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He broke into her thoughts and, surprised, she turned to look at him. ‘I didn’t hear what you said. I’m sorry, I was miles away..

‘I said, did you know that many famous astronomers visit the Karroo to study the stars?’ He turned to look at her.

‘No, I didn’t. It’s strange—I was also thinking of the Karroo.’ For some unknown reason she experienced a thrill.

Sunlight gilded everything in the small Karroo town—even the fine particles of dust which floated about in the office where they made the necessary arrangements to be married in three days’ time.

‘Well,’ said Hugo when they were outside the building, ‘our union will be legalised at the end of the week.’ He surprised her by bending his head to kiss her lightly on the lips. ‘And then I’ll be boss— and just remember that!’ He smiled faintly.

‘You always
have
been boss,’ she replied.

Later he took her to the little antique shop he had told her about. It was a ramshackle building, and a dog was sleeping on a mat, next to the door, and Tirza found herself tensing as she stared down at it, afraid to pass.

‘It’s all right.’ Hugo took her hand, and at that moment the dog yawned. The yawn sounded like protesting brakes and they both laughed; Hugo looked suddenly very boyish, and Tirza found herself biting her lip, to keep back the tears that threatened to engulf her.

Still holding hands, they went inside the shop, which came as a surprise. There were copper utensils, dressers, butter-chums and many other items, characteristic of the old Cape. A love-seat was inlaid with intricately patterned ivory and stood next to a pair of French cupboards, also inlaid with ivory and many kinds of wood.

Hugo bought her four crudely painted bowl-like cups, with matching saucers, which had been found beneath the floorboards of an old house. The house was believed to be about two hundred years old. Crude as they were, there was a strange beauty about the cups and saucers.

In the car, going back to the farm, Tirza knew that Hugo was glancing at her from time to time, and smiling too, it seemed. ‘Have you enjoyed yourself?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘I have, actually. It was wonderful to get away from the farm for a while.’

‘Was that the only reason?’

‘Well, no.’ She felt her cheeks flushing. ‘You— you bought me a present, didn’t you? I love them.’ He parked the car beneath the large pillared portico and when they went inside the last rays of the sun were slanting across the shaggy golden carpet and highlighting the Persian rugs which had been placed on it. A gentle sunset breeze brought the smell of the Karroo flowers right into the house.

The telephone rang and when Tirza answered it, Gerry Strauss said, ‘Hi, Tirza. How’s tricks?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘How’s the leg?’

‘Oh, fine. Is Zelma back yet, Gerry?’

‘No,’ he answered. ‘Her mother wants her to stay on there for a few more days.’

‘I see. Well, why don’t you come over for a drink?’

‘When?’ He sounded interested.

‘Now.’ Tirza laughed lightly.

Going back into the lounge, she said, ‘That was Gerry Strauss. I’ve invited him over for a drink. Zelma isn’t back yet.’

‘Suits me,’ said Hugo.

In her room, she struggled a long time with her hair until, satisfied, she turned away from the mirror. She had scooped it severely on to the top of her head into a coiled topknot and then she had wound a wide bracelet of colourful African bead-work around it. She fastened another bracelet around her upper arm. Her shoulders and midriff were bare and golden-brown, for she had changed into the long, flounced Shangaan skirt and halter top. The colours of the wide horizontal stripes matched the bracelets—dark blue; light blue, white, burnt-orange and a darker red. She had taken great trouble with her appearance and she looked beautiful and radiant.

Her life, she found herself thinking, was becoming like something out of a motion picture. This magnificent farmhouse in the semi-desert Karroo, glamorous clothes which had just been waiting for her to come back and enjoy them ... but then
her
life, although a lonely one, had this fictitious touch to it—simply because she happened to be Douglas Harper’s daughter.

Gerry arrived soon after she had entered the lounge where, because it had turned unexpectedly cool, there was a fire crackling in the white fireplace. After all the heat of the past few days it was, somehow, exhilarating to feel the new chill in the air.

Looking around, Gerry surprised her by saying, ‘This looks like some kind of celebration. Is it?’ His eyes went back to Tirza.

After a moment Hugo said, ‘We’re to be married. We went into town this afternoon to arrange things.’ He had changed into casual dark trousers and a dark silk shirt. A gold medallion glistened through the dark curly hairs on his tanned chest and, looking at him, Tirza suppressed a shiver.

‘I thought there was something in the air,’ Gerry said cheerfully, ‘right from the moment I saw you both. I didn’t see a ring on your finger, though.’ He looked at Tirza again. ‘It was the first thing I looked for, as a matter of fact. Well, here’s luck. I hope you’ll both be very happy.’

‘We’ll be spending a lot of our time here,’ Tirza told him, not looking in Hugo’s direction. ‘You see, we’re putting this farm to further use. There’s going to be a thriving weaving industry here, Gerry.’

‘Well, what do you know?’ Gerry sounded pleased.

After he had gone the room seemed very still, and Tirza realised, suddenly, that she felt a little intoxicated and remembered that, having skipped breakfast and lunch, she had hardly eaten a thing all day.

Over his glass, now, Hugo was watching her and then he said softly, ‘You’re very beautiful.’

‘You once said that my mouth was too wide,’ she replied, with an attempt at carelessness, ‘but thank you anyway. You don’t have to say these things, though.’

‘Don’t I?’ His eyes went over her.

‘No.’

‘You must know by now,’ he went on, ‘that I want to make love to you?’

‘I do know it,’ she murmured, and lowered her eyelashes.

She watched him as he placed his glass on the low table. He came over to where she was sitting and went down on the floor beside her. She put her hands, with their beautiful oval nails, on either side of his face. ‘It’s not the same as—loving—is it?’ she said.

‘It will have to do.’ Suddenly his voice was abrupt. Then he put his fingers against her cheek and began a slow, sensual exploration of her shoulder, going to the back of her neck and then up to the topknot, which he tried to undo.

‘Don’t,’ she said, unable to bear the tension. ‘You’re always trying to undo my hair, when I put it up.’

Hugo began fumbling with the buttons of her halter top.

‘Why did you have to choose to wear something that has the kind of tiny buttons which defy clumsy male fingers?’ he asked, his voice soft and thick.

‘I don’t want you to do that,’ she told him, pressing her fingers against his shoulders.

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not in the mood.’ After a moment she said, ‘Why is it that a girl subconsciously observes her father as the typical husband and she often ends up marrying a man very much like her father? It certainly seems as if I might be going to do just that, unfortunately.’

‘Generalisation is the hallmark of a complete fool,’ he answered. ‘On what do you base the conclusion that I’m like your father?’ He stood up and looked down at her. ‘If he’s the type of man who becomes impatient with stupidity and is accustomed to issuing orders which he expects to be instantly and intelligently carried out, then I suppose I am like him.’

‘You are,’ she replied. ‘Into the bargain, you have two houses—so does he! Right?’

‘One is nothing more than a cottage—the one in Swaziland. I told you about it. Once we’re married and whenever we feel the pressures of city life closing in on us, or when the demands of the weaving industries, here or in Swaziland, become too much for us, we can flee to it.’ His voice was sarcastic. ‘The other, in Cape Town, would hardly fit into the Douglas Harper category.’

‘You also appear to go away on business trips,’ she went on. ‘And what’s more, you even
look
like him.’

‘Look like him?’ His voice took on a tone of disbelief. ‘As usual, you are exaggerating.’

‘You do look like him. I often find myself thinking about this. You could be his son. He’s slightly shorter than you are—and heavier, of course.’

There was a pause and then he said, ‘You sound as though you don’t like your father. But remember, no father is perfect, but I should say, all fathers are precious.’

‘I like him very much.’ Her voice rose. ‘More than that, I happen to love him. My father is a marvellous person. He’s a genius in the world of high finance, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for music, theatre, painting and the decorative arts. He does. It’s just that he’s never there when I need him.’

‘When we get back to Cape Town and you make the discovery that I don’t, in fact, look like your father and that I’m nothing like him and that I happen to be the man you’ve married, you’ll have some readjusting to do.’ There was a wry twist to his mouth. ‘In fact, before we leave this house you’ll have some readjusting to do. You will also have to adjust to the fact that there will be no other man in your life. I refer, of course, to the character I saw you with on the Eastern Boulevard, Tirza, because I realise that he’s at the back of things. I doubt if you’d have got round to the scheme of a weaving industry if it hadn’t been for your broken heart.’

‘There’s no need for you to bring that up,’ she told him. ‘I’m over the hump so far as he’s concerned.

‘Were there others?’ he asked. ‘Others who know about the peacock in the jungle dream?’

‘What you mean is, have I slept with men? Have I had affairs? Well, yes, I’ve had strings of affairs. My father’s mansion bustled with my lovers. Is that what you crave to hear? In any case, how can it concern you? You don’t love me. Our marriage will be in the sole interest of business—yours and mine. Into the bargain, there were those costs of alterations and additions to your house and the site, and the cost of building a swimming-pool. Well, marrying me will have its compensations. Just put the idea of my lovers from your mind.’

‘You’ll be my wife, that’s how it concerns me,’ Hugo snapped. ‘The way in which you chose to lead your life before you met me is your own business. After we’re married, however, it will become my business.’

‘After we’re married it will not mean you’ll get preferential treatment. I doubt if
I’ll
get it, judging on the way Paige Mobray phones this house.’

When he came back over to her and caught her wrist and pulled her up to him she bit her lip. ‘This may help to restore your memory—that I’ve asked you to marry me—and that just happens to mean united in wedlock—and that you’ve accepted. Therefore, when we’re married, you will not see this character in Cape Town, or any man, for that matter.’ His expression chilled her. ‘For what it’s worth, this marriage is going to work. Understand?’ It was strange the effect he had on her, she thought, as she waited for his kiss which was, she knew, merely a seal of his possession of her. His lips were hard and demanding and she felt her mounting excitement and her immediate response. A silky warmth spread over her body, leaving her peculiarly weak and dizzy, and she pressed harder against him in a mist of desire, parting her lips, wanting to shock him and hurt herself, she supposed dreamily, for she wanted Hugo on any terms. Perhaps it would work, perhaps he would grow to love her...

His arms tightened around her and she longed for him to pick her up and carry her to her room. Instead, however, he released her abruptly. ‘Just you remember that,’ he told her. ‘You don’t know me, Tirza. The past is gone. It’s the present I’m concerned about. I’m not in the mood to be irritated, goaded or shocked. I’d say it was about high time you came to your senses over this. You seem to be missing the point. You’re going to marry me and you’re going to be married to me for a long time.’

When he left her, Tirza remained standing where she was for several minutes. She realised that, as Hugo had been lashing out at her, her teeth had plunged themselves into her lower lip. Suddenly she sat down on the carpet and drew her knees up and encircled them with her arms, and she was still sitting in this position when she heard a car approaching the portico outside and, believing it to be her father, she stood up swiftly, her hands going to her cheeks.

When she went into the hall she saw Nigel Wright getting out of his car and her breath caught and died in her throat. Coming towards her, he said easily, ‘Who were you expecting?’

‘My father, as it happens.’ Her eyes were riveted on his face. ‘What are you doing here? Who told you I was here?’

‘Mrs Meeker. Who else?’ He laughed softly.

Tirza stood staring at him with her face appalled. ‘You have a nerve, Nigel, coming here!’

‘I don’t think so. Look, Tirza, Loma might agree to divorce me. It’s on the cards.’

‘She
might
agree?’ There was contempt in her voice. ‘Loma might agree to divorce you? Oh, get out of my sight! I don’t want you here.’

‘We had a kingsize row,’ he went on. ‘She packed her bags and left. I’ve been on the razzle ever since, as a matter of fact. Geez ...’ he laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders.

‘Get away from me!’ she hissed, moving away. ‘Come on, Tirza.’

‘Go away, damn you! I don’t want you here, especially now.’

‘Why else did you clear off to the Karroo?’ he asked. ‘Mrs Meeker told me you were here. That, so far as I was concerned, summed it up in a nutshell—you were trying to get over me. Well now, there’s no need to, I tell you.’ Before she could stop him he had his arms about her and his lips were upon her own, and she could smell that he had been drinking.

‘I appear to have chosen an inconvenient time to arrive back from a stroll in the garden.’ Hugo’s voice cut into the scene.