Rose of the Desert (21 page)

He turned to look at her, put his drink down.

"There's no question of our leaving until they've settled in."

"Do you mean they
will
have to stay?"

He inhaled a deep breath.

"These people
are
their guardians."

"But it's monstrous! " Julie jumped up, unable to control herself. "Stephanie has no love for them ,., her only interest is to ..."

"Julie!" Clay's face paled. He lowered his tones. "You're assuming rather a lot, aren't you, to say that when you've only been here one day?"

"One hour was enough!" Julie retorted.

"One minute was enough when you had already decided that the Mayhews wouldn't be good enough."

"And one minute is enough when you couldn't care less where they go!"

They stood facing each other in much the same way as the Mayhews had, and then with a sigh Clay swung away.

"This is a bad time for John. The farm is taking time to get under way, and his only assistant at the moment is a young native manager. That and an acute labour shortage " doesn't make things any easier. As for Stephanie, she's a woman who is finding it difficult to adjust... understandably when you consider what she has left behind, but can we blame her for that?"

He flung his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray and suddenly turned to her again.

"Instead of being so quick to condemn, you might try a bit of constructive assistance, such as helping Stephanie get to know the children better!"

Without a backward glance he strode off towards his room. Julie gulped back the hurt. Clay had never spoken to her in quite that tone before. She looked around the room with a feeling that the house had a kind of Jekyll and Hyde personality about it, cheerful and friendly through the day, distinctly oppressive when darkness fell.

Last night there had been Stephanie alone and drunk, with Clay taking control of a depressing situation. Tonight the Mayhews had had a terrific row, and she and Clay had nearly followed suit. She turned to go to her room, dreading to think what would happen tomorrow night Thankfully nothing did, though it was just as unbearable.

The day passed under an air of strain, with Clay and John spending much of their time out of doors, or discussing farm development. Julie made an effort to try and get something going between the children and their aunt.

This wasn't easy. Stephanie stood in the middle of the lawn looking formidable in expensive clothes and a Hollywood make-up. She seemed to be taking a defiant delight in dressing up in outfits totally unsuited to her surroundings. It was no wonder the children hung back in the shadows when she called. To them she must have looked like some beautiful statue that talked, and most of the time rather harshly.

"Mark! Haven't I told you to come the minute I call? And Janet, how many times do I have to tell you not to suck your thumb?"

And so it went on.

After dinner John sat at his desk poring over accounts, and Stephanie swept Clay off on to the veranda with:

"You were telling me, Clay, about that film you saw ... in Burundi, wasn't it? Did the natives really rip the screen?"

On the pretext of looking in on the children Julie retired early to her room. That set the pattern for the days and nights ahead, and as they drifted painfully by, Julie found she was spending more and more time with Janet and Mark, and practically none with anyone else.

One morning, looking down from the garden, she saw Clay and Stephanie riding on horseback through the valley. Turning away, she drew on her lower lip. Couldn't Clay see that Janet and Mark should be having a little of their aunt's attention? Sooner or later she was going to be left with the job of bringing them up, but for what notice she took of them, they might have been no more than two extra chairs in the house.

Later on that day, Julie was to regret her period of wishful thinking that Stephanie would take more notice of her nephew and niece. It was about an hour before dinner. She had decided to while the time away by reading, and remembered that the book she was halfway through was still at the side of her bed. Walking towards the bedroom, she heard Stephanie's voice coming through the open door.

"I absolutely insist, Janet, do you hear? You are to call Uncle John Daddy ... he'll like that Now, say Mummy like I told you to."

Silence.

Julie ventured inside and saw Janet sitting sideways on her bunk. A large tear pushed at tie corner of one eye.

Stephanie gripped the child roughly by the shoulders.

"You
will
call me Mummy, you stubborn little mule, if it's the last thing I..."

"How can you expect that?" Julie blazed at her. "It's only weeks since the air crash. Do you want the children to hate you?"

Stephanie turned, her eyes glazed with anger.

"Look, you may have been hired to bring the brats out here, but that gives you no authority to butt in on their education now."

"Their education!" Julie gave an incredulous laugh.

"Go ahead, laugh," Stephanie snapped, "but I know John hates it here as much as I do. It won't take all that much to tip his hand."

All that much of what? Julie wondered. Buttering him up with niceties from the children? She sighed.

"Look, why don't you settle for Auntie? For the time being at least. They could manage that."

"I should damn well think so... seeing I
am
their aunt!" Stephanie slammed out of the room, and Janet burst into a flood of tears. Though Julie held her tight, the small body was racked in heartrending sobs,

"I don't like it here. I want my mummy ... please can I go to Mummy?"

Julie had a hard time of it choking back her own tears, especially as Mark sniffed over his teddy bear,

"She's been away such a long time!"

"I'm going into the village to pick up a few supplies. Like to come along for the ride?"

Clay wiped the dust from the windscreen of the estate car preparatory to climbing in. He looked tall and muscular in drill slacks and check shirt, and the smile he gave Julie was agreeable and warm. The morning was crisp and clear, and just to be near Clay made up for all the other lonely days when she had seen so little of him.

"There are a fair number of shops of a sort," he was saying, "a passably good hotel ... you may even find someone who speaks English well enough to swop yarns."

"About what?" Julie smiled, stepping down from the veranda.

He shrugged the wide shoulders.

"Who knows what women talk about when they get together out here? Hardly the latest hairdo's or Paris fashions!" He grinned. "In any case, the village English will probably be limited to 'Have you seen the Dinkas?' and 'What's new in Kampala?' "

"I've got my limitations too," Julie laughed. "You forgot I'm just a greenhorn when it comes to travel."

"I wouldn't say that. You've seen Tripoli, and the Sudan, and ... the River Nile."

This last part was spoken with slow mocking emphasis, and a little breathlessly she raised her eyes to his. The memory of that passionate embrace on the banks of the Nile rose vividly in her mind.

Seeing him here now, his face just above her own, made her feel she would have given anything to have a repeat performance of that night. To be held once again in those arms, to be crushed against the hard chest, feeding those hungry lips with her kisses.

But this was broad daylight, and Clay was talking about going to the village ... and any moment now John Mayhew or Stephanie might step out of the house. Thinking of Stephanie made her pause at the door of the estate wagon. She thought for a moment.

"Should I bring the children along?"

There was no mistaking Clay's impatient sigh.

"I shouldn't. You'll have to give Stephanie a chance to take over some time."

"I'd like nothing better," Julie retorted, "but Stephanie nearly always seems to have other things on her mind."

"Like what?" The brown eyes were flecked with anger again and Julie petered out miserably,

"Like ... oh, nothing! Forget it. And I won't be coming to the village with you."

What was the use, she thought hurrying inside, when always the mention of Stephanie's name caused an explosion between them? She heard the rev of the engine and the car screeched off up the drive.

What was happening to her and Clay? Only days ago they had embraced passionately like two people very much in love. She had been convinced than that only the children's future stood between Clay's happiness and her own. Now she wasn't so sure. There seemed to be much more to it than that. Since their arrival at Bongola she had seldom seen him to talk to. All his energies seemed to be directed elsewhere ... possibly in assisting to get the farm on a firmer footing, undoubtedly in keeping Stephanie company.

With tightening heart Julie asked herself was that just how much Clay's love for her had amounted to?
One
romantic night on the banks of the Nile ?

She sat in her room listening to the delighted laughter of Janet and Mark as their uncle flicked them occasionally with water from the garden hose. They were happy enough now. She drew quickly away from the window. Perhaps it
would
be a good idea to go down to the village and leave the Mayhews in sole charge for a change.

She picked up a handbag and went out.

Since Clay had taken the estate car there was nothing for it but for her to take his. Though she had no idea where the village was it wasn't a difficult matter following the tyre marks that led in the opposite direction from the border and the customs house. Happily the track was in a much better condition on this side.

Once on the way she was able to review the situation at Bongola without interruption, but nothing seemed to fit into place as snugly as she would have wished. According to Stephanie's ramblings on that first night, her husband had taken on Bongola to get back at her in some way.

Which was pretty drastic when you considered the two totally different environments ... a small select nightclub in Nairobi and a run-down farm miles up in the mountains. Still, it was drastic, wasn't it, when your wife refused you the children you longed for? Although no one at the house had put in in plain speaking, Julie was convinced this was the root of the trouble.

She had seen John's face when he looked at Janet and Mark. Compared to Stephanie's there was no doubt that husband and wife were hopelessly divided when it came to the subject of children. Stephanie, who couldn't be more than twenty-nine or thirty, must have put it off gracefully for as long as she could, but John, being considerably older, was undoubtedly going through the frustration of knowing that he would soon be too old to enjoy a family.

Julie sighed in the confines of the car. What a rotten trick of fate to leave the children alone in the world at such a crucial moment in the Mayhews' lives. And how could two sisters be so utterly unalike? Had Stephanie been more like Lynn, the children could have drawn the couple closer together. As it was they seemed not to have improved matters at all, probably because John Mayhew felt the reasons for his wife consenting to take the children left a lot to be desired.

Julie came upon the village of Hifta as she turned the road at the end of the valley. Set in the cleft of a brown mountain, its buildings were square and white. They glared painfully in the sun. The only two-storied block looked like the hotel Clay had mentioned. It opened out on to a square shaded by peppercorn trees, and an inner court formed a kind of open-air dining-room, where orange trees and bushes of hibiscus sprouted between the tables.

She parked the car in the square and set out to explore, being more or less prepared for anything. Even so her surprise grew with every step. The open-fronted stalls were littered with magnifying glasses, whistles, tambourines, pots and pans, cups and saucers, scissors and mirrors. Mixed in with the various local haberdashery were Lancashire cottons, serge blankets, and Indian silks.

Though she had none of the local currency for spending, Julie couldn't resist fingering an article here and there, but far from being displeased the shopkeepers beamed and heaped more objects around her hands. The aim seemed to be more with sustaining interest rather than making a sale. After the stalls there were one or two lopsided shops with dark interiors. Here the method of trading looked slightly more formal.

Julie felt something of an oddity strolling passed heavily veiled inhabitants in her simple cotton frock, but the dark eyes above the veils were friendly, and here and there she sensed a smile. Unaccountably her heart lightened. It had been a good idea to get away from Bongola for a while, and the village of Hifta was proving an enjoyable experience. A new spring in her step, she left the shops and stalls behind and followed the gravelly road to its end, and here, looking ridiculously incongruous, was a gleaming petrol station. Obviously the village was a necessary stopping place for vehicles en route to other districts.

Julie stared with interest at the gleaming chromium fittings, gaily coloured signs and neat tarmac frontage. A small European-type house stood to one side, and on the steps a plump dark-haired woman busied herself with a bowl of washing. Julie knew the idea of a friendly chat or "swopping yarns" as Clay put it was definitely out when she heard the voluble mouthful directed at a fat toddler making his way on to the road. It sounded like Italian. Judging by the dark eyes and flashing smile as the woman caught sight of Julie it probably was.

Though they couldn't communicate, it was pleasant to relax for a while on a bench just out of the sun's rays and be offered a cool drink, to listen to the Italian woman cooing to her child and showing off his dark-eyed handsomeness with pride.

At last Julie felt she must stir herself. She knew a reckless desire to sample the food at the village hotel and refused to be perturbed at the lack of money. If she could get round that it would be fun to eat out of doors amongst the hibiscus and orange trees.

She shook a little brown hand, waved goodbye to the Italian woman, and watched her turn reluctantly to the bowl of washing. It did cross her mind that she might see Clay on her way back through the village, and at once her eyes searched eagerly amongst the robed figures. There was no sign of the tall muscular frame. It would appear he had picked up the supplies and gone straight back to Bongola.