Mayenga Farm (19 page)

She smiled briefly, saw Kent's gaze shift to Michael at her side and could almost hear his unspoken sarcasm: What was Gravenburg coming to when a visitor to the district was invited to sit in on a discussion affecting the stable population?

The preliminaries took half an hour. All the older men stated their views and were listened to with respect. It was Kent who looked at his watch and mentioned that Rennie was here to give her own and her father's slant on the subject.

Natural courage kept her voice low and steady. She read out Adrian's notes and amplified them, finishing with her own opinions about fees and fines.

Applause was courteous and wholehearted.

Someone asked: "The system you describe, Miss Gaynor — is it at present in use in England?"

"It isn't quite the same. Our library was financed by the borough out of local taxes, and no subscription was demanded. The bookkeeping involved was negligible."

Kent leaned over, his smile pleasantly mocking. "Do you seriously believe, Miss Gaynor, that the library will attract three thousand subscribers when it becomes known that a sum of fifteen shillings will be charged annually?"

"Why not?" Her chin was raised, though she looked beyond him. "The fee will entitle anyone to a book every day of the year, if he likes, and to the use of the reading-room and reference books,"

"Gravenburg is a sprawling country town—most of it a good way from the centre—and so far Mr. Morgan has supplied all that is needed in the way of literature."

"He can’t sell more than two novels or one biography for fifteen shillings."

"You forget," said Kent blandly, "that the South African is an outdoor man and periodical-minded. We here," he gestured lazily, "happen to be a few who value books and could envisage nothing more stultifying than to be without them, but the majority of the public will always absorb shipments of English and American magazines, and they will buy a best-selling novel rather than wait in a queue to borrow a copy. Have you seen the library statistics of other towns?"

"No," she answered, a trifle shortly. "My father worked on English figures."

"I'm afraid they won't do in this country. In most cases, less than ten per cent of the white population patronize libraries, and the proportion lowers when the fee goes above ten shillings. At the best you can reckon on twelve hundred subscriptions of ten shillings —six hundred pounds a year."

Rennie shrugged. "Have it your way. The counter was my job, not the cash box." Averting herself from Kent's sharpened scrutiny, she turned to Mr. Morgan and went on: "I'd love to help in forming the children's section. Voluntarily, of course. By restricting hours to afternoons only, we might attract other assistance. I'd gladly put in three afternoons a week."

"Wonderfully kind of you, my dear."

"Much too kind," said Kent, rather quickly. "But I think it would be wiser to begin as we intend to go on. I'd sooner we engaged a married woman for the purpose. A part-time assistant need cost no more than ten pounds a month."

"A hundred and twenty a year!" Rennie flashed back.

"The advantages are worth it," he countered with watchful smoothness. "Children would make friends with her and beg advice. The right woman, always available, is much to be preferred to a succession of voluntary helpers."

Rennie was silent. As usual, Kent was right; he had the knack of seeing all sides of a subject almost simultaneously. A sense of inadequacy welled up in her. She had to quell an urge to get up and leave the men to make their own conclusions. Idiotic and shattering came the thought that by the time the library was ready to be launched Kent and Jackie might be married; perhaps Jackie, as the wife of a generous donor, would be called upon to assist the mayoress at the opening ceremony.

Mr. Morgan was tenting his fingers on the table and saying: "It's agreed, then, that all necessary stationery and printing be put in hand, and a carpenter be given the dimensions for index cabinets and drawers. I will send off the first list of books to the wholesaler within the next two days."

After this had been approved, it seemed that the meeting would end. Then, with complete artlessness, Michael offered a brainwave.

"With books and furnishings at present level," he said, "three or four thousand will soon be swallowed. Why not hold a series of dances and talent contests to bring in more shekels?"

For fully thirty seconds no one spoke. A self-conscious flush crept into Michael’s cheeks, and for his sake Rennie found herself exclaiming:

"That's a splendid idea. I feel sure the younger set would respond, and the publicity might help to swell both the funds and the numbers of potential subscribers."

Mr. Morgan gave a doubtful laugh, and others murmured and smiled. One man asked if Michael could sound some of the young people at the tennis club and report their reaction.

Before he could reply Kent broke in, his voice clear and crisp. "We're not starting a circus, are we? Let us keep our dignity, even if it costs us more from our private pockets."

He was seconded, somewhat apologetically, by the obese lady on his right.

"Culture doesn’t really mix with talent contests and all that, does it, Miss Gaynor?" the mayoress pleaded. "The mayor and I will willingly give another cheque for a hundred pounds."

Michael's color deepened, and Rennie felt a sort of anger burning in her own face. Kent needn't have put it just like that, making Michael appear cheap and youthful. He was, of course, demonstrating his contempt for the only contribution to the matter which the young man had attempted How she wished Michael had stayed away this evening.

The moment eased. Involuntarily, Rennie met Kent’s amused eyes and returned him a tight smile. When at last chairs scraped and conventional chatter began, she inevitably accepted his invitation to take a nightcap in the lounge.

Rennie drank her lime and soda laced with gin. She answered Kent’s queries about the day’s work at the farm and heard, with joy and deep misgiving, his promise to drive over to give Adrian a rest tomorrow.

"Did you and the novelist come in your bus?" he wanted to know.

She shook her head. "Mr. Morgan sent for us. Michael wasn’t there this morning when the arrangement was made."

"But he couldn’t resist horning in."

"You’re overdoing the cynicism, Kent. Michael wouldn’t care if Gravenburg never had a library. Perhaps his part in the debate was unfortunate____"

"Your agreeing with him was more so." The words held a sting, but he was grinning slightly. "I’m sorry I had to squash the splendid idea, but I knew you understood."

"Naturally." She inclined her head and tried to infuse her tones with his particular note of satire. "Just lately you’ve had your own way at

Mayenga both with my father and me, and you think that entitles you to run our lives outside the farm."

"Now, now," he admonished her. "I refuse to fall out with you over a half-baked writer. And if I did put a stop to your becoming a library assistant and sweating yourself into a fresh state of collapse, you should thank me—not bark at me."

Carefully, she balanced her empty glass between finger and thumb and watched its scintillations. Slowly, yet lightly, she enquired: "What sort of pleasure do you get out of managing us, Kent? Or do you simply love to have power over other people."

"Isn’t it a relief to be managed, for a change?"

She admitted it with a nod. "But your viewpoint is puzzling."

"So it should be, little one," he stated cryptically. Because it happens to embrace the other end of the pole from yours. Have another drink?"

"No, thanks. I must be going."

Kent stood up. "I’ll take you home."

Her smile challenged. "Michael, too?"

"I suppose so, though for my part he could walk."

Good nights were exchanged with Mr. Morgan and his cronies, and the three came out into a night that was chilly and thick with stars. Kent put Rennie into the seat beside him and Michael got into the back. The car left the side street for the main road and purred along between the lines of palms and jacarandas which cast black shadows over the office buildings and shops back of them. The trees ended and they ran into the well-lit centre of the town.

Rennie's heart began a gradual contraction and her sinews tensed. Soon they would pass the Carlton. Would Kent suggest a quick drink with the Catons . . . and what would she do if he did? An uncomfortable pounding set up in her breast and a cool dew started at her temples. This was frightful, much worse than coping with Kent at Mayenga.

Then it was over. The brilliant facade of the Carlton was behind them and Kent had given it only an off-hand glance;

Michael said: "I expect Jackie’s in there dancing."

To which Kent replied, without turning: "The Catons are at the Pinetree tonight. I had dinner with them. That’s what made me late at the meeting."

Rennie stared unseeing through the window. She could not dispel the mental vision of Jackie sparkling with emotion and crying out that she and Kent were crazy about each other.

In a distant voice she said: "If you’re going back to the Pinetree, you can leave Michael and me at the bridge."

Kent went on driving, his expression enigmatic. Michael made observations about the queer shapes of the trees and the unusual isolation of the Southern Cross in the heavens, and quite soon they were over the Lamu and winding towards Mayenga.

At the gate, Michael hopped out quickly and opened Rennie's door. She stepped on to the grass.

"Thanks for the lift, Kent. Good night,"

She was halfway up the path, ahead of Michael, before the car crunched away. Adrian had gone to bed, and Rennie gratefully locked herself into the bathroom and dipped her face into a bowl of cold water. Dabbing herself dry, she leaned against the wail, her eyes closed with the weight of sickening pain.

Her father had pledged himself to concentrate on farming for one more season and it was her duty to stand by his determination. But how in the world was she going to bear it?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN IRONICALLY, the very next day Adrian received a letter through the agent in Cape Town from the college which had previously offered him the lectureship. Their syllabus, they informed him, was in course of preparation, and if he wished his name to be included would he kindly post to them within the next fortnight a complete list of the subjects with which he proposed to deal. Did he know, they enquired in the final paragraph, that they would later be needing a permanent, resident lecturer in English literature? They assured him that his application, if he cared to submit one, would have the utmost consideration.

Even before she took the letter from him Rennie saw his quickly suppressed pleasure.

Looking up from the sheet of stiff paper, she said slowly, "Well, there’s your future, darling—just what you want. A trip round the chief towns in the Union followed by a snug

professorship. Mayenga might not sell for what we gave, but it will fetch enough to buy a house with a garden."

"There's a great deal to weigh up," he said cautiously. "I’ve a hollow feeling that the farm would hang on the market a long time. What with stalk-borer last year, and pest-ridden cotton and the fire, Mayenga will have a bad name. Most people are a little superstitious at heart. We'd make a much better sale in a year’s time, after a successful season."

"This offer won’t be open then."

"No, but something else will turn up, or we might decide to stay on. We only need ordinary luck and Kent's assistance to emerge on the right side. After all, we did come to South Africa to farm, and we must

give it ample trial."

"It might be wiser to cut our losses and move out. If we lived in Cape Town I could get a job, too, and we’d have money to spend again."

"But would that make up to you for leaving Mayenga and the friends you’ve made here?"

Rennie guessed that he alluded to Kent. Adrian was not the probing type of parent, nor would he presume to advise her on a matter so delicate. But he was sufficiently of the earth to desire for her the normal woman's lot, the home and children without which no woman is completely fulfilled.

Since the evening of the fire, when Kent had come to Mayenga and bitten out his anger that Rennie should have been allowed to work herself thin and nervy over the farm, Adrian had not only put in nine hours' hard work every day, but he had also forsaken his dreaming, and watched her closely, missing none of the changes in her. It did not take him long to divine that it was Kent who put the smile in her eyes and the curve to her lips. With the passing days her happiness shone more brightly, and Adrian grew uneasier. Somehow, in his dealings with Kent, he had gathered and retained the impression of a womanless cynic, not at all the type of man who should capture Rennie's heart.

Adrian liked Kent and respected him both as a forestry man and as a taster of good literature. But, being simple in his own affections, he found it difficult to reconcile Kent with the usual needs of the average man. Kent wasn't an average man; his code was individual and his manner with women—with Rennie, at least—had a baffling quality.

Adrian didn't like Rennie’s almost fatalistic urge to move from Mayenga. She was too fond of the district to leave it without a tremor, and he feared trouble of the most shattering kind. He suspected that Kent, with ruthless candour, had characteristically used his cynicism as a bludgeon to Rennie’s awakened emotions, and it wounded him that she should be badly hurt.

That was why, when she smiled at his question and said that in Cape Town they would have more time to cultivate a set of friends, Adrian simply folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket.

"We'll sleep on it a few nights," he said. "In any case, I won't have you regard the matter entirely from my angle. It's you first this time."

Rennie could visualize no alternative to disposing of Mayenga. Not at once, perhaps, but before Jackie was installed as mistress of Elands Ridge. There are some things that the hardiest of flesh and blood cannot stand.

At the library committee meeting, Kent had promised to come over to Mayenga today. She steeled herself. The anguish was only just beginning. Kent had to be faced and smiled at and, without unfriendliness, gradually shown that Adrian and Rennie Gaynor thanked him for his help, but could now manage without it.