The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (13 page)

After lunch she would drive to the nearby store and get the local paper to make sure her advertisement was in it.

Later she drove down. She was careful not to open the paper eagerly in the store, for she knew there were curious eyes everywhere and that the small groups of farmers' wives would be quick to question her eagerness to read the local newspaper, and then, if they saw the advertisement, might put two and two together. She opened the newspaper as soon as she got home. Sitting in the car, quickly
turning
the pages, she saw that it was there

‘Manager wanted for pineapple farm. Experience essential. Single man preferred. Write Box. . .'

‘Hi! Suddenly interested in local politics?' a familiar voice asked.

Jon jumped, crumpling the paper as she looked up at Alex's amused face as he stood by the car. Of all people, he was the last . . .

‘I wondered what was on at the Drive-In,' she improvised swiftly.

‘You're on the wrong page.' Alex sounded amused.

‘Oh, thanks.' Jon's hands were trembling a little as she dutifully opened the paper and searched for the Drive-In's advertisement. ‘Mum was saying the other day she'd like to go.'

‘We'll take her some time.' Alex opened the car door for her and stood back as she got out, clutching the newspaper tightly. ‘How about some coffee?' he asked. ‘I've only just got back from Qwaleni. Pity you weren't here, you could have come along.'

She walked ahead, careful not to look at him. Was that a lie? Had he been glad she was safely out of the way so that they could be alone?

‘The girls are off duty this afternoon, so I'll make us some coffee. I expect Mum has put the kettle on,' she said over her shoulder, uncomfortably aware of the silence and afraid
that
he might ask to look at the paper.

‘Your mum's not here.' Alex sounded as surprised as Jon looked as she turned to stare at him.

‘I thought you took her to Qwaleni. She left me a note.'

‘I did take her. She's having lunch with someone there—a Colonel someone or other. He phoned her while I was here and when she said she'd get you to drive her into Qwaleni, I said I could give her a lift, as I know how you hate that drive.'

‘I see,' Jon said, but she didn't, not really.

She made coffee and they sat on the stoep, with long strange silences between them. She kept thinking of the advertisement, wondering if she should tell Alex and ask his advice, since she knew so little, had no idea what sort of salary she should offer a manager or if they had a contract or it was on a monthly basis. She decided to ask him careful questions and crossed her fingers so that she would give nothing away.

‘An awful lot of farms down here are run by managers, aren't they?' she said casually. ‘The Peters are managing a farm for some people in Hairadi.'

‘Quite usual,' Alex said, lighting a cigarette slowly. ‘A lot of business men invest their money in these farms but haven't a clue how to run them, so they employ farm managers.'

‘It can't be much fun managing someone
else's
farm,' Jon said thoughtfully.

Alex looked amused. ‘It has its advantages. If there's a bad drought and the harvest is a failure, your boss bears the financial burden, not you.'

‘But you'd feel just as bad! After all those months of hard work. . .'

‘Farming is a gamble, little Jon. That has to be accepted. You can go up, up, up—or down, down, down. No matter how hard you work, at the last moment, nature can ruin everything. There's nothing you can do about it.'

‘Do they get paid well? The managers, I mean?'

‘Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Often not well, but they get perks—free house, electricity, use of transport and a bonus if it's a good year.'

Jon drew a deep breath. ‘What do you call well?'

‘Well? Let's see . . .' Much to Jon's relief, Alex gave her a good idea of the average salary of a farm manager.

‘Do they have to sign a contract?'

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes yes and sometimes no. Usually it's on a monthly basis.' He stood up. ‘Thanks for the coffee. I'll just go round and see how the spraying is getting on.'

‘Thanks.' Jon stood up, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Alex, you've been so good. I'm sorry I'm such a nuisance, but . . .'

She was about to tell him the truth—that
she
had advertised for a farm manager and that soon he would be relieved of his irksome ‘duties'.

Alex frowned. ‘Who the hell ever said you were a nuisance?' he asked, his voice angry. ‘I promised your uncle I'd help you.' Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders as he looked, down at her. ‘Little Jon,' he said severely, ‘how many times must I tell you not to believe everything Madeleine says? You saw for yourself the life she leads. I expect you wondered why she doesn't leave home?'

Trying to stand still, conscious of his fingers pressing into her flesh, she looked up at him. No, she didn't wonder. She knew why Madeleine stayed in her unhappy home. It was because she loved Alex.

She nodded, wishing yet again that he would stop calling her
little Jon
.

‘Two reasons,' Alex went on. ‘One, she loves her little stepbrothers. They adore her and she them. Two: she's bone lazy. Fond as I am of the girl, Jon, let's face it, she just hasn't got the guts to go out into the world and keep herself. Her father is a fine man but old-fashioned. If Madeleine left home—except to get married, of course—he might feel she had let him down badly, and he wouldn't help her financially. She's never been trained to work. How could she earn enough to keep her in the way in which she's accustomed?' he chanted the words, laughing, and releasing Jon.

Jon
took a step back. Suddenly she felt very much alone—desolate, which was a strange thing, for Alex was still standing there, looking down at her.

‘You're very fond of Madeleine, aren't you?' she said, and was then appalled at what she had said. She felt her face slowly burning as she saw the amusement in Alex's eyes.

‘Yes, I am fond of Madeleine,' he said slowly, turning away. He paused by the steps down to the garden and looked at her again. ‘Unfortunately—or so she says—I'm not the marrying kind.'

Jon stared at him. ‘Won't you ever marry?' she almost whispered. What about . . . ? she was thinking.

Alex laughed. ‘Who knows? One day I may meet someone.' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I might ask
you
that question. Is it true you left your heart in England?' He was laughing at her, she knew that.

‘Not my heart,' she said slowly, ‘but my affection.'

She blushed painfully as he flung back his head and laughed.

‘Honestly, little Jon, you slay me at times. What book are you reading?
Wuthering Heights
?'

She stood very still after he had gone, repeating the words over and over again: ‘Not my heart but my affection.'

It did sound old-fashioned, stiff, even corny,
yet
it was the truth and she had tried to cling to the truth. She had been fond of Jimmy, but she hadn't
loved
him. Never before had she loved anyone. She knew that now. She had never known what love was—what it meant. The joy and the pain; the desolation and delight, the futile hoping, the utter hopelessness of her love for Alex. If only . . .

CHAPTER SIX

It proved easier to get a manager for the farm than Jon had ever dared hope. Of course, she went through some bad moments, because she hated deceiving her mother, yet she knew that if she told her, Alex would have been told immediately and then he would probably insist on engaging the manager himself, and Jon wanted none of this. It was her farm and she intended choosing her own manager.

She had four replies to the advertisement, but only one was a single man. The other three were married and with children. This constituted a real difficulty, as the guest house would take some time to repair and repaint, so she replied to the single man, Tim Dean, and eventually drove into Qwaleni to interview him. This, also, was difficult, as she had to arrange it so that she went alone! However, she managed it in the end and went to the
interview
a little scared as she had no idea what she should ask or say.

It turned out, however, to be a very pleasant meeting. She liked Tim Dean as soon as she met him. He was a tall, too thin man with a long, rather horse-like face, blond hair which was also long, almost to his shoulders. Maybe he reminded her of England and the gay clothes and long hair, for she liked his scarlet shorts and white and red striped shirt. Her first thought was of what Alex would say, and knowing that he would probably disapprove maybe also made her feel favourably towards Tim. She was feeling defiant and rebellious, for Alex had been more than usually patronizing lately, teasing her, insisting on calling her ‘little Jon'.

Anyhow, meeting Tim gave her the pleasant feeling that at last she would be treated as an adult and with respect. Here was a man with whom she could laugh, completely at ease.

Tim was polite as he asked questions about the farm and she told him, briefly, of her inheritance, and of the help Alex Roe had been.

‘However,' she said as they sat talking in the lounge of the George Hotel, ‘I can't expect Mr Roe to go on helping me indefinitely, so I need a manager. You have had experience with pineapples?'

Tim Dean had grey eyes and a quick smile that lit up his whole face. ‘I've had experience
with
everything, Miss Hampton. Name it and I've farmed it.' He smiled. ‘I quite see why you want a manager, though. As you say, it's a bind if you're constantly in debt to another person.'

‘You know Mr Roe?' Jon sipped her coffee after having tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke of Alex.

Tim grinned. ‘I know of him, but have never met him.'

Jon was embarrassed, though, when they talked of salaries and seeing the dismay on Tim's face, she immediately raised her offer. Then she told him that later there would be a guest cottage he could have, but at the moment he could eat with them but have his own bedsitting-room.

‘But you must feel free to come and go as you like,' she said hastily.

‘Sounds fine to me, Miss Hampton. When shall I start?' Then he laughed, ‘I should say,
if
you decide to engage me, that is.'

Jon relaxed happily. This was the solution to all her problems.

‘And I would say
if
you'd like the job.'

How nice it was to be treated as an adult, she was thinking. Never once had he suggested that she was too young. She asked him his age and learned that he was twenty-seven. Of course she said nothing, but she thought he looked much younger.

Now Tim held out his hand. ‘It's a bargain. I think we'll make a very good team. Shall I
move
in on Sunday and start work on Monday?'

Jon smiled happily. ‘That'll be perfect.'

She drove home, singing despite the heat of the sun. Her troubles were over. She was independent. She had her own manager. No longer would Alex have to come over every day, no more need he waste his precious time helping her, now he could devote all his time to his sanctuary.

The rest of the week seemed to drag by and Jon found herself trying again and again to tell her mother that on Sunday they were getting a permanent ‘visitor'. It was odd, but now that she had definitely engaged Tim Dean, it was harder than before to word the news.

How would her mother react? she often wondered. Would she see it as an insult to Alex? She might even say she wanted no stranger in the house. Actually, of course, it was nothing to do with her mother, she reassured herself, for the farm was hers, and the money.

Not that she had many opportunities to talk to her mother these days, for Ursula now had so many friends that she was nearly always out. However, when Sunday came at last, the rain teemed down and the roads were bad, so Jon's mother decided not to go to church and that they would have a fire, for it could be bitterly cold when it rained so heavily.

Meanwhile Jon had quietly arranged the
guest
room, telling Dorcas to make the bed, moving an armchair and small table in, wondering a little why her mother had not noticed or said anything. But then, Jon thought, these days her mother rarely noticed
anything
!

Now, just after the midday meal as they sat by the fire with the rain sliding down the windows noisily, she knew the moment had come. She could wait no longer, for Tim Dean might turn up at any time and if her mother didn't know . . .

‘Mum . . .' she began.

Her mother was watching the flames jumping up round the huge log in the fireplace and she didn't answer.

‘Mummy!' Jon said more loudly, and her mother turned her head.

‘Yes?' she said, her voice dreamy.

Jon stared at her. These days her mother seemed to live in a dream world. True, it was for the best as there were far fewer complaints, but she was always looking as if her thoughts were far away. All the same, her dreams made her look even lovelier than ever, Jon thought.

‘Mum, are you happier here?' she asked, surprising herself as much as her mother.

‘Am I happier?' Ursula seemed to be thinking for a moment and then her face brightened with a smile. ‘Yes, darling, I think I am. Why?'

‘I . . . well, I just wondered.' Jon slid down
on
the rug by the fire. The dogs were on the stoep for they were covered with mud. She glanced at her watch, wondering when Tim Dean would arrive. ‘Mum,' she went on, ‘I've engaged a manager for the farm.'

‘Have you, darling?' Her mother yawned. ‘This fire is lovely, but it makes one sleepy.'

‘Yes.' Jon turned round, kneeling, looking up at her mother, puzzled by the calm acceptance of her statement. ‘He's coming today and is going to live in the guest room until we've got the guest cottage repaired.'