by Anne Hampson
‘I’d have a go in an emergency; yes, I’m sure I could bring a calf.’ His customary seriousness was present, but so was a new eagerness, and it seemed to Teri that this was the first sign of a lifting of the leaden weight he had carried since the day of his loss.
When Brand returned to the lounge, in his own clothes, and obviously having washed his hair while taking a bath, Teri expressed her gratitude.
‘Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Royce. Jon tells me we’d have lost both cow and calf if it hadn’t been for you.’ She was polite but distant. The merest inclination of his head was Brand’s only acknowledgement of her thanks, and he immediately turned to Jon.
‘I’ll be over in the morning to take a look at the cow, but she should be all right. Your calf’s fine.’ Declining the drink which Jon urged him to have, he bade them both good night and left. A few minutes later the wheels of the car crunched on the gritty baked earth of the yard and then the tail-lights could be seen through the side window of the lounge.
Jon looked at his sister keenly and said,
‘You don’t like Brand, do you, Teri?’
‘Like?’ Why should the question cause her to bristle like this? It was clear that Jon and Brand were going to get along well together and Teri saw no sense in telling her brother of her dislike of Brand. ‘I’m quite indifferent to him, Jon. He’s just another man, after all.’ At the bitterness in her voice Jon decided not to continue with the subject and in any case it was now almost one o’clock in the morning and high time they were both in bed.
True to his word Brand called the following morning, riding into the yard on a beautiful chestnut gelding. Teri was returning from the chicken run, a pail in her hand. Having been engaged in cleaning out the coop and placing clean straw in the nest boxes she had felt hot and dusty and had automatically opened the front of her shirt, and it wasn’t until, she approached Brand and noticed his eyes travel from her throat downwards that she hastily began fumbling with the buttons. Brand dismounted and asked for her brother.
‘He’s in the mealies. I don’t think he expected you quite so early.’ What a big man he was, standing there beside the horse. Teri’s eyes lifted to his profile, dark and aquiline; his face was firmly chiselled and bronzed, his eyes narrowed against the sun and flecked at the corners with crinkly lines that could very well have been etched by humour, but Teri suspected they had merely grown with maturity, for Brand was in his middle thirties, so Mirrie had said. Teri’s gaze moved to his arms, bare to above the elbows, his shirt sleeves being rolled up. They too were bronzed, and muscled. Brand Royce possessed all the evidence of tough outdoor living, and in addition he was just about as good- looking as any man could be. If ever he should decide his bachelor existence was lacking something, then the woman on whom his eyes lighted would have all she could desire in her husband - at least, appearance- wise.
‘I’ll take a look at the cow.’ Leaving her, Brand strode towards the shed, disappearing as he reached the corner of the house. After beckoning to one of the boys and asking him to tell Jon Brand was here Teri went indoors to prepare coffee, and by the time it was ready both men were in the yard, talking.
‘You can let her out into the field,’ Brand was saying. ‘She’ll be all right now.’ He glanced up as Teri appeared; she carried the tray to the stoep and they all sat down in the shade, Wendy looking hard and long at their visitor until, presently, he laughed.
‘What’s the matter, Wendy, don’t you like the look of me? - or is it just that you can’t make up your mind?’
A dimple peeped. Wendy picked up her coffee cup and put it to her mouth, still staring at him.
‘I like you,’ she declared at last. ‘Will you be my uncle?’
‘I shall be delighted to be your uncle.’
Wendy thought about this.
‘Have you any other children?’ she asked, and naturally this led to laughter from both Brand and Jon. Brand’s eyes flickered to Teri’s face; she felt he was wondering why she too had not laughed. Perhaps he considered her sulky, she thought, and shrugged in-wardly. His opinion was of no importance to her.
‘I have two more nieces,’ he said, returning his attention to Wendy. ‘And I also have a nephew.’
‘A nephew?’ Wendy wrinkled her brow. ‘That’s a boy niece, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, it is.’
Wendy sipped her coffee, then held out the cup to Teri who topped it up with milk.
‘I didn’t think it was too hot, Wendy.’
‘It was — just a bit.’ Her big sapphire eyes had again settled on Brand’s face. ‘How old are your nieces?’
‘Selena’s five and Karen’s seven.’
‘Will they play with me?’
‘I expect they’ll play with you when they come to visit me.’
‘Don’t they live with you in your house over there?’
‘No, Wendy, they live in Johannesburg.’
She frowned.’Is that a long way?’
‘Fairly.’
‘Drink your coffee,’ said Jon as Wendy opened her mouth again. ‘Mr. Royce doesn’t want to be bothered with any more questions.’
‘It isn’t Mr. Royce; it’s Uncle Royce—’ She broke off. ‘No, that isn’t right. What’s your real name?’ Watching Brand, Teri noted the amusement in his eyes. He liked children, she discovered, and wondered that he preferred to remain a bachelor. ‘My real name’s Brand.’
‘Uncle Brand. ...’ Wendy considered this. ‘That’s a very nice name.’
‘Glad you like it.’
‘Can I come and see your house, Uncle Brand?’ asked Wendy as he was leaving. ‘I can nearly ride a pony, so I’ll be able to come any time.’
Brand laughed and ruffled her hair.
‘Your dad will bring you over some time.’ He glanced at Jon. ‘Drop in when you have an hour to spare and take a look around.’
‘Thanks, I will.’
With a ‘goodbye, little girl,’ to Wendy, Brand nodded coolly to Teri, who thanked him for calling, and then he was in the saddle and with a final lift of his hand he rode away.
‘It was good of him to call.’ Jon glanced at Teri as he spoke.
‘It was. I did thank him,’ she added.
‘So I noticed.’
Nothing more was said until the day before Brand’s little informal party, when Jon said that he’d been speaking to Joseph, one of the farm boys, who had said his wife would be willing to come in and baby-sit for them.
‘I don’t really want to go visiting.’ Teri was obstinate, she knew, but she was not feeling sociable at this time in her life; certainly she was not feeling sociable to men.
‘You can’t refuse, Teri.’ Jon appeared a trifle distressed. ‘You can’t take it out of all men, you know.’
She smiled then, apologetically.
‘I do know,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m not ready to take kindly to the male sex. It’s stupid, as you’re suggesting, I do realize that, but I just want to avoid men’s company.’
‘The change will do you good,’ Jon persuaded, but Teri shook her head, reminding him that she had already refused and, therefore, Brand would not be expecting her. ‘When I was over at his place yesterday,’ Jon told her, ‘he mentioned it again, asking what objection we had to a baby-sitter; I said I’d try to make you change your mind.’
She bit her lip, wishing Jon had not done that.
‘So he’s expecting me?’
‘I wasn’t exactly definite, but I did say that I thought you would be there.’ Teri gave an audible sigh and her brother added persuasively, ‘There are bound to be women there for you to meet, and if we’re to remain at Karunda we’ll have to be sociable.’
It was unfair to Jon for her to persist in this attitude, she knew, for Jon needed company. At home he and Rosalind had entertained often, and Teri surmised the wrench of losing all his friends must have been pretty grim, for he had lost them - intentionally it was true, having immediately withdrawn from the circle t
o which he and his wife had belonged.
‘Very well,’ she agreed, ‘I’ll come with you.’
Having made up her mind Teri discovered to her surprise that she was quite looking forward to the prospect of meeting other women. Already she had met a young married woman whose husband had a small farm on the other side of Oaksville. She was Denise Valentine, and it was she who had told Teri a little about the life in and around Oaksville. Would she be at the dinner party? Teri wondered. Denise had mentioned Brand, grimacing, Teri recalled, as she commented on the fact that while he was not impartial to women, he did seem bent on retaining his bachelor state.
All the lights were on in Brand’s house as Teri and her brother, having crossed the river by a bridge made of rope and logs, approached the front door of Candida Lodge. Flowers bloomed everywhere, borderin smooth lawns and neatly-paved paths. Spreading awa into the dark infinity of dusk were his fields of citru trees, with here and there a row of massive yellow- woods or ancient oaks.
Several cars stood on the sweeping, brilliantly- illuminated half-circle of pavement outside the house and from inside the sound of laughter and talk could be heard. Automatically Teri glanced down at her dress. Not having thought about social activities she had left behind most of her formal wear and now she had on a flowered cotton dress, tight-waisted and slightly flared, with a high neck but no sleeves. It hung on her, rather, for she had lost weight since her break with Kemp. And the colours, instead of giving a brightness to her features, seemed to accentuate their pallor.
From somewhere within, Brand approached the open front door, smiled and bade them enter.
‘I’m glad you could make it,’ he said to Teri, glancing over her with a swift yet keen examination. ‘And now, let me introduce you to the other guests.’
There were three couples. Joan and Larry Daley, who had a dairy farm adjoining Brand’s on the other side; Yvonne and David Marsh, who were retired and lived just outside Oaksville, and, to Teri’s delight, Denise and her husband, Paul.
‘We already know each other,’ Denise told Brand, and went on to explain how they had met. Paul watched his wife as she spoke and it was easy to see that he adored her.
Teri’s mind flew to Kemp, and for a fleeting moment she was overcome with distress. Life was so empty, so futile, she thought, and in that instant her eyes met those of Brand. He gazed at her, puzzled and inquiring. And then, surprisingly, he smiled, a little crooked smile caused by the quirk of his mouth to one side, a mannerism she had not noticed until now. On Teri’s face a difficult smile broke and Brand’s eyes flickered. She could smile, then, he was probably thinking as he asked her what she would have.
‘A soft drink, please.’ She spoke quietly, tentatively, her smile still hovering. ‘Tomato-juice - or lemon.’
He nodded and flicked a hand towards a couch. Teri and Jon sat down and, being newcomers to the country, they were plied with questions - polite and subtle questions, but containing curiosity, which was natural.
‘Yes, I’m widowed,’ Jon was saying to Larry, who sat next to him on the couch.
‘And you,’ put in Joan, looking at Teri, ‘you decided to housekeep for your brother?’
‘Yes.’ She at least could speak truthfully. ‘There’s Wendy, you see, Jon’s four-year-old daughter.’
‘Perhaps you’ll both find partners here,’ said Yvonne, smiling, whereupon her husband pointed out that there were few people unattached, either male or female, around these parts.
Teri had stiffened at the suggestion and again she caught Brand looking curiously at her. He sensed some mystery, she suddenly knew, and looked away, through the open glass doors to where the distant hills melted into the purple of invading night. Exotic trees and shrubs nodded and whispered and lavishly gave off their perfumes. The dusk was intense, primitive, and from its depths appeared the moths to flutter round the lights of the stoep and even to invade the room itself.
‘You bought the farm from Mirrie?’ asked David of Jon, who shook his head immediately.
‘Mirrie married my father; she asked us to come here and take over Karunda. We’re a couple of novices,’ he went on with a grimace, ‘but we’re most fortunate in having a neighbour like Brand.’
‘Indeed, yes. Brand has helped us over many an obstacle,’ intervened Larry. ‘We too were novices when we came out. Our land was rough bushveld for the most part and we hadn’t much idea what to do with it. I had thought of dairy farming, but Brand advised us to concentrate on crops - maize and soya and lucerne, and to give a large portion of land over to wattle. We’ve never regretted taking Brand’s advice. You must both come over and visit us, and see our plantation.’ Larry spoke with enthusiasm; Teri glanced at Brand, but he was talking to David Marsh and it would appear that he had not heard the praise which his neighbour had just voiced. Yet Teri felt instinctively that Brand never missed anything, and she could not help wondering if he were recalling her obstinacy when he had advised them against concentrating on cattle.
‘So you’re in partnership, as it were?’ Paul looked faintly amused as he put the question to Teri.
‘Yes, we’re partners.’ A small pause. ‘I expect you’re thinking that farming out here isn’t woman’s work?’
Paul shrugged and said that these days women could turn their hands to most things, but then went on to add with a small laugh,
‘It’s Brand who considers women make bad farmers—’ He looked across at his friend. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Brand turned his head but did not reply for a moment, and then, in a rather crisp and decisive accent,
‘In my opinion women don’t make fanners at all - good or bad. They try, granted, but it just isn’t woman’s work, as Teri has said.’
She coloured slightly, but it was not with anger, as she would have expected. It was at his use of her name, it being the first time he had called her Teri.
‘That’s a sweeping statement,’ she said after a pause. ‘With everything one needs practice, and I don’t suppose even you just farmed successfully right away .You must have learned by mistakes - and that means by experience.’
He looked straight at her.
‘I was always willing to listen to advice - and to follow it — if it were given by someone who knew more than I,’ he responded gently, and her blush deepened because of the way everyone was looking at her and owing to Brand’s smile, which was half mocking, half censorious.
‘What’s this?’ Larry glanced from one to the other before his gaze settled on Teri. ‘It sounds very much as if Brand’s been offering advice and you’ve gone against it.’ His tone was bantering, but edged with surprise for all that.
‘Teri thought we should try to breed a fine herd of cattle,’ Jon intervened in an endeavour to rescue his sister from an awkward position, ‘But of course we’re intending to follow Brand’s advice. It was just that as the previous owner had been successful with dairy farming, we thought we could continue in the same way. But as Brand pointed out, we require capital for the raising of a good dairy herd.’
‘That’s true.’ David spoke with authority, for until three years ago he himself had been a successful dairy farmer. ‘I was lucky; I had the money to buy the best. If I’d been like you I’d have concentrated on crops.’
‘You didn’t mind the upheaval of coming here?’ Yvonne asked the question after a little while; everyone waited for the answer. Brand was pouring drinks, but he paused in the task, regarding Teri cautiously.
‘We thought we would like to engage in something entirely different from what we’d been doing,’ said Jon at length, exchanging glances with his sister. On accepting Brand’s invitation neither had thought about the questions they might be asked.
‘So you both gave up your homes, and jobs?’
‘I was already housekeeping for Jon,’ explained Teri.
Her inclination was to be short, conveying the impression that these questions were resented, but she had to keep in mind that she was speaking to Brand’s
guests. Moreover, she actually liked all these people and, therefore, found it impossible to snub them. And so for the next few minutes both she and Jon replied politely to the questions coming from various parts of the room until, eventually, Brand said with a laugh,
‘You must excuse them, Jon and Teri. We are a small community of whites here and newcomers amongst us naturally arouse our curiosity.’ But he looked faintly apologetic, and it struck Teri that he himself had not questioned them at all. It also struck her, not without a tinge of apprehension, that Mirrie might have written to Brand, telling him a little more than they themselves had conveyed when answering this barrage of questions. But remembering that Mirrie was tactful and understanding Teri dismissed the idea. Mirrie would naturally know that they would not wish all their private affairs to be passed on to strangers.
More savouries were handed to the guests; Brand was congratulated on his cook and Yvonne said enviously,
‘She’s the best around here. I don’t know how you got her before I did, Brand—’ She shrugged, adding, ‘But then you always seem to manage to get what you want.’
At that Teri looked up, and her eyes met Brand’s. He merely smiled faintly and, reaching for a plate of avocado sandwiches, handed it to her. She helped herself, surprised to discover, as the evening progressed, that for the first time in months her thoughts had not been wholly on her misfortune.
Losing Kemp had not been a misfortune, her father had tried to convince her. She was worthy of someone of greater sincerity. Far better to lose Kemp before marriage than to find herself in a similar position to that of Jon. But although in her own mind Teri knew this, she derived scant comfort from it.
For there was a terrible emptiness still in her heart, and a tiredness enveloped her whole being — not the healthy tiredness of work, but of the lack of ability to feel. And now, for the first time, she was joining in a conversation, was looking at people with eyes that perceived, and with a mind that assessed them. Was this the beginning of that sublime forgetfulness for which she so fervently craved? If so, then she had something for which to thank Brand, and in this new mood Teri found herself forgetting her original animosity — an animosity born, she had to admit, of her own humiliation in initially making the mistakes which had aroused his impatience. In any case, she ought to be a little nicer to him, she secretly owned, for he was definitely intending to help her brother make a success of the farm.