Magic of the Baobab

by Yvonne Whittal

  But it did matter, she thought wildly. Tante Maria had been right after all, it seemed, and heaven only knew how she was going to face Bernard in future, knowing that her innocent remark had been relayed to him and taken seriously. Dear heaven, was there no escape from this tangled mess she was finding herself in?

  She began to hate the clock against the wall as it ticked the minutes away that morning, bringing her closer to the time when he would join them for tea. The only fact that consoled her in some way was that Frances would be there to ease the inevitable tension, but even that thought offered her little comfort when he eventually strode into the shop, tall, broad, and so very selfpossessed.

  ‘Am I too early?’ he asked, lowering himself on to the stool beside the counter, and looking as though he had every right to be

  there.

  ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ Olivia said in nervous haste, but Frances tugged at her hand and held her back.

  ‘I can do that for you, Olivia,’ she offered, disappearing into the back before Olivia could protest.

  ‘She isn’t a nuisance, is she?’ Bernard wanted to know, gesturing towards Frances’ retreating figure with the pigtails bobbing down her back as she went.

  ‘Not at all,’ Olivia assured him, ill at ease in his company and wondering how she would get through the length of his stay without making a complete idiot of herself. ‘Frances helps me so much that she’s become quite indispensable on a Saturday morning,’ she added.

  A customer coming into the shop brought a momentary respite, and she excused herself hastily, discovering to her horror that her legs were shaking as she attended to the old lady who wanted a book of crochet patterns. Finding just the right pattern book took a little time, and Olivia finally discovered that not only had Frances put the kettle on, but she had made the tea as well, and Bernard, quite oblivious of the elderly lady’s curious glances in his direction, was carrying the tray of tea through to the front of the shop, with Frances close behind him with the apple pie neatly sliced.

  He was really the most astonishing man she had ever met, Olivia thought helplessly. He was irritating and insufferable, yet at times so absolutely human that it was almost infuriating. Frances chatted gaily while they had their tea, quite unaware of the tension coiling through Olivia as she became increasingly aware of Bernard’s speculative, searching glances that sent the colour surging into her cheeks on several occasions as she recalled her conversation with Tante Maria. When he finally left, promising to collect Frances at one o’clock, Olivia was trembling so much that she could hardly carry the tray through to the back without rattling the cups in their saucers as she did so. If only Ilona had not flung those hateful accusations at her, and Tante Maria had not voiced those frightening observations, then this encounter with Bernard might have turned into quite a pleasant interlude, but Frances, dear innocent little Frances, had set the ball rolling by disclosing part of their discussion the previous Saturday, and the entire situation had since got out of hand.

  ‘You must thank Evalina for the lovely apple pie,’ she told Bernard when he eventually came to collect Frances.

  His eyes glinted strangely in the sunlight as he looked down at her from his great height. ‘Why don’t you come out to Mountain View for lunch and thank her yourself?’

  Olivia was instantly on her guard, rejecting his suggestion without further thought. ‘I’m afraid I can’t, I—’

  ‘Please come, Olivia,’ Frances pleaded, adding weight to her father’s suggestion, but on this occasion Olivia would not be swayed.

  ‘Another time, perhaps, Frances,’ she said gently, running the back of her fingers across one rosy cheek. ‘There are so many things I have to do this afternoon that I don’t get time for during the week. ’

  ‘But it’s going to be a whole long week before I see you again,’ Frances complained disappointedly.

  ‘A week passes very quickly,’ Olivia assured her with a slight smile, but the warmth and tenderness in her glance was unmistakable. ‘Before you know it, the week-end will be here again, and we’ll have all Saturday morning together again, with a lot of hard work thrown in for good measure. ’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Frances sighed reluctantly, flinging her arms about Olivia’s waist unexpectedly and hugging her before she climbed into the Land Rover.

  ‘I’ll see you again soon,’ Bernard said, extending his large hand towards her, and Olivia wondered faintly whether this was a promise or a threat as she shook hands with him and watched him walk round to the driver’s side.

  ‘A promise or a threat,’ she echoed her thoughts with a touch of hysteria. To Bernard it might have been a promise, but to her it was a threat; a threat in the form of Ilona Haskins, and a warning that she would have to take special care in future as far as Bernard King was concerned.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bernard came to the shop several times during the following weeks, lingering long enough only to have tea with Olivia before returning to the farm, and on each occasion she felt almost limp with relief after his departure. He brought Frances to the shop on Saturday mornings, but each time, when he returned just before one to fetch her, Olivia had a plausible excuse ready when the inevitable invitation to lunch at Mountain View was extended. Frances, who had become a splendid little assistant, never hid her disappointment, but Bernard’s expression invariably become curiously closed, sending shivers of apprehension through Olivia which she had difficulty in explaining to herself.

  Her fear of encountering Ilona’s wrath once more never eventuated either, for she never put in an appearance again, and Olivia could only surmise that Ilona had considered the one warning enough—which indeed it had been!

  As the weeks slipped by into November, Olivia found it almost impossible to believe that more than two months had passed since her arrival in Louisville. Vivien arrived one Tuesday morning with a bouquet of early summer roses from her garden, but, as usual, she did not stay long and, as the hours hastened on towards the afternoon, Olivia began to experience the achingly familiar tension winding its way through her body. It was one of the days in the week when Bernard always paid her a visit, and she found herself glancing up each time a car came down the street, or jumping nervously at the sound of heavy footsteps outside the shop. Then, inexplicably, she experienced a feeling of unwanted concern and disappointment when it was time to lock up for the night and there was still no sign of him.

  ‘Oh, what’s the matter with me!’ she muttered angrily, admonishing herself as she climbed the stairs to her flat with the vase containing Vivien’s roses in her hands. She did not want to see him, but what if something awful had happened to him? What if he was lying ill at home with no one to care for him? ‘Stop it!’ she told herself fiercely. ‘He has a bevy of Venda servants who’d be only too willing to dance attendance on Ufezela. At any rate, why should I care?’

  The door-bell chimed just after seven that evening and Olivia

  went rigid with fright, experiencing also a flicker of anticipation that infuriated her. It chimed again after a few seconds and, shaking herself free of her motionless state, she went to answer it.

  ‘Gerald!’ she exclaimed with unutterable relief when she saw the tall, fair man on her doorstep.

  ‘You looked like a scared rabbit for a moment,’ he laughed, looking down at her quizzically. ‘Were you expecting someone else?’

  ‘No, not really,’ she smiled, unable to understand why she should feel vaguely disappointed as she pulled herself together and opened the door wider. ‘Come in, please.’

  ‘How’s my favourite girl been lately?’ he asked eventually, dropping into a chair and grinning up at her mischievously.

  ‘Fine—just fine,’ she replied, wringing her hands nervously. ‘I’ll make us some coffee.’

  It took some minutes for her nerves to setde down, but even as she handed Gerald his cup of coffee, her hand shook visibly.

  ‘What’s the matter, Olivia? I’ve never known you to be this ji
ttery.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she lied, avoiding the curiosity and concern in his green eyes. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ve been overdoing it a bit lately. It could also be this sudden heatwave we’re experiencing,’ Gerald speculated thoughtfully. ‘Have you been to see a doctor lately?’

  ‘There’s nothing the matter with me, Gerald,’ she argued, sipping at her hot coffee and striving for an outward calmness. ‘How is Sanet?’

  ‘She’s all right, I suppose,’ Gerald shrugged carelessly, still not convinced that Olivia was not hiding something from him.

  ‘What do you mean, you suppose?’ she persisted, determined to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  ‘Well, I saw her at school today, and she looked all right to me.’

  ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ she rebuked him.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re throwing your happiness away.’ ‘No, I’m not,’ Gerald protested seriously. ‘For once in my life I’m being sensible.’

  ‘You like her, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘If she hadn’t come from a wealthy family, would it have made a difference to the way you feel about her?’ Olivia interrupted with a display of determination that amazed her.

  ‘If she hadn’t been so darned wealthy, I might have—’

  He broke off sharply, grinning at her over the rim of his cup. ‘Don’t trick me into saying things I don’t want to.’

  Olivia sighed exasperatedly. ‘Have you ever thought of the possibility that your attitude might be causing her a great deal of unhappiness?’

  Gerald was instantly suspicious. ‘Has she been talking to you?’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head firmly. ‘I seldom see her, and then only in the shop, but any fool can see she’s unhappy about something.’

  ‘What makes you think that I’m the cause of her unhappiness?’ he demanded with a guarded expression that was almost comical if the situation had not been so serious.

  ‘I happened to see the way she looked at you once.’

  ‘You could be mistaken.’

  Olivia shook her head firmly. ‘I’ve been on the outside looking in for the best part of my life, and facial expressions sometimes say so much more than words.’

  A car door slammed in the street below and Olivia’s ragged nerves reacted accordingly.

  ‘It sounds as though you’re about to receive another visitor,’ Gerald observed, draining his cup and placing it with Olivia’s in the tray.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied shakily, ‘and I can guess who it is.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked, his eyebrows raised above humorous green eyes as she struggled to steady the tremor in her hands.

  ‘Bernard King.’

  Her disclosure and the chime of the door-bell was almost simultaneous and, rising instantly to her feet, she walked jerkily

  across the room towards the door and opened it.

  ‘Hello, Olivia,’ Bernard greeted with that slight smile which nearly always succeeded in unnerving her.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said in a voice that sounded cool to her own ears as she stood aside for him to enter, but her heart was hammering out an odd rhythm in her breast. ‘You know Gerald Thatcher, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve met on several occasions,’ Bernard admitted, his expression inscrutable as he extended a large hand towards Gerald, who had risen at his entrance. ‘I’m pleased I found you here as well, Gerald,’ Bernard continued calmly, lowering himself into a chair and making it appear diminutive because of his enormous bulk. ‘It’s my sister’s birthday this coming Saturday, and I’m having a braai out at the farm for her. I’ve already invited Frances’ teacher, Miss ... er ... Pretorius, and I’d like you to be there as well.’

  Gerald accepted the invitation to the barbecue enthusiastically, but Olivia wished herself anywhere else but there as Bernard turned suddenly and pinned her down with his glance.

  ‘You’ll be there, of course, Olivia.’

  It was not an invitation but a command, and she found herself stammering, ‘Oh, but I can’t, I—’

  ‘Why not?’ the question was rapped out like the lash of a whip and she flinched inwardly.

  ‘Nothing,’ she murmured helplessly. ‘I’ll come, of course.’

  ‘I’ll bring Sanet Pretorius and Olivia out to the farm in my car,’ Gerald offered, easing the tension in the air considerably.

  ‘That’s an excellent idea,’ Bernard nodded, ‘and make it about five in the afternoon.’

  A frightening little silence threatened and Olivia rose jerkily to her feet and grabbed the tray. ‘I’ll make us some fresh coffee.’

  ‘Not for me, Olivia,’ Gerald declined, rising to his feet. ‘I must g°.’

  ‘Must you really?’ she asked quickly, panic gripping at her throat and tightening mercilessly as she lowered the tray to the table.

  Gerald smiled apologetically. ‘I’ve got a pile of examination papers to wade through before tomorrow and, much as I would like to, I really must go. Goodnight, Mr. King,’ he added politely, receiving a brief nod in return.

  ‘I’ll come to the door with you,’ she offered, feeling defeated as she excused herself from Bernard who followed her with hard, watchful eyes. She stopped outside with Gerald and lowered her voice drastically. ‘I wish you could have stayed longer.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being alone with Bernard King?’ Gerald teased in a whisper.

  ‘No, of course I’m not afraid,’ she denied instantly, but in her heart she knew it to be a lie. She was afraid of Bernard, and even more afraid of the stranger she was becoming to herself. ‘Goodnight, Gerald.’

  He squeezed her hand gently before going down to his car, and Olivia sighed heavily as she went inside to face a glowering Bernard.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded as she picked up the tray without a word and walked a few paces away from him.

  ‘I’m going to make you a cup of coffee.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he announced, filling her with alarm as he rose to his feet and towered above her.

  ‘I can manage on my own, thank you,’ she protested, backing away from him instantly as her heart began to pound uncomfortably.

  ‘I’ll come with you all the same,’ he replied, quite unperturbed as he followed her into the kitchen and took up most of the confined space. ‘Does Gerald Thatcher come here often?’

  ‘Just occasionally—why?’ she wanted to know as she switched on the kettle and set out a cup for him.

  ‘Are you serious about him?’

  The question jolted her anger, an anger she had not known she possessed until she had met this infuriating man leaning so nonchalantly against the steel cupboard, watch her with dark eyes that seemed to burn holes right through her.

  ‘Forgive me, but I don’t think it’s any of your business,’

  she told him coldly, but the next instant she almost cried out with pain as his hand gripped her arm just above the elbow.

  ‘It is my business,’ he ground out the words, the unmistakable fury in his eyes sending an involuntary shiver through her slender frame. ‘I happen to like you, and I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.’

  ‘Gerald is a friend, that’s all,’ she explained angrily, fighting back the tears that rose to her eyes, ‘and the only thing that’s hurting me is your hand on my arm. ’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, releasing her instantly with an expression close to remorse as he watched the imprint of his fingers become a dark angry red against the soft flesh of her upper arm. ‘My God, you bruise easily,’ he exploded softly, caressing the mark with gentle fingers and sending inexplicable little shivers through her that quickened her pulse.

  ‘Excuse me, the kettle is boiling,’ she muttered, her voice sounding choked as she moved beyond his reach.

  Her hand was shaking visibly as she handed him his cup of coffee a few seconds later and watched him help himself to milk and s
ugar before they returned to the lounge. He was much more than merely disturbing, she decided, allowing her glance to slide from the broad shoulders in the cream safari jacket, down to the narrow hips, and along muscular legs encased in matching pants. He was aggressively masculine, and every nerve in her body was reacting oddly to his presence and his nearness.

  ‘You know, Olivia, I have a lot to thank you for,’ he said at length, and she raised startled grey eyes to his. ‘Frances has been a much happier and contented child lately.’

  A peculiar desire to lash out at him took possession of her. ‘Doesn’t it trouble you to think that your daughter spends so much time in the company of an alien in your community?’

  His jaw hardened. ‘Haven’t I been forgiven yet for the things I said that first day we met?’

  ‘Yes, of course I’ve forgiven you, and it wasn’t very nice of me to remind you of it,’ she whispered, flushing with shame.

  ‘What’s the matter with me?’ she wondered frantically as their eyes met and held for interminable, shattering seconds, while deep down inside of her something stirred, taking the shape of a warning she could not ignore, but was unable to understand.

  ‘Olivia ... ’

  He said her name in a way that sent a strange weakness surging through her veins and, leaping to her feet as if someone had fired a shot at her, she said hastily, ‘Don’t think me rude, Bernard, but it’s late, and I—I have to be up early tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Olivia?’ he demanded, his cup clattering in the saucer as he placed it on the table. He towered over her suddenly, and the weakness threatened to overwhelm her. ‘What’s happened, since that day we flew to Johannesburg, to make you treat me with such cool politeness?’

  She wrung her hands together nervously, wishing desperately that he would just go and leave her in peace to sort out these new and frightening emotions which were taking possession of her. ‘I ... don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she evaded his question haltingly.

  ‘Oh, yes, you do, and I demand an answer.’

  He was beside her suddenly, his nearness sending a charge of electricity through her that made her tremble violently and clutch at the back of her chair for support.