against her pillows, giggling. `We want you to play Paddy's Black Pig with us.'

  Martin said hastily, 'We can, you know, Nicola. I don't have to say Miss Prenn, do I? Melanie doesn't.

  They said we could. We don't have to go to sleep yet, and Ma said I could come here for a while.'

  `Very well, then,' Nicola said amiably. 'But you'll have to tell me how to play—er—Paddy's Black Pig. I've never heard of it.' She seated herself on the foot of Erika's bed.

  It was a simple game, requiring nothing more than the ability to keep -a straight face and at which the poker-faced Melanie consequently excelled. It was a ridiculous game, but Nicola enjoyed being with the children, perhaps because she had never had much experience of the very young since she had left school. She now found her three companions to be interesting and distinctly individual people, and she liked listening to their talk when they were diverted from their game.

  Later, when they had all laughed a great deal and the children were starting to yawn, Nicola suggested that it was time they went to sleep, and they agreed. Martin said goodnight and departed for his room in another part of the house on silent bare feet, while Nicola remained to say goodnight.

  Erika chuckled drowsily. 'We were tucked in a long time ago, but you'll have to do it for us again, Nicola.'

  `Yes, just look at the beds,' Melanie agreed.

  So Nicola tucked them both in, not very expertly because she had never done it for anyone before. She reflected on the ceremony that most children seemed to regard as a necessary part of going to bed. Tucking someone in ... it was funny really. Her grandmother had always done it for her, and Nicola had taken it for granted, but she couldn't remember when she had