The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (10 page)

She swung round as the front door opened. The dogs heard nothing, all three of them had retired under the beds at the first noisy crash. She saw Alex, water dripping from him, his hair flattened, water running down his face as he took off his mackintosh.

‘Okay?' he asked. ‘I'll put this in the kitchen.'

When he came back she had not moved, then she swallowed and managed a smile. ‘It was a bit frightening,' she confessed. ‘I've never seen lightning like that before.'

‘Shall we have a drink?' he asked, and went, without waiting for her reply, to Uncle Ned's circular bamboo ‘bar'.

She sipped the drink he gave her and
though
it burned her throat a little, it warmed her. She sat down and laughed uneasily.

‘I know it's absurd, but I've . . . You know, Alex, I've never really minded a storm before.'

She had to shout, as the thunder was still crashing overhead and then rumbling away into the distance so that for a moment it seemed as if the storm was over, but suddenly another great crash overhead told them the storm was still with them.

Alex smiled, ‘You'll get used to them.'

Jon found herself laughing. ‘I wish I could be as optimistic as you. I just hate to think what poor Mum is going through. They terrify her even in England.'

‘I expect they'll be too busy playing bridge to notice.' He glanced at his watch. ‘Or else they'll be having dinner. You eaten yet?'

‘No. I sent the girls off. I thought I'd scramble some eggs.'

Alex stood up. ‘I'm starving. You've never tasted the famous Roe omelettes, so now's your chance. Just sit still, I know where everything is. Uncle Ned and I were great at cooking.' He chuckled. ‘Just wait until you taste my omelettes! They're not easy to forget.'

How right he was, Jon thought, a half hour later when he brought in an enormous omelette with fried tomatoes. The storm seemed to be dying away, but the rain still beat wildly against the windows, streams of water running down the glass.

‘Well,'
Alex demanded, ‘what's your verdict? Am I a good cook?'

Jon laughed, ‘Absolutely perfect. After this, I'll never dare to cook anything for you!'

How strange he was, she thought. He did it all with such dignity. How she wished she had been there when he and Uncle Ned had played at being ‘chef'.

The phone bell rang and Jon hesitated for a moment, but the storm seemed to have subsided. She answered and it was her mother.

‘Jon darling, you are all right? I know how you hate thunderstorms.'

‘Are
you
all right?' Jon asked, amused at the way her mother always implied that it was her daughter who was the scared one.

‘I'm fine, darling, having a lovely time. I just rang to say I won't be home tonight.'

‘What? I'm sorry, Mum, I didn't hear what you said.' But Jon had heard, every word.

‘I said I can't get home tonight, darling. The river down here has flooded and the road's impassable. I hope to be up tomorrow. You'll be all right, of course. You've got the dogs.'

‘Yes,' said Jon, her voice suddenly dull and lifeless, ‘I've got the dogs.'

As she put down the receiver, there was another loud crash of thunder and the whole room was bright with lightning. Slowly she realized what it meant. That night she would be alone in the house that had been more often burgled than any in the valley! But she'd
have
the dogs. Of course. And she was a loner, as Alex had said. Besides it wasn't her mother's fault. Of course, Jon thought, she didn't mind. She'd be perfectly all right . . .

‘Something wrong?' Alex's voice pierced her thoughts.

Jon's face felt stiff. ‘No. Just that Mum can't get home tonight because the river's flooded.'

He stood up and collected the plates. ‘I made some fruit salad. Okay?'

‘It sounds wonderful,' she said dully.

Alone, she hugged herself, her arms round her body, as she had always done as a child when she was frightened. Don't be so silly, she told herself. After all, if her mother
was
there, what protection was she? Yet, of course, it was just knowing someone was there. But she would have the dogs . . .

Alex brought in the tray with the fruit salad. He sat down and they ate in silence, the thunder coming and going, almost rhythmically. Then he put down his plate and stretched out his legs, yawning.

‘Well, it's been quite a day, so I suggest we make it an early night. I've got to be up soon after four tomorrow. I'm expecting the delivery of a young eagle.'

Jon nodded silently. She had hoped he wouldn't go just yet. Another mighty crash of thunder split the silence.

Jon stood up. ‘It was very good of you to come, Alex. I'll get your mac.'

He
smiled up at her. ‘I'm not going, Jon. Do you think I'd leave you here on your own? This is your first bad storm.'

Her legs felt absurdly weak and she sat down. ‘You're not . . . going?'

He smiled. ‘Of course not. I've brought my toothbrush and razor.' He laughed. ‘Don't look so shocked, little Jon. You ought to know you're safe with me. This is Africa, you know, and not a small market town. No one will know, and if they did, they'd think nothing of it.' He stood up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. ‘Mind if I have first bath? Put the sheets on the bed in the guest room. I can make the bed.' He came to stand by her, leaning down to tilt her head back with his hand. ‘I'll be gone when you wake up in the morning, little Jon, but sleep well and don't be scared. The storm is all noise. We rarely get struck down here in the valley.'

He bent and kissed her, very gently. Then he was gone and she could hear the bath running and him whistling.

She sat very still for a moment, then stood up. Somehow she moved, forcing her limbs to obey, going to the linen cupboard, then taking the linen to the guest room, making up the bed, letting the dogs out for a last-minute run.

The rain was still teeming down, a curtain of grey water. She went to her bedroom, closed the door, and went to the mirror to gaze at herself.

Her
eyes looked worriedly back at her.

‘It can't be true,' she whispered. ‘It just can't be true.'

But it was. She knew it was. Much later that night as she lay awake, no longer afraid of the thunder or of the bright white light that filled the room at intervals, no longer aware of anything except the truth.

The truth? That she was in love. In love with a man who saw her only as ‘little Jon', the niece of his best friend.

In love with Alex.

CHAPTER FIVE

When Jon awoke, the sun was streaming into her room. She sat up quickly and Rex moved to her side to lick her hand.

‘The wonderful thing about this country, Rex,' Jon said sleepily, ‘is that even though it can rain like mad, you know the sun will shine.' She yawned happily, stretching her arms, and then, quite suddenly, she stiffened as she remembered!

Alex!

Her mouth was dry, her throat seemed to close so that, for a moment, she could hardly breathe.

Alex. He was here. He had been for the night and she had just discovered that she
loved
him, more than she had ever believed it possible to love. It couldn't be true! It mustn't. It only made everything even more complicated than before.

She slid out of bed, hurriedly pulling on jeans and a white shirt, then quietly opened her bedroom door. Now she must watch her every thought, be on guard against the chance of betraying her secret. Whatever happened, Alex must never know.

From her bedroom doorway, she could see the guest room. The door stood open. The bed was covered with the bedspread. The room looked as it always did, as if it had never been slept in. In the bathroom, she glanced into the linen basket. The sheets were there, and two pillow-slips, awaiting the wash-girl. Jon looked at her watch. It was barely six o'clock. Alex must have risen early and gone off so quietly that she didn't hear him.

She looked out of the window. How pathetic the garden looked as a result of the storm. There were so many flowers beaten to the ground. Deep runnels were carved into the soft muddy soil. The trees were bent, some of the branches broken off, and the blue petals of the jacaranda flowers lined the ground. But, she reminded herself, the sun still shone!

Walking with the dogs, she found the track was deep in mud, but she hardly noticed it, for she had too much to think about. What was love? she asked herself. How could she love a
man
she didn't understand? Alex had so many different facets to his character. Like the night before when he had been so understanding, considerate and gentle. Yet at other times he could hurt her with his sarcastic patronage, his refusal to treat her as an adult. It was so odd how quickly his nature could change. One moment he could be kind and the next cruel.

She bent and picked up part of a root, tossing it in the air for the dogs to run after. This time, as she stopped, Jock the spaniel looked up at her and wagged his tail. For a moment the tears were near as she gratefully patted him. At least there was one thing; Jock was starting to accept her. It was just as Alex had promised: ‘Give Jock time and he'll let you replace Uncle Ned in his old dog's heart.'

Jon caught her breath. The painful truth of understanding shot through her. Never, but never, could she hope to have a place in Alex's heart. She would always be, to him, Uncle Ned's
little Jon
. Never, but never, would he see her as a woman, capable of love.

Despite the dogs' reproachful looks, she turned back and slowly walked up the track towards the house. Suppose, just suppose, Alex was in love with her mother?

How, Jon asked herself, how could she endure it? Dancing at their wedding? Perhaps even sharing a home with them?

No . . . no . . . no . . . !

She found herself running, the dogs, all save
old
Jock, were having a whale of a time, jumping round her, barking with glee. But Jon was not running for
glee
—she was trying to escape from the horror of the thought she'd had. The intolerable, unbearable horror— living under the same roof as Alex, loving him and knowing he saw her as a stepchild!

If that happened, Jon told herself, she would sell the farm. But not to Alex, because she knew that she could never forget Uncle Ned's letter and his last wish. If she was unhappy, she could sell the farm—but never to Alex.

Soon after breakfast Madeleine phoned.

‘Are you all right, Jon?' she asked considerately. ‘It was a nasty storm last night. I hope your mother wasn't too scared? I know how she hates storms.'

‘She didn't seem to mind,' Jon said simply. Did Madeleine know that Alex had spent the night in the guest room? Had he told her?

‘Did you have much damage done?'

‘The garden looks rather pathetic,' Jon admitted. ‘You are coming tonight, aren't you?' Madeleine asked.

Jon hesitated, for she had not seen her mother to ask her, but Alex had said she'd seemed pleased.

‘Yes, thanks,' Jon said, and wondered how she could end the conversation.

After a seemingly endless period of time during which Jon waited expectantly for
Madeleine
to tease her about being scared of storms and needing a man's shoulder to lean on, it came to an end and at last, sighing with relief, Jon could hang up.

Almost immediately the phone bell rang again. This time it was her mother.

‘Darling, the river is going down, but they don't think it's going to be all right until much later, so don't expect me home until after tea. What time are we supposed to be at the Foxes'?'

‘About seven, I think.'

‘That's fine. It'll give me time to have a bath and change. We dress formally, I would imagine. I gather they're very wealthy people?'

Jon laughed, ‘I honestly don't know, Mum, but I'll find out.'

‘Good, darling. See you later. You are all right? It was quite a storm. I thought of you all alone in that isolated little house.'

Jon's mouth twisted wryly. ‘I had the dogs, Mum.'

‘I know, dear, but the lightning . . . Anyhow, see you later.'

Jon went and stood on the stoep. How quiet it was, she thought. The long day stretched ahead. After this rain, there would be no ploughing, that was for sure. She could hear distant chatter and laughter from the workers in the pineapple fields. She sat down. There was nothing to stop her from thinking . . . of Alex, of course. Who else?

She
could hear the trees' leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and the chatter of the tiny brightly-coloured birds who hovered over each flower, thrusting deep long beaks in as they searched for pollen. It was amusing to hear the birds chattering. It was almost as if they were squabbling about their rights, perhaps accusing one bird of jumping the queue, and they were such lovely colours, gold, palest pink, some even green.

How could she have been so daft, she asked herself, as to fall in love with a man like Alex? How could she go on living here, seeing Alex every day, knowing she was a nuisance, that everyone was watching her, almost hungrily, to see how long she could last? Why did they want her to fail? Why did . . .

She sat up suddenly. She had forgotten about the advertisement she had put in the local newspaper. It would be published on Friday and . . .

Sudden hope rushed through her. Once she had a good farm manager, she could ignore and avoid Alex. She might even manage to go away for a few months and leave her mother and Alex to make up their minds about the future. Could Alex be in love with her mother? Or Mum with him? Mum was a young forty-one. No one believed she was as old as that. She was very attractive, too. And Alex was thirty-five, so there was very little difference between them.

Oh
yes, Jon thought, suddenly remembering she had promised to find out about what clothes they should wear. She jumped up, hurried to the telephone.