The Reluctant Guest (22 page)

Mr. Calvert himself told Ann the details that afternoon, when she sat with him in the balcony of his room while her mother rested elsewhere. He was brown and vigorous, very cross about the plaster kneecap which gave him gyp whenever he tried to walk. But he laughed when he spoke about her mother.

“You know, my dear, the coddling we gave her did her more harm than good. On the ship she walked the deck in the wind, and as soon as we reached Durban she bathed
!
Imagine how glad I was that we’d decided on the cruise. She’s enjoyed putting me in my place and running the show, and in a way I think it’s partly what she needed, to keep from wondering whether she’d crock up and cause us more worry this winter.”

“She looks grand,” Ann said softly. “It seems to suit her here, too. Pity she can’t live here always.”

“Funny you should say that. The Whittakers—they’re the people who own this house—have become great friends of ours. They took to your mother straight off, and yesterday, when they brought us here, we all talked together for some time. Mr. Whittaker is a director of one of the big sugar estates, and he offered me a post as secretary to the company. I’m supposed to be thinking it over, but I’ve almost decided. Your mother would be happier away from the Atlantic gales. It’s queer, but she takes to the heat of the Indian Ocean.”

“What about you?”

“I like Natal, and I’m told the fishing is splendid.”

Ann
smiled. “Then you’d be happy, too. But there’s your job and the house at Newlands.”

“I’ve been
thinking
about them. I still have just over a month of leave, and if I post the company a month’s notice, that should be all right. I don’t like doing it, but they knew I always regarded the position as a stopgap while I felt my way in the country. As to the house
...”

He looked at her questioningly. “You’re fond of it, aren’t you?”

It seemed strange to Ann that she had once loved stucco and tiles and an incredibly neat little lawn bordered with flowers, way over in Cape Town. She nodded. “But you’ll have a house here.”

“Naturally, and you’ll find a nook for yourself as well. If you hadn’t turned up I was going to write you in Cape Town, and suggest that you give in your notice at the Riding School and put the house into the hands of an agent. It’s not an expensive place, so it should sell quite easily. With what we get for it we can go some way towards buying a place near Durban. Not right out here, of course.” He smiled. “These houses along the coast are where the rich spend their weekends. The Whittakers left us this weekend because they thought I should be quiet
—
I’m perfectly well, though. They’ll be out next Saturday morning and with luck I’ll do some fishing with the man.”

Ann’s lack-lustre glance rested on the bars of blue-green sea which were visible through the balcony rails. “Now that I know you and Mother are all right, I’ll go to Cape Town soon. I have enough of my holiday pay left to go by plane.”

“Getting air-minded?” he quizzed. “I wish I’d seen that big chap who brought you. Your mother thought
him
quite something.”

“He’s the Peterson part of Peterson Airways.”

“Oh, dear, why do you have to meet farmers and airmen? The Whittakers have a son, but he sits behind a desk. You couldn’t take to him, I suppose? Too ordinary.”

Light and without intent as his jest was, Ann felt she couldn’t stand many of them. She by-passed
this
one.

“There must be a telephone at the Umbenizi Store. I could find out how the planes go and book a seat. Is there any transport into Durban?”

“There should be. The store will know. I don’t feel too happy about letting you do everything alone, though. If you’d just settle here for a week or two
...
”

“I’d rather get cracking. We have lots of clothes and books there, and it will take some time to get things packed.”

“
A firm of removers will do everything, and store the
stuff here till we have somewhere to put it.” He paused, then said firmly, “Well, all right, Ann, go ahead. Get it over as soon as you can and come back to help us find a house. And I’ll pay your fare myself. I insist.”

Soon she got up and brought him some tea, took a tray to her mother. The day passed; she explored the house and walked the drying paths of the garden, strolled out to the little headland and watched waves splintering over the rocks below. She had dinner in her father’s room with her parents, drank coffee on the balcony and watched fireflies among the bushes down in the garden. Then, when the houseboy had taken the trays and her father had lit his pipe, she said good night to them both and went to the room she herself had prepared just after lunch. A big double room, though she had made up only one of the beds and left one of the wardrobes empty.

The breeze drifted off the sea into the room, bringing with it a sad-sweet scent. Yes, it would be wise to get moving on the business in Cape Town as soon as she could.

Arrangements took two or three days. For one thing, Ann had to walk each way to the Umbenizi Trading Store, and the weather was windless and humid, the sun merciless. Then there was the difficulty of using a party-line telephone and of making her needs understood. She managed it, booked her seat on the plane and arranged for an Indian car-owner to pick her up on Wednesday morning.

She walked back to the house from Umbezini, and met her mother in the garden.

“I’ve never seen things grow so fast,” Mrs. Calvert said. “A garden in Natal must be a perfect joy!” She straightened, looked anxiously at Ann’s face. “Well, dear, did you manage it?”

Ann nodded. “It’s all fixed. If there’s anything you particularly want me to remember I’ll make a note of it.” She stood swaying a little, pushing damp tendrils from her brow.

“Not so long ago,” said her mother gently, “you’d have been as enthusiastic over this place as I am.”

“One grows out of things,” she said distantly.

“Not out of loving a garden.”

“Well, maybe I’
ll
come back to it
.
”

Her mother was silent, contemplating a poinsettia bush covered with giant blooms. At last she asked, “Did something painful happen to you at that place—Belati?”

Ann bent and pulled a weed. “Theo’s sister died.”

“Oh, I see. That must have been a blow for Theo. And it was bad for you, on your holiday. I’ve been wondering whether you’ve changed a good deal or had some sort of shock. Now that I know, I won’t mention it again. Come indoors and have a cool drink. What a pity our little car is in Cape Town. I’ll be sorry to t
hink
of it being sold up; we had some good times in it, didn’t we?”

Ann followed her mother into the house. “Why sell it? You’ll need a car here.”

“I think Daddy is hoping for something newer, though we’ll have to wait for some time till other things are settled. If it weren’t so costly to ship it here, you could have it for yourself, eventually. Your father said so.”

“Never mind. I’ll try to get you a good price for it.” Now that she had been with her parents for a few days Ann found singularly little to talk about. Necessarily, she told them a bit about Groenkop, but every incident she remembered led to something she would rather forget, and gradually they concluded that it had either been a dull holiday or an unpleasant one. They didn’t probe.

Ann replied to Theo’s letter, told him she understood his decision and wished
him
success. About Elva she said nothing at all, because there was nothing to say, but after she had sealed her own letter, she read his once more, before destroying it. He wrote as if he was determined never to marry, but she thought that time and the right girl would change that decision; he deserved a normal life. For the present, however, it might be best for
him
to be single-minded.

There were last-minute instructions before Ann left her parents that Wednesday, at dawn.

“You’ll have to pay the maid another month’s wages when you discharge her,” said Mrs. Calvert. “Tell her I’m sorry we can’t see her again, but I know she’ll easily get a good job. Give her a nice reference, won’t you?”

“I will. And poo
r
old Rusty has to travel by train? He’ll hate it
.
”

“It’s a pity, of course, because it means several days of nightmare for him. I do wish one could explain to a dog that he only has to put up with things for a while and then he’ll be happy again. As if staying in kennels weren’t bad enough, he has to live in a box and jolt over the countryside for nearly a week!”

“I’d send him by air if someone could meet him in Durban. It wouldn’t be right to run to air fare myself both ways.”

“I’m afraid we do have to conserve the cash. We’ll have a bil
l
for your father’s operation, and we can’t decently stay here for more than two weeks; after that it will be a hotel until we’re settled in a house of our own. We paid for the long cruise, you see, and one can’t expect a refund.”

“We’ll get through,” Ann said. “It’s just that everything has come together.” She smiled as she kissed her mother. “Sure you won’t mind being left in charge on your own?”

“I was quite prepared for it, before you came. In any case, you won’t be away from us for so very long. Eight or ten days?”

“About that. If I can arrange it, I’ll get Rusty on to the
tr
ain
that I have to catch myself, so that I can exercise
him
at the long stops. There’s the taxi. I must go now.” She called up the staircase a last goodbye to her father, waved to her mother from the back seat of the old car, and was on her way in the pearly light of daybreak.

At six-thirty that evening she booked in at a small hotel in Cape Town.

Life in the Whittakers’ weekend retreat was extremely comfortable for Mr. and Mrs. Calvert. After another six
-
hour storm the weather cleared, and Mr. Calvert was able to hump himself downstairs and into the veranda. On Saturday the Whittakers turned up and the two men fished contentedly in the rocky waters close to the shack. By Monday, the Calverts were alone again, enjoying the solitude and the tropical growth about them. The days passed gently, dreamily, though they did discuss Ann rather often.

“She can’t have changed so much in just a month,” her mother fretted, “and I can’t believe the death of a girl she
scarcely knew could make so profound a difference. And, you know, she hardly mentioned Theo while she was here.”

“Just as well, if he’s gone back to flying,” commented her husband. “Stop worrying about her. Whatever it was, she’ll get over it. Ann’s sensible.”

“But she’s unhappy.”

“I think she’s been hurt, but you can’t fight her battles, my dear. She must learn for herself. You’ve tried to shelter Ann, but it just isn’t possible, these days. They get out and about with people you never even meet, and it’s right that they should, at her age. If she
has
been hurt, she’ll get over it in her own way—it’s what she’s doing now, in Cape Town.”

“But who would hurt Ann?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Theo, perhaps, if he’s neglected her. She needed to be alone, and that’s why I consented to her going to Cape Town. I hope she’s not worried about the various things she has to do.”

“Letters take so long, but we ought to hear from her tomorrow.”

They did get a letter from Ann the following day. The house was empty, she told them, and she was having it thoroughly cleaned and a little painting done, at the house agent’s suggestion. He thought that as the place was so well kept and not expensive, he would be able to sell it within a week or two. The furniture was being crated for shipment to Durban, where the removal people had the use of a storehouse. Rusty was looking fine, and she had advertised the car, though several people had told her the market for secondhand vehicles such as theirs was uncertain. She hoped the leg was continuing to improve, that her mother was still fit and that they were both happy; she would write again in a few days.

“Well, that does sound quite cheerful,” Mrs. Calvert conceded. “Ann’s always at her best when she has definite tasks to do. It shouldn’t be long before she’s able to leave Cape Town.”

“Why not send her a telegram telling her to come by plane and hang the expense?” her husband suggested.

“We’ll wait for her next letter, and then decide.”

The second letter came the following Monday morning,
with a box of groceries which Mrs. Calvert had ordered from the store. She and her husband read it together, in the veranda, and then Mrs. Calvert went indoors to prepare the mid-morning tea tray. As she poured water into the tea-pot she heard a car at the front of the house and wondered, casually, whether the store-boy had returned for some reason. But no one appeared at the back door, so she came through to the
porch, and saw, with mild astonishment, a large sleek estate car on the drive and the big Peterson man in the veranda, with her husband.

Storr turned to greet her, gave her that rather aloof and yet
tantalizing
smile which she had thought of once or twice since his first visit.

“Good morning, Mr. Peterson,” she said. “I see you’ve introduced yourself to my husband. How charming of you to call.”

If it occurred to Storr that her welcome was in the best and most stilted English tradition he made no sign. He half bowed.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again—and to meet Mr. Calvert.”

“Well, do sit down,” she said. “I’ve just made tea. I’ll bring it.”

It surprised and gratified her that Storr followed her and carried the tray out to the veranda. He did it so naturally that she knew it was a habit of his to take command, physically at least, wherever he might be. They sat down and she poured.

Politely, she asked, “And did you come to Durban by plane again?”

“No, I drove.” He accepted his cup. “It’s restricting to arrive somewhere and have to rely on hired transport
—
particularly in this country. I travelled through the night.”

“You South Africans are tough,” said Mr. Calvert. “How far is it from Belati?”

“
To Umbenizi? Six hundred miles or so. Night driving is soothing—mostly, anyway.”

“Didn’t you find it so this time?”

“No,” he replied, and tried the tea. Then, rather abruptly, he said, “I notice you have only three cups on the tray. Where is Ann?”

Mrs. Calvert sat back, smiling. “She went to Cape Town. So keen on air travel since you gave her her first taste that she took the plane. We had a letter from her only this morning.”

“Cape Town!” Storr’s cup thudded on to the table with such force that Mrs. Calvert looked alarmed, both for the cup and saucer and for the glass top of the wrought-iron table. He gazed straight at her. “Did you send her?”

Mr. Calvert thought it was time he took over. “She wanted to go, and there were things to settle. For several good reasons we’re not returning to Cape Town, so Ann is tidying our affairs. She’
s
doing it very well, too. In today’s letter she says the agent already has an offer for the house.”

“She’s not at the Riding School?”

“Oh, no, she’s had to finish with it. She says Captain Wynne was sorry
...
”

Storr broke in. “Where is she staying?”

“She’s been at a hotel—had quite a good time, I think, meeting old friends and driving about the Peninsula. She doesn’t know yet, but Mr. Whittaker is most anxious to take her into his office. She’ll be so pleased
...
”

“You let her go to Cape Town alone, and do all your business! Couldn’t it have waited till you were able to handle it yourself?”

Mr. Calvert stared at him, perplexed. Even in this country he didn’t think it was usual for a stranger to question a man’s conduct of his own affairs. However, he deemed a mild reply the safest.

“Ann is an able young woman, you know, and she didn’t have to make any decisions. Also she wanted to see Captain Wynne herself, and to offer to work for him till he could find someone else. As it happened, he thought he might as well continue to employ his sister-in-law, so Ann was released.”

“What else has she to do,” demanded Storr, “besides selling your house?”

“She only had to approach the
agent
,”
Mr. Calvert reminded him with quiet emphasis. “She’s arranged about our furniture and collected the dog, seen the colored girl settled with a new employer
...
and that’s about all.”

Mrs. Calvert said brightly, “And what do you think, Mr. Peterson—Ann couldn’t get a really good offer for our little old Morris and she knew we’d very much like to have it here, so she’s driving from Cape Town, and bringing Rusty with her
!
She’s already on the way, as a matter of fact.”