‘How dare you!’ Olivia demanded hoarsely, her anger giving her the courage to stand up to him.
‘I dare, Miss Logan, because this matter concerns me as much as the hostel Matron into whose care I’ve placed my child while she’s at school, and I can tell you now that I shall not tolerate your disrupting influence on Frances.’
‘Disrupting influence!’ Olivia choked out the words, unable to believe her ears and clenching her trembling hands at her sides until her nails dug into the soft palms. ‘Really, Mr King, you have no right to insult me in this way! You don’t know me at all, and—’
‘I don’t want to know you either,’ he announced with ruthless disregard for her feelings as his narrowed glance slid contemptuously down the length of her, giving her the sensation that her body had been licked by scorching flames. ‘You’re an alien in our community, bringing with you your city habits, and I don’t intend that you should influence my daughter in any way. ’
Humiliation sent the blood rushing to her pale cheeks as she fought to control the trembling of her limbs. ‘Those are harsh words, Mr. King.’
‘They’re nothing compared to what might occur if Frances sets foot in this shop again,’ he threatened, emphasising his remark, and his height, by taking a further step towards her, and making her cringe inwardly from him when she almost felt the anger vibrating through his large frame.
‘Does this mean that you’ve—you’ve forbidden her to come here again?’ she asked through stiff, unwilling lips as she lowered her anguished glance to the tanned column of his strong throat, and lower still to where the dark hair on his chest was clearly visible above the opening of his bush jacket.
‘Not only have I forbidden her to come here again,’ he elaborated, a tanned, powerful arm making a sweeping gesture to indicate the interior of her shop, ‘but I’ve forbidden her to communicate with you in any way.’
The colour receded from her cheeks at the finality in his voice. ‘I ... see.’
‘I’m glad you do, because there’s to be no misunderstanding in future,’ he ground out the words, his dark eyes boring into hers as if he wished to burn every single word into her very soul. ‘Good day, Miss Logan.’
He touched his hat briefly and strode from the shop while Olivia, shattered by their encounter, watched in almost hypnotised fashion as he climbed into his dusty Land Rover, slammed the door, and drove away at speed. Only then did she realise that she had been supporting her trembling body by clutching at the shelves behind her and, walking jerkily across to the nearest stool, she subsided on to it and closed her eyes to shut out the vision of the most insufferable man she had ever met.
She had realised instantly, of course, that Frances had not done as she had suggested, and that her visit the previous afternoon had once again been without permission. Unable to defend herself because of her reluctance to make matters worse for Frances, she had had to swallow Bernard King’s insults, but the painful remarks still had the power to make her wince as she sat there fighting to regain composure.
He was the devil himself, she thought, every detail of his appearance imprinted indelibly on her memory. Perhaps it was the awe-inspiring size of the man and the ferocious-looking beard that made him so frightening, while those dark eyes, almost black with anger and dislike, had sliced through her composure like a hot knife through butter.
‘Poor Frances,’ she murmured softly, and yet she recalled how the child’s expression had lit up each time she had mentioned her father. Perhaps, in a different mood, Bernard King might not appear so fearsome, but she was not likely to have the opportunity to find out—not after all the insults he had flung at her that afternoon.
Well, she had met the Cattle King at last, and the meeting had certainly left an impression on her, an impression that did not fail to make her pulse quicken with alarm, as well as increase her dislike each time she thought of him. In a small town such as Louisville they would undoubtedly meet again, but on the next occasion she would be armoured against his forceful personality, and imposing appearance. There was no likelihood either that they would move in the same circles, for Bernard King’s friends would be far too exalted for someone like herself; an alien with detestable city habits.
CHAPTER THREE
Bernard King’s stormy visit, accompanied by his stinging accusations, had left Olivia feeling unsettled and restless. The week-end did little to alleviate her concern for Frances, and what the child might have had to endure because of her misdemeanour, but, after forbidding her to come to the shop again, he would surely not punish Frances further, would he?
Olivia pressed her fingers against her eyes as she sought to obliterate the image of the man she had heard so much about, and whom, after their unfortunate encounter, she disliked so intensely.
‘I shan’t tolerate your disrupting influence on Frances,’ his cutting remarks returned to haunt her. ‘You’re an alien in our community, bringing with you your city habits.’
An alien, indeed! Oh, God, what did he think she was? His words had stung, making her an outcast, and painfully aware of the loneliness she had wanted so desperately to escape from by making her home in Louisville. Was that how most people saw her? As an alien who had to be tolerated, but not always befriended?
The chime of the doorbell made her fight back the heedless tears as she went to answer it. Gerald stood on the doorstep, the smile on his lean face almost sending her flying into his arms in a flurry of relief. She could not remember when last she had been so happy to see anyone as she was to see Gerald on that uneventful Sunday afternoon.
‘I know it’s rather hot, but I thought a drive into the country would have its compensations,’ he suggested, mopping his brow as he stepped past her into the coolness of her lounge.
‘Just give me a moment,’ she smiled before hastening to her room to touch up her make-up, and to check on the the appearance of her cool, cream-coloured dress that clung so softly to her slender figure. Satisfied, she pulled a comb through her hair and went through to the lounge.
‘Am I mistaken in thinking you were glad to see me?’ Gerald asked with a hint of a smile on his face as his small red car shot away from the kerb.
‘As a matter of fact, I was suffering from a bout of self-pity,’ she laughed self-consciously, enjoying the feel of the breeze whipping against her cheeks as a result of the hood being left down. ‘Your friendly face has made all the difference,’ she added, shaking off her mood partially.
His hand touched hers briefly where it lay on the seat beside her. ‘I’m happy to know I came at just the right moment. ’
He drove several kilometres out of Louisville to a roadhouse where they sat beneath the cool shade of a mopani tree and ordered iced fruit drinks.
‘Would you like to talk about it?’ he suggested, noticing the slight downward curve of her lips, and Olivia, after initially rejecting the thought of confiding in Gerald, found it a relief to speak of her meeting with Bernard King.
‘It wasn’t funny,’ she accused as Gerald, after listening intently, burst out laughing.
‘You shouldn’t take it so seriously,’ he explained, controlling himself. ‘I know the man looks awesome with that beard of his, but he’s not entirely as bad as you imagine. He had a right to be angry, you must admit, and you could clear up the misunderstanding without much difficulty if you wanted to.’
‘Not without involving Frances,’ she argued promptly, ‘and I have no interest whatsoever in seeing Bernard King again.’ ‘Louisville is a small place,’ Gerald reminded her with a humorous grin. ‘You’re bound to meet again.’
‘I’m sure the town is big enough for Bernard King and myself to live quite comfortably without having to cross each other’s paths too often,’ she stated adamantly, but her heart wept at the thought of not seeing Frances again. ‘It amazes me to think that such a hateful man could have such a charming sister, and such a delightful child. ’
Gerald made no comment, but Olivia, feeling decidedly better afte
r talking to him, relaxed and enjoyed the scenery as they drove back to town. Louisville, lying at the foot of the range of mountains with its high peaks, appeared deceptively peaceful that Sunday afternoon, but after the quiet, lazy weekdays, the town became a hive of activity on a Saturday morning. Everyone in the district came in to Louisville to do their weekly shopping, and it was on such days that Olivia often wished she had an assistant.
‘By the way,’ Gerald remarked drily as he stood beside her on the pavement outside her shop some time later, ‘that was a clever bit of manipulation the other day when Sanet and I were in your shop.’
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked, glancing at him unobtrusively. ‘You seemed quite keen once I’d suggested you gave her a lift. ’
‘Oh, I didn’t mind at all, but I had hoped to have a little more time with you,’ he replied, his green glance narrowed against the sun.
‘She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’
‘Very pretty,’ he admitted, glancing away down the quiet street.
‘You’re very fond of her.’
‘Yes—no! What is this?’ he demanded with an embarrassed laugh as he turned to face her. ‘Have you set yourself up as Cupid, or something?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of playing Cupid,’ Olivia protested, crossing her fingers hopefully behind her back. ‘I was merely curious as to how you felt about her, and you are fond of her, aren’t you?’
Gerald’s face reddened slightly. ‘Yes, I am fond of her, but I can’t afford to become serious about any girl at the moment.’
‘Why not?’ Olivia demanded, having wormed such a mighty confession out of him.
Gerald lowered his glance and kicked self-consciously at a pebble on the pavement with the point of his shoe. ‘Sanet’s parents are very wealthy, and my salary wouldn’t be nearly enough to—to—’
‘To support her in the way to which she’s accustomed?’ she finished for him, understanding so much more now than she had before when she saw him nod his head in confirmation. ‘Then marriage did cross your mind where Sanet is concerned,’ she stated confidently, watching the colour surge into his cheeks once more.
‘It did, but—’
‘And you never told her?’ she interrupted softly, beginning to wilt in the heat of the sun, but determined to get to the bottom of the problem.
‘How could I?’ Gerald demanded.
‘Do you think it’s fair to let her go on thinking you don’t care, when in fact you do?’
His green glance met hers with complete candour. ‘It’s better not to commit oneself when you find yourself out of your depth, and Sanet, lovely as she is, will get along just fine
without me around to create problems.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Olivia murmured, but Gerald was already getting into his car and waving goodbye.
Olivia awoke the following morning almost before the first rays of the sun had touched the tips of the mountain peaks, and she welcomed the fact that it was Monday morning, the beginning of another week after the inactivity of the weekend. She was kept reasonably busy that morning, but went through a slack period that afternoon which gave her the opportunity to check up on her orders. It was almost with a sigh of relief, though, that she looked up to see Vivien entering the shop in order to purchase her weekly magazines.
‘I believe you’ve suffered Ufezela’s poisonous sting,’ she remarked with some amusement, her dark eyes observing Olivia closely as she paid for her magazines.
‘Ufezela?’ Olivia queried hesitantly, her eyes widening.
‘The scorpion,’ Vivien explained, making herself comfortable on the stool beside the counter. ‘Bernard acted as farm manager on a cattle farm in Natal a number of years ago, and the Zulus there gave him the name Ufezela. The name has remained with him ever since.’
Olivia was not at all surprised at the name given to him, for she had indeed felt the sting of the scorpion, and it still caused her considerable discomfort. ‘Did your brother tell you about—about coming here and—and—’
‘Yes, he told me,’ Vivien interrupted her halting query. ‘But don’t take too much notice, my dear. His anger usually subsides as quickly as it flares up.’
‘Did Frances tell you anything?’
‘ She never mentioned the subject, but speaking of Frances,’ Vivien added, her expression sobering instantly, ‘she’s not at school today. She’s been running a fever all week-end, and Peter can’t seem to find the cause. There’s nothing organically wrong with her, but the fever is persisting, and Peter says that if it doesn’t subside within the next two days, he’s going to suggest Bernard fly her to a specialist in Johannesburg.’
‘She’s at home, then?’ Olivia asked with swift concern.
‘Oh, yes,’ Vivien smiled. ‘Bernard has insisted that she stay in bed until the fever passes.’ A glint of humour sparkled in her eyes; eyes that were almost as dark as her brother’s. ‘He’s a very doting father, despite his other shortcomings.’
A doting father he might be, Olivia thought after Vivien had gone, but that was still no reason for him to insult her in the way he had done, and it was something she would never forgive him.
She slept badly that night because of her growing concern for Frances and, after a night of tossing and turning, she felt utterly listless the following day. She waited expectantly all day for Vivien to drop in with some news about Frances, but there was no sign of her as the time moved steadily onwards to five o’clock that afternoon. She was on the verge of telephoning Vivien at her home when the telephone in the shop rang shrilly. She lifted the receiver eagerly, but the blood drained from her face as she heard that now familiar voice say:
‘Is that you, Miss Logan?’
‘Yes, Mr. King,’ she replied, keeping her voice cool despite the anxiety that seemed to knot her stomach.
‘My sister is on her way to you at this moment to drive you out here to Mountain View,’ he said without preamble, and Olivia almost dropped the receiver in her agitation.
‘But, Mr. King, I—’
‘Vivien will explain when she gets there,’ he interrupted with harsh impatience and, before she could say another word, the line went dead.
How dared he treat her this way! Olivia fumed as she slammed the receiver into place. He had a nerve to think she would set foot in his home after the insults she had had to endure. Nothing on earth would induce her to go out to Mountain View, she decided angrily, dismissing the matter promptly from her mind.
Vivien took one look at her furious expression when she entered the shop just before closing time, and said: ‘I gather Bernard telephoned you?’
‘Yes, he did,’ Olivia admitted, raising her chin defiantly. ‘But you might as well know that I have no intention of going out to his home with you. ’
‘Not even for Frances’ sake?’ Vivien countered, a satisfied little smile playing about her lips as she noticed Olivia’s altered expression. ‘She’s asking for you, and Peter suggested that it might have the desired effect on her health if you went out and saw her.’
‘Frances wants to see me?’ Olivia demanded a little breathlessly, her anger and reluctance evaporating almost instantly in the face of this information.
‘She’s been asking to see you all week-end, but she’s become quite frantic about it now, I believe,’ Vivien replied calmly, and Olivia’s concern for Frances swept aside all the firm decisions she had made about never setting foot on Mountain View.
‘In that case I shan’t be a moment,’ she told Vivien, diving behind the counter for her bunch of keys and checking that everything was in order before she locked up for the night.
‘Frances is an extremely lonely child,’ Vivien remarked conversationally as they sped through the town in her small blue Fiat and headed north. ‘It’s such a pity that Aileen wasn’t able to have another child.’
‘Aileen?’ Olivia questioned curiously, glancing at the elegantly dressed woman beside her and wishing that she had had time to change into somethi
ng more appropriate for her visit to the Cattle King’s ranch. But what the devil did it matter how she looked? she admonished herself sharply. He most probably would not even notice her, and neither did she care one iota whether he would be there or not.
‘Aileen was Bernard’s wife,’ Vivien’s explanation cut across Olivia’s thoughts. ‘She died tragically six years ago in a car accident when Frances was four.’
Olivia accepted this information in silence, curious to know more about the woman who had been married to Bernard King, yet not inclined to make her curiosity known to Vivien.
Mountain View, appropriately named for its breathtaking view of the magnificent mountain range just beyond Louisville, was situated ten kilometres out of town. It was a vast piece of land, Olivia discovered, dense with trees and rich in soil. They drove through several sturdy iron gates before they came to the stone-pillared gateway leading up to the sprawling, thatch-roofed homestead, with its gauzed-in verandah running along the front and west side of the house. Under the jacaranda tree with its clusters of purple flowers stood a bottle-green Triumph, and Olivia jumped nervously as Vivien exclaimed:
‘Oh, drat! That woman is here again.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Ilona Haskins,’ Vivien enlarged, a frown settling between her brows as she gestured vaguely towards the Triumph. ‘Somehow she’s always here whenever I come out to Mountain View.’
Olivia smiled slightly at her irritability as she stepped gingerly from the car and, while waiting for Vivien to join her, she allowed her appreciative glance to take in the scarlet poinsettias and bougainvillaea which lent a brilliant splash of colour to the spacious garden with its lawns and various varieties of shady trees.
‘This way,’ said Vivien, touching her arm, and Olivia’s limbs were set in motion with some reluctance.
On the wide verandah they were met by the bearded monster, as Olivia had began to think of Bernard King, and beside him stood a tall, slender woman with the most flawless skin Olivia had ever seen on a redhead. The green silk creation clinging gently to her curvaceous body spoke of wealth, the colour matching her eyes to perfection as they now appraised Olivia with cool speculation while the introductions were being made, and Olivia was never certain afterwards which she had found most disturbing—Ilona Haskins’ slightly contemptuous glance as she took in Olivia’s pale lemon cotton frock which had seen the best of two summers, or Bernard King’s dark piercing glance, slashing her quite mercilessly with his evident dislike.
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