Authors: Kathryn Blair
He clapped shut the case and leapt up, automatically dusting his trousers.
“For a host of reasons,” he said. “To gain time, to warn my mother; most of all to hurt myself and to hurt you. A man does that kind of
thing
when he fears that the woman he loves doesn’t love him.”
“Stuart—my dearest!”
He knelt in front of her as he had done earlier, on the stoep, only now she did not hide her eyes from him; and when he carried her fingers to his lips she pressed them there.
“That sounded so beautiful,” he murmured. “It was almost worth going through all the agony to hear it. I’ll never
b
e able to tell you how much I love you.”
Nevertheless, he made a praiseworthy effort there and then.
Ten minutes later they came out to find Mrs. MacLellan drifting about the hall. Her eyes darted from Lindsey to Stuart, and she smiled.
“And now, I take it, you’re in a tearing hurry to be done with Cape Town?” she observed. “Chrissie is preparing some sandwiches and a flask. I’m sorry the car isn’t here, but I’ve pencilled the taxi rank numbers on the
telephone pad for you, Stuart, and the airport number as well, in case you want it. We can always get a cab out here in about seven minutes.”
It was hardly longer than that before they were saying goodbye, and Lindsey was looking boundless gratitude at the Scotswoman. As the taxi right-angled into the
main
road, Stuart eased his collar.
“A thoroughly nice little soul,” he commented, “but she made me feel like a reformed rake. It says a lot for you, Lindsey, that you rouse the militant in women of her age and my mother’s. Their generation does adore
fe
mininit
y.”
In the
corner
of the deserted airfield, Bill Meredith sat
on
a wooden box, resting his back against Johanna, his small aircraft. To Lindsey, who had never sailed higher above the ground than she could jump, the monoplane appeared both inadequate and ominously lightweight
,
especially compared with the huge service plane which had carried Stuart to Johannesburg.
Bill, hatless and in a shabby, fur-lined waterproof, possessed an engaging smile and a South African sense of humor.
“Glad to meet you, Mrs. Conlowe. Looks as if you take a dim view of Sister Jo, but you needn’t. She has a heart of gold.”
“We’re late, Bill,” said Stuart “D’you object to getting there in the dark?”
“Gosh, no. I’d have minded a lot more if you’d postponed it until tomorrow. It’s the wife’s birthday and I have the day off. I’ll warm her op and then we’ll get going.”
Johanna rose, flying away from the five o’clock sun. Bill shared the front with the suitcase, while Stuart and Lindsey were wedged together in the back. All very tight and matey. Lindsey could have counted the hairs on Bill’s neck had she been in a state to tackle arithmetic. She had to sit that side so that Stuart’s weight balanced Bill’s, with a stone or two over to counteract Lindsey’s.
“Just before you came
I
had
an argument with a Kaffir cow,” Bill told them. “She sat on Jo’s tail and wouldn’t budge. If they take a fancy to a spot and squat on it, they send out roots ... just go on chomping yesterday’s dinner and stay put. I had to get a boy to bring a rope and we hauled her away. Is Mrs. Conlowe
w
arm
enough?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Lindsey.
“There’s a rug under the seat; you’ll need it soon. The trouble with Jo is that she bu
rn
s your top while your legs freeze off. Can you see below? I’ll tell you the dorps, as we pass them.”
Bill loved his Jo and his job, and made personal friends of his passengers. Halfway along he shared their food and coffee, and shortly after that the engine began to wheeze.
“How many engines has this thing got?” Lindsey asked of Stuart below her breath.
“Only
o
ne, but it’s the most marvellous engine in the Union of South Africa. Ask Bill.”
“She sounds bronchial to me, and I want us to live, Stuart.”
Bill, whose hearing must have been phenomenal, gave a great laugh.
“Your husband’s kidding you, Mrs. Conlowe. He knows that Jo only coughs when she’s dry. I’m changing over to the second petrol tank. Listen.”
Johanna’s voice swelled to her erstwhile lusty roar.
I Lindsey loosed her grip of Stuart’s cuff, and relied. Darkness brushed in from the east, an advancing purple wash scarred with the flame and magenta reflection of sunset, overwhelmed within minutes by the vibrant blue that deepens to an indigo canopy pricked out with stars
.
Cold air rushed in, searching its way through Lindsey’s blanket to chill her from the knees down.
Just before nine Bill jerked his forefinger at a circle of red lamps in the nothingness underneath them
.
“We’re there,” he said, and came in to land.
They exchanged good nights with him at the buffet and walked down to the field where Stuart, without permission, had parked his car the previous evening. They got in and he switched on the lights. The interior was far more spacious and comfortable than that of Bill Meredith’s plane, and Lindsey fitted into her accustomed place with a sensation of homecoming.
Stuart smiled at her with quizzical tenderness, squeezed her arm and thumbed the starter. The car wound away through a dark road across the veld to the town.
“You’re quiet,” he said presently. “Worn out?”
“No.
But ...
I feel rather odd.”
He braked at once. “Oh dear. I recognize that tone. Luckily we’re not in a cab this time, and I always carry a spot of brandy in the glove compartment. Take a good
gulp
.
”
“I don’t need it,” she weakly protested, but she obeyed, because it was so heavenly to be managed again. “That’s better. I can’t think what...”
“I can, darling,” he interrupted, tantalizing and gentle. “Landsickness. I won’t tell a soul.”
“But I felt wonderful up in the plane!”
“Of course you did,” he said soothingly.
“You’re laughing at me, Stuart.”
“Heaven forbid. It’s just another of the things I love you for. You’ll never dare travel by plane or sea without me to hold you at the other end of the journey.”
In a little while they moved on, to enter the residential roads of Port Acland.
“Straight home,” he wanted to know, “or a quick run down to ‘Komana’?”
“ ‘Komana’,” she stated without hesitation. “I’m longing to see your mother.”
Her eagerness pleased him, as she had known it would. Yet when they had left the car on the Esplanade and
passed through one of the wrought iron gates, she was seized with an aching shyness.
On the terrace he halted and looked down at her. The grass was singing with crickets and the air smelled leafy from earlier rain. The ethereal faces of moonflowers stared up at them from a bed below the wall
.
“What is it?” she begged him shakily.
His reply came thickly, with the bending of his head. “I was just thinking how ghastly it would be if I’d just proposed to you and we had to wait the legal length of time to get married.”
She raised her arms and her lips. When they paused for breath he released her suddenly. His mother stood in the open hall.
“You might have slammed a door!” he shot at her.
“Don’t glare at me like that, Stuart. I was never so gladdened by a sight in all my life.” As she stretched both hands to Lindsey her voice quivered. “Lindsey, darling, what can I say about my dreadful treatment of you?”
“Please say nothing. Accept me as you did before.”
“With a difference. I already know you and love you.” She pressed a cool kiss on Lindsey’s cheek. “Are you two going to move in with me till your house is built?”
“No, my sweet” said Stuart decisively. “We’re not.”
“I didn’t suppose you would,” came the tranquil retort. “Have you made any plans?”
“In a couple of days we’re going for a holiday. I shall renew the lease of ‘Elliotdale’ for a further six months, in case the new house takes that long to build. Conlowe Limited will have to wait.”
“Lindsey,” exclaimed his mother, “do you agree with staying on in the veld?”
“This is the first I’ve heard
of it...”
“I thought so! Stuart, Lindsey has a right to cho
o
se where she shall live.”
“But ‘Elliotdale’ has an atmosphere that we ... we both like,” completed Lindsey. “In fact, it would suit me permanen
tl
y if we furnished it ourselves and Stuart would teach me to drive.”
“Which Stuart won’t,” he finished agreeably, regarding them both with the beloved male arrogance against which Lindsey was helpless. “Don’t worry, sweet Mother. Soon we, too, shall own a house on the Esplanade,
and
you may guide Lindsey’s social footsteps all you wish. We’ll be going now.”
“Shall I see you tomorrow?”
“I think not. Perhaps the day after, before we go roa
min
g
.
” On a teasing, paternal note he added, “Say good night to Mother, Lindsey.”
They parted with laughter and affection.
As the car started on the last lap of the trip from Cape Town to “Elliotdale,” Lindsey glanced back at the house they had just left.
“Your mother’s an unusual woman, Stuart. I was prepared for an inquisition as to how I’d spent the time since I left Port Acland, but she didn’t ask a single question.”
“If it hadn’t been for her,” he said grimly, “I’d have gone stark mad last week. She was dead certain we’d hear of your whereabouts soon, and said that meanwhile we had to suffer for the pain we’d caused you. When I showed her Mrs. MacLellan’s telegram yesterday, she tried to lecture me on how to greet you. Open arms, all regrets and no recriminations.”
Ruefully, Lindsey smiled up at him. “You forgot all three the second you saw me, and bullied me unmercifully. Did you tell her we married at sea?”
“She knew already, from the resourceful Adrienne. It upset her at first, but at heart she’s a romantic. You and she will have oceans of meaty subjects to gossip about— enough to last you years ahead.” He swerved round a group of prancing natives, and accelerated to climb the long, steep stretch of the Beechwood road. “In her way,” he said, locking the fingers of his left hand with those of Lindsey’s right, “she’s as entranced tonight as we are. And that’s enough about Mrs. Conlowe senior. Our life
together is just beginning, my lovely darling. Let’s promise each other to make the utmost of every minute of it.”
She nodded, wordless. Excitement, tears, emotion,
a
nd now this transcendent glory of being wife to Stuart. What more could any woman hope to experience?
THE END