Walk in the Shadows

by Jayne Bauling

  Later everyone gathered on the driveway to say goodbye to the Lewis family, and little Erika, doing the rounds, gave even Nicola a brief hug before getting into the car.

  `I'm so glad we know you, Nicola,' she said, and the smiles of her brother and parents said the same thing.

  As the car moved off down the drive, Nicola heard Barak murmur in cynical amusement, 'You appear to have much the same effect on them as you do on Traugott and Ellen.'

  Nicola swung round to face him. Nobody else was near them at that moment, so she demanded, 'What do you mean?'

  He smiled frostily as he looked down into her face. `They're already fond of you.'

  `As I intend to leave immediately after I've finished Traugott's portrait, which I hope won't take too long, there isn't going to be enough time for anyone to get fond of me,' she pointed out coldly.

  `Do you really believe it takes time for love to develop?' he asked expressionlessly.

  `Of course. You have to know someone properly before they can inspire love,' Nicola said with certainty.

  She thought Barak sighed. 'Either you're a complete child or there's no depth to you whatsoever,' he said resignedly. 'What about love—or hate—at first sight?'

  `They're not to be trusted.'

  `How sensible and level-headed of you,' he drawled. `And if the impact of an emotion that hits you on first knowing someone stays with you and is stronger than any that might develop slowly?'

  `It doesn't happen like that,' said Nicola.

  `What a fool you are,' he said hurtfully, and the grey eyes were scornful.

  `Why do you hate me so much?' she asked in a low intense voice as Peter's car disappeared from view. `What have I done? You can't hate me simply because of my ... my past relationship with Todd, just because you think because I had a love affair with him and you disapprove—well, that's no reason.'

  `There you go, overreacting again. Must you always make an emotional drama out of everything?' Barak

  said contemptuously. 'I don't hate you, child. I merely dislike your stupidity, your childishness. I suppose you might say that I'm indifferent to you—because of those things.'

  He turned away from her, leaving Nicola raging inwardly at the power he had to inflict hurt on her through a few scornful words. But why 'should she care? Oh, the sooner she left here, the better, she decided as she returned to the house with Ellen and Traugott walking beside her.

  Barak went out again immediately after dinner, and Nicola supposed he was going to see Denise. As soon as he had left, she requested permission to use the telephone and put a call through to her father in Johannesburg. She hoped he would be at home and not away on one of his sudden trips. She sorely needed to hear his voice.

  `Dad! ' she exclaimed in relief when he answered. He was someone blessedly normal in an existence which had been jerked out of its usual rhythmic swing, and she was glad to speak to him.

  `Nick !' Robert Prenn shouted. He always shouted when using the telephone. 'How are you getting on, girl? How's the portrait?'

  `Progressing,' Nicola told him. 'When I'm not actually working on it, I find it causes me a lot of doubt, but I know I can't judge it objectively until I've finished it and am no longer bound emotionally to it.'

  `Good girl,' he said approvingly. 'I'm sure it'll be a success. Is the old gentleman much to look at?'

  `He's wonderful; that's why I'm not finding him as difficult to paint as I might have done, had he been

  lacking in visible character,' Nicola said warmly. 'What about you, Dad? What have you been doing?'

  `Oh, I've been out to the Magaliesberg quite a lot since you left,' Robert told her.

  `And are you all right? Robina has been coming in from Soweto, hasn't she?'

  `Yes, the house has been kept clean, and I'm not starving, if that's what's worrying you,' her father assured her genially.

  `It's not,' Nicola laughed. 'You wouldn't allow yourself to starve. I know you and how you like your comfort. But what about Timothy and Dabble?'

  `Your cats are fine. They've been taking advantage of me because you aren't here to make a fuss of them. Timothy has taken to sleeping on my bed during the day, but I turn him out at night.'

  `As long as they're being fed,' said Nicola. 'I'm afraid I arrived here with another cat for the Sorensens. They already had three, but I could hardly leave the poor little scrap to starve. She's only eight or nine weeks old.'

  `That's typical of you, Nick,' her father chuckled. `Never mind about human beings and their comfort, as long as your precious cats are happy ! How did the Sorensens take it?'

  `I'm not sure,' said Nicola, remembering Barak's reaction. This was his house, after all. 'I assured them I'd take her back home with me when I leave, if they don't want her. But she's settled in very well here. The other cats don't mind her a bit. There's a beautiful lump of affection called Sylvester, a Siamese, as well as a tabby and a ginger'

  `Stop talking about the Sorensen cats and tell me about the Sorensens,' Robert commanded. 'What do you think of Barak, the nephew?'

  Nicola hesitated. What did she think of Barak? 'I don't like him, and he thinks I'm a fool.'

  `Because you don't like him?'

  `Oh no ! He just thinks I'm stupid. He told me so.'

  `Like that, is it?' Robert chuckled. 'Then you ought to get on very well if you both detest each other.'

  `So well that we never say anything pleasant to each other,' Nicola said drily.

  `I liked him when I met him on New Year's Eve, but he did strike me as being a man who would win all arguments, so perhaps you'd better keep out of his way,' Robert suggested, still chuckling.

  `I intend to,' Nicola assured him.

  `What was it? Instant antagonism?'

  `You could put it like that.' She didn't want to tell him that Barak had already received an impression concerning her, before she had even arrived in the Northern Transvaal.

  `What else can you tell me? Do you like the rest of them?'

  'Oh yes; Ellen and Traugott are wonderful people, and I like Melanie too. She's Barak's niece. Melanie and I managed a terrifying escape from a dog with rabies the other day,' Nicola told him.

  `Nicola! What happened?' Robert sounded horrified.

  `Oh, he came for us, and I had to push Melanie over a high wall, and then the dog knocked himself out against that same wall,' she explained briefly, making it

  sound as prosaic as possible. She hadn't intended to upset him. 'I've seen Todd Baxter since I've been up here, Dad. I hadn't known his wife had a farm in this area. She was at the braaivleis the Sorensens had here last night.'

  `So it's not all painting?'

  They said goodbye a few minutes later and Nicola stood still in the hall for a while. For once, talking to her father had failed to raise her spirits.

  She went into the lounge and looked sadly at Ellen and Traugott who had their heads close together over Traugott's chessboard. Their marriage was such a happy one. Time had proved that, for they were still in love now, when their wedding-day was part of a distant and receding past, misty in their minds.

  Some people were so fortunate, Nicola thought almost enviously. But, why should she be feeling like this? She had so much, herself.

  The schools re-opened the next day, so Melanie was absent in the mornings during the days that followed, days which passed quickly enough, bringing hours in which Nicola felt almost completely happy again.

  She found herself deriving pleasure from the farm. She would help in the kitchen while Ellen and Sarah were busy, or she would sit on the veranda with Traugott and listen to his reminiscences about the past. The black kitten, christened Topsy, was growing fat, frequently stealing anything that took its fancy and spending long hours stalking Jody, Ellen's old grey tabby.

  Nicola learnt to recognise local weather signs; an amber glow in the evenings meant that the morning

  would find a thick mist curling its fingers about the farmhouse, obscuring the mountains from view. Such
days, however, were rare, and mostly the sun shone from an azure sky, burnishing the mountains below.

  On the few misty days, work on the portrait was delayed, and Nicola took the opportunity to explore the area as well as Louis Trichardt with its old churches, bright gardens and many commemorative plaques and monuments. She always needed her wits about her, driving in the mist, having to look out for turnings and coping with the low visibility, but she usually made good time and spent some enjoyable mornings.

  Returning to the farm one such morning, she caught sight of a car in her rear-view mirror. It was the station-wagon which Barak used for going about the farm, and he was at the wheel, which probably accounted for the fact that she suddenly found her nerves on edge. Her hands were slipping on the steering-wheel and she crawled at a snail's pace for the remainder of the way, constantly aware of the car travelling behind her. Nicola counted herself fortunate that she only stalled once.

  Mentally she chalked it up as another mark against the man : her knowledge of his distaste for her was undermining her self-confidence.

  She ground her gears as she took the last, hill, and when she had parked the car, she found that he was still with her.

  Barak fell into step beside her as she walked towards the house, and Nicola scowled.

  'You're not a very good driver, are you?' he remarked casually.

  `We can't all do everything perfectly.'

  `I've noticed that you're going out quite frequently. Still acting out the lingering death? Where do you meet him?' Barak asked coldly.

  Nicola stopped and faced him, her hazel eyes dark with anger. 'I am not meeting Todd Baxter, if that's what you're suggesting,' she informed him in a tight voice. 'I haven't seen him since the braaivleis.'

  `Where do you disappear to, then?' he asked, but he sounded so indifferent, as if he didn't care what the answer was, and Nicola bit her lip.

  `I've been exploring the district,' she said as tonelessly as she could manage.

  `Yes?' He looked and sounded sceptical.

  `Yes !' Nicola reiterated furiously. 'Of course, I don't expect you to believe me, and I don't care if you don't. It's enough for me that Ellen and Traugott accept my word. They have tolerance, which is more than can be said for some people in this vicinity.'

  `For instance?' he enquired amusedly.

  `As if you didn't know!' she flashed.

  `Why are you always so ,aggressive?' Barak asked as they went on towards the house.

  Nicola sighed 'I don't know,' she said with sudden candour.

  `I do,' he told her. 'You're going about things the wrong way, Nicola. You can't fight all the time. You'll wear yourself out, turning everything into an emotional issue. You'd make it much easier for yourself if you accepted the inevitable and let it all wash over you. You can't determine the course of your life, so relax and stop fighting.'

  Nicola mounted the stairs to the veranda with him behind her. 'I've no idea what you're talking about, Barak,' she said without looking round.

  `I think you know perfectly well, but you're trying to swamp the truth by feigning ignorance of it. But ignoring something won't make it go away,' he added as he held open the front door for her.

  `So what am I supposed to do?' Nicola asked flippantly.

  `I told you : relax and accept everything,' he said.

  `I don't even like you,' she told him stiffly as they crossed the hall.

  `There you go, dramatising again,' Barak jeered.

  `There you go, sneering again,' Nicola retorted. She laughed suddenly, turning her head to meet his eyes. `Our every conversation provides further proof of our incompatibility. We can never say anything pleasant to each other.'

  `That's because you're fighting yourself all the time,' he pointed out.

  `It's you I'm fighting—I have to, because you continually attack me,' she said.

  They entered the lounge. 'You're a past master at blinding yourself to the facts,' Barak said expressionlessly.

  `You're mistaken,' Nicola stated coldly. 'I know what you regard as the facts, but my own opinion doesn't coincide, and even if it did, we would still dislike each other.'

  `You want emotional as well as physical affinity in your relationships, then?' he asked, pausing beside the beautiful piano. There was a glint of humour in his

  grey eyes, and Nicola stared at him, fascinated.

  Then she 'pulled herself together. 'Certainly Perhaps you wouldn't understand that, being so old. I believe men who reach your age, having remained bachelors, do become cynical and hardened with regard to such matters. Perhaps you've forgotten that young people look for magic in the world. I'm still young enough for that, thank God.' She smiled mockingly.

  Barak's lip curled. 'Do I seem so old to you?'

  `Well, aren't you?' she taunted.

  `I'm thirty-seven,' he said. 'But perhaps it's you who are so very young.'

  `Meaning that Denise doesn't think of you as old,' Nicola said frigidly. 'I suppose that's another crack at what you once called my childishness. Well, good luck to Denise. Personally, I'd hate to have grown up as quickly as she's had to. But then stepping into a dead woman's shoes must be an ageing process.'

  Barak's face darkened and she grew apprehensive as she saw the smouldering fires in his eyes. 'I told you never to refer to Vanessa again,' he snapped with taut fury.

  Nicola retreated. 'Didn't you ask for it?' she retorted sweetly as she backed away from him.

  `Go away, child,' he instructed her, and his face was still a tight mask of anger. 'I've no objection to fighting, but I can't say I like your methods.'

  `And I don't like yours,' Nicola replied and, turning from him, she left the room.

  In her bedroom she sank down into a chair. Every short encounter with Barak left her feeling exhausted, and she wished more than anything in the world that

  she could escape from this place where everything seemed to conspire to destroy her nerves and wreak havoc on her emotions. What had become of the calm rhythm which had once been the state of her life? If only she could leave ! But there was still Traugott's portrait to be finished, and it was taking longer than she had anticipated, as the result of a few moisture-laden mornings when visibility shrank to a mere metre.

  Nicola was alone in the lounge the following afternoon when Denise walked in.

  `Nobody else at home?' the girl asked. She was wearing a turquoise dress which flattered her tawny colouring and the flawless, softly tanned skin.

  `Nobody but Sarah and me,' Nicola agreed as she put down her book. 'The men are out somewhere, and Ellen has taken Melanie to her music lesson.'

  `My precious niece is a spoilt little thing,' Denise commented as she sat down gracefully in a low chair. `Piano lessons, ballet lessons, swimming lessons.'

  `The last are necessary, you must admit,' said Nicola.

  `Of course,' Denise agreed, lifting a hand to smooth her hair which was looking attractively windswept. `That's why swimming was all I was allowed as a child. I wanted ballet, and private tennis coaching, but swimming was all I got, and that because it was necessary.'

  `There's no doubt that Melanie is a privileged child,' Nicola commented.

  `Over-privileged, I sometimes think, but perhaps I subconsciously resent anyone having what I couldn't have,' Denise said with blunt honesty.

  `A lot of people are like that,' Nicola remarked.

  `Yes,' said Denise absently. She looked at Nicola very directly and said, `Do you know that Barak is interested in you?'

  Nicola raised her head defensively. 'How do you know that?'

  `I'm not a fool and I learnt to look after my own interests a long time ago,' Denise said impatiently. 'It's the way he talks about you ... or rather, the way he doesn't talk about you. I sometimes question him about you, but he remains adamant in refusing to discuss you.'

  She didn't sound as concerned or resentful as the other girl would have expected, so Nicola didn't attempt to deny it. She said, 'It's nothing but physical attractio
n, and that never endures, so you have no cause to worry. He can't stand me as a person.'

  `Oh, I wasn't exactly worrying,' Denise said easily. 'I just wondered if you knew, that's all. I don't think Barak will ever go very far from me, whoever might attract him at various intervals. I'm too like Vanessa for him to want to lose me.'

  Nicola was surprised. 'Don't you mind?' she asked. `Doesn't it make you doubt yourself, knowing that you remind him of your sister?'

  `Why should it?' Denise enquired with delicately lifted eyebrows. Her breathless voice sounded less childish this afternoon. 'I regard my resemblance to Vanessa as an advantage. It's one way of making sure that I hold Barak. God, I couldn't stand losing him now,' she concluded with sudden intensity.

  `Do you love him so much?' Nicola asked, and compassion flavoured her words. Denise must love Barak

  terribly if she was prepared to use her resemblance to Vanessa in order to keep him hers. It must cost her a lot in pride, though.

  `Love him?' Denise echoed with surprising casualness. 'I suppose so. I want to be his wife, anyway.'

  She stood up and walked like a graceful lioness to the piano. She ran a loving hand over its polished lid, while her tawny eyes swept round the room, over the beautiful old furniture and the wealth of art on the walls. There was a strange light in those eyes; a feverish and hungry greed, almost, Nicola thought.

  Denise continued, speaking with a fervour that told her listener that here was genuine emotion : 'But it's all this; the farm, the house and all the beautiful things in it that I truly love. That's understandable, isn't it? I mean, I've grown up in a small house, and the furniture was always horrible cheap modern stuff, and the only good painting I ever had was the Robert Prenn Barak gave me for my birthday. I like things to be old —old and beautiful. Can you imagine how I coveted this place? Even when I was tiny I knew I wanted to be a part of it. I was eight when Vanessa and Barak fell in love, and I was thrilled because I thought that if my sister became the mistress of Barak's home, I would have a share in it. I could hardly wait for the time when their affair would culminate in marriage, but in the end she married Barak's younger brother, Karl. Van couldn't face life in the country although, like me, she loved this house. Oh, I think my sister genuinely loved Barak, but it evidently wasn't a deep enough love or she'd have been prepared to live here ... So I've had to wait ten years. After Vanessa married Karl I lived