On the Brink of Tears

by Peter Rimmer

  Part 9

  Peace, for Now — August 1938

  1

  For Tinus Oosthuizen, coming to the end of his last year at Oxford, the best part had been living among men and women who found thinking a pleasure in life. That and playing the most civilised game on earth, the game of cricket. So many people he met in the three years he found interesting, people searching for knowledge among the excitement of life.

  Mr Bowden, his philosophy tutor, was so far the most important man he had met, the man who had led him into his reading and the first glimmer of an understanding about the reason for his life that had taken him further than his faith in religion. For Mr Bowden, Tinus understood, the great religious teachers in history were little different to the best philosophers, both trying to find in a short time on earth the meaning for life beyond animal pleasures in a hedonistic world always dominated by power and money.

  Talking, discussing, reading what had been said during the centuries of civilised man had been the true worth of his years up at Oxford. The final examinations had been written to conclude his study of philosophy, politics and economics, Mr Bowden confident enough in Tinus to suggest he would receive a First in PPE.

  “What are you going to do with your new knowledge, Tinus Oosthuizen?” Mr Bowden asked as the two of them strolled down the towpath next to the river, the summer day balmy, the air fragrant with the scents of flowers among the hum of insects, the sound that would always remind Tinus of England.

  “Go home, I suppose. The idea of making myself a fortune in the corporate world has paled the longer I have been up at Oxford.”

  “Everyone has to earn a living. Choose something that keeps your mind alive. The body can be quickly satisfied. The mind takes much longer.”

  “I’d vegetate farming in Rhodesia with no one to talk to, or rather people to talk to who have something to say.”

  “Don’t become arrogant. Everyone has something to say. You just have to listen.”

  “Some stories are better than others.”

  “There, I would have to agree. Be careful, Tinus. It’s not all a nice world. Here, we wrap ourselves in our own conceit and the world’s history of knowledge. It’s a comfortable world that only requires the pursuit of knowledge… Good luck with the rest of your life. Don’t forget to have fun. Never take yourself too seriously, but never forget that without fun life isn’t worth the living. Now look at those two birds over there chasing each other through the trees. Now they’re having fun.”

  “I think they’re trying to have sex, Mr Bowden.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “That’s why the male is chasing the female while the female is playing hard to get. She wants the best flyer. The strongest male. Darwin, Mr Bowden. The survival of the fittest. That female bird wants the best for her children.”

  “I suppose you are right. But if we come down that far to the basics of life, I’ll have to think all over again.”

  “It’s not just sex and procreation surely? There has to be more than that.”

  “I hope so… Look, he’s caught her. You were right. I’ll be blowed. I thought they were flying around to have fun.”

  “They are now, Mr Bowden.”

  In comfortable silence they walked on half a mile before taking their separate paths, Mr Bowden to his wife and family, Tinus to his meeting with Andre Cloete who had come up to Oxford to see Tinus on a forty-eight hour pass from his squadron at RAF Uxbridge, not far from where the two birds had ended their dash around the trees.

  They had arranged to meet under the same tree by the river where they had joined hands with Genevieve so long ago and gone out on the river. Sitting down on the grass bank out of the sun, Tinus had time to think on his own while he waited for his friend. He had a big surprise for Andre which made Tinus smile to himself with pleasure.

  For some reason, Uncle Harry had shelved the plans for the big dam across the Mazoe River despite all Tinus’s hard work during his trip home to Elephant Walk the previous Christmas, where the draw of Africa had again focused on his life making what he wanted to do with his future uncertain. To make the dam financially viable required an area of more than ten thousand acres to be put under irrigation, something that would have required his full attention for many years to come. It was one thing to plant thousands of orange trees, quite another to prepare the land and install the irrigation pipes for miles around the dam. A pump station was required to draw the waters of the Mazoe River and water the young trees at each of the thousands of round catchments to be dug around each sapling.

  What his Uncle Harry was suggesting amounted to a complete industry for the Mazoe Valley: extraction factories for the juice and the oil from the skins, good houses for employees, electricity from the burgeoning national power grid, roads to take out the fruit to the plant, and management. Each time Tinus had done his sums the question of good management hung over the project.

  People to pick the fruit was easy. People to work in the pulping factory was controllable. Finding the capital to invest was a simple matter for his Uncle Harry. Employing a scientist to come out from England to follow the fruit from the trees to the finished product was comparatively easy. What was difficult was finding an honest, dedicated man with a clear brain to watch over everything and find the flaws by thinking through all the problems before going ahead.

  As they had taught him at Oxford, the vital link in the chain of business was management. Without good management all the workers in the world would be going round in circles with no one in the end making any money, the investment coming to nothing, everyone out of a job. And on his own, stuck in the bush with no mental stimulation other than miles of orange trees fragrant with blossom, he would go right out of his ‘cotton picking’ mind.

  “Oxford’s spoilt me.”

  “It spoilt me too, Tinus. How are you?”

  “At least you’re in civvies. Good to see you. You crept up behind me. Have you bought yourself another car?”

  “No I haven’t. I took the train. Flying officers don’t get paid a fortune in the RAF. I can’t afford another car at present.”

  “Bomber Command. My word, Andre. What happened to the fighter pilot?”

  “It could have been worse. Let’s the two of us find a boat and go out on the river.”

  “The three of us again, Andre. Why the meeting under the tree. Genevieve is going back to America to make a new film. She’s coming up to say goodbye before she sails. She’s joining us for the whole weekend. And she’s late.”

  “All women are late. Wow, that is a surprise. Won’t she be recognised?”

  “No one takes any notice at Oxford. Come and sit on the grass while we wait. It’s a beautiful day for a row on the river… It’s going to be strange going out into the real world to practise all the theory… Are you getting enough cricket?”

  “Weekends. Playing for Bomber Command and RAF Uxbridge. It’s a good life in the Air Force provided you don’t want to get rich. Now tell me everything while we’re waiting for the famous Genevieve. What are you going to do with yourself when you come down from Oxford at the end of the month? Would you like a cigarette?”

  “Thank you. Whenever I smoke, which is not very often, I wonder if the tobacco inside the cigarette came from Elephant Walk. All our tobacco comes to England to be processed.”

  “The price of tobacco will go up if war breaks out. You’ll make a fortune.”

  “I suppose so. At the moment we are looking at oranges.”

  “Tobacco, Tinus. Plant more tobacco. In wartime people smoke like chimneys.”

  “Have you seen Fleur?”

  “She has much bigger ideas. Your Uncle Barnaby started a company to record the girls’ music and sell their records. Sold like hotcakes. Everyone is buying gramophones. Quite the thing. They want to listen to what they want, not just turn on the radio.”

  “Why did Uncle Barnaby do that?”

  “I have no idea. Best he gets married to someone nearer his
age and stops running after young girls.”

  “Young girls like his money.”

  “And his record contracts. They say half a dozen young girls are recording on his label. He even goes to the studio sometimes. When you have his money you can buy the best people to make the records. All you need is the right idea and money makes money.”

  “You’re jealous, Andre.”

  “Probably. Anyway, I can’t afford to do anything with anyone on a junior officer’s pay. Even with my flying allowance. There’s talk the squadron is being posted to Singapore.”

  “At least you’re getting around. To answer your question, I have no idea what I’m going to do. One minute a chap’s buried in the books. Then, wallop, he’s looking for a job. Uncle Harry’s allowance stops when I come down, so I’ll be as poor as a church mouse.”

  “Join the club… How’s Genevieve getting to Oxford?”

  “Said something about a driver. She’s rich. Going back to America to make more films. The play in the West End went all right but they don’t make money in theatre, so I’m told. Chauffeur-driven car. That really is something… They must have paid her a fortune to go back to America.”

  Genevieve watched them talking together under the tree, holding back to take in the picture. They were still boys, innocent boys, having an animated conversation oblivious of their surroundings. They were clean-cut and pure of mind, something Genevieve knew she had lost a long time ago, probably never had. To be pure and innocent, she told herself as she watched enviously, you had to be protected by parents and money, confident of where you came from and where you were going, right at the beginning. Bastards, even aristocratic bastards, had to make their own protection, something she had done without help from her mother or father. She was rich, her investments making her richer with CE Porter handling her financial affairs. The thought of well-invested money gave her a good feeling of security.

  “Darling Genevieve,” Harry Brigandshaw had said to her when Private Lives came to an end and the new film contract had been signed with Gerry Hollingsworth. “The most difficult part of money is not making it, it’s holding on to it. You have to invest wisely. Go and see CE Porter. He’s a stockbroker friend of your Uncle Barnaby. I’ve done business with him. As investment men go, he’s honest. More honest as he grew older. In the early days, Porter and Barnaby were up to all sorts of tricks. He’ll give you a balanced portfolio spread across the financial world including America. Make you independent for life. Next time Hollingsworth wants something you’ll be able to decide for yourself without needing his money. You’ll be in control.”

  “I have him under my thumb.”

  “Later in your life the thumb might just slip. Money is the real power, Genevieve. Your power as a woman, on and off the screen and stage, will fade. It always does, no matter what we think when we are young. The power of money stays the same whatever our age. The first meeting with CE Porter we’ll go together… When did you last see Tinus?”

  “Not for a while with the play. I’m planning to go up to Oxford before I sail for America. I’m going by ship this time. Crossing the pond in an aeroplane is all over too soon. I like the change of moving from gentle England to rampaging America to be slow. On the boat I get used to the American lifestyle before I arrive. The shock is not so great.”

  “He’s very fond of you, Genevieve. He’s also a good man. You’d be safe with Tinus.”

  “Are you matchmaking, Harry Brigandshaw, sir?”

  “Looking after friends, Genevieve. Getting married is life’s big gamble as we all do it for the wrong reason. Physical attraction always transcends common sense. That, or it’s purely a matter of money. You have to like the person you marry. You two like each other. Love is a lot more fickle. Liking someone can last a lifetime.”

  “He’s still just a student.”

  “Tinus will do all right for himself, you can take my word for that. He’s done a report for me which is quite brilliant. Were it not for the war clouds I’d build the dam and its complex tomorrow, putting Tinus in charge. I’d have to keep an eye on his inexperience, which would give me a chance to visit Elephant Walk. Now it’s all on hold until Chamberlain faces Hitler and forces him to stop his games, or it’s war. You once said you would like to live in Africa. If only my wife had the same wish. Bought a house in Cape Town to get my children out of harm’s way but Tina won’t have any of it. I even got Anthony a place at Bishops. Radley is a good school but too near the coming war. Porter will suggest most of your money going to buy shares in American companies. I’ve been buying myself. Nothing ever stays static. You have to think ahead. Give me a ring when you want to see Porter. And go and see Tinus.”

  “You frighten me, Uncle Harry.”

  “Not my intention. Just you can never be too careful in this life.”

  Bringing her mind back from the conversation with Harry Brigandshaw, she looked sideways at Gregory L’Amour standing beside her, taking in everything that was England. The man was enamoured with the Old World having come over to England at Gerry Hollingsworth bequest to make her sign the contract for their new movie. They were sailing back to America together in three days’ time. It had been Genevieve’s idea to take Gregory with her to Oxford.

  “I’m going to see old friends at Oxford, Greg. One’s in the RAF. Both are pilots. Tinus is Harry Brigandshaw’s nephew. He’s just finishing his three years at Oxford. We call ourselves the three musketeers. I’m looking forward to the old feel of Oxford and the pleasure of good friends. If you like, come with.”

  “Would you mind? I’ve always wanted to fly.”

  “You fly, Gregory. Just not aeroplanes.”

  “Don’t be rude. I’m serious. If there’s a war and America keeps out, I’ve a good mind to join the RAF myself.”

  “Have you ever flown?”

  “I want to learn. Your friends can maybe help me.”

  “You fancy yourself in the nice blue uniform. You are a romantic, Gregory. Never mind. Come with me. We can hire a car. Uncle Harry has some weird idea I should marry Tinus Oosthuizen. He’s my best friend. No one ever marries their best friend. It would ruin everything. You have your affairs with people you know won’t last too long. Not with friends.”

  “You’re going to marry me, Genevieve. Every paper in America will run the photographs of our wedding. It will make us the most popular couple in Hollywood.”

  “I thought you were going to join the RAF?”

  “Only if England goes to war with Germany.”

  “They both learnt their lessons last time. Why does everyone want to go to war?”

  “No one ever learns their lesson if they don’t want to. Not even you, Genevieve. When do we drive to Oxford?”

  “Tomorrow. We can stay at the Mitre.”

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “I have.”

  Having the sense someone was staring at his back, a sense his Uncle Harry said he had honed in combat with the Royal Flying Corps in the war, Tinus turned round, the first to see Genevieve, and waved frantically. With a broad grin on her face, Genevieve waved back. Tinus and Andre got to their feet to welcome her. A young man was walking by her side.

  “Don’t I know the chap with her, Tinus? His face seems familiar.”

  “Should be, Andre, if you’ve watched Genevieve’s movies. That’s her co-star from Keeper of the Legend. Gregory L’Amour.”

  “Didn’t the papers claim they were a couple?”

  “Not according to Genevieve. The story sold papers and promoted the film. She said it was part of the job.”

  “Having an affair with the co-star!”

  “No, idiot. Promoting what they call the Movie in America. What we call the Picture in England. Moving picture, get it? Here we go to the Pictures. There they go to the Movies.”

  “You’re jealous of him.”

  “Why should I be?”

  “He’s rich, famous, and likely to have had an affair with Genevieve.”

 
; “Don’t talk so loud or they’ll hear you. Can we get four in the boat?”

  “So long as he doesn’t rock it. Can Americans row boats?”

  They waited in silence for the newcomers to cross the lawn, Andre and Tinus having enjoyed their usual banter. Whatever Tinus might think in his private thoughts when the lights were out, in practical terms he was almost two years younger and out of what Andre would have called ‘the running’. Somehow there was a different look about her, Tinus thought, as their eyes met with pleasure; the one eye of the mismatched pair was definitely darker, the iris going from dark brown to coal black like her father’s. It had happened in the short time since they had last seen each other, Tinus having driven the Morgan down to London on a Saturday to see a performance of Private Lives. It made the brooding mystery in the girl, deep in her soul, more prominent, more dangerous.

  “Gregory, that one’s Tinus with the big grin. The lanky one is the pilot. His name’s Andre. Hello! What a lovely day. May I introduce my chauffeur, Gregory L’Amour? He wanted to meet Andre and join the RAF when war breaks out.”

  “There’s not going to be a war,” said Andre, pleased at the idea someone so famous wanted to meet him. “Bomber Command, I’m afraid. I’m stationed just round the corner. Your first visit to England, L’Amour?”

  “Yes it is. Call me Gregory. Fine country.”

  “Try it in the winter. Tinus says Genevieve plans staying the weekend at Oxford. I can run down to Uxbridge if you have a car. Take you up for a flip in one of our new bombers if the CO will give us permission. Should do. He also liked your film, Genevieve. Lovely to see you. Can you row, Gregory? Believe you Americans call everyone by their first names. I’m from South Africa. Tinus is from Rhodesia.”