Dear Adversary Kathryn Blair PDF

 

 DEAR ADVERSARY  ADVERSARY 

 Kathryn Blair  The Copperbelt of Northern Rhodesia, where the primitive still exists alongside the ultramodern, and fabulous natural beauty alongside industrialization, forms the background to the story of  Morny Blake and Gr Grant ant Ran Randal dall. l. Morny was a young schoolteacher, Grant head of an important mining syndicate. He was used to managing people and things, and assumed that he could manage Morny too. But she instinctively resisted his too-hasty domination, for a woman likes to be mastered only when she can feel that she is also loved—and Morny was all too certain that Grant had given his love elsewh elsew here.

 

  CHAPTER ONE

THE COPPERBELT! It had a round, sultry sound. One imagined an aerial view of a vast strip of jungle splodged here and there with vine-smothered mining gear, a baked-up town where technicians lived with their families or with other technicians, and a dim wooden office on a dusty street in which Uncle Luke prepared, printed and published his newspaper. At least, that was how Morny Blake had pictured this part of Northern Rhodesia. Uncle Luke had occasionally sent her a copy of the Singana News, and News, and she had never missed an item in the six small sheets; from them she had gained her conception of the place. Sitting beside him in the old tourer, Morny began with some excitement to realize that the weekly newspaper had presented only half the scene, the half which interested the community itself. It hadn’t mentioned that the town was situated on the side of a hill whose base was washed  by a curved blue lake, th that at upon the the hillsides grew Rh Rhodesian odesian teak, teak, cotton, cotton, tobacco and tea; nor  was it necessary to print descriptions of the spacious residences which looked down over the lake and across to the little jade hills and mauve peaks of the Chungwa Mountains. Its readers knew such facts already. “Big, isn’t it?” said Uncle Luke with some satisfaction. “The finest bit of country between Victoria Falls and the Congo border, and the best of it is, the Singana Mine can’t be seen from anywhere in the town. It’s round the corner of the hill, in the valley.” “But why didn’t you tell me in your letters it was so lovely!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t have had the least doubt about coming, then.” He nodded his fluffy grey head at the windscreen, his expression wise. “I wouldn’t have you taken in by the the beauty of th thee place—that pl ace—that wo wouldn’t uldn’t h have ave been fair to you. I wro wrote te to you th that at it’s not uncommon to find lion spoor in one’s garden on a morning, that you’ll often be bored, that there’s hardly anyone else of your age. Those things are still true, my dear.” “But you’re here, Uncle Luke. We hadn’t much outside entertainment on the Yorkshire moors,  but we had wonderfu wonderfull tim times!” es!” Luke Penrose gave her an affectionate sideways glance. Morny wasn’t pretty in the accepted sense, but in his opinion she had something far more valuable than prettiness. She had a deep, intelligent brow, smoky, grey-blue eyes and fine, mahogany-colored hair with yellow streaks in it. And in spite of (or because of) being more or less stranded in the world at an early age, she was sweet and courageous. She didn’t know it, but she made his life complete, gave point and

 

substance to living. There was hardly a thing he wouldn’t do for his niece. Morny at that moment was staring out upon the approaching township of Singana, and thinking  back upon upon th the years she h had ad spent with Uncle Luk Lukee in Yorkshire. orkshire. Her mother mother h had ad been his his young younger  er  sister, and when both her parents had died in a car crash there had been no one but Uncle Luke to take care of the young Morny. So, with a housekeeper, they had lived in a stone cottage within sight of the moor, and Uncle Luke had edited the local biweekly newspaper, while Morny attended atten ded high school and, li like ke all you young ng th things, ings, set about a bout grow growing ing u up. p. The break-up of the home had happened devastatingly but not suddenly. Confronted by the necessity to choose a career, Morny had shown a preference for schoolteaching, but a reluctance to enter a training college and leave her uncle alone. For a whole summer they had cheerfully argued, and at the end of it the situation was partly resolved by the marriage and removal from the neighbourhood of the housekeeper. Uncle Luke could not face settling down with someone new and unused unused to his ways, nor w would ould he co coun untenan tenance ce Morny’s sug s uggestion gestion th that at she take a post near by and keep house for him. She had her own life to live. With all the determination of which he was capable he had sent Morny to do her training in London, sold the house and moved himself to a  private hotel. hotel. Recalling her last meeting with Uncle Luke in London, Morny could still feel the twinge of  shock at his news, the inward panic at the very mention of being severed from him. He had sat smiling gently in the dour hostel lounge. “It isn’t for long, Morny, so you musn’t be upset. I’d take you with me now, but it’s best that you complete your training—to student-teaching standard, at any rate. By then I’ll know whether this new venture is going to be successful, and either you can come out to Rhodesia or I’ll come home. The colonies are crying out for schoolteachers, you know, and Rhodesia prefers people from Britain.” She hadn’t been at all sure that she wanted to teach in Rhodesia, had even entertained a treacherous hope that the newspaper he had been engaged to initiate and produce in Singana might turn out a flop. After a while, though, she had had to accept the fact that Uncle Luke was in  Northern  North ern Rhodesia Rhodesia for good, for his salary s alary did di d not come come from the the th threepences reepences paid for the the pa paper, per, nor from the advertisers’ subscriptions, but from the powerful Singana Mine Syndicate. The whole thing was subsidized by the company for the benefit of its employees, and the managing director had so taken to the quiet, humorous, elderly Luke Penrose that he had built for him a house and received Luke’s suggestion that a school be started with a degree of enthusiasm. So here was Morny, twenty-two years old and with four years’ training behind her, hoping, apprehensively, that Rhodesian children were not too precocious, and that Mrs. Bartlett, who had  been a teacher teacher in Eng England land before her marriage and w would ould be in charge of o f the new school, might ight

 

not be difficult to work with. In any case, there would be Uncle Luke, the mountains and that incredibly graceful graceful lake. They were entering Singana now, a wide main street lined with white cement shops and divided down its middle by a row of young, scarlet-flowering kaffir blooms. “There,” said Uncle Luke, indicating with a flourish the sign Singana News  News  over a modern entrance, “is the hub of the town, the floodlight, the inspiration. And none of your cheap, upcountry journalism, either. I write most of it myself.” “It’s a beautiful building—almost worthy of you. Maybe I’ll be able to help.” “No doubt about that. The school won’t be ready till next month, and it’ll only keep you busy in the mornings, anyway. The school hours are seven-thirty till one in these parts; no child could learn in the heat of the afternoon. The shops close from one till three-thirty and everyone goes to sleep. Then we start up all over again, and that’s the grandest half of the day; everyone uses the evenings to the utmost. You’ll love it when you become adapted to it.” Morny laughed a little. Trust Uncle Luke to dig in as if he were made for this type of existence; he never felt out of place anywhere. But she could not imagine herself quickly becoming accustomed to these huge, exotic trees, the low white buildings, the heat, the space and, above all, the hordes and hordes of Africans. All the way from the Cape she had been intrigued and fascinated by the brown skins and the  black, the the wool woolly ly heads, th thee elaborate elabor ate feminin femininee headdresses, the the multicolo ulticolored red blank blankets, ets, the the  bulging  bulg ing collars of beads upon wh which ich the the dark faces appeare appeared d to rest as if they had had no connection connection with the swaying hips and sturdy legs below. From the Limpopo northwards she had noticed the dresses becoming prettier and the figures more shapely; the villages were as primitive as one expected them to be and, once across the Zambesi, most signs of civilization among Africans were absent. These people who milled along the pavements were predominantly black and male. Many of  them wore the white shorts and tunic shirt which formed the usual garb of house-servants, but the rest were half-naked or clad only in a threadbare blanket. The women, in flowered cotton frocks, invariably had a baby slung in a shawl at the back. Here and there a dandy lounged in exaggerated European dress; they were probably boss-boys at the mine, explained Luke. Yes, this was surely Africa, breathed Morny to herself; the Africa one read about but scarcely  believed  belie ved iin. n. Sh Shee w was as now in the Copperbelt, that fabulou fabulouss region which spreads across Northern Northern Rhodesia and extends for hundreds of miles into the Belgian Congo. Yet the town was more modern than the newest garden city in England.

 

Uncle Luke’s house lay back from the main road on the other side of the town. It was white and square, with a green tiled roof and a green-floored veranda from which one surveyed two smooth lawns with w ithin in bril brilliant liant borders of cann cannas, as, giant g gladiol ladiolii and cactus dahlias. Just then Morny had no time to notice more. She entered a small tiled hall which led, through an archway, into a deliciously cool lounge. The furnishings—tweed chairs and curtains, a plain teak  table and positively not a single piece of ornamentation—was severe and practical, but Morny could imagine Uncle Luke buying the minimum of requirements, and keeping at the back of his mind the thought that Morny must select all the small luxuries which transform furnished rooms into a home. That would be typical of Uncle Luke. She turned suddenly and hugged him. “You’re a pet. There’s not another Uncle Luke in the whole universe!” “That may be true,” he conceded mildly, “but there’s probably a younger man somewhere who’ll take you away from me some day.”

“Not for years and years, and even then I’ll insist that you live with us. Is this really your very own house?” “Every brick, and for ever.” He let out a sigh and sank into one of the chairs with his legs stretched in front of him. “Do you know that we’ve travelled well over two thousand miles by road since si nce you docked las lastt Thursday? Thursday? We We ’ll have so som me lun l unch ch and rest. res t. You You can un unpack pack this evening evenin g when it’s cool cooler.” er.” “Hadn’t you better int i ntroduce roduce me to th thee house-bo house-boy?” y?” “Boys,” he corrected her heavily. “There are three of them, and two garden-boys. Don’t ask me why it takes five to look after one white man, but I can assure you that it does. I named them myself. The cook-boy is Joe, the one who polishes the floors is Samson, and Thomas is a sort of   butler but ler-valet. valet. On Onee energ energetic etic boy could do th thee lot, but they they pr prefer efer to descend de scend upon one one in a bunch bunch and share the wages. We have a budding native village at the back of the garden.” Morny was aching to ask more, much more, but he looked so sleepy that she said, “Go straight to your room, Uncle Luke. I’ll find the kitchen and tell the boy to bring your lunch to you. Don’t  bother  both er about m me. e. I live here n now!” ow!” “And you’re bossing me about again,” he said with a twinkle. “It’s quite a relief—just what I’ve been waiting for.”

 

Just what she, too, had been waiting for, reflected Morny, as she took a breath and plunged through the corridor to the back of the house. She had missed him so dreadfully these last three years that it seemed impossible she could ever want to leave him again. But Uncle Luke never let her forget that marriage was woman’s most splendid career. Even while urging her to train for  teaching because she wanted it so badly, he had constantly reminded her that falling in love was the best training for wifehood. And he a bachelor! The kitchen was moderately sized and white, the house-boy, Thomas, was large and black, very  black. He gave Morn Morny y a hypnot hypnotic ic stare, th thereby ereby disper dispersing sing some some of her confidence. confidence. But But she told him, firmly and unmistakably, to carry lunch to the master’s bedroom, and to prepare a second tray for herself. Thomas’s, “Yes, missus,” had a dubious note. In the corridor she met her uncle at his room door. He waved at the room opposite. “That’s yours, Morny. Samson’s jut put your trunk in there. I’ll have to be up again at three to  pop down to the off office, ice, but you can snooze for as long as you like. The The rooms rooms are thick-wall thick-walled ed and cool.” Morny had never felt less like snoozing. She wandered round her bare little bedroom and thought of the happy days ahead, when she would beautify each room at the smallest possible cost. Half the pleasure of such a task was in determining how much one could do on limited cash. Presently, having tried some of the salad on the tray, she opened her trunk and shook out a  patterned  patt erned linen dr dress ess she had bough bought at th thee Cape. It had a low, square neckline neckline and deep, cool armholes; what balm to get into it and shed the navy sport suit in which she had travelled. Freshened, she stole out to the corridor, along to the lounge. White plastic blinds had been drawn, but she lifted one and peeped out at the garden bathed in sunshine, at the long hedge encrusted with purple flowers. Uncle Luke had planned the garden with gay disregard of color  schemes, but, somehow, vivid warring colors were representative of the climate. The greenness of grass and foliage helped them to live together. The peremptory ring of the telephone caused her to drop the blind and swing round in astonishment. She hadn’t thought of there being telephones in Singana; though to be sure, if there were, Uncle Luke’s would be one of the busiest.

Swiftly, so that the noise should not disturb him, she crossed into the hall and raised the receiver. At once a young man asked politely, “Is that the residence of Mr. Penrose?” Morny Morn y replied, ““Yes,” Yes,” and waited.

 

The line clanged. Then came a crisp, autocratic voice, “Is that you, Luke?” Morny said, “This is his house, but Mr. Penrose is resting.” “Put me through to his room, will you?” “I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s asleep.” “What day does he think this is—Sunday? Put me through!” There are some voices which become smooth and almost caressing over the telephone, and others which are apt to make the hands clench and the temperature rise. This one was of the latter  category; it ignited sparks within Morny. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding it, “but Mr. Penrose can’t be disturbed. He hasn’t long gone to bed, and he’s tired.” “So he’s tired! I’m not surprised—not in the least. Who is it speaking?” “I think I should be the one to ask that!” An instant’s pause. “That’s fair enough. This is Grant Randall. I suppose you’re the niece he went to meet at Cape Town—the reason he travelled nearly five thousand miles by car to show the sights, when he could have hopped a plane from Broken Hill and got there and back within three days. Is Luke all right?” His slight softening conveyed nothing to Morny. She could see him at the other end of the line, thickset, florid, with a horrible square jaw and one of those mouths that dip at the corners. “He’s sleeping,” she returned stubbornly, “and I’m not waking him for anyone till three o’clock. I’ll tell him you called.” “You needn’t trouble,” issued calmly and coolly from the receiver. “I’ll see him this afternoon at his office.”

Sheher heard sharp ping as he hiswho telephone, took asaid furious breathaccents, and was“Are aboutyou to drop ownthe into place when thereplaced first man had spoken in hushed there? I feel you ought to be told that these are the private offices of Mr. Grant Randall, the managing director of the Singana Mine Syndicate.” Then he, too, rang off.

 

Morny felt herself go hot, then clammily cold. Grant Randall, the big noise of the district, the man who had befriended Uncle Luke without question, given him his job and built him this house. What had she done? But he’d sounded such a beast; that aloof, commanding inflexion, his demand that Uncle Luke be roused to take the call. That other man, the younger one, was probably his secretary; he had listened in and no doubt enjoyed a private chuckle at her expense. What was she to do now? Anxious and bewildered, she turned and found herself faring Uncle Luke in his check dressing gown with wi th h his is hair more un unruly ruly than than ever. ever . “I heard the telephone,” he said. “Who was it?” Despairingly she explained. “I hadn’t the smallest notion who he was, and he was so lordly that I was almost rude to him. I’ll have to ring back and apologize.” He uncle raised his brows quizzically. “But you’d rather not. You’d only do it for my sake.”

“Of course. course. He actu ac tually ally deser deserved ved every ever y word I said.” “Then you’d better leave it there. You’ll find Grant’s not half bad when you know him.” She was aghast. “Do we meet socially? Have I got to be nice to him?” He shrugged, still smiling. “Please yourself, my dear. I never have any difficulty with him, but I’m not a high-spirited young woman.”

“Hasn’t he a wife?” “Not one.” She gave a sigh of exasperation. “He seemed to hi amp me because you came to meet me—he carried on about the distance by car. Is he annoyed that you weren’t here for last week’s issue?” “Not a bit—that wouldn’t bother him. I left practically everything set up, and my assistant managed the rest. As a matter of fact, I did the journey to Cape Town against Grant’s advice. He said so much car driving right off was too much for a man nearing sixty. That was weeks ago, when you first let me know you’d booked your passage. So as the time drew near I kept quiet about it, and only my assistant was aware of where I’d gone. But Grant is in touch with the paper  fairly often, and he was bound to find out.”

 

Morny looked anxiously into his kindly, lined “Did it tire you a great deal?” He patted her shoulder. “It was marvellous. I’d been looking forward to it for three years, and when I set my heart upon something I can be as tenacious as Grant himself. Don’t give it another  thought, Morny. I’ll have a word with him.” “He said he’d call in at your office.” She paused, faintly puzzled. “Didn’t you say that everyone rests from one till three-thirty? Does Mr. Randall usually telephone you at this time?” “Hardly ever.” “Then why should he bark something about your thinking this was Sunday?” Thoughtfully, Uncle Luke stroked his chin. After a minute or two a look of ludicrous ruefulness came into his eyes. “I’d completely forgotten. Today is the first Tuesday in the month—the day of committee and  board meeting eetingss at the m mine. ine. Th They ey take take pl place ace iin n tth he morning morning.. I alw always ays attend attend personally and report them verbatim in the News. the News. Quite a number of the employees are shareholders, and Grant thinks they’re entitled to be kept informed of the company’s progress.” “Oh, dear. So that was his grouse.” Morny inserted her arm into the crook of his. “I’m sure you must have been pretty nearly exhausted to let so important an item slip your mind. It isn’t like you at all. Can’t we do something about it?” He let her lead him to a chair. “I dare say Grant got his secretary to take notes. Don’t be distressed, Morny,” he smiled at her. “One benefit of growing old is that you don’t easily get rattled or flustere flustered. d. Y You ou tak takee the long view. If it would mak makee you h happi appier er I won w on ’t spend sp end much much time at the office. I’ll bring all my stuff home and you can help me with it.” “Darling, I wish you would. I’ll get you some tea now. Put your feet up for ten minutes and relax.” He obeyed her and she left him. The boys were gone from the kitchen. As she opened drawers and cupboards, Morny tried to remember what she had told Mr. Randall. But she could recall much more clearly what he had said. She was angry with herself, more angry that she would care to admit to Uncle Luke. Her  very first day, and she had come up against the most exalted creature in Singana. About him she  bothered  both ered not a scrap, sc rap, but she would go to any length lengthss to avoid avoi d un unpleasa pleasan ntness tness for Uncle Uncle Lu Luk ke. He

 

ought to have let her apologize to the man, much though it went against her inclination. The more she dissected those few minutes on the telephone, the less she liked Mr. Randall. This was subtropical Africa, not the tearing heart of London. It might be true that the Copperbelt was making immense strides towards industrialization, but, after all, there was nothing much here except trees and copper, and the next town was at least fifty miles away. Mr. Randall was too conscious of his own importance.

 

  CHAPTER TWO

U NCLE  LUKE  had his tea and drove off. Morny did some unpacking and wondered how long it would be before the box of oddments she had salvaged from the sale of the Yorkshire cottage would arrive arr ive iin n Sin Sing gana from Cape Town. The The staring stari ng walls wal ls and barren shelves were w ere a challeng challenge; e; even the bookcase was reproachfully empty, except for a litter of magazines in the lowest compartment. The house had been completed only a year ago. Before that, Uncle Luke had lived at the tiny hotel on the main street. It was just like him to have the garden planted and mature while the rooms looked as though he had moved in but yesterday. The dining suite was a modest affair in teak, the bedrooms were furnished in a local streaky wood which would improve with the liberal use of polish. There was nothing costly or stylish—  the money would not run to that—but the plainer the nucleus the wider the scope for  embellishment. She would start with the lounge, of course, and leave her own room till last. How she wished she could plunge straight into schoolteaching and begin earning at once. It would be nice to pay for some of the improvements herself. During the trip up from the Cape she and Uncle Luke had talked and talked. He had confessed that his salary was a higher figure than it could ever have reached in England, but the cost of  living was correspondingly above the English standard, too. Also, there were more outside demands upon one’s pocket. One entertained—not that he had done much of that, so far, but it would be expected of him now that he would have a woman in the house—and women,  particularly,, we  particularly were re more or lless ess com compell pelled ed to dress dr ess wel welll aand nd chang changee often. often. One subscribed to this this and that, paid, fed and clothed one’s servants, kept a well-filled wine cabinet, and had to run a car because there was no other means of transport. Listening to him, Morny had felt as if she were on the brink of the most thrilling phase of her  li life. fe. Even the inform information ation that M Mrs. rs. Bartlett Bartle tt leaned tow toward ardss the more old old-fashioned -fashioned teaching methods had not damped her anticipation. Morny was not contemptuous of the outmoded; Uncle Luke himself was a decade or two behind the times, and she loved him the more for it. Besides, in a clim cl imate ate which exact exacted ed a toll of th thee energies, slickn sl ickness ess and speed w were ere un unwi wise. se. She learned that a private kindergarten already existed to take care of children between the ages of five and seven. The new school was designed to cater for the older ones—about fifty in number   —who were wer e aatt present com compell pelled ed to attend attend convents convents and boarding boar ding sch schools ools far away aw ay to the the south south. As the town expanded, so would the school and staff. Growth was inevitable.

 

There was an element of satisfaction in knowing oneself in at the beginning of such a project. Within a few hours of arriving at the small, well-laid-out town in the wilds, Morny saw her own  person sli sliding ding int into o a nich nichee and becoming becoming part of the the hot Cen Central tral Af Africa rican n Copperbelt, where slopin slopi ng acres of cotton and ttobacco, obacco, si sisal sal and citru citrus, s, grew ab above ove the the prodi prodigal gal lodes o off rich ore. During the following days Uncle Luke was able to rest most of the time. Mr. Randall had agreed to allow the monthly meetings to be condensed into a single column of notes, and fortunately a number of social events had taken place last Saturday, which helped to fill up the rest of the paper. Conscientiously, Uncle Luke wrote an editorial comment upon the perennial  problem of diseas diseasee am among ong Africans, after after which he sat back to enjoy a lazy week-end in the the delightful atmosphere which invariably accompanies the advent of a bright young woman into a hitherto bachelor establishment. On Sunday afternoon Morny met two of his cronies. Mr. Reid was a retired naval man who now had charge of all sports club activities, and Mr. Malony was a tea planter. Both were talkative, and Mr. Malony was frankly and enviously amazed that Luke Penrose could possess “such a lissom liss om,, smiling lass lass”” for a niece. “He left Ireland thirty years ago,” Uncle Luke told Morny with a wink. “He’s almost lost the  brogue,  brogu e, but never iin n th this is world w orld w will ill he lose the the blarney.” “And don’t you sit there so smug,” Mr. Malony retorted. “You’re preening now, but before you’re used to having the girl around she’ll be snapped up by one of these engineers or a forestry man!” “I hope so,” replied Uncle Luke comfortably. “So long as she keeps clear of tea planters...” After more in similar vein, Morny left them to their whiskies and walked to the end of the back  garden, past the row of cement rooms occupied by the boys and their families, and out through a mesh gate into the lane. This path was chiefly for the convenience of the natives. It ran along the  backs of the the hou houses ses al alll th thee way to town, town, an and d at any any time time you might ight com comee upon a crowd crow d of boy boyss and women, seated gossiping and chewing sugar cane, while the babies tumbled among the bushes. Morny took one of the footpaths which led into the bundu. It twined downwards like a fat red dusty snake, with dense squat trees on each side, some of them dripping yellow, some blue, and some with deep green hearts hidden under the fresh mid-green of new growth. Below, she could see a dsection  behin  behind th them em.. of the lake, and opposite rose the Chungwa Mountains with the fiery glory of the sun Uncle Luke was right about this being the best part of the day. The dawns were fresh and opalescently pink; they made one want to lie in the dew and stare into the swiftly changing

 

heavens. But too soon the dew was gone and the sun brassy in an African-blue sky. As the sun went down, however, a breeze sprang up, the promise of a cool evening, a tolerable night. Trees and lake were gold-dusted, the mountains misted with lilac, shading within minutes to deepest  purple. And, And, oddly, on onee felt revitalized an and d stron strong, g, and very wide awake. Morny went on down the path, came eventually to the arc of stony beach and the water’s edge. It was clean, clear water, drinkable at most seasons, but here the beach was oily in patches from the motor yachts which had been out this morning. At first it was so quiet that she thought she and the birds had, the lakeside to themselves. Then a movement away to the right caught her eye, and she turned to watch the tall figure in white slacks and shirt near a beached, upturned boat, as he kicked aside the granite stones, apparently searching for some object. Soon he came nearer, raised his head and saw her. “Good evening,” he said incuriously, and moved with the toe of an immaculate buckskin shoe a large grey rock.

“Hello,” she answered ingenuously. “Lost something?” “A gold pencil. Must have dropped it this morning when we were hauling up the boat. It just fits my fist, and I hate breaking in a new one.” “It is irritating,” she agreed innocently, “breaking in a new gold pencil.” His glance at her then was sharp and amused. Sarcastically amused, thought Morny; he had that kind of face. Longish and aquiline, with high cheekbones and a dent in his chin. His hair was a deep, dark brown, so dark, in fact, that her own was nearly golden by contrast, and his eyes were nut-brown with green flecks in them. He might be thirty-five, or even older. “Are you with someone?” he asked. “Down here, you mean? No, I’m not.” “Well, you should be,” he stated tersely. “You’re new to the place, aren’t you?” “I arrived arrive d last las t Tu Tuesday.” esday.” “Last Tuesday?” A moment passed. “So you’re Miss Blake, the new schoolmarm; most of us have heard about you. You don’t look like a schoolteacher to me. Had any experience?”

 

“Not a jot. But I dare say I can manage the eight-year olds!” Morny had a prickling sensation which was vaguely familiar. She twisted towards the path. “I hope you’ll find your pencil. Goodbye.” “I’ll go with you,” he said at her back. “The bush isn’t safe till you’ve learned how to deal with a snake snake or a scor scorpion.” pion.” It occurred to Morny that a snake might be less of a menace than this big, striding stranger. But she intended to be polite at all costs. No more hurried mistakes if she could help it! “I suppose you’re at the mine?” she enquired conventionally as they climbed. “You suppose suppose correctly,” cor rectly,” h hee repl replied. ied. “An engineer? engineer?”” “Right again,” he said. “Am I being too inquisitive?” “Lord, no. I haven’t been questioned by a girl of your age for years. Go right ahead. I’m enjoying this.” The steepness of the ascent or his note of satire caused her to breathe rather fast. For several yards she was wordless. Then she said stiffly, “Am I taking you out of your way?” “Yes, about two miles,” he admitted carelessly. “I live at the other end of the lake. From one corner of my garden you can see the mine.” “That must must be grim. I’m awfully glad we can’t see se e iit. t. It seems a pity th that at such count country ry should be scarred by mining gear.” He helped her over a gnarled root, slid his hands back into his pockets and, still walking, looked coolly down at her. “I don’t see the pity of it. If the copper mines didn’t exist there’d be no roads or towns, so no one could come to see the country, anyway. Copper has great value. It  bringss prosper  bring prosperity ity to Rh Rhodesia odesia and employs employs th thousan ousands ds of Africans. Not Nothin hing gw which hich does ultim ultimate ate good should be regarded as an excrescence. That’s the sort of opinion you should keep to yourself   —in this this district, at least.” In the second that the clipped syllables ended Morny knew who he was. Yet part of her brain

 

still refused to take it in. Managing directors were not youngish and handsome; they sat behind desks and smoked cigars, ordered people about and made them weak at the knees. Well, no doubt he did sit behind a desk on weekdays, and quite certainly he was accustomed to being obeyed. He might even smoke cigars. But he needn’t flatter himself that Morny Blake was cowed by his air of  command. She wouldn’t retract a word she had said to him, or about him. She might have sent out a thought line, for he murmured, “I should have introduced myself as soon as we met. I’m Grant Randall.” With a touch of mockery he added, “The chap you got cross with wi th on the the telep telephon honee the other da day, y, remem remember ber?” ?” “I remember that you expected me to waken my uncle because he’d forgotten your meetings.” She stood at last at the top of the path, glad the panting scramble was over. “Thanks for coming with me.”  Negligently  Negligen tly,, ignoring ignoring her ttone, one, he he strolled strolle d at h her er side. si de. “Luk “Lukee can mix mix me me a dri drink nk.. He’s told m mee a lot about you, but I believe only half of it. He’s prejudiced—no woman could be that sweet and lovely.” “A woman is all things to all men, they say.” “Meaning that to your uncle you really are everything desirable, but that to another man you might show claws? I’ve always suspected that sweetness and claws go together. What did you do in England?” She gave him a few brief details, was relieved when they came to the mesh gate and were inside the garden. Here, she was on her own territory. As they moved round to the front of the house she saw, rather thankfully, that the car which had brought Mr. Reid and Mr. Malony had gone. Her uncle sat on the veranda, musing upon his garden, but when he saw them he stood up. “Good evening, Grant,” he said cordially. “I’ve never seen you arrive by the back way before.” “I discovered your niece alone by the lake. You shouldn’t let her do that, Luke, particularly when it’s nearly dusk.” “I have told her to be careful, but young folk never are. Whisky and soda?” Grant nodded, saw Morny seated in one of the folding chairs, hitched his trousers and chose a chair on the other side of her uncle. She drank grenadilla and listened to their talk. A man named Eliot was doing well in the tennis tournament, the major’s boat had capsized on the lake this morning but the incident had better be omitted from the News the  News because  because the old boy was touchy. The

 

council coun cil had sanctioned new building buil ding plans to the value of o f more more than than twenty tthou housand sand poun po unds. ds. “That’s half as much again as last quarter’s figure,” said Grant. “I’ve asked them to pull in. Too-swift growth inevitably creates ugliness, and we don’t fancy that. Do we, Miss Blake?” He was harking back to her disparagement of mining but Morny decided not to rise to it. She gave him a res reserved erved llittle ittle smile smile but no verba verball answer. answer . “By the way, Luke,” he said, “expansion is in the air in another direction as well. I had a letter  yesterday from the management of the Limbusi Mine. It seems the Limbusi township is agitating for a newspaper, and the board are suggesting that the name of the  News  News be  be changed and its size increased to incorporate their district. dis trict. Th Thee idea has its point points.” s.” Luke pondered. “It’s our aim to become independent of the mine some time, isn’t it? A bigger   public and more more adver advertisers tisers would w ould h hasten asten th thee day. Who Who would would do th thee reporting at L Lim imbusi?” busi?” “That could be easily arranged. There’s sure to be someone on the spot capable of handling it. We’ll get together on it one day next week.” He finished his drink. “Thanks for that. I’ve got some  people coming coming for dinn dinner. er. Mind Mind if I take take your your car, Lu Luke? ke? II’ll ’ll ssend end it straigh straightt back with m my y boy boy.” .” “Take it, and welcome. No hurry.” Grant’s farewell was a casual bow which included them both. He edged behind the wheel and  backed the the ttourer ourer int into o th thee fast-falli fast-falling ng dusk. dusk. Morny gathered the glasses, snapped on the hall and veranda lights. “Like him better?” queried her uncle with a hint of mischief. “Not much,” she said. “Is he Rhodesian?” “Yes. His family came from Salisbury in England to settle in Salisbury, Rhodesia—went in for  cattle ranching on a big scale. Grant still owns the place and goes down there occasionally. He was educated in England, collected a string of technical degrees and came back to help extend the Copperbelt. The Singana Syndicate owns four mines.” “And he’s the big boss of them. No wonder he’s conceited,” she said. Uncle Luke laughed. “Self-assurance isn’t conceit. He’s simply one of the best mining brains in the country—and he knows it.”

 

Morny took the tray through to the kitchen and returned to put away the bottles and siphon. Uncle Luke had gone into the lounge, and the veranda was a tunnel of soft light. She went to the steps and gazed up at the first stars. The air flowed about her, tender and cooling, the cicadas weree shrill wer s hrill and the the bitteris bi tterish h scent from an unsee unseen n m mimosa imosa tree fill filled ed her nostrils. nostril s. Then she  becamee conscious that a th  becam thin in slice s lice of moon was risin risi ng, a withdrawn and a nd cyn cynical ical moon against a wine-warm sky.

 

  CHAPTER THREE

I N  THE   middle of Morny’s second week the box of household goods arrived from Cape Town. Samson snapped the iron bands and levered up the lid, and Morny set about the methodical unpacking. The ormolu candelabrum, which had been one of her mother’s wedding presents, she placed upon the centre of the dining table; the set of six Staffordshire mugs would look well on a corner   bracket in the the sam samee room, an and d th thee bareness of the the cabinet would be com completely pletely relieve relieved d by tthe he big silver server and the silver tray which had been her grandmother’s. For the lounge there were a couple of miniatures and some gaily designed plates, a selection of solidly bound classics and three big glazed pottery ashtrays with amusing verses on them; these last had been kept at Uncle Luke’s request for no better reason than that they were the first rhymes he had taught Morny, and were therefore therefore to be rregarded egarded with w ith af affect fection. ion. Right at the bottom of the chest lay the huge copper warming pan which had hung beside the fireplac firep lacee in th thee Y Yorkshire orkshire ccottag ottagee eve everr since si nce Uncle Uncle Lu Luke ke ’s mother mother had gone th there ere as a bride. bri de. Morny lifted it out by its polished mahogany handle and regarded it with rueful fondness. A copper warming pan in the Copperbelt! To hang it where, it might be seen by visitors would be to invite facetious comment, and Rhodesian kitchens were not like old English ones. They were white and tiled, used exclusively for cooking and mostly by natives. She would have to find a corner for the thing in the dining room. Almost at once, under Morny’s influence, the lounge assumed character. The plain, unpolished  bookcase was enam enamelle elled d cream to match the wal walls. ls. Th Thee bright bright plates and two slim sli m vase vasess were wer e  placed on the the top of it an and d th thee books arranged arranged on tthe he shelves. shelves. On a low table a blue bowl bowl,, a shade deeper than that of the tweed, was kept filled with flowers, and between the miniatures was suspended a newly framed sampler which Morny had worked during reading-aloud sessions at the hostel. From a secondhand dealer she bought a decrepit writing table, and with Samson’s help she repaired it and sandpapered the stains and scratches from its surface. Painted cream, bearing a fruit-wood inkstand and a reading lamp and fitted into the ample recess beside the bookshelves, it gave the room an air of pleasant dignity. The lounge had no doors, only the archway into the small hall, so that part of the room was visible to the left immediately upon entering the house. The door on the right of the hall led into the dining room, behind which lay the kitchen and  bathroom.. Th  bathroom Thee bedroom bedr oomss backed the loun loung ge and the the hall, with w ith a corri corridor dor betwee between. n. Th Thee house house was w as simply and econom ec onomica icall lly y planned to give the max maximu imum m comfort comfort and ccool oolness. ness.

 

“You certainly have a way with a house. It’s becoming more like home every day,” commented Uncle Luke one evening. “Would you like to give a party? You could have ten or a dozen people,  because here here th thee gu guests ests alwa always ys overflow on tto o th thee veranda.” “I’d rather wait a while, but I do think I ought to contact Mrs. Bartlett. Where she’s concerned I want to start star t off by doing th thee corr c orrect ect thing thing.” .” He smiled. “I don’t blame you. Women are far less forgiving than men. But she knows you’ve arrived, and as she’s to be your senior, the next step is with her. She’s the type to do the correct thing herself, so any day now you’ll receive a polite invitation to tea.” Uncle Luke turned out to be right. Two days later a boy brought a brief and beautifully penned note. Miss Blake had no doubt by now settled into her uncle’s household; would she care to come to tea at Mereside to-morrow? The signature was “Vera Bartlett.” “From Mereside you can’t see the lake at all,” said Uncle Luke with a comical twitch of bushy  brows.. “We  brows “We also have Th Thee Larches withou withoutt a larch larc h in sight—or sight—or even in the the neigh neighbourh bourhood—  ood—  Rosedene, Daisybank and so on. I nearly had Dandelion written on our front gate.” “I suppose some people have used the names of houses they had in England. I’m glad the invitation has cone, but I’m shaking a bit, Uncle Luke.” “Over Mrs. Bartlett? You’ve nothing to fear there. She must have an assistant, and she’s lucky to get one like you—fresh from college and bursting for experience. Are you really keen to teach children?” “Fairly. If I’d stayed in England I’d have specialized in art. I think more attention should be given to the arts in schools.” “Don’t express that opinion to Mrs. Bartlett,” he warned her lightly. “She’s all for packing facts, and still more facts into young brains. And she’ll have her own methods of doing it, too.” “I don’t blame her—she’s to be the headmistress. Is she the only woman in Singana who’s been a teacher?” “I think so. Her husband came here to work as an accountant in the mine offices, but they hadn’t  been here long l ong bef before ore he had a heart attack an and d died. Th They’d ey’d bought bought the the house, house, so she stayed on. When I mentioned the building of a school, Grant Randall at once thought of Mrs. Bartlett, and she was asked to take care of the teaching end and become the principal.”

 

Morny sighed. “It’s always Grant Randall, isn’t it? Is he friendly with Mrs. Bartlett?” “She’s hardly his sort! You see, Grant dislikes the way new towns usually develop in  prosperous  prosper ous areas—you areas—young ng blood everywhere and th thee accent on money-m oney-makin aking g and sport. He contends that mature councillors and a mature school principal—not to mention an elderly and seasoned newspaper editor!—tend to restrain the unruly element and imbue a respect for tradition. Singana is only seven years old.” He nodded at her reassuringly. “Until you know her really well, let Mrs. Bartlett have her own way. And whatever you do, don’t worry.” But of course Uncle Luke did not view the matter from Morny’s angle. To him it mattered little whether she worked or not; only her happiness counted, and if she didn’t happen to find it in schoolteaching, there were always the house and garden. Morny felt differently; she wanted to get  busy,, to become a usefu  busy usefull mem ember ber of th thee town and earn a salar s alary y. She had lived for long enoug enough h on Uncle Luke. The following afternoon she dressed carefully in willow-green with white collar and cuffs. She wore white shoes, and at the last minute decided to put on a thin white felt cap. Uncle Luke sent  back the the car from his off office, ice, dr driven iven by an African African who had charg chargee of th thee newspaper delivery delive ry van, van, and Morny set out, feeling philosophical and resigned. At an interview one could only be oneself, and the day was too gloriously bright and lovely for brooding. Before the car reached the shops it turned from the main road into a tree-lined avenue from which other roads branched. All the houses were new, white and bungalow-type, surrounded by shrubs and young trees. Here and there an ancient palm reaching into the sky, or a Zambesi redwood, had been left standing, lone specimens, perhaps, of thickets which had been cleared to make way for civilization. Mereside was a small, L-shaped house in a scrupulously neat garden. Not a blade of grass sprouted between the flags of the path, not a weed sullied the flower beds. The garden was a warning. Morny almost tiptoed across the black, polished stone of the porch. The door stood open, held back by a ferocious-looking, cast-iron cat, and in the tiny hall a table held a glass vase from whose thin neck issued four spikes of gladiolus in bud. Like one plunging into unknown deeps, Morny pressed presse d th thee bel bell. l. A house-boy appeared, to conduct her into a lounge which had heavy furniture and light walls, and, after a decent interval, Mrs. Bartlett came in, extending a hand in prim greeting. Vera Bartlett was tall for a woman, and thin. Her sandy coloring rather detracted from good features and accentuated her general air of austerity. Her navy silk dress was buttoned to the throat and covered her arms to the wrists; it was the first dark frock Morny had seen in Singana. Though she could not have been more than thirty-eight, the woman’s manner was set and middle-

 

aged. “I’m pleased to know you, Miss Blake,” she said distantly but with a smile. “We are always happy to see new people here. I hope you will find it easy to settle in Singana.” “I could settle anywhere with my uncle,” Morny answered cheerfully. “I’m only too glad there’s going to be a school, so that I shall be able to work here.” “Ah, the school.” Mrs. Bartlett tinkled a little brass bell. “We’ll have tea before discussing that all-important matter. Are you quite comfortable there?” Morny wasn’t. The chair was upholstered but armless, and the back sloped disconcertingly, so that she was afraid to give it her weight for fear of appearing slack. But one didn’t bother with such trifles at a meeting with one’s first headmistress. So she said, “Yes, thank you,” and kept quiet while the tea tray was arranged to her hostess’s satisfaction. Mrs. Bartlett did most of the talking. When Morny named her training college the woman made a sign of approval, but she was not interested in the teaching methods they advocated. She had already drawn up her plans and ordered the school equipment. Unfortunately, everything took such a long time that it now looked as if the opening would have to be delayed till after the next vacation. It was only fair to give the parents ample notice. “We’re taking boys to the age of ten and girls up to Form 3. The boys will come into your junior  group. Do you think you’ll manage them?” “I coached three boys privately last winter and got along all right,” replied Morny. “Giving private tuition is very different from school-teaching. Boys are less amenable with girl irlss in the the cla class, ss, but we shall ssee. ee. We’ll go in into to the the subject of discip discipline line later.” Altogether, Mrs. Bartlett impressed Morny as rather soulless but in no way objectionable. Perhaps because she had married late and had no children, she seemed never to have come fully alive. One could not imagine her developing a deep liking for anyone, or allowing emotion in any form to displace common sense. Morny had just decided that it would now be polite to take her leave, when steps sounded on the path, and a minute later a man tapped on the lounge door and poked his head round the edge o it. “Come in,” said Mrs. Bartlett. “Miss Blake, this is my brother, Ian Templeton. Miss Blake is

 

Mr. Penrose’s niece, Ian. She’s going to help me with the school.” He stood in the doorway smiling with a hesitant charm. He was about ten years younger than Mrs. Bartlett, and fairer. His features had the same regularity as hers, but his eyes were a definite  blue and his mout mouth h was sensitive. To Morn Morny y th there ere was a vag va gue unh unhappiness appiness be behin hind d his s mile, but she doubted whether it was apparent to his sister. Yet Vera Bartlett patently had a weakness, however slight, for this brother of hers. His breeches were stained, his riding boots badly scratched and dusty, and his thinnish hands were decidedly grubby, but she, who revered order  and impeccabil impeccab ility, ity, only shook her her head indu i ndulgent lgently. ly. “Have you been marking trees again? What horrid work that must be. Why couldn’t you have gone in for medicine or the law! Shall I order fresh tea?” “No, thanks. I’ve had some.” He sat down in a chair near Morny’s, looking at her half shyly. “So you’re in Singana to stay? I wish I were. In my job I get pushed around from one wooded spot to another.”

“Forestry?” she asked. “Yes. I like li ke it, but I hate movi moving ng.” .” “You’re here for two or three months now, anyway,” put in his sister. “I think you should join the club and enter into the town’s activities. There’s plenty going on all the while if you’ll only take the trouble to find out. Do you belong to the club, Miss Blake?” “My uncle insisted on it, though I haven’t yet taken advantage of my membership.” After a pause which was oddly long and awkward, Morny stood up. “Thanks so much for a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Bartlett.” This Th is was recei received ved w with ith a g graci racious ous inclination inclination of th thee head. Ian Templeton opened the door. “I’ll go with you to the car.” As they went down the path Morny noticed that he was not so very much taller than herself. She liked his agreeableness, his instant but slightly reserved friendliness; in that he was singularly unlike his sister. When they reached the car he did not at once help her into it. He met her eyes fleetingly, then said, “Gould we meet again soon? I dare say every man you come across will make the same plea—we’re short of young women in these parts and it’s every chap for himself—   but I really would like u uss to have have an occasional gam gamee of tenn tennis.” is.”

 

Frankly she answered, “I’d like it, too, so long as Mrs. Bartlett approves. She’s going to be my  boss, and I wouldn’t wis wish h tto o offend offend her.” her.” “You won’t. In some ways she’s cold-blooded, but she’s genuinely anxious for me to enjoy life  —she’s been on abou aboutt my my joining th thee club for for some ttim ime. e. Sh Shee likes you.” you.” “Me?” This was startling. “How do you know?” “She wouldn’t have introduced us, otherwise. Vera wails about modesty and good manners  being on tthe he wane, wane, and y you ou probably cam camee as a refreshin r efreshing g su surpri rprise. se. W Woe oe betide you, you, thoug though, h, if she ever catches you in shorts or slacks!” Morny laughed. His simplicity was disarming; he reminded her of the students with whom she and her friends had picnicked and danced in England. He was older than they, less nonchalant, but he had that honesty which is somehow swallowed in sophistication as men acquire years and experience of women. “May I see you on Saturday, then?” he said. “I’ll pick you up at four and we’ll spend the rest o the day together.” She agreed, said goodbye to him, and slipped into the back of the car. Ordeals were never quite so black as one anticipated, she thought, as the tourer moved out and along the road. Mrs. Bartlett  promised  prom ised to be dom domineering ineering,, but a woman woman of h her er kind was bound bound to make make a success of the the school. Ian was nice; she couldn’t have explained why, but she felt a little sorry for him; one always  pitied the easily hurt hurt who were condem condemned ned tto o li live ve with w ith the the in insensitive. sensitive. Wh Why y sh shee had suspected he he was vulnerable and not too happy was another mystery to Morny. Possibly she had mistaken an inherent seriousness in his nature for something else. You couldn’t judge a man on so short an acquaintance. Her watch said five-twenty, and she had promised Uncle Luke to have the car back outside his office at half past five. It would be best to drive straight there now, and go home with him. She leaned forward and spoke painstakingly to the driver.

 

  CHAPTER FOUR 

A FEW minutes later the car pulled up outside the News the News office, and Morny got out. She had been here once before, had been shown the press which turned out not only the News, the News,  but practically th thee whole of th thee printing printing requirement requirementss of the the town. She She had met Mr. Mr. Mayh Mayhew ew and learned some of the intricacies of composing, had talked with Clement, who was Uncle Luke’s assistant and utterly devoted and loyal. Today the friendly Clement leaned behind the counter with his mouth close to the telephone. Mom’s enquiring glance drew from him a smile and a jerked thumb, which she interpreted as an intimation that Uncle Luke was in his office. Quietly, she passed through the main office to the door of the editor’s sanctum; she tattooed with her fingernails at the opaque glass and, without waiting for an invitation, let herself into the room. There she stopped precipitately, for Uncle Luke was not alone. Grant Randall sat on one corner  of the desk, and the two heads were bent over a skeleton newspaper layout; the cloudy grey head and the the sslee leek k dark one. As she entered, both heads turned. Grant straigh stra ightened, tened, and Un Uncle cle Luk ukee took  off his glasses. “Hello, my dear. Were you kept late over at Mereside? How did it go off?” “Not too badly. Good afternoon, Mr. Randall.” “Well met, Miss Blake,” he said smoothly. “I hear you’ve been having tea with the admirable Mrs. Bartlett. Did you take to each other?” “I wouldn’t say that, but I think we shall work together when the time comes.” “I expect it seemed as if you were back at school yourself,” he remarked. “Now you know what I meant when I said you didn’t look like a schoolteacher. Mrs. Bartlett is an excellent example of  the the speci species.” es.”

“I see,” she heard herself answering coolly. “You’d prefer the Singana teaching staff to be as attractive as a bunch of skinned rabbits.” “Tut-tut. One should not speak so of one’s future principal.” His expression mocked. “I hope

you ve more patience with children than you have with adults. Did Mrs. Bartlett tell you that the  

school opening has had to be postponed?” “Yes, it’s disappointing. Is it the fault of the council?” “No,” he responded calmly. “The fault is entirely mine. I don’t care for halfhearted beginnings. If we wait till after the long vacation everything will be ready to start off with a swing.” He turned to Uncle Luke. “Put a notice in the paper, will you? Get a date from Mrs. Bartlett for a meeting with the parents, and advertise it. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to suggest that she make a slightly social event of it.” “You know know Mrs. Bar Bartlett. tlett. She is isn’t n’t like to take suggestions suggestions from m me.” e.” Grant smiled and snapped his fingers. “Use diplomacy, Luke. Telephone her for the date, then send her a proof of the advertisement saying that you hope it will be suitable. Once she sees her  name in large print she’ll agree to the rest like a lamb. The woman has vanity, like everyone else.” “It might work.” Uncle Luke got to his feet, examined his print-stained hands. “Disgusting, aren’t they? Will you wait while I wash, Morny?” He went out. Morny folded his glasses into their case, pushed shut a couple of desk drawers and tidied a pile of papers. She looked up to find Grant regarding her speculatively. “Somehow, I feel you won’t hit it off too well with our Vera,” he said. “She’d co-operate better  with someone someone staid and docile.” doci le.”

“I can’t help not being staid, but I shall be docile enough,” she returned. “There’s no other  school in the district, so I’d hardly put myself out to quarrel with her. I’ve no wish to, anyway.” “She has it in her power to make you unhappy, though.” “I don’t see why she should, but if she does, I’ll get over it.” “You wouldn’t rather stand down?”

 Now eyesawere lifted to g gaze aze squ squarel arely y into into his his green-flecked green-flecked ones. “Stan “Stand d down? What doher youblue-grey mean—find post elsewhere?” “That isn’t necessary. For the next few weeks before the school opens you’ll be running Luke’s

house. Why not continue that way? He doesn t want you to teach; he s said so several times.  

“Did he also tell you that he’s looked after me since I was five, that he paid for my education and sent cheques to help with my training?” “No, but what if he did do all that? By showing him that you care for him as if he were your  father you’ve repaid him a thousand times; Luke wouldn’t want repayment anyway. He doesn’t need your few pounds in the kitty before he’ll believe in your gratitude.” His tones altered,  becamee impersonal.  becam impersonal. “Thin “Think k it over.” “I’ve already decided,” she said shortly. The silence lasted till Uncle Luke came back. Unaware of any tingling in the atmosphere he gave Morny his humorous smile. “Has Grant told you that we’re invited to his place for dinner on Sunday?” “Or Saturday,” inserted Grant casually. “No, not Saturday,” said Morny quickly. Her uncle quizz quizzed ed at her. ““Wh Why y not not Saturday—made Saturday—made a date?” d ate?” She dropped the spectacle case into his pocket and reached down his hat from a wall hook. “I’ve promised to spend the evening with Mrs. Bartlett’s brother,” she told him clearly. “Glad to hear it, my dear. You don’t have to be defiant about it.” “Defiance, Luke,” Grant elucidated kindly, “is sometimes a cloak for embarrassment. Your  niece, quite rightly, can see no reason why she should go into the details of her appointment with young you ng Tem emple pleton, ton, particularl partic ularly y in front of me. me. She hasn’t hasn’ t yet lear learned ned that we in Singana Singana have ever e very y sympathy with the young and romantic, and do all in our power to help them.” Morny flashed him a look but could think of no reply. Uncle Luke laughed, folded up the sheet over which he and Grant had been poring and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’ll have this planned for you by the weekend, and early next week I’ll slip over to Limbusi for  a talk about policy.” “Oh, no,” said sai d Gra Grant nt ffir irm mly ly.. “You “You stay right here here and le lett L Limbu imbusi si come to you. you. You You ’re ’r e the the chief, and you tell them, you don’t ask  them.   them. They’re darned lucky to be able to shove their news into such an excellent paper. And don t budge over the title. Singana News just News just as it is now, with the words ‘incorporating Limbusi’ underneath. They’ll take it!”

 

They came from the offices into the shadowed street. The last bright rays of the sun gilded the roofs, slan sla nted along tth he cr crossing ossings. s. The shops were wer e closed, cl osed, and a nd only only a few cars rem remained ained parked at th thee kerb kerb.. “Will you come in for a drink on your way home?” Uncle Luke asked Grant. “Thanks, but not tonight. I’ve some stuff to clear up at the office. See you both on Sunday. So long.” He crossed the road diagonally, behind the tourer, and leapt the steps into the massive modern entrance to the offices of the Singana Mine Syndicate. Morny supposed the long cream car over  there was his; it was an extravagant-looking vehicle. Abstractedly, she took her place on the shabby leather leather seat beside besi de her uncle. “Success “Su ccess spoil spoilss a man man,, doesn’t it?” she said. “If you mean Grant, I disagree.” Uncle Luke started up the engine, and pulled out. “He works as hard as anyone in town.” “But he can’t resist using his power. He has to poke his nose into the paper, into the school—  and probably into everything else.” “You’re vexed because he’s put off the school opening, but actually it was a sound move. You and I aren’t fussy if a detail happens to be out of place, Morny, but when you’re running a town you’ve got to think big and have things organized—and he’s just the man to do both. The council are not too sure of themselves yet; they’re glad to have a lead from Grant. As to the paper,” he ended mildly, mildl y, “ar “aren’t en’t you forget forgetting ting that that he’s he’s virtu vir tuall ally y my my em employer? ployer?”” “He’d never get anyone else as good as you are,” she said warmly. “He knew that well enough when he brough br oughtt you out fro from m England. England. You You shouldn ’t give giv e iin n to him, him, Uncl Unclee Luke. Luke. Someone S omeone ought ought to stand up to him, prove to him that knowing all about copper mining doesn’t entitle him to plan other people’s lives. He’s far too dictatorial.” Her uncle was amused. "You’re doing a spot of standing up to him yourself, but you’ll find that it won’t make the least impression. Why should it? Besides being new to the country, in Grant’s opinion you’re one of the sex that should be managed, nor managing!” Morny took a long breath. So that was the man’s attitude towards women. She might have guessed it. He had all the attributes of the imperious male, and an annoying brand of mockery  besides.. Sh  besides Shee could imagin imaginee him conceding th that at wom women en were necessary but not to be taken taken too

 

seriously; one jested with them, protected them and, if relations with one of them became too involved, got married. But he, Grant Randall, was far too sane and circumspect to fall into the feminine trap. The domestic life was for others, not for him. How she would love to see that sanity of his dislodged! What a bracing experience to watch the gradual disintegration of his steel-plate armour till he was just a man impassioned over a woman. Queerly, she knew that it was possible, though what kind of woman could rouse such a man was completely obscure. As the weekend neared Morny began to look forward to becoming more closely acquainted with Ian Templeton. There was no temptation to pretend or get angry with a man like Ian, because he w was as as ordinary as she w was, as, and not particu particularl larly y en endowed dowed with self-esteem. self-esteem. When he came to the house at exactly four that Saturday afternoon, Morny met him in the veranda. She was wearing a deep pink frock which accentuated the light streaks in her hair, and she noticed with relief that he was in a lounge suit.

“You mentioned tennis,” she said, “but I’d rather not have to come back and change.” “Good. We th thoug ought ht alike. Shal Shalll I p pay ay m my y respects resp ects to you yourr uncle uncle?” ?” “You can’t. He’s gone bowling with Mr. Malony. We might have tea here.” “Do you mind? Then we can go for a drive and slip down to the club later. They put on a good dinner on Saturdays, and there’s dancing, too, though the band is only a local, spare-time affair. I have dined there before, but it’ll be good to dance.” Half an hour later his shining two-seater bore them down the road, away from Singana. Behind the wheel, his pale hair lifting in the wind, his mouth smiling and his glance intent upon the earth road ahead, he looked young and debonair. Quite different, thought Morny, from the man she had encountered at Mrs. Bartlett’s. No shadows were apparent, no spurious note tinged the lightness of his voice. “Is your work tiring?” she enquired conversationally. “That’s a strange question on a brigh bri ghtt afternoon. W What hat prompted it?” “You were either worn out or fed up when I met you the other day.” “Oh, that.” He drove for a minute in silence. “It wasn’t the work—I hadn’t done such a lot that

 

day. I suppose I’d had too much time to think; then Vera said I ought to have gone in for medicine or the law...” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t make a good doctor or a good lawyer, but in either I’d have got through somehow, and become established somewhere. The devil of it is that in forestry one has no home.” “Is that so important? You’re young, and have all the time in the world to settle down, and you’re doing the sort of job you like best.” Before answering this he gestured towards a private road which was signposted Minona. “The managing director of the mine lives there. From the front of his house you get a marvellous view of the lake and mountains.” Morny looked back, but there was no sign of a roof. Minona was doubtless buried among trees. It seemed to be the last house out of Singana, for now the road ribboned ahead, tan-pink in the late sun, with dense green growth on either side. Ian reverted to their discussion. “I’ve been roving for three years, and it looks as if I shall go on th that at w way ay for the re rest st of my li life.” fe.” “Isn’t there there an alter alternative? native? Couldn’t you go in for som s omee kind of pl plantin anting g on y your our own?” ow n?” “Too expensive. You need plenty of capital to buy land and get going, and then you have to exist while the crops mature. It would be an ideal type of existence, but I just haven’t the cash.” She smiled. “Well, the obvious thing is to save now for middle-aged independence, but have a good time while you’re doing it. I think you’re lucky.” His grin at her was appreciative. “So do I. Today I’m the luckiest fellow in Singana.” They wound among the low hills, looked down into ferny chasms and saw native women scooping water in paraffin tins and carrying them serenely upon their heads. From hut doorways  piccaninnies  piccaninn ies waved, and showed th their eir white teeth teeth in laught laughter; er; most of them them were unasham unashamedly edly naked. Ian told her about his boyhood in England, how during a vacation he had accidentally contacted some people who were experimenting with varieties of pine, and known instinctively that he had to devote his life to growing things. Vera, then mistress at a high school and engaged to Francis Bartlett, who was already in Rhodesia, had persuaded him to accompany her to Africa. “I’ve never regretted coming,” he said. “Rhodesia’s a great country, and here you can plant on a

 

scale large enough to satisfy anyone. I’ve never seen such timber, either.” Before darkness fell he reversed the car, and presently he took a narrow lane which, after   passing throug through h a you young ng n natu atural ral forest of mopan mopanii and mvule mvule trees, cam camee out along the the back of the lake. The houses over there were incredibly far away, small white smudges in the darkening green of the bunda. He stopped and leaned her way to get a view of the rippling indigo waters in their  cradle of hills. “The lake at this time of the day always reminds me of Wordsworth,” he said softly. “ ‘Lights and shades, that march and countermarch about the hills in glorious apparition.’ Vera loathes this  particular stretch of water, by th thee way.” “But how can she!” “She can’t stand speedboats and motor yachts, and nearly all those who can afford them, have them. If we’d got here earlier you’d have seen plenty of aquatic action. The lake is three miles long—the best of its kind in Rhodesia, I’m told. They’re holding a big regatta in about a month—  the first in Singana. The country’s crack boatsters will be out after records.” Morny’s knowledge of boating was meagre. True, she had once gone for a trip with other  students in an alleged speedboat, but her recollection was of wetness rather than speed. “Do they go in for surf-riding?” she queried. “Yes. Come down with me in the morning and you’ll see plenty of stunting of all kinds. Bring your swim-suit and try aquaplaning for yourself.” “I’m not that adventurous,” she said, “but I would enjoy a swim.” Soon they drove on, around the neck of the lake and up a steep incline towards the club. It was dark, and they had the road to themselves; not quite to themselves, for a lithe shape emerged from the bush, green orbs were transfixed for a second by the car beams before they were left behind. “What “Wh at w was as th that?” at?” b brea reath thed ed Morny Morny.. “A leopard, leopar d, I believe believe,” ,” he repli replied, ed, not too too steadily steadil y. “Did iitt startle you?” you?” “It scared me pink. It’s my first, after all.”

You more often see lion than leopard in these places. I used to be paralysed with fright till I  

discovered that the beasts really are more afraid of us than we are of them. I’m a terrible shot, so if I meet meet o one ne of th them em am among ong the the trees tree s I just sstiffen tiffen up and hope for the best. bes t. You You ’re ’r e ssafe afe enoug e nough h in a car. They can’t stand the noise or the smell.”  Nevertheless,, Morn  Nevertheless Morny y was re relieve lieved d to ent enter er the illumined illumined path of the the cl clu ub grounds grounds an and d to see the wide,, inviting portals of the wide the building itself. A leopard—and so near to civil civilizat ization! ion! Like the rest of Singana the club was new and designed to please. The semi-circular hall was  plentifully  plentifu lly supplied with flowers and pot palms, th thee armchairs armchairs and divans were wel welll spaced about wrought-iron tables with glass tops. The dining room was lofty and pillared, and the darkskinned waiters in neat white jackets and black trousers were numerous and expert; there is no one so conscientious to perform every detail of the job he has learned as the urbanized African. They were served with an excellent soup, grilled trout with seasoned butter, some veal and steamed squash, and a frothy pyramid of chopped fruit and ice cream. After coffee and a cigarette outside, they danced. Morny was presented to other young people, some of them married, the rest  bachelors who at once once threw threw out invitation invitationss which she she did not take take too seriously. When Ian took her home through the starlit night she was happily spent. They parted at the gate, unaffectedly un affectedly smiled at each ea ch other and adm ad mitted to a deli d eligh ghtt in one another’s compan company. y. “This has been my best day for months,” he said. “We’ll do it again, often.” She shook her head. “It’s “ It’s too eexpensive. xpensive. You must must have have dinner with w ith us next next time.” time.” “I’d like that. About tomorrow—will you be ready at nine-thirty in the morning?” “To the minute, and I shan’t forget the swim suit. Good night.” She flitted up to the house. Inside she stood for a moment pondering on the warm sense o security which friendship brings. Ian was uncomplicated. He was grave and a wee bit dreamy, but such qualities were comprehensible, even endearing, to one such as Morny. Unaccountably, standing there, she recalled that tomorrow evening she and her uncle were to dine with Grant Randall, and her heart sank a little. She wondered if the day would ever come when she would feel at ease with that man.

 

  CHAPTER FIVE

A s WAS  their habit, Mr. Malony and Mr. Reid came over on Sunday afternoon. This time they arrived in separate cars, and as soon as he had absorbed a cup of whisky-flavored tea Mr. Malony made his apologies and departed; he had to see a man who was in town only for the weekend. The less rubicund Mr. Reid, however, accepted a second cup of tea without whisky, crossed his legs and dragged a letter from his pocket. “Will you do me a favor, Luke?” he asked in his quiet, stilted tones. “It has to do with the regatta. Seeing that you’re meeting Mr. Randall socially tonight, I wondered if you’d put to him a somewhat delicate question. You’ve heard of Bernice Ashley?” Uncle Luke considered. “I believe so. Holds some boat racing record, doesn’t she?” “She’s the women’s speedboat champion—a fine yachtswoman, too, and we’re anxious to get her here. She won’t race against our women—she’s too big for that—but we’ve had acceptances from all over the country, and we could provide her with some competition.” “Why not invite her up here?” “I did, in the name of the sports committee, and this reply came from a man who calls himself  her agent, in Bulawayo. He says that Miss Ashley is a free-lance and wishes to be treated as such. She might agree to come to Singana at the invitation of a private person of standing, but she can’t have dealings with yacht clubs.” Uncle Luke read the letter, slanted his grey brows. “She sounds high-falutin’. An agent, indeed! I don’t admire sporty women.” “You don’t have to, Luke. Just think of all the people who’ll come to the regatta if Bernice Ashley is racing. They’ll drive in from all the towns as far south as Broken Hill. Simply by appearing, she’ll make it a whacking success, and incidentally help us to pay off a chunk of the mortgage on the clubhouse.” “That’s worth an effort. You want me to ask Mr. Randall to write to her?”

“He’d do more than th that, at, for Sing Singana.” ana.”  

“Well, I’ll do my best. Where would this exclusive person stay?” “I thought Mr. Randall might settle that, too. The new house for the chief mine accountant is ready for occupation; perhaps he’d agree to Miss Ashley’s using it for a week or two before the accountant moves in; she couldn’t possibly harm the place in that time. It’s near the lake and has a  boathouse.”  boath ouse.” Uncle Luke nodded. “You seem to have it all worked out. I’ll speak to him.” Morny listened while they discussed how the regatta could best be publicized, but after a while she went indoors to take a bath and change. It was not till she was stepping into the skirt of her   blue silk s ilk suit that that ssh he heard Mr Mr.. Reid depart. She She went to the the bath bathroom room and set se t the taps run runnin ning, g, shook some salts into the water. “Uncle Luke,” she called. “In exactly four minutes your bath will be ready!” She heard him chuckle to himself, and smiled. His pleasures were the simplest in the world; no wonder he was so well liked. His temperament, level and good-humored, was apparent in his dealings with everyone; it leavened his writing, too. His editorials, even when they carped, were informed with a kindly tolerance, and his articles were gems of wisdom and an almost affectionate wit. He never dealt in malice. The big thing about Uncle Luke was his love of people, his unshakable unshakable faith in the the essential es sential goodness of hum human an natu nature. re. As far back as she could remember  remember  he had been bee n like that. They were ready by seven fifteen; Morny in her short sleeved suit with the wide revers fastened where they crossed seed-pearl brooch, the brushed flared skirt swinging gracefully from slim hips, and Uncle Lukeby in aa white dinner jacket, and his hair as flat as it would go. “Remember the driving lessons I gave you the summer before you went to college?” he said as they started out. “I’ve been thinking it over, and I’m going to complete your tuition so that you can use the car whenever you please. It’s not much of a bus to look at, but it moves.” “As a matter of fact,” she replied in a smallish voice, “one of the girls had a car that I used to drive occasionally.” “In London?” he demanded. “I’m afraid so. I never drove far, though.”

 

“Why “Wh y are you afraid? That That’s ’s good going going.” .” “I didn’t own a licence.” “Good heavens,” he said soberly. “I’m glad you didn’t put that in a letter.” “There was no danger. I was too nervous to be reckless. All the other girls could manage a car, so I had to make a show now and then, but I never did it unless they chaffed me for being a coward.” cowar d.” He w was as ssilent, ilent, an and d she added, “Not annoy annoyed, ed, are you?” He sighed. “You know I’ve never been that sort of wet-blanket. I was merely reflecting that you must have had all sorts of fun when you weren’t taking exams. I hope Singana isn’t going to be too tame for you.” “Of course it won’t. I’ve already made some friends. If only that beastly school would open I’d  be happier than than II’ve ’ve ever been.” “The school can wait,” he observed equably. “You concentrate on keeping happy.” He slowed to take the turn to Minona, and nothing more was said till they swerved between white ornamental pillars and were rounding a gravel drive with a smooth lawn on each side. Then he nodded towards two other cars which had drawn up nearer the house. “We’re not the only guests.” “Thank goodness,” she said sincerely. Grant met them in the porch, gripped Uncle Luke’s shoulder for a second and suavely greeted Morny. She thought his eyes flickered over her, and inwardly seethed; he considered himself  entitled to appraise anyone. But when they had entered, through a french window, a  preposterously massiv massivee and w well ell-li -litt lounge, lounge, she thoug thought ht sh shee must must have m misconstru isconstrued ed his look. He was aloof and conventional, the host introducing Luke Penrose’s niece to the mine manager and his wife and to Dr. and Mrs. Frost. He signed to a boy to bring more drinks, and soon Morny found herself on a chesterfield with the doctor’s wife, sipping a somewhat potent cocktail and examining, with a bewildered eye, the exquisite furnishings, the magnificent flower-containers dripping with all kinds of pink and white flowers, the the gilt-fram ilt-framed ed landscapes. So, as well as being a materialistic mining man, Grant Randall was also something of an aesthete. This face, she discovered, was not altogether palatable; it upset her preconceived

 

convictions about him. The house was large; she had vaguely realized that outside in the dark. No doubt the rest of the place was faultlessly equipped as this room, and almost certainly there would  be an extravagan extravagantt library and writing writing-room. -room. She had expected something big, but had imagined austerity as the keynote. Cubist furniture, a wine bar, etchings on the walls. Nothing at all like this. She seemed to have got him completely wrong. Were those Greek bronzes in the long, carved cabinet over in the corner? And surely the glasses they were using had a great deal in common with old, hand-cut Italian goblets and tasters? Her own was small and cone-shaped, smothered with an ambrosial grape design, the stem  beautifu  beaut ifully lly worked, and w with ith thum thumb-and b-and fin finger-h ger-holes. oles. The The topaz liquid l iquid scintillated. To Morn Morny y iitt had the appearance of a sinister nectar. This was Rhodesia, not Rome. She did not know she was staring at one of the crystal wall-lights till Grant’s head obscured it. Then she caught his glance, narrowed and sardonic, and twisted quite fiercely to converse with Mrs. Frost. She hoped he had not mistaken a pardonable astonishment for open-mouthed admiration. The dinner, of course, was sumptuous, the silver and glassware elegant. No one else was in the least disturbed, but involuntarily Morny resented the food and fine wines, the unobtrusive but ever-ready servants, the soft illumination from electric candles. Resented more the man who  presided  presi ded like a han handsom dsomee m monarch onarch at tth he head of th thee table. The conversation flowed easily. All these people were closely acquainted and had met often in similar circumstances. They discussed a variety of topics, laughed and argued. Morny was asked to describe her reactions to the long journey up from the Cape. She gave them briefly, but unwittingly infused excitement into her voice. She could never recall the sights she had seen with wi thout out a quic quicken kening ing of the the pulses. p ulses. Grant permitted her to finish before commenting to the whole table with a shade of satire, “The young imagination afire with the mystery and magic of Africa is perennially refreshing, isn’t it? What Wh at a lot w wee have to learn le arn about ab out our our o own wn lland and from the the youth youthfu full enth enthusiasts usiasts from Britain!” “They say the newcomer sees clearest,” she retorted quickly, but demurely, “and for that reason I’m glad I’m not a Rhodesian. I’d never take the Victoria Falls and Zimbabwe—or even the Coppervelt—for granted. They haven’t their equal anywhere in the world.” “Bravo”, said the doctor. “If you were a man I’d suggest the government enlist you for their   publicity departm department ent.” .”

 

Merely to show interest, Morny enquired, “Don’t women get the good posts in Rhodesia?” “It’s a man’s country, Miss Blake,” said Grant urbanely. “That’s why it’s so pleasant to live in.” “I’m afraid he’s right,” put in Mrs. Frost. “In Northern Rhodesia the woman is inevitably a wife and companion. The The heat takes care c are of th that.” at.” “Inevitably and indispensably,” said her husband gallantly. “Grant won’t admit that women are indispensable!” “I admit,” stated Grant, after sipping his wine, “that you are indispensable to the doctor; that Mrs. Landon,” with a charming inclination of his head towards the mine manager’s wife, “is necessary to the wellbeing of Bill, here. Woman is primitive, yet it’s an odd fact that where she is civilization thrives; even Luke bothers to knot his tie decently now that he has a niece in his house!” Uncle Luke laughed. “But you’re from a different mold, Grant. Your life is so organized that a woman in it could only bring upheaval. As to this being a man’s country—maybe it is, on the surface. There was a time when the whole world was thought to be a man’s world, but there never  has been a time when women weren’t mighty powerful under cover. Even you can’t deny that. By th thee w way, ay, talking of powerful powe rful wom wo men—” There and a nd th then en he fu fum mble bled d about a bout h his is pockets for th thee lletter etter w which hich Mr Mr.. Rei Reid d had given him. him. When at length it was found he passed it along the table to Grant, with an explanation. “Bernice Ashley,” Grant commented as he read. “I remember her perfectly. I met her once, for  about five minutes, at a garden party or some such affair in Bulawayo. She’s supposed to be fearless on the water—better than most men—and she’s extremely attractive.” “Her name would certainly draw crowds to the regatta if we could persuade her to take part,  but she doesn doesn’t ’t appear to be drawn to tthe he n north orth.” .” “Don’t worry, I’ll get her here,” said Grant with negligent confidence. “I’ll write her a personal note tomorrow.” The talk turned to yachting and outboard racing. This year, for the first time, the mine was offering a splendid floating trophy for the best speed on Singana Lake. The regatta was to become

a huge annual event, a magnet for sportsmen all over the country.  

Coffee was dispensed in the lounge by two of the servants. Then the two married couples arranged themselves at a table for bridge, and Grant strolled outside with Uncle Luke and Morny. Except for the persistent chirping of cicadas it was a quiet, brooding night. The light breeze  brought  broug ht the the scent of tobacco flowers flowe rs from th thee plant p lantations ations on the the hillside, hill side, and it stirred stirr ed a bitterish scent from the orange trees in the garden. As they stood in the veranda—it was spacious enough to  be term termed ed a terrace—th terrace—thee definite definite th thu udding of a drum becam becamee audible, and so soon, on, in the the distance, hundreds of voices blended in the singing of an African hymn. “That’s from the mine compound,” Grant explained to Morny. “I told you the mine was visible from one corner of my garden.” “Which corner?” “It’s at the back—a quarter of a mile from here. Care to walk it?” “Go walking, if you like, but leave me to my cigar,” said Uncle Luke, complacently seating himself in a large rattan chair. “At my age one has respect for a rich dinner and mellow wine.” Grant held Morny’s elbow. “Come on, then. We may be in time to see the Sunday evening service. servi ce. They h have ave a visi visitin ting g priest ever every y ot other her week.” The garden was dark. Except for the whiteness of the paved path, it was like walking through a tunnel; most of the way not even a strip of starry sky showed between the treetops. “These are magnolias and kaffir blooms, most of which were here before the house was built,” he said in passing, “To the left there’s a young orchard of subtropical fruit, and at the end is my  boundary of eucaly  boundary eucalyptu ptuss trees.” “I thought the front of your house looked over the lake.” “It does, but the growth is so thick that you can’t see the water at night unless there’s a moon. You’ll have to come to lunch one day and we’ll eat on the veranda. I never get tired of the view.” A pause. “Did you get out in a yacht this morning?” “No,” she answered with wi th reserve, reser ve, “but I bat bathed.” hed.” “I saw you from my own boat. The bathing is better at this end of the lake.”

“So I was told. But I also understood that it’s monopolized by the mine executives. I’d hate to  

 buttt in.”  but in.” “You wouldn’t be butting in. The lake isn’t the property of the mine,” he said sharply. “Not literally, perhaps. But, after all, the majority of the population get their living from or  th through rough the the mine, so it’s natural natural th thee mine staff should should commandeer commandeer the the best b est of o f whatever the the d distri istrict ct offers.” “If you intend to make your home permanently in Singana,” he remarked with a trace of acid, “you’ll have to accept copper mining and all the people who go with it. Planters and forestry men are doubtless more in keeping with your conception of men who open up colonial territory, but it’s the minerals which bring wealth to a country.” “Quite,” she agreed. “You’ve made my point for me.” He let out a small sound of exasperation. “Did you get those ideas from young Templeton? I expect you and he have a grand time being soulmates and shuddering at mines, but I shouldn’t marry him, if I were you. You need someone bedrock, just as he needs a bedrock wife.” Morny was saved from the necessity of replying to this, for they had come almost to the end of  the path, and he had stopped and was pointing down over the bushy slope. About a mile away the mining gear was a black shape picked out in red lights. To the right of it the compound was a series of long buildings set among trees. Light streamed across a beaten earth yard, where a great circle of dark figures in shorts and shirts listened with bent heads to a black-garbed African  preacher. At int interval ervalss th they ey made a concerted interjec interjection tion,, and finally finally the the priest pries t raised rais ed his hand hand and they dispersed. After their talking had become subdued, all was still. “Do their wives live there?” she asked. “It wouldn’t be so quiet if they did. The wives stay in the villages with their parents.” “Don’t the workers become discontented?” “Not often. They belong to tribes in which the women have great influence. They work for  twenty-one months and go home with the bulk of two years’ pay. When the money is used up—  generally within a year—their womenfolk send them back to the recruiting office.” By straining her ears Morny could hear the tinkle of music. “Is that the radio?”

It comes from my servants huts—one of those saucepan sets which are mass-produced in  

England especially for Africans. You’ve probably read about them. You can even hear them in the  bush vill villages.” ages.” She turned from him to look along the garden. Accustomed by now to the blackness, she could make out the compact shapes of avocado and orange trees, the tall lush papaws, the straggly guavas. Nearer, the clipped oleanders were spattered with waxen blossom, the smilax climbed over an old thornbush left there for that purpose.  Not a dozen feet away som someth ething ing rust rustled led in th thee low branches. branches. Morny Morny quivered and presse pressed d sideways. Grant’s hand swiftly hauled her back against him. “What did you see?” he demanded. “I didn’t see anything, but there was a movement in that tree.” “It was probably a monkey. We get quite a few.” She felt his breath in her hair and across her cheek, pushed feebly at the hand on her waist. “It was foolish to start shaking as if the place were full of wild beasts, but I haven’t quite recovered from seeing a leopard last night.” “A leopard! leopa rd! Wh Where?” ere?” Somehow she told him, though it was difficult to think clearly. His hand was warm and vibrant not far below her heart, and he seemed to have forgotten it was there. “Doesn’t Templeton carry a rifle in his car?” he wanted to know. “No. He says he’s a poor shot shot.” .” “What an admission from a man who works among timber! So the leopard got away to kill more defenceless animals or maybe a piccaninny.” His hold slackened, his tone became impersonal. “Sorry if I hurt you. Come the other side and stay close to me.” As they moved slowly on, his left arm lay across her shoulder, but his glance searched the trees to the right. Thefruit. whispering the hand, leavesholding came again, and simultaneously dull bumping indicated fallen Grant’sin right a small black object, lifteda from his pocketsound and, almost casually, he fired. An animal screeched and broke off suddenly.

“A baboon,” said Grant. “They’re pests among fruit.”  

Morny had gone white and she felt sick. She knew baboons were ugly and destructive, that when they turned up near towns they had to be exterminated. If the thing hadn’t screamed she would have minded less, but at that moment she was unnerved enough to scream herself. She  pulled away from Grant and ttried ried to hu hurry rry on. on. But But h her er legs le gs were un uncom comm monly weak and her her vision vi sion  blurred. Sh Shee stum stumbled, would have gone gone down with a crack had Grant not seized her in a vicelike pair of arms. arms. “You “Y ou little idio i diot,” t,” he exclaimed fu furi riously ously,, close clo se to her ear. ea r. “What “What th thee blazes bl azes d d’you ’you think think y you’re ou’re doing! You can’t rush into the house like that. Take hold of yourself. Stop trembling!” “Let me go,” she said indistinctly. “That was horrible. How could you kill the thing just  because it was stealing fruit? fruit? L Let et m mee go! go!”” “Not till you have control of yourself. There’s nothing brutal about doing away with a baboon. Only a few weeks ago a baby was badly mauled by one in a private garden.” He shook her angrily to emphasise the words. Her head fell back and he saw her pallor, the big frightened eyes, her  dark parted lips. For a long moment he stared at her; then, quite gently, he drew her to lean in the circlee of his arm circl arm.. “Poor child,” he said softly. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen an automatic fired before. In this country children grown up knowing all about firearms—they have to—and I’m afraid I forgot that the English don’t walk around with weapons in their pockets.” Morny’s cheek was against the white drill of his jacket, her hair brushed his chin. His strength subdued her fright, but her heart was beating erratically from some other cause, and she tingled unpleasantly. By an effort of will she stiffened and edged away from him. “That was silly. I made a complete exhibition of myself,” she said in a voice which strove to exclude all huskiness. “I apologize.” After a few seconds he answered coolly. “Your apology is accepted, Miss Blake, and in turn I  beg your your pardon ffor or treating you as a n nervous ervous fifteen fifteen-year-old. -year-old. Y You ou h hadn adn ’t the the leas leastt fear, fear, of cou course rse  —you  —y ou w were ere only thoroug thorough hly disgu d isgusted sted at th thee wanton waste of animal animal life. Sh Shall all we return return to the the house?” In silence, with her hands tight at her sides, Morny walked with him out of the darkness and into the glow of the veranda, where Uncle Luke still sat smiling at the night, and smoking. “Did I hear a shot?” he queried lazily.

 

“Monkeys were raiding the orchard,” Grant replied briefly. He looked forward a chair for Morny and went into the house. Exhausted and inexplicably miserable, she sank down and locked her fingers. Uncle Luke sighed expansively. “I’ve been thinking into the future and congratulating myself on having the kind of job from which I need never retire. It’s a wonderful thing, you know, not to have to stop working at a certain age. In a few years, when the paper is completely self-supporting, I can gradually hand over to Clement, but I shall always be able to hang on to the reins and dictate the policy. I wonder  how much Singana will have grown ten years from now? You, my dear,” he gave her the familiar  smile, “will probably be well married. It’s odd to think you haven’t even met the man yet, isn’t it?” She smiled vaguely. “At the moment I’ve no wish to meet him. How soon can we go home, Uncle Luke?” “It’s “It ’s rath rather er early...” Grant came out holding a drink, which he gave to Morny. “Would you like one, Luke?” “No, thanks.” He gazed in some alarm at his niece. “Good Lord, I’ve never seen you drink  whisky before, and by the look of it, it hasn’t much water with it, either.” “I though thoughtt she co could uld do wi with th it,” said sa id Grant in a tone which w hich discouraged disc ouraged further further comment. comment. He dug his hands into his pockets and moved over to the wall. The strong, aquiline features were outlined upon the dark background of trees. His back leaned against a pillar and presently he raised his foot to the parapet and rested an arm on his knees. His attitude was careless, yet Morny was aware, without his speaking, of the rapier-like quality of his thoughts. Futilely and desperately she wished the last half-hour could be expunged. “The Landons and Frosts will cling to the card-table till midnight,” he said. “That’s why I always invite them together. I really wanted a word with you, Luke. Shall we all go into the library? Your niece will find plenty to occupy her there.” “I believe she’s tired.” Grant didn’t look at her, even uninterestedly. “In that case I’ll take her home now and she can go to bed. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” To Morny, as he dropped down the steps, he added,

Finish your drink while I get out the car.  

Thoughtfully, Uncle Luke poked with a matchstick at the cigar ash on a tray at his side. “He made no effort to get you to stay, so he’s irritated over something, and I wouldn’t be surprised if  you know what it is. You’re not so tired, either. Why you and Grant can’t be ordinary and agreeable is beyond me.” “I’m not to blame. We just don’t happen to like each other.” “Why?” “I don’t know why,” she answered huffily. “I only know that I dreaded coming here to-night, and now I wish I hadn’t come. I don’t care for Grant or for his house.” She jumped up. “There’s the car. I’ll go in and say goodnight to the others.”  Nothing  Nothin g could have been m more ore withdrawn and pol polite ite than Grant’s Grant’s mann anner er as he took her her hom homee in the long cream car. They spoke hardly at all. He ran straight up the drive which led to the garage, halted level with the house and got out with her. “I’ll wait here till the lights go up,” he said. ‘Thank you—and thanks for the educational evening. Next time a man pulls a gun I’ll be more  prepared.”  prepare d.” “Stick around with Templeton,” he said evenly, “then you won’t need to be. I may have been wrong wr ong about you two—po two—possi ssibly bly you do bel belong ong together.” together.” A tiny tiny pause. “Sure you ’ve got y your  our  key?” She nodded, said a swift, “Goodnight,” and went into the porch. She switched on the hall and lounge lights, closed the door and stood straight and still till the sound of his car receded. Even then she could not relax entirely. The hush of the house was like the precarious peace which invariably follows calamity. It was oppressive, unwelcome and somehow challenging, only a degree better than enduring another  hour in Grant’s mansion. She took off her suit, had a wash and slipped into a wrap, and for  something to do she made tea and carried the tray to the lounge. But the tea tasted flat and she didn’t really want it. It was profitless to go on thinking about Grant, but she could not drag her mind from him. She recalled the cruel bite of his fingers and the glitter in his eyes as he had shaken her, the incredible

change in him when he had imagined her no more than a terrified child, a nervous fifteen 

year-old” to be comforted in the crook of his arm. The instant leap of her heart at his nearness she did not dwell upon, except to reflect that when a man of thirty-five takes a woman into his arms he  probably kn knows ows what he’s about about,, and sim si mply throu through gh his his expertness expertness produces certain responses. Of one thing she was convinced. Nothing of the kind would ever occur again!

 

  CHAPTER SIX

IT  took Morny a day or two to recover mentally from the dinner at Minona. She plunged into the furbishing of Uncle Luke’s bedroom, and made him grudgingly agree to changing round the bed so that the roll-top desk could be manoeuvred into a less conspicuous position. He was given two new readin readi g lam lamps, an artistic bowl bow l type ffor orw his bedsi de table a se severel verely y practical with wiions th a  blue l ightt nfor ligh th theeps, desk. His pale green rags were erebedside cleaned and and a couple of rose-color ros e-colored edone cushions cush were dropped into the chairs. Pale green and rose were hardly a masculine combination, he remarked, but he liked them heaps better than the stark blues and greens which men usually chose. They were restful, too, when all he wanted to do was sit and think. His old reading lamp, one which he had bought cheaply because it was a thing he could not do without, Morny washed and repainted for use on her own bedside table. Having spent rather  lavishly upon the other three rooms, she had decided to use up the oddments for her bedroom, with the result that her cushions were gaily striped, and a delightful array of queer pieces ornamented ornam ented the top o off her bookshelf. bo okshelf. When she had first arrived in Singana she had seen the months ahead as a delicious vista o  billowing  bill owing cretonn cretonnes es and all th thee other other appurt appurtenan enances ces to housemakin ousemaking; g; she had imagin imagined ed that that the the tasks would be endless. That was nearly a month ago, and already the rooms were as complete as limited money and much ingenuity could make them. She had tackled the work with too much zest and impatience, and now only table linens remained to be seamed and embroidered. The house did appear light and cosy and lived-in. Ian Templeton confessed that he would never  aspire to anything better. “A bungalow like this in about two acres of ground,” he said. “Preferably on the outskirts of  Singana, so that I could keep the few friends I’ve made. I’d cheerfully face the rest of my life in such a pla place.” ce.” “For a man of twenty-seven,” observed Uncle Luke, “you have singularly prosaic ambitions. Anyon An yonee w would ould think a m marr arriage iage was w as in the offin offing.” g.” Ian smiled self-consciously and evaded the question implicit in this remark. “We Templetons are serious-minded, but there seems to be nothing we can do about it. It helps a lot, though, to be friendly with people like you. Morny never lets anything get her down.”

She shrugged and smiled, Uncle Luke looked quizzical and changed the subject. But both were  

glad to have Ian as a regular visitor, and Morny looked forward to the Saturday evenings at the club, when they danced, and sometimes played table tennis or badminton. She was acquiring more knowledge of Ian. She knew that though he was fond of his sister he also felt for her a keen hostility. Because his mother had died while he was still a baby, Vera had been everything to him. She had guided his schooling, his games and his reading; but for a fluke she would also have decided his career and made him a dispenser of medicines or the law. He owed her so much, yet apparently he had an enmity for her which was nearly as strong as his gratitude and affection. After his third visit to Uncle Luke’s house, Morny asked him anxiously if Mrs. Bartlett was aware how often he came. “She’s aware and heartily approves,” he assured her. “I never avoid mentioning you, and she invariably asks how you are. You made an excellent impression on Vera.” This was difficult to believe. Vera Bartlett would never allow herself to be impressed by anyone, let alone by an inexperienced junior in her own profession. But there was an evening when Morny and Ian, walking up from the tennis courts to the clubhouse, met Mrs. Bartlett coasting homeward in ashe friend’s car.restrainedly Her smile, waved thougha no lessSofrigid definitelyslowly included Morny, and had even hand. muchthan was before, puzzlinghad in this new life of hers that Morny was merely relieved by the woman’s acquiescence to her  friendship with Ian; she did not pretend to understand it. The regatta was now the burning centre of most people’s existence. The newspaper bore a half page advertisem advertise ment an annou nouncin ncing g that that Bernice Bernice Ashley h had ad kindly consent consented ed to enter enter for th thee Si Sing ngana ana trophy, and Grant Randall’s name headed the list of judges and stewards. An article stated that Miss Ashley would be arriving on Saturday, a full fortnight before the regatta; her two boats were already on the way by train. “While she’s here you can do me a favor, Morny,” said her uncle. “Watch her at practice on the lake and a nd get h her er comments. comments. Being som somethin ething g of a ce celeb lebrity rity she’ll she’l l eexpect xpect to be on the the front page, sso o if she says anything snappy write it down. I dare say she’ll bring photographers, which means we shan’t have to bother her with the camera till the big day.” Interviewing Miss Ashley, thought Morny, might be fun, and watching the trial spins would undoubtedly be Interesting. Next week other competitors would arrive, both men and women, and the the aactivi ctivity ty tthen hen would be trem tremendous. endous. Late that afternoon Morny followed the red winding path through the bundu down to the pebbly  beach of the the lake. Th Thee boat-h boat-houses, ouses, most most of which lay to the the rig right ht,, were hidden am among ong bottle bottle brush and pungent mimosa, but many of the boats were upside down in the open, drying off their new

coats of paint. On one or two the owners were still working, sketching in a thin gold or silver line  

to break up the whiteness, or blocking in the name. At the end of the lake and about thirty feet up the slope stood the new white dwelling which was temporarily to house Bernice Ashley. Uncle Luke said that Grant had not only given in to the suggestion without a quibble but was lending three of his own servants to ensure the woman’s comfort. Every single detail of her stay in Singana was in hand. All worked out, as though she were a film star, Morny reflected. She recalled that in Grant’s opinion Bernice was extremely attractive; he also admired fearlessness, so a meeting with the woman promised to be enlightening to Morny in several ways. Yet deep within her Morny had a premonition of impending unhappiness which somehow was tangled up with the coming of Bernice. It seemed fantastic that an unknown woman could threaten her content, but the feeling hovered like a warning ball of cloud in a clear sky. From the middle of the following week and for ten days thereafter the town gaily flaunted flags and bunting. At the south entrance the word “Welcome” fluttered above the road, and the whole way to the lakeside was illumined by arcs of colored lamps. As the regatta would be held in the usual brilliant sunshine of this season, the lights were probably intended as a complimentary gesture to the competitors who had taken up residence at the hotel. The town certainly had an air  of festive unreality by night. Bernice Ashley arrived, and was the guest of honor at a party of yacht club members at Grant’s house, Minona. “A grand-looking, lively creature,” was Uncle Luke’s verdict, after attending the function in his official capacity. “Her two interests are boats and men, with boats slightly in the lead. She has a truculent look when she talks with women. I fancy she dresses well by instinct and hasn’t the least notion of how normal, unacclaimed women live their lives. She loves the limelight.” Three days after her arrival Bernice went spectacularly into action on the lake. Her skill and daring, both with an ordinary speedboat and with an outboard craft, were breathtaking. Morny sat on an upturned canoe and watched the expert dash across blue waters, the clever, seemingly effortless turn turn and the the rac racee back. Bernice was always alw ays alo alone ne in th thee boat, boa t, thoug though h a grou group p o admiring yachtsmen with wives in the office were at the bank to catch a thrown rope, pull in the  boat and and breathe their their respect for h her er perform performance. ance. One morning Morny joined them, and after the practice run she met Bernice Ashley for the first time. Bernice, in navy linen slacks with a white silk shirt covered by a tight-fitting jade cord velvet waistcoat, was the epitome of feminine sportsmanship. Her short blonde curls had been

whipped into a mass of straw silk, and her face, which would have been really lovely but for the  

slight hump at the bridge of her nose, glowed with health and vitality. She could have been twenty-five or thirty. Her eyes, far from giving a clue to her age, revealed nothing at all; they were china blue, and one felt that they saw only the sky and the sky’s reflection on the surface of the water, and perhaps occasionally the spumy wake of her craft. She stepped from the boat, dusted off the knees of her slacks and spoke with the slight hoarseness which some people find engaging. “It’s a marvellous stretch of water, the best I’ve met for a long time. If all goes well, I’ll have a shot at beating my own record. You lucky men, to have such a pond in your back garden.” “We like “We li ke it,” said Mr. R Reid eid deprecatin de precatin gly gly,, as if his view were negligible negligible com compared pared with th that at of  Bernice, “but we’re only dabblers—we go boating merely for the fun of it. Cigarette, Miss Ashley?” She took one and accepted a light. She turned about and Morny knew that for her only the lake existed. The great leaning palms, the green-crusted hills and the far, filmy haze of the Chungwa Mountains would have been equally part of the picture to Bernice had they been brickfields. Remembering that he had a duty to perform, Mr. Reid said, “Miss Ashley, may I introduce Morny Blake. She’s the niece of the News the News   editor and hopes you’ll find time to give her an interview.” Morny dutifully smiled. Bernice nodded offhandedly. “I’m not too good with women reporters, but come over to the house some time. I’ll have the dope ready.” “Very well,” said Morny. Mr. Reid, who may have felt awkward about this casual treatment of his friend’s niece, hurriedly glossed the moment with a smiling offer. “When you need relaxation from speedboats, Miss Ashley, any one of us will be happy to place a yacht at your disposal.” “How nice of you. I do enjoy yachting for a change, and the lake is ideal for it—but Grant’s lending me his. I know it’s a privilege—that he hates anyone else either to drive his car or to handle his boat, but he thinks the yacht should be safe with me!” This drew reverent laughter. The sound of it rasped Morny; she discovered that she had had

enough for one morning, and retired from the conclave. She made her way round the bank,  

climbed half-way up the path and sat down on an exposed tree-root. She would be glad when the regatta was over and Singana had settled back into a peaceful rhythm. So it was “Grant” already; but why shouldn’t it be? Their houses were not far apart, and naturally Bernice was invited to all the social events which he was likely to patronize. It was quite possible that they met every day, and she was the kind who instantly upon acquaintance uses first names and demands favors. Not that Morny cared; she had no hankering to be of their circle. But she did have some distaste for the task assigned to her by her uncle. She wanted to help Luke,  but to wai waitt upon th thee woman in her hou house se went against against the the grain. Who was Bernice Ashley, anyway? Merely a woman who excelled in one particular sport; boat racing was her career, and  because she had no need to earn a livi living ng and could therefore therefore concentrate concentrate all her energ energies ies upon water speed, she had made a dazzling success of it. But what good  what good  was  was boat racing? Why make a goddess of such a woman? Some of this Morny put into words to Uncle Luke across the table at lunch time. He listened  benevolently.  benevolent ly.

“Everything you say is true, Morny,” he conceded, “but it so happens that Bernice Ashley is news—quite big news, for Singana. Fame and daring will always win the public, and she has a large share of both. If you like, I’ll send Clement to write up the interview, but what with the regatta and the Limbusi link-up we’re frantically busy. I thought a woman might handle it better.” Morny doubted this last. But she said, “I’ll do it. Is there any hurry?” “No. We’ll shove it in the last edition before the regatta to whip up a final spurt of enthusiasm. Take your time about it.” Morny put it off a few days. She stayed away from the lake, too, though it was impossible in odd moments of stillness not to hear the muted roar of the speedboats’ engines. All the visiting competitors were practising along the measured mile, and each day the spectators increased in numbers. It was a pity for Joe, but fortunate for Morny that the cook-boy should fall sick for a couple o days just then. Rolling his eyes and plainly and immodestly indicating the region of his trouble, Joe complained of excruciating pains in his stomach. He had been eating the meat of a snake which had surely had dealings with a witch-doctor before death, and now he, of course, was about to die. Uncle Luke gave him an immoderate dose of bismuth and Joe retired to his hut to wait for the end. Morny took charge in the kitchen. Though she enjoyed the cooking and thinking up new salads

and dishes, she realized why even the most housewifely woman in a hot country allows an  

African to prepare the food, she had found that she liked heat; to her pleasant surprise the zenith o the day, when the sun burned directly overhead and the outdoors shimmered, never made her  uncomfortably hot. But in spite of the whirring fan and the thick shades outside the kitchen windows, an hour over the stove opened up the pores and set the blood drumming. Nevertheless, the two days of Joe’s indisposition helped, in some measure, to put Morny right with herself. To  beat up cakes and puddin puddings gs in one’s own kitchen kitchen has a decidedly decidedl y calming calming effect effect upon the the emotions, and one’s patience in dealing with black servants is beneficial in other ways. A laugh was ever a tonic. When Morny got out the pastry-board Samson, the big boy who polished floors and furniture, took up a companionable and interested attitude in the doorway. He watched her closely, and when she finally rolled out the wad of trimmings and made criss-cross marks upon it in the timehonored English fashion, he gave a huge sigh. “Joe would let me have that, missus,” he said sadly. “Always he would let me have it.” “You shall have it when it’s cooked,” she told him. “Now, I want it, missus—soft like that—before it is cooked.” Mystified, she held out the enamel plate. Samson’s eyes glistened as he carried it away. Morny cleared the table and set the tartlets to bake. Through the window she could see the boy at the  bushes  bush es in the the garden, garden, his face grave and pre-occupied pre-occ upied as he peered deep among among the the leaves and reached to pull down the branches of trees. When he came back and, with a pleased smile, gave her the plate, she noticed with apprehension that the pastry had been torn into pieces and rolled up into grubby balls. “You want this cooked?” she asked. “Yes, missus.” She opened the oven, pushed the plate on to the top shelf and thought with relief that baking disposed of most germs. The globs of pastry looked a horrible mess. “I will clean the pots,” Samson announced magnanimously; he seldom worked in the kitchen unless un less bidden to do so. “Thank you,” she said, and then curiously: “What did you do with the pastry while you were in the the garden?”

 

He glanced at her in some astonishment, as if her query were too elementary to be serious, but realizing that she had really been ignorant of his purpose, he dipped a hand into his trousers  pocket and brough broughtt ou outt a fat fat g green reen caterpillar caterpillar.. “There is a many of these among the trees. Cook in the white paste is very good,” he said. “Ten minutes cook, I fetch him out.” Morny did not linger to hear more; she left Samson in possession and fled to the lounge. Yes, aafter fter a sp spell ell in th thee modern oder n k kitchen itchen with the the less l ess modern Samson an and d Thomas Thomas at her elbow, el bow, her usual smiling disposition was almost re-established. The day Joe came back on the job she made up her mind to visit Bernice Ashley. The lake path was the nearest way to the new house, and when Morny took it at about four-thirty there were no boats on the water and little activity on the bank. Buoys floated in the middle of the lake, and to the left the wooden stands were just visible with pennants waving above them. Morny’s route lay to the right, where the houses of the mine staff nestled like angular birds in the greenery on the steep lakeside. From Bernice’s boathouse a footpath ascended; it had not yet been widened and fortified with tree logs at every yard as were the other private paths, but it was obviously much used. The house, when Morny reached it, had the bare appearance of most new buildings. The garden had been marked out and bounded by a low stone wall, and a well-made path ran up to the step  between drieddried-up, up, tu turned rned earth. earth. Th There ere was no growth any anywhere, where, only the the greyish-pink greyish-pink soil waiting for rain. The road which led to the town must be at the back of the house, for the garage faced that way. Morny flicked blackjack seeds from the hem of her yellow linen frock, tucked in a rich brown curl which had come loose during the short scramble, and walked boldly up the path to the veranda. The The door and windows were w ere w wide; ide; th that at was why Gran Grant’s t’s voice emerged emerged so clearly. cl early. She did not take in what he was saying; she was too suddenly obsessed with the desire to escape. But even as she turned she heard him ask, “Wasn’t that a footstep out there in the porch?” and the next moment he was confronting her in the doorway. His regard was cool and appraising and not particularly surprised. “Good afternoon,” he said. “If you’ve walked you must be tired. Come in.” “I’m afraid I’ll be in the way,” she answered, with an equal lack of emotion. “Would you mind

asking Miss Ashley when it will be convenient for her to give me a few biographical details for   

th thee pa paper?” per?” He stood aside. “Come in and ask her yourself.” She hesitated, then passed him and entered a white-and-blue lounge. Bernice, reclining in a long, upholstered chair, today wore a black skirt and a white chiffon blouse. Her brown, rosetipped fingers played with the immense gilt buckle of a black suede belt, and her slim ankles were crossed upon the footrest of the chair, displaying gilt-studded black suede pump. This had been her posture during the conversation with Grant; Morny was sure she had not moved a fraction. “Sorry to bother you, Miss Ashley,” she said. “I hoped you’d be free.” Bernice frowned languidly. “Oh, you’re the girl from the Singana News.” News.” “Miss Blake has nothing to do with the News,” the News,” stated  stated Grant. “The regatta has made them busy, and she’s voluntarily helping out during the rush period.” Morny couldn’t see that this made much difference. He seemed to be slightly irritated, perhaps  because she had had int interrupted errupted ttheir heir téte-a-téte.  Well, she hadn’t known he was here, and he had had téte-a-téte. Well, the chance of sending her away. She sat down in the chair he indicated, watched the frown deepen  between Bernice’s Bernice’s oddl oddly y dark brows as she s he swung swung down her her legs. The woman yawned. “Newspapers bore me. I never read them—not even the notices about myself. To ensure that I’m not misrepresented I’ve had some information duplicated, so that I’ve always a few copies to hand out to newshounds. Excuse me while I get one, will you, Grant?” With an unhurried, feline grace she crossed to the door, stood there while he opened it for her, and gave him a fleeting smile. “Come with me, Miss ... er ... Blake.” Morny followed her into a bedroom and rested with her hands on the back of a chair while the other woman extracted a couple of typed sheets from a leather writing case. “This stuff can be padded out, but the details must not be altered in any way,” said Bernice. “And here’s a new photograph. For a caption under the photograph just put ‘Miss Bernice Ashley chatting with Mr. Grant Randall, managing director of the Singana Mine Syndicate.’ Don’t forget that that w wordi ording ng.. An And d tel telll the editor ed itor to send me a dozen do zen copies of the the pa paper. per. I want w ant to g give ive them them tto o my friends and family at Bulawayo.” She closed the case, and looked at Morny rather keenly. “I haven’t seen you around at the parties. I can’t think why—they can certainly do with more girls! Don’t they invite you?”

I m not acquainted with the people who give the parties. I m fairly new to Singana.  

“You know Grant.” “Only through my uncle.” It occurred to Morny that Bernice Ashley might be considerably more astute than she appeared. She had reached the apex of her ambition while still young, and what more natural than that she could cast around for fresh fields? It might be that she was only now realizing that certain of the sweets in life are apt to bypass the one-track woman; realizing it because Grant was paying her  attention and he happened to be rich, influential and not unhandsome. But Bernice was not easy to fathom. When they went back to the lounge he was at the window, staring down over the lake. He turned and glanced at Morny. “Did you get what you wanted?” “Yes, thank you. I won’t trouble you any longer.” At this his eyes narrowed unpleasantly, but he said, “If you’re ready to go, I’ll drive you home.” “That isn’t necessary,” she said, remembering the last time he had driven her home—the night she had dined at Minona. “I’ll go the way I came—along the lake path.” Bernice strolled between them. “Give me a cigarette, Grant.” Automatically he flicked open his case, and when she had selected a cigarette he offered them to Morny. She shook her head, and the case snapped shut and was dropped into his pocket. He got out his lighter and worked it. Bernice, the only one smoking, blew a grey cloud and surveyed them through it. “Why not permit Miss Blake to please herself, Grant?” she murmured. “I don’t think we should deprive her of the pleasure of a walk. The early evening is perfect, the best time of the day for  exercise, especially if one isn’t accustomed to this climate.” “I don’t care for the idea of a woman walking alone in the bush so late in the day.” “I’ve become used to it,” said Morny hardily. “Goodbye, Miss Ashley.” To Grant she also submitted an abrupt “Goodbye,” before walking quickly from the house and

hurrying hu rrying down the path to th thee llakesid akeside. e.

 

  CHAPTER SEVEN

FOR   two two or three minutes after leaving Bernice’s house, Morny kept up a fast pace, as if she were afraid of being followed, but suddenly, limply, she stopped and sat upon a large, rounded outcrop. She stared at the water which lapped nearly to her toes and there, in the warm dying day with gold-dust all about her, she shivered, and knew not why. She saw two native boys putting out in a crude little coat and recalled that fishing was forbidden till after the regatta. She didn’t blame th them em,, though though,, if i f th they ey fancied a fish supper. Food wa wass more iim mportant th than an spor sport. t. It was the recollection that Joe, who might still feel seedy, had been given no orders for dinner, which brought her once more to her feet. There were steaks to be tenderized—the African bullock  was of tougher fibre than the English—and her brain would have to climb from its lethargy and think up a pudding. She was no sooner stepping out than Grant was there, striding towards her. “You’ve been the deuce of a time,” he said tersely, the moment he reached her. “What the hell have you been doing doi ng?” ?” “I rested,” she replied, above the quickened beat of her heart. “No restriction on that, is there?” “You could have saved “You s aved yourse yourself lf fatigu fatiguee by leavi le aving ng Bernice ’s house house with wi th me, me, but you h had ad to be darned independent and march out.” He twisted and walked at her side. “I drove straight to your   place and came came down th thee path to meet meet y you. ou. When you were nowhere in sight sight you you had had me me scared.” “Why “Wh y to-day, par particular ticularly? ly? You don’t usually follow foll ow my m movemen ovements.” ts.” He allowed a silence to develop between them. Then he looked down at her small, averted face. “Let’s call a truce, Morny. I can be a devilish enemy, but I’ve no wish to be an enemy of  yours. I want us to be friends. Don’t you?” His softness brought a strange tightness to her throat, a breathlessness to her voice, “This is sudden ... but, all right. We’re friends.”

Good. We ve got somewhere at last. He inserted a proprietorial hand into the crook of her  arm. “W “Wee ’r ’ree frie friends, nds, and don’t forget forget it. I’m fairl fairly y ttied ied up till the regatta is over, but aft after er than  

we’ll get together more often. I’ll make you like the mine and the people who run it.” “How?” He grinned mocking mockingly. ly. “You can ca n tackle the m most ost di diff fficult icult p part art fir first—start st—start w with ith m me.” e.” “And if I fail?” “Don’t let’s be defeatist,” he rallied her. “Perhaps you haven’t seen me at my most likeable. Other people don’t seem to think I’m so bad.” They had reached the point from which the path ran up from the lake to the backs of the houses. The upturned boat was still there, still displaying a splintered hole where it had been unskilfully  broadsided  broadsi ded upon th thee beach. G Grant rant gave a gent gentle le tug tug at Morny’s orny’s arm. “Sit down for a few minutes. This view is one of the best, isn’t it?” She nodded. “I’m always glad Uncle Luke’s house is this side of town. Who chose the site?” “He did—with a private eye to your preferences, I believe. He knew you’d wish to be near the lake. Do you find the house big enough?” “It’s just right. Uncle Luke says he’ll be content there for the rest of his life, and he loves the garden.” “And you?” His tone was quietly bantering. “Will you be content there till you marry?” “Naturally,” she said lightly. After a pause he said, “You believe in marriage, don t you?” Disconcerted, but carefully preserving the nonchalant tone, she answered, “I confess I do. So do all al l w wom omen.” en.” “All women believe in the gold band and having a man of their own, but there’s a heap more than that to marriage. On the whole, young women know very little about the man they marry till it’s too late for either of them to back out. They’re blinded by the romance of it. The future for  them is based on rosy hopes and silken dreams. They expect miracles.”

 

She smiled. “I thought Rhodesian girls were more of the earth. You and I have opposing views. You want your woman cured of romance before you marry her—at least,” she qualified hastily, “I think that’s what you mean. But t I’d have to take romance into marriage with me, and I’d try never to let it go. That gives you a good laugh, doesn’t it?” His glance at her was whimsical. “You’re quite sweet with your claws sheathed. Unpractical, of course, but sweet. Romance is ephemeral, my child, but marriage is only too real.” “You make it sound grim. I see now why you’ve never taken a wife.” “You do?” His greenish-hazel eyes jeered at her. “What are your deductions?” “They weren’t difficult to arrive at. The woman you’d marry doesn’t exist.” The mom moment ent th thee w words ords wer weree out Morny Morny’s ’s th thoug ought htss sped spe d to Bernice Bernice.. Miss Ashley was w as as hardheaded and unromantic a person as you’d find. She had guile, the glamour attaching to her   profession, and a fem feminin ininee instin instinct ct for making aking th thee utmost tmost of an excellent figure, figure, but she was fundamentally incapable of thrilling to the beauty of an enchanting night, to a caress or an endearment. Morny couldn’t have said why she was sure of this, but she was. A trifle crisply, Grant said, “I came to that conclusion some time ago. If I were to fall in love no one would be more surprised than I.” For some reason Morny was gazing rather hard at her locked fingers. But she spoke flippantly. “Well “W ell,, let ’s hope you’re llet et down dow n gently gently.. You You started this topic. It ’s up to you tto o rescue re scue us from it.” “I like your your frankn frankness ess,” ,” he told her, “even thoug though h it does hide a sort so rt of cowardi cowa rdice. ce. Y You ou ’re ’r e a romantic because you’re afraid of real feelings. You prefer safety to the delicious dangers of  letting yoursel yourselff g go. o. Y You ou ’d be cconten ontentt with wi th a ligh li ghtt arm about you yourr wais w aistt and a chaste c haste murm murmur ur of  love in you yourr eear. ar. Som Someone eone ough oughtt to wa warn rn you.” you.” Catching his mood she enquired mischievously, “About men? Why don’t you do it?” “Maybe I will.” But he didn’t do so at once. He shifted so that he could watch her face, and smiled with private enjoyment as her color began to rise. “Have you ever been kissed?” “Not ... seriously seri ously.” .”

He gave a short laugh at this. “I’m glad to hear it, though I knew the answer before I asked. If   

you’d been seriously kissed, little one, you’d have no airy-fairy notions about love. Men haven’t got them, I can assure you.” “I’ve not admitted to having them myself,” she said. “I’m innocent till you prove me guilty of   being afraid of real feeling feelings. s. You th threw rew out th the accusation accusation.” .” He considered for a moment. “Perhaps we’ll leave it there for the present. After all, we’ve only just become friends. Be a pity to risk a rift so soon.” She looked away from the tantalising eyes and mouth, saw shadows lengthening across the lake and the hillsides, and stood up. “I’ll have to go now. Our cook-boy has been unwell and may have lost his grip. Uncle Luke likes his dinner to be ready at seven.” They climbed fairly fast. By now Morny was well acquainted with the idiosyncrasies of the  path,, and Gran  path Grantt gave a helping han hand d whenever whenever necessary. necessary. He talked about the the early earl y days of  Singana, when the land now covered by the town was a forest of redwoods and lesser timber, and the mine, in its initial stages, was a mass of unassembled gear surrounded by temporary living quarters. “We lived in wooden huts, and shaved and took a bath in the open. We had most of our meals outside, too. There were no women, of course; they didn’t come till the first dozen houses were completed. It took three years to accommodate the whole staff, and the day the temporary quarters were demolished we celebrated by cooking chops and steaks in the flames and generally making merr erry y till midnigh idnight. t. It was a w wonderful onderful nigh night, t, I remem remember— ber—wa warm rm an and d full of stars. s tars. We ’d  purposely chosen chosen th thee fu full ll moon, an and d it hung hung th there ere like l ike a great brass pl plate; ate; it was nearly as lligh ightt as day, but much more mysterious.” He smiled. “Three engagements were announced the following week, for which I hold that moon responsible.” “Romance, you see!” she said. “So you had unmarried girls here by that time?” “Two or three who were daughters of various officials, and some who came with their parents from Limbusi.” He paused to see her safely past a shoulder of rock. “As copper mines go, Limbusi is fairly old. It isn’t a planned town; it’s just grown up gradually, and the first houses are now dingy and an eyesore, though they’re still lived in. The place has certain aspects which might interest anyone who’s curious about the development of the Copperbelt. I realize you’re not,” with a nip at the soft flesh of her arm, “but all the same I’ll take you there some time.” Morny forbade her heart to rejoice. She would never count on the least thing from Grant Randall. But she couldn’t help feeling warmly and cautiously happy, and optimism had always

 been a part pa rt of her natu nature. re. She She di did d not question question why h his is tou touch ch tin tingled, gled, why she she could not meet meet his eyes for long; her awakening was only half-accomplished, and an instinctive wisdom told her not  

to hasten somethin something g which m might ight en end d in i n hear heartbreak. tbreak. In its pres p resent ent phase iitt was wa s b beautifu eautiful. l. They passed through the mesh gate from the lane into the garden. Grant’s car stood upon the front drive where he had left it, and near the garage door lolled Samson, regarding the vehicle in some perplexity; it had doubtless appeared there while he happened to be somewhere else. His  black brow cleared cl eared at the the sight sight of Grant, Grant, and h hee instan instantly tly abandoned abandoned his negligent negligent position ffor or one more respectful and attentive. Grant did that to everyone, reflected Morny. Samson would not have budged an inch for her, nor would he have straightened much for Uncle Luke, who paid his wages. “Are you coming in for a drink?” she said. “A short one,” Grant assented, and followed her into the lounge. “I have to go back to the office for an hour.” She opened the cabinet, got out bottles and glasses. “Will you pour while I check up on Joe? Just a sip of sweet sherry for me.” She found Joe and Thomas in the midst of an amiable argument on the subject of white folks’ vegetables. Thomas, from more frequent contact with his employers, averred that peas, pumpkin and browned potatoes were correct with grilled steak, but Joe, who once had been the servant of  a missionary, thought it extravagant to cook three vegetables for two people. The boys often had these discussions, though by now Joe should have concluded that his was a lost cause. If three vegetables veget ables wer weree available avai lable th they ey had had to be pr prepared epared and cook cooked. ed. Morny looked into the soup casserole, took stock of the refrigerator and decided that if there were no time to prepare a sweet after Grant had gone they would have to fall back on fresh fruit and shortbread fingers. There was some strawberry ice cream left from yesterday and a new supply of cheese. When she returned to the lounge Grant was critically examining the sampler. “Your work?” he enquir enqu ired. ed. ““It’s It’s not at aall ll bad, th thoug ough h th they ey always alw ays sstrike trike me as sentimental. sentimental. My m mother other br broug ought ht one one from England over forty years ago which she had worked when she was about your age. It still hangs in the old house at Salisbury.” “Salisbury,” she echoed, at once interested. “That’s your home, isn’t it?” “It was, before I settled in Singana. A manager runs the ranch for me and lives in part of the house. I go down for an occasional holiday. I’m never sorry to get back here, though.” He gave

her a glass, raised his own. “To your eyes, Morny,” he said teasingly. “May they keep that  

enviable brightness but never again sparkle at me in anger.” “Thank “Than ky you ou for the pretty pr etty speech, si sir!” r!” As soon as his drink was finished Morny went with him to his car. Samson sprang alive and opened the door, but before Grant could slip behind the wheel a two-seater pulled up at the kerb  beyond  beyon d the the gates, gates, and IIan an T Tem empleton pleton g got ot out. out. “Here’s your twin soul,” said Grant without expression. “Is he the reason you were anxious that the dinner should be ready on time?” “I told you it was for Uncle Luke. I’d no idea Ian was coming!” “But he’l he’lll stay th thee whole w hole evening e vening.. He has that look. Does he often turn turn up up uninvited?” She was quick to defend the approaching Ian. “He’s not exactly uninvited. My uncle has said he can come whenever he likes.” “I don’t recall their being friendly before you came; in fact, I’m pretty sure they weren’t. However,” Grant shrugged carelessly and got out his car keys, “you’re free to choose your own intimates. But I’d prefer to see you attracted to someone with a little more grit.” Ian was too near for Morny to make any reply. Unconsciously, her smile at him became cordial and reassuring, reassuring, as if i f sh shee w were ere afraid afrai d he m must ust be aware of adverse ccriticis riticism m. Ever polite, Ian said, “Hello, Morny; you look like a daffodil. Good evening, Mr. Randall.” Grant answered, shot Morny a glance heavily charged with sarcasm and backed the car from the drive. A little vexed with Ian—he might have saved the “daffodil” comparison till Grant was out of hearing!—Morny led the way into the house. “Help yourself to a drink and find a book,” she said. “I’m needed in the kitchen for the next half  hour.” About twenty minutes later she heard her uncle come in and begin talking to Ian in those genial tones of his, and by the time Uncle Luke had washed and changed his jacket the meal was ready. It was after dinner, while Uncle Luke was writing at the desk in his room, that Morny noticed

Ian s restlessness and a faint compression at his mouth. For a while she went on reading, willing herself to make no comment. But after he had thrown aside his magazine, stubbed out a freshly  

lighted cigarette and paced into the hall, she looked up apprehensively. “You’re ranging about like a lost animal, Ian. Have you quarrelled with your sister?” His th thinnish innish face dr drawn, awn, he ca cam me and sstood tood in i n front of her. “Sli “Sligh ghtly tly.. She She’s ’s the the most m madde addening ning creature cre ature I ever came across. acro ss. There There’s ’s no emotion in h her, er, nothing nothing vulnerab vulnerable. le. Y You ou can ’t appeal appe al to her on the grounds that she was young once—she’s never been young! The worst of it is, I can always see her viewpoint so clearly, and sympathize with it, because even in her teens she was old and responsible. responsibl e. For that reason I can never never reall r eally y row w with ith Vera.” Vera.” “But why should you want to row with her?” In the next breath Morny knew that she had no inclination to hear the reason. She couldn’t afford to be on Ian’s side against Mrs. Bartlett; and anyway, she had no wish to take sides in a quarrel. “Don’t tell me,” she tacked on swiftly. “It isn’t my busi business.” ness.” “I keep telling myself that it isn’t fair to burden you with my problems,” he said unhappily but sincerely. “Yet I’ve never met a single other person so easy to talk to, and I do need to get another  slant on it.” “I wasn’t the cause of the upset between you and your sister, was I?” “Heavens, no. You know already that she hasn’t the least objection to our friendship.” Morny emitted an audible breath of relief. “Then I believe I’d better stay out of your problems, Ian. I couldn’t help, except by listening, and I often think it’s better to confide your troubles to the night than to rely on a human being who might turn out to be completely disappointing.” He contrived a small smile, hitched his trousers and sat down in the chair opposite hers. “I’m too fond of you to hurt you, Morny, and in any case I haven’t the tiniest claim upon you. Come on, let’s play gin rummy.” At ten o’clock, when Ian had called “Goodnight” to Uncle Luke, squeezed Morny’s hand and driven away, she stood in the garden absorbing the fragrance which had been released by cool air. The cicadas were as musical as usual, and the palms moved elegantly against a sky that  blazed with const constella ellation tion.. The The scent of mim imosa osa was nearly gone, but it was sufficient sufficiently ly  penetrating  penet rating to rem remind ind her of th thee evening evening when she had first met Grant Grant near the the lake and he had come up for a drink and a chat. “Grant,” she whispered aloud, and a knot seemed to form deep inside her.

 

She looked at the stars, at the thin, waving fronds, inhaled the combination of scents and heard the trilling of insects—and she thought how wondrously beautiful the world could be.

 

  CHAPTER EIGHT

THE regatta was a success from the first race to the last. Enthusiasts thronged Singana, filled the waterside seats and overflowed along the banks of the lake. Many events took place in the morning, but the main ones started at four in the afternoon and finished on a climax of excitement when Bernice Ashley made an attempt on her own record and beat it by half a minute. Bernice, of course, had earlier won the ten-mile speedboat dash and was therefore the first holder of the Singana Cup. As she was the only woman competitor in the race her win was  popular,, and th  popular thee beaten men had gallantly gallantly presented her with chocolates and nylons; nylons; obviously th they ey had bee been n prep prepare ared d for vanquishm vanquishment. ent. Her handling of the boat had been nothing less than superb and her turns at each end of the lake had been miracles of precision and daring. But for sheer courage and skill the record run at the end of that day of sport had no precedent. The spectators were dumb till a blue flag flying from the judges’ launch announced that a new record had been established. After that, applause echoed over the lake in continuous waves. It was Bernice’s day—she had even sailed Grant’s yacht to victory during the morning—and she accepted her laurels unaffectedly and gratefully. Morny, some way away from the seats of the honored, watched the prize-giving through Ian’s  binoculars  binocu lars.. She saw Grant Grant’s ’s congratu congratulatory latory sm smile ile as he handed handed over the the Cup, Cup, ssaw aw his han hand d clasp Bernice’s and hold it while he told her that she was a worthy winner and had given everyone the thril thrilll of th their eir lives. lives . Bernice, in white linen short shortss and a w whit hitee sl sleeveles eevelesss shirt with wi th a monogrammed pocket, looked young and sporting. Her brown limbs were slim and strong, and her  face was so tanned that her short hair appeared more blonde, more attractive. She laughed, spoke a few trite words into the microphone and posed for Clement with one arm in Grant’s and the other cradling the huge, solid silver trophy. There was no dancing for Morny that night. The club had been taken over by the sports committee for a celebration dinner with Bernice Ashley as the highlight, to which all competitors had been invited. Grant was there, naturally, and Uncle Luke went along for a couple of hours “to keep Clement on his toes with the camera.” Next morning at breakfast Morny heard that the party had been b een the most ri riotous otous that Sing Singana—or ana—or even the Copper Copperbel belt—h t—had ad eever ver known. known. It hadn’t finished till the small hours. Uncle Luke confessed to being tired out and glad the whole business was over.

 

“As an annual affair it will be good for the town, and the arrangements will come easier next year, with this year’s example to work on. I admit I’ll be happy to see the bunting packed away and th the la lak keside clear cleared.” ed.” “So will I,” agreed Morny. “I suppose the yachtsmen and speedboat fiends go home today?” “Most of them. A few got away last night between dinner and dancing. By tomorrow only our  champion cham pion wi will ll be lleft eft.” .” “Bernice?” said Morny, her heart plunging. Uncle Luke glanced up from his grapefruit. “She’s never been north of the Falls before, and she’s enjoying it. Grant has asked her to stay on.” “Oh!” Morny laid down her spoon and automatically began pouring coffee. “Is she going to remain in the mine accountant’s house?” “The accountant happened to be present when we were discussing it. He assured Miss Ashley that she could have the house for as long as she wished, and she accepted right away. That young woman has has cer certainly tainly made made some conquests in i n Singana.” Singana.” “She was bound to—they all admire her. I can’t think what she’ll find to do here, though.” Thomas brought bacon and tinned mushrooms, and bore away the fruit remains. Morny served her uncle uncle,, took a sm small all piece pie ce of bacon ba con and some some toast for herself. hers elf. Unc Unc l e Luk ukee sighed appreciatively, regarded his plate for a long, enjoyable moment, and picked up his knife and fork. “What an institution is Sunday breakfast! I’ve loved every one of them since you’ve been here.” He tried a mouthful before reverting to the topic of Bernice. “As to Miss Ashley, she’ll keep occupied all right. Reid’s going to organize a mountain climb for her, and Grant mentioned a game hunt. She’s itching to do both. That fearlessness of hers isn’t a pose. She simply doesn’t get frightened.” He shook his head in unbelieving admiration. “Marvellous, isn’t it? I only saw a lion once and it was loping away into the bush, but I had the jitters for the rest of the day, and I never  drive out of the town now without wondering what I shall meet on the road. We’re not Rhodes Rh odesians, ians, Morny Morny.” .” She had counted too soon on a return to the erstwhile peace of Singana. No atmosphere could  be peacefu peacefull with B Bernice ernice aroun around. d. The The paper would have to report her exploits com complete plete wi with th flattering photographs, parties would continue to be given in her honor, and wherever she was

there would Grant be, smiling enigmatically in the background. But what of those other things  

which did not seep into the paper? Drives into the country, dinner for two in the electric candle light of Grant’s dining room, an intimate tea with Bernice draped on the blue divan in the new house above the lake. The pangs which rent Morny as each picture passed through her mind made her afraid. She was  being ut utterly terly crazy crazy,, allo allowing wing herself to drift like a schoolgirl int into o a passio passion n for someone someone unattainable un attainable.. She was tw twenty enty-two -two aand nd possessed posses sed o off h her er share s hare of common common sense. W Well ell,, th then, en, she’d she ’d  better  bett er start u using sing it. In an effort to recover from the strain of the past two or three weeks, Mr. Reid was spending that Sunday quietly in his quarters at the clubhouse. Mr. Malony had sent word that phlebitis was troubling his leg, and Uncle Luke thought the old chap might be pleased if he and Morny showed up at the plantation. So, in the middle of the afternoon, they set out in the tourer, and about half an hour after leaving the town they angled into a lano between widespread acres of dusty tea bush. “The rains started early last year,” Uncle Luke commented, “but they finished early, too. Soon we shall start having overcast skies and no wind. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a few storms. The tea looks good when it’s been rained on, and in flower it’s like masses of camellias. Malony’s got too much much la land nd here, b but ut h hee w won’t on’t admit it, and let l et so som me o off it go.” The old tea planter was overjoyed to have visitors. He sat in the porch with his leg resting on a cushioned stool, and waved them into nearby cane chairs. “I’ve been bored to the point of tears,” he said, “and raving into the bargain. Here I go over to see Luke Penrose every Sunday, I’ve been fuming to myself, and never once does he stir himself  to come and visit me; who does he think he is, that’s what I’d like to know! I take it all back this instant. I’m glad you took the trouble to remember me.” He looked at them both expansively. “Been worked up over this regatta thing, haven’t you? Can’t imagine what they see in boating—  however big the lake you can never arrive anywhere. I hear the Ashley woman made a show of  herself.” After the heroine-worshipping of yesterday, Mr. Malony’s remarks were breezily revolutionary. Morny felt better already. She liked the Irishman, and, watching him as he gave attention to Uncle Luke’s humorous description of the doings in town, she recollected that he had first settled here with his wife, who had died within a few months and left him so lonely that the only panacea was work, and yet more work. Then he had been a comparatively young man. According to Uncle Luke, Mr. Malony was now sixty-eight and had no known relative in the whole wide world. He was hearty enough, would most likely last many more years, but probably when he had nothing else to do he got to wondering what would happen to the tea estate which he

had taken so much trouble to plant and irrigate, to shade with trees and to keep healthy. All the work he had put into the place must sometimes seem pointless.  

As if the gist of her thoughts had somehow been communicated to him, Mr. Malony gave her a half-wink half-wi nk.. “I w wis ish hy you ou were wer e a boy, Morny Morny.. If you you wer were, e, I’d have you ou outt of Luk Luke’s e’s house house and over  ove r  here, learning tea planting, so that I could sit back and do less.” “Why pick on Morny? You could advertise for an assistant,” said Uncle Luke. “I don’t fancy having a stranger around,” came the growled response. “Besides, as the years advance I’m getting sentimental. We Irish are like that. I want to know the family who’ll carry on this place after I’ve passed out—and know them well. It’s natural a sort of wish, after all. Do me a favor, Morny. Morny. Marr Marry y a chap w who ho com comes es of farmin fa rming g stock and m move ove in with wi th m me. e. There There’s ’s no one else I’d rath rather er have as a jun junior ior partn partner.” er.” Again it was Uncle Luke who replied. “Morny’s incorruptible,” he said with a grin. “And what’s so s o exciti exciting ng about m marr arrying ying a tea pl planter? anter? Y You ou ’ve told me yourse yourself lf you h haven’t aven’t had a holiday in twenty years.” “I couldn’t have wanted one very much. You can always take a break if you need it badly enough, and anyway, I’ll be here for a while yet.” “A long while,” while,” said Morn Morny, y, “so cheer up. The The ri rig ght person will wi ll appear one day, day, you’ll you’ll see.” “I expect so. This darned leg is making me morbid. Go into the house and shout some life into the boy, will you, Morny? I did bawl out to him to serve some refreshment as I saw your bus on the road, but he seems to have gone to sleep again, or maybe he can’t make up his mind what to  bring.”  bring .”

They had cool drinks, the men lacing theirs with the customary tot of whisky, and while they drank they talked. The plantation spread before them over the hillside and into the valley where a stream ran, and the sheltering trees marched across it in rows, evergreen branches spread like huge hu ge um umbre brell llas. as. An ent entrancing rancing spot iin n which to be young young and happily happil y m marr arried ied,, Morny conceded. It was a pity Mr. Malony hadn’t a son or daughter. Darkness was hovering when they left him. Morny promised to come over alone during the week, and to prove to Uncle Luke that she was capable of keeping her word, she drove the car  home and squarely into the garage without help from him. For three days life was completely dull. Morny could settle neither to reading nor sewing, and as gardening was impracticable except in the early morning or late afternoon, most of the hours dragged along without relief. Uncle Luke came home with the news that Mrs. Bartlett’s meeting

with the parents had met with moderate success, but Morny was not required to be present. Some  

weeks of inaction still stretched ahead, and it looked as though nothing could possibly happen to give them wings. When Ian unexpectedly walked into the house at four o’clock one afternoon Morny could not help treating him cordially. She had reached a state in which any guest was welcome. That his smile was not spontaneous nor his demeanour in the least jolly did not fully penetrate her  consciousness till they were walking from the house and out among the trees. Then she saw the lines of strain at his mouth and a frown between his brows which might be a symptom of  headache, and her sympathy was kindled. “Where have you been since last weekend?” she queried, with determined cheerfulness. “We had to camp in the woods for two nights. I didn’t get home till a couple of hours ago. I had some food and a bath and came along.” “You look weary.” “I feel it, though it isn’t so bad now I’m with you—you’re a restful person, Morny. The grass is short here here ssh hall we ssit it down?” Morny was willing, though she had little desire to talk with him. She slipped down easily, to rest her back against a tree trunk, and Ian lowered himself beside her and drew up one knee. For a few minutes there was no need for words. It was peaceful here, less noisy than at midnight, for the day-time insects were growing somnolent, and crickets and singing beetles still slept. Here, where the ferns had been cleared, it was like an English wood, but more grassy and aromatic. No acrid smell of damp tinged the scents of peeling eucalyptus bark and acacia. “Being with you is like coming home,” he said. "In fact, all the way back I was thinking how good it would be to see you. You’re so reliable, Morny, and heaven knows that after a couple of  sleepless nights under the stars that’s something to cling to. Just as I want to ... cling to you. Please don’t mind my talking like this, Morny.” In the levellest tone she could manage, Morny said, “You shouldn’t really have come here this afternoon. It would have done you more good to roll into bed for a few hours.” “No, it wouldn’t. I’d only lie thinking the same old stuff over and over, and still arrive at nowhere. Thoughts like mine can’t change till one gets a new viewpoint on them. I’m afraid that’s how it is.”

A silence grew. His unhappiness enveloped them like something tangible; it was useless for her   

to struggle to keep outside it. She stole a glance at him. His eyes were trained upon a root at which he prodded with a twig; his longish light brown hair slid forward in a deep wave, and his aw was sharp with the intensity of his thoughts. She wished she could place a hand in the bend of  his arm ar m an and d mu murmu rmurr that she w was as rea ready dy to listen. li sten. The compassion within her must have been very apparent, for when he raised his head the blue eyes went oddly dark and his expression changed. He twisted and put a hand on her shoulder, leaned over and k kisse issed d her with wi th a ling l ingering ering,, plea pleading ding pressu press ure. Morny stiffened, pushed him away, but not abruptly. Dimly, Dimly, she understood that that w whatever hatever it was w as that plagued him was becoming too big for him to bear alone. Vera knew about it and was inflexibly against him. But it had nothing to do with Morny.  Nothing to do wit with h Morny. Morny. He  He must  be forced to ssee ee th that, at, ssh he th thoug ough ht desperately de sperately.. He must be made to understand understand that she could not enter into his troubles. He had moved, put several inches between them “That was a rotten trick,” he said. “It shows how abject I’ve become—just begging for your softness and pity. I’m sorry, Morny—terribly.” “That’s all right,” she said, without a tremor. “But please don’t do it again.” “Has it made you hate me?” “Of course not. You’ve allowed the miseries to get the better of you, and that’s never very wise. If you’d only stand up to your sister you wouldn’t feel compelled to assert yourself in other  ways. You didn’t really have any urge to kiss me, did you?”

In low tones he answered, “It’s not difficult to kiss a sympathetic woman, though I haven’t the least right to kiss you. I care for you, Morny—much more than you care for me, but it was wrong. You see, I’m in love with someone else.” She stared at him. “You’re in love! Ian, is that true?” Too late it occurred to her that this was it, the secret she had striven to know nothing about. Too late, because he was already speaking softly and urgently, his fingers tight over her wrist, his beseeching eyes not far from her own. “You can’t possibly come to harm through knowing this, Morny, and you may be able to help me—somehow I feel you will. Vera will never hear that I’ve told you; she musn’t hear. It’ll be  between you and me, me, I swear sw ear it. Y You ou see, the girl I ’m in love with lives at Lim Limbusi. busi. Her father father is at the bank, and there are plenty of chances for Christine to marry in the town. I don’t think her   parentss disl  parent dislike ike me, but they’re they’re dead against against my job. Th Their eir am ambition bition for Ch Christine ristine is pretty high high;

they feel that she should marry a man of substance and live in a smart house at the best end of   

Limbusi. You can’t blame them, but things don’t always turn out as parents hope.” Morny was still staring at him, still mentally struggling to reject his confidences. Yet she asked, “How old is she?” “Twenty-three. I dare say you’ll decide that she’s old enough to choose her own life, but she happens to be an only child and deeply fond of her parents. That’s the whole problem, really.” “Does she love l ove you you?” ?” “Yes, I’m sure of it. She’d marry me tomorrow if I were permanently stationed in Limbusi.” “But, Ian ...” Morny broke off and tried again. “She ought to brave her parents’ disapproval. After all, as soon as they realized you and she were happy together, they’d be happy, too. The solution seems very simple to me.” “It isn’t, though. Put yourself in her place. Would you marry if your uncle withheld his  blessing  blessi ng?” ?” Morny was brought up sharp. Would she? “I don’t know,” she returned slowly, thinking how terrible it would be to hurt Uncle Luke, “but I’m rather afraid I would.” She smiled. “A husband has to be the most important person in a woman’s life, and if she’s really in love she’ll risk  everything and go anywhere with him.” He released her wrist, sat moodily contemplating the shadowy spaces between the trees. “Christine isn’t a bit like you. She couldn’t have travelled to Africa alone as you did, from England; she’d be scared and helpless. Her whole life has been arranged for her. She rides and shoots, but she never does either the hard way; whatever she does, there’s always an African servant in attendance. Her father has taught her practically everything, and ... well, she regards him as all-powerful and completely dependable; to some extent that’s understandable. Compared with him I’m new and untried.” “Don’t you think the fact that she’d marry you if you lived in Limbusi is rather ominous? Papa would be awfully near to run home to.” “Of course it’s ominous. I’ve been over every aspect of it a thousand times,” he sighed sombrely. “But I’m still in love with her, Morny.”

She shifted her head on the rough surface of the trunk, eased the small of her back into a more comfortable position. “I’m so sorry about it, Ian. I guessed you were feeling wretched over   

something the first day I met you, and you seem gradually to have sunk deeper. Do you correspond with her?” “If you can call it corresponding,” he said bitterly. “I tip out my heart about twice a week and she merely makes words on paper. She’s only fifty miles away; if she’d co-operate we could see each other every weekend.” “Is she s he fright frightened?” ened?” “Not exactly frightened, but she’s keen on having a stabilized home, and for her parents to be wholeheartedly in favor of her marriage. I wish there were some other work I could do, but at the moment I can see no alternative to remaining attached to the forestry unit. I’m trained in forestry, and I’d be useless at anything else.” “But why should you give up forestry? As your wife Christine could travel with you around  Northern  North ern Rhodesia, Rhodesia, couldn’t she?” she?” He drew in his lip. “Yes. It sounds bald, but we’re both young, and that would be a sight more  bearablee than bein  bearabl being g parted most most of the the tim timee and never knowing when we migh might meet meet again. Prett Pretty y soon now I shall be drafted east of Singana for six months. While we were at the camp yesterday I sounded my boss, and he said there would be good married quarters available. Christine could have an easy time and plenty of fun.” “If you heard only yesterday you haven’t put it to her yet.” He shook his head. “Letters are such dead things. I shall have to see her.” Morosely he tugged at a blade of grass. “It’s dreadfully difficult. How would you tackle it, Morny?” “I wouldn’t approach her in a mood of defeat,” she said flatly. “Apart from that you can only be honest.” His head still bent, he spoke in a voice which had sharpened slightly with eagerness, though she got the impression that he was putting into words something which had been in his mind for at least several minutes. “Will you go with me to see her, Morny? In her last letter Christine mentioned that on Saturday her parents are meeting relatives off the plane at Broken Hill. They’ll  be away several hours. hours. If we could both talk to h her er before they they sh show ow up...” “But how could I influence her—a stranger?”

“You’re a woman. You could give her your own attitude towards marriage and help me to  

 persuade her th that at she’ll never regret tak taking ing a firm stan s tand d against against her fat fath her. Mak Makee her see that that I ought to come first; that we’ll never be happy together otherwise.” He had dropped his studious interest in the grass and turned to face her, half-excited, half-imploring. “You feel a girl shouldn’t need coaxing to marry the man she loves. I agree with you—fervently. But Christine does does require  require  persuasion, lots of it. M Morny orny,, please!” She wanted to help him. Christine might be somewhat foolish and shrinking, but she was Ian’s choice and had told him she loved him. That counted for a great deal. The life of an unsettled forestry man might appear distasteful to one who had led a pampered existence; so much depended on Christine’s innate courage and character—the part of her which had so far been  permitted  perm itted n no om means eans of expression. M Morny orny rem remem embered bered somet someth hing. ing. “Is your sister against the marriage, too?” He made made a gestu gesture re o off assent asse nt.. “That’s our bo bone ne of contention. contention. Vera ’s hard and old-fashioned. old -fashioned. She thinks that no man should marry before he’s thirty and that Christine is totally unsuitable in any case. In a way, she and Christine’s father have the same notions. She’d much prefer that I marry someone practical and adaptable—but Christine has never had the chance to be either. At the end of our last flare-up my sister advised me to become engaged to you but not to marry for  three years, when we’d both be of responsible age. That’s Vera.” “I suspected it might be,” she said soberly. “But you’re determined not to be frustrated by her, Ian?” “Quite. In many of her statements she’s absolutely right. I can’t  give  give Christine the luxuries she’s accustomed to—not yet, and perhaps not for a long time. Also, Christine’s father will  be   be critical of all I do till we get a home of our own; and she and Christine aren’t  likely   likely to be ardent friends. But I can’t let those things count.” “I should say not!” She gave him a sweet, conspiratorial smile. “Once your Christine has taken the step she won’t mind relinquishing the luxuries, and if she handles her father astutely he’ll only  be critical c ritical if his daug da ugh hter loses l oses her bloom—an bloom—and d I don’t believe a wom woman an who’s loved does lose her bloom. I’d rather have to deal with her problems than with yours. I’m sure there are ways of  handling a doting father.” “You’re a sport," he said. “You’ll go with me on Saturday?” “Yes. How long l ong wil willl iitt tak take?” e?”

“We’ll leave at about nine and have lunch there. If all goes well I’d like to hang on long enough  

to see her father and get things settled. We’ll be back by six at the latest.” “Six,” she said, as if memorizing. “That will give me time to arrange dinner. And how do we explain our absence?” “Vera won’t be curious; she’ll take it that I’m spending the day with you—tennis-playing and so on. You can tell your uncle we’re going on a picnic.” He smiled. “Some picnic!” “And do you promise that Mrs. Bartlett won’t hear a word about it?” “She won’t hear a syllable.” He took a long breath. “Gosh, I feel good—like a prisoner let out in the sun after solitary confinement. The day after tomorrow I’ll be seeing Christine!” Exuberantly, he kissed the small ear nearest him. “Thanks for listening,” he told it seriously. “You’ve saved s aved me fro from m going going crazy.” Morny laughed a little and stilled her qualms. The fight had not begun yet, but she was glad to have helped him, even to so limited an extent. “You’re light-headed,” she said. “If I were you I’d go home and make up some lost sleep.” He leapt to his feet and gave her a hand. “I’ll do just that. If I can’t sleep, I’ll daydream. Morny, you’re the best in the world!” They wandered back to the house, Ian talking while Morny pondered. After he had gone she  pulled a few w weeds, eeds, still pondering. pondering. At length length she she came came to the the conclusion that that she was w as no longer  longer  in the least sorry for Ian Templeton. He was in love and, being a man, he held the initiative. He had the power to get what he wanted. She wondered about Christine, and experienced a queer  stab of envy. In her shoes Morny would not have entertained a single doubt. Somehow she would have won over the reluctant parents, created an atmosphere in which Ian belonged for ever. Such mundane details were simple once one was in love, and beloved.

 

  CHAPTER NINE

THAT   night Uncle Luke went to bed straight after dinner. For him the most strenuous part of the week was over; the paper was in the press, and tomorrow it would be delivered to householders and sold by piccanins on the street corners. He need not bother himself unduly till next Monday. Morny ruffled his fluffy grey hair. “Shall I bring you a nightcap at ten?” “No, thanks. I shall be sound asleep. Don’t stay up too late.” “I won’t. Good night, Uncle Luke.” When the house was quiet she went to the door, intending to take a brief look at the night and  bolt up; she was rath rather er sleep sleepy y herself. Bu Butt as she reached the the porch a noise caused her to peer  along the veranda. She thought first of a wandering leopard, then common sense told her that Uncle Luke must have opened his french window for more air, but the footstep which came immediately afterwards was not his. It was too firm and decisive. Suppressing panic, she called quietly, “Is that you, darling?” Then Grant turned the corner of the house and came into the rectangle of light from the hall. His expression was amused and teasing.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “How did you know?” know?” Her heart moved, but she retained her gravity. “I mistook the slam of your car door for  something someth ing els else.” e.” “Were you expecting a swain?” “One never kn knows ows what m may ay tu turn rn up,” she returned flippantly. flip pantly. “My u uncle ncle has gone gone to bed.” “Sensible “Sensib le of him him.. May I com comee iin?” n?” She preceded him into the lounge, rather woodenly subsided into a chair. Grant, also, sat down,

and stretched his long legs. Lean, brown and smiling, he was incredibly good looking. His shoulders in the impeccable pearl-grey suit were wide and strong, and the dark blue shirt and  

matching tie were flawlessly smooth. In any garb, Grant was invariably fastidiously correct. “It was really you I came to see,” he said, lazily leaning back. “Any objections?” “None, “Non e, so far,” she answere answered d cautiou cautiously. sly. He laughed. “You don’t quite trust me, yet. Difficult creature, aren’t you?” He paused, still smiling. “Reid, ofThere’ll the sports mountaineering Sunday morning. be club, aboutisa arranging dozen of an us, amateur and if you’d care to go expedition part of the for wayearly I’ll guarantee your safety.” “That’s nice of you.” “I think so, too. The idea is to start out at four by car, do the easy walking and climbing in the dark and watch the dawn break from one of the ledges. It’s quite a spectacle, I can assure you. Bernice and Mrs. Frost will be of the party, but I fancy the doctor won’t permit his wife to overexert herself, and you and she could rest while we others scale the heights.” “How very thoughtful—but I’m a little younger than Mrs. Frost,” she reminded him, slightly nettled. His mout outh h twitched. ““II kn knew ew I’d have trouble with wi th you you over that. that. Ever done mu much ch clim cli mbing?” “Not a lot. But I was quite an outdoor girl in Yorkshire, believe it or not.” “I do believe beli eve iit, t, but but Yorksh orkshire ire ’s cold c old aand nd Rhodesia Rhodesia is fairly war warm m. Bernice iiss toug tough, h, and and used to exertion in this climate.” “It won’t be hot at that time in the morning.” “Hot enough,” he said. “And don’t be too stubborn about it. I refuse to let you commit suicide.” She had to smile then. “I recognize a tone of finality when I hear one. I suppose I ought to be grateful you’ve included me in this jaunt. What do I wear?” “A skirt, a sweater and flat shoes. Set your alarm for three-forty-five and get up the second it rings. As soon as you’re ready go out to the kerb. I’ll be there, with a flask of coffee.”

“You think of everything.”

 

“With women around one has to. They seldom think for themselves—and that isn’t a challenge!” as her lips moved. “Even Bernice is inclined to forget essentials when she’s out of a  boat.” She w She wondered ondered what he he classed cl assed as es essent sentials ials and h how ow Bernice had proved herself forgetfu forgetful. l. Sh Shee would have liked to know how often they met, what they discussed and how they looked at each other; all the tormenting trifles which would never be divulged. Casually she enquired, “Is Bernice Ashley staying on indefinitely?” “For about a month. It so happens that Singana appeals to her immensely. The lake is half the attraction, but since the regatta she’s wild to get outside the town and do some mountain climbing and game hunting. She’s an unusual woman.” His tone was non-committal; calculated, thought Morny, to discourage inquisitiveness. Which was a bad ssign ign,, whispere whispered d her heart. But he added, “Bernice has even become interested in copper mining. She hasn’t your distaste for mining gear among the trees.” “You don’t intend me to live down those few rash words, do you?” she said. “They were spoken when I was entirely new to the place and thrilled with the beauty of it, but you harp on them as if my opinion had importance.” “No, no,” he said calmingly, but with sarcasm. “First impressions are hard to expunge, that’s all—and I happen to have an affection for the mine. Another early impression has stuck fast in my mind, too. Schoolteachin Schoolteac hing g isn’t your pro professi fession, on, Morny Morny.” .” “Oh, yes, it is. I hope you’re not planning to get the council to kick me out,” she replied with spirit. “Since we’re on the subject of early impressions, my first one of you was that you had far  too much influence with the town authorities, and with everyone else, as well. I haven’t changed th that, at, ei eith ther.” er.” His smile bantered, and he said soothingly, “Never mind, you will.” He paused and added, “Are you friendly with Mrs. Bartlett?” “I hardly hardly ever see her.”

You keep on sweet terms with her brother instead. It ll be a bump for you when his unit is transferred—and I hear it won’t be long now. You’ll miss him.”  

“Yes, I will,” she said, lifting her chin. “He and I have much in common, and we don’t worry or try to hu hurt rt each ea ch other.” “That’s lovely, of course, but friendship between a man and a woman doesn’t remain for ever  on the ethereal plane,” he informed her kindly, almost paternally. “It just can’t happen—human nature being what it is. I shouldn’t be surprised if even Templeton could kindle, given the right surroundings. It’s my guess that as his time here grows shorter the surroundings will cease to matter. He’ll be satisfied merely to get you alone.” “Some time,” she replied evenly, “I’ll tell you how good a guesser you are. Do smoke, if you want to.” He didn’t. He got up, dwarfing the furniture, smiled mockingly down at her. “You smoulder  quite prettily, particularly now that you’re acquiring a tan. Eyes always sparkle more brightly in a tanned face. Has your hair always been streaky like that?” She gave him an exasperated nod. With Grant you could never be certain what topic would crop up nex next. t. “I like it,” he said. “I’m so glad,” she told him with a hint of his own satire. She wasn’t aware that she appeared small in the high-backed chair, that her face, lowered away from him, had no satire in it at all, but was soft and young with the flush rosy upon her fine cheekbones and the lashes dark against her  skin. She felt him touch her head lightly, held her spine rigid, willing herself to pay no attention. Then his hands were in his pockets and he was carelessly passing her chair and packing into the hall. “Be ready on time on Sunday morning, and don’t burden yourself with anything heavier than a handkerchief. Come and bolt this door as soon as I’ve gone.” Shee w Sh was as at his side. s ide. “All righ r ight,” t,” she said, in a voice voi ce wh w hich was tigh tight and sm small. all.

“Goodnight, Morny.” “Goodnight, Grant.”

He pulled the door shut behind him, and she stood for a long moment gazing at the cream panels  

and unconsciously awaiting his ringing tread on the stone steps. A rap at the door. “Shoot the bolt!” he commanded. She obeyed instantly with smiling vexation, and at once began to switch off the lights. But in the lounge she hesitated, breathing in a smoky fragrance which she fancied still lingered in the vicinity of Grant’s chair. Gently, but with a strange compulsion, her fingers lifted to press her hair  where Grant had touched it, and ardently, unreasonable, she was glad he had liked its silkiness and did not object too strongly to the funny gold strands in the mahogany brown curls. She asked herself whether he was in the habit of noticing women’s hair, but could form no reply. In the shapely hall mirror, as she passed it, her head had the glint of copper, and she rejoiced. But later, as she undressed and got into pyjamas, the word “copper” began to assume a more sinister significance, for she recalled his little taunt about Bernice showing an interest in the mine. Not a technical interest; hardly a woman in the world would be genuinely fascinated by the  processes  process es of extractin extracting g metal metal from crushed crushed rock. W Wom omen en weren’t const construct ructed ed th that at way. Bernice found Singana “immensely appealing”; she had suddenly become aware that there were mountains in the district, and as swiftly decided that it would be exciting penetrate the bush and  bag leopar leopard d and lion. She She had doubtless doubtless donn donned ed one of the the metal helm helmets ets and a sporty suit of  dungarees, and descended the mine shaft on a tour of the oppressive, busy tunnels. Once she had her eye on an objective it was impossible to daunt Bernice; and in all her ventures Grant was her  companion and guide. A month must pass before Bernice might be expected to depart for Bulawayo, reflected Morny with a sigh of depression. So very much could happen in a month. Early on Saturday morning Ian and Morny set out as arranged for the town of Limbusi. The road lay for the most part between mile upon mile of impoverished-looking savannah. The district, not yet cleared of tsetse fly, was wholly devoid of cattle, and only an occasional thicket of trees and the scribble of blue-green hills on the skyline relieved the khaki monotony. There were plans, said Ian, for converting most of this into teak forest and tobacco land, but the task would be colossal because of the vast amount of preliminary irrigation work which would be necessary. He drove with speed and abandon, not talking about Christine, but obviously thinking of her to the exclusion of nearly everything else. Each time a car approached in a bustle of red dust he wound up the window, and after the dust had subsided he automatically turned the handle the other way; but he was actually on a white cloud in a blue sky, sailing towards another billow of  white upon which reclined his inimitable Christine.

Limbusi appeared first as a couple of spires in an amorphous mass of off-white stonework and  

red roofs. There was no wide main thoroughfare through the town, ; and most of the buildings on the twisting streets were slightly out of date, the shops too small and unimaginative for the growing population. Ian took a road to the right which eventually writhed away between the more modern, wellspaced dwellings of the well-to-do, and presently he braked in front of a white house with green shutters. “We’re here,” he said, not too steadily. “Let’s hope she’s in.” “Hadn’t I better wait while you make sure?” asked Morny. “In any case, you’ll want to see her  alone first.” “No, come with me. You’re as good as a second backbone, and I need that right now.” So together they walked up the long path. But they had not reached the steps before a girl came running out, a slim, black-haired creature in a flowing blue-and-white frock and taper-heeled sandals. “Ian! Darling, I’m so happy to see you, though I was half afraid you wouldn’t come...” She checked herself and looked at Morny. Ian, daring at last to breathe properly, took her hand. “Christine, this is Morny Blake. I’ve told her all about us, and she wanted to meet you.” He barely allowed the girls to greet each other   before demandin demanding, g, “Were you you really expecting expecting me, Christine?” Christine?” “ We l l ...” her fing fingers ers clo closed sed confidently round round his hand. hand. “I purposely purposel y m made ade an a n elaborate elabor ate reference in my letter to mother and daddy being out of town today because I knew if you felt as ... as tangled up as I did you’d have to come. But there was a last-minute alteration in the plane schedules, and my aunt and uncle were due to arrive yesterday evening instead of today, so the  parentss left yesterday  parent yesterday aft afternoon ernoon.. Th They ey stayed stayed at an h hotel otel last night night and will be back h here ere by lunchlunchtime.” “What filthy luck,” he groaned.

“You and Morny can lunch here too. I’ve only to tell the cook.” “It’s early yet, and we’ve a lot to talk about before making that kind of decision. How have you

 been keeping keeping,, Christine? Christine? You look wonderf wonderful.” ul.”

 

“If you’ll find me a magazine,” inserted Morny mildly, “I’ll retire to the car for half an hour.” “No, you mustn’t,” he said firmly. “Business first—and Morny’s in on it, Christine. I hate to rush straight into it like this, but if your father and mother are due home this morning we’ve no alternative.” Somehow, all three were sitting on the lowest, red-polished step; three serious young people in the sunshine. Christine, was in theclear, onekecould that nshe wasand always  protected on both sides. of Sh Sheecourse, had a good skin, clmiddle; ear, birdli bi rdlike eyes, imagine golden-brow golden-brown arms soft s oft,, well-kept well -kept h hands; ands; sh shee proba probably bly wore gloves when she she w went ent ridi riding ng and never never had washed dishes iin n her llife. ife. Morny, In her simple, tailored frock, sat with an elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, while Ian explained that his transfer was imminent and that Christine must decide what she was going to do. Quickly, if a little awkwardly, he went on, “The chief gave me to understand that the married quarters are separate houses and decently furnished, and they’re part of a married man’s salary. I’d also get a marri marriage age allowance, allow ance, so we wouldn’t be at all badl badly y of off.” f.” “Ian, you know it isn’t the money!” “Yes, I do. I’m merely trying to sell you the idea. It’s for six months, Christine. I can’t see  beyond  beyon d that that at th thee mom oment ent,, but it wouldn’t be such a bad start to marri arriage. age. We ’d have a marvellous time keeping house on the edge of the woods. There’d be horses and you could collect as many pets as you liked. You’d even be able to do some entertaining, and at week-ends we’d go to the nearest town and perhaps dance or go to a cinema. You wouldn’t have time to be bored.” “Don’t,” pleaded Christine, on the verge of tears. “You don’t have to offer bribes—you know that. We’ve been over it so many times. If I had a brother or a sister I wouldn’t so much mind leaving mother and dad, but I’m all they have, and they’d worry dreadfully if they thought I’d have to move move hou house se ever every y few month months. s. Mother’s never been stro strong ng,, you know.” know.” “Can’t they be made to realize you couldn’t be in better hands than mine?” he said impatiently. “They have one another, but I’ve no one if I can’t have you. I’d take such care of you, Christine! And travelling about wouldn’t hurt us for the first two or three years. By then I’ll have saved enough to put down a substantial amount on a place of our own. There are big profits in forestry and farming, if you can run them together.”

“You’ll “You ’ll save more wi with thout out a wife,” w ife,” she sai said d ble bleakly akly..  

“Christine! Are you suggesting that we postpone our marriage for years—till I can afford to buy a house house and a few ac acres res iin n tthis his district?” Seemingly she was. A silence ensued, lasted so long that Morny’s nerves began to jump. The whole business was much more difficult than she had anticipated. She tried to see herself as Christine Levitt, with parents adored and adoring, the mother a little delicate. Her sympathies, which the other day had been entirely with Ian, were now divided between them. What a frightful dilemma for poor Christine. Yet there must be a way out of it. People didn’t meet and fall in love to no purpose. They were intended to marry and share their lives, not to become so embittered by years of separation that when eventually their marriage was possible the romance and idealism had fled. She remembered Grant’s derisive remarks about romanticists and said fiercely within herself, “Yes, romance!” There must be a solution, if one could only think of it. To end the silence she put a quiet question. “Wouldn’t your father help you and Ian financially, Christine?” The girl raised a glance which was myopic with unshed tears. “He’s a bank manager and lives up to his salary; he’ll get a pension, you see. Mother and I have everything we want—he’d rather  have it that way. I have some money of my own—sums he’s given me for my birthday and at Christmas—but it isn’t nearly enough to be of any use to Ian.” “I wouldn’t accept it,” he said abruptly, then shot to his feet and strode round the garden and out of sight.

Morny was not sorry to see him go; it made her own problematical part in the discussion less embarrassing. Even so, it was several minutes before she could make a plunge. They sat there, each moodily intent upon the gate. “Do you talk to your parents about Ian?” Morny asked at last. “They’re aware he writes to me, and mother generally wants to know if he’s well. She’s quite fond of him. Father’s different. He’s anxious for me to marry and would force himself to welcome any man who’d make me happy. But from his point of view—he’s an absolute pet but slightly Middle Ages—it’s impertinent of any man to offer marriage if he can’t back up the offer with a settled home. And, honestly, I think a home is indispensable, too.”

You re really in love with Ian, aren t you?

 

“I’ll never marry any anyone one else,” she answered with direct simplicity simplicity.. Morny warmed towards her. Christine might have been overindulged, but she wasn’t spoiled. Basically she was as sound as Ian himself. She was capable of travelling with him, of having fun in the wilderness, of bearing all the small hardships without much complaining. But her parents  pulled, and she was desperately anx anxious ious not to hu hurt rt th them em,, either by a marriage arri age in which they they would find no pleasure or by being parted from them for many months at a time. It was very easy to see her side of it. “You see,” Christine went on reasonably but with an echo of despair in her voice, “it isn’t duty that tugs at me so much as loyalty. I can’t agree with Ian that he should come first; I owe more in the way of love and understanding to my parents than I do to him. Has he told you that my father  could fix him up with a good post here in Limbusi?” “No. An indoor indoor job?” “There’s a company being formed to open a departmental store—something really big and modern. Ian could go in as a partner.” Involuntarily, Morny said, “That wouldn’t suit him a scrap.” ‘That’s what Ian says, and I believe it. But the money would be good, and in time he’d be able to buy his tract of land, and plant.” Morny shook her head thoug thought htfu full lly, y, “Meanwhile he’d go ssoft oft and probabl prob ably y lose faith in himsel himself. f. He belongs with things of the earth, Christine. In any other sphere he’d be only half alive.” The other girl’s expression was dull and resentful. “The way I see it, his problem is parallel with mine. I’m torn between him and my parents; he has to choose his job or me. I think I’ve as much right to expect capitulation as he does.” “You don’t mean that,” said Morny. “You couldn’t bear to have him disillusioned. When you marry you give, you don’t take away.” “You’re one of the forgiving sort; you’d let a man trample on you and come up smiling so long as you were the only woman in his life.” Morny laughed. “Don’t pick a quarrel with me. I won’t have it, even if it does give vent to your 

unhappiness. I came here with Ian because he was under the impression that another woman’s slant sla nt on your your troubles trouble s migh mightt help. I’m not sure he was w as righ ri ght.” t.”  

“I’m sorry,” said Christine sincerely. “It was sweet of you to come, and I do thank you for it. You’re stronger than I am—I can tell that—and probably you’d love differently, more intensely, so that for you there’d be no alternative.” Morny preferred to omit her own emotions from the argument. Leaning forward on her elbow, she took a long speculative look at Christine’s downcast face. It was a pretty face with a shapely mouth that showed a trace of wilfulness. “Do you think it’s fair to Ian to wait passively for something to happen? Have you ever begged yourr fath you father er to arrange ar range a lloan oan so th that at Ian might might start up on his own ow n right away?” “I’ve thought of it, but daddy wouldn’t do it. He says that once a man is launched on a career he should start on his own feet.” “That may apply to banking, but forestry needs capital; surely he’d understand that? May I say something very frank, that you won’t like?” A brief pause. “Yes.” “Here goes then. You’re a coward, Christine. Oh, I know you ride and shoot, that you wouldn’t  be scared of living livi ng at th thee back o o’’ beyond—but beyond—but you’re you’re afraid to face a battle battle with your parents, afraid to let them see that Ian’s so important in your life that you’d actually risk their displeasure for his sake. s ake. If you you had a sp spark ark of re real al courage you’d have made them rea reali lize ze by now that n no o other  man will do. Instead you’ve swallowed your father’s opinions whole, and made Ian thoroughly miser iserable able in th thee pr process. ocess. You don’t don’t deserve deser ve to be loved as Ian loves you.” you.” Christine had not moved moved.. She sat sa t stari staring ng at the flagged flagged path, p ath, and in a moment moment or two she si sigh ghed. ed. “You’re right, of course. I’ve always been devoted to mother and thought dad perfect.” Morny pressed home her slim advantage. “Separation might be good for all three of you. If you wrote to them often and gaily they’d eventually be convinced that everything was turning out splendidly. They’d be so relieved and pleased that they’d let you have your own way.” With her  head still bent, Christine nodded dispiritedly. Morny turned and watched a garden-boy hunched over a flower bed; he was crooning almost inaudibly as he forked the reddish soil. She felt rather  empty and subdued, and the sun was beginning to beat down with an electrical ferocity. She  pushed  push ed up ffrom rom th thee step. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can say to you. Go and find Ian. I’ll sit in the car.”

It was nearly an hour later that Ian came out of the green gate, slipped into his seat and started  

the car. He was pale and unsmiling, and they were well on the way to the centre of the town  before he he spoke. “You did your best, “You bes t, Morny Morny,, and than thanks ks a lot. lo t. We We ’ll have som so me lun l unch ch at the the hotel and a nd drive dri ve the long way home. I’ll show you some rock paintings.” “You don’t have to, Ian. We can go straight home to Singana now.” He gave her a tight smile. “Don’t waste your pity on me; I’ve been through all this before. In fact, I’m developing a technique to deal with it. We’re out for the day and we’ll make what we can of it.” Christine was not mentioned again. They had salad and iced drinks at the hotel, sauntered around the streets and drove out to a barren hillock bearing smooth, hollowed granite outcrops on which, in some bygone age, natives had carved and painted the shapes of animals and birds. They found a river choked with wild hyacinth and banked by rubber weed, saw a herd of small buck  static upon a plain. Ian knew the name of every growing plant and shrub; he even knew the medicinal uses of many of them. When at length he brought the two-seater to the more familiar Singana road, Morny was tired  but happier happier th than an she felt she had the right tto o be be.. The thoug thought tthat hat sh shee had failed Ian and and Christine did depress her a little, but uppermost was the knowledge that in the dark hours of tomorrow morning, while most people slept, she would start out on an adventure, with Grant.

 

  CHAPTER TEN

THE alarm clock purred promptly; it only purred because it was of an ancient type and Morny had  pressed cotton cotton wool int into o th thee bell so th that at Uncle Luke sh should ould not be disturbed. Sh Shee sat up and  blinked,  blink ed, knew a sensation of bliss blis s as reali realizat zation ion dawned, and got out of bed. She She crept int into o the the  bathroom,, came back and dress  bathroom dressed ed iin n a tweed skirt, a w whit hitee sshirt hirt and and a gay woollen wool len slipover. sli pover. She  put on her tthick hickest est and and m most ost sensible shoes an and d laced them neatly. It seemed odd to be dabbing on powder before the first pencil-ray of dawn, but she did it meticulously, knowing that no light is so merciless as the pearly radiance which bathes the early morning. Perhaps Grant would let her climb all the way with them. She hoped so. She tucked a handkerchief into her pocket, took a last glance at her reflection and snapped off  the light. In the hall she coaxed back the bolt and carefully opened the door. There was no breeze, so the door could be left unfastened and the click which might rouse Uncle Luke could be avoided. She saw the beam of the car’s headlights, drew a deep and joyous breath of the fresh,  penetrating  penet rating air, and flitted flitted down th thee path and ou outt of th thee gate. gate. Grant straightened from a lounging position, threw away his cigarette and pulled wide the car  door. “You’re on time,” he said. He came round and got in beside her, gave her a rug and poured some coffee into a cup. “It’s milkless but it’s hot.” She sipped. “It also tastes of whisky.” “There’s not enough in it to make you miss your step. Is it sweet enough?” “Plenty, thanks.” “Could you eat a sandwich?”

“Not just now.”  

She nestled in the rug with the cup held between both hands and looked at him. “This is grand—  and isn’t it quiet! I don’t believe I’ve ever been up at this time before. It’s like another world.” “Same people in it,” he observed laconically. “Don’t take too long over the coffee. We have to get on and meet the others.” His tone was vaguely chilling. Morny gave him her empty cup, chided herself for an idiot. What did she expect from a man at four in the morning? “Bernice is driving with the Frosts,” he said as they moved off. “The rest are using the jeep  belonging  belong ing to th thee club. Both car carss wil willl be on th thee road outside outside the the clubhouse, clubhouse, and from there we drive about seven m miles iles.” .” The sky was black and full of stars which shed a pale glow over the town. In the main street a milk lorry from the junction had halted and was disgorging clanking crates on to the pavement. The boys were already on the spot with their white box-tricycles, loading up and chattering like magpies. The car turned to the right and soon slowed down to pass the jeep and the Frosts’ saloon. “All set?” s et?” call called ed Grant tto o the the others. “We’re following!” someone sang out. The cream car put on speed. Morny pushed the rug down to her knees, folded her arms and surveyed the long dim road ahead. “Are all you mountaineers wearing spikes?” she enquired conversationally. “Only a couple of the men and Bernice have them. Most of us get along with crepe rubber.” “Growth changes as you go higher, doesn’t it? Are there any mountain flowers?” “A few bal balsams, sams, but nothing nothing un unusu usual. al. There are ar e no pl plants ants up high—it’s high—it’s cra cragg ggy.” y.” After a moment she turned her head his way. “Are you one of those people who always snap in the morning?” “Am I snapping?” he said carelessly. “I beg your pardon. Maybe you’re extra chirpy. Didn’t

you go during last night?”

 

“Of course not. I went to bed at nine.” “To be fresh fres h ffor or th this is morning? orning? You You do eeverythin verything g wholeheartedly wholehearted ly,, don ’t you? What What di did d you think of Limbusi?” In one second the whole of Morny’s nervous system seemed to contract, and her jaw became so stiff that that she ccould ould only ec echo, ho, “Limbusi?” “Limbusi?” “Limbusi,” he repeated, clipping the syllables. “The little mining town fifty miles down the road. Don’t tell me I was seeing ghosts yesterday.” Foolishly, Morny stammered, “I didn’t think for a moment that ... that anyone we knew would see us. There’s nothing wrong in taking a trip of that sort, but we didn’t want Mrs. Bartlett to find out.” “She won’t hear of it from me,” he said coolly. “Why shouldn’t you two go off alone? Boys and girls have been doing that since before history.” “You don’t have to be so contemptuous. There was nothing horrid in our motive.” “My dear child ” he said in that infuriating, aloof voice of his, “you never did a thing in your  life from horrid motives. I’m quite sure of that. As women go you’re startlingly honest, and I’d  back your your int integrity egrity,, too. If I h haven’t aven’t so much respect for your your judgm judgment of th thee hum human speci species es you can’t blam bl amee me. After all, al l, you h haven’t aven’t so ver very ym many any y year earss behind b ehind you.” you.” “I suppose that’s a dig at Ian Templeton!” “Dear me, no. How quickly you rise to his defence. Templeton’s a good forestry man—  according to his chief he’d be one of the best if he had more initiative.” He paused and added offhandedly, offh andedly, “Not “ Not going to m marr arry y him him before he lea leaves ves Singan Singana, a, are a re you?” you?” “No, I’m not,” she said shortly. “Disappointing for you, but wise,” he commented comfortingly, “He’s not man enough to make you a satisfactory husband. I think you’ll come to that conclusion yourself once he’s out of the way.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she burst out.

He made a sound of sarcastic disapproval and went on driving. His expression was coldly  

satirical and she guessed that his eyes were very green, as they were when he was angry; though why he should be angry was beyond her comprehension. The morning was tarnished. Beauty and expectancy had gone out of it, and all because Grant had seen her in Limbusi with Ian yesterday. What construction he had put on their visit she could not fathom, but it was obviously an unflattering one. For a moment she was tempted to blurt out the truth, but the next second she knew that frankness with Grant would be bound to harm Ian. Grant would never understand the mentality of a man who had to take along a woman friend to help him convince another woman that she ought to marry him. Grant was so eminently capable of  handling any type of person that Ian’s uncertainty and unhappiness would appear to him as the just deserts of a despicably weak man. “Let him stew,” he’d say, “and climb out of it as best he can. If  he can’t manage the woman now, he never will.” She had more or less promised Ian that she would forget yesterday’s episode; it would be kinder to him to do so. There was not much chance of Grant’s forgetting what he had seen of it, though. There were times when she loathed this dark, indifferent man at her side, when she longed to hurt him just as much as he hurt her. He made some references to the country through which they were passing, and though she could see nothing but black outlines she looked out at them with studious interest and nodded to show that she was listening. The road ended abruptly, the car bumped on for about a hundred yards and then Grant switched off. To Morny the sudden stillness was like a warning; it had the drama and suspense of the quietude which precedes a cyclone, and the unreality was only partly shattered when Grant said, “Will you have some more coffee or wait for an hour till we rest?” “I’ll wait, thank you,” she answered politely, and stepped out on to the grass. The other two vehicles jolted up, and she found herself greeting Dr. and Mrs. Frost and saying “Good morning” to Bernice; Bernice in riding breeches and a khaki silk shirt, her hair ash-blonde in the car beams, and the inevitable cigarette dangling carelessly from her fingers. It took a little while to lock the cars and get the two hurricane lamps alight, but as soon as Mr. Reid and one of the other men had moved ahead with the lanterns the rest were ready to follow. As the group straggled forward, Bernice and Grant were just in front of the Frosts and Morny. Bernice’s arm was negligently linked with his, and she walked with a swinging stride which fitted

his very well; but probably he had shortened his pace to accommodate her.

 

Between Grant’s remarks Bernice’s voice and laughter were audible. The hoarseness of her  tones, that breaking quality which is attractive because it is rare, slurred what she said, and Grant seemed to be purposely speaking low. There was no guessing at their conversation, but Morny’s general impression was of a completely balanced couple who were accustomed to being together. She had not seen them like this before, so ... so heartbreakingly close and companionable. Mrs. Frost was apprehensively making it plain that this was not really her idea of how to greet the dawn on a Sunday morning. She had joined the party at her husband’s request; he was for ever  telling her that she should have more exercise in the cool hours, so she had reluctantly agreed to accompany him part of the way. But she had no intention of exhausting herself, and she had no head for heights, anyway. The ground rose steeply, the lanterns swung overhead now, and the climb began. Grant left Bernice with wi th Reid, dropped drop ped back to Morn Morny’s y’s side and took a grip of her elbow. el bow. “I can manage,” she said. “There’s no need for you to bother with me.” “I promised Luke you’d arrive back in one piece,” he replied. “Bernice has had more practice in looking after herself.” After that Morny saved her breath for exertion. She tried hard not to pant and chose her  footholds with care. There was nothing dangerous in this part of the ascent—at most she could only have twisted her ankle on a rock or slipped on a tuft of wiry grass—but she was determined not even to stagger. Presently he made her rest, and, turning about, she saw the first dove-grey and  pink streaks of dawn.

“The colors are tender. Is the sun rising over Singana?” she asked softly. He nodded. “This iiss o one ne of the the Chungwa Chungwa pe peaks aks that y you ou see against the the sun s unset.” set.” “Are we very high?” “About a thousand feet.” “May I go right to the top with you?” “No,” uncompromisingly.

“It seems a pity to miss it, now I’m here. I wouldn’t be any trouble,” she pleaded.

 

“Yes, you would.” “But there are nine men.” “Don’t start an argument. You’re not going,” he said with unpleasant sharpness. “Ready to move on?”

She made no further attempts to persuade him, and ten minutes later they joined the others upon a wide wi de le ledge dge of grass. grass. A couple of m mug ugss w were ere spread, and satch satchels els of food an and d coffee flasks were opened. Everyone sat facing the increasing daylight, and each in his own fashion marvelled at the milky mist over the surrounding hills, the mauve shroud in the valleys. The silver curve of the lake was tiny and incredibly distant; it looked like the blade of a burnished sickle thrown down while the gardener slept. Delicate scarves of flamingo-pink lay across a pale blue sky, and within minutes they disintegrated into ripples of pink fleece and then into nothingness, while the heavens deepened rapidly into the usual African blue. Morny glanced about her at her companions. Several looked as if they had just awakened. About a dozen feet away Bernice was smiling at Grant and murmuring on a sigh, “Well! Good morning.” Grant answered her teasingly, “Hello. So it’s you!” as if this was an unexpected but exhil exh ilara arating ting meeting meeting with th thee o one ne woman in th thee worl w orld. d. Morny tucked her sandwich into a crevice, patted down the grass to cover it and rested back  against the slope of the mountain. She felt rather sick and hollow, and just a bit scared of the tide of emotion which had swept over her as those two smiled at each other. Her heart beat unevenly into the rock at her back, but seemed also connected with the raw lump in her throat. In fact her  whole being was at the mercy of the pulsing mechanism in her body. She thought, “I’m not in love with him. I won’t be!” But the thought had no substance, no reassurance. Someone said, “Try a cookie, Morny,” and she managed a polite refusal. She half-turned from them and stared over the green wooded cleft between this mountain and the next. The sensation of suffocation was subsiding, and by an effort of will her nerves also were coming under control. She was crazy. She liked Grant; of course she did. His coolness this morning hurt because it was based on a misunderstanding that she could not clarify, and because she had been unprepared. She might even be a little jealous of Bernice; pardonably jealous, for  Bernice Ashley already had most things and presumably she was setting herself out to ensnare

Grant.

 

Morny knew that Bernice had an allowance from a fond and proud father, but she was equally certain that the woman wanted much more money than she possessed at the moment. She had talked of a new speedboat design which she would carry out if she “ever acquired the cash,” and had disparagingly compared her own small sports car with Grant’s limousine. As Grant’s wife she would not only be wealthy enough to indulge her expensive sportswoman’s tastes, but she would live in the most opulent house in Singana above the lake which she had described as a  perfect stretch of water. An And d possibly possibl y even Bernice, who was passably passabl y well known herself, would not object to the added distinction of being the most envied and prominent member of  Singana society—Mrs. Grant Randall. Well, why not? It would doubtless suit Grant to have a dashing, self-assured wife. Morny recalled having reflected weeks ago that he had not much use for the ordinary, dependent type of  woman, that he would never be caught in the feminine trap. Bernice was not particularly feminine,  but she could c ould comm communicate with w ith him on a differen differentt plane from that that att attained ained by most women and yet retain enough womanliness to satisfy his needs. He had called her an unusual woman, meaning no doubt, that that ver very y combination combination in her of toughn toughness ess and al allure. lure. A hand shook her shoulder, and she started rather violently. “That’s not the best place to go to sleep—you might dream and slip over the edge. And don’t ump as if you were seeing ghosts.” She gave him a quick, automatic smile. “You’re not particularly ghostly. Are you and the others off now? now?”” Grant’s regard was keen. “We are, and I think it’s as well we decided to leave you here with Mrs. Frost. You’re pale,” he touched her hand, “andthen coldyou’ll as well. Roll up like overeating. there inThere’s a rug. The sun will soon be high enough to warm you. Maybe feel more still  plenty  plent y of food.” food.” How did he know she hadn’t eaten? Had he watched her over Bernice’s shoulder? She was too miserable to care. Bernice stood above her and observed dispassionately, “So you’re not coming to the top with us. Perhaps you’re wise. The English diet isn’t conducive to stamina, is it? I’ve never seen you in a boat.” “Come to that,” responded Morny without much spirit, “I’ve never seen you at the tennis club.”

“I play on Grant’s court,” said Bernice negligently, “and if you’re interested, I’m not bad. Am I,  

Grant?” “You’re good,” he said, “but I doubt if you could trim up a house as Morny has her uncle’s. It takes all sorts.” s orts.” He sshru hrugg gged. ed. “W “Wee ’ll ’l l lleave eave you now, M Morny orny.. Look af after ter yourself. Bernice, you you’d ’d  better  bett er go st straigh raightt beh behind ind D Dr. r. Frost an and d I’ll be at your your back back.. And And before before you tru trust st all your weigh weightt to to one foot get those spikes dug in. Be sure of that at each step. There’s no hurry.”

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” she said. “I’m as surefooted as a Barbary sheep.” She probably was, thought Morny despondently as Grant at last vanished round the ledge upon which she was left with the middle-aged Mrs. Frost. There seemed to be no limit to Bernice’s  physical  phy sical accom accomplis plish hment ents. s. The doctor’s wife, a small person in a tweed suit, had been busy with binoculars, but now she sat back and closed her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be awful,” she said, “if this ledge fell off the mountainside!” “I suppose so, though we wouldn’t know much about it. What a thing to think of.” “We must be about fifteen hundred feet up. Doesn’t it give you a queer feeling to know that?” “No, I don’t mind.” The sounds made by Bernice and the men had already ceased. Morny would have liked to watch them climb, anything rather than remain motionless, Wondering. They would be gone some time; two hours had been mentioned. All at once it seemed to Morny that two hours of this  position with wi th tthe he switch swi tchback back of hills in fron frontt and the the rocky r ocky face of the moun mountain tain at her back w were ere more than she would be able to bear. She stood up. “Don’t! do that,” begged Mrs. Frost faintly. “I didn’t feel too bad while all the men were here and we were chatting, but now that we’re alone I’ve a horrible fear that one of us is going to hurtle down there.” Morny knelt beside her in some alarm. “Are you dizzy? Shall I pour you some coffee?” “It’s a slight head pain and nausea. Heights do that to me. My husband has some tablets in his  pocket that that would pu putt m mee righ rightt in a jiffy jiffy,, but but I forgot forgot tto o get them them from him him.” .”

“They won’t have got very far. I’ll shout to him. Stay flat with your eyes closed.”

 

“Do be careful, my dear.” Morny straightway manoeuvered herself round a crag, ran along the ledge and pulled herself up from rock to rock. Where an outcrop afforded an easy resting-place she stopped and looked up at the towering summit. There they were all, of them, spread out and appearing oddly, small and inhuman as they scrambled from one point to another and gesticulated friendly advice. Up they went, towards the serrated peak. She shouted, but her voice was puny in that expanse of space. She would have to climb higher. It wasn’t so difficult; with spikes on her shoes she would have had no qualms at all. Morny had just stopped for the second time when the clackety-clack of loose rocks echoed about her. Someone up there had dislodged them. They came down to the right of her, bouncing oyfully upon the side of the mountain and down into the void. She raised her head, saw a stone about the size of a man’s fist jump at a tangent from a rock and felt the dull impact as it met the  bone just just above h her er tem temple. ple. Half-stunned, she stood gripping at a clump of plants with one hand while the other covered an area of increasing pain. That was a bit of bad luck. It was no use; her voice would never reach them now. Poor Mrs. Frost would have to suffer till they got back. Slowly, she let herself down step by step to the ledge. With a handkerchief she wiped clean the graze at her temple; then she pulled forward a lock of hair to disguise it and made her way along to where Mrs. Frost still lay. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I did give them a shout, but they’d gone too far to hear me. The sound didn’t carry too well.” “It doesn’t does n’t matter. matter. If I don’t move it iisn’t sn’t unbear unbearabl able. e. Thanks Thanks very v ery much much for your effort.” Morny wrung out a table napkin in water from one of the bottles and laid it across Mrs. Frost’s forehead, after which she sat down and leaned her own throbbing head in her hand. A silent hour dragged by. Here there were few insects and no birds; only the dry rustle of grass disturbed the atmosphere. A thin line of high white clouds lay unmoving against the blue, and the sun was growing hot and brassy as it rose in the sky. Mrs. Frost yawned. “I’ve been making up for the short night in bed. We were late last night after the dinner at Grant Randall’s. He and Bernice can stand the pace, and my husband is used to

sleeping whenever he can, but I definitely need my seven hours, and last night I had less than three. I shall have to have a good rest after lunch.” She glanced up idly at Morny’s profile.  

“Yesterday was Bernice’s birthday. She’s twenty-seven.” “Is she?” At the moment everything seemed trivial to Morny. “She looks about that, doesn’t she? I wonder if she and Grant will marry?” “I wonder,” said Morny. Mrs. Frost went oh musingly, “I don’t believe anyone connected them till last night, because Grant was bound to do what he could for her, but a man has to be fairly fond of a woman to give her a birthday party, and I can’t imagine him permitting her to wear his mother’s jewellery unless she’s ultimately to have it.” The knocking in Morny’s head had the persistence and monotony of a tomtom. “His mother’s ... ewellery?” “It was a beautiful diamond wristlet. I’ve seen it before—when Grant was showing us some  pieces he’d colle collected—so cted—so I recogn recognized ized it at once. He may have given it to her for her birthday birthday.. I didn’t like to show any curiosity.” She hesitated. “I don’t care for Bernice—she strikes me as a woman without depth, and as rather mercenary—but I would like to see Grant married. He’d make a charming and exciting husband.” Morny could offer no response. To herself she was repeating, “I’m not in love with him. I’m not.. I’m n not not!” ot!” As if rrepeti epetition tion could make make it i t so. But h her er mind fill filled ed w with ith the the pi picture cture of Bernice Bernice,, the the china-blue eyes wide and exultant as her strong fingers played with the diamond bracelet on her  slender brown wrist. Bernice, flaunting jewels which had belonged to Grant’s mother. Then Mrs. Frost sat up and raised a hand. “Here they come,” she said, “sooner than expected. Thank heaven.”

 

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

U NCLE LUKE was puzzled and somewhat uneasy. Much though he loved Morny, he felt that this time she had carried her antipathy for Grant a little too far. After all, she had accepted the invitation to go mountain climbing with eagerness, and her enjoyment of the jaunt had depended as much upon herself as upon others. This morning he had breakfasted in bed. Morny had arranged it last night with Thomas, and though he, Luke, was rather opposed to the dubious luxury of managing ripe papaw and scrambled eggs on a tray balanced across his knees, he had agreed to it because she had wanted him to have it that way. He had heard her get up and go out, had chuckled at the way she had crept about and stealthily made her exit. After breakfast he had lazily shaved and dressed and taken a luxurious walk between his flower   borders  borders. . In Yorksh orkshire ire here he had always waystospent an without hou hourr or them. two aft after er Su Sunday nday passed breakf breakfast ast wtime ith the thwith e weekend newspapers, but oneal had get by He mostly thewith the  previous Friday’s  Bulawayo Chronicl Chronicle, e,   and this morning was no exception; he read it right through. At a quarter to eleven he looked at his watch. He liked to think of Morny having fun with a crowd, but considering the hour at which she had risen this morning he felt it was time she showed up and got some rest. He folded his newspaper and was about to stroll out to the front gate when the well-known creak advised him that it had been pushed wide. So he stayed where he was, a smile already forming on his lips and his eyes expectantly upon the archway to the hall where Morny would appear. The front door was, as usual, standing open. But Morny did not come in at once. She had halted in the porch with Grant. Uncle Luke had sensed it was Grant before he spoke. “Take three aspirins and get some sleep. I’ll have a word with your uncle.” “I’d rather you didn’t.” Morny’s voice was brittle; it rather frightened Uncle Luke. “I can explain perfectly well myself.” “You go to bed. I’ll save you the trouble.”

Uncle Luke did not care for Grant’s tones, either; his words were like chips of ice. What was the matter with the two of them?  

“You won’t,” said Morny. “I’ve had enough of being pushed around this morning, and now that I’m home I won’t put up with any more of it. Please go, Grant.” “I’ll do nothing of the sort. I took responsibility for you, and I mean to see Luke; he’ll expect it of me, anyway. I don’t know what’s got into you, but I think it would be better for everyone if you slept it off. Get going, there’s a good girl.”

“Grant; this isn’t your business...” “I’m making it my business, so it’s useless to fuss. Pretty soon we’ll have another picnic to help us forget the bad taste of this one.” Morny said bitterly, “Don’t invite me to go half-way on the big game hunt, will you? I couldn’t  bear that.” that.” “If you stay here any longer,” Grant bit out, “we’ll both say things we’ll be sorry for. Go to bed, or I’ll carry you there!” Uncle Luke had not budged. Disturbed and astonished, he stared unseeing at the bookcase and tried to will himself into motion. He ought to have breezed out in the beginning; now it was too late. He saw Morny cross the hall without looking into the lounge and pass through to the corridor. Then he heard Grant in the hall flicking his lighter, smelled cigarette smoke. This was like a scene one might write about with supreme confidence, because one would never visualize it happening to oneself. It was always easier to predict how another person would act in a given situation. One’s own actions were governed by all sorts of repressions. Presumably Grant would presently summon the house-boy and demand to see his master, and it would look too silly if Luke popped up from a couple of yards away. Grant himself resolved that part of Uncle Luke’s dilemma. He came to the archway, briefly glanced at the newspaper which had slipped to the floor, then at Uncle Luke’s somewhat deprecating expression; after which he leaned there, smoking. “I’ve just brought Morny back,” he said. Apparently, as far as Grant was concerned, Luke Penrose had been asleep or deaf for the last ten minutes. The older man was relieved; this was more than he had dared hope for. “Good climb?” he asked.

‘The climb was all right, but Morny got hurt while we were gone. It’s nothing serious—a bump  

and a graze at the side of her forehead—but I think it must have scared her. She seems keyed up.” “She’ll “Sh e’ll be better after after a sleep, poor child. You got back late.” “No, we were on time, but I took her to my place, much against her will, and put a dressing over the sore spot. I made her have a drink, too.” “Thanks; I’m glad you did. Don’t blame yourself, Grant. She’s impulsive.” “She’s also a pighead,” said Grant. “If I hadn’t noticed she was suddenly allowing her hair to flop all one side and suspected an injury, I wouldn’t know about it yet.” “She probably meant to keep it to herself. A mishap might have spoiled the jaunt for the others, and Morny wouldn’t have wanted w anted th that.” at.” “We were alone in the car. She could have told me.” “I fancy,” stated Uncle Luke with the merest twinkle, “that Morny would rather confide in anyone than you. You have that effect on her, Grant. I can’t make out why it is, but you and she seem to be natural enemies.” “Shakes up those earlier notions of yours, doesn’t it?” Grant commented sarcastically. “From my experience your sweet and gentle niece is about as tractable as a mule.” “Give her time,” said Uncle Luke, “and don’t postpone the opening of the school any more. A young woman needs plenty to occupy her; a small house and a foolish uncle are not enough.” Grant shrugged and came into the lounge to stub out his cigarette. “I’ll get back,” he said. “So long.” After Grant had gone Uncle Luke relaxed into his chair. He wasn’t really a bit anxious for the school to start, because he was sure that as soon as it did Morny would have a worrying time. Nor  was it truly his opinion that housekeeping and the social round provided too few interests for a young woman. He was of a generation which liked girls to be decorative and housewifely, and he had always secretly hoped that Morny would marry before she had a chance to work for her  living.

In a bewildering way she had changed, and he would be willing to wager that the alteration had taken place since her arrival in Rhodesia. The girl he had driven up from the Cape had not been so different from the one he had left in London three years before, but the Morny who had  

exchanged acid remarks with Grant in the porch was maturer; if he had not known better he would have said she was almost embittered. His Morny ... embittered! What was happening to her that she could behave so with a man like Grant? Uncle Luke shook  his head. He could not answer that, but he did feel that the less those two saw of each other the  better.  bett er. They would n never ever be able abl e to g get et along tog togeth ether. er.

Uncle and niece met see at lunch. thatdressing she waswhich a little palehad there wasabove nothing about Morny. He could that theExcept adhesive Grant fixed her remarkable temple had  been wh w hittled down with n nail ail scissors, sciss ors, and she dismissed it with a shru shrug. g. It was w as Grant Grant w who ho had made a major affair of it, not she. Wisely shelving his uneasiness and puzzlement., Uncle Luke abandoned the topic for less  perilous  peril ous conjecture aabout bout Mr. Mr. Malony’s bad leg and the possibil pos sibility ity th that at the old man mig migh ht d drive rive over this afternoon. Soon, the weather took on its seasonal change. Banks of grubby white clouds obscured the sun and created humidity, the heat of the streets was oppressive, and Uncle Luke tended the seedlings in his flower beds and hopefully looked upward for rain. Everyone talked of rain as if it were an exciting phenomenon, but there were no genuine signs of it yet. The clouds must darken in hue, and come closer to the earth, and thundery tendencies would have to develop: even then the storms might break over the mountains and leave Singana still thirsting. It had occurred before and might again; but everyone yearned for rain ... glorious, elusive rain. One day Uncle Luke had Clement and his wife to dinner. Morny would always remember that evening because of the afternoon which had preceded it. She had arranged with Joe a simple, tasty meal forcame four marching at seven-thirty, was on the veranda catching on the mending Bartlett along and the path. In belted grey linen and up a much-cleaned greywhen strawMrs. hat with no relief of any kind, the woman was tall and spectral. Her excellent features were tightly controlled, but when she reached the veranda and was confronting Morny the composure slipped, and her teeth, small and white, showed in a completely vicious smile. “Good afternoon,” Morny said apprehensively. “Please sit down, Mrs. Bartlett. Will you have tea?” ‘This is not a social call!” Mrs. Bartlett spoke with a metallic ring and firmly remained upon her long, slim feet. “I want you to understand that only a very serious matter would bring me to your house, Miss Blake. Is it likely that we shall be interrupted?”

“I don’t think so.” Morny was calling upon her reserves to meet a menace of which she was already half aware. “Please go ahead.”  

“Don’t stand there looking as if you couldn’t connive at anything underhand. You know very well why I’m here!” “Perhaps, but since you’ve sought me out it’s up to you to put it into words.” Mrs. Bartlett’s eyes went narrow and diamond bright. “So you’re taking that attitude, are you!” She stopped to draw a sharp breath. “You fooled me nicely the day you came to see me. Such a modest young woman who wanted nothing so much as to be a good schoolteacher and co-operate in every way. You posed so skilfully that I believed you refreshingly innocent and reserved, and encouraged my my brother to be fri friendly endly wi with th you.” you.” Morny was trying hard to keep in mind that this was Mrs. Bartlett, the principal under whom she was to work. She strove to keep her tones low and even. “You and I made “You made no bar bargains gains about you yourr brother, and I ’ve never done anythin anything g th that at could co uld hurt hurt you in any way. Ian’s entitled to live his life as he chooses, and if I...” “You had no right to go with him to Limbusi to see the Levitt girl. Ian is too honest to have taken you there without first making it quite clear that I’m against his having any further connection with her, and that alone should have deterred you from interfering. Don’t try to plead ignorance!” From nervousness and exasperation, Morny was fast being precipitated into anger. How dare the woman behave as though others hadn’t even the power of free speech! At last Mrs. Bartlett had allowed herself to be roused from that cold-fish placidity, but she needn’t think that Morny was a school girl to be cow cowed ed by aut authority hority.. “Did you learn of my visit to Limbusi imbusi from Ian?” Ian?” sshe he asked. Mrs. Bartlett made a gesture of contempt. “Of course not—he wouldn’t give you away. It was in a letter from the girl herself, and there was no mistaking what had happened.” “A letter from Christine? Did she write to you?” “She wrote to my brother, and I found the letter in one of his pockets. And don’t stare at me like that! In my own house I do as I wish.” The thin nostrils dilated. “I was never so furious in my life as when I rea read d that you ... you ... had been trying to persuade Christine Levitt to marry Ian.”

They re in love, said Morny hardily. Why should they not marry? “In love,” echoed Mrs. Bartlett scornfully. “What can you know about such things? Do you  

 belie ve ever  believe every yth thing ing th thee girl told you? She’s She’s selfish and pampered, pampered, not in the the le least ast fit to be the the w wife ife of a forestry worker, nor of anyone else who has to earn a living the hard way. But I’m not here to discuss the matter. I came to tell you how disgusted I am that you should have intervened in something which does not concern you, and to warn you that if you ever take action behind my  back at the the school I sh shall all rreport eport you you to tthe he council.” council.” Morny’s hands were clenched, her voice unsteady. “Don’t confuse your brother’s private life with the school, Mrs. Bartlett. They haven’t a thing in common. Ian’s a man with a career that he chose for himself, and he’s chosen the woman he wants to marry, too; I had no part in that. Your  influence over him ceased a good many years ago, but you’ve deliberately remained obtuse to the fact. He’s tried to avoid distressing you, but circumstances have taken a hand. If you really cared for him you’d help him to get Christine, not continually harp upon her unsuitability.” “Rubbish!” Mrs. Bartlett shot out the word as if it were an expletive. Her mouth was a hard,  pale pink line. “Y “You ou’ve ’ve shown yoursel yourselff precoci precocious ous and meddleso eddlesom me—and if you believe beli eve that that Christine Levitt has more feeling for Ian than she has for herself, you’re no judge of character. That Th at girl girl wil willl never be prise prised d awa away y ffrom rom h her er parent par ents; s; she’ll never face the the solid sol id facts of m marri arriage, age, and she’s idle and luxury-loving into the bargain.” By now Morny had forgotten everything but that this hateful woman was despising both her   brother  broth er aand nd Ch Christine ristine because they were hu hum man. Sh Shee was w as a beastly creature. “They’ll “They’ll marry arry,” ,” sshe he said, “and they’ll be happy in spite of you. Next time you snoop into Ian’s pockets you’ll probably find evidence of it.” Vera Bartlett’s utter stillness, her audible breathing, were proof to Morny that she had gone too far. But why shouldn’t she say what she thought? Why should this woman be permitted to get away with her insulting adjectives? “Meddlesome,” “precocious,” “underhand” when she admitted  brazenly  brazen ly to readi reading ng her her brother’s brother’s corres corresponden pondence ce durin during g his absence from the the house! She didn’t love Ian; there wasn’t an ounce of love in the woman’s composition. She only craved  possessively  possess ively to have have her own way wi with th him im.. On a note which was pitched a shade higher than normal, Mrs. Bartlett said, “I’ll make you sorry for that final piece of impertinence, Miss Blake!” Then she went from the veranda and stalked down the path and out of sight. Morny dropped limply into a chair. She could never work with Mrs. Bartlett after this. She visualized herself packing her things, saying goodbye to Uncle Luke and travelling south to find a ob. But she was too angry for the phase of despair to last long. To run away from that woman

would be cowardly; her sort was best confounded by tenacity and discreet defiance. Morny would refuse to be intimidated.

 

 Nevertheless,, as her fury  Nevertheless fury abated she felt depleted. depl eted. She push pushed ed her uncle’s socks into th thee work basket and stowed stowed iitt away bef before ore going going to to the the kitchen kitchen to give give Joe a hand with the the dinner. dinner. During the whole of that evening, while jesting with the homespun Clement or gossiping with his wife, Morny found her thoughts wandering back to Mrs. Bartlett. Like Grant, the woman had accused her of being no judge of human nature. Possibly they were right, but she would still bank  upon Chri Christine’s stine’s bei being ng the the wo wom man for Ian Temple Templeton. ton. Between Christine’s parents and Ian’s sister they had had too much to contend with. Being in love and working out their future would have been enough, but they were like a couple on opposing sides caught up in a grim tug-of-war. Morny wished there were something she could do. She wished it even more when Ian came to Uncle Luke’s house that weekend. “I can’t stay, I’m afraid,” he said regretfully. “The unit is moving out tomorrow, and I’ve still some things to clear up.” “How far are you going?” The new camp is about two hundred miles from here. I won’t write to you, Morny, because I’ve  preyed upon y you ou too much aalready, lready, but here here’s ’s my new address. address . If you should should be in the the mood to  pen a word of cheer cheer some ttim imee I’d be awfu awfully lly gratefu grateful.” l.” Morny looked at the set young face which still showed traces of shy charm. “What about Christine?” “I’m not sure. She writes that she’s wretched about my going so far away, but she knows that she has only to whistle and I’ll be back and willing to face her father.” “And “An d iiff she’s doesn does n’t whistle?” Ian shrugged and lowered his lids. “A man can only stand so much. If it becomes unbearable I shall have to fall in with Mr. Levitt’s plan and put in a few years at the department store.” He took  her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t bother about us, Morny. I’d sooner give up the trees than give up Chri Ch ristine. stine. I h hope ope you’ll be happy in you yourr w work ork when th thee sc school hool gets going. going. Vera Vera ’s peda pedant ntic, ic, but she can be nice to people she likes. I’m glad she took to you.”

So his sister had told him nothing about the calamitous interview the other day. Nor, it seemed, did he suspect that his letters from Christine had been seen by other eyes. Perhaps growing up with wi th Vera Vera had bl blinded inded him to the m more ore petty of her her faults.  

Morny wished wi shed him goodbye and wave waved d to him as he dro drove ve off. His departure dep arture left le ft a li little ttle emptiness. She had grown to rely upon his companionship, which had been so effortless and undemanding. un demanding. She had met o others thers at the club, cl ub, but th thee women w omen were we re marr marrie ied d and none of the  bachelors off offered ered th thee uncom uncomplica plicated ted friendsh friendship ip which she had enjoyed wi with th Ian. Ian. U Unlik nlikee his, their  their  hearts were free and clamouring, and like him, they were not too enamoured of bachelorhood.

 

  CHAPTER TWELVE

AWARE that she was more often alone these days, Uncle Luke let Morny drive him to the office and keep the car for her own amusement. She would make a round of the shops or go down to the lake for a bathe, and pick him up at lunch time. Occasionally she saw Bernice practising in one of her boats or idling in Grant’s graceful white yacht. Once, when Morny was swimming, the yacht came near and Bernice leaned over the side. “I thought it was you,” she called. “I’m giving a party on Friday. Like to come?”  Not too certain she had heard correc correctly tly,, Morny Morny trod water and lifted the the ear-f ear-flap lap of her cap. “Did you say a party?” “Yes, on Friday. My people are coming up from Bulawayo for a couple of days and, they love a binge. Trouble is, I can’t get hold of enough girls.” “Well, you won’t get me,” me,” th thoug ought ht M Morny, orny, but aloud she aanswer nswered, ed, “I’ll let you know.” know.” “It’ll be a good party,” Bernice added. “I’m not such a dud at entertaining, and Grant’s handli han dling ng tthe he dri drink nkss and ca catering.” tering.” Morny looked up at the tanned face and shallow blue eyes, she saw the slim-fitting slacks, the mannish white shirt beneath a shapely waistcoat, and something flickered and hardened within her. “Are you g going oing to marr marry y Grant?” she asked. as ked. Bernice smiled and flipped her fingers. “Why is everyone so curious? We’ll announce it when we’re ready.” ready.” Morny said “Goodbye,” and struck out for the bank. She dressed quickly in the car and drove along the red dusty road to the town. The slightly sick sensation which invariably took possession whenever she contemplated the marriage of Bernice and Grant was clogging her throat, and now she had the added knowledge that members of Bernice’s family were coming up to meet him.

Uncle Luke had always averred that troubles slipped into perspective and lost half their  importance if one face them squarely and aired them; it was useless to batten them down, he said,  because, like l ike wee weeds ds in a moist land, l and, they they had had a habit of growing growi ng apace when you you took your your eyes  

off them. It was also one of her uncle’s maxims that to oneself one must never deny the truth. The truth  being,, in tthis  being his case, that that sh shee was in love with G Grant rant Randall Randall.. She She couldn couldn’t ’t keep keep repe repeatin ating, g, “I won’t  be, I won’t be!” when th thee very th thoug ought ht of him br broug ought ht ang anguish uish,, and the the sight sight of him, im, nodding imperiously from his car as he passed the house, twisted and squeezed her heart. And being in love with Grant could hardly be placed in Uncle Luke’s category of “troubles.” It was an unalloyed catastrophe, nothing less. Morny just could not see how she was to meet it. Instead of turning into the main street, she crossed it and pulled up at a corner opposite the new school. It was a long, one-storey structure in white stucco, with arcades all round it to ensure cool classrooms. Set in the middle of vast playing fields, it was attractively colonial. The bell hung in a separate white stone building, like those in Dutch church grounds, and around it flowers already grew inside a low ornamental fence. The paths were laid, tennis courts and swimming  bath completed, completed, and even net-ball net-ball posts had been su sunk nk in cement cement,, thoug though h as yet they they were with w ithout out nets. Morny walked into the cloistered coolness of the arcade and peered through one of the windows. Well Well -spaced -space d desks; two room roomy y cupboards, cupboards, fin finee sl slate ate blackboards in i n lim limba ba w wood ood frames on the wall. Perhaps this would be her room; she would sit behind the desk or stand  beside it, elucidating elucidating ffractions, ractions, try trying ing to implant implant a k knowledge nowledge of history and g geograph eography y into into youn young g  brains. With With lu luck, ck, M Mrs. rs. Bartlett would all allow ow her to use her own m meth ethods ods in i n teachin teaching g art. But But luck  and Mrs. Mrs. Bartlett were hardly com compatible... patible... “I bet you’ll be more shaky th than an the the youngsters youngsters on on y your our first firs t day,” ssaid aid Grant at her ba back. ck.

Morny remained as she was for a few seconds, temporarily witless. Then she turned from the window. “I expect I shall. Are you here on business?” “On pleasure,” he corrected her, with edged mockery. "I recognized Luke’s car in passing, and guessed you were peeping with awe at virgin schoolrooms and dedicating yourself to the future. Sobering, isn’t it?” “Children have to be taught,” she replied, offhandedly. “It’s a fine school.” “Have you been inside?” “Not yet.”

“Want to? I can borrow the key from the council offices.”  

“No—no, thanks,” thanks,” she return r eturned ed sw swiftly. iftly. “I won’t w on’t antag antagonize onize Mrs. Ba Bartlett rtlett any fu further.” rther.” “Any furth further? er?”” he took her up ssharply. harply. ““Wh What’s at’s she antagon antagonized ized about?” “Nothing dreadful.” She w “Nothing was as on h her er guard guard again. “W “Wee had a disagre dis agre em ement, ent, but it had nothing nothing whatever to do with the school. I’d better wait to go through the classrooms with her, though. She’d prefer it, and I don’t mind.” “Don’t be silly. The school isn’t Mrs. Bartlett’s.” ‘One always sets out to please one’s superiors. You won’t have had experience of that, of  course, but we small fry have to tread warily.” She moved forward into the sunshine. “It’s only a fortnight to the school opening. It seems that I’ve been in Singana for years instead of months.” “That’s because so much has happened to you,” he said, a cynical dent at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard it said that once you’re in love you can’t recall the time when you weren’t.” Treacherous color flamed in her cheeks before his meaning was clear. Then she realized with an abounding relief that Ian was again his target, and she breathed more freely, contriving a smile. “I’ve heard that, too. I wonder how true it is?” To avoid a further cynicism she tacked on, “One’s learning all the time.” Slowly they were nearing the pillars between which the gates would hang. A hoopoe perched upon one of them, crest cocked, poised for flight; with a whisper of wings he was off. Grant said, “You must be lonely without Templeton. What about dining with us tonight?” “Us” no doubt meant that Bernice would be about. Morny shook her head. “I don’t have time to  be lonely. Than Thank k you you all the sam same.” e.” Grant did not make the mordant remark for which she was prepared. He stood on the path regarding her speculatively. “You’re unhappy. If it’s over Templeton,” with a trace of harshness, “I can’t offer comfort, but if it’s something else I’ll put it right for you.” “You can’t put it right.”

Her acknowledgment that she was unhappy subtly changed the atmosphere between them. He  bent towards her, held h her er shoulder. shoulder.

 

“Morny, you’re going hom “Morny, homee to lunch with me me right r ight now. now. We We ’ll ’l l lleave eave Luke’s uke’s car outside his office and go straight to m my y h house. ouse. W Wee ’ll have a talk, tal k, and I prom promis isee to chase away aw ay th those ose shadows.” “Grant ... you can’t help.” She hurried on, “You see, there isn’t anything—nothing tangible, I mean, that I could tell you about. I shall go on feeling restless till the school starts, that’s all.”

“It isn’t all,” he contradicted abruptly. “A moment ago you were flushed, and now you’re white. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.” She averted herself from him, breathed in on a caught breath and turned it into a light laugh. “I’m not a child or a disgruntled mine employee. I’m entirely capable of running my own affairs, and if I were in need of advice I wouldn’t have to come to you. Uncle Luke hasn’t failed me yet.” His face darkened, his brows went together in a straight line. “That shows us more or less where we stand, doesn’t it? You’d rather die than accept a favor from me—or something equally melodramatic. That’s why you jumped at the chance of seeing Limbusi with Templeton, although I’d said I’d take you there. I suppose Luke told you that when I found I had to go to Limbusi that morning I call called ed for you?” “No, he didn’t. It must have slipped his mind.” “It doesn’t matter,” he said roughly. “I’m beginning to understand you very well—so well that I shan’t repeat any of my earlier mistakes!” “All right, if that’s how you feel.” Just slightly her chin trembled, but she kept it high. “There’s nothing more to say, is there? I’ll go now.” “You’re decl declining ining lun lunch ch at Minona?” Minona?” ‘To be honest,” she said, her tones uneven, “I’m declining your company, Grant. Since you collected me at four o’clock the other Sunday morning I find I can endure you only in small doses.” “That’s hell for you,” he replied crisply. “But from now on you needn’t endure me at all!” And that, apparently, was that. He walked across the road, held open the door of Uncle Luke’s

shabby tourer while she got in, closed it decisively and gave her a cool bow. Before Morny had time to slip into gear the cream car pulled out and disappeared.

 

She drove home, left the car out on the road and went indoors to her bedroom. Impossible that everything should be just as she had left it. The whole universe had toppled, her life splintered, yet the crystal powder bowl went on winking, the lampshade sat at its usual jaunty angle, and even the blue scabious were as fresh as when she had picked them early this morning. With hands locked together she stood at the window and watched one of the boys clipping the  bushes  bush es in the the back garden garden.. Had she been brave or foolish? Th Thee line dividing dividi ng th thee two could be exceedingly fine. Grant never forgive her, but ease to thetolerate situation. If it him werewith not  practicabl  practicable e to avoid himwould altogeth altogether er she would w ould not not, , atthat anymight rate, have seeing Bernice. Resolutely she sat down and wrote a note expressing regret that she would not be able to attend Bernice’s party, and Samson was sent off to deliver it. After that she did what most women do in moments of stress: looked out jobs to do and set about each as if it demanded the utmost in energy and concentration. She picked up Uncle Luke for lunch, and when he returned to the office at three-thirty she accompanied him and wrote up some of the news items which had come in by telephone since noon. At last the day ended, and Morny saw in her mirror that, except for tiredness in her eyes, she had not altered outwardly since this morning. Agony did not last; it levelled out into an ache, and  pride was w as an in indispensable dispensable ally. al ly. So reasoned Morny Morny in a y yout outh hful ful effort to live down pain. In a town the size of Singana it was difficult deliberately to keep out of anyone’s way. She couldn’t help seeing Grant now and then. There was the morning when he had driven up from the mine and had to sidestep her with a polite greeting on the pavement near his office; and the evening when they had met in the newspaper offices and exchanged aloof nods while Uncle Luke looked Once had telephoned the house and prefaced his enquiry for Uncle Luke with a distant, on. “How areGrant you, Morny?” As if he cared! Bernice’s month had stretched into nearly six weeks. She was still popular, still good news value. The game hunt upon which she had set her heart was having to wait till the threat of rain lifted from the district, but she seemed never to be at a loose end during the day, and her evenings were taken care of by the social element in the town. It was four days before the school opened that Morny had a letter from Christine Levitt. The first few lines were an apology for not having written before; she had been in the throes of an inward battle. But she was very anxious for Morny to be the first to know that she had had a showdown with her parents. Both were hurt, and she was ragged with the effort herself,

 particularly as she really reall y agreed agreed w with ith th them em th that at a cam camp p in th thee wilds wi lds was w as no su substitu bstitute te for a sett settled led home. However, the first step had been taken, and her mother and father were finally convinced that she would marry no one but Ian. She had not written the good news to him because of a  

horrible sinking sensation that her marriage would be only half a marriage if they could not start off with their own house and their own modest furniture. She did wish Morny would come to Limbusi one day soon. It was so much more satisfactory to talk about things than to try to put them into writing. The letter was cheering. It was about time something decided to go right, and the knowledge that she had had a hand in it gave a small fillip to Morny’s self-esteem. It was encouraging, too, that her girl’s assessment of sorry Christine’s characterand hadIan been wasof sorry for the parents, that Christine hadsomewhere to wound near them,correct. but sheMorny was still the opinion that anyway for the first year or two of their marriage the two must live at some distance from the the L Levi evitts. tts. As for th thee ever e ver-re -recurri curring ng th them emee of the settled se ttled home... home... Morny halted in her thoughts. There might be a solution to that! Not that department store; no one who knew Ian would seriously believe that he could ever make good in a position to which he was so temperamentally opposed. But this other ... well, it was worth taking the chance. Morny would give a great deal to see Ian and Christine married and on the best of terms with Mr. and Mrs. Levi evitt. tt. About Ian’s sister, who was shortly to be her boss, Morny at that moment thought not at all. The whole of her mind had switched to Mr. Malony and his tea plantation. The condition of Mr. Malony’s leg had improved, but he was not yet walking normally. He used a stick, and his African servant often tramped behind him with a canvas stool and invited the “baas” to take a rest whenever he paused. The servant was muscular and smiling and totally immun imm unee to Mr. Malony’s explo explosiv sivee threats.

“He’ll do anything for me. Best boy I ever had,” stated Mr. Malony aside to his cronies. “I’d like him even better if he could cook.” It was this boy who bowed to Morny that afternoon and requested that she please sit down while he called his master from the nursery. “No need to bring him all the way here,” said Morny. “I’ll go with you.” The boy looked pained but was too polite to demur. He loped ahead in his khaki shorts and singlet, over the grass and down the lane between the house and the tea gardens. Morny did not hurry, for the vista was wide and pleasant. Sunshine glistened over the terraced acres of tea bush, and down there between the rows the pickers were busy, nipping off two leaves and a bud and

expertly tossing each tiny spray over the shoulder into a basket secured to the back. Most of the  pickers were half-nak alf-naked, ed, ebony-skinn ebony-skinned ed boys, but wom w omen en and children were among among them them,, too. Morny could hear the chatter and the chanted rhythm to which they worked. Their laughter was  

fu full ll-throated -throated and a nd un uninhibited. inhibited. The nursery was the large sheltered area in which Mr. Malony raised his seedlings. Morny found him supervising the lifting of plants, but he was more than willing to retire to a bench under  the thatched awning beside the field and let the lifting take care of itself for a while. He loved company.

“If it would only rain,” he growled, glowering at the tantalizing patches of cloud. “Nothing I hate more than a broken promise.” “It’ll come, some time. Your tea looks healthy,” said Morny. “It’s healthy enough. Good irrigation and the humidity is a help, but there’s nothing like rain—  lashings of it.” He allowed his stick to slide to the ground and grinned at her. “I spend too much time ranting. Why do you bother with a curmudgeon like me?” “Maybe I have designs on your tea estate.” “I wish you had,” he said ruefully. “Luke’s right, you know. I’m getting too old for it, and I need a six-months’ holiday. Why should I work my hide off to produce tea? It’ll still be here when I’m gone for ever.” Morny hesitated. “Have you thought any more about taking an assistant?” “What’s the good? Tea planters aren’t ten a penny, and I wouldn’t have any interest in training a chap unless I knew and liked him personally. Now if you were to get married, Morny...” “We’ve been over th that at before,” she s he said hast hastily. ily. He laughed. “You don’t have to jump on me. There’s no harm in hoping.” She glanced away over the acres of blowing seedlings, which were very green because the boy hosed them every day. “Mr. Malony, how well do you know Ian Templeton?” He rasped ra sped his chin thou though ghtfu tfull lly y, sp spoke oke wi with th a knowi knowing ng inflexion. “So it’ i t’ss Ian Temple Templeton ton,, is i s iit? t? I saw him on once ce or twice at you yourr place. pl ace. Seemed a decent fellow. What hat’s ’s his job?”

“Forestry.” Once that word was out Morny found it less difficult to proceed. “He’s one of  those serious, thorough people—not terribly go-ahead, but really keen on planting. There’s hardly a detail he doesn’t know about timber, and I believe he’d soon become as knowledgeable about  

tea if ... well...” “So?” Again Mr. Malony explored his chin. “You’re fixing me up with a partner, is that it?” She smiled. “I wouldn’t dare do that. I’m not even sure he wants to be a tea planter, but I do know he’s tired of chasing around with a forestry unit.” “Ah,” said Mr. Malony with a comprehending wink. “You’re sounding me first, like the wise girl you are. For some reason Ian Templeton would like to settle down, and you feel you could make a tea man of him.” “I feel that you that you could.”  could.” “You do, do you?” you?” Where Where is th this is serious ser ious and thoroug thorough h young young m man?” an?” “The unit has left Singana but I have his address. May I write and ask him to come and see you?” “You may “You may certai certainly nly do th that, at, my dear, and a nd if he ’s th thee right r ight sort we could fix it up quickly.” quickly.” Mr. Malony shouted suddenly in dialect at one of the boys. “Dragging the darn thing out as if it was a weed,” he grumbled. His frown cleared and he beamed at Morny. “All right, get your young hero over, and if it seems at all likely he’ll take to tea planting, I’ll make him a proposition. I can’t say more than that.” “You’re awfully kind, Mr. Malony.” “I’m not not kind at all—j al l—just ust a se selfis lfish h old man want wa nting ing a stake iin n the the futu future, re, and I’ll go to le leng ngth thss to get it. The house can have rooms built on, and there’s plenty of space for a flower garden. Women like flowers about them.” He stopped, then queried innocently. “He’ll be marrying soon, I suppose?” “That’s one of his ambitions.” Though this statement might be misconstrued, Morny was afraid to say more. Mrs. Bartlett had probably never heard of Mr. Malony, but it was just possible they had mutual acquaintances, and he could not be bound to secrecy. “Cross-country letters take time,” she said, “but he should be able to get here in about a week. I won’t raise his hopes, but only mention mention th that at you’re needi needing ng an assistant ass istant and w would ould give him an intervie interview.” w.”

“Sounds a bit stiff, but please yourself how you put it.” Ruminatively, he went on, “A young married couple wouldn’t appreciate having an old chap like me around. We might run to a small separate bungalow for me; I wouldn’t mind that. In any case, if I got someone whom I could trust  

to manage the whole works I’d take a long vacation—might go overseas and have a look at London and Killar Kil larney ney.” .” “No one would mind living with you,” she said warmly. “You’re a darling.” “Am I?” I?” he murm murmured ured iin n surpri surprise. se. “I alwa al ways ys get along wi with th youn young g peopl people, e, but b ut I haven’t haven’t had one of them call me a darling before. I like to spoil ‘em. But this man of yours will have to be a tea  planter,”  planter ,” he finish finished ed warnin wa rningly gly.. “I’m “ I’m not off offering ering a soft billet bil let and a legacy, legacy, or even an ordinary  partnership. It  partnership. It’s ’s bigger, m more ore intim intimate, ate, tthan han th that.” at.” “I know,” know,” she s he sai said d si sim mpl ply y. “If you have aany ny doubts about a bout Ian you you m must ust tu turn rn him dow down. n. He’l He ’lll understand and so will I.” “Let’s leave it like that till he arrives,” he answered comfortably. “Will you come to the house and treat me to a decent cup of tea, Morny? The boy either uses tepid water or boils it like coffee.” She jumped up, retrieved his stick and lent him her shoulder. All the way up the lane he jested, and when, about a quarter of an hour later, she brought his tea to the lounge, he was smiling into space as if what he saw there were good.

 

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MORNY  wrote her letter to Ian the same night. As she sealed and stamped it she congratulated herself upon being a fast worker, for Christine’s note had reached her only that morning. She sat on at the writing table, musing hopefully, but with a dull undertone of envy upon Ian’s future. She had no doubt that should he and Mr. Malony take to each other the continued success of the tea estate would be assured. Settled at Singana, Christine would be far from her parent’s influence, yet near enough for the two of them to spend an occasional weekend at Limbusi. The Levitt’s objections to the marriage would disintegrate. She thought of the young couple modernizing Mr. Malony’s house, which would ultimately be theirs; of Ian happily about his business in the sheds and tea gardens, and Christine riding about with the old man. In a year or two there might be a son, and Mr. Malony would be as proud as a grandfather. A hand fell upon Morny’s shoulder, and she looked up. Uncle Luke was regarding her in some concern. “Not crying, Morny?” “Of course not; it’s eyestrain. We need a stronger lamp in this corner.” He must have seen the address on the letter, but he made no comment, except, “You’ll feel  brighter  brigh ter nex nextt M Monday onday.. Th There ere’ll ’ll be no holding you once you you start earning earning a sala salary ry.. By the the way way,, the the Bowls Section annual dinner is on Monday night at the club. I’m taking you along.” She got up, smiling a little. “What would I do among the bowlers?” “It’s a family affair. You’ll enjoy it.” Beyond a cursory inspection of the white taffeta and a flick with a duster at her gilt sandals, Morny made no preparations for the club dinner. She kept wondering about the school. At her first meeting with Mrs. Bartlett the woman had talked of later discussions upon discipline and  procedure. Morny had been daily expectin expecting g a summ summons to att attend end at the the school on a certain day so that she might familiarize herself with the layout and the duties expected of her, but Mrs. Bartlett

had apparently decided to dispense with such preliminaries. An official notification from the council of the school’s opening was all the intimation Morny received.

 

Sunday was quiet. Seeing that the men would be meeting on Monday evening, Mr. Malony and Mr. Reid omitted their usual visit. Morny and Uncle Luke read on the veranda, she set the gramophone going and played cards with them. The servants went off to one of the organized native dancing sessions in the mine compound and came back rather the worse for kaffir beer and unwilling to shed their leopard skins and rattling anklets. This was a regular monthly occurrence sanctioned by the Singana mine as an outlet for high spirits, and no one was troubled by it.

Uncle Lukeentered drove Morny to school Monday morning. was tethered seven-fifteen when waved him off and the grounds, and on already a few poniesItwere among the she trees, and African nannies squatted together on the grass, gossiping expansively till the bell should call the children inside and they they cou could ld pad away in their their colored color ed felt slipp slippers. ers. The children were excited and disinclined for play. They jumped to peep into windows, dared each other to dash through the main doorway and out again. “Goo’ morning, Miss Blake,” they chorused, knowing more about Morny than she had learned about them. Mrs. Bartlett was in the hall with another woman. Critically, her pale gaze roved over Morny’s slim sli m ffigu igure. re. “Good morning,” she said primly. “I’m glad to see you’re wearing a blouse and skirt, though I  prefer long sleeve sleeves. s. An And d please don’t curl your your hair for school. Little girls grow up quickly quickly,, without encouragement.” Morny forbore to mention that the curls were natural. It was something to be told that the white  blouse and tweed skirt were wer e appropriate. appr opriate. She pleasa pleasant ntly ly greeted greeted the the third woman woman,, a Mrs. Jen Je nvery who would teach needlework and music and between times help out wherever necessary. Mrs. Bartlett belonged here; as she conducted a tour of the classrooms she was completely in her element. The number of pupils had increased to sixty-seven rather more than she had anticipated, but Limbusi parents, anxious to have their children near, were boarding them for five days a week with relatives and friends in Singana. With a sidelong glance at Morny, Mrs. Bartlett announced that applications had been received from twowas teachers in into Southern Rhodesia, did appear that much the Copperbelt, in spitethe of visit the hot climate, coming its own. Singana,soofitcourse, had had publicity through of 

Miss Bernice Ashley, who, if she was was   unwholesomely interested in speedboats, also showed herself admirably civic-min ci vic-minded. ded.

 

This was the last place where Morny had thought to be reminded of Bernice. It was hateful to stand in a bare classroom feeling the chill creep up her spine, sheer agony to have to recall in the  pearly  pearl ym mornin orning g the the picture picture w wh hich so often robbed her of sleep at nigh night: t: Grant fast fastenin ening g a diamond diamond  bracelet  bracel et abou aboutt a stron strong g brown wri wrist st and and inevitably seali sealing ng the the gift gift with a kiss. “Miss Blake, you’re not listening!” snapped Mrs. Bartlett. Morny’s first day as a schoolteacher was the most exacting she had yet experienced. The younger boys and girls of whom she had charge were nearly unmanageable, and she could not  pass from one less lesson on to th thee next next without without supervision from the the principal. It would have been wiser, in Morny’s view, to acclimatise the youngsters gradually, but Mrs. Bartlett felt that only the older girls of her own class were to be trusted not to take advantage of any relaxation of the rules. These children must be taught obedience from the start. During the break Morny was lectured upon system. She was given to understand that Mrs. Bartlett was unfortunate in having been landed with an inexperienced assistant, and Morny exceptionally lucky to be under so efficient a principal. Vera Bartlett and her brother had one quality in common; both were painstaking. The woman’s thoroughness, carried to malicious limits, became part of Morny’s persecution. It pleased the principal to voice her rebukes in the  presence of Mrs. Jenvey Jenvey;; and even in th thee schoolroom schoolroom,, where a certain code migh ightt have been expected to operate among associates, she was not averse from making cold, deprecatory comments. “A good teacher does not have to joke with her pupils,” she said loudly. “She holds their  attention by the force of her personality.” And, “Miss Blake, you’ll never stop these children fidgeting in their desks unless you make it a  punishable offence.  punishable offence. Th Thee very n next ext soun sound dIh hear ear in this this room will earn e arn som someone eone a hun hundred dred lines! li nes!”” In Morny’s class no allowances were made for this being the first day of a new term in a new school. It couldn’t go on for ever, she told herself despondently. Mrs. Bartlett’s conscience would not permit her to neglect her own pupils after today. She was merely satisfying a thirst for  vengeance. vengean ce. Morny went hom homee limp l imp as we wett stri string ng but determined determined to stick iitt out. Uncle Luke made fun of her. “Not such a catch, is it?” he said. “I knew you were overrating it.” “We’re not properly established yet. Teaching is a grand profession.”

“But it has this in common with nursing—only those of a certain temperament make a go of it. How was wa s Mrs. Bartlett?”  

“Wonderful,” she said with irony. “While I do as I’m told, I’ll get by.” “I was afraid of that. We’re running an article about the school this week. If I insert a wad of  flattery she may unbend.” Morny thought otherwise. No one could have quite such an exalted opinion of Mrs. Bartlett’s qualifications as the woman had herself, and confirmation of it in the newspaper would hardly improve conditions for the junior mistress. In justice to Mrs. Bartlett she said, “She was an excellent choice for principal. The council went wrong in not hogging her to select her own assistant. But I’ll manage, Uncle Luke.” He did not go back to the office that afternoon. Monday was always slack, and tonight’s dinner  at the the club cl ub called for a few hours’ hours’ rest. Morny dressed that evening without enthusiasm. The white taffeta sloped out from a slender  waist, the bodice wasintight sweetly and she the pearl necklet that Uncle had bought for her Capeand Town. Hercurved, hair shone, butwore the blue-grey eyes lacked lustre.Luke She fastened fasten ed a llittle ittle white brocade ca cape pe over her shou shoulders lders and went into into th thee corridor. corr idor. He was, and looking almost soldierly in the white dinner jacket and immaculate black trousers. He could never look completely impeccable because of the mop of grey hair. “I haven’t seen that frock before,” he said. “It’s lovely.” “I was saving it...” She checked herself. “Oughtn’t we to start?” “Saving the dress?” he said. “What for?” She shrugged. “For an occasion of this sort.” Which was not true. Subconsciously she had kept back the white taffeta for her first evening date with Grant. She remembered thinking not so long ago—the night he had come to ask her to be of the mountain-climbing party—that if he ever invited her to dine with him at the club she would dress up, be at her very best. Did all girls dream such delightfully mad dreams? They locked the house, set off in the tourer. It was a brilliant night; a great theatrical moon hung

 below the the stars; th thee palm palmss and flowerflower-laden laden trees were wer e lush l ush and and radiant, r adiant, the the aair ir was scent scented ed aand nd warm. The rain belt had moved on without blessing Singana.

 

Tonight the club was gaily decorated with profusions of flowers and streamers. The crowd was more mixed, and therefore more interesting, than usual, and the noise, till one became accustomed to it, was shattering. Morny got rid of her cape, returned to sip a cocktail with Uncle Luke, and when the move was made she went with him into the long dining room. They were given a table for two near the wall, and at once a smiling, dark-skinned waiter became attentive. Uncle Luke ordered a light wine and  pushed  push ed th thee souven souvenir ir men menu u across to M Morny orny.. “We printed that. What do you think of the gilt trimmings?” “Stylish. Who designed it?” “Reid and I. Since Singana is more in the news we’re piling up printing orders. Even the stores are sending leaflets to resi r esidents dents in other other tow towns. ns. W Wee ’ve taken on two apprentices app rentices this this mont onth h and could do with another machine hand, though heaven knows where we’ll get one.” Morny had missed most of this. Her fingers had tightened over the deckle edge of the menu, and her knees pressed hard together under the table. She had seen Grant enter the dining-room, tall in a dinner suit of flawless cut, his head inclining in greetings to left and right as he followed Bernice down the centre of the room to the table they were sharing with Dr. and Mrs. Frost. Automatically she drew back from the table while the soup was served, and in a moment she was able to say, “What is Grant doing at a Bowls Club dinner?” He uncle uncle looked up from breaking a rroll. oll. “He’s pr president esident of th thee w wh hole sports cl club—it ub—it’s ’s closel closely y  bound  boun d up with the m mine. ine. Ever Everyon yonee would feel badly let down iiff he didn’t show up at the the annual annual festivities of all the sections. He sets the tone for these gatherings.” She tasted the chicken soup which had smelled so appetising when ladled at the next table, and found it flat and savourless. Bernice was wearing blue chiffon, a shade paler than her eyes, and her wrist displayed a heavy gold bracelet, without diamonds. Morny had taken in that much  before turnin turning g her her head to avoid th thee chan chance ce of meeting meeting Grant’s Grant’s eyes. She tried a fraction of each course, but her appetite had gone. It was not that she had been deluding herself; she had instinctively known that Grant was Bernice’s most frequent escort. But the sight of them together, accepted by the rest of those present as a well-matched, good-looking

couple and in the nature of guests of honor, brought an ache and a bitterness to her throat. If her  life was to be lived in Singana, though, she would have to accustom herself to the linking of  Bernice’s name with Grant’s. It was a nightmarish prospect.  

The wine, the chatter and laughter, and Uncle Luke’s familiar quiet brand of humor helped her  to maintain an outward show of good spirits. But her smile had the glitter of ice in sunshine. The dinner ended. Mr. Reid made a short speech and called upon Mr. Randall to honor the company with a few words. Grant spoke clearly, made suave references to the prowess of certain  bowlers  bowl ers and slipped sli pped in th thee ty type pe of witticism which was bound bound to go down well with their  their  womenfolk. Recollecting the urbane and chivalrous manner in which he had presented the Singana Cup to Bernice, rather desolately that he didyet thiscarefully kind of thing too well. He was sincere Morny withoutreflected being intimate, utterly charming aloof.almost Her back was towards his table, yet she knew exactly the slant of his head, the smiling cast of his lean, tanned features. Presently, when other tables were vacated, Morny left Uncle Luke on the pretext of wishing to  powder her nose. Th Thee air, th thoug ough h warm and still, was like a benediction, benediction, and she was tempted tempted down into the grounds, which were fitfully illumined by standard lamps. She had not walked far   before music music stole ou out, t, a n nostalgic ostalgic waltz play played ed by tth he usual usual quartet in tthe he clu club b ballroom ballr oom.. The moon had receded and whitened, the stars mocked, and somewhere in the shadows a man laughed caressingly. Snatched kisses, she thought, between dining and dancing, and she experienced a pang of loneliness which sent her back to the light and friendliness of the club. She danced several times, saw Grant dutifully gliding round with Mrs. Frost, Mrs. Landon and the wives of other mine executives. His manner when he danced with Bernice was less formal; Morny imag imagined ined him apol apologizing ogizing for having been forced forc ed to neg neglec lectt her. She had got to the stage of looking at her watch every five minutes when Grant purposefully made his w way ay towar towards ds her and g gave ave her an ironical bow. “Could you bear to dance with me? I’ll promise not to talk.” She turned a little desperately towards her late partner, but in face of such overwhelming competition that young man had stuttered something and faded away. More than anything Morny wanted to dance with Grant; she longed to be natural with him, to expunge the antagonism which walled them off from each other. But as he drew her among the dancers and held her lightly she could not help recalling that where she was now Bernice had been five minutes ago, Bernice who was beautiful and dashing and unself-conscious. It spoilt the dance for Morny.

 

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TRUE to his word, Grant said nothing at all. He danced with mechanical perfection, as if he were  preoccupied. Morny Morny closed her her eyes against against tth he add plea pleasure sure of his nearness. In a dry, husky voice she said, “I’m sorry I didn’t behave too well that day we met outside the school. I can’t explain why I was such an idiot, but I’m really sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.” He took a few steps before asking evenly, “Do you mean it wasn’t true that you found me unendurable?” “I was on edge over several things. I didn’t think before I spoke.” “You’ve left the apology rather late.” “I suppose so, but I haven’t seen you alone. There have been opportunities, but ... well, I couldn’t get round to it.” “All right, let’s forget it,” he said coolly. “I’ll be an orthodox partner and tell you that you’re very pretty tonight.” She might as well have kept quiet. He was not angry or disturbed in any way. He had requested the dance because she was the niece of one of his friends and it would have been discourteous to miss her out. Sick at heart, she longed for the music to finish. When it did die, When di e, howev however, er, h hee nodded toward tow ardss one of tthe he open doors. ““Com Comee outside. Y You ou ’re too tired to dance any more, and I must confess that I’ve had a surfeit of it.” He found a bench for them on the less popular side of, the terrace, got out cigarettes and, when th they ey were we re both smoking, smoki ng, he leaned lea ned bac back k with his long l ong legs crossed cros sed in front of him and and his speculative glance on the colored lights which wreathed the trees.

“I was thinking of you this morning,” he said abruptly.

“Were you?” she whispered. “Why was that?” “The school opening was a big day in Singana. How did you make out?”  

It seemed a very long time since she had winced from Mrs. Bartlett’s tongue. “Fairly well,” she answered. “I “ I sh shall all get down tto o it.” “No bother with Mrs. Bartlett?” She evaded the question. “I think it’s good to have a strict principal, and she’s exceptionally good at her job. I shall learn a lot from her.” “And while you’re learning she’ll wear you out.” “I don’t wilt easily.” She knocked the ash from her cigarette and blew some grains from her  skirt. “You put forward Mrs. Bartlett for principal because you considered old and tried methods were of benefit in a new country. I don’t entirely agree, but if that’s how you want Singana school I’m willing to submit to her training. I haven’t much option, anyway.” “You’re staying in Singana, then?” She glanced across at him quickly. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s my home now. Uncle Luke’s very happy here.” “And what about you? You’ve just admitted to being on edge a fortnight ago, and I don’t somehow feel that much has happened to alter your state of mind.” He took a shrewd look at the tip of his cigarette and enquired, “What are you undecided about?” She laughed laughed a trifle un unnatu natural rally ly.. “W “Wom omen en are always alw ays un unsettled settled over one thing thing or another, another, aren are n ’t they? I’m no different from the rest.” A moment or two passed in silence. Then he shifted, and his next query came like a shot from a gun. “Are you in love?” She felt the color drain from her face; her thoughts became incoherent. Was he bantering? No, his mood was inflexible as steel. Could she laugh without a tell-tale crack in her voice? Was her  expression as naked as she felt it to be? She managed a crooked smile. “That’s a leading question. Do you expect a reply right away?”

“I’ve got it,” he said. His cigarette described an arc as he flicked it out into the night. “There’s no accounting for why one person should fall for another, is there? At first you’re just delighted in  

the other’s company, then perhaps a tiny incident changes your whole perspective and you begin to wonder what’s hit you—you only know that it was something big. The proper procedure after  that, I believe, is a ripening, intimate friendship culminating in marriage, but three times out of  five there are snags. You have my sympathy.” “Thanks, but sympathy given with sarcasm is not worth a great deal.” His mouth mouth slo sloped ped ccyn ynica icall lly y. “Sym “Sympathy pathy wa wass the wrong word word;; com comm mise iseratio ration n is nearer. Y You ou ’re not irretrievably in love, Morny, or you’d have to do something about it. The pains of first love are acute, but they don’t last, my child. Take comfort from that.” He took the cigarette from her  and pressed it out; then stood up. “I haven’t spoken to Luke this evening. Shall we go and find him?” Morny did not know what to make of Grant. Her apology had met no real response; he had treated it as trite, even unwelcome. He was sharp, almost cruel in his arrogance, and it came to her with a shock that his remarks about people in love might have applied equally to himself—  except that this would not be first love for him; he was old enough to have forgotten his first affair. This would go a long way down. If he really loved Bernice he might be suffering; there is nothing so potent as love itself to uncover the shallows and the deeps, and Bernice was three  parts shallows. Grant would would hat hatee him himself self for loving someone someone u unworth nworthy.. y.... Morny interrupted her conjectures; the object of one’s deepest emotions is never unworthy to oneself. He He would lov lovee Bernice for w what hat she was was—an —an ex excel cellent lent sportsw sportswom oman, an, a g good ood companion, a good-looking woman who displayed diamonds to perfection—not for the tender, adoring person he might wish her to be. She, Morny, was merely indulging in wishful conclusions. They found Uncle Luke on the front terrace, one of a wide semi-circle of older men round a  painted iron  painted i ron table w wh hich held bottles and glasses. Mr. M Malony alony pu pulled lled up a chair betwee between nh his is own and Mr. Reid’s and gave Morny’s wrist a small tug to make her sink down beside him. He slanted her a paternal smile. smile. “You’re a picture, my dear. If my leg weren’t likely to let me down I’d dance with you myself. All Irishmen can dance, you know. Luke, you don’t deserve to have so winsome a girl in your  house.” Grant had circled the group and was sitting opposite, on the terrace wall. He declined a drink, rested one shoulder against a column and, after greeting the men, gave half his attention to the

grounds. “I don’t expect to keep her for ever,” said Uncle Luke, unperturbed, “but I wouldn’t want her to marr arry y in a hurr hurry y, ei eith ther.” er.” His smile aatt her was wa s affectionate. “Take no n notice otice of him him,, Morny Morny.. He ’s  

ealous.” “Why shouldn’t I be?” demanded Mr. Malony with belligerence. “Why should you have everything!” He chuckled and laid a finger along his nose. “But maybe I’ll get the last grin, after  all.” “May I have a lime and soda?” said Morny hurriedly. Mr. Reid poured and handed Morny her  glass. Mr. Malony sat there like a benign juggernaut, and as he bent forward to emphasize his next  pronouncem  pronoun cement ent she sh shivere ivered. d. “You’ve called me a fool for hanging on to the tea estate when I might be spending some of my earnings in retirement. Let me tell you something, Luke Penrose, and perhaps you’ll stop looking so pleased with yourself. In a few months I’ll possibly be more of a free man than you are, and still own the plantation. I can see now that Morny hasn’t told you, though she needn’t have kept it secret for my sake...” “ Please,  Please, Mr.  Mr. Malony Malo ny,” ,” sshe he begged softly. But when he turned her way in benevolent astonishment her last hope faded. “Why not let them in on it? I’m sure I’ve no objection,” he boomed. And then to the others: “Morny came to see me about young Templeton. Travelling round with a forestry unit doesn’t appeal to the young man any longer; he’s anxious to settle. So she’s written to him, asking him to come and see me. I’m hoping to fix him up at my place, as a junior partner to begin with, and on a fifty-fifty basis later on.” He tapped a stubby forefinger on the table at Uncle Luke. “So you may have a tea planter in the family, in spite of yourself!” In the pause which followed, Morny was aware that Grant’s attentions were no longer divided; the garden had them completely. He must have heard, though. For an agonized second she was on the point of going to him, of imploring him to walk with her while she explained about Ian and Christine. But common sense won. None of this mattered to Grant. She raised her head, encountered Uncle Luke’s hurt gaze and wished she could run away and weep. She had left him so entirely out of her calculations, had absurdly relied upon Ian’s arrival to put matters right. But events have a habit of getting under way without human assistance, and this one was reaching unmanageable proportions. Was it wrong to have worried more about Grant’s reaction than about Uncle Luke’s? Hadn’t

she unconsciously known that her uncle would trust her, whereas Grant, for some reason, was certain to put the worst possible construction on whatever she did? She felt trapped.

 

Mr. Malony had relaxed, rubbing his hands together. He parried the comments of the other men and took a big, self-satisfied gulp at his whisky. Uncle Luke sat pensively fingering a spray of   bougainvillaea  boug ainvillaea which h hu ung over the the wall. wal l. Grant twisted about. “See you in the morning, Luke? The monthly meetings, you know.” “I hadn’t forgotten. I’ll be over at nine.” “Good.” Grant’s hand held Uncle Luke’s shoulder familiarly for a minute; he bowed to the rest. “It’s been a grand party. Good night, everyone.” And he strode away. Morny sat still while the talk flowed about her. She was as conscious of Uncle Luke’s unhappy  bewildermen  bewi ldermentt as of her own wretchedness. wretchedness. Sh Shee recogn recognized ized voices on the the terrace behind behind her, her, caught the slam of a door and could not resist the temptation to look down as the cream car   passed, carryin car rying g Grant and B Bernice ernice back tto o th thee other other end of the the lake.

Ian Templeton turned uptoinput Singana just small six days after hadstreet. writtenVera to him, consternation he decided up at the hotel on Morny the main was and not to to her  be informed of his visit until he was quite sure of its success. Morny crossed her fingers and tried to cheer herself with the reflection that things could not be much more depressing, and, in any case, she had approached Mr. Malony with her eyes wide open to the risks. However, she did impress Ian with the importance of his taking full responsibility for the interview at the tea estate. She had done her share and the rest was up to him. “Don’t fret,” he told her, smiling. “I never felt so full of courage in all my life. It was wonderful of you to see Mr. Malony for me, Morny—to think of it at all. I’m afraid I’d never have had the nerve to put it to him. If he’ll give me the chance I’ll work on that plantation as I’ve never worked  before.” ‘The best of luck, then,” she said. “I’ll be home by two tomorrow. Let me know how you get on.” The next morning dragged. Morny was longing for Saturday, when she could lie in bed till seven, secure in the knowledge that there would be no Mrs. Bartlett to brave. The children were calming down, but it was not too easy handling two classes in one room. Each lesson had to be  prepare  prepared d for th thee two age groups, and th the e older inclined be patronizing patroniz , and therefore infuriating, to the younger. The boys,children in the were minority and to displeased at ing, finding

themselves in a girls’ school, misbehaved with demoniac glee. It was impossible to prevent an occasional uproar.

 

Mrs. Bartlett did not grumble. Morny got the impression that it pleased her mightily to pounce on a miscreant and lecture him upon the fruits of inattention; and certainly she brought order and silence to the schoolroom the moment she entered. Morny would have managed better had she  been perm permitted itted to inf inflict lict her own penalties; the monot onotonou onouss doling out of o f ““lines” lines” and still more “lines” did no good at all; in fact, the children seemed to glory in competing for the greatest num nu mber ber.. Yet Mrs. Bartle Bartlett tt insisted on th their eir being bei ng th thee only o nly fform orm of pun punis ishm hment. ent. The The “bla “ black ck list” li st” had to be sent in to her each day at the close of school. Today, Mrs. Bartlett went through the list and brought it to Morny’s classroom. She stood in the doorway for a few seconds, watching small hands combing back the bright hair and straightening the navy linen suit. Her thin lips compressed. “Miss Blake, I notice th that at you’ve you’ve punis punished hed the W Wil ilson son boy two days rrun unnin ning.” g.” Morny braced herself. “Yesterday he chattered incessantly and today he brought a catapult into the room.” “You should “You should have taken it away aw ay from h him. im. Mrs. Wil Wilson son wi will ll be annoyed annoyed at his being bei ng given lines li nes every day.” “You said that lines were to be the only punishment.” “Mrs. Wilson happens to be a friend of mine; you must use more diplomacy in dealing with the  boy.”  boy .” She paused, and h her er manner manner changed changed withou withoutt softenin softening, g, “Do you you correspond with w ith tthe he L Levitt evitt girl?” Morny packed exercise books into her case and closed it. “I’ve had one letter from her.” “Does she see my brother?” “I don’t know. know.”” Determined to hang on to her dignity at all costs, Mrs. Bartlett checked her curiosity and went from the room. The coincidence of her mentioning Christine today, when Ian was in town without her knowledge, brought the dew to Morny’s forehead. She walked down to Uncle Luke’s office. The sun was fierce and her case heavy, and it was

thankfully that she slipped into the tourer and sounded the klaxon. Almost at once her uncle came out and got in beside her. They exchanged their usual, “Hello, there,” and the car rolled placidly towards home.  

Since the Bowls Club dinner there had been constraint between them, most of it on Morny’s side. On the way home from the dinner she had felt too miserable to offer explanations, and the following morning there had been no time. Uncle Luke was too honest himself to think of forcing secrets from Morny, and apparently he had got over the hurt of being shut out while Mr. Malony was in the know. As Morny had foreseen, he trusted her, and she consoled herself with the reflection that when he learned all he would approve. It shouldn’t be long before she could tell him. “We’ve had a weather report through,” he said now. “No rain for at least a fortnight, so they say. Grant and Malcolm are arranging to start the trek for big game in a day or two.” “Who’s Malcolm?” “Retired major—spends most of his time at sports of various kinds, though he’s not much good at them. He’s hunted in the Congo, so a hike around Northern Rhodesia won’t bother him.” “How long will they be gone?” “About ten days, if they have luck and meet the beasts they’re after; longer, if they don’t. Miss Ashley has practised with a rifle till she’s a good shot, and Malcolm’s wife is one of those women who’ve been in at the kill of an elephant; she roves about with a cine camera.” He shrugged. “It’s all news for the paper, though I’m getting rather tired of the Ashley woman’s face. Whatever she goes in for, it never changes.” “She’s quite beautiful.” “So I believe,” he conceded, “but I prefer expressive features to smooth ones, and her eyes are like blue stones.” He yawned. “I’ve had a full morning. Do you mind my having a sandwich and a glass of milk in bed?” So Morny ate her salad alone and took her rest in the lounge on the divan. Till the school opened she had enjoyed this tranquil hour of the day; because the house was so hushed she had saved it for serious reading. Recently, though, she had been too mentally worn to read, yet disinclined for sleep. sl eep. She had had rel relaxed axed with closed eyes and a cir circling cling brain. She wondered about Ian and about his sister, Vera. The future, which once had gleamed so  brightly with promise,  brightly promise, had becom becomee dull and def deflated, lated, and Morny Morny could n not ot see a way ou outt of it. Sh Shee

thought, “When this game hunt is over I shall know. If Bernice stays on after that, it will be at Grant’s invitation.” A stubborn element in her nature held out against Bernice as Grant’s wife. He might give her diamonds, even make love to her, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t marry her. He would  

 pull up up short of tthat hat.. She wearied of the pointless mental gyrations, and got down to correcting the exercise books. That was at least necessary and constructive. Uncle Luke had already returned to his office when Ian came. He was slightly flushed and  bright-ey  brigh t-eyed, ed, and h his is hands au autom tomatically atically grasped both of Morny’s Morny’s as if he would like to dan dance ce her  round the room. No doubt at all that his interview had been a success. “It went off so well that I’m frightened,” he said. “I got there at eight this morning and didn’t leave till three this afternoon. Mr. Malony’s a fine chap, and the plantation is a peach—in firstclass condition and perfectly organized. I was able to suggest a couple of improvements which might increase the yield—details I’ve picked up just lately in forestry—and we actually got down to one of them today; that’s why I’m so late. The old boy was enthusiastic.” Morny smiled. “That’s a relief. Sit down and tell me about it.” He complied at some length. Morny gathered that the two had co-operated from the start. Mr. Malony had kept nothing back, and Ian, too grateful to erect his usual fence of reserve, had naturally slipped into an interested, comradely mood and thus shown himself at his best. During th thee morning th they ey had trave travell lled ed th thee w whole hole estate, e state, tal talked ked all al l the time and had llun unch ch toget together. her. “Tea planting is simple compared with forestry,” said Ian confidently. “I could run the place on my own w withou ithoutt th thee lleast east tr trouble.” ouble.” “What do you think of the house?” “It’s old-fashioned, but there’s plenty of space. With the help of a boy or two I could modernize it myself at a very small cost.” “Would Christine object to living with Mr. Malony?” “Candidly,” Ian showed Morny a glint of genuine humor, “I don’t believe Christine can resist anyone who’s willing to spoil her. He made it clear that my ... my wife would keep house, and he wouldn’t care what mistakes she made while she was getting her hand in.” “He’d prob probabl ably y like her th thee b better etter for th them em,” ,” commented commented Morny Morny.. “Just “J ust havi having ng you and and Christine Chris tine

there caring for the plantation, and for him, will mean such a lot to him. He’s been awfully lonely, and it’s what he’s always alw ays want wanted. ed. I do hope Christine wil willl agree.”

 

Ian spoke with less certainty. “So do I. I have to be back at the camp tonight, so I shan’t be able to see her till next weekend. She ought to agree, particularly as her parents’ grounds for  objections obje ctions no llong onger er exist. Morny Morny,, I’m I’ m glad it’s Singana Singana and not Limbu Limbusi. si. We ’ll ’l l be far enou e nough gh from them to be entirely independent of them, and I think that’s safest, for both of us.” Morny nodded comprehendingly. “You fixed nothing definitely this morning?” “No. He told me to think it over and discuss it with you.” “With me?” Morny stared at him. “Didn’t you mention Christine?” He laughed deprecatingly. “Not by name. It seemed rather a cheek to bring in one’s future wife at that stage. If all goes smoothly I’ll take her along to meet him soon. He did take it for granted that I’m getting married.” Morny was silent, analyzing the complications which apparently had not yet been cleared up. It was her fact ownthat fault; she should plainly to not Ian emerge yesterday, but ittheir hadlong never occurred to her  that the Christine was have to beput his itwife would during interview. “I see now,” said Ian slowly, “why Mr. Malony grinned whenever your name came up. You asked him to see me, and he concluded that you and I were going to be married. That alters things, doesn’t it?” “Not drastically. If you’re the right man he’ll take to your wife, whoever she may be.” “But he’s doing this for you. He and I had met, but we’d never really spoken together before today.” “Don’t worry. He’ll like Christine. It’s no longer necessary to keep all this business just  between you you and m me, e, is it?” “Would a few da “Would days ys m make ake m much uch difference? You You see, I feel I should should be b e caut ca utious ious till til l I ’m certai certain. n. I’d prefer not to tell Vera till the wedding is fixed up, and she’d be terribly mortified if she heard of it earlier from some other quarter. I hate begging more favors from you, Morny, but I’m hoping this will be the last.” “That’s all right,” she replied mechanically. “Your way is sensible. Give Christine my love.

That s all right, she replied mechanically. Your way is sensible. Give Christine my love. And, Ian...” “Yes?”  

“Do keep my name out of it as much as you can.” “Of course. You’re marvellous,” he said, and kissed her cheek. Morny said goodbye to him. It did look as if his problem, at any rate, might successfully be solved.

 

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WHEN Un  Uncle cle Luk ukee w went ent back to his office the foll followi owing ng afternoon, Morny Morny accompanied him. It was Friday, and she had shopping to do. Apart from ordering household supplies, she had to buy a length of material for a long-sleeved white blouse and some felt remnants, if such items were  procurable, for the the han handwork dwork lesson. Friday, and the weekend stretched in front of her like a green oasis in the gritty desert of  schooldays. She She was w as free, and a nd if her her heart was not as lligh ightt as iitt sh should ould have been, life was at least tolerable at this hour of the day, when heat waned and one had the abundance of two days’ leisure ahead. She bought her material, took pleasure in watching two native women gravely selecting a length of Manchester Cotton. They were young, and each had a large-eyed piccaninny secured to her   back. Once Once th thee coun counter ter assistant ass istant had had p placed laced th thee rrolls olls of flowere flowered d cotton within reach; tthey hey fforgot orgot her existence, but tested the material between them and held long debates in their dialect upon its suitability for the purpose they had in mind. The assistant shrugged and cast up her eyes at Morny,  but in an aside as ide she whispered w hispered th that at the African African wom women en w were ere astute astute and not to be fobbed o off ff with surpluss lines. surplu l ines. These two were barefoot. They had about fifty copper wire rings around each ankle and clanked like a chain gang when they walked. They wore brown coir headdresses to obscure their  own close black wool, and their cheeks had the tribal cuts common to the African women in the district. Morny saw them meet a boy outside the shop and break into flashing smiles at some jests he made. made. He wa wass a thick, la lazy zy-l -looking ooking boy with wi th car carved ved bone b one discs dis cs the size si ze of cotton-reels cotton-reel s inserted into his split lobes. Nearly all the natives wore some grotesque or picturesque ornament; quite a few of the men were addicted to women’s straw hats, and some sported feminine plastic raincoats. Their bicycles were a joyous sight; burnished copper tubing reinforced the frames, the spokes were hidden beneath a mass of silver foil, and the handlebars, generally of the most daring shape, flaunted buck-horns, painted electric bulbs and pieces of leopard skin. How surprised the British manufacturers would be could they see their products a few weeks after delivery into Africa, thought Morny.

She gave her order to the colored assistant at the grocery store, then came out to pause once more on the crowded pavement. A small weight in her dress pocket reminded her of her final

errand; not that she needed a reminder. She looked along the street, saw a vacant spot where the long cream car had been, and crossed the road to enter the offices of the Singana Mine Syndicate.

 

The vestibule was wide, domed and cool. Marble steps curved up from the tiled hall, and at one side of the staircase the lighted interior of a lift beckoned. The attendant, very black and smart in a khaki drill uniform and peaked cap, stood with his hand on the polished walnut door of the lift, his smile inviting, his bow ingratiating. Morny did not step into the lift. She drew the envelope from her pocket. “Will you take this to Mr. Randall’ Randall’ss office?” she said. “I’m sorry, madam,” he answered, in accents which placed him in a social scale above house boys and compoun compound dw workers. orkers. “I am n not ot to take take messag messages. es. If m madam adam will please wait,” he g grandly randly indicated a sumptuous leather divan, “I will at once bring a messenger.” “Couldn’t you give this to the messenger for me?” “It is not permitted, madam. I will be quick.”

The lift door intoiin the lift gently asthe it ascended. remained a  poised bird, th thee purred envelope nplace, h her er hand, her her hummed fingers fingers hard upon upon the cylinder cylinder it i tMorny cont contained. ained. She She wished wlike ished they would hurry, so that she could escape from the quiet luxury of the building. She thought of the many offices above this gracious entrance hall, of Grant’s private suite which was the centre of  them and the true hub of the copper mine itself. She remembered his house, the bronzes, the winking glass, the lovely carpets, and in a moment of clarity she knew him for a man of deep and virile needs. He was not purely a moneyed aesthete, nor a mining engineer with sporting tastes. His was a complex personality which none but the woman who came to understand him through love would ever reach. Someone else came into the vestibule, and she turned blindly from fixed contemplation of the  panelled walls wal ls to face h him im.. “This is an honor,” Grant said. “Why didn’t you ring for the lift?” Temporarily, she was bereft of wits. Then she held out the envelope and said with an unaccountable tremor, “It’s your pencil—the one you lost near the lake. Somebody has moved the canoe—the damaged one at the lower end of our path—and I found this yesterday afternoon lying among the weeds. It must have rolled a little way under the edge of the upturned boat when you dropped it, and lain there ever since. It’s dimmed, but I dare say it will clean up.”

He slipped the envelope into his pocket. “Thanks for bringing it along.” She smiled faintly. “Your lift-boy is well trained. He wouldn’t take it. He’s gone up to fetch a  

messenger.” “He has enough responsibility with the lift.” His glance was keen. “Have you been unwell?” “No. Shopping Shopping was a bit we wearing aring,, th that’s at’s al all.” l.” The lift murmured its way down to a halt. The messenger who came from it looked confused,  but the the liftboy took in tthe he situation situation and m made ade an ex explanation planation,, aft after er which both stood to at atten tention tion.. Grant said, “Come up to my office and have a rest and a cup of tea.” “I don’t think I should,” she began, but he was leading her firmly into the lift, standing beside her in the illumined, pine-scented interior as they were wafted upwards. In the presence of his chief the lift-boy accomplished the smallest of his duties with extravagant  politeness and a flou flourish. rish. When th thee lift stopped he flattened flattened himself imself unnecessar nnecessarily ily to give them them ample space to get out. A spacious, carpeted corridor opened before them. Grant went slightly ahead, turned a handle and moved aside for Morny to enter a large, pleasant office massively furnished with an imbuia desk and bookcase and opulent green leather chairs which matched the deep-piled carpet. The windows, which took up almost the whole of one wall, were covered by white metal Venetian  blinds which deflected deflected the the slantin slanting g sun sun without without dimm dimming the the room. room. Grant pressed down a button and spoke to a box. “Order lemon tea for one. Tell them to hurry, will you, Vinson?” The nasal reply was audible. “Yes, Mr. Randall. The secretary would like you to sign some urgent cheques before you leave. And Mr. Landon telephoned to know how long you’d be away. I told him it’s still uncertain, but that I’d let him know when I could.” “Right,” said Grant, and he flipped up the button. He turned to Morny. “Make yourself  comfortable. There’s nothing here that bites.” “I’m not so sure.” She sat down carefully, sank back into the easy chair and rested her hands on its arm ar ms. “Can this this really reall y be the Copperbelt?”

“What “Wh at doe doess it i t remind you of of?” ?” “A picture in a glossy magazine. The desk is beautiful. If I had to work in a room like this I’d  

ust dream.” He smiled a tight smile, as if against his will. “I’m glad you like it. I meant to bring you here a long time ago when I first determined to make you like the mine and all the people connected with it, but one way w ay and anoth another er my inten intentions tions seem se em to have have misfired isfi red.” .” “It doesn’t matter,” she said with offhand quickness, drawing her hands down into her lap. “If  you’re going away you’ll be busy. I musn’t keep you long.” “Everything is in hand. The game hunt is actually the beginning of my vacation, but I shall be coming comin g back here for a few d days ays before befor e taking th thee main part par t of m my yh holi oliday.” day.” “Are you going south?” “Down to the ranch r anch at Salisbury. Sali sbury. I’m tthin hinking king of sel selli ling ng it.” Impulsively she said, “It seems a pity to sell, if you don’t want to.” His regard was narrow and intent. “What gave you the idea that I don’t want to part with it?” She lifted li fted her shoulder shoulders. s. ““It It was your your ton tone. e. If your fath father er bought bought tthe he land aand nd stocked it i t when he first settled in Rhodesia, getting rid of it now would be a wrench. You’re not sentimental over  such things, but even you wouldn’t take kindly to someone else being in possession down there.” “You know too much,” he said tersely. Fortunately the tea arrived, carried by a boy in white trousers and bush shirt. Grant poured, and set a slice of lemon floating. A tiny table appeared at Morny’s side and the cup was set down upon it. “Take your time,” he said. “I’ll have a word with my secretary and be back in a moment.” She sipped the tea. Milkless and with lemon it was surprisingly refreshing, and presently she got up to examine the framed maps and charts upon the wall. One map indicated the tunnels of the mine in deep red; they were like a system of veins curling round one end of the lake and out into the the w wilde ilderness rness of hills and valleys, wi with th a railw ra ilway ay line runnin running g along the the side. si de. The low lowest est shelf of 

the bookcase held chunks of chalcopyrite, bornite and native copper, and the volumes above tackled every aspect of geology and mining. It came to her suddenly that it must have been from this room that Grant had first spoken to her over the telephone; Vinson, in the next office, was  probably the man man who had so politely iinf nform ormed ed her th that at she w was as connected connected to the the private priva te offices  

of the managing director of the Singana Mine Syndicate. When Grant re-entered she was at the window, staring down at the familiar street and at the headquarters of the Singana News, dia News, diagon gonally ally opposite. opposi te. “Do you wish you were going with us tomorrow?” he asked over her shoulder. “I’d enjoy the trip, but not the shooting.” “Yes, I remember. I was once a brute for taking a potshot at a baboon.” “Perhaps I made too much fuss about it. You got angry with me that night.” He gave a sharp sigh. “I’ve been more often angry with you than with any other woman I’ve ever known.” He paused and added non-committally, “I saw Templeton in town on Wednesday. Has he been out to see Malony?” She nodded at the window. “Yesterday. Their meeting was a success.” “I thought it would be. Does he need any financial help?” She turned half-way towards him. “Ian? I don’t think so; he’s not buying a partnership, or  anyth any thing ing like that. Wh When en he’s fi finally nally acc accepted epted Mr. Maloney’s o offer ffer he’ll just m move ove in with wi th h him.” im.” “If he should find himself in need of an advance, will you come to me?” Morny hesitated, took hold of her courage and looked straight up into the green-flecked eyes. They Th ey were un uncom comm municative, the the aq aqu uili iline ne face was set and expressionless. Her lids li ds llowere owered. d. “His finances are no concern of mine,” she said. “You’ve made his future your concern,” he answered curtly, “and money is bound up with any young you ng man’s caree ca reer. r. You ’r ’ree repea r epeating ting once more that you’d you’d rather r ather acc accept ept assi as sistance stance from another  another  quarter or struggle through without it.” Tears ear s stu s tung ng at the back of her eyes. e yes. W With ith difficulty she refrained refrai ned from touching touching his slee s leeve; ve; iin n his his

 present detached detached ffram ramee of m mind ind h hee would detest that that.. “Please don’t let’s quarrel again, Grant. I can’t talk about Ian till I have his permission. Perhaps  

I’ve behaved misguidedly—I’ve even hurt my uncle—but when all this was first in my mind there was no one I could go to.” His mouth th thinn inned ed aand nd hard hardened, ened, but she we went nt on despera des perately tely,, “Y “You ou ’re thinking I could have come to you, but you’ve never been that sort of friend, and you dislike Ian. I was quite certain what your advice would be. I didn’t care to worry my uncle, so I acted alone. It hasn’t turned out too badly.” Her breath caught. “It’s odd, isn’t it? If I’d made a mess of it you’d only have laughed and taunted me with being a girl; probably you’d have waded in and put matters right.” Grant ignored this last. His voice was crisp and cool. “You’re young and crammed with ideals,  but they’re they’re th thee wrong sort of ideals. ideal s. Any Any man worth the the name name makes his own opportunit opportunities; ies; he doesn’t sit back and let a woman do the job for him.” “Ian didn’t know Mr. Malony, and I did.” “It makes makes no di diff ffere erence.” nce.” “You allow no faltering in anyone,” she said, low-toned, “which is rather hard on frailer  mortals.” Slowly she crossed to the desk and picked up her couple of parcels. “You and I seem to have lost whatever it takes to be friendly. I can’t imagine why.” “I can,” he said abruptly. “One of these days I’ll have to tell you, and after that we’ll be enemies for life.” She drew in her lip, thought better of what she had been about to say, and said instead, “I hope you’ll have good shooting, and a happy holiday at Salisbury.” “I’ll see you before I go south.” He was opening the door, standing head and shoulders above her as she passed through. His fingers brushed her elbow. “Make this trouble right with your  uncle as soon as you can—he deserves the best from you. And look after yourself, Morny.” “Goodbye,” “Goodby e,” she sai said. d. He saw her to the lift. As it descended she felt cold and forlorn. Grant in any mood had the  power to warm war m and encom encompass pass her. Th Thee weeks to come come would be bleak and leaden. leaden. Half an hour later she and Uncle Luke drove home. He asked what she had bought and, after 

listing her purchases, she told him casually that she had returned Grant s pencil and cadged a cup of tea. “In that case he won’t be along tonight,” said Uncle Luke. “We had an hour together this  

morning orning,, and he talked tal ked of dr droppi opping ng in for a drink dri nk and to say sa y goodbye goodbye to you.” you.” The knowledge that he would not have gone without wishing her farewell soothed her restless nerves. It carried her through the evening and stayed with her till she slept. The weekend turned out to be everything but the oasis to which Morny had looked forward. The two garden-boys, feeling some peremptory and primitive pull to the bush, packed their garish tin  boxes, slung bright bright blank blankets ets about th their eir shou shoulders lders and m moved oved out. out. Their action reminded reminded Samson Samson that he had a home somewhere, and he went about his work moodily and without zest. Luckily he and the other two boys had wives who were content with their quarters. Samson bickered with the  plump  plum p young young woman who shared his cemen cementt room room,, but he he would w ould not leave her because to him she represented the six cows and ten sheep he had paid for her. Besides, in his hefty, crude fashion he was fond of her, and her quick tongue kept him continually amazed and proud; he himself was a slow thinker and a ponderous talker. Morny had very little contact with the boys’ wives. They were shy of white people, and spent much of the day out in the lane gossiping with the womenfolk of other house-servants. Except on Mondays, when the household washing was their task, they had nothing to do but look after their   big-eyed  big-ey ed babies and cook an evening evening meal of meat and mealies ealie s over a brazier. Th Thom omas as did the the ironing. The news that “Boss Penrose” was without garden-boys travelled by bush telegraph, and a succession of applicants had to be kept at bay by Samson, which meant that even after two boys had been chosen he hung over the gate listening to the history of each would-be gardener. “That boy,” he explained to Morny, “come from Nyasaland”—or the Congo, or Barotseland. “He want work some bad.” “Did you send him to the mine superintendent?” she asked after one of these preliminaries. He gave a prodigious shrug. “Boys work at mine must stay one, two years. More money, but no wife. That wife maybe go with some other boy.” It seemed that jealousy, intrigue and henpecking were not the prerogative of white folk. The garden-boy problem was hardly disposed of before the refrigerator stopped working. Within an hour hour the butter butter w was as oil oily y and th thee meat so soft s oft th that at it had to be cooked to prevent pre vent its going

 bad. Ice-cream in th thee freezer ran to milk, milk, cream cheese seeped throug through h its muslin sli n and striped ellies melted into queer-colored water. How people in these places had managed in the days  before the the refrigerator Morn Morny y could could not ffath athom om.. U Uncle ncle Luk Lukee dismantled dismantled the the plug and screwed it i t up up  

again, inspected the wall switch and shook his head. “It beats me. Just have to wait till Monday, I’m, afraid,” he said. “I’ll send an electrician.” On Sunday came a plea for help from their nearest neighbors, who lived beyond the trees about two hundred yards away. The husband and wife had been called to the bedside of a sick relative at the other side of town. Would Morny keep an eye on the year-old twins? Morny scarcely knew the people, but she cheerfully spent hours in their walled garden, reading while the babies slept and watching them while they played. Their nanny, whose day off was Sunday, consented to  prepare their food. “Busman’s holiday,” commented Uncle Luke when Morny returned that evening. She was glad he did not refer to the visit of Mr. Malony and Mr. Reid during the afternoon. Quietude, with Uncle Luke in his usual chair, and a light, cold supper, were what she needed most. The new week began, with Mrs. Bartlett less cantankerous but no more amenable to suggestion. The six hours or so at school were fatiguing but were so full that they passed quickly, and Morny realized, to her cautious satisfaction, that she was fitting into Mrs. Bartlett’s routine. Each day she carried home about an hour’s work on exercise books and other odd tasks, but before five o’clock  she was free to sew or llisten isten to tthe he radio if it happened happened for a change change to be coming coming over well. well . Most days she went down to bathe as the sun was setting. There was seldom anyone about, and after the intense heat of the day the lake lay calm and burdened, wraiths of mist drifting over its  brassy surface. She always alw ays sw swam am tto o the sam samee sspot pot where the the pa palm lmss lleaned, eaned, and occas occasionally ionally she floated beneath the hot, darkening sky and thought that Grant, wherever he and the others might be camping, would now be back from the day’s hunt, and perhaps taking a dip in a river. Inevitably, her imagination went further. A fire crackled in a clearing surrounded by raw jungle, and as darkness came down and the stars began to glitter the group would gather in the light of the flames and chat about the day’s sport and the plans for tomorrow. In her mind-pictures Grant was not withdrawn and unsmiling, as she had known him lately. He smiled easily and mockingly, he toasted steaks at the camp fire, drank steaming coffee and made full use of his extensive range of   badinage.  badinag e. At this point Morny always strove to exert her will to suppress the next scene which her brain conjured up; but she never succeeded. Inexorably she visualized them growing healthily weary as the night advanced, the fire burning low outside the women’s tent and Grant saying carelessly, but

with an undertone of meaning, “A walk before bed, Bernice?” A man and a woman under the warm, slumbrous African sky. Could any man resist so superb a setting for lovemaking? Would Grant want to resist it? Bernice was expecting to marry him, and  

what more natural than that she should snatch at this unique opportunity of making him acknowledge her desirableness, her eminent suitability to be his wife! Morny loathed those last minutes of her bathe when she struggled, trembling, to the bank and had to rest a while with her face in her hands before she could drag on her robe and stumble up the steep path. It was the kind of torture that no human being can stand indefinitely without sufferi suff ering ng phy physi sical cally. ly. Perhaps the minor disaster which occurred a few days after Grant’s departure was in the nature of a gesture from a benevolent providence. At any rate, it left Morny no time for bathing, no leisure leis ure to waste was te upon spearing dream dreams. s.

 

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

At DINNER  one  one evening Uncle Luke was quiet. He tried some jellied soup, but shook his head at the other dishes. Morny looked at him, and her preoccupation fell away. A coin of high color stained each cheekbone, and his hair near the temples was damp with perspiration; his mouth was slightly  parted, as if he he had diff difficulty iculty in breathing breathing.. Her h heart eart turned. turned. “Darling, you’re ill!” She threw down her napkin, went round to him. “You’re going to bed and I’ll send for Dr. Frost.” “Don’t panic, my dear. Clement’s wife is just recovering from the same thing. A germ that’s about. There’s no need for the doctor, but I will go to bed.” He refused assistance. It was only a sort of chill which a night’s sleep would go a long way towards curing. She was not to work herself up over nothing; one must expect these little troubles in the hot season. This was Africa, remember. Nevertheless, as soon as he had gone to his room, Morny shut herself up in the hall and telephoned Clement. The assistant editor’s sympathy was instant and practical. “It’s a fever, Morny, Morny, las lasting ting about three three days. A After fter th that at he ’ll ’l l sstill till have to res rest. t. My wi wife fe had h her  er  dose last week and she’s not a hundred per cent yet. I’ll get in touch with the doctor for you. Would you like me to come out now?” “No, I’ll manage, thanks. But do come in the morning.” “I’ll be there early. And don’t let him worry about the paper. This week’s edition is nearly ready. I can handle it.” “I’ll help you,” she said. “Thank you again.” Twenty minutes later Dr. Frost drove up. He did not spend long with Uncle Luke, but when he came out into into the lo loun unge ge he gave Morny’s shoulder a ccom ompanionable panionable pat.

“Don’t look so stricken. This comes every year. Some people are immune to it and some get it li ligh ghtly tly.. Your Your un uncle cle ’s iiss a fairl fai rly y sever severee type, but st start art giving givi ng him these these tablets table ts righ ri ghtt away and regularly every four hours during the night. I’ll look in again before noon tomorrow.”  

“Is it dangerous?” “Not in these days when we have drugs to bring down the temperature quickly. But at his age we have to watch the heart.” Her sudden whiteness brought his hand again to her shoulder. “His heart is per perfectly fectly soun sound d at the mom moment, ent, but th thee fever feve r lleave eavess behind b ehind certain cer tain toxins which may may take a week or two to clear. Till they do he must rest completely.” “I understand. Once he’s under doctor’s orders he’s a very good patient.” He smiled. “Men are, you know. It’s the women we can’t trust to look after themselves. Share his nursing with someone else, if you can. The worst will be over in two or three days.” All that night Morny spent in Uncle Luke’s bedroom. He was restless and sweating, and when she gave him the tablets he swallowed them automatically, without looking at her. She had the frightening conviction that he did not know her, that he was not far from delirium. As in most cases of fever, dawn brought relaxation. Daylight stole into the room, showed him grey and still; his breathing had improved but his skin still burned. Morny had heard about the swift action of various fevers but she would never have believed, without seeing, that one of them could reduce the hale Uncle Luke of yesterday to this sick,  prostrate man of today today.. Sh Shee was dazed with sleeplessness, sleepl essness, hollow with hu hung nger er yet withou withoutt appetite. It was half past six, when Joe was making coffee, that Clement turned up. Homely Clement, who had lived all his life in the Rhodesias and now cherished an unbounded affection for the man who was training him in the best traditions of newspaper editing. Clement was not in the least scared by the sight of Uncle Luke, colorless and sweating. His face puckered with concern, though, and he immediately got down to changing the drenched pyjamas for dry ones. “You look terrible “You terri ble,” ,” he told Morny in the the dining room. “You “You ’d better b etter get some some sleep. sl eep. I’m staying here. I’ve I’v e b brough roughtt some stuf stufff to write wr ite up.” “Clement, I’ve just remembered—the school!” “They’ll have to do without you.”

But this is only my second week. Mrs. Bartlett will be furious if I m absent. “She’s hu hum man, is isn’t n’t she? Send her a note.”

 

“I can’t. I’ll go and see her. How long are you free?” “All day, if necessary, so long as I can use the telephone and one of your boys?” ‘Then I’ll go to th thee school s chool at the usual usual tim timee and a nd come home home at a t the the br break.” eak.” “You need sleep, Morny,” he protested. “I hang on a little longer. I don’t feel sleepy.” Which was true. Her lids had drooped around midnight and again at about four, but now her  eyes were wide and dark, and the heaviness had shifted to her limbs. With Clement in charge of  Uncle Luke she could at least perform some of her duties at the school. She took a shower, had some toast and coffee while she dressed, and went in to see her uncle. He was still sleeping soundly, and Clement was as busy at the desk as :  if this were his usual  practice at seven in th the mornin morning. g. His His placidi pl acidity ty was a balm. Sh Shee sm smiled iled aatt h him im and edged edged out of the the room. Afterwards, Morny could not have explained how she got through the first hour at school. She was aware that the children played up, that they had to remind her to collect the homework and dole out the newly arrived grammar books, but she led them through parsing and definitions almost unconsciously. Once the lesson was finished her sense of reality began to assert itself. Uncle Luke was in excellent hands and she could do him no good by worrying.

When the break came at ten-thirty she approached Mrs. Bartlett. The woman listened unmoved, surveyed Morny dispassionately. “That kind of fever isn’t so serious that you have to sit up with the patient all night. I’ve met with it several times. You could have slept between giving the medicine.” “I was too anxious, and anyway, I didn’t mind missing the night’s sleeps I’ve mentioned it  because the the three m most ost import important ant lessons are over, and I thoug thought ht Mrs. Mrs. Jenvey cou could ld tak takee my class for the rest re st of the morning. morning. I’ll try to arrang arr angee som s omethin ething g different for tomorrow tomorrow.” .” Mrs. Bartlett’s long, regular features expressed displeasure. “Who is with your uncle now?”

“His assistant—but the paper can’t run itself during their absence, and it comes out tomorrow.”

 

“Personally,” said Mrs. Bartlett firmly, “I consider the school of more importance than the weekly newspaper. If you yourself were ill I’d have to make concessions, but I don’t feel in the least bound to allow you leave to nurse a relative. You may go home during the break, but if  you’re not needed there please come back. Mrs. Jenvey has enough to do.” Morny was annoyed but scarcely surprised. Driving home in the tourer she thrust Mrs. Bartlett from her thoughts, and when she reached the house her heart was beating up in her throat, for Dr. Frost’s car was at th thee kerb. She met the doctor as he was leaving the porch. He gave her a grin which vanished as he took  in her pallor. “My word,” he said, “this won’t do. Can’t have the two of you seedy.” “How is he?” she demanded at once.

“Following the normal course. Temperature’s down to a hundred-and-two. Carry on with the tablets.” There was a pause after the brief sentences. “Take things in your stride as Clement does  —and let the the school look af after ter itself ffor or a day or two. II’m ’m sorry I h haven’t aven’t a nurse nurse availabl avai lable.” e.” “I’d rather take care of him myself, thanks, Dr. Frost.” She ran indoors, tiptoed to her uncle’s bedroom. He looked better, though the grey hair which usually stood out against brush and comb was strangely lank. He opened his eyes, said, “Hello, Morny,” and closed them again. She stood there quivering for a minute, but he seemed to have slipped slipp ed over th thee ri rim m again into into sleep. She found Clement in the dining room, his copy spread, all over the table and his shirt sleeves rolled roll ed high. high. He rai raised sed his head and crink cri nkled led a smile at her. “Thee doc ssaid “Th aid he’s all a ll righ right” t” “Yes, I saw him him.. Do you want tto o get to the office, Clement?” Clement?” “I’ll stick around till lunch time. You go to bed.”

Dully she answered. “I’m going back to the school in case I have to have time out tomorrow.” She didn’t wait to argue. Her only regret was that she had asked a favor of Mrs. Bartlett. She would certainly avoid doing so again; it would be less humiliating to stay away and explain  

afterwards. Gradually, Uncle Luke’s fever abated, but the drug responsible for his improvement left him weak and listless. He hardly bothered to speak, and he had either forgotten the newspaper or  ceased to care about it. Clement came again on Friday morning, but he and Uncle Luke only exchanged a word or two. Again Morny faced a week-end with relief. The slackening of tension was almost unbearable, yet she could not sleep. She set the alarm and collapsed upon her bed, but the smallest sound startled her into awareness. Even at night she only dozed, and in the stifling darkness she was  beset by fears. At Clement’s suggestion no one but the few closely associated with Uncle Luke were told of his illness. “Everyone knows him, and you’d have the whole town on the telephone,” he said to Morny. “You both need quiet. Ring me if you want anything—anything at all.” Before this, Morny had never thought much about Clement. He was ordinary; he respected Uncle Luke, but who didn’t? Now she found him not only likeable for himself but thoughtful and infinitely kind, and she knew there was no underlying motive in his kindness. He came every day, made her lie down or go for a walk, and on Sunday he sent her to his own house to have lunch with his wife while he are the food Joe had prepared for Morny. Between them Clement and Morny nursed Uncle Luke over the sweating first phase of his illness, and together they rejoiced when he ask asked ed to be pr propped opped up with two pill pillows. ows. Weakness had sap sapped ped Luk Lukee Penrose Penros e ’s usual usual interest iin n tthe he ever everyday yday life about abo ut him him.. He pe perused rused last Friday’s newspaper and accepted Clement’s word that the next number was well in hand. Morny got the permission that his pulse would hardly have quickened had he been told there would be no issue of the Signana News this News this week, but she had no doubt that when the effects of  the fever were dissipated he would examine every article written while Clement was in charge, and woe betide his assistant if the standard of writing and presenting facts were lowered by an iota. By Monday he could be left with Thomas. Morny hurried home during the half-hour break, and she wasthose thereintervals again atshe one-thirty to eat a salad with in his room. He sleptwhich a greatgodeal, and during helped Clement with all thehim oddments of information to make

up a local newspaper. Since the Limbusi news had been incorporated, the paper had graduated to ten sheets. Space had to be reserved for various items, corners had to be filled in and every detail must have news  

value or appeal. “A local weekly has little kinship with the big daily,” Clement stated. “You look through a daily and miss half the items, but every word in a local is read by the majority of the town’s inhabitants. They’re interested in everything and everybody in the district. Mrs. So-and-so’s charity party, somebody’s wedding, someone else’s accident—if they don’t know the people they know the names. We can’t afford to miss out a single scrap of news that comes in, because if we do, someone will be offended. You’ve got to pander to ‘em, Morny. As your uncle always says, ‘Show them that you like them, and they can’t help but like you.’ That’s one of our office maxims.” Morny was given the Limbusi news to edit. The reporter there had imagination and zeal, but lacked a knowledge of syntax and the fine touch which does not labor the crude but points the good; he merely reported, sensationally and floridly, every incident which came his way, oblivious of another of the office maxims: “As soon as a child can read, he may read the Singana  News.”  News .” Living with Uncle Luke had taught Morny a lot about writing. She knew his tastes, recoiled as instinctively as he did from the jarring phrase, the too-exuberant descriptive passage. But her very knowledge of him made her task more exacting. Whereas the faults would have leapt out at him she had to trace tra ce them, them, and rere-phrasi phrasing ng which would w ould have taken him him ten minu minutes tes kept her ponderi pondering ng for half an hour. She liked the work, but it entailed a continuous race with time, so that she was seldom in bed before midnight and daren’t get up later than five. Without completely realizing it she was in a state of chronic tiredness, but Uncle Luke’s daily improvement was a reward beyond price. He knew from Clement that she was doing her bit for  the News, the  News, and  and probably imagined her putting in an hour now and then when she had nothing else to do. His first sign of reviving interest in the paper came on Tuesday evening. Morny had called Thomas to collect the supper-tray, and was straightening the bedclothes when her uncle smiled at her thoughtfully. “I hope Clement will remember to look up some snippets for the Thinkers’ Column on the leader page,” h hee sai said. d. “Reader “Readerss llike ike a few wis wisee rem re marks from the the fam famous.” ous.” “We’ve chosen ten from y your our notebook.” “Mix them well,” he said, “and the more pithy they are the better.”

Soon after this he settled for the night, and Morny drove down to his office. Clement was in the editor’s chair, frantically scratching his head. One hand burrowed among the papers.

 

“Why should all this happen this week?” he groaned. “A woman loses jewellery from a hotel  bedroom,, anot  bedroom another her is kn knocked ocked down by a motor cycle, the the hospital requests the the presence of a reporter at the dedication of a new ward, and tomorrow a witchcraft case comes before the magistrate—and that’s not a tenth of it. I still haven’t tackled the sports. If only my wife knew shorthand!” “Come now,” she said, “Where’s your usual calm approach to catastrophe? I’ve brought the Limbusi reports, so you can give me some of that mound on the desk.” It was turned one o’clock when they parted. Morny was so uncertain of herself that she left the car out on the road rather than negotiate the garage drive. She tumbled into bed, began to dream about the gruesome details of the witchcraft case and was awakened by the alarm. It was five o’clock, not quite light and oppressively hot. The overcast skies were here again, hanging low over the town and creating a sultry  breathless  breath lessn ness. The schoolch schoolchildr ildren en were thick-h thick-headed, eaded, thou thoug gh sitt sitting ing in th their desks they they must must have  been much much cooler th than an Morn Morny y. By th thee time time th thee school closed her cl cloth othes es clung clung with wi th perspir perspiration ation and her temples throbbed. It was Wednesday, and Saturday seemed incredibly distant. The only spot of sunshine was a note left at the house by Dr. Frost. She need have no further  anxiety about her uncle, it said, but it would be safer for him to rest for another week. No work, not even the mental kind, till after the weekend, and it wouldn’t hurt to keep him in bed till Sunday. Morny went into Uncle Luke’s room and kissed him. Then she read the note to him. He looked at her with his old, tranquil humor. “I’m not in a hurry to slip back into harness. There’s not much doing just now, and the responsibility will be good for Clement. He says everything is going smoothly, but I expect he’s  puttin  put ting g in lon long g hou hours. rs. Next mont onth h II’ll ’ll give him a week’s lea leave ve as a bonu bonus.” s.” She nodded. “He’s been grand.” “And so have you, you, my dear. You You ’r ’ree looking l ooking thin thin and pale p ale.. Y You ou m must ust take take more res restt and llet et Thomas do all the waiting on me.”

I m all right. It s the heat. Shall we have lunch? Morny did not eat much; it seemed weeks since she had last had enjoyment from a meal. She left Uncle Luke to his nap and walked in the garden, smoking a cigarette. Her head still ached and  

the stickiness of her skin persisted, but she had become accustomed to subjugating her own sensations. When her cigarette was finished she would go through the school books in her case, and after that she might fit in a bath. Tea with Uncle Luke, an hour down at the office with Clement, then back for dinner. She hoped it would not be necessary to work as late as last night, or she would be flat out tomorrow. The telephone rang in the hall. Morny tossed away her  cigarette and hurried indoors, snatched up the receiver to stop the ringing and pressed a hand to her poun po unding ding forehead. “Who is it?” she said, with unwonted sharpness. “Is that you, Morny?” She trembled, went clammily cold and grasped the receiver more tightly. “Yes,” she answered. “This is i s Gr Grant. ant. W Wee got bac back k about twenty minut inutes es ago. How are you you?” ?”

Unreasonably, Morny found herself hardening against him. “Very well, thanks. Did you have a good trip trip?” ?” “So-so. I’m glad it’s over. Is Luke resting?” Again she yielded him a monosyllable. “Yes.” “You sound very abrupt. Perhaps I butted in on your sleep, too.”

“No, I was in the garden.” Still on a brittle note she enquired, “What did you shoot?” “A few pests. Bernice got the lion she was after, so everyone was happy.” He paused. “I telephoned you right away because I thought you might like to come to Minona for the rest of the day. After the dust on the road I can do with a bath, but I could pick you up in half an hour. You’ve never really seen the place in daylight.” Her reply was so long in coming that he added  peremptorily,  perem ptorily, “Are you you th there, ere, Morn Morny y?” “It’s impossible.” She swallowed, hoping to melt the harshness of pain from her voice. “I shall  be too busy busy ttoday, oday, Grant Grant.” .”

“I see.” His tone indicated plainly that he did nothing of the sort. “What about dinner?” “I ... I can’t.”

 

“Just like li ke th that,” at,” w with ith icy cyn cynici icism. sm. “You can’t. No explanation, of course. Inconvenient Inconvenient of m mee to ring at all, wasn’t w asn’t it?” Morny couldn’t believe that the thud in her ear was Grant replacing his receiver. She had been analysing, with as much precision as her aching head would permit, whether it were politic to let him know about Uncle Luke’s illness. He was sure to hear about it soon from some quarter, but by the time he did the News the News would  would be in the press and Uncle Luke stronger. Despite physical weariness her pride remained fierce. He had been away having fun and excitement excitem ent wi with th Bernice Ashley, had retu re turned rned feeli fee ling ng that that a house pa party rty would fitly end the expedition and patronizingly decided to give Morny a break. But, wait. He had not mentioned a  party.. Would  party Would h hee invite Morny Morny alon alone? e? It was iim mprobabl probable, e, but just just sufficient sufficiently ly possibl possiblee to make make h her  er  sick with renewed longing. She sat down in the lounge and dropped her head upon the arm of the chair. She wished she had told Grant about Uncle Luke, yet was aware that she could not have borne his compassion. Were he to learn the truth he would immediately take charge of the situation; find someone else to help Clementt and perhaps Clemen per haps ev even en inform Mrs. Mrs. Bartlett Bartle tt th that at for the rest r est of the w week eek she mu must st do with wi thout out an assistant. Being managed by Grant would be an exquisite but intolerable anguish. Presently she moved, got down to the work she had brought home. But while she ticked and corrected, the image of Grant insinuated itself between her vision and the blotchy pages. He was home, if only for a day or two. Singana was complete again, and surely, surely she would see him  before he he left for for Salis Salisbury bury.. And what of Bernice? She had climbed her mountain, shot her lion. What of that other item on her itinerary? Salisbury was not so far from Bulawayo, and it could easily be Grant’s intention to show Bernice the ranch where he had been born. No doubt it had already been discussed between th them em,, and a date aagreed greed upon upon.. A sudden tap at the outer door made her start and go white; her nerves must be haywire. She erked up and went out, but it was only a piccanin with a telegram. She signed for it, vaguely tu turned rned the envelo envelope pe aabout, bout, knowi knowing ng th there ere could be noth nothing ing in it to touch her deeply. dee ply. The wire was from Ian Templeton, and read: “Everything rosy. Will be in Singana on Friday and stay the the w weekend.” eekend.”

For a week Ian had completely eluded her mind, and now she recalled him and Christine as if  they were remote figures in a story, not real persons at all. “Everything rosy” meant they would be getting married and coming to live at Singana with Mr. Malony. How nice, she thought inadequately.  

“Morny!” Swiftly Swi ftly,, she turned to aanswer nswer her un uncle cle’s ’s sum summ mons. “Coming “Coming,, darl da rling ing!” !”

 

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MY DEAR,” said Uncle Luke when she entered his room, “the new garden-boy is hacking down the  branches  branch es of my my favorite wild p palm alm.. I can see him plainly. Sh Shout out at him him to leave th thee trees alone.” “

She hastened to the window, made the boy understand that pruning must not be undertaken without the master’s supervision, and twisted back to look at Uncle Luke. Before she could speak  he nodded at the pink slip in her hand. “Is that a telegram tel egram?” ?” She hesitated. “It’s from Ian. He’s comin coming g to Singan Singanaa on o n Friday.” Frida y.” He leaned back among his pillows, watching her shrewdly. “I suppose that brightens you up a  bit?” “It means he’ll be accepting Mr. Malony’s offer. I’m pleased about that.” “I’m not so sure that I am. I like Ian—he’s steadfast and conscientious—but there’s weakness in him. I’d hate you to marry for pity, Morny.” “I shan’t.” She paused, weighing the wisdom of absolute frankness. It could not harm anyone now, and Uncle Luke had a right to be told. “You were rather taken in by Mr. Malony that night at the Bowls dinner, weren’t you?” He held his chin and stared at her steadily. “Taken aback is nearer what I felt, but only for that evening. I knew you weren’t in love with Ian Templeton, and I was pretty sure that anything you’d done for him had only kindness as its motive. I was sorry you couldn’t be natural with me...” “I was so miserable!” “So I gathered. Several things became obvious to me that evening.” Their glances collided, but Morny’s slid quickly away. “Why didn’t you contradict Mr. Malony’s joke about your marrying a

tea planter? “It was was only  only a joke, and I was afraid of jeopardizing Ian’s chances. And there was something else.” It was a relief to unburden even so little. “Grant and I had been talking. He was curt, almost  

nasty, about Ian; and he was there listening to Mr. Malony, if you remember.” “Yes, I remember.” Uncle Luke’s voice had a dry, knowing inflexion. “So you considered acquiescence the wiser course.” “It was easier. I badly wanted to be honest with you, though.” “Of course you did. I didn’t mind waiting, except that I could see you were making yourself  unnecessarily unhappy—and candidly, I didn’t think Ian’s small problems were worth it.” She came from the window to the foot of the bed ... mechanically bent to smooth a tiny fold in the blanket. “Ian’s problem was a big one. If you’re sure you won’t get tired I’ll give you the details.” He smiled smiled and waved to the ch chair air at the the bedside. beds ide. “I’ve just slept for two soli solid d hou hours. rs. Go ahead, my dear.” After a halting start it all came out, all except Mrs. Bartlett’s part in the affair; there was no sense in making him furious. As it was he frowned with annoyance when she mentioned her own visit vis it to Limbu Limbusi si with wi th Ian. Ian. “What a fool the fellow is,” he exclaimed, “and a thoughtless fool at that! It seems to me that if  he hadn’t hauled you into it he’d still be wallowing in the mess—and that’s about all he deserves.” “The opposition from Christine’s parents was tough, and she herself was undecided about everything except loving Ian. It isn’t like you to be unsympathetic.” “If you hadn’t been dragged into it I wouldn’t be,” he said more calmly. “Well, I suppose those two will make Malony a happy man, so a certain amount of good will come out of all this. But I don’t like your share in it. Even the mildest type of deception causes misunderstandings. I’m getting on and I’ve known you too long and too intimately to leap to false conclusions about you,  but what abou aboutt ot oth hers w wh ho see only th thee surface?” surface?” “Others?” she echoed, and her nails curled tightly into her palms.

“Grant, for instance,” he said evenly. “What would ... he care?”

 

“I haven’t the ghost of a notion—but I’ll bet that you have.” Something subtle, impossible to discuss, hung between them. It had to be dispelled, at once and ruthlessly. “Grant’s back, by the way,” she said with an attempt at carelessness. “He rang up while you were asleep, but I didn’t tell him you’d had fever.” “Why on earth not?” “He’d interfere—he always does. Besides, he’ll have plenty to do at the office before he goes to Salisbury.” Uncle Luke again stroked his chin and forbore to comment upon this piece of feminine logic. “I suppose Reid will have the details of the game hunt for an article. The readers will expect an account and Mrs. Malcolm’s photographs in this week’s issue. You might ask Clement about it, Morny, and remind him that Grant will have to see a proof.” Mildly he added in explanation, “Grant’s our managing director, my dear. I think you often forget that.” “Occasionally I do. But I doubt if he ever does.” She left him then then,, to make make som s omee tea, and a quarter of an hou hourr later l ater she drank dr ank a cup of it w with ith him him  before setting setting off for the the News  News offices.  offices. Clement was submerged, typing from his shorthand notes of the witchcraft trial while the desk   becam  became smothered smot hered with papers dum dumped ped at report intervals intervals tth he Malcolm’s boy boy.. Morny Mornypictures, sorted over h heap, eap, found ethe long envelope containing Mr. there Reid’s andby Mrs. and the ripped it open. The photographs were good: one of Bernice posed with her large, furry victim, another of  her fishing in a tropic-looking stream, and one of Major Malcolm and the native bearers standing with a baby elephant which had apparently been captured alive. Grant appeared in only one of the  pictures,  pictu res, that that which showed th thee whole party roun round d a meal table outside outside a tent; tent; he was seated  between Bernice Bernice and tthe he m major. ajor. Morny retu returned rned tth he photograph photographss to the the en envelope. velope. “Are you going to splash this article?” she asked. “I daren’t. daren’t. Reid th throws rows in dashes and capitals galore alore,, and it would need re re-wr -writing iting.. I wonder iif  f 

your uncle would agree to our publishing a line of pictures across the top of page three with a descriptive descri ptive par paragraph agraph u under nder each?” “Do whatever is sim s implest.” plest.”  

“I think we will. Could you read the article and do the paragraphs for me? This chunk will take me another hour.” Morny performed the task detachedly, went home in the dark, had a bath, some fruit and coffee, and drove again to town at about eight-thirty. It was slightly cooler, but the humidity which was inseparable from blanketing skies kept the pores open and the brain sluggish. Morny worked with Clement in a vacuum of lethargy. In an effort to remain wide awake she drank too much coffee and kept a cigarette ci garette going going.. At eleven those on overtime in the printing room went home. Morny was nearing the end of her  reserves. The headache which had hovered all day planted itself blindingly across her brow; she was trembling with nervous fatigue, and the typed words danced and ran together before her eyes. Across the desk Clement was feverishly typing and patently making many mistakes. He gave her a worried glance. “Heaven knows what your uncle would say if he could see you now. You’d better go, Morny. The rush will peter out during tomorrow.” “I’ll finish off these hospital notes...” She stopped and listened. There was a loud knocking at the main, door. Clement got up, ran grubby fingers through his hair in a manner reminiscent of Uncle Luke. “The policeman,” he sighed. “He’s earlier than last night. I’ll go and tell him all’s well.” She was glad of his absence, thankful for a private moment in which to press her hands to her  cheeks and slump forward with her elbows on the desk. She heard him talking, the closing of the door and the advancing footsteps and voices. A second before Clement came into the office she was aware that Grant was with him. In a reflex action she straightened, took up her fountain pen and made a few meaningless marks on the sheet in front of her. Without haste, she looked up. Grant was wearing a white dinner jacket which made the most of his tan; his vitality was like a challenge in the jaded room. He stood above her, his jaw set, his eyes glittering, and he spoke with a deadly quietness. “So you’re a newspaper woman, too. No end to what you can do, is there? Where’s Luke?” “He’s at home, in bed.”

“You see, sir,” “You si r,” sai said d Clemen Clementt ’s trouble troubled d voi voice, ce, “w “we’v e’vee just been u unlu nlucky cky.. There There ’s b been een nothing nothing  but one one incident af after ter anoth another, er, and th they ey all have to go into th thee paper. It would have been a hectic hectic week even with Mr. Penrose on the job. Without him it’s been just awful.”  

“Without him! Is he sick?” Again it was Clement who responded. “He went down with fever a week ago—you know, the seasonal fever. He’s over it i t now, now, but Dr. Frost advises another another week’s rest.” res t.” Morny had never seen Grant like this before, so tightened up, and vibrant as a leopard  preparing  prepari ng to spring. spring. Th Thee room was charged with his presence, quiveri quivering ng with his his lleashed eashed anger. anger. With the same dangerous softness he said, “Is your car outside, Clement? I thought so. You’ll find Miss Ashley sitting in mine; we saw the light and Luke’s tourer, and I decided to investigate. Will you explain to her that I’m detained here and take her down to her house in your car?” Clement Clem ent said, “Certainly, M Mr. r. Randall,” and disappear disappeared. ed. Morny sat nervously at the desk, pen in hand. The prolonged silence forced her to raise her  head, to see in the greenish eyes a blend of violence and dislike. She saw him look at the several empty coffee cups, the cigarette butts on the ashtray, and back at her pale face with the smudges under the eyes. She took a breath which shuddered in her throat, and steeled herself to withstand whatever might come next. Grant walked round the desk, dropped into Clement’s chair and pushed aside the typewriter. Part of Morny’s registered the diminishing roar of Clement’s rather aged vehicle and went on to visualize Bernice’s chagrin as she sat withdrawn from the assistant editor of the Singana News. But the major portion of her depleted power of concentration was trained upon Grant. He leaned over, so close that Morny caught his particular fragrance. “If you weren’t so worn,” he said, scarcely moving his lips, “I’d hurt you—I’d have to. But I’ll be generous and take it that you kept quiet about Luke’s illness when I telephoned you this afternoon because you were really too spent to talk to anyone about anything. You may even have resented my being away when it happened, and unconsciously have blamed me for something of which I was entirely ignorant. We’ll let that part of it go. What I’ll never understand is why you took on helping Clement when you were well aware that my secretary would have fixed him up with temporary assistance.” “It didn’t occur to me,” she said, her eyes downcast. “If it had, I wouldn’t have dared to act on it. I don’t know your secretary, or any of the people in your office.”

“They know Luke and respect him. They’d have arranged something.” “My uncle hasn’t been well enough to take much notice of what’s going on, or perhaps he’d have told me to contact your office. To prevent his becoming anxious Clement let him think it was  

a slack period. Things have erupted in a bunch mid-week, but the excitement is nearly over now.” “It’s quite over, for you,” he said in clipped tones. “You’re not to come here again.” She slanted her chair to avoid facing him. “Dictating to other people is the breath of life to you. That was why I didn’t men mention tion Uncle Uncle Lu Luke’s ke’s fever feve r to you tthis his afternoon; you can’t resis re sistt wad wading ing in to take charge.” “There are not many men,” he said with controlled heat, “who’d let a girl wear herself thin and distracted when a sensible step or two could avoid it. I’ve never been so sickened in my life as when I came in here a few minutes ago to find you looking like death in the midst of this!” He flung out a hand which just missed sweeping cups and ashtray to the floor. “Who’s been nursing yourr un you uncle cle?” ?” “The same two,” she said with bitter flippancy: “Clement and I; Clement’s been wonderful. And to forestall your next question, I haven’t played truant from school, either. Women are notoriously stupid, but theyy get along somehow without much ado about it.” She gave a  brief, unsteady unsteady laug laugh h. “So you ou can keep your your pity, pity , Grant. Grant.making It It isn’ttoo needed.” “I don’t pity you! I’m merely so angry that I can hardly trust myself to speak to you. What, in the name of sanity, do you suppose I am? If Luke falls sick I have a right to know.” “That’s true enough. You pay his salary...” He blazed. “You can keep those sweet reflections to yourself! The Syndicate pays his salary; I don’t. I’ve always regarded Luke as a friend, a close friend.” He leaned farther, gripped her  wrist. “Look here, Morny. Singana’s your home, and mine. I’m not giving up Luke’s friendship ust because you hate me, so you’d better revise your estimate. I don’t hate you—I never shall—   but I’ve com comee very near near to disli dislikin king g you sometim sometimes, es, you yoursel yourselff h have ave been tthe he cause.” cause.” She withdrew her hand, rubbed her wrist he had held and gave him a white, brittle smile. “Getting quite tense, aren’t we? I expect you’ve got into the habit of it at this time of night, but this isn’t the jungle and I’m not Bernice Ashley. She doesn’t have to work, so I’m sure she’s much more responsive.” Her words were sharp with pain. “I’m tired. If you’ve no objection I’ll go home.”

She sprang too precipitately to her feet, closed her eyes for a moment against a hammering in her temples. She tried to get away from the desk, to avert herself and regain her composure, but Grant was at her side, his arm strong and inflexible across her shoulders. The back of his other  hand touched her bare arm, her face.  

“You’re hot. Do you feel ill?” “It’s only a headache. Leave me alone, Grant!” His arm tightened. “I’ll drive you, and send Luke’s car along later.” “Leave me alone. I don’t want your help!” He paid no attention to this, and when she tried to drag away from him he half-lifted her so that she was forced to go with him. When she ceased to struggle he let her walk but retained a decisive hold on her elbow. They reached the car; he put her inside it and turned round to his own seat. The starless heavens were shot with dry, white lightning and thunder grumbled away in the hills. He drove without speaking, his knuckles gleaming on the wheel, the muscle hard in his jaw and his mouth straight and unyielding. Within minutes he had stopped at the kerb in front of Uncle Luke’s house. “I’ll go in with you,” he said. She was subdued, all fight gone out of her. Wearily she answered, “No, you’d wake my uncle. I’m going straight to bed.” He turned sideways and put out a hand, sensed her shrinking and let the hand drop. “Sleep late in the the m morning. orning. I’ll I’ll call cal l at ab about out ten. ten. You ’l ’lll feel better then then,, and I’ll pro prom mise not to to le lett fly. fly. W Wee ’ll ’l l have a long talk.” Dully Dull y sh shee rep repli lied, ed, “We “We ’ve noth nothing ing to discuss, di scuss, Grant. Uncle Lu Luke ke will wil l be glad to see se e you, though.”  Neither of them said good n  Neither nigh ight. t. Fu Fum mblingly blingly,, conscious that that he was watching watching from from tth he gate, she let herself into the hall. She felt as a sapling must feel after a gale, ragged and spineless. The alarm clock in her room said five minutes to twelve. It was less than an hour since the printing room hands had gone and left her working with Clement, yet Morny had the sensation of having  passed from one ph phase ase of ex existence istence into into an anoth other. er.

She drank a glass of water and slipped between the sheets to lie preparing for the wakefulness which so often attends over-tiredness. But no sooner had her muscles relaxed than sleep came, merciful and swift.

 

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE  following afternoon a storm broke over Singana, the first of the season. The thunder was tremendous, the lightning violet-colored, dangerously horizontal and incessant, and the rain roared about the house like a million furies. It lasted nearly two hours and departed in a sulphurous haze, leaving lea ving th thee dis district trict steaming steaming and gurgling. gurgling. This was nearer Morny’s initial expectations of the Copper-belt. The sky was copper-hued, a coppery vapour rose from the sloots and the lake was a gargantuan bowl of the liquid metal. The heat was drenching, and branches hung limp in the torrid atmosphere. Now, it was easy to believe that that the count country ry wa wass b borde ordered red by the the Congo. Only the flowers thrived. The bronze and green leaves of cannas were huge and lush, the  bloomss eex  bloom xotic vel velvet vet flags. W Wh hen th thee su s un appeared, th thee dark dar k lux luxurian uriantt foliage of hibiscus becam becamee hidden by lovely scarlet trumpets and the poinsettias were more brilliantly unreal than ever. One could almost watch the grass thicken and new buds form in the flower beds. The garden-boy muttered to himself; in this weather he had no energy for grass-cutting, no enmity for the weeds which sprang up six inches in a day. Morny walked half-way down the path which led to the lake, but it was too slippery and treacherous treac herous for her to ventu venture re far farth ther. er. As it was, wa s, the cli clim mb bac back k was tricky tri cky,, much much t oo aarduous rduous in this heat. But it was good to have leisure, to know that she could go to bed at nine and sleep through through ttil illl six. She had come home from school and lunched with Uncle Luke in his room, but the storm had curtailed their conversation. He had mentioned Grant’s call, but only casually, and she had the conviction that Grant had said nothing about last night, and offered no comment upon hearing that she had gone to school as usual this morning. She was thankful. To-day she was sufficiently recovered to feel slightly hollow at the memory of that short scene with Grant; tomorrow it would  begin to to hu hurt, rt, as everyt ev erythin hing g connected connected with w ith h him im hurt hurt.. There seem se emed ed to be no end to the agonies agonies of  living. Later that evening she was able to put a question to Uncle Luke. “When is Grant calling again?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. So he had chosen a time when he knew she would be away. Well, she had told him to leave her  alone, that they had nothing to discuss. What perverse quality is it in women, Morny wondered  

despondently, that embitters them when a man takes them at their word? It was Uncle Luke who remembered on Friday that Ian was due that day. Morny had forgotten him again, but her uncle’s reminder set up a sort of relief in her heart. Ian was someone of her  own gen generation eration with w ith whom she co cou uld be nearly frank frank.. H e was obsesse obsessed d with himself himself and Christine, but the fact that Morny knew all about him brought ease to their companionship. Ian made no demands upon her personality. What he asked—her compassion and encouragement—he could have requested from any woman. He came after dinner, a fair young man with a smile lurking perpetually at the corners of a naturally serious mouth. He was concerned about Uncle Luke—wished to heaven the fever had made its appearance while he was in Singana so that he could have lent a hand; poor Morny must have had a time of it. Uncle Luke regarded him speculatively, and kept as quiet as he usually did when he was wa s think thinking ing deepl deeply. y. In the lounge, after Uncle Luke had been settled for the night, Ian got on to his favorite topic. He was staying with his sister till Sunday evening. Perhaps Vera had told Morny of the letter she had received from him yesterday? Morny shook her head. Ian said, “Possibly she was waiting to see me first. I put everything in the letter, leaving you out as you wished. I explained about the offer from Mr. Malony as if it were something I’d been negotiating while I was stationed here. It pleases her that I shall be living fairly close to the town. Aboutt Ch Abou Christine ristine she w was as more re reserved.” served.” “It’s come right, though?” “Unbelievably right. The Levitts are happy about it, and Christine herself is nearly as overwhelmed as I am. She’s invited you to Limbusi for the day tomorrow, but I don’t suppose you’ll care to leave your uncle?” “No. Maybe I’ll go there alone, next week.” “I wish you would. Christine says it was you who made her stiffen up—not so much your  advice as the way you gave it; I don’t believe she’s ever been treated as an adult by another  woman before. And, of course, we’ll both be eternally grateful to you for approaching Mr. Malony.”

“He wasn’t a difficult proposition. Will you be going over to see him?” “Yes, on Sunday—I wrote to him about Christine, too. I thought it best to prepare him by letter.  

I may may even persuade pe rsuade Vera to go wi with th me me to th thee p plantation.” lantation.” “I shouldn’t,” said Morny hastily. “They’d never mix, and Mr. Malony’s capable of bringing my name into it. If you can, you must keep them apart till you marry. What are your arrangements,  by the the way way?? Will Mrs. Bartlett Bartlett u unben nbend d and give give you both her ble blessing ssing?” ?” He gave a short laugh. “At present it’s impossible to weigh up what course she’ll take, but with careful handling she should come round; deep down, she wants to attend the wedding. She’s really gratified about the tea plantation, and quite delighted, in her reticent fashion, that I chose to spend these few days with her rather than at Limbusi. She has one or two feminine characteristics!” Some of them overpoweringly strong, thought Morny with an inward grimace. She hoped that the softening effect of Ian’s news would extend to Mrs. Bartlett’s relations with her junior  mistress.

“And the date of the wedding?” she queried. “It’ll be in six weeks’ time at Limbusi. I’ve given a month’s notice to my chief, which will leave me free about three weeks from now. I shall move straight in with Mr. Malony and make the more necessary alterations to the house; Christine will be there a lot, too, so that it won’t come strange after our hon honeym eymoon. oon. We’re aiming to to sspend pend a fortnight fortnight at th thee Fa Fall lls.” s.” “It sounds lovely.” As distances go in Africa, the Victoria Falls were not far away, but Morny recalled the magnificent “smoke that thunders,” the cool breeze along the Zambesi, the crocodiles and hippos she had seen with Uncle Luke, and their adventures among the islands, with a nostalgia for  something far off and impossible to recapture. A honeymoon in such a place did not bear thinking about. “You’ll come and see us married, won’t you, Morny?” Ian was urgently demanding. “Mrs. Levitt will post you an invitation.” He said more, much more, and when he left he had Morny’s word that she would dine with him at the club the following evening. He was to spend most of the day with Christine, but would

return to Singana before dark. It was cooler on Saturday, and cloudless. The curtains billowed gently, admitting breaths of air  laden with narcotic perfume. Giant butterflies winged past the open windows, and big things, like  

outsize hornets, added their zooming to the humming of myriads of unseen insects. The boys were singing again; they loved the sun and loathed the rain. On the nippy nights of winter—a superb season in Northern Rhodesia—they all huddled up in blankets in one of the huts with a brazier  glowing in their midst. Uncle Luke had once gone out in the morning to rouse them and found the hut grey with fumes, and mounds of nearly asphyxiated Africans on the floor. Morny walked around the town and relaxed for an hour at the hairdresser’s, where the two assistants admitted to copying their styles from the English magazines. Singana was well abreast of the times in almost everything. Modernness is an adjunct to prosperity, which was doubtless why Grant infused various projects with older, more rooted qualities. Morny comprehended the side of him which regarded as anathema the distorted growth of boom towns in the bush. She was beginning to feel for Singana that rather protective fondness which one has for the English provincial town where one was born. Yet there was nothing old here except the ageless hills and the great redwoods. It came to her suddenly, heartbreakingly, that she could not continue here indefinitely. The only way to live down unrequited love was to put distance between oneself  and the object of it. Where to go, how to start again among strangers with no Uncle Luke to smooth her pa path th,, w were ere at the m mom oment ent u unan nansw swera erable ble questions. It was a day of rejoicing for Uncle Luke, for tomorrow he would get up and take a turn or two in his his beloved garden. He was disposed dispos ed to be charitable, even to Ian Templeton. Templeton. “Though I never knew a man so consistently engrossed with himself,” he remarked drily, over  tea. “Isn’t complete restraint rather a lot to expect from someone who has despaired and been reprieved?” she said. “Ian isn’t self-important—only so relieved that he can’t stop thinking what a wonderful place the world is for him and Christine.” “You make excuses for everyone ... nearly everyone.” The final, qualifying words were added with the hint of a grin. “I dare say you’ll be writing out a paragraph about this young man for next Friday’s News Friday’s  News.” .” “It did occur to me,” she confessed. “Mr. Malony would like it, and if Ian was described as Mrs. Bartlett’s brother, she’d be mollified, too. At the same time we might announce his marriage to the daughter of the Limbusi bank manager. Seeing that the paper sells there as well, it would be

to the daughter of the Limbusi bank manager. Seeing that the paper sells there as well, it would be a gesture. It’s not a bad idea to publicise even the tiniest links between the two towns.” “Dear me,” he said. “So you think that working for a few hours on the News the News   entitles you to dictate policy. Write your paragraph, then—not more than three inches—and I’ll see that it gets in. I’ll go down to the office on Tuesday.”  

“We’ll have Dr. Frost in again before then—oh, yes, we will,” as he made to protest. “Bother  the paper; it’s had altogether too much attention. What does it matter if it’s a day or so late!” “Morny, my dear, you have no reverence for the great traditions of the Press. The whole of  Singana would be shaken to the marrow if the News the News were  were missing from Friday’s breakfast table. I’ll tell you something,” he tacked on confidentially. “While I’ve been lounging here viewing the monotonous shapes of the trees outside, I’ve been turning over a new venture in my mind. If I can get the backing—and I’m fairly sure I can—I’m going to start a weekly supplement which would selll through sel throughout out both Rh Rhodes odesias ias.. You You know know th thee type of thing thing—a —a separ s eparate ate newspape news paperr wi with thout out n news ews.. A story or two, book reviews, features on everyday psychology, gardening and housewifery—  reading matter for all the family. It should be a moderate success, and that’s about all you can hope for with a limited white population. There’s a need for it, though, and the population is steadily increasing increasing.” .” “Where will you get the material?”

“From England, chiefly. Domestic and gardening articles  book reviews myself. myself. Th Thee costs shouldn’t shouldn’t be ex excessi cessive.” ve.” would have to be local, and I’d do the “It sounds good, but you’d definitely have to increase your staff.” “Quite. This has always been a latent ambition of mine, but inaction has stirred it up into a  pressing  pressi ng one. Wh When en you want anyth anything ing badly enough enough,, Morny Morny, there there are ways and means of  achieving it.” A sentiment which she had heard him express so often that now she scarcely noticed it. But while she was dressing in candy-stripe silk for dinner at the club it came back to her, and she  permitted  perm itted h her er thou thoug ght htss to wander am among ong her own modest modest aspir aspirations ations of a couple of m mont onths hs ag ago: o: to share Uncle Luke’s house and to be in a salaried post, that was all. She had attained both, and they were we re not enough enough.. Yet a man of Uncle Luke’s Luke’s age a ge stil stilll had w wor orld ldss to conquer. It just h happ appened ened that she had no yearnings beyond those for the ordinary woman’s lot, and if that were denied her  she was a failure. Though honesty compelled the admission that a good teacher is never a failure.  Nevertheless,, her face, when she bent nearer to th  Nevertheless thee mirror irr or to apply cosmetics, cosmetics, had a bleak, spiritless appearan appearance. ce.

Ian and Mr. Reid arrived together. Mr. Reid had dropped in for a chat with Luke, but he gallantly complimented Morny on her dress and lifted a knowing brow at Ian. “We haven’t seen you since the game hunt,” said Uncle Luke cheerfully from his pillows, “but I  

read your account of it. Seems to have been exhilarating in spots.” Mr. Reid replied in his stilted style. “We had one or two splendid days. Having women with us was somewhat restricting, but after all the trip was planned for Miss Ashley. She has a remarkably cool head in danger. When she got her lion she was with Mr. Randall and a bearer. Mr. Randall said she stood calmly, took aim and got the beast squarely with her first shot. He was close by with a rifle, of course.” Uncle Luke shrugged good-humoredly. “Some can and some can’t. That young woman just hasn’t any nerves. Wasn’t she excited after the kill?” “A bit. She got annoyed because Mr. Randall wouldn’t pose for a photograph with her and the lion, but he said the animal was all hers.” Mr. Reid coughed discreetly. “I shouldn’t gossip, but Mrs. Malcolm told me privately that Miss Ashley talks as if she were going to settle in Singana—  marr arriage, iage, you k know.” now.”

“No,” said Uncle Luke firmly, “you shouldn’t gossip, Reid. Well, Morny, you and Ian had  better run along  better along.. Have a good good tim time, e, but don’t stay out too late.” For Ian, the dinner was in the nature of a celebration, and an expression of gratitude. He was fresh from his day with Christine and not far below the stars. They dined early and danced several times, but in spite of wide, mosquito-proofed windows the atmosphere became more and more oppressive and smoky. They talked on the terrace fora while, then Morny suggested going home, and she went to the rest room for her short white cape. It had not been a conspicuously enjoyable evening. When one’s own mood is depressed another’s joy is apt to rasp. Morny was not given to self-pity, but it did strike her as rather hard that she was not even allowed to take pleasure in her work; the least of us are given that. She came through to the vestibule and halted abruptly. Ian was standing in the porch, facing the night, but much nearer stood a group of men, and one of them was Grant. Normally the habit of  extreme courtesy was so strong in him that he would not have hesitated to break away from the others and escort her even the few yards to Ian’s side. Tonight, though he must have seen her, he went on talking. Obviously he had merely called in for a nightcap and would soon be away again.

To Morny, her involuntary pause in the vestibule was sharp and significant. It was a pleading, a capitulation which Grant entirely ignored. When she passed the group he nodded as if she were some distant acquaintance. The slight inclination of his head, the closed, aquiline features and the eyes which scarcely acknowledged her presence, were indicative of finality. Both the stormy and friendly phases of their relationship were over, and from now on to Grant she was Luke Penrose’s niece, nothing more. As Grant himself would trenchantly have phrased it: she had asked  

for it!

 

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

U NCLE LUKE did not shift far from the veranda next day. He had a grand time drawing up a layout for his proposed supplement, and from various publications in his possession he compiled a long list of potential advertisers and subscribers. When this brain-child of and his came to maturity he would call it Week-end Reading,  and if the response from advertisers the public were only half what he expected, a condensed novel would eventually take the place of short fiction. He consented to go to bed at six, happily tired but hungry enough to remain awake till after supper. On Monday, Dr. Frost pronounced him fit, and at mid-morning on Tuesday, Clement drove his chief to the News the News building.  building. Gradually, thereafter, both house and office slipped into their former  routine. Mrs. Bartlett’s attitude to Morny had altered slightly. It was no less strict and opposed to youthful initiative, but the smooth, viperish hostility became toned down into an outmoded sarcasm which had as its butt Morny’s inexperience in teaching and newness to Africa. When Mrs. Bartlett launched her sallies the children dutifully laughed and the woman’s thin mouth curled. Mrs. Bartlett did not realize how wasted were her innuendoes. Malice and satire passed over Morny like a breeze, and if her slender influence with the children was threatened she hardly cared. She taught conscientiously, gave herself up to it, in fact, but her heart was so cold and dead as to be impregnable. Uncle Luke mentioned, with a cool carelessness which hid concern, that if she found schoolteaching notthere to be herroom taste for as she anticipated, thereand wasplenty still time to change her   profession. Soon, thso eremuch would her had in the the News  News offices,  offices, for her to do there if she were so minded. Morny smiled at him and offered no reply. Oddly, an air of benign slackness hung over the newspaper building during that week. It was as though the demons of last week’s unrest had worn themselves out. Luke Penrose was able to  potter  pott er around around th thee flat-bed rotary press and tu turn rn out his schem schemee in print. When the the plan was complete down to the last comma he would pull strings to convene a meeting of the Mine Syndicate on the matter of finance. “Pulling strings” was a debate with Grant, though to be sure Grant was much less accessible these days, and he wouldn’t wait much longer before departing

for Salisbury Sali sbury.. There was talk of engineering troubles at the mine, faults which were being remedied under  Grant’s supervision without slowing down production. These upsets always came in the summer, when tempers were least competent to endure them. Last year a trainload of ore had been derailed  

on one of the mountain bends, and the year before, a pit floor had caved in and buried two laborers. In adversity Grant always became grim and determined, but his present grimness and determination hardly concealed an extraordinary irascibility, an explosive quality which would take very little to touch it off. Luke was cautiously of the opinion that his own ideas for expansion had better be shelved till Grant came back in mellower mood from his holiday. On Friday afternoon Luke returned to his office at three-thirty to go through the proof of a  booklet which which was to be issued by tthe he sports club. He He read and corrected correc ted mechan mechanical ically ly,, for it was dry stuff, and he was thinking that tomorrow he might get a game of bowls and take someone home to dinner. Entertaining kept a woman occupied. Pity he hadn’t insisted on Morny’s giving a party for young people weeks ago, when he had first suggested it. Parties made friendships, and people calling in at all hours kept a girl on her toes and reduced her opportunities for introspection. The fact was that the young folk of Singana were preponderantly male, and a girl’s only chance of real fun was to pick on one particular partner and stick to him, as Morny had picked on Ian. Ian had  been an un unfortu fortunat natee choice, thoug though. h. Uncle Luke turned a page and yawned. He’d wager that no one would ever peruse these hoary rules and re regu gulati lations; ons; Reid must h have ave copied copi ed th them em ffrom rom th thee Doom Doo msday Book. A door crashed and he raised his head, displeased at so violent a sound on this most peaceful afternoon. Then through the open doorway into his office strode Grant. Uncle Luke laid down his  pencil, took off off his his glass lasses es and placed pl aced them with care beside the the proof pr oof on h his is blotter blotter.. He felt li like ke an unarmed warrior, but without the warrior’s keen sense of improvisation. Grant’s breathing was audible, heavy but not fast. His face was dark, his nostrils faintly dilated and pale, probably with the tremendous control he was imposing upon himself. Luke recalled his own reflections about touching off an explosive, and he spoke swiftly, but mildly. “Hello, Grant. I telephoned your office just before lunch and they told me you were still tied up at the mine. No fresh trouble, is there?” “No,” impatiently. impatiently. “We had everyth ev erything ing fixed fixed an hou hourr ago” “Glad to hear that. You’ve put in most of your time there lately.”

Luke, Lu ke, sa said id Grant Where Where s Morny Morny?? Uncle Luke was momentarily nonplussed. It was quite a leap from the mine to his niece. “Morny? I don’t really know.”

 

“Doesn’t she usually come to town with you on Friday afternoon?” “She did come with me.” He lay back in his chair, his glance both reflective and bewildered. “She gives orders for our supplies and does other shopping. Is something wrong?” “Where can I find her?” “She’s somewhere near. Is my car outside?” “I didn’t notice.” Grant took a pace to the window and looked out. “It’s gone. Has she taken it?” “Probably.” A queer silence hung in the room. Grant made a few caged strides with his hands deep in his  pocketss and h  pocket his is chin at a form formidable idable ang angle. le. He stopped suddenly. suddenly. “Where “Wh ere would she have gon gone—hom e—home?” e?” “I doubt it. She’ll have to be here again in half an hour. I expect she’s gone for a run along the Limbusi road, or down by the lake. She may even have school business somewhere; I never pry. Sit down Grant. Grant. You’re You’re all wir wires.” es.” With a half-savage movement Grant twisted away from the desk. “Oh, for God’s sake, Luke!” he exclaimed irritably. Nearly a minute passed before he said more quietly. “I’m sorry. I feel like hell.” “I gathered that,” remarked Uncle Luke calmly. “If something has made you annoyed with Morny I think it would be wiser for you to cool off before seeing her. How about coming over this evening?” Grant made no sign of having heard. He went back to the window and watched the road, viciously scratched a match to light his cigarette and stood there, vibrating. Uncle Luke put away his proof and folded his glasses into their case. He went off to wash his

hands andwas stared thoughtfully himself in thebeing mirror over he thehad basin. For once in hishe life, he, Luke Penrose, totally at a loss at over a human whom flattered himself knew fairly well. Grant had put in too many hours at the mine without rest; that could be the only explanation of such a departure from his customary suave charm. How to deal with him was the problem. Back in his office he tucked some papers into his briefcase, and when he had fastened the straps  

and snapped the lock, he said, “Morny’s my niece, Grant. I wish you’d tell me what’s happened.” Grant swung round. “And I wish to heaven you wouldn’t let her wander off alone in a car,” he said furiously. “This isn’t the English countryside with a house every half mile; she might be stranded anywhere. You’ve never tried to prevent her taking risks!” “You’ve accused me of that before,” Uncle Luke heard himself responding, “and I told you then that I don’t believe in wrapping young things in cotton wool. Morny’s not a fool, and in the long run she’ll come out no worse off than anyone else.” He broke off, and tacked on the slight emphasis, “If I’d been the cosseting kind of uncle she’d have no spirit or independence. Possibly you’d like her better if she wer weree more tractable.” “What do you mean by that?” “Nothing deep. There’s something about each of you that gets under the skin of the other, but you’re domineering about it, Grant—and she couldn’t be. You know,” he made a complication of   poking o  poking ou ut th thee bowl of his pipe, “there “there are som somee th thing ingss a woman will wi ll tak takee from only one man. Being mastered is one of them.” The silence this time had the hot prickle of electricity. Uncle Luke had never taken so long to clean his pipe and refill it. In the end, from the sheer necessity to terminate his own discomfort, he spoke again. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said in his ruminative fashion, “if it’s also true that a man feels a strong inclination to dominate with only one woman. Their situations are opposed, though. A woman wouldn’t stand it without first suspecting she was loved; that’s only natural, don’t you think? I’m just an old bachelor, but it has often occurred to me...” Conscious that he was now addressing himself, Luke Penrose shrugged and set a flame to his  pipe. He puffed puffed a cloud, tthen hen got up and and stood where Grant had stood, near th thee window wi ndow.. Presently a serene smile came to his lips as he smoked. Morny, meanwhile, was on her way back from the lake. Earlier she had ordered the household stores and bought a couple of books. She had come from the bookshop into the blazing warmth o the main street, and suddenly felt the atmosphere of Singana to be overpowering in its blend of the

ultra-modern and the primitive. She had sidestepped two African women wearing a strip of doth apiece, greeted, in passing, the smartly attired doctor’s wife, and slipped into the driving seat o Uncle Luke’s tourer. She had to get away from the town. The lake, in its wooded green bowl with the folds of the hills above, had soothed her. She had  

read for a while under a tree, had drowsed wistfully over the blue water with its edge of greyish  beach, and watched watched a tiny tiny ffishing ishing boat wi with th a patched kaf kaffir fir doth sail and a mast fflyin lying g a scr scrap ap o  brick-red material which was w as meant to be a brave little flag flag.. The The view from th thee club end of the the lake had the mountains to the left and the houses to the right. With binoculars she could have seen Bernice’s house or Minona, three miles away. She had had the great expanse of grass at the back of the diving platforms almost to herself. Some piccanins were playing with a limp football, and a nanny in charge of two tumbling white children went for a quick swim, but none of them ventured near Morny. A snake had finally sent her back to the car: a long, brown thing with a yellow pattern down its sinuous spine. Petrified, she had followed its writhing course till it became obvious that it had no interest in the few human  beingss hereabou  being hereabouts, ts, and th then, en, recalling recal ling a groundless groundless assertion that that snak snakes es hun hunt in twos, she had grabbed up her book and fled. There was still plenty of time before she need go to the News the News offices,  offices, so she drove slowly by a roundabout route through a sisal plantation and cotton fields thickly splodged with white bolls. The lane emerged on to the road below the south end of the town. Morny turned left, ran smoothly into the busy main street and stopped at Uncle Luke’s usual parking place. She opened the car door, swung out her feet and discovered herself standing in the middle of the road, staring up into a taut brown face and frightening green eyes. For a long moment she was so completely unnerved that the buildings rocked about her and the road heaved. Then she felt his hand upon her arm and knew that it really was Grant, that only his face was different. “Morny, I must talk to you,” he said in a voice that had an element of strain. “We can have  privacy here. We’ll We’ll go to to Minona.” Minona.” “But I can’t go there. It’s getting late, and my uncle...” “He’ll understand. I’ve seen him. He’s probably watching us at this moment. Leave his car here and come over to mine.” “I’d ... really rather not, Grant.” She was trembling, afraid to look up again into those leaping eyes. “Can’t we talk in Uncle Luke’s office?”

No! he said sai d sharp sharply ly.. W Wee r e going to Minona Minona at once—and for pity p ity s sake sa ke remember remember that that everyone in this street knows us.” As if it had been admirably arranged to occur at that moment, a car rolled by and the driver   poked his head out in aston astonishm ishment ent He only said, “Why “Why, hello, Grant Grant,” ,” but patently patently he was  

wondering why the deuce such a man of sense had chosen the centre of a busy highway for a chat with Miss Blake. Morny dipped her head and walked with Grant to the cream car. As it moved away from the kerb she saw Uncle Luke wave from his window. Tremulously, she thought, “What is  is  this! Why should I submit submit to aany nyth thing ing m more ore from Grant?” Grant?” But she said sa id nothing nothing because he was wa s driving dri ving so fast that she daren’t divert his attention from the road. Hawk-faced behind the wheel, his mouth tight and the jaw muscle tense with the clenching of his teeth, he was a terrifying stranger. Morny sat shrunk into her corner. She saw, without registering, that they were speeding past Uncle Luke’s house and running out on to the earth road; she felt the swerve into the private lane to Minona and the slowing of the car as it entered the gravel drive to draw in at the foot of the steps which led up to the roomy veranda. The car had stopped, but the beating noise went on—the beating of Morny’s heart sounding in her ears.

 

  CHAPTER TWENTY

GRANT  came round to open her door but, contrary to his custom, he made no attempt to touch her. She mounted the steps at his side and paused. “Grant,” her tones were oddly thin and uneven, “don’t make me go in. Tell me here.” “If you wish,” he said abruptly. He pulled a torn half-sheet of the News the  News from  from his pocket, spread it and put it into her hand. “I’ve been at the mine since early this morning—didn’t see the paper  till I was in my office late this afternoon. Is it true what it says there—that Templeton is going to marry a woman named Christine Levitt?” “Yes, it’s quite true.” “Did he put the announcement in the paper?” “No, I did.” “You knew about this person days ago?” “Weekss ago,” she ssaid. “Week aid. “Then why the devil...” The sentence snapped off. “Morny, how did all this come about? Temple empleton ton accepting accep ting y your our assis as sistance tance wi with th M Malo alony ny,, marrying some some oth o ther er woman—it doesn does n ’t make sense!” “It makes perfect sense,” she replied. “I put in a word for him with Mr. Malony, and he’s in love with Christine Levitt. This paragraph points the happy ending.” “Where do you come in?” he demanded brusquely. “I’ve told you...”

“Why did you help him?” “Why does one help another?” she flashed back. “He wasn’t acquainted with Mr. Malony and I was. Mr. Malony wanted a partner and Ian was simply aching for a settled home—all I did was  

 bring them them tog togeth ether, er, but unf nfortu ortun nately it had to be kept kept secret, so there there were we re misun misunderstandin derstanding gs.” “Malony thought you were going to marry Templeton!” “And “An d so di did d you,” you,” she said, her h head ead low. low . “What had I to go on?” He let out a short, raging breath. “Why did you let me think you were in love with w ith tthe he ffellow ellow ... or w were ere you really in love w with ith him him?” ?” “No, I wasn’t,” she said wearily. “We were friends, then after a while he told me about Christine.” Creasing the piece of newspaper between her fingers, she went on to explain Ian’s dilemma and the solution which lay in Mr. Malony’s accepting him as a partner in the plantation. “It didn’t come to me at once or I’d have acted sooner, without seeing Christine.” “You speak as though you know the woman.” “I met her in Limbusi—the Saturday you saw me there with Ian.” He was big and close. “So that was it. You might have been frank that Sunday morning and saved us both a bit of anguish.” “It wasn’t my secret. Besides, why should I detract from your delight in baiting me about Ian? You said whatever came into your head and didn’t mind how hurtful you were.” Her mouth quivered. “I don’t know why you brought me here, Grant. I wish you hadn’t. All this can’t  possibly  possibl y do u uss any good.” “Morny,” a thickness overlaid his usually clipped tones, “you once admitted to being in love and I took the man to be Templeton. I didn’t really believe it because you and he just didn’t line up together, but I was afraid—horribly afraid—that you felt he needed the strength you could give him, and were deceiving yourself. That was why I never let slip an opportunity of being sarcastic at his expense.” Bitterly she answered, “Well, I hope you had pleasure out of it!” “Darling, don’t.”

She couldn’t have heard him correctly, of course. It was being here so near to him that mixed her up and made the impossible somehow likely. With little needles stabbing at her fingertips she held the piece of paper flat, and to pass the moment till she could speak naturally she looked down at the print. She read a heading, “Bernice Ashley Leaves Town,” and got through the first  

 brief paragraph before absorbi absorbin ng th thee fact th that at Bernice, Bernice, togeth together er with her two boats, had gone gone south to compete in speedboat trials. Somewhat ungently, the paper was taken from her, crushed into a ball and tossed into the seat of one of the veranda chairs. She turned and looked at him. “I never have believed that only one of two people can be in love,” he said through his teeth. “Maybe you’re still too unawakened to realize it yet, or maybe hating me was an unconscious revolt against falling in love with me—but you’re destined for it, Morny, so it’s no use fighting any longer. I haven’t the patience to wait!” “What are are you  you saying?” “You know damn well what I’m saying! I love you. I think I’ve loved you from the beginning,  but for a tim timee I wouldn’t let myself dwel dwelll on it because it was obvious that that not nothin hing g so soulwrenching was happening to you. I could have hung on and tried to be content for a while with a maturing friendship if Templeton hadn’t started clinging to you.” “But... but you never gave me the least inkling...” “What was I supposed to do—compete with the forestry man!” He was actually glaring and showing the clamped edges of white teeth. “And anyway, what’s the use of making love to a woman who hasn’t even reached the stage where she can accept a spot of help sometimes?” He  plucked  pluck ed at the short sleeve sl eeve of her blue linen l inen ffrock. rock. “Come “Come indoors, Morn Morny y. I’ve I ’ve got to m make ake you see this clearly.” But she remained stiffly unresponsive at one side of the veranda pillar, staring down past the lawns and flowers flower s over th thee wild w ild palms palms and bush bushes es to the distant, distant, sil silvery very lake. “I prefer to stay out here,” she said. “I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful, but you’ll agree that it’s rather sudden. As a matter of fact,” she shivered, “I’d like to postpone this talk till tomorrow.” “I’ve just told you I love you,” he sa said id abrupt abr uptly. ly. “Does “Doesn’t n’t that that m mean ean anyt anything hing?” ?” Her face was pale and small as she answered, “Are you capable of loving two women at one

time, Grant—or am I the runner-up now that Bernice has gone? How soon can I expect a diamond  bracelet  bracel et ffrom rom you yourr m moth other’s er’s ccollec ollection tion?” ?” She heard him take a savage breath, and her nerves contracted. She thought he would shake her  as he had shaken her that night in this garden, but with more violence. It seemed that they must  

 both be on the the brin brink k of catast catastrophe. rophe. Then he said indistinctly over her shoulder, “Where did you hear about that?” “From Mrs. Frost on the mountainside, that ill-fated Sunday morning.” “Was that why you were so poisonous about my bringing you here to dress the graze on your  head?” He turned her to face him. “Was it?” Pink showed in her cheeks, and her lashes were wet. He took her suddenly into his aims and held her tightly with his cheek against her hair. “Do we have to bring Bernice into it now?” he murmured. “The very thought of her makes me tired.” “I loathe lo athe her,” ccame ame th thee mu muff ffled led confessio confession. n. “That makes two of us, though she did do her best for Singana.” He drew back his head. “Look  at me, Morny. I want to be certain I wasn’t mistaken about what I saw in your eyes just now.” They looked, and knew. He kissed her as a man kisses only one woman, and when the long, impassioned embrace was over he laid his lips to her eyelids and to the hollow in her throat; and lastly las tly,, he dropped droppe d a kiss o on n tthe he tip tip o off her her nose. “You’re a lunat lunatic, ic, Morny Blake,” he sa said id teasingly, “but now it’s over I’m not sorry you were jealous—though your jealousy must have  been an insipi insipid d th thing ing beside mine. T Till ill you came came to Sing Singana ana I gave gave alm al most no th thoug ough ht to this this manwoman business. I laughed at you for being romantic, heaven help me, because I was under the impression that I could manage love as I managed everything else; I made no allowances at all for  the fact that love can’t reason.” “You were so quick to get horrid.” “Uncertainty plays the deuce with a man, and you were completely obstructive. Those small claws of yours!” She gave a trembling little laugh. “They were blunt till I knew you. I tried so hard not to fall in

love with you. I said beastly things about you to Uncle Luke...” “Which he refused to believe!” “Don’t preen. Uncle Luke never believes ill of anyone—but he does consider you a rather   

marvellous person. And, Grant,” the smoky, grey-blue eyes were raised to him, the red lips  parted and her her voice shook, shook, “so do I.”  Neither was free to speak for several  Neither severa l minu inutes tes aft after er that. that. When When Grant Grant relea released sed her he said, “Let’s go inside for a drink. And I think I’d better telephone your uncle. I had him worried this afternoon.” “Worried? Why?” He pushed open the french window for her to enter. “The moment I saw that piece about Templeton I shot out of my office and into Luke’s. I ought to have taken a breather first.” “Poor Uncle Luk Luke! e! I’m g glad lad I was wasn’t n’t th there ere.” .” “So am I ... now. What will you have—Martini?” She stood in the centre of the enormous lounge watching him shyly, while a consciousness of  the the room’s grace seepe seeped d into her her being be ing.. It was sso o cool cool,, so sspacious, pacious, so su s urprising rpri sing in it itss touch touches es of  warmth and beauty. She thought, “One day I’ll live here,” and color flamed up from her neck and she hastily hastil y tu turned rned her back to the ligh l ight. t. He gave her the drink and tapped his glass to hers. “To you, darling,” he said softly. “No—to us!” “Same thing,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to bother with life any more if you weren’t in it. Tip it up!” The liquor warmed her throat, the glance he rested upon her quickened her already hammering  pulses. The transition transition from h heartbreak eartbreak to ecstasy had been almost too swift. She placed her glass  beside his and sat down in a corn corner er of th thee chest chesterfield. erfield. “Grant ... about Bernice.”

He looked at her, quizzical. “She quite aand thorn, wasn’t While around I useddown to think backhis to mouth the night you came herewas to dinner Luke askedshe? me to inviteshe herwas to Singana. Remember how nonchalantly I agreed to write to her?” “You said she was very att attractive.” ractive.”

 

“At first acquaintance Bernice was attractive. She wore clothes well, and on her own subject she could converse intelligently and without boasting, which is an achievement. In my letter to her  I made the fatal error of reminding her that we had met in Bulawayo. I don’t relish admitting this to my future wife, but I’m rather afraid she concluded that I’d been smitten by her straw curls and flat blue eyes. That aspect didn’t occur to me when I asked her to race for the Cup. I did it for the  benefit  benef it of tthe he town.” town.” “Was it necessary to allow her the use of the mine accountant’s house, so near to your own? She could have gon gonee to th thee hotel.” “I gave it no thought. Reid suggested the house, and the accountant eagerly rushed in the last of  his furniture, so I lent the servants. Also, to my later regret, I arranged a dinner at which the  boating  boatin g enthu enthusiasts siasts could w welcome elcome her her.. Y You ou kn know, ow, Morny,” Morny,” he hitched hitched his trousers and lowered low ered himself to the chesterfield beside her, “over some things I’m obtuse—or perhaps in this case I was merely too indifferent to heed the signs.”

‘They were appallingly patent to everyone else!” “You might have warned me.” He grinned. “Women who get around among the sporting type of  men, as Bernice does, develop a mascu masculine line comradeliness. I didn’t care for it, but sh shee w was as Singana’s guest and in a way I was her host. It was only for a fortnight—so I imagined.” “But you asked her to stay on!” “I certainly didn’t. During the celebrations on the night of the regatta, Reid suggested a mountain-climb. Bernice had made a magnificent showing on the lake, you won’t deny, and it seemed only fair that I should back up Reid’s gesture—so I made another error and mentioned the  possibility  possibi lity of a minor minor g gam amee hun hunt. Inst Instant antly ly she she was determined determined to stay and do both both.” Morny looked at him squarely. “I believe you liked having her about.” “You do?” he said tersely. “I dare say you base that little declaration on the same hellish Sunday morning. What did Mrs. Frost tell you, by the way?” Morny hesitated. “She said that the Saturday had been Bernice’s birthday, and she and Dr.

Frost had attended a party you’d given...” “She didn’t bother to inform you that they—and everyone else—were invited at the last minute  by telephone?” telephone?” His hand closed over her wri wrist. st. “You “You were at the the bottom bottom of it, Morn Morny y. When When I called to take you to Limbusi I looked forward to us having a great day there together. Luke said  

you and Templeton had gone picnicking and I was fed up, but I had to go on and do some business in Limbusi. I hadn’t been in the town ten minutes before I saw you two walking together. All through lunch—I had it at the house of one of the Limbusi Mine directors—I was smouldering...” “Grant, we didn’t set out to tour the town!” “How was I to know that! You didn’t do badly, anyway, because I saw you again, outside Limbusi. The two-seater was parked among the brash and you and he were away on the hill, mooning among the rock-paintings.” She laughed faintly, helplessly. “Isn’t it silly? Ian hardly noticed those paintings because he’d had a gruelling morning with Christine, and I was wishing you were there to explain about them. And you...” “It wasn’t in the least funny!” He spoke roughly, tensed his grip of her wrist till she felt the dig of his finger, nails. “I’m no less gifted with imagination than any other man. I knew nothing about this Christine, and it was the perfect background for lovemaking. You’ve got to appreciate how I felt or you’ll never understand what came afterwards. Late that afternoon Bernice came here to Minona and told me it was her birthday—a miserable one because the post hadn’t come through from Bulawayo so she hadn’t had a single good wish from anyone. I didn’t much care for solitude ust then, so I got her to telephone a few people for dinner that evening.” He stopped and withdrew his hand from Morny’s. His features were stern, his mouth straight and thin with remembered bitterness. “The episode of the bracelet happened accidentally, before the Frosts arrived. While we were having cocktails someone asked to see an Egyptian dagger  which I keep with the more valuable pieces in the lowest drawer of the cabinet over there. I  pulled the the draw drawer er ri righ ghtt ou outt and and put it on a table, and Bern Bernice ice poun pounced ced on the the bracelet. I didn’t pay much attention because we were all more interested in the dagger. The drawer was back and locked up before Bernice gleefully displayed the bracelet on her arm. It went down well as a oke, and I didn’t somehow feel that it was important—I had other things bothering me. When she  pleaded to be allowed all owed to wear it for for th thee evenin evening g I merely merely nodded.” nodded.” “Did she ... keep it?” “No. Nor did I. I couldn’t bear you to have it after that, so I sent it to the hospital and told them

to sell it and use use the proceeds for the native native wa wards.” rds.” A pause lengthened between them. A canary piped with poignant sweetness, then appeared suddenly in the French doorway. It thrilled again, grew scared of the swollen sound trapped in the room and flew awa away. y. Morny tu turned rned to Grant. Gr ant.

 

“I had nightmares over that bracelet,” she said quietly. “Perhaps living with Uncle Luke has made me a bit old-fashioned in some ways, and I couldn’t tolerate your giving Bernice jewellery,  particularly that that which had belonged belonged tto o you yourr moth mother. er. You see, alth althoug ough h I ’d acce accepted pted that that you you g gave ave her things and perhaps even kissed her sometimes, the idea of your marrying her was too fantastic.” “I should hope so! Bernice has about as much character as her own speedboats ... and I’d guess that she’s just as kissable—I had no urge to experiment. After that week-end I came to regard her  as a kind of hoodoo.” “But you went with her on the game hunt.” He pushed out his legs le gs and crosse cro ssed d them. them. “Think back, m my y swee sweet. t. You You couldn ’t endure me, then then you tendered a backhand apology and on top of that Malony gave out that you were going to marry Templeton —which you didn’t refute. I refute.  I had to get away, and tracking down beasts is physically exhausting. Incidentally, while we were camping Bernice discovered that I wasn’t by any means consistently charming—I was even rude enough to suggest that she’d now had enough of Northern Rhodesia and should do splendidly in the southern speedboat trials.” “Oh, Grant,” she said weakly, “I’m an awful fool.” He slid an arm round her. “So you are, my darling, but you’re going to be a beautiful lover. I’ll see that you atone!” A little later she asked, “When are you leaving for Salisbury?” “As soon as you’re ready,” he said equably. “There’ll be the detail of getting married to attend to first, of course. We won’t honeymoon at the ranch—only stop there long enough for you to look  round the the plac p lace. e. I fancy th thee ccoast, oast, don’t you you?” ?” “But Grant, you don’t get married the minute you know you’re in love!” “What do you do, then?” She was scarlet, and he was laughing at her and holding her chin so that there was no avoiding

the sparkling amusement in his glance. A melting love encompassed her heart, became so apparent in those expressive eyes that his smile died. “I want wa nt y you ou so very mu much, ch, Morny Morny.. We want w ant each other. That’s true, isn’t is n’t it?”

 

“Yes,” she whispered. “So it would be a waste of time not to get married right away, wouldn’t it?” “Yes.” “Very well. Let’s be practical for ten minutes. I’ll show you the parts of the house you haven’t seen yet, and you shall criticize my taste. You can make any alterations you please.” He had just drawn her to her feet when the telephone rang. “I’ll bet that’s Lu Luke,” ke,” he sa said. id. “I oug ought ht tto o have rang him him first.” Together they entered the hall, and Grant took up the receiver. Morny watched him smilingly and with pride, caught one side of the conversation. “Hell o, Luke? “Hello, uke? ... Yes, Yes, we w e ’re b both oth here. Morny’s Morny’s stayin s taying g tto o dinner, bu butt we’l we ’lll be alo along ng about ninee ... So nin Som me news new s for you L Luk uke. e. We ’re getting getting m marr arried ied ... You You m might ight sound sound ssurpri urprised; sed; it do doesn esn ’t happen every day ... The school?” Grant stared hard at Morny while he listened and presently he said, “She’s not going back there; we’ll arrange something ... Thanks, Luke.” A trifle mockingly Grant held out the telephone to Morny. “You’re next.” Her hand shook and her voice was not too steady. “This is Morny, Uncle Luke.” His tones were affectionate and unhurried. “Well, my dear, are you happy?” “So very happy. Bless you for bringing me to Rhodesia.” “I’ve had doubts a few times, but they’re over now. I shall enjoy having Grant for a nephew-inlaw.” He chuckled. “Between us we’ll get him to finance Week-end Reading ..”” “We’ll try. Will Will you tell Joe you you’ll ’ll be there alone for dinn dinner?” er?” “I’ve told him already—I had a hunch. See you later, Morny.”

“Yes. Goodbye.” Goodbye.” From behind her Grant grasped the telephone and dropped it into place. He held her shoulders and bent to touch his lips to her neck. Morny leaned against him, this passionate, tender man who  

was to be her husband, and knew a wildness of joy and a deep and vibrant gratitude. There was nothing in the world she would not do for Grant! THE END