Authors: Kathryn Blair
Meta didn’t
.
Once, when the girl was
p
olishing
the red stone floor of the stoep, Lindsey had questioned her about a group of natives who were passing down the road.
“They come from location,” Meta had happily explained. “The man so small is grandfather. He own many donkeys and goats. The boys are sons, the
girls
are wives. That girl, so
muhle
—pretty—with white clay on her face, will have piccanin in the summer. She is proud, that one.”
Yes, the young wives did look proud. Some of them bad babies secured to their backs by shawls which tied high in front
.
A few youngsters in clean breeches and cotton dresses walked in line behind the elders, bush-f
a
shion. Lindsey was never tired of watching the natives and hearing about them.
After lunch she changed into a white linen skirt and a short-sleeved tan silk blouse. Idly, she wondered why Mrs. Conlowe was coming again so soon. She herself had not been to “Komana” since the older woman’s last visit to “Elliotdale.” Lindsey was always conscious of a slight tension before meeting Mrs. Conlowe, part of which was due to the fact that she had not yet fixed upon a mode of address. She would have to feel differently before she could call her “Mother,” and the
modern
way of using Christian names wouldn’t work with a woman of Isobel Conlowe’s age and dignity. Lindsey compromised by avoiding the use of a name at all.
She stepped into high-heeled white shoes, flung a last dispassionate glance over her reflection and went out to the front porch. Three minutes later Mrs. Conlowe’s massive saloon purred up the drive, and Lindsey experienced a sharp thrust of displeasure when she saw that Adrienne was at the wheel.
Stuart came from the garage, smiling and dusting his hands.
“Well, darling, this is a surprise and an honor. I thought we wouldn’t see you this way again for weeks.
You look cool and charming, Adrienne. So
glad
you came, too.”
“I hope that isn’t mere conventio
n
, Stuart!”
They came up the steps and sat in the shade. Mrs
.
Conlowe turned to Lindsey.
“Are you quite well, my dear?”
“Perfectly, thanks.”
“That’s good. I’ve been a wee bit troubled since Adrienne told me last week that you find the h
e
at trying. You must take everything easily till you’re acclimatized.” Her look was anxious. “Now that we have Stuart prepared to settle here, it would be too bad if the
cl
imate didn’t suit you.”
Lindsey’s glance swerved to Adrienne. “It suits me very well,” she said clearly, “considering I’ve only been in the country a little over a month.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.”
Indolently, Adrienne crossed her knees. “I’ve heard English people say they feel the heat more, not less, as each s
u
mmer comes round.”
“It’s possible,” agreed Mrs. Conlowe seriously. “After all, I shivered more each successive winter in England, so why shouldn’t the reverse be true?”
“What’s the point?” Stuart cut in. “Lindsey gets hot because she will insist on hanging over the cooking stove twice a day. What will you have to drink?”
“Nothing just yet,” his mother replied. “I have some business to talk over with you, Stuart.”
Adrienne lodged her blue suede bag on the grass table and stood up. “This is where you and I walk out, Lindsey, and admire the pawpaws.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” begged Mrs. Conlowe. Lindsey smiled and shook her head. The only part she minded was having to tolerate Adrienne.
They sauntered along the wide main path, and Lindsey stopped now and then to snap off a seed pod.
Adrienne, fingering the sleek
black
knot of her hair, said, “You didn’t expect me today, did you?”
“Do you often drive Mrs. Conlowe?” Lindsey evaded.
“Only when she asks. She made a point of my coming today—to keep you occupied, I suppose, while she debates the property transfer with Stuart. I expect you guessed that was what brought her?”
“No; I didn’t. I thought Stuart was taking care of it.”
Adrienne had stopped to examine a branch of peach blossom.
“So he is. Surely he’s shown you the draft transfer?” Her eyes had narrowed, her mouth curled with inward satisfaction. “I think I’d be rather afraid if my husband left me as ignorant of my own affairs as Stuart leaves you. If you can’t manage him
now
...” A
shrug finished the sentence for her.
Somehow, Lindsey kept control. She reached to straighten a spray of vemonia that leaned across the path.
Adrienne went on: “After leaving here last week, Mrs. Conlowe telephoned the solicitor and told him t
o
get in touch with Stuart at once. They drafted the transfer and sent her a copy of it last Friday.” She was regarding Lindsey with curious intensity. “Stuart has put in a conditional clause which distressed his mother very much. The clause says the income is to cease if your marriage is dissolved.”
“That sounds ... reasonable.”
“You wouldn’t be fool enough to break with Stuart even
if you
had cause. Money makes up for many deficiencies.”
Bewildered and angry, Lindsey bent once more over the flowers. Adrienne was a danger impossible to ignore and nearly impossible to combat. What she did not comprehend was that the other woman was a gambler with little to lose. Adrienne’s next move was totally unexpected.
“Why did Stuart marry you?”
Slowly, Lindsey stood upright. “For the
...
usual reason.”
“You’re aware that M
r
s. Conlowe is beginning to suspect otherwise? That’s why she was upset over the divorce clause.”
Lindsey’s cheeks had drained white. “I’d rather not discuss this, Adrienne, and I hardly think Mrs. Conlowe would tell you so much about her business if she
ha
d
an inkling of how you treat it outside ‘Komana’.”
Adrienne had caught all she had fished tor. Privately, she congratulated herself, and openly she smiled, though with a candor intended to allay Lindsey’s fears.
“You’re one of the family,” she said. “Surely you’re permitted to know everything I know? Mrs. Conlowe and I understand each other, so you musn’t mind if I seem to be more in her confidence than you are. You see, she was once on the point of marrying my father, and that gives her a sort of maternal interest in me. Our relations are those of mother and daughter.”
Lindsey twitched from a stem a full-blown
gardenia.
Adrienne retraced the path and sat on the garden bench under the mulberry, and tried to
thin
k
back six years to when she was Lindsey’s age. Twenty-three was absurdly young, but she doubted whether she had ever been young in the sense that Lindsey was ... young and nervous enough to tear petals.
Stuart smiled at her as he passed. Now he was
ta
lk
ing
to Lindsey and coming down the path with her. Lindsey went round the house, presumably to her mother-in-law, and Stuart lowered himself to the bench beside Adrienne.
She knew better than to waste precious minutes
trying
to pierce his loyalty and unerring chivalry. Stuart was the kind who would contrive a show of charm towards his wife right through the divorce court—if it ever
came
to that. So Adrienne displayed her white teeth in a
sm
ile
,
asked about Groenkops and diplomatically led him back to the days when he had ridden and camped with the younger crowd at Kimberley.
Presently he slipped back the cuff from his watch.
“I understand my mother to say she is taking tea with a crony. Are you driving her there?”
She smiled regretfully and casually gave him a hand to help her up.
“It’s been such a lovely chat, Stuart. You’re more South African than English, you know.”
“My
E
n
glish
uncle asserts the opposite. Not that it matters, either way. There are no two other countries I’d rather belong to.”
She strolled beside him. “It does matter. We need men like you out here.”
“That’s kind of you, Adrienne,” he told her with faint mockery.
“Are you still uncertain about starting production in Port Acland?”
“Yes; until I’ve been to Johannesburg. I’m flying up on Thursday.”
She resisted a desire to watch him closely as she softly enquired, “Is Lindsey going with you?”
“No,” he said. “I expect she’ll stay at ‘Komana’. Will you see that she goes out fairly often, Adrienne, if it’s only to the beach, and the cinema? Lindsey’s still a stranger here.”
“Of course. I’ll do all I can.”
Lindsey was pouring cool d
rinks
. Adrienne accepted hers standing, drank it at once and declared herself ready to drive Mrs. Conlowe back to town.
“I almost forgot,” she said rather loudly at the foot of the steps. “Tony Loraine sent you his regards, Lindsey. He asked me to remind you of your promise to go dancing with him one of these days.”
“He must have been dreaming. I never made such a promise.”
“Didn’t you?” Adrienne registered complete incredulity. “Well, goodbye. Be seeing you soon.”
Lindsey was beginning to feel like damp string. She ordered tea to be served to Stuart in the garden, and her own in her bedroom. The outcome of Stuart’s discussion with his mother she neither knew nor cared about. Mrs. Conlowe had murmured something about his a
g
re
eing
to her original plan so long as she were willing to leave the matter over till he had returned from the
Transvaal,
Apparently, she reflected despairingly, her entire future was to hinge on Stuart’s absence and the radical changes it might effect in the feelings of them both.
During the next two days she stayed in the house, haunted by a premonition that an important phase of her life was ending. She ought to be bracing herself for a blithe finale and a courageous front to whatever would come next, but at present her world came to an abrupt halt at eleven o’clock on Thursday morning.
Stuart did his own packing on Wednesday evening. He had arranged for her to sleep at “Komana,” but she could spend her days wherever she liked.
“Naturally, I’d rather you stayed in town completely,” he said. “I shall ring there each evening between nine and ten, but don’t wait in for the call. Have a good time, if you can.”
His demeanour was unreadable. In vain Lindsey sought for a sign of reluctance to leave her, a softening of the businesslike mood
o
f the past few days.
They breakfasted together at eight o’clock.
“There’s no public garage at the airport, so
I’
ve ordered a taxi,” he told her. “I’ll take you to ‘Komana
’
first.”
“I’m going with you to the airport.”
“You’re not. The plane may be late and
airfields
are windy as the deuce.”
“I’ll wear a coat
.
”
“Be sensible about this...”
“I can’t,” Full of pleading, she met his eyes across the table. “Please let me come, Stuart.”
“Alright,” he said shortly; “but you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
It was a roomy, luxurious cab, driven by a Westernized Indian. They sat in the back with Stuart’s bag and brief case on the floor between them.
“I hope the next fortnight will pass quickly,” she said.
“
It can’t be longer than the last.” He was surveying the passing gardens.
“Have I ...
failed you, Stuart?”
“You’ve been splendid. It’s the set-up that’s crazy, and that was my doing. Forget about it till I come back.”
At the airport they had chairs outside the buffet and drank coffee. Several other business men were there, and one or two wives. A middle-aged man nam
e
d Mason hailed Stuart and presented his wife.
The woman gushed at Lindsey. “I always feel dreadful when my husband flies, don’t you? So much can happen in nine hundred miles! Planes are wonderfully safe, really. You never hear of an accident hardly, but I just can’t get over the sensation of being a widow till I hear his voice over the telephone.”
“Then she goes through it all again the day I fly home,” laughed the man. “Women are foolish creatures, but I love ’em.”
The plane came in and the bags were taken aboard. Everyone got in except Mr. Mason and Stuart.
Mrs. Mason was saying, “Send a wire as soon as you land, just in case the telephone people are too busy to connect you at once. Give my love to Margaret, if you have time to see her. Oh, dear, I do wish I had the pluck to go with you.”
Stuart was looking down at Lindsey, tight-lipped. “I said you’d be sorry you came.”
“I’m not,” she whispered. “Only...”
A yard away Mr. Mason was patting his wife and kissing her. Another couple rushed up, clung together, and the man broke away and mounted the steps. The air hostess poked out her head.
“All aboard, please.”
Stuart’s face was taut in a savage, ironical smile.
“It seems to be part of the routine,” he said, and pulled her close in a grip that bruised.
The cruel force of his kiss shocked her into limpness. Propellers roared and he dropped his arms.
“Stand
cl
ear,” he said thickly. “Go back to the taxi.” Blindly, she stretched out her hands, but he was gone, climbing into the plane and a door closing behind
him.
She backed away. The plane circled the field,
mang
lin
g
her heart beneath its wheels. It rose and vanished beyond the trees, rose again, a long way off.
Utterly dry of emotion, Lindsey returned to the cab. The Indian driver opened the door.
“You wish to drive to the Esplanade now, madam?”
“No,” she said stonily. “Take me back to ‘Elliotdale’.”