The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (12 page)

‘Yes,' Jon said, her voice dull.

That was all she was to Alex—a stand-in, someone you can make use of or totally ignore, a nuisance because she needed help, a
pest
because she refused to sell him the farm he wanted.

‘By the way, Mum,' Jon went on, ‘I rang the Foxes. We can dress or not as we like.'

‘I'll have a bath now, then. I had such a lovely time,' Ursula said, and Jon watched her slowly stretch her arms and thought for the millionth time perhaps that she wished she was as lovely as her mother. ‘It's a pity you don't mix well, darling, they're such nice people, but not the kind you like. My bridge is improving, the Colonel says.'

‘The Colonel?'

‘Yes, Colonel Harding. He lives near Qwaleni—a widower, and most charming. Perfect manners.' Her mother wrinkled her nose and in some incredible way, Jon thought, succeeded in looking even more beautiful than before. ‘If only he wasn't so old!'

‘Old?'

Her mother laughed. ‘Old in your eyes, darling, for he must be well over fifty. I confess I prefer younger men,' she said, and went to the bathroom.

Jon stood still, gazing without seeing them at the blue mountains. Was her mother in love with Alex? And he with her? If only she knew!

But if she did know, she asked herself, would that help? Wouldn't it make it harder still to bear?

The phone rang—their party number and Alex's voice.

‘Is
your mother back?'

His voice was so curt, as to a schoolgirl, that Jon found it hard to answer casually: ‘Yes, she's having a bath.'

‘Oh, I see. Look, Jon, I'll fetch you tonight at six-forty-five. Okay?'

‘I can drive us . . .' Jon began, but he brushed her words aside.

‘You don't know the way and we may be home late. No one knows what can happen at Pumula,' he said, and rang off.

How right he was Jon was to find out about two hours later as in Alex's car they drove up the mountainside and over the top. Dusk was falling, but the clouded sky was still bright with the red of sunset. They drove past the highwire fence of the sanctuary and along the rutted earth road until at last they drove through open wrought iron gates, vaguely reminiscent of an old English manor house's entrance, and along a narrow lane with trees either side whose leafed branches met overhead and formed a long green tunnel. Finally they came to the house. Jon stared at it, startled. It was a three-storied house, tall, narrow, stretching up into the sky. Each floor had a verandah running right round the building. The roof was of tiles, the curtains of each window drawn.

‘What a peculiar house!' said Ursula.

Alex laughed. ‘We call it Cox's Folly. Apparently Samuel Fox's mother was an eccentric but a very wealthy one, too. She had
plenty
of protégés, young writers, artists and finally an architect. She wanted to help him, but he was a proud young man, so she decided to get him to design a house for her. This was it. We think he was joking, never expecting she would accept it. But she did, and there you are. The most unsuitable sort of house for this climate, of course.'

As he spoke the front door opened and a girl with red hair stood there. She wore a trouser suit of green silk and every movement she made was graceful as she came out.

‘Alex darling, long time no see!' she teased the tall man who smiled back politely but with a coldness that startled Jon. ‘Mrs Hampton and little Jon!'

‘Ursula . . . this is Caroline Fox. Jon . . .'

Caroline smiled, ‘I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs Hampton. I see how right the local gossip is. You must have been barely out of the cradle and little Jon . . .' Now Caroline Fox turned to Jon, a strange smile on her face, almost a triumphant smile, Jon thought uneasily. ‘You must be the bravest girl in the world. Few of us dare antagonize our darling Alex.' She smiled at him. ‘But I would add a word of warning, little Jon. It's well known that Alex always gets what he wants, no matter what it costs. Usually the cost is a broken heart. Not his, of course. But I forgot, you left your heart in England, didn't you?'

Jon coloured. She heard the startled gasp
from
her mother, who stared at her and said: ‘Jon, you couldn't be serious? Not Jimmy?' Her voice was full of contempt, and suddenly Jon was angry. It was her business whom she loved, and poor Jimmy hadn't been so bad, just unutterably boring.

‘What's wrong with Jimmy? He's rather a darling.'

‘But . . .' her mother began, but Caroline Fox ushered them into the house which was as strange inside as it was out. The whole of the ground floor was, apparently, one large lofty room, almost packed with chairs and couches, each one covered with a different but bright colour, such as crimson, yellow, white, or even a deep purple.

‘Madeleine, where are your manners?' Caroline cried sharply, and Madeleine appeared in the gallery that circled the room and came down the curved staircase. She was wearing a long blue silk frock, exquisitely embroidered with a low neckline.

‘Hullo. I didn't hear the bell,' she said, and as she spoke, a door above banged open and four small boys came tumbling out, racing down the stairs, almost falling over, nearly pushing Madeleine down. They were in pale blue shortie pyjamas, their heads wet. They had obviously been born eighteen months apart.

Caroline laughed, ‘My offspring, Mrs Hampton. The eldest is Derrick, the next is
Donald,
then Daniel and then Dennis. The four little D's.' She laughed again, ‘How right that is, the little devils!'

The boys were racing round the hall, shouting at one another, jumping on and off the chairs, bumping into the visitors, screaming as one fell on the ground, landing on his nose. Caroline ignored them, and led the way through the big room to a small mosquito-screened patio at the back.

‘Please see to the drinks, Alex,' she said. ‘Samuel overslept and is still showering.'

They all sat down in the cane chairs and Caroline and Ursula Hampton discussed the bad storm of the night before while Jon and Madeleine sat in an awkward silence. Jon felt uncomfortably aware that she must look as if she hadn't bothered to ‘dress'. Madeleine's frock was lovely, her stepmother's green silk trouser suit the essence of elegance, Jon's mother was wearing an old gold silk gown that was long and slinky, but Jon had merely worn her kaftan. Now, as occasionally Caroline's critical eyes drifted to look at Jon, Jon felt uneasy.

Alex was handing round drinks, and as he gave Jon her glass, a tall thin man in his late forties, came down the staircase. Jon stared at him, fascinated, for he was so handsome, it just wasn't true. He was more like a film star than any man she had ever seen. As he apologized and stood by his wife, he ran his hand lightly
down
her arm and when she smiled up at him, he smiled back. It was the sort of smile Jon would like Alex to smile at
her
, she knew.

Samuel Fox proved to be a delightful host, telling funny anecdotes, encouraging conversation, able to listen with apparent interest as well. Despite this Jon felt acutely uncomfortable. For two reasons: the first the closeness of Alex and the need for being on guard lest she reveal her love, and secondly, Madeleine.

It wasn't that her father and stepmother were actually
cruel
to her, it was much more subtle, such as when Madeleine's father said the boys should be in bed.

‘You should have had them there long ago,' he said, his voice gently disapproving. But Jon saw the quick hurt in Madeleine's eyes as she went off to gather the four protesting little boys, who shouted and yelled and kicked her.

‘Little devils, aren't they?' Caroline said with a smile. ‘She just spoils them.'

Later Madeleine had been talking to Jon when Caroline said sharply, ‘Don't sit on the nuts, Madeleine dear. Pass Alex some. You're forgetting our guests, but it's not like you to forget
him
.'

Nothing much, perhaps, some might call them little pinpricks, but each one hurt Madeleine, Jon saw with amazement. Jon was seeing a totally different Madeleine from the patronizing Madeleine she knew, and she also
saw
the way Madeleine looked at Alex and a surprisingly warm wave of sympathy went through her, and for the first time she understood what Alex had meant what he said he was sorry for Madeleine.

Obviously she had adored her father, and then he had married a beautiful young girl, only two years older than his own daughter, whom he obviously loved dearly and who had given him four sons and taken the place in his heart not only of Madeleine's real mother but herself, too.

Though Madeleine could have left, Jon thought, instead of staying here to be criticized, made use of, and given the inferiority complex Alex had spoken of . . . for the situation must, at times, be almost unbearable. Then Jon saw the aching miserable look on Madeleine's face as she stared at Alex and Jon understood.

The time passed and they didn't eat and Jon wondered what time they would go home. Not that it mattered, for her mother was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing a lot, her beauty renewed by her vivaciousness as she joked with the two men and Caroline. Actually it was the two youngest of the party, Jon and Madeleine, who were the quiet ones, occasionally chatting but more often silently listening. Jon also noticed the way Madeleine watched Alex, particularly when he talked to Ursula Hampton. Was Madeleine thinking the
same
as herself? Jon wondered.

They ate at last and it was a delicious dinner. Soup, thick mushroom soup; then duckling, tender and tasty, followed by a chocolate soufflé.

It was midnight before Alex led the way to his car, flashing his torch, his hand under Ursula Hampton's elbow. Jon walked behind them and was suddenly aware that Alex was talking quietly to her mother, so quietly that it was obvious he did not wish Jon to hear what he was saying.

A sudden irresistible urge made Jon move forward swiftly and quietly, and she just heard the words:

‘. . . eight o'clock.'

She stood still, letting them draw away from her, and then followed them.

The journey was quiet and it wasn't until Jon was in bed that she realized what Alex's words must have meant. ‘Eight o'clock' was the time Jon was usually walking with the dogs, for they generally had breakfast at eight-thirty! So Alex must have arranged for a time when Jon would be out of the way.

Jon buried her face in the pillow and the tears came. She knew one thing. That morning she would see to it that it was very late when she got home for breakfast!

*          *          *

Jon
walked farther than she had ever done before the next morning. In the night there had been a heavy fall of rain so the earth track was muddy and there was little pleasure in the walk. The dogs, of course, loved every moment of it, even the old spaniel showing his first signs of interest in chasing the birds out of the pineapple plants.

Jon kept glancing at her wrist watch, for Alex had said eight o'clock, so she mustn't get home until after half past eight at the earliest, and by then he would have gone. She had no desire to see him . . . if he didn't want to see her!

Why? Why? She asked herself again and again. Why had she to fall in love with Alex? It couldn't be a more difficult, impossible situation.

When she got back to the house, she hastily changed and went out on to the stoep with an apology for being late for breakfast ready, but as she stepped outside she stood still, startled, for the stoep was empty. There could only be one answer. Her mother had got tired of waiting for her breakfast and had it. Dorcas came running from the bedrooms, holding out a note to Jon. It was short.

‘Darling, we waited for you, but Alex had to go to Qwaleni early. He's taking me in to do some shopping. I may not be back to lunch so don't worry. Love, Mother.'

We waited for you
. . . Jon's mouth twisted
ruefully.
Had they waited for her? Or had they been glad she was late as it gave them the excuse they wanted in order to go alone? But would Alex need an excuse? If he wanted to take her mother into Qwaleni, he would simply say so. Jon knew he wouldn't think it was necessary to explain why he didn't want to take her as well!

‘Your breakfast . . .' Violet was saying worriedly.

‘I'm not hungry. Just some coffee, please,' Jon said wearily, and sat down alone on the stoep.

She felt a sense of desolation. Let's face it, she told herself, you were hoping hard that when you got back, Alex would still be here. Yet, at the same time, you dread meeting him in case he sees how much you love him. What sort of nightmare existence is it going to be for you—living like this? Why not sell the farm? Not to Alex, of course, for that would be going against Uncle Ned's wishes, but to someone else. Uncle Ned would understand, he always understood . . .

Then she could go away. Far, far away. Right across the world, perhaps. Too far to have to be at their wedding . . .

Suddenly she could bear it no more. She gulped down her coffee, jumped to her feet, calling the dogs and taking them for another long walk, as there was nothing else for her to do. That day they were spraying on the farm
and
Alex would have told the
induna
what to do and what the men's jobs were to be. Dorcas and Violet kept the house spotless, so what was there for her to do?

Jon had walked far from the house, the dogs jumping into the shallow water of the irrigation stream, when she remembered something. On that day the local paper would come out and her advertisement be in it. That was the answer. Why did she keep forgetting that she had found the solution? Once she had a competent farm manager, she need no longer be dependent on Alex, no longer be a nuisance, or the laughing-stock of the neighbourhood.

She would show them! She was her uncle's niece, and she didn't give up so easily. Her footsteps were suddenly lighter, her shoulders back, she almost danced along the muddy track.