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The bird was there, but she couldn’t see it, and it cried ... pea-or, pea-or! It was a cry which seemed to underline her terrible loneliness and, in the dream, she felt her hands shaking and her heart beating so fast that it seemed to be choking her. ‘It’s only a peacock,’ D.H. was saying, ‘darling, it’s only a peacock ... a peacock in the jungle.’ Something had changed that jungle, though. Once it had been the enchanted Indian background of her very early childhood with leaves and flowers and brightly coloured birds and sunset skies. Now, however, there was no sign of her mother. She had gone, gone ... pea-or, pea-or...

When Hugo gathered her in his arms she was still screaming in that thin, eerie manner.

‘Oh, no,’ she began to sob now, shaking her head, from side to side. ‘Oh, no, no ...’ Her voice rose, as she clung to him, trying to focus her eyes on his face.

‘Tirza! What is it?’ She could make him out in the moonlight which flooded her bungalow. ‘You should have drawn your curtains,’ he was saying, as he stroked her hair back from her face. ‘Moonlight does the craziest things to one’s sleep.’

Tirza made the transition from sleep to total wakefulness.

‘I wanted to be able to see out—to see your bungalow. I was—frightened,’ she told him.

‘You should have told me.’ His voice was abrupt. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were nervous?’

Sitting up, she asked, ‘How did you hear me? Was I
that
loud?’ She felt acutely embarrassed now.

‘As I remarked, moonlight does the craziest things to one’s sleep. I couldn’t sleep and went to sit outside at the garden table, in front of my bungalow, and then I heard this—this haunting thread of sound ... you have no idea ... what were you dreaming about, to make you sound like that?’ He slid his hand up from her tense shoulder to the back of her neck, beneath her hair.

‘It’s just a dream I have, from time to time, especially if I happen to be overtired, or run down. I know it sounds crazy, but I call it my peacock in the jungle dream.’ Her face reflected the silver of the night.

‘Is there any reason why you should have this dream?’ he asked. He moved his hand gently against her neck and then his fingers went to her hair.

‘Because we lived in India, I guess. At one stage I remember this kind of faded, pink-washed bungalow—you see, I was very young and it’s sort of confused—with faded pink-washed walls all around it. You could hear them crying, somewhere out in what could be described as a jungle. They— that sound—was all that was left after my mother died ... I always seem to have this dream, which never differs, when I’m particularly upset or fatigued.’

‘Were you feeling this way tonight?’

‘Yes.’ She lifted a hand and took his fingers from her hair. ‘What do
you
think? If I could have got out of coming here with you, I would have, believe me.’

Feeling childish and vulnerable, now, because of the dream and the screaming which had gone along with it, she tossed the bedclothes to one side and slipped her legs over the side of the bed and stood up in one fluid movement.

She began searching around for her gown which she appeared to have mislaid. She was wearing a man’s fine cotton shirt, exotically striped in purple, crimson, dark-blue and honey, and she looked like a stylised fashion model. The lines of her body were long, although she was not tall. In the moonlight, her face, tawny hair and skin seemed to have no colour except a hint of pale bronze. She turned, suddenly, and looked at Hugo. ‘Where’s my gown?’ she asked, feeling confused and thankful, at the same time—for she was wearing bikini briefs beneath the shirt.

It had slipped on to the floor and he found it for her and then, wide-eyed, she watched him as he came towards her. Her huge green eyes went on gazing at his face as he draped the garment about her slim shoulders. She could feel the weight of his look on her lips, her throat and her bosom and then dropping to her bare legs. Her lashes went down as he sought her mouth with his own and she heard the catch of her own breath when he possessed her breast and the caressing movement of his fingers warmed the response in her. As he sought her, more and more, she knew that tonight there was no question, and she moved against him eagerly, ignited by his touch, the feel of his hard body against her own. There was no protest as he began to undo the buttons of the shirt. Expertly he drew out her feelings, and then, bringing her to her senses, he said, ‘There’s no need for you to turn your feline wiles on me, Tirza. I guess I can supply the details you’re craving for your weaving industry, without any favours from you. You appear to have got over your nightmare now.’

She stood staring back at him and her face was appalled. ‘You devil,’ she told him. ‘You ...
devil,
devil, devil! I hate you! Get out! You’re—you’re like those predators, out there, beyond the fence ... ruthless and cruel. Why don’t you tear this contract up and let me go?’

‘Because I happen to be a business man,’ he told her.

After he had gone, the silence of her bungalow was enough to remind her how acutely she had wanted Hugo to possess her. She was plunged into depression. Later, there were the usual animal night-noises to unnerve her as she lay awake ... the cough, cough of a lion, before it roared somewhere out there beyond the security fence of the camp, the silly nerve-chilling laughter of a hyena.

Eventually, however, all thought went from her and she dozed, and the sun was not yet up when she was awake again.

The
sky was flushed a dark crimson and Tirza slipped from her bed and shrugged into her gown, then went out to the small screened veranda, enjoying the cool air for a few moments.

Then she took a shower and, by this time, Cathy and Paige had set out coffee cups on one of the garden tables outside the bungalows.

‘It makes such a difference starting the day with nice cup of coffee,’ Cathy was saying, ‘before going along to the restaurant for breakfast. Good morning, Tirza. Sleep well?’

For Hugo’s benefit Tirza replied coldly, ‘I’ll do us both a favour, Cathy, by not answering that question.’

Beyond the lawns, planted trees and shrubs, the bush started in earnest with just the high protecting fence to act as barrier against wild animals. Birds were twittering and there were sounds of people preparing to go out in cars to spot game.

Hugo did not eat breakfast in the restaurant and left, soon after drinking his coffee, for the rest camp at Letaba, where apparently he had a business appointment in connection with orders for the curio and gift shops there.

During breakfast Paige’s face took on a mean look. ‘Tirza,’ she said, ‘that was a corny thing to do—telling Hugo that your name was Theron. You might have known it would have to come out in casual conversation.’

Shaking out a soft caftan which was created from mohair and bowed to the Middle East for style, Tirza answered her shortly. ‘My name does just happen to be Tirza Theron Harper, Paige, believe it or not.’

Cathy cut in swiftly, ‘We just happened to be speaking about Harper’s, Tirza, that’s all.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Tirza kept her voice neutral, ‘I really don’t want to talk about this. In any case, once this is over, I won’t be seeing Hugo Harrington again. It’s neither here nor there, when you work it all out.’

‘When you work it all out/
Paige drawled, ‘it was a lousy thing to do ... coming to Swaziland to crib ideas for your own weaving industry.’

‘That’s a disgusting lie! However, so far as I’m aware, Paige, there’s no law about how many weaving industries there are in a country. In any case, you paint a far worse picture than it was supposed to be. You and your mother blew the entire thing up—out of all proportion. Why didn’t you tackle me first? Why did you have to run to him with tales, like a couple of children? I could have explained so much, given half a chance.’ Her throat tightened up. ‘Crib is a hard word, you know. I came to buy for Harper’s and merely to look around. I’m not the deceitful person you imagine me to be.’

Hugo was not present at the two fashion shows, which took place in the restaurant and which took place without a hitch. Tirza and the Mobrays endured one another, speaking with politeness and even consideration. After all, they had a job to do. Hugo had, in fact, gone into the bush with two game rangers in a Land Rover. Tirza realised that he was not the type of man to get involved with this part of his business and, quite apart from that, there was an abrasiveness about him that went along with his unwillingness to suffer the moods of women, whether one of them happened to be his girl-friend or not.

He arrived back towards sunset, looking even more tanned and wearing , denim wranglers, tight across his narrow hips. His shirt had been left unbuttoned, practically to the waist, because of the heat, and the cuffs were turned back to his elbows. Looking at him, Tirza suddenly felt clear-headed and exhilarated because he was back. This was ridiculous, she knew, for he had given her only a casual glance upon arrival, and before going into his bungalow.

The breeze brought with it sweet, spicy and animal scents and, in the sinking sunlight, the bungalows looked almost pink.

Over dinner, which they had at the restaurant, Tirza plucked up enough courage to say, ‘By the way, would it be possible for me to be dropped off somewhere tomorrow? You know—at one of the small towns just outside the reserve where I can get a train to the Karroo, or catch a flight. You see, I’m going to my father’s farm for a while.’ Now that she had decided, she felt suddenly very calm. Her green eyes rested on Hugo’s face.

When he answered her his voice was nothing but polite. ‘We can arrange something, I’m sure. I’ll work it out, don’t worry.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was expressionless.

‘Will somebody be expecting you at the farm?’ Cathy asked, but it seemed obvious that she had asked the question because, as the woman Douglas Harper had nearly married, this was expected of her.

‘Gerry and Zelma Strauss will be there. Gerry is manager there.’ There was an edge to Tirza’s voice.

‘Oh yes.’ Cathy lifted her glass to her lips, and Tirza was quick to notice that her hand was shaking.

For a giddy moment Tirza felt like spilling the beans about Cathy and her father, but thought better of it. There was a haughty look about her, almost, as she looked directly at Cathy. She was thinking that although Cathy might have stooped to carrying tales she had not yet reached that stage.

They left the camp before the sun was up the following morning and then, scarlet and huge and smudged with early-morning mist, it slid up and over the horizon. In the foreground, the trees looked like black lacework which was being lit up, from behind, by a huge scarlet globe.

Paige had looked mean and spiteful at the discovery that Tirza was once again to travel with Hugo in his car, while she and Cathy headed back for Swaziland to manage the boutique there.

It was a balmy morning, but there was the usual threat of intense heat. From the car they saw giraffe, zebra and impala, not to mention a herd of elephants, and any conversation which took place between Hugo and herself revolved around the animals.

Some time later, when game was scarce, Hugo said coldly, ‘By the way, did you really think I would dump you in some little town to find your own way to the Karroo?’

With an odd little thrill she said, ‘That was the arrangement, wasn’t it? You said you would arrange to do this.’

‘I said that something could be arranged. This is the something. I’ll take you to the farm in the Karroo.’

‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you,’ she murmured, while relief surged through her.

He went on, ‘We’ll stop at a roadhouse for breakfast and again, possibly at a motel, for lunch, then we’ll probably stop over somewhere for the night.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Right?’

‘Yes, of course. Present speed restrictions make it impossible to cover great distances.’

‘We’ll leave for the farm in the morning.’

‘Fine.’ Tirza stared through the windscreen, dreading the moment when Hugo would walk out of her life.

In the afternoon a violent thunderstorm struck the countryside with ferocity, spilling rain over everything and bending trees. The sky was veined by lightning and the windscreen wipers hardly coped with the blinding rain.

Hugo turned off the National Road, which was running with water, and Tirza noticed the country hotel. There were a number of other cars parked beneath the trees, in front of reception, including two familiar-looking Land Rovers. Hugo parked the car and turned to look at her. ‘I know you happen to enjoy nature’s pyrotechnics, but driving in this is beyond a joke. This will just have to do.’

‘It—it looks very nice,’ she stammered, ‘what you can see of it.’

He came round to her side and opened the door for her and they ran through the rain to the steps which led on to a wide patio. Two enormous wild fig trees shuddered in the wind and showered more rain over them and, laughing lightly, they were almost blown into the foyer.

Purple bougainvillaea, which had been whisked in by the wind, scudded across a black and white tiled floor and two huge dogs rushed towards Tirza in friendly greeting.

Shaking back her wet hair, Tirza patted them while Hugo made the necessary arrangements at the desk.

Her room was next to his and there was a view of the swimming-pool and, because of the rain, the water appeared grey and uninviting.

After settling in, they went through to
the
lounge, and from where they sat, they could
see
the foyer and the reception desk, through a wide arch. It was almost dark now and the wind and the rain seemed to have gone mad. Eventually the glass doors to the foyer were closed, blocking out the rain and wind.

Tirza was conscious of Hugo’s eyes watching her and she tried to conceal her uncertainty under a slightly nonchalant air, but this uncertainty was short-lived when two game rangers sauntered up to the table and joined them for drinks. The strain of eating dinner, alone with Hugo, was also broken when the four of them shared a table. Tirza was now able to account for the Land Rover which was parked outside and which had seemed familiar to her, somehow.