Magic of the Baobab

by Yvonne Whittal

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As the week drew to a close Olivia assumed that Frances had gone back to school, or Vivien would have telephoned and informed her to the contrary. Frances, it seemed, had learnt her lesson, although Olivia could not prevent herself from glancing up warily each time someone entered her shop during the afternoons, and found, to her dismay, that her relief was tinged with regret.

  The Saturday dawned with the promise of being no different from any other in that week, but shortly after nine that morning it took on a new and rather startling dimension when, after returning a book to the shelf, she turned to see Bernard King and his daughter entering her shop.

  ‘Olivia!’ Frances cried excitedly, rushing towards her with bouncing pigtails to clutch at her hand. ‘Olivia, could I stay here in the shop with you this morning while Daddy is busy in town? Could I, please?’

  Olivia was left speechless for a moment as she glanced from Frances’ anxious little face to Bernard King’s bearded features. Did the man never wear anything other than those khaki clothes, heavy boots, and wide-brimmed hat? she wondered irrationally as she stammered, ‘Well, I don’t know, I—’

  ‘I could help you, couldn’t I?’ Frances interrupted eagerly, shaking Olivia’s arm as if to stress the fact that she could be useful.

  ‘Why, yes, but—’ Olivia glanced helplessly across at the man watching them in silence, his dark eyes brooding and intensely disturbing. ‘Mr. King?’

  His name was a query on her lips that stemmed from a hesitancy to accept that he would sanction such a request from Frances. Had he not, in this very shop, stated that he had forbidden Frances ever to communicate with her again? She could understand him relaxing that command because of her illness, but she could not believe that he would actually agree to leaving Frances with her for several hours.

  ‘Frances has given me no peace about bringing her to your shop and, in order to prevent her from leaving the hostel grounds during the week, I’ve agreed to bring her to you on Saturday mornings,’ he answered her unspoken query, frowning down at her from his great height. ‘If you’re certain she won’t be in the way.’

  ‘She won’ t be in the way at all, and I shall love having her here every Saturday,’ Olivia assured him hastily, a great weight lifting from her heart. ‘Just as long as her being here meets with your approval.’

  ‘You see, I told you she wouldn’t mind, Daddy,’ Frances said triumphantly, glancing from one to the other.

  Bernard King’s eyebrows rose a fraction as he met Olivia’s direct gaze. ‘I hope you realise that my apology was sincere, Miss Logan?’

  ‘I would like to think so, Mr. King,’ she replied, feeling a little overwhelmed, but not entirely convinced that her opinion of him would ever change. He was the ‘Bearded Monster’ as far as she was concerned, and it would always remain so.

  ‘I’ll pick you up on my way home, Frances,’ Bernard told his daughter, in an obvious hurry now to go about his business. ‘And don’t get in Miss Logan’s way too much,’ he added sternly.

  ‘I promise I won’t,’ Frances replied, quivering with suppressed excitement beside Olivia as her father raised his hat politely and strode from the shop, but the moment they were alone she turned to Olivia, seeking assurance. ‘You don’t mind my coming here, do you, Olivia?’

  ‘Darling Frances,’ Olivia laughed, taking both the child’s hands in hers. ‘I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have you here with me.’

  ‘You called me “darling”,’ Frances observed slowly, her head tilted to one side, her glance intent. ‘Does that mean you like me?’

  ‘It means I like you very much,’ Olivia admitted with grave honesty.

  ‘I’m glad, because I like you very much too,’ Frances replied instantly, flinging her arms about Olivia’s waist and hugging her with surprising strength before she looked up questioningly and asked, ‘Was Daddy very angry with you the other day?’

  ‘Yes ... very.’

  ‘Did he say some very nasty things to you?’

  Olivia winced inwardly, but her smile was reassuring. ‘Yes, but don’t let it trouble you, Frances.’

  ‘Could I help you with something?’ Frances wanted to

  know, releasing Olivia and glancing eagerly about the shop.

  ‘Well ...’ Olivia stared about her thoughtfully. ‘You could perhaps straighten the magazines on the shelves, and then you could come and sit behind the counter with me, if you like?’ Frances amazed Olivia countless times that morning. Gone was the serious-faced little girl she had known, and in her place was a laughing, happy child, with a mind eager to grasp whatever knowledge Olivia cared to impart. If some of the customers thought it strange to find Bernard King’s daughter behind the counter in Olivia’s bookshop, wrapping up books and helping out generally, then they merely smiled and remained silent, but Olivia knew that it would soon be a topic of conversation among the people of Louisville who knew the King family so much better than she did. Frances, however, behaved as though she belonged there, and on several occasions Olivia had to prevent herself from hugging the child profusely out of sheer delight, for the memory of Bernard King’s disapproval still lurked uncomfortably in the recesses of her mind.

  The ‘Bearded Monster’ was never far from her thoughts, and when he stalked into the shop just after eleven-thirty that morning and asked: ‘Are you ready to go home, Frances?’ Olivia felt herself shrinking inwardly from him as if repelled.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Frances protested instantly, her dark eyes wide and appealing as they gazed up at him. ‘Please, Daddy, could I stay a little longer? Please?’

  Olivia held her breath, waiting for the explosion which was sure to come, but Bernard King’s deep voice sounded surprisingly calm as he said: ‘Perhaps Miss Logan wouldn’t mind bringing you out to the farm when she has closed the shop for the day.’ Olivia’s lashes flew upwards to reveal astonishment in her grey eyes as they met his brooding, enquiring glance. ‘You have a car, Miss Logan?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she heard herself say without giving the matter much thought.

  ‘Splendid,’ he said abruptly. ‘Lunch will be ready as soon as you arrive at Mountain View.’

  Lunch! she thought in alarm, her heart thudding

  uncomfortably. ‘Oh, but I couldn’t—’

  ‘Yes, yes, Olivia,’ Frances chipped in excitedly. ‘Stay and have lunch with us, and afterwards Daddy and I could show you our big baobab tree. Could we, Daddy?’ She shot a questioning glance at her father before turning towards Olivia again with renewed confidence. ‘Remember the tree I told you about, Olivia? We could pack a basket and have tea there, just as Daddy and I always do.’

  Olivia felt as though she were being cleverly and methodically enmeshed in a web from which there was no escape, and, like the proverbial fly trapped by the spider, she struggled frantically for release. ‘Frances, I’m afraid I can’t—’

  ‘Do you have a prior engagement for this afternoon?’ Bernard King interrupted her polite refusal, his penetrating glance setting her nerves jangling.

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then the matter is settled,’ he stated quite firmly and, with a paralysing numbness surging into her limbs, she watched him raise his hat and stride towards the entrance on those long, muscular legs of his. ‘I’ll see you both later.’

  ‘Oh, goody!’ Frances cried, bouncing up and down excitedly behind the counter, and quite unaware of the trepidation with which Olivia viewed this visit to Mountain View. ‘I can’t wait to show you our tree, Olivia.’

  Olivia smiled weakly as she set her limbs in motion. Bernard King and his daughter were both equally overpowering when they chose to be, she decided as she endeavoured to unravel her nerves in order to get through the remained of the morning, but try as she might, she could not match Frances’ enthusiasm at the prospect of spending the afternoon out at the farm. The closer it came to the time for them to leave, the more Olivia wished she had not allowed her refusal to be overruled with such
edse. How on earth would she manage to get through an afternoon in the company of a man she disliked so intensely? Frances would be there, of course, but Bernard King was not someone one could ignore with ease. He made his presence felt by the mere shape and size of him, as well as the probing intensity of those dark eyes of his that seemed to miss very little.

  When Olivia finally drove her Apache through town with Frances seated beside her, she discovered that she had at last accepted her fate with a calmness that was unreal and, sighing resignedly, she tried to relax the tensed muscles along her back, while at the same time loosening her frantic grip on the steering-wheel.

  Bernard King seemed to appear from nowhere when she eventually parked her car beneath the shady jacaranda tree, and her legs were horribly shaky as she stepped from the car and found herself looking up into his bearded face so far above her own.

  ‘Welcome once again to Mountain View, Miss Logan,’ he said, his manner that of a perfect host as he accompanied them on to the wide verandah. ‘I thought you would both like something cold to drink before we go in to lunch,’ he continued once Olivia was seated in the comfortable cane chair with Frances wriggling in beside her. ‘Iced orange juice for you, Miss Logan? Or would you prefer something stronger?’ ‘Orange juice will do nicely, thank you. ’

  Olivia watched him surreptitiously as he filled three glasses from the jug which had been placed on the circular cane table, and the nerves she had struggled so valiantly to unravel become knotted once more at the pit of her stomach.

  ‘I hope Frances didn’t make a nuisance of herself?’ he asked eventually after listening to Frances’ excited chatter about her morning spent in the shop.

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Olivia, smiling down at the child leaning so confidently against her. ‘She was very helpful, and wonderful company.’

  ‘May I really come every Saturday, Olivia?’ Frances wanted to know, seeking reassurance once again.

  ‘I think I shall miss you terribly now if you don’t,’ Olivia replied with complete honesty, glancing nervously at the man relaxing in the chair opposite. ‘If your father doesn’t mind?’

  ‘I have no objections,’ he said abruptly, his attention claimed by the dark-skinned Venda houseboy who stepped out on to the verandah to tell them that lunch was ready. The houseboy departed as silently as he had arrived and, rising to his feet, Bernard King said: ‘Perhaps, Frances, you would like to show Miss Logan the way to the bathroom so you can both freshen up before lunch, if you wish?’

  Frances obeyed instantly, and Olivia, conscious of the clamminess of her hands, which she had found herself clenching so tightly on several occasions, followed her thankfully.

  The dining-room, Olivia discovered some minutes later, was a cool, spacious room, furnished in teak, and with double glass doors leading out on to the verandah. Her eyes widened at the variety of cold meats and salads on the long, oval table, but she knew somehow that she would not be able to eat a thing. If it had not been for Frances, the next hour would have been the most uncomfortable in her entire life. Frances and her father ate heartily, but Olivia barely touched her food and, although her host glanced at her curiously on several occasions, he refrained from remarking upon her lack of appetite.

  ‘Could we go and show Olivia the tree now, Daddy?’ Frances asked eagerly once they had returned to the verandah.

  ‘Yes, if you’re both ready,’ Bernard nodded, picking up his hat and placing it at a rakish angle on his head.

  Frances’ eyes glowed with excitement. ‘Did you have a basket packed for us?’

  ‘If I’m not mistaken then Evalina has it ready in the kitchen if you’d like to go and fetch it,’ he smiled down at her, tugging gently at one of her pigtails. ‘We’ll wait outside for you.’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Frances promised, smiling up at Olivia before disappearing into the house.

  ‘I hope you realise the extent of the influence you have over Frances,’ Bernard King said stiffly as they strolled out to where he had parked his Land Rover, and Olivia was instantly on the defensive.

  ‘I do realise it, Mr. King, and I realise too how much this must displease you, considering the opinion you have of me.’

  ‘What opinion do I have of you, Miss Logan?’

  ‘You don’t need me to enlighten you, surely,’ Olivia replied without hesitation, every nerve in her body screaming out in protest as his arm brushed accidentally against hers.

  They reached the Land Rover before he turned to face her with a hint of mockery in his eyes. ‘Are you such a paragon, Miss Logan, that you’ve never made rash statements in a moment of anger?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call personal insults rash statements, Mr. King.’

  ‘Do you want me to make you an apology in writing?’

  ‘It doesn’t very much interest me whether you do or not,’ she retorted, something in his manner infuriating her. ‘And I might as well make it quite clear to you that I’m here only for Frances’ sake. Nothing else would have induced me to set foot in your home, or on your ranch. ’

  During the brief, electrifying silence that followed her statement, Olivia experienced again that flickering of fear as she had done on the first occasion they had met. What was it about this man that made her bristle like an enraged cat?

  ‘I didn’t invite you here for my pleasure either, Miss Logan,’ his deep voice chilled the blood in her veins despite the heat of that October afternoon. ‘You’ve obviously brought about a remarkable change in Frances, and for that reason only do I tolerate your presence.’

  ‘And that puts you smartly in your place, my girl,’ Olivia told herself angrily, smarting inwardly, yet knowing somehow that she had deserved it.

  Frances’ arrival with the basket eased the tension between them, and a few seconds later they were driving through the homestead gate and out into the veld with Olivia seated in front beside Bernard King, and Frances in the back.

  The hot air fanned her cheeks and lifted her hair from her face as she looked about her with interest. She was seeing the bushveld as it actually was, lying stretched out before her in the shimmering heat of the day with the cicadas shrilling incessantly, and the wild smell of the bush permeating the air.

  They drove through several grazing camps which gave her the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the Afrikaner cattle Oom Hennie had mentioned. Their majestic golden-brown bodies, with the familiar hump above the shoulders and the long horns, seemed to glisten in the sunlight, their muscles rippling as they moved about among the acacia trees.

  A broad-stemmed baobab tree appeared beside the track and, as Bernard King braked gently, Olivia asked, ‘Is that the tree you wanted me to see, Frances?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Frances laughed, leaning forward between their seats. ‘The one we’re going to show you is much bigger than that, isn’t it, Daddy?’

  ‘Very much bigger, yes,’ he replied absently, glancing in the opposite direcdon while he kept the Land Rover moving at a slow pace. ‘If you look quickly to your left, Miss Logan, you’ll see a kudu bull among the trees.’

  Olivia glanced in the direction he was pointing, her eyes seeking and finding the most magnificent kudu she had ever seen. Its coat was a greyish brown in colour with vertical white stripes along the sides of its body, while the long spiralled horns could quite easily have been one and a half metres long.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered, her voice tinged with regret as the kudu disappeared into the bush.

  ‘Beautiful, but also very timid and elusive, so you’re lucky to have caught a glimpse of it,’ he told her imperiously, changing gear and putting his foot down on the accelerator. ‘A kudu could weigh anything up to two hundred and seventy kilograms when it’s fully grown,’ he added.

  ‘Do you hunt them often?’

  ‘I hunt them only occasionally, and use their meat mostly for biltong.’

  ‘It seems such a shame,’ she sighed, shedding some of her nervousness, while her liking for biltong, those dried sti
cks of meat which were such a delicacy, took a definite plunge as she thought of that beautiful animal being shot.

  ‘I don’t particularly enjoy hunting down the kudu,’ he said roughly, ‘but when they become too many I have to diminish the herd for the sake of my cattle.’

  Olivia lapsed into a thoughtful silence as the Land Rover continued to bump over the uneven track, but when they came across a second herd of cattle she could not prevent herself from saying, ‘What magnificent animals! Do you breed them for slaughter, or ... ’ her voice trailed off into a guilty silence as he glanced at her sharply.

  ‘I’m mainly a stud farmer, but I do sell for the purpose of slaughter as well.’ His eyes laughed at her suddenly. ‘I don’t keep cattle as pets, Miss Logan.’

  ‘There it is, Olivia,’ Frances exclaimed excitedly behind her, interrupting the awkward silence, and pointing straight ahead. ‘Do you see the tree?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Olivia laughed, her own excitement mounting as Bernard King parked the Land Rover beneath the tree she had heard so much about.

  ‘Come on, let’s get out,’ said Frances, opening the door and jumping to the ground without waiting for Olivia and her father.

  The stem of the tree was massive and hollowed out in places. It dwarfed Bernard King so completely when he stood beside it that she had difficulty in suppressing a giggle that rose in her throat, and which finally forced her to look elsewhere. The baobab tree was comparatively short in height, but almost grotesquely fat, its oblong leaves covered in short soft hair, and its white flowers almost as large as a man’s hand.

  ‘It’s enormous,’ she said at last, realising that her two companions were watching her intently.

  ‘It takes eighteen men, with their arms stretched out at their sides, to circle the stem of this tree, and it certainly makes me realise how insignificant I am. ’

  Bernard King could never be insignificant no matter how much he tried, she thought scathingly, but she said: ‘It looks like a tree which has been planted upside down.’