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While she had been confined to her bed, nursing her pain, Hugo had gone into the nearest Karroo town and after he had driven away the silence of the Karroo had engulfed her, as she waited for him to return. When he did, it was with food and fruit and liquor, and the kind of mineral waters to go with it. He had brought back wines to have with their meals and a pile of glossy magazines.

Eventually the day arrived when Gerry Strauss came to remove the stitches. After he had gone Hugo said, ‘Tomorrow I’ll take you out—to break the boredom.’

Tirza glanced at him resentfully. So he had been bored, she thought.

In a stiff little voice she asked, ‘Where will you take me?’

‘Oh,’ he shrugged, ‘maybe we’ll drive into town and look around ... buy ..

‘Buy—what?’ She struggled to hide her depression.

‘Anything that happens to take our fancy. While I was there the other day I saw an interesting little antique shop.’

‘That would be nice,’ she murmured, and then, to keep him talking, she went on, ‘Tell me about your house, Hugo.’

‘The house in Swaziland? It’s just a cottage, really. Nothing spectacular—quite attractive, though. There’s a garden with a filtered pool.’

‘I meant the one in Cape Town, actually.’

‘Oh.’ He sounded surprised. ‘It used to be a labourer’s cottage. It’s set on a long, sloping plot at the foot of Table Mountain.’

‘That sounds beautiful.’

‘It’s nothing like your father’s mansion in
Cape
Town, or the one here. Strangely enough, though, it’s the last remaining portion of a farm called White Tablecloth Farm, so named, of course, because of the cloud formation that spreads itself over the mountain. It had one big drawback, however, and that is why I was able to buy it, at my price. Because of a steep incline, it had no roadway to the street. Anyway, I went ahead and bought it, simply because the beauty of the plot outweighed all disadvantages, so far as I was concerned. I bought it, and the cottage on it, and I’ve created a very private world for myself. Hiring somebody to bulldoze the property and construct a road, at a staggering fee, nearly broke me, at the time, but it was well worth it.’

Tirza was interested. ‘How old is the house?’

‘The cottage is a hundred years old. The costs of alterations and additions and swimming-pool were high, and as I mentioned, nearly broke me, because at the time of all this there still was no roadway and everything had to be carried there by hand.’

‘You’re nearly as bad as my father,’ she said, after a moment.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘With your properties, I mean.’

Hugo laughed at that, and looked about the flower-scented and landscaped garden. ‘Nobody could be as bad as your father,’ he said sarcastically. ‘As I see it, Douglas Harper and his beautiful daughter don’t lack for much.’ His blue eyes went over the robe she was wearing, which looked simple enough to be wildly expensive. ‘I’ve noticed all the clothes, of course—laid on, just as they are, no doubt, laid on for you to use at whichever house you happen to be visiting.’

‘Sometimes I really detest you,’ she said swiftly. ‘Do you know that?’

‘I’m just being realistic,’ Hugo replied. ‘You’re spoilt.’ Although his eyes were mocking, there was a hard look to go along with the mockery.

Tirza was seething now. ‘Thank you. And a cheat too, I suppose—to add to your list.’

‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘it’s true, isn’t it?’

After a moment she said, ‘Well, the stitches are out and I’m able to get around. As far as I’m concerned you can leave here whenever you like. I’ll make my own arrangements about getting back to Cape Town. In any case, I’d intended asking Gerry whether I could go back and wait there for the verdict. In fact, I think my father would prefer that ... when he gets to hear about the dog-bite. I still haven’t been able to get him on the phone, though.’

‘When I leave here,’ Hugo sounded annoyed, ‘you’ll be with me. What do you take me for?’

He had been swimming, as usual, and Tirza had been sitting watching him in her bikini when Gerry had arrived to remove the stitches. Directly Gerry had done this she had slipped into her robe.

By now, the first star of the evening had begun to glitter and the scent of petunias was heavy. In the distance, and past the bronze lions that crouched beside the water, the Karroo koppies looked dusky-pink. The star was reflected in the water which was still moving about after Hugo’s swim. The filter had cut off, for the night, and would start again in the morning.

He came towards her. ‘Let me help you inside.’

Her expression, when she answered him, was wooden. ‘I can manage myself, thank you. The stitches are out, don’t forget.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ he said, suddenly enclosing her possessively with his arms. ‘The prerogative of a man is to command and of a woman to obey.’ Except for his swimming trunks, he was naked, and his tan looked deeper in this light. In fact, it even appeared like theatrical make-up and when she looked into his eyes she might have been looking into dark blue grottoes. She had grown to learn that the colour of his eyes depended on his mood.

His eyes were on her face now, and she thought he was going to kiss her, then the expression in them changed to almost boredom.

‘Don’t fight me, Tirza,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it.’ He dropped his arms to his side.

She stood looking at him and combed her hair back from her forehead with her fingers, then twisted it into a knot, high on her head, looking in her loose-hanging white robe like a Greek goddess.

She made no protest, however, when Hugo took her fingers in his own and began to walk towards the house, and when they were in the Italian-tiled hall he said, ‘I’m going to shower. Afterwards, I’ll join you for a drink. Personally, I find all this as tiresome as you do yourself. But I want to make it quite clear—we’ll travel to Cape Town together. What you do after that, about coming here to start your own weaving industry, doesn’t concern me in the least. My concern is to get you back to Cape Town, where you can be watched by your family doctor.’

Fear leapt into her eyes. ‘Do you know something?’ she asked, in a strangled voice.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Was the dog—rabid?’

He must have realised how deeply worried she was, and the stem lines on his face relaxed. ‘I don’t believe the dog was rabid,’ he told her, in a softer tone of voice. ‘It makes sense, though, doesn’t it ... after all you’ve been through? For one thing, you’ve lost weight. A doctor might well prescribe a tonic.’

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ she agreed.

After she left him, she took a bath and was thankful to be able to soak her leg, and she lay back in the hot, perfume-drenched water, stretching her body and enjoying the heat which was sensuous, somehow, and made her forget about the threat of rabies.

Afterwards, regardless of what Hugo would think, she went to her wardrobe and took out a cinnamon-coloured skirt, which had tiny apricot coloured roses and green leaves splashed across it and a darker cinnamon top. She applied eyeshadow and mascara, coloured her lips and added a touch of gloss.

Hugo was in the lounge when she got there, and his blue eyes went lazily over her. Her high-heeled sandals were all straps and, because she was not wearing stockings, she could feel the thickly-piled carpeting against her bare flesh, and the feel of it accentuated her awareness of herself—that
and the
sheer maleness of Hugo. Because of
the
heat,
he
had left his silk shirt unbuttoned and the
cuffs were
turned back. His trousers were well cut
and em
phasised his hard flat stomach.

‘Ah,’ he turned, ‘here comes Charlie, is it?’

‘Is there a law against wearing Charlie?’
she
asked.

‘No, not at all, especially when that tantalising fragrance is followed by a girl as beautiful as
a
tawny cat, with green eyes, and who knows how to live with complete abandon.’

‘That’s absolute nonsense!’ she spoke impatiently. ‘How can you say that? You hardly know me. I don’t live with complete abandon.’

‘I know enough about you, by now, to put two and two together,’ he sounded amused.

A feeling of jealousy swept over. ‘Does Paige use Charlie?’

‘Don’t try to trap me into talking about another woman when I happen to be with you. Why bring Paige into the picture? I wasn’t thinking about Paige, as it so happens,’ he answered, at his most crisp.

‘Perhaps I should tell you about her,’ said Tirza. ‘I think it’s about time you did know about Paige Mobray, and her mother. Paige, you see, very nearly became my stepsister, or whatever you like to call it. In other words, Mr Harrington, this mansion was prepared for Cathy Mobray who was about to marry my father. For reasons known only to herself, however, she changed her mind. Perhaps it was the lady’s love of gambling. Who knows?

She would have been, far too cut off from the casino, that’s for sure. I was only told about this just before I left for Swaziland. In fact, that’s how
I
came to stay with Cathy. It was a stipulation my father made when I left on my buying trip. Why don’t you laugh at that? But yes, I was on a buying trip to Swaziland. This buying trip was to be combined with modelling for the Swazi Signature. My father didn’t know about that, of course.’

‘Of course modelling for Swazi Signature had its uses,’ his voice was hard. ‘I mean—it was, after all, your way of finding out more about the industry. It was, as you yourself have a habit of saying, “another iron in the fire”. Right?'

The anger in her was wrestling to be released. Usually, Hugo mixed their drinks before dinner, but she went towards the cabinet now.

‘Why stoop to Cathy’s level?’ His voice was hard. ‘Why tell me? I’m not interested.’

‘Talk about
stooping
,’ she swung round,
'you
seemed to enjoy listening to her gossip, didn’t you? That’s how you learned all about me, who I really was, and all about my snide little plans.
I
didn’t have to tell you anything. In fact, you didn’t even give me a chance. Let me tell you something— there’s a lot about me you still don’t know ... like the times I’m left alone at the house in Bishopscourt, while my father is on an extensive business trip.’ She turned away and fumbled with glasses. ‘Sometimes whole weeks go by and I never see him. My father’s mansions are like expensive waiting rooms. Oh, he phones home, of course— long distance calls aren’t something my father thinks about twice.’, She was quiet for a moment, her fingers busy. ‘
You
are very like him, actually.’ Her voice was soft and bitter.

Again his impatience flared. ‘So you’ve said before. I still find that hard to believe, however.’

‘It’s true.’ Her voice rose a little. ‘You’re both so ambitious. Like you, he’s often—abrupt. He seldom confides in me. In a roundabout way I heard about this sheep farm he was buying and the hotel which was being converted into this mansion farmhouse. Isn’t that wild? I found myself wondering at the time what he wanted a sheep farm for.’ She swung around, a glass in each hand, spilling a little of the liquid from both glasses. ‘A sheep farm? Angora goats? Douglas Harper?’ Suddenly she laughed.

‘And, to get even with him, you’re putting the farm to better use. Anything Papa can do I can do better. You don’t appear to lack ambition yourself,’ observed Hugo.

‘I only got to know about this place when he brought me here with his architect,’ she went on. ‘This house used to be the Merino Hotel. It was a white elephant, actually, believe it or not. It was too cut off for the average holidaymaker. The original farmhouse was converted for Gerry and his wife. Even while we were here on this particular visit, Cathy’s name was never mentioned. But at the end of everything Cathy backed out. I mean, what would she have done without a gambling casino practically on her doorstep?’

‘Go on,’ said Hugo, ‘don’t stop. There’s no one in the room, except me.’

When she made to set the glasses down again he came towards her. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘you’re spilling the damned stuff.’

‘What does it matter?’ she cried. ‘What can it possibly matter to you, you uncaring devil!’ Before she realised what she was doing she hurled one of the glasses in the direction of the hall where it splintered on the beautiful tiled floor.

‘If you want an audience for your tantrums,’ Hugo snapped, ‘count me out. Being in this house with you, Tirza, is beginning to get on my nerves!’ Pushing the tears back up her cheeks with her fingertips, she told him, ‘You’re free to leave, whenever you wish. Why stay on?’

‘Look,’ he said, in a different voice, ‘I know you’ve been in pain and that you’ve been worried— and don’t think I haven’t thought about this. I have. And that makes it all the more inexcusable that I should have lashed out at you a moment ago.’

When she made no reply he said, ‘Tirza?’

She felt like breaking. ‘It’s okay. Okay?’ She took a long calming breath. ‘Just get out of my life! Had it ever struck you that I might just be sick of you too?’

The two chandeliers were burning, but dimmed, and the lounge with its pale apricot walls, white fireplace, black beams and gold curtains seemed to be wrapped in glowing gold-warmed hues. There were blue hydrangeas on the low table that stood between the floral sofas flanking the fireplace—and there was a smashed cut-glass goblet on the Italian-tiled floor in the hall.

There seemed to be no colour in Tirza’s face now and it was like the face of a bronze statue.

‘I shouldn’t have said all that,’ her voice was toneless. ‘You see, I love my father.’

There was between them an almost tangible awareness and she watched him as he put his glass down, aware of his blue eyes on her all the time, and she was shocked at the expression in them, behind their thick black growth of lashes. When he reached for her she did not resist. Nor did she resist when his mouth came down on her own. He drew her very close, moulding her body against his own, and his lips became more demanding, and she knew, very well, that the primitive element to kissing her was merely the male arrogance in him stating that he intended to possess her before they left this house. She was rocked to her being and every reasoning power she believed she had was brushed aside.