The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (3 page)

‘Some other time, Alex, thanks. I'm still tired.'

Alex nodded. Then he led the way into the house, Jon following him. ‘That,' he said over his shoulder, ‘is called a stoep out here. Spelled S.T.O.E.P. Not a verandah.'

‘I see.' Jon had already wandered round the house, but now Alex showed her the small office with the filing cabinet, desk and typewriter.

‘Your uncle was clever at figures and he has a good African clerk who does most of the work. You'll soon grasp it. Pay day is always busy, but . . .'

‘How many people will I be employing?'

‘Depends on the season. Being October,
this
is our spring. We're ploughing and planting like mad. It's also dependent on the weather, of course. If it rains we can't plough. Most of the work is done by piece work, but of course there are a number of regular workers, too.'

They went into the lounge that ran the width of the house, with two french windows opening on to the stoep. It was an attractive room with deep comfortable armchairs, oil paintings on the walls of sea scenes, brocaded curtains, a number of small coffee tables.

‘Your uncle entertained a lot,' Alex said casually. ‘He was a popular man and a bachelor, too. That always helps, so he was often invited out.'

‘Are you married?' Jon asked—and then wondered what had made her ask such a silly question, for she was not the slightest bit interested.

‘Not yet.' Alex gave her a quick amused look. ‘So far I've managed to steer clear of that hazard.'

He led the way to the kitchen. It was clean and neat with a huge fridge with its deep freeze. There was a double sink and many cupboards.

‘Why didn't Uncle Ned marry?' Jon asked, thinking this did not look like a bachelor's home.

Alex gave her a strange look as he followed her through the kitchen door and they stood
on
the concrete paving in the hot sunshine. On one side were several white buildings and Jon could hear the sound of music coming from one of them.

‘Don't you know?' Alex asked her.

Jon looked up at him. What a strangely ugly face, she thought again, and looked for the word to describe it. Craggy? He had a biggish nose and a square chin and that dark sun-tan. And those strange green eyes you rarely saw, for most of the time his eyes were half closed.

‘No, I don't know,' she said.

Alex looked down at her. ‘He loved your mother.'

Jon's hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, no! Poor Uncle Ned! But when . . . He'd gone away when Mum met Daddy.'

‘When your grandparents died and he went over to help you out. Your mother had been a widow for nine years, but she made it very plain that she still hated the sight of your uncle.'

‘Poor Uncle Ned! How wonderful if . . .'

Alex shrugged. ‘I doubt if it would have worked. It's no good forgiving if you can't forget. It wasn't to be, so . . .'

Impulsively Jon caught hold of his arm. ‘If he loved her, why did he leave everything to me?'

Looking grave, Alex Roe told her, ‘He was afraid that your mother, in her bitterness, might refuse to accept it and that would have
hurt
you. He wanted you to have it because he knew you loved him.'

‘I see . . .' Jon said thoughtfully, thinking of the long years Uncle Ned had lived there alone, remembering the woman he loved who could never forgive him for something that was not his fault.

‘We'd better get cracking,' Alex said curtly. ‘I haven't time to waste.'

‘I'm ready,' she said at once, frowning because he had implied that she was wasting his time and actually he had been the one doing most of the talking.

The walk round was quick, and although Jon tried to look intelligent and as if she understood everything Alex said, most of the time she was completely lost. Never before had she seen pineapples growing, but here they were, acres and acres of them, stretching away as far as the eyes could see.

Had she been asked, she might have said she thought they grew on trees like coconuts. Someone, hearing Jon had inherited a farm of pineapples, had told her seriously that they grew in the ground like carrots!

But they didn't. They grew on plants which were about two to three feet tall. The plants had long pointed spiky leaves, and had thorns with the fruit half-hidden.

‘It takes two years after planting to bear fruit,' Alex was saying curtly as he strode along rapidly, Jon almost breathless but managing to
keep
up with him. ‘You then get fruit every year. However, after five years, you have to uproot the plants, plough the land and plant again.'

He showed her the compound where the workers lived, showed her some women picking pineapples. All the time he talked brusquely, mostly over his shoulder as she tagged breathlessly behind him, and often she was lost, but somehow didn't like to ask him to explain more slowly in case he looked upon her as ‘a dumb brunette'.

The dogs had gone with them, and were leaping over the pineapples, chasing the birds that came down to tease them by swooping low and then rising up in the air as the dogs barked.

As they walked back towards the house, Alex looked down at the quiet girl by his side. ‘Well, how are you going to like being a farmer?'

She drew a long deep breath. ‘I think I shall love it.'

She saw the amused look on his face as he asked: ‘You really think you could run this farm? You don't want to sell it?'

Startled, she stood still, looking up at him. ‘What makes you think I'd want to sell it?'

‘A number of reasons. You're obviously a city girl, knowing nothing about farming. You could get a good price for this farm. Good money.'

‘I'm
not interested in money,' she said firmly. ‘Uncle Ned left me the farm and I intend to run it.'

‘That's very brave of you.' She could see how his mouth twisted as if he was trying not to smile. ‘Now let's see how much you've grasped.'

He immediately shot a number of questions at her. She tried her best to answer them, but knew she had dismally failed.

He laughed as if triumphant. ‘You've got an awful lot to learn.'

She glared at him. It hadn't been necessary to humiliate her so.

‘So had you, once. You told me Uncle Ned . . .'

Alex laughed outright. ‘Touché! You win and I lose. I was lucky, because I had Uncle Ned.'

And I have you, she thought silently. You may be a help, but you're also a pain in the neck.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Jon trying to keep calm but glancing now and then at the man by her side. He was a mass of contradictions. Sometimes easy to talk to, sometimes understanding, and, at other times so horribly unpleasant.

At his car, they stopped. ‘I'll pick you up at a quarter to seven,' he said curtly.

Jon remembered something. ‘Mum wondered what we should wear.'

Alex
looked at her and smiled. ‘Clothes, little Jon, what else?'

Jon's face burned. ‘You know very well what I mean. Do we dress up?'

Alex ran his hand through his hair and looked thoughtful.

‘Madeleine always does. I suppose one could say cocktail party frocks. Trouser suits are acceptable.' He smiled. ‘See you later.'

She watched him drive away, then turned and walked slowly towards the house. Who was Madeleine? she wondered.

*          *          *

As Jon showered and dressed, she thought how totally different this new life was going to be from their life in England. She was glad the dogs had come, for already her mother sounded happier as Sandy, the friendly boxer, had adopted her and now followed her wherever she went.

‘What a difference it makes,' Jon's mother had said, and a lot of Jon's anxiety was lifted as her mother continued, ‘That awful quietness has gone.'

Rex, the Alsatian, seemed to have chosen Jon and she already loved his questioning eyes and the way he stood close to her, not touching her but as if telling her that he was there if she needed him. Jock, the spaniel, was something of a problem, for he ignored everyone, going
straight
for his basket under the kitchen table, curling up and going to sleep.

Jon had wondered about how to feed the dogs, but Violet, the plump, cheerful African girl, had smiled, saying she knew.

Wondering what dress to wear, Jon looked through her wardrobe. Finally she chose a dark crimson kaftan with loose sleeves and gilt trimming. She made up carefully, then brushed her hair, thinking as she did, wondering who this Madeleine was that Alex Roe had mentioned. Was she the girl he planned to marry eventually? He had joked about it, but then, with Alex, you were never quite sure when he was serious or teasing.

She put on gold sandals with flowers on the straps. She looked out of the window. Already the night was beginning to close in. The sun was going down half-hidden by the mountains, but the sky was a mixture of pale green with streaks of red and gold. How early it got dark out here in Africa, she was thinking, as the electric light suddenly went on and she heard the rackety roar of an engine. That meant they had their own engine. She had a vague memory of Alex telling her this, but there was so much to try to remember. She wondered who switched it on and off. Did it run all night?

All questions that only Alex Roe could answer—which meant that she must swallow her pride and ask them!

She
sighed now as she looked in the mirror. Alex was right. She looked ridiculously young. Tonight she felt as young and helpless as she looked! It was so easy to talk confidently, but was she going to be able to run the farm— alone? She hadn't a clue. Not a single clue. Of course there was Alex to help her as he had been helped by Uncle Ned. But how long would she take to learn it all? He had his own life to lead . . . besides, she thought, as she got into the kaftan, she hated the thought of having to be dependent on him. Or on anyone, for that matter.

‘Jon!' her mother called. ‘Come and zip me up, darling.'

With one last look in the mirror, Jon hurried to the next room. It was similar to hers, but the colour scheme was different. In here the curtains were made of deep red and black striped material with a matching rug.

Her mother was peering into the mirror. ‘How can you be expected to see in this bad light?' she was grumbling. She was wearing a long green velvet gown. Its very simplicity ensured its elegance, Jon thought. Her mother had brushed her dark hair up, piling it high on her head. She wore a diamond necklace and matching ear-rings, but, Jon thought with dismay, wasn't it rather overdressed for a cocktail party? Knowing how sensitive her mother was, she was tempted to remark on this, but then decided to say nothing.

Sandy,
the boxer, lay patiently watching as Jon did up the long back zipper.

‘You look super, Mum.'

Her mother smiled. ‘Thanks, darling. First impressions are so important. I wonder what sort of social life one has here. I do hope we make lots of friends. It would be so nice to have a full social life,' she added, almost wistfully.

Jon looked at her in dismay and hoped her face didn't show it. Surely her mother couldn't mean it? she thought. A farm in an isolated district hardly promised a busy ‘social life'. They'd probably get to know a few families around, but . . .

‘You had friends in Bexhill, Mum.'

‘They were so boring, Jon. Bill never stopped talking about cricket. Sometimes I wanted to scream. When is Alex picking us up?'

‘In ten minutes. I must just finish my face.'

‘Let me look at you, darling. A pretty frock, but . . . well, Jon dear isn't it a little . . . well, casual? I mean a kaftan is only a housecoat, after all.'

Jon smiled, wondering what her mother would say if she pointed out that if a kaftan was ‘casual' a long velvet gown had gone to the other extreme.

‘Kaftans are all the rage in the fashion world, Mum. Besides, it is comfortable. See you in a moment.'

In
her room, she stared round, surprised. In that short space of time while she had been with her mother, either Dorcas or Violet had quietly come in, turned down the bed, pulled the curtains across and tidied away the dirty clothes.

Jon laughed at herself. Now she was a lady of leisure with two maids to look after her, so she must adapt to this new life. How strange it seemed after life in Bexhill, for she had always been the tidy one, cooking the meals, doing the washing, tidying things away, for she knew her mother got very tired doing her job as hotel receptionist and book-keeper, though she never complained.

Having one last look at her reflection in the mirror, Jon asked herself a question.

‘Tell me, Jon, are you going to like this new life?'

She scowled at herself, her firm young mouth tightening. She most certainly was. This was what Uncle Ned wanted. That she should have the farm and enjoy life here just as he had done.

‘Jon,' her mother called, ‘Alex is here.'

‘Coming!'

Unconsciously she braced herself and as she joined them, seeing her mother talking eagerly to the tall man, she was prepared for that familiar look of amusement in his eyes.

‘All right,' Jon said wearily. ‘You don't have to tell me. I look younger than ever.'

Alex
put his head back and laughed. ‘You read my thoughts so accurately, but why get so mad about looking young? In twenty years' time you'll be glad you do.'

‘In twenty years' time I'll . . .'

‘Look twenty-three,' he teased.

‘She always looked young,' Ursula said.

Alex turned to her at once. ‘And so do you, Ursula. You look ridiculously young to have a daughter of twenty-three. You must have married out of the cradle.'

Jon saw the glow of happiness in her mother's eyes. Bless her, Jon thought, this was just what her mother needed. In Bexhill, they'd known so few people of her mother's age group. Most were too young or too old.