Mayenga Farm (12 page)

"Is that true? Why couldn't my husband have written to say so! I've told him in my letters that native servants terrify me."

"If he’s in an hotel he may not know," Rennie defended the absent Mr. Caton. "You’ll find it much cooler in Cape Town."

"I know," she said with a pathetic sigh, "but it looks as if I shall have to endure the Transvaal for at least six more weeks, till Jacqueline’s twenty-first birthday."

"So Jac will be here for her twenty-first?"

"I think so. Her father will come up, and we shall have a party at the Carlton. At least, I’m hoping her father will come." Adela's frown hinted at men's stupidity and stubbornness. "You’ll come to the party of course, Rennie, and your father and that nice young Michael as well, if he's still here. We shall be posting official invitations in about a fortnight to something like sixty guests and we're planning to make the party really spectacular and unforgettable. You'd be amazed at the number of friends we've collected in town."

Languidly, Adela expanded about her ideas for the event. They might even be able to arrange some outdoor fun by moonlight. Rennie listened and smiled, and sternly ignored a small bitter ache of . . . was it envy?

The older woman was saying, "One has to prepare for everything, though it's possible that Kent won’t agree to all the publicity of the usual sort of engagement. He’s so domineering — just what Jackie needs to keep her in order. It will be an ideal match."

Sudden pain throbbed in Rennie's forehead. "Is . . . is Jackie going to marry Kent?"

Adela laughed softly. "It looks like it. I didn't think, the day we travelled here from Johannesburg, that Jackie would find a husband in this outpost, especially one so attractive in every way. As a matter of fact, it has lifted a weight from my mind that she should fall in love with someone so suitable to her type — hardly what I expected of Jackie! You and she will be neighbors, Rennie, though naturally she’ll come down to Cape Town for holidays. Kent wouldn’t want to incarcerate her."

How little Adela knew him. The woman Kent married would have to be his wife in every particular; share his work and interests, be prepared to yield to him her will and her desires; he wouldn’t tolerate a part-time wife.

"Has he . . . proposed?"

Again Adela emitted the purring laugh. "Can you imagine Kent proposing before he’s sure of acceptance? Jackie isn't hurling herself at him, my dear, but there’s no doubt at all that he cares for her a great deal. Whenever he comes to town he seeks her out, and he never looks at or dances with another woman. She never misses a single Saturday at the polo. Isn’t all that rather more than significant?"

Rennie supposed it was. She rested back in her chair, a hand on each wicker arm, her shoulders pressed into the cushion. Why should she feel like this — weary and wounded — over Jackie and Kent?

"I'm so certain," Adela confided in lowered tones, "that I have written to my husband all about Kent, and asked his approval of their engagement. Of course, he can’t do otherwise than approve, but a man likes to feel that he has been consulted____"

Rennie let her prattle on, and presently her father came strolling up the steps, with Jackie and Michael a few steps behind.

Jackie said, "Ren, you look so washed-out, darling. These two men are wearing you down." "I never see them except on Sundays," she returned lightly. "Blame the shadows and the pink frock."

They all went out to the car while Jackie, with complete disregard

for another’s property, had parked in full sunshine on the verge beside the track. The interior was like an oven and a grass snake had curled up on the back seat. Adela screamed and Jackie went rigid. Michael dragged both of them aside and slammed the door. Adrian hurled the sleepy, harmless reptile into the veld and delivered a short, entertaining lecture on snakes and their habits.

Amid laughter that was not altogether mirthful, Jackie drove away, and Adrian went indoors to take a shower.

Michael had stayed in the garden with Rennie; he stalked around, moodily examining the speckled hearts of the orange cannas. It was some minutes before he ended the silence.

"Since I’ve lived here my perceptive powers have developed to quite a degree," he said. "I've studied personalities — yours and your father’s — and analyzed what I could remember of my friends in England. It gradually grows into a habit, you know."

"What is this leading up to?"

"Who else but Jackie? She’s a mixture, like a cocktail with a sting. Her surface is flighty and not too sincere, but underneath she’s uncertain and in need of a sense of security. You can see she's never had one. That mother of hers!"

"You believe that where Kent and his wide acres are concerned, it’s the anchor he offers that draws her? You’re wrong, Michael.

Kent Bradfield and Jac were physically attracted right from the start."

Michael took up a debating posture, feet apart, a hand gesturing. His expression was slightly combative. "Enlighten me, Rennie. How deep does physical attraction go with a woman?"

"It depends on the woman. To Jackie, it might be very important."

"But not to you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Haven’t you ever been attracted by a man’s appearance, the way he looked, or spoke, or some mannerism? You have! I can see it in your eyes."

With an effort she answered carelessly, "You're after copy again. I won't be a guinea pig, Michael. If such information is necessary to your fiction, go into town and hunt it up. You won't find it at Mayenga."

"I might," he grinned. "If you weren't such an oyster. Still, it isn't a bad idea to go gay in Gravenburg once a week. Human nature is a fascinating study, and I can do with a little more of that kind of education."

One evening during the following week he tried it out; put on a dress suit and used Adrian's car. He came home early, happier for the few hours' change, but rather of the opinion that the time away from Adrian was wasted; far better if he were to take his leisure during the daytime, preferably after lunch. Didn't Adrian agree? Adrian did. So it. became Michael's practice each Monday and Friday to drive into town and play tennis at one of the clubs, returning to Mayenga between four and five. Though Rennie remonstrated with him, Michael always had the car filled up with petrol.

"Dash it," he said. "Aren’t I the lucky one to have a car at my disposal ? I'll sink all my capital in a bus of my own if you won’t let me pay my way, Rennie."

About Jackie he hardly ever spoke. The next time she and Adela came to Mayenga, Michael appeared for a drink, exchanged politenesses and shortly returned to his desk. Rennie got the impression that his absorption in the people of his own creating was ousting his interest in the world about him. Which, if somewhat disillusioning after his protestations regarding Jackie was all to the good.

C H A P T E R N I N E

Adela’s invitation to Jackie’s coming-of-age party arrived one

Wednesday, about noon. Oddly, with the same batch of mail came another invitation addressed simply to: "Adrian Gaynor and Rennie." Rennie slipped out the deckle-edged card printed in navy blue, and scrutinized the badge in one corner: crossed flags in a lifebuoy, the emblem of the new Gravenburg Yachting Cub. The president, none other than their old friend Mr. Morgan, the bookseller, requested the pleasure of their company next Saturday at the club’s official opening. A single race by floodlight was planned, followed by a buffet and dining in the club. "Dress informal, if possible with a nautical flavor."

Adrian turned the card about in his fingers and said, "Why shouldn’t we go? I have some white flannels and a blue blazer somewhere, and surely you can fit yourself up with something? I believe we’d enjoy it."

The more Rennie thought about it the more the idea appealed. Perhaps a party at which there was no fear of meeting Jackie and her mother would revive her jaded spirit. Certainly it would be good to get away from Mayenga, and old Mr. Morgan was rather a dear and bound to be hurt if they refused.

Her white linen frock had a conveniently pleated skirt, and two waist pockets upon each of which she decided to embroider a blue anchor. Her wardrobe held no jacket suitable to the occasion, but the nights were warm and she was accustomed to light clothing and little of it The frock alone would suffice.

It was almost with a thrill of excitement that she dressed and brushed her hair that Saturday evening. The sun had drawn the rich brown from the silky waves at her temples and replaced it with a soft pale gold which contrasted attractively with her tan. And her eyes had taken on a sparkle of anticipation. As she stepped back to survey herself,

Adrian knocked and came in. He paused beside her, vaguely astonished.

"My word," he said. "What a refreshing pair we look. Wearing a

blazer makes me feel young and foolish again."

Rennie squeezed his arm. "I hope you’ll be able to find the way to this club."

"It’s below the town, so I’m told, on the left bank of the Lamu, at its widest stretch. I wonder why we've never bothered to go so far south?"

"Does it matter just now, darling?" she enquired teasingly. "Hadn't we better shout good-bye to Michael and go?"

The club was a white building, corpulently designed to resemble the bows of a ship, with an observation balcony brass-railed like a captain’s bridge, above which floated a blue and white pennant and several hundred yards of bunting. Except for a lane to the wide entrance, the whole forecourt was jammed with

masted boats on rollers.

Adrian parked the car among others on the grass, and for a minute he and Rennie stood on the high bank above the river, watching the yachts, with their small orbs of light fore and aft, skim the mottled river like night moths about to settle. Shouted banter echoed pleasantly along the water.

A boy at their back said, "Drink, please, baas?" and they turned to confront a dusky waiter in white cut-away and jaunty cap.

It was unusual and rather exciting to lean against a boat while they drank and watch the antics of the yachtsmen. Then Adrian considered it time to seek out Mr. Morgan, but before they could enter the bright, noisy club a young man in naval uniform apologetically touched Adrian's sleeve.

"May I ask your name, sir?"

"You may, my boy," replied Adrian genially. "Adrian Gaynor."

"Oh, good. Mr. Morgan told me to look for you. He has kept a place for you on the balcony. You'll have a good view of the race from there, sir."

"You hear that, Rennie?" said her father. "We’re of the chosen few."

"Only men on the bridge, I'm afraid," the young man explained hastily. "Mr. Morgan thought your daughter might like to go out in one of the boats while the race is on. I'll call a steward to take you up, and escort Miss . . . er . . . Rennie to the landing stage."

"Very kind of you," twinkled Adrian. "Good luck, Rennie."

Alone with her, the young man appeared to fed more at ease. He talked a little as he led her back to the riverside and along the splendid new mahogany jetty to where a small motor launch nosed the piles.

"This is the Silver Streak" he told her. "She belongs to the old man himself. One of his own boys will run her and I think you’ll have company. Oh, yes, there's already someone else aboard, so you won't be lonely. Ahoy, there! Give Rennie a hand down, will you?"

Rennie saw the top of a peaked cap and big, navy-clad shoulders. Two long arms were raised and a chin became visible, strong and deft. Tremors ran through her. He took her weight and

swung her down, held her in a vice till the boat ceased rocking.

"All right?" called her escort. "Dance with me later, Rennie?"

She managed a breathy little, "Yes," and he dashed away.

"What do you know about that?" Kent said softly, dose to her ear. "I was thinking about you less than ten minutes ago."

"Were you?" she whispered above the tumult within her. "In what connection?"

"It occurred to me," he said quietly, deliberately, "that if I had you alone in some place from which you could not escape, I could undoubtedly make you listen to a lot of sense — and perhaps a spot of nonsense."

"Some . . . place?" she echoed, fighting in vain to subdue a new and painful rhythm in her heart.

"Such as a boat on dark waters," he elucidated kindly. "Generous of the old chap to lend me the Silver Streak so readily, wasn't it? Just like him, too, to send me a fair neighbor for company." Over his shoulder he called firmly, "Cast off, Jacob, we're waiting for no one else. Steer well to the right of the buoys."

Rennie was still standing. The boat lurched away from the jetty and Kent's arm hauled her tight again, steel across her back. For a long, palpitating moment his fingers bit hard into her upper arm and his breath was warm and smoky across her brow. She was possessed by a medley of inexpressible longings, but underneath lay something deeper and more frightening.

Then like a deluge of icy water on a fevered brow, came the sudden shattering daylight of floodlamps.

Kent's arm dropped. "Take a camp-stool," he said without expression. "You might as well relax for the next fifteen minutes ... till the lights go out again."

The boy had switched off the motor and Rennie was plunged into a consciousness of the lap and suck of the water at the sides of the boat, and the cool acridity of stirred river weeds. The competing white sails, the unintelligible blare of the loud speaker, the men and women cheering from the decks of other launches, meant nothing at all to Rennie. The Silver Streak swayed, and her burdened heart moved with it.

Kent was almost engaged to Jackie, she told herself; so long as she remembered that she was safe. She had been working since breakfast and eaten little. Fatigue and hunger must be responsible for the constriction in her chest and the queer leap and lull of her pulses. And the cocktail might have been more potent than it tasted. But the tremulous pleasure in Kent's nearness could not be

so glibly explained.

He, too, occupied a camp-stool, and negligently leaned his back against the cabin, a cigarette between his lips, his immaculate white-trousered legs crossed, and one foot swinging gently from the knee. Superbly calm, he offered comments on the drifting white wings and laid an idle bet on the favorite.