The Fire of Life (8 page)

And then Rayanne's face flamed with embarrassment as Mrs Jefferson said: ' Doesn't Rayanne look beautiful, Cary dear? I really think this dress was made for her.'

Cary ldoked grave. ' I agree, Mother. The colour is perfect and the style .very fashionable. You look very beautiful, Ray,' he said almost solemnly.

Rayanne wanted to run and hide, or the floor to open and swallow her. Never in all her life had she felt so embarrassed. She could see the quick amused glance Christine and Daphne had exchanged and the way the two vets were staring at her.

' Your mother gave me the frock,' Rayanne said, then wished she hadn't, for perhaps Cary had seen it before, perhaps he knew it was his mother's wedding nightie ' ; he might even, with his strange sense of humour, make a joke about it.

Fortunately Mrs Jefferson took charge of the situation.

' What about a nice cold drink for us all, Cary dear? You're the host. Your poor old mother shouldn't have to remind you . .

He smiled, bent and kissed her. My poor old

mother enjoys doing so. What'll you all have?' He led the way to the small but beautiful little bar, made of woven straw.

They followed him, Loftus and Leslie walking with Daphne and Christine, Rayanne with her hostess.

As they sat on the stoep, drinking and talking, Mrs Jefferson constantly drew Cary's attention to Rayanne. Not that he seemed to mind. He sat next to her and began talking about a baby giraffe that had been born that morning.

' I had meant to tell you so that you could come and witness it, but the giraffe fooled us all, for we hadn't expected the little one for another week. Tell Kwido to take you there in the morning,' he said.

Thank you. I'd love to see it,' said Rayanne, very conscious that though Christine and Daphne

were joking and laughing with the two men who were including Mrs Jefferson into the conversation, both Christine and Daphne kept looking her way, both had eyes that were watching her, suspiciously. Did they think she was playing up to Cary's mother in the hope of getting Cary? Rayanne wondered. If so, they must be mad. Absolutely mad !

At dinner, Rayanne sat next to Cary. This, of course, was his mother's doing! In fact all through the meal, it was embarrassing, for Mrs Jefferson constantly said things that implied that something exciting and wonderful might soon be announced.

Later when the ladies went out to the stoep and the men stayed behind for their port, Daphne Macintyre sat down next to Rayanne.

' How are things going?' she asked bluntly. ' You seem to have won over the old girl.'

' I don't understand . . Rayanne began, hastily standing up, not telling the truth.

Daphne laughed. An ugly laugh, very different from her usual attractively husky voice. Oh, don't be so dumb. You know very well what I mean. Is Sir Joe Letherington really your godfather?'

Rayanne's quick temper flared. Of course he

is,' she said angrily. I'm not a liar, nor,' she

added, ' am I interested in Cary Jefferson. You can have him if you want him . . . that is, of course, if you can get him.' She turned away and bumped into someone.

Startled as she felt warm firm hands on her arms steadying her, she looked up, and found herself gazing closely into Cary's face. How quietly he must have come up! How much had he heard?

Now he took her arm. ' I want to show you something, Ray. We won't be a moment, Mother,' he apologised as they passed the plump little old lady, holding court with Loftus Jones, who was laughing at something she said.

Mrs Jefferson beamed, That's all right, darling. Take your time.'

Rayanne almost ran out of the room, but Cary's hand held her back. He took her to a room she had never been in before, obviously his study—a small high-ceilinged room lined with books with a desk close to the window. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, releasing her arm.

She turned to stare at him. You have something to show me?'

He smiled. Only myself.'

Rayanne frowned, puzzled. Was he joking? If so . . .

H emoved towards her so that they stood close together, but he did not touch her. He looked down at her.

First I want to apologise.'

Apologise?' she echoed.

Yes, for my mother's behaviour. She's so frightened I'll fall for the wrong kind of person that she'll go to any lengths. She has decided that you would make me a suitable wife, so . .

So?' Rayanne lifted her chin. So what?'

So she's determined to show Christine and Daphne that you're the chosen one.'

Chosen?' Rayanne asked bitterly. By

whom?'

Cary smiled. By her, of course.'

There was a pause that seemed never-ending. Then Rayanne found her voice.

Of course,' she said. If that's all . .

It isn't.' Even as she moved, he moved, too, standing between her and the door. ' There is something else?'

' Something else?' she repeated.

' Yes. Why do you hate men? Or are you afraid of them?'

She stared at him, bewildered. ' Who ever said I hated or feared men?'

' No one. It stands out a mile. -Every time a man enters the room, your whole body stiffens, your face goes hard, your eyes are full of—either fear or animosity. I can't make it out.'

But I don't hate men . . Rayanne's voice rose

slightly, and at that moment the door opened.

It was Christine. She looked at the two standing there and she looked amused.

' It's taken you a long time to show Miss Briscoe whatever it is you had to show her, Cary. Maybe she doesn't understand. Perhaps I could help.'

Cary laughed. No one can help, thanks. We'll finish this discussion another time, Ray. Okay?'

Okay,' she said stiffly, and followed them back to the large beautiful drawing-room where the others were talking.

What had it all been about? she asked herself, as she sat by Mrs Jefferson's side, laughing at her jokes, listening and trying to hear what was being said, for all the time her mind felt confused, muddled, because nothing made sense. Why had Cary taken her out on her own simply to apologise? Or was it to

annoy Christine and Daphne? Or perhaps to delight his mother? But was that fair to his mother? Rayanne found herself thinking. If his mother really wanted Cary to marry this English girl and there was no hope of him wanting to do so, then was it fair to let Mrs Jefferson think there was hope? It was all such a muddle, and it was hateful to have Christine look at her like that and Daphne's voice change when she spoke to whom she obviously saw as her rival. If only she could slip away quietly to bed, Rayanne thought miserably. She wasn't enjoying this at all . . .

But there was to be no escape. Mrs Jefferson said proudly :

Rayanne tells me she's quite a good pianist.'

Her face bright red, Rayanne denied it. I didn't ! I said I played by ear. I can't read a note.' '

' Then you can hardly be called a pianist,' Daphne Macintyre said drily.

' Let's hear you, Ray,' Cary said quickly, going to the small spinet which stood by the wall facing the window. ' Mother sometimes plays on this, so we regularly have it tuned.'

' No, I . . Rayanne began, suddenly terrified,

aware of critical eyes.

' But, Miss Briscoe, you must play for us,' Christine said sweetly. I'm longing to hear you. It fascinates me so to meet someone who plays by ear.'

Rayanne stood up reluctantly, well aware that Christine was convinced it was all a lie, that Rayanne couldn't play a note, that she had lied in boast-

ing about it and that this would betray her! How pleased Christine and Daphne would be.

Sitting by the spinet, Rayanne stretched her fingers, looked round. What shall I play?' she asked.

Whatever you can,' said Christine, a sarcastic tinge in her voice.

Anything you like, Ray,' Cary said. ' We're waiting.'

Rayanne half-closed her eyes, trying to shut out the picture of those in the room. This had always been her escape—when she had felt most forlorn, most despairing of ever being someone ', of winning her father's approval and love—then she had fled to the piano. Just dreaming her way through the sound, letting her fingers take control, had always comforted her. Not that her family appreciated it; indeed she never played when any of them were around if she Could help it, for she would only have got rude comments, teasing because she couldn't learn to play properly '.

Shutting out the rest of the world, Rayanne imagined herself and Cary alone on an enormous empty beach, holding hands, running, dancing along the wet sand, feeling the warm caressing touch of the incoming tide . . . her fingers touched the keys and she could see Cary laughing at her, could hear herself laughing, too. She could feel the happiness she had always dreamed of, the security his warm hand gave hers, the wonder of the knowledge that he loved her, that she was his . . . Vaguely she heard a haunting tune as her fingers explored sound.

Suddenly she stopped, opened her eyes and shook

herself. It was strange. She looked round, stung by the silence. Had she made a fool of herself? she wondered.

Ray, that was beautiful,' Cary said slowly, his voice amazed. Wasn't it, Mother?'

Lovely, really lovely, Rayanne dear,' Mrs Jefferson said, her voice husky, a few tears running down her soft cheeks. Could you play it again?'

Rayanne shook her head. ' I'm afraid not. I never can.'

But you must have learned it from somewhere,' Daphne said impatiently. You couldn't have composed it.'

I . . . hardly heard it myself. What did I play?' Rayanne asked.

Christine laughed. Honestly, you must have

heard it! It was loud enough. Triumphant . .

' I don't agree,' said Cary, his quiet voice sounding more impressive to Rayanne than if he had shouted. I thought it was beautiful—a happy tune. The melody of a dream.' He looked at Rayanne. ' Am I right?'

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. ' Quite right, Cary,' she said with equal quietness.

Next morning, Rayanne asked Kwido to take her to see the small giraffe. It was fascinating to watch the little animal with his unsteady legs. Mike Crisp was there and he told her a lot about giraffes that she had not realised.

You can learn from a book,' Mike said scornfully, and know nothing. It's when you live with them that you know.'

Rayanne's notes were, at last, growing longer. But she still had no idea what sort of thesis she would finally write.

Kwido drove her back to the house and as she walked in on her way to her bedroom, for her usual shower and change of clothes, Rayanne paused, for Mrs Jefferson's voice was clearly audible through the half-open drawing-room door.

Honestly, Cary, you could have spared me this. You know how I hate that girl! '

' It isn't my fault, Mother. I didn't ask her to come.'

Then . .

Rayanne stood still. It was wrong to eavesdrop, she knew, and yet . . . Who were they talking about? she wondered. Could it be herself?

You must have given her your address, Cary,' Mrs Jefferson said crossly.

I did not, Mother,' Cary said in that maddening, exasperated, patient voice he often used. Without being boastful, you must admit that everyone south

of. the Equator—and many north of it, too—know where the Jefferson Wild Life Reserve is. I met Aileen in London at one of the conferences and have thought nothing of her since. Is it my fault if she chose to honour us with a visit? After all, Aileen Hampton is a veterinary surgeon, interested in wild life conservation, doing a tour of the world's reserves, and she does mix with the world's elite.'

But why wait until the last moment and send you a cable? She'll be arriving this afternoon!' Mrs Jefferson almost wailed. ' I'll have to put her up here—I can't let her go into one of those ghastly rondavels.'

Perhaps she's coming to visit you, Mother,' Cary said, again with that amused sarcastic voice Rayanne hated so much. ' After all, she met you first. That's how she introduced herself to me. She came up and said: Cary Jefferson, I believe? and when I confessed she was right, she went on: I met your charming mother in Paris and she told me all about your wonderful Reserve. You see, Mother, it was all your fault. If you didn't blow the trumpet of praise for your only son, she might never have heard of me.'

Mrs Jefferson sighed. Well, it's too late to do

anything about it.'

Cary chuckled. You have to admire her for bright thinking,' he laughed as Rayanne hurried away, and added: That's why she sent the cable.'

In her own bedroom, Rayanne hastily showered; the cool water refreshed her hot dusty skin, and she brushed her hair vigorously. How conceited Cary was! Yet could you blame him, she asked herself,

when girls so blatantly chased him? It was all a joke to him, something to laugh at. But was it as funny for the unfortunate girls who fell for his charm? On the other hand, was that his fault?