The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (24 page)

Jon sat back, a wave of relief flooding through her. That was it! Why hadn't she thought of that? Of course it was a poacher. How could they have imagined Tim . . .'

Yet Tim had done other, equally wrong things. Forgery, theft, goodness knows what else. She hadn't mentioned it to Alex as she felt it was of less importance than his sanctuary. That had priority.

Leaving the dogs shut in, she went out quietly, got into her car and drove away, the ostrich completely ignoring her.

She drove up the winding rough track and saw, before she reached them, that both gates were intact and closed. She was glad that the African, sitting in his sentry-box half asleep, was Horace, for he spoke reasonably good English and she was able to make herself understood.

His face was horrified. ‘The ostrich and jaafs? Oh, missis, that is bad. What will the master say?'

‘He wants us to go round the fence and see
if
we can find an opening. Better get in my car.'

‘Yes, missis.' Carefully he came through the gates and locked them behind him.

There was quite a wide but corrugated path on the outside of the tall wire fence, but it took them twenty minutes before they found the opening. The wire had been cut down in a straight line and bent back, leaving quite a large opening. The awful part for Jon was that it was where the wire fence divided her land and Alex's!

Together, she and Horace forced the wire to join and tied it up with a bit of string Horace luckily had in his pocket. It was only a temporary remedy, but Horace told her he would get help and do it with wire.

‘The master will be angry, very angry,' he said sadly.

As she drove him back to the entrance, Jon wondered how many of the animals had escaped. Alex had some beautiful birds, tall graceful cranes with their long thin legs, some lovely flamingoes with that wonderful pink colouring, many peacocks, even some penguins who had their own pool. Apart from them, there were other animals, the impala, the two buffaloes, and goodness knew what else. It was going to be a terrible job to get them all back safely.

As she drove round and the entrance gates came in sight, she saw Alex roaring up the hill
in
his car. He must be upset, for he didn't usually travel at that rate.

He was waiting by the gates as she drove up.

‘Well?'

‘We've found where the wire was cut and tied it up temporarily. Horace said he'd get help and take wire along.'

‘I'd better go along and look. Heard of any more animals escaped?'

‘No. Maybe people will phone. Would you like me to sit at your phone and take messages?'

Alex frowned. ‘No, I can manage, thanks. By the way, where was the wire cut?'

Jon swallowed nervously. ‘On . . . where . . . where your land and mine meet.'

‘That's odd. I wouldn't think a poacher would do it that side. The other is wild country. Anyhow, thanks for the help, Jon. Come on with me, Horace. The sooner we get that fence fixed the better.'

‘Alex, what shall I do about the ostrich?' Jon asked, feeling a little snubbed, for she only wanted to help.

‘Just ignore her. She's a greedy creature and will probably come back when it's her meal time,' he said, and started his engine and drove away.

Jon drove back slowly, thinking hard. Somehow she didn't want to go home. She didn't want the phone to ring and perhaps Madeleine's malicious voice be there, asking
questions,
constantly telling her how much Alex loved her. Could it be true about the secret wedding? Somehow she had a feeling that it wasn't. The way Alex had spoken of Madeleine, though he was sorry for her, had not been loving.

She drove slowly and wondered if she did know how Alex behaved when he loved someone. After all, she had believed he was in love with her mother.

What was she to do? She knew one thing; Alex would never forgive her for the trouble she had caused. His years of hard work, his beloved sanctuary damaged, plus Tim's thefts and lies and forgery. How Alex would despise her, what a splendid chance it would give him to cut her down to size. She could just imagine him saying:

‘Well, little Jon, a fine mess you have made of things, haven't you? It's a blessing your poor Uncle Ned isn't here to see it. He'd be really disappointed.'

That was it. Uncle Ned had put his beloved Jabula in her hands and she had failed to look after it. What could she do?

She knew one thing. She didn't want to go on living here, knowing everyone was laughing, that they were talking about her, nudging each other when she entered the store. No, she couldn't bear that.

Suddenly she knew one man who could help her—old Cliff! She began to drive faster. He
lived
alone in a small stone cottage close to the little church. Would he be home now? She had no idea of the time. Glancing at her watch, she was startled to see it was just lunch time. So much had happened that morning she had felt sure it was much later. Maybe old Cliff would be home then. At least she could try. She couldn't phone him, for there were often listeners on the party line.

She easily found the small stone cottage and parked alongside Cliff's dusty truck. At the same moment, Cliff came to stand in the doorway, in his grubby shorts and open shirt. He held a chicken leg in his hand. ‘My, this is an honour,' he joked. ‘Come and have a bite.'

It was cool inside and she helped herself to a piece of cold chicken and accepted an ice-cold drink. Now she was there, she wasn't sure what she wanted to ask him. He waited patiently, talking about the weather, such dramatic changes, and the latest news in the paper as if he sensed her difficulty in finding the right words. After they had eaten, his houseboy brought in two cups of coffee and they sat in the open doorway.

‘Well?' he asked gently.

Jon leaned forward. ‘Cliff, I . . . is it true they're going to build a dam in our valley?'

His beetling eyebrows nearly met. ‘The dam? They've talked of it for the past ten years and are likely to talk of it for another ten. Why?'

She
looked at her hands, stretching her fingers.

‘I was told that . . . that they'd pay very good compensation.'

Cliff gave a snort. ‘Whoever told you that was talking through his hat. Compensation never equals—or very rarely—the normal price you'd get if you sell it, but no one is going to give you a good price while there's the danger of the dam hanging over their heads.'

Puzzled, she stared at him. ‘But, Cliff, would the compensation have been more than what Alex offered Uncle Ned for the farm?'

Cliff spluttered as he drank his coffee. ‘Good grief, no! Alex is crazy at times, but he loved your Uncle Ned. He knew the old man wanted the money to leave to his little heir, so Alex offers the old man a ridiculously high sum. Maybe that was why Ned refused it. He hated charity.'

‘But he was quite well off.'

‘Who? Old Ned? Once upon a time he was, but not in the past years. He was always saving money and sending it overseas to some relation . . .' He paused as he saw the horror on Jon's face. ‘Have I said the wrong thing?'

‘No, but . . . but we were the relations. I didn't know until Alex told me that my mother and I had been living on Uncle Ned's money all these years.'

‘He was a fine old chap, but crafty. When he had an idea he pursued it and thought up
some
amazing ways of cheating fate.' Cliff chuckled and yawned. ‘Afraid I've got to get started, Jon. Anything else you want to know?'

She hesitated, looked round the small room that led on to the front door. It was dark and cool but furnished with simplicity—a typical single man's home.

‘Tell you one thing, little Jon,' Cliff said slowly. ‘If you're in trouble, go to Alex. He's a fine guy. He wanted to buy the farm from you before you knew of the dam and he'd have given you double what it's worth. How many men, even when they're rich, would do that? He's one you can trust.'

‘Yes, I know,' Jon said sadly.

She drove home and went into the empty house. The ostrich had gone. The dogs were racing about madly but came to welcome her. Inside, she got herself a cold drink and sat down on the stoep. She looked at the mountains sadly. Soon they would no longer be there—or rather, she would no longer be where she was. She had made up her mind. It was the only solution.

She saw the
induna
walking by and hurried out to him. Quickly she asked him about the staff.

‘Have any left lately? Why do they go to work for Mr Roe?'

The
induna
smiled. ‘Mr Roe is a good boss. Mr Dean bad.'

‘Well, Mr Dean has gone. How was he bad?'

The
induna
scratched his head and looked at the sky, then at her. He was a tall, dark-skinned man in loose khaki trousers and a gay red and white shirt. ‘Well, Mr Dean lie and cheat and lose his temper. Mr Roe, he's tough but keeps his word. That's why they go. Now they come back to work for you,' he promised, with a big smile.

‘Thank you,' she said, and turned. She hadn't been able to tell him that she wouldn't be there.

She wondered who would buy the farm, if they would love it as much as she did and as Uncle Ned had.

Alex came to see her after tea. She had sensed that he would, though she didn't know why. She had showered and changed into her favourite kaftan and was sitting on the stoep, hands folded meekly, as she watched him get out of his car and walk towards her.

‘Well?' she said as he came up the steps and then sat down opposite her. She was filled with a strange feeling of serenity. She had made her decision. It would not be easy to carry out, but at least it made her know where she was going. No more drifting for her. She would go away as far as she could just as soon as she could.

‘Most of the animals are back,' Alex told her. ‘Luckily whoever did the job had little knowledge of the sanctuary. Where he cut the wire, few animals go. There's some sort of weed there they don't like.'

‘Was
it difficult to get the giraffes back?'

‘It wasn't easy, but I got help.' Alex sat back and folded his arms. ‘What's this gossip I hear about Tim Dean?'

She clasped her hands tightly. ‘It isn't gossip. It's the truth.' Quickly she told him of the bank manager's phone call, of her finding Tim's clothes gone, plus the radio and the clock they had lent him.

‘Actually they were Mum's, which makes it worse.'

‘Is it true he forged your signature?'

Alex's voice was calm, almost kind. Very different from what she had expected.

‘Yes, he must have done. I would never have signed a cheque that size without asking what it was for.'

‘Well, the police are after him. It seems he makes this his way of living—finding a lone woman with a farm and cheating her. He's done it before and been in jail.'

‘Tim has?' Jon was startled. ‘I'm not very good at judging character,' she added sadly.

‘We all of us have to learn,' Alex said, almost comfortingly.

She looked at him and knew that if she did not take the final step soon she would never take it.

‘Alex,' she said slowly, ‘I'm going to sell Jabula.'

His head jerked up and she saw amazement in his eyes.

‘Why?'

‘You know why.' Her voice was unsteady, so she gave herself a moment to recover and then went on, ‘I've made a horrible mess of everything. I've wasted Uncle Ned's carefully saved money, engaged a criminal as a manager, I'm even half sure it was he who cut the wire of the sanctuary,' she added bravely. I'm afraid I'm no good as a farmer. No good at . . . at all.'

‘You could learn in time. We could find you a good manager.'

She leaned forward, her face earnest. ‘But that isn't the same, Alex. It's no longer
your
own farm. It's . . . it's like buying frozen pastry to make a chicken pie—you never feel it's
your
pie, somehow.'

‘Who will you sell it to?' he asked, almost casually.

She stared at him. This was the time for the truth.

‘I'd like to sell it to you, Alex, but I can't. You remember that letter from Uncle Ned you gave me? The one Mum couldn't see and that you said you could see, but I tore it up?'

‘I remember,' he said coldly. She shivered for a moment.

‘Well, Uncle Ned said . . . I've never been able to understand why . . . he said I could trust you but I must never
sell
the farm to you. I can't think why, Alex,' she added despairingly.

She
waited for him to explode, to say things about his so-called friend. Instead he smiled.

‘I'm beginning to understand,' he said slowly. ‘I've always said he was a crafty old devil.'

Suddenly she was crying—not hysterical sobs, but the tears just slid down her cheeks and she couldn't stop them.

‘He was a wonderful man,' she said.

And then Alex was on his knees by her side, his arms round her. She rested her head on his shoulder and let the tears come. It was as if they had been bottled up inside her for so long that they could not wait to slide down her wet cheeks. Somehow, she didn't know why, but it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be in Alex's arms, to weep on his shoulder, to feel his hand gently stroking her hair.

And then she realized he was talking. And the things he said were so amazing that she could not believe them, and yet she knew from the way he was speaking that he meant every word of them.

‘Darling Jon,' he was saying, ‘I love you so much. When we're married, you can give me Jabula as a wedding present. That was what Uncle Ned wanted. He was always talking to me of how lovely you were, what a wonderful wife you would be, how I would love you.'

Jon lifted her head, the tears had stopped. ‘You knew I was a girl?' she said slowly, remembering that day at the airport.