Walk in the Shadows

by Jayne Bauling

  ceased to require it. She yawned as she finished Melanie's bed.

  `You're not as good as Uncle Barak and Aunt Ellen

  at tucking people in,' Melanie commented bluntly. `Or my mother and father,' Erika added drowsily. `I expect I'll learn,' Nicola said lightly.

  You will, if you have children,' said Melanie. 'How many children are you going to have, Nicola?'

  `I haven't thought about it. I'll need a husband first,' Nicola said as she prepared to switch off the bedside lamp.

  `D'you think you'll be married soon?' Melanie continued. 'I think you will. I'm going to have four children, two boys an' two girls.'

  `Me too,' Erika murmured.

  Nicola laughed softly. The younger child was almost asleep. 'Four children makes a big family these days,' she said.

  `Aunt Ellen says it's because of the cost of living,' Melanie explained. 'You have to be rich if you want lots of children. My great-grandpa and Ulrika had ten and they weren't rich at all, but that was ages ago.'

  `I must go now,' said Nicola.

  `Nicola?' Melanie tilted her head.

  `Yes?'

  `You do like it here, don't you?'

  `Very much,' Nicola assured her. 'Goodnight now.'

  `Goodnight,' said Melanie as Nicola switched off the lamp, while Erika merely mumbled something.

  Nicola went out on to the enclosed veranda. The bright moon, suspended above the gum-tree plantation, still flooded the space between the two bedrooms

  with its anaemic light, and the whispering trees outside were full of mystery.

  Orange, the big ginger cat, slipped past her and disappeared through a half-open window, a nocturnal prowler who had business of his own to attend to. The heavy silence lying on the house was almost tangible, and Nicola imagined everyone asleep, so that she was startled when Barak Sorensen suddenly appeared on the veranda.

  `Oh ! What are you doing in this part of the house so late at night? I thought everyone had gone to bed,' she said, speaking with breathless haste and drawing the ludicrously inadequate dressing-gown closer to her body.

  `I was reading in the library,' he countered calmly, standing in front of her. 'What are you up to?'

  `Stealing the -family heirlooms,' Nicola said flippantly, and saw him smile. 'I was with the children. They asked me to play—er—Paddy's Black Pig with them.'

  `That's all right, then; said Barak. 'Has Martin returned to his room?'

  Nicola nodded and the moonlight caught the silky swing of her hair which she was wearing loose. 'Just a few minutes ago. Didn't you see him?'

  `No,' said Barak, continuing to speak very quietly. `And the girls? Are they asleep? I was coming to look in on Melanie.'

  `Erika was already off, and Melanie about to follow when I left them,' she told him. `Do you always do this?'

  `Look in on Mel? Most nights. I like to be sure that she's all right.'

  `Not lying awake or having nightmares?'

  `Yes. But I don't think I really need worry tonight. She's so much more natural when Martin and Erika are here. I sometimes think it might be better if she went to live with my cousin in Messina. use and Peter would love to have her.'

  But could Barak Sorensen bear to part with Vanessa's child? Karl's child too, Nicola reminded herself. She stared at him in the moonlight, but could make out no identifiable expression on the strong-featured dark face. Such a hard face. He wasn't someone who would ask for or need sympathy, which was why she refrained from saying what was on her mind : that she had discovered Melanie to be much more the average child than she had first taken her for. The little girl would be naturally poker-faced and solemn in her manner under most circumstances. She was a self-sufficient person, very like her uncle in that respect.

  Barak commented abruptly, `I think Melanie likes you.'

  Nicola said sharply, `I suppose that surprises you?'

  `Fighting again, Nicola?' he suggested coolly. `And attacking, not defending, now. You're continually lashing out. What are you so afraid of, that you have this compulsion always to fight?'

  `I'm not afraid,' she said in an intense whisper.

  `You are,' he contradicted her, his eyes never leaving her. `But I wonder if you even know what it is you fear?'

  `I suppose you think you do,' she said derisively.

  `Involvement?'

  `What do you mean?' she demanded, discovering that her heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

  `You and me, Nicola.'

  They stared at each other in the pale unearthly light provided by the opaque disc which sailed over the gum-tree plantation. Nicola was trembling as she watched Barak warily. His face looked very dark tonight ... satanic.

  His hands were on her shoulders and she could see that the grey eyes had darkened. Her own were dark hazel pools as they stared up into the harsh face so close to her own. Then her lashes fluttered down to rest in dark half-circles on her cheeks, and her parted lips were raised to meet his.

  His mouth was warm as it claimed hers and Nicola trembled uncontrollably as she lifted her slim arms to encircle his neck. His fingers, moving restlessly over her back and shoulders, demanded and received a response. Time was displaced and Nicola was conscious only of his mouth and the hard body against which she was lying and the hands that drained all will to resist from her as they urgently massaged her back. Personality was fully sublimated as she responded to his need of her.

  She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her over and over again, and there was nothing gentle in those kisses; only a sort of frenzied desperation. They were both trembling now and she felt his fingers travel round the low neck of her dressing-gown and cup and caress her breasts. Nicola moaned softly against his

  mouth as he kissed her yet again and his caresses ran the full length of her body.

  Then with a supreme effort she forced her hands to cease in their urgent rhythm of movement against his back, and tore herself away from him.

  `No,' she protested vehemently.

  `Nicola,' Barak murmured. 'I need you.'

  Nicola stared at him with pain in her eyes. 'I'm flattered,' she managed to get out sarcastically. 'Especially as I don't have the smooth face and tawny beauty of the Graemes.'

  His eyes grew even darker and she knew she had made him very angry.

  Yet he had himself rigidly in control and his voice froze her as he said, 'Is it for real, Nicola, this immaturity you so frequently display? Or is it just another image, designed to keep people guessing?'

  Clutching anger to her like - a shield, she exclaimed furiously, 'Once again, I don't understand your meaning. You consistently talk in riddles and I'm tired of it ! '

  `Are you? And I'm tired of your juvenile chat—if it's genuine,' Barak added derisively.

  `Then hadn't we better end this conversation?' she retorted swiftly.

  `Since it's getting us nowhere fast, yes,' he conceded, and there was a hint of steel in his tone. `Go to bed, Nicola. Goodnight.'

  Drawing her gown tightly about her slender waist, Nicola obeyed his command, slipping silently past him. She gained the privacy of her room and shut the door. Furious with both Barak and herself, she got into

  bed and leaned back against the pillows, fuming and wondering fretfully how she would face him the following day. She was humiliated by her own reaction to his lovemaking—and astonished. What had happened to her?

  Nicola spent some time wondering despairingly what it was all about. Complicated human beings had never been part of her life before. Everything had all been so uncomplex : there had been her relatives and friends and painting, and nothing had seemed strange, no one had demanded of her that which she couldn't give, and conversation had held no unspoken thoughts to frighten her ... oh, how could she be expected to understand now?

  She snatched at her sketch-pad and started to draw, with swift, vicious strokes, seeking to narrow the limits of her world again and withdraw from the dark strangeness she had encountered here, through the familiar act
of filling in a space that was blank. But when she examined what she had drawn, she knew that her art was not enough to obliterate what had happened. The brief sketches were all of the same person, drawn from memory, a man with a dark face and light eyes : just a man's head; another full-length one of a man who was powerfully built; a third of a shadowy figure ... as she had just seen him out there on the moonlit veranda.

  She tossed the pad aside in disgust and switched out her lamp, but she was in a disturbed frame of mind and could not settle. The niggling emptiness she had experienced earlier had returned too, and she cursed Barak Sorensen in particular and the inhabitants of the

  entire Soutpansberg in general. What was the matter with her?

  Eventually she forced herself to centre her mind on her calm past and all that had been pleasant in her life, but the memory of what had happened kept returning to her.

  It also succeeded in vanquishing the memory of that afternoon, because when she eventually slept, no dreams of rabid dogs came to her and when she awoke in the morning, she was sure that there had been no dreams of any kind. If there had, she had forgotten them.

  She was relieved to find that Barak had already gone out when she went in to breakfast. A moment later she was feeling annoyed with herself. What did it matter if he had been here? Surely she had poise enough to face him without becoming flustered, despite what had happened the night before? An irritating part of her mind said no, she hadn't that sort of composure and neither had she the ability to forget quickly what had happened.

  Traugott's portrait was neglected that morning because his wife had assigned to him some last-minute shopping to be done in Louis Trichardt in preparation for the braaivleis they would have that evening.

  `There's no hurry, is there, Nicola?' he said when he excused himself after breakfast. 'I must help. The women will be busy here, and Barak is out on the farm, so Peter and I must go into town.'

  `That's all right,' said Nicola, though inwardly she chafed at the delay. She wanted to finish that portrait and return to the predictable ease of life in Johannes-

  burg. The longer she remained here, the more she would weaken to the powerful, insidious magnetism of Barak Sorensen, and she was wise enough to know where danger lay. She wanted her own set of rooms in her father's house again, and hot mornings spent in giving herself to the Magaliesberg, lazy afternoons in the swimming-pool, and visits to the galleries ... She wanted all that was familiar and dear to her; her bearded father and their easy-going friends; because she was frightening herself badly with new and strange thoughts and emotions up here among the mountains of the Soutpansberg range. Ideas seized her mind and made her a stranger to herself.

  `We'll find some work for you to do this morning, Nicola, you can be sure of that,' Ellen was saying. 'And frankly, the longer you take over my husband's portrait, the better we'll both like it. We're so enjoying having you here.'

  Nicola was touched and she blushed at the compliment. 'What would you like me to do?' she asked when Traugott had left with Peter Lewis.

  `I know what she can do, Mom! She can keep the kids out of our hair,' Ilse chuckled. She turned to Nicola, her blue eyes sparkling. 'Would you mind? It's the hardest job of all, but you'd probably have more success than anyone here, because you're someone new to them, even Madeline. They haven't even begun to explore your possibilities yet, so they won't get tired of your company. And we'd appreciate your taking them off somewhere away from the house. Children always get under your feet when you're busy, while they're quiet and don't dream of bothering you when you've

  got all the time in the world for them.'

  Thus it was that Nicola spent a good part of the day outside with the three children, thankful not to have to meet Barak again just yet. She found she got on surprisingly well with these members of an age-group of which she had previously had little experience. She had always been a little nervous of children; they were such self-possessed people; but the contempt she had subconsciously feared was lacking in these three. They were all different : Martin was the independent, aggressive male, and he enjoyed telling Nicola and the girls things he thought they didn't know; Melanie, still stolidly bland most of the time, treated Nicola with calm acceptance now and Nicola knew that, coming from this child, any freely volunteered conversation was a lot; and Erika, a happy little girl, was always ready to be friendly.

  She clung to Nicola's hand when they walked up to the boundary of the mass of gum-trees to see if they could spot any buck. 'Won't it be fun, having a braaivleis tonight?' she demanded eagerly. 'One of the boys coming is Melanie's boy-friend.'

  `No, he's not,' Melanie denied the charge calmly, and dextrously altered the course of the conversation. `Who is your boy-friend, Nicola?'

  `I haven't one at present,' Nicola replied. 'I only have friends these days.'

  `But you have had a boy-friend?'

  `Oh yes.'

  `And you'll have one again, won't you?' Erika sounded quite anxious.

  `I expect so,' Nicola said easily, and smiled at Mar-

  tin's bored expression. It was true that girls took a sophisticated interest in such matters earlier than boys.

  That evening she spent some time examining the clothes she had brought with her from Johannesburg. She didn't want to appear overdressed for the braaivleis, but ... well, Denise Graeme would be there and she would undoubtedly look wonderful. Long skirts, Ellen had said.

  Eventually she settled for a slim petrol-blue skirt and a white blouse banded with bright braid which was a favourite of hers because it reminded her of the Rumanian peasant blouse which had featured in some of the works of Matisse.

  She had found time to wash her hair during the afternoon, so that it was slippery-clean now, and she left it loose, casually waving about her shoulders. Her blouse had a low-cut neckline, so she added a plain gold choker before deciding that there was nothing further to be done to her appearance. She studied her reflection in the mirror while she was applying perfume and brushing her rich auburn hair for the last time before leaving the room. She was at least slim, and a good height, and the little time spent working outside on Traugott's portrait under blue skies and a summer sun had deepened her tan to a glowing golden colour, but ... honestly, her face was too bony, the cheekbones too exaggeratedly high.

  Oh, this was ridiculous, Nicola thought dismissively as she turned away from the mirror. In twenty-three years, she had failed to worry about her looks, so why start now?

  She left the room, crossed the veranda and entered

  the lounge, moving with angular grace which gave line to slim, sloping shoulders and firm breasts.

  It wasn't until she was well into the room that her step faltered, while her heart started an absurdly rapid fluttering, before settling and seeming to sink heavily within her.

  She hadn't wanted to meet Barak alone, but here he was, apparently waiting for her, because now he stepped forward. Those strange grey eyes raked her appearance, yet gave no indication of whether he approved.

  Nicola's fingers curled into the palms of her hands as that ridiculous tremulous feeling assaulted her once more, and she was resentfully certain that those penetrating eyes were noticing and registering her reaction, perhaps with amusement, although they still gave nothing away.

  He said casually, 'You don't appear to have much sense of time. Most of the guests have arrived and everyone is already up at the fires. Or were you trying to gather courage?'

  `What for?' she demanded, then rushed on in case he answered her. 'You needn't have waited.'

  `Why not? I am your host,' he reminded her, his glance amused.

  `You've remembered!' she retorted sarcastically, wondering at the same time why he always made her feel so contrary. 'But I could have gone up on my own.'

  `It's women like you, Nicola, who discourage men from displays of old-fashioned gallantry,' he told her easily. 'Let's go along to the braaivleis.'

  In the darkness. outside, Nicola stumbled slightly as

/>   her foot encountered an unevenness in the grass, and Barak put out a hand to steady her. The contact had the immediate effect of reminding her of his caresses the night before and, frightened by the sudden weakness that assailed her, she moved quickly away from him, keeping her distance as they walked on.

  `Independent,' he commented, drawling more than usual. 'Or scared? What are you afraid of, Nicola?'

  `I'm not,' she protested, wishing her voice wouldn't shake.

  `I was right, wasn't I?' he went on inexorably, his tone deriding her nervousness. 'It is involvement you fear.'

  `I don't understand you.'

  `You don't want involvement on my terms?' `Not on any terms,' Nicola said vehemently. `Why not?' he asked quietly.

  `Oh, shut up and leave me alone !' she exclaimed rudely, appalled by her inability to handle this conversation.

  `Calm down and take life less seriously,' he advised her in somewhat chilly tones. 'Or is this all another of those acts at which you excel?'

  `Why shouldn't it be genuine?' she demanded lightly, fighting to assume some measure of command, both over herself and the conversation.

  `It could be, I suppose,' he said, pretending to consider the question. 'When were you born? I'll excuse you if it was under Gemini, as, according to Ellen, such subjects are characterised by split personalities ... changeable. Which is reality and which is illusion?'

  He was making fun of her and Nicola hated him. `I'm not Gemini,' she said stiffly.

  `I didn't think you were. So it's all deliberate, calculated to confuse?' he queried, and his tone had altered now to contain a threat. 'Because I warn you, Nicola, you won't succeed. I don't take kindly to such feminine games?'