The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (19 page)

‘Are you serious about Tim?' she asked.

Jon was startled. ‘Serious? No . . . I mean, I'm fond of him, but . . .'

‘I think it's more than friendship on Tim's side,' Kirsty told her. ‘Look, Jon, I like you, and though I'm fond of Tim, I'm not at all sure he's the right man for you. Please watch out. We hardly know him, really. Mark only met him just before Tim saw your advert. They had mutual friends in Canada, so we asked him to stay for the few days before he began working for you.'

Jon sat up and hugged her legs, her face worried. ‘Kirsty, I hope you're wrong. I like Tim, but . . .'

‘There's another man?' Kirsty's eyes were thoughtful. ‘I see. A hopeless love?' She paused while Jon nodded and then sighed: ‘You poor child! I went through all that when I was your age. It's part of growing up. I know it won't comfort you, but I can promise you that
one
day you will forget.'

‘I only wish I could think that,' Jon said earnestly. ‘But, Kirsty, I'm worried about Tim. Have I let him think . . . ?'

‘Tim doesn't wait to be allowed to think. Just watch out, though, and don't fall for that little-boy-lost smile of his. Behind it lies a tough guy, selfish, ruthless . . .' She smiled at Jon's shocked face. ‘He can't help it. He had a tough childhood. He's always had to fight for everything. I'm fond of him, but Jon, I wouldn't like to see you married to him.'

‘I've no intention . . .' Jon began, and stopped, her face red, as two men joined them.

‘No good intentions?' Mark teased as he lay down beside her. ‘How different this is from an English Christmas, eh?'

‘Very—very different,' Jon agreed, remembering the snow on the front at Bexhill, the waves coming racing in, roaring and splashing over the rail on to the pavement, their visit to church at midnight. But there had been another side to it, too, she reminded herself. Often they were asked out at Christmas, but preferred to stay home as her mother had a ‘thing' about being pitied. So they would watch television to lessen the quietness.

‘Very different, indeed,' Jon added.

Mark smiled, ‘I hope this is nicer.'

‘It's much more fun seeing the kids having such a wonderful time in the pool. Certainly
we
know more people here. I can't imagine eating turkey and Christmas pudding with a temperature of nearly a hundred degrees Fahrenheit! I'm used to a cold Christmas.'

‘You'll never go back to England?' Mark asked.

Jon shrugged. ‘It depends on the farm.'

Tim smiled. ‘You don't need to worry about that, Jon. That's my headache. We're doing fine.'

She smiled, ‘I'm glad.'

As they drove home, Jon searched for the right words, but could not find them. How did you say: ‘Look, I like you, but I can't marry you because I love someone else!'

After all, Tim had never said he loved her, never talked of marriage. His ‘darlings' meant nothing—that was just Alex's old-fashioned notion. What should she do? Was she unmeaningly encouraging him? Yet what could she do about it? Refuse to go out with him? It wasn't as simple as that when Tim was living in the same house and working for her.

The Coxes, Madeleine's family, gave a New Year's Eve party. Everyone seemed to have been invited, but fortunately it was a beautiful night so they could sit outside on the lawn and stoep. Bright lights glowed, there were torches blazing to keep away the mosquitoes—and noise! The four small boys were racing around, shouting, screaming, while many of the local people were swimming in the pool.

Once
again Jon was sorry for Madeleine. It was funny, she thought, that it was only in Madeleine's own home that she could ever like her! It was ‘Madeleine, do this . . .' ‘Madeleine, why haven't you done that? . . .' or even: ‘Really, Madeleine, do you have to be so clumsy?' It must be an awful life, Jon thought sympathetically, as she watched poor Madeleine meekly doing what she was told, her eyes unhappy. Except when she danced with Alex, and then her face was radiant.

Was it the same with her? Jon worried anxiously. She only danced once with Alex. It was a strange dance, silent, and he held her away at a slight distance as if he had no desire to touch her. Yet all the same, she was in his arms . . . A small consolation, though, for when the music ended, Alex merely escorted her back to her chair, murmured a formal ‘thank you' and walked off.

Jon's next partner was Madeleine's father and she thought again how amazingly handsome he was.

‘If you do have to sell the farm,' he said casually, ‘where would you go? Back to England?'

Jon looked up at him. ‘I won't have to sell the farm.'

He smiled, a friendly smile. ‘It's obvious you know very little about farming, my dear girl. There's always something—drought, hail, foot and mouth disease. There are thousands of
hazards.
Let's say, for the sake of argument, you had to sell.'

‘Well, I don't know. I've always wanted to see the world. I might go to Canada or . . . or Australia.'

‘You've enterprise, my dear. I wish Madeleine had. Sometimes I wonder why she stays with us, because it's no life for a young person. It's high time she got married and settled down. I just can't understand my daughter—the way she chases poor Alex. Has she no pride? I can't imagine you behaving like that.'

Jon blushed. ‘It isn't easy to behave sensibly when you're in love.'

‘Love!' Madeleine's father grunted as he made a neat turn. He was an excellent dancer, Jon thought. ‘Love!' he repeated. ‘That girl doesn't know what the word means.'

‘She loves her brothers,' Jon said quietly, ‘and you.'

‘Think so? Sometimes I wonder. Caroline and I'd be much happier on our own, but you can't push your own daughter out when she doesn't want to go. Times I've offered to pay her return fare to go to London for a few months, but no, she can't leave her precious Alex. Personally I don't think she loves him— not one bit. What she wants is a wealthy husband. Alex is the wealthiest of us all. Did you know that?'

The music stopped, Jon smoothed down the
slightly
creased skirt of her pale yellow silk frock. ‘No, I didn't.'

‘He keeps it quiet, but it's true. One of these days that man'll be a millionaire. You mark my words.'

There was a sudden quietness as the dancers dispersed to their seats and a clear voice broke the stillness.

‘Alex, my darling!'

The words carried clearly and every head turned, including Jon's. In the doorway that led to the wide patio, a tall slim woman stood—pitch-black hair piled high on her head, what looked like a chain of diamonds twisted round it, sparkling in the light. She wore a long narrow scarlet sleeveless dress, reaching to the ground but slit at the sides so that as she moved forward, her long beautiful legs could be seen plainly. Her hands outstretched, she went straight to Alex.

‘Darling . . . darling Alex!' she said loudly. She put her arms round his neck, rose on tiptoe and kissed him lovingly. ‘It's been so long, love,' she went on as the startled silence continued.

‘Too long?' Alex was asking, deftly unfolding her clinging arms. ‘Whose fault was that?'

Jon turned her head and saw that Caroline, Madeleine's stepmother, was by her side. ‘Who's that?' Jon whispered.

‘Just another scalp our wonderful Alex has
to
dangle from his belt,' Caroline said, her face and voice bitter. ‘She's Antonia Herd, the film star. She's supposed to have broken her heart because Alex refused to leave his beloved sanctuary and follow her round the world. Of course, she couldn't give up her career.' Caroline turned away. ‘It makes me sick, the way he gets away with it!'

‘Away with what?' Jon asked.

Caroline turned to look at her. ‘You should know. You're crazy about him, aren't you?' Her smile was malicious and Jon shuddered. ‘Not that I should blame you,' Caroline added bitterly. ‘We're all in the same boat.'

‘You . . .' Jon began, startled.

Caroline laughed. ‘I don't, but I did. Ten years ago before I met Samuel, I fell hook, line and sinker for Alex. I could have married him, but thank God I didn't.'

‘Why thank God?' Jon asked.

Caroline's smile was bitter. ‘Because I'd have had to take third place in his life. Alex has two loves: himself and his sanctuary. Nothing matters but his work. I prefer to become first in my husband's life. Alex is everything I hate and yet I love . . . loved him. He's a perfectionist, but what right has he to talk? He wasn't all that good when he was young. He sowed his wild oats all right. Besides, he's a hypocrite. He's always talking about preserving wild life and that sort of hogwash, while the truth is he used to murder
animals
for money.'

‘Murder animals for money?' Jon repeated. Was Caroline drunk? she began to wonder.

‘And how! He's all for the R.S.P.C.A., but at one time he was a white game hunter. He'd take wealthy Americans out and encourage them to shoot helpless animals who've never hurt anyone. He must have made a pile of money out of killing them, and if that isn't bestial cruelty, what is? He's ruthless and cruel. The absolute egoist!' Caroline paused for breath and perhaps saw the shocked look on Jon's face, for she laughed, ‘Sorry, Jon, for blowing my top, but he makes me so mad. Now I'd better go and do the hostess act. My darling husband who puts me first in his life does like me to do my duty.'

Jon was hardly alone for a moment when Tim joined her.

‘Well, have you seen Alex's latest bird?' Tim asked as he swept Jon on to the floor as the music started. ‘Quite an eyeful. It looks as if he finds her a pleasant armful, too,' he added as they danced by Alex, who was dancing with Antonia Herd, he smiling down at her and she gazing adoringly at him.

That inscrutable smile of Alex's, Jon thought, that told you nothing. You never knew if it was a smile of amusement, contempt, sarcasm, or affection. The most hateful smile, that promised everything, and gave you nothing.

‘I'm
. . . It's terribly hot in here. Could we sit in the garden?'

He smiled and danced her off the floor. ‘Nothing I'd like more, darling.'

It was just bad luck that they stood still by Alex's side. He smiled at them.

‘Jon, I want you to meet . . .' he turned to the beautiful girl by his side, ‘Antonia, I'd like you to meet Jon Hampton. You've heard me talk of Uncle Ned?'

The lovely girl pulled a wry face. ‘And how! I used to get bored to tears, dearest, because you never stopped talking about Uncle Ned. Are you a relation of his?' she asked Jon.

‘His niece,' said Jon, fascinated by the friendliness of the smile on the girl's face.

‘Of course,' Antonia nodded. ‘You inherited the farm Alex wanted to buy.'

‘Wants,' Tim butted in.

Antonia looked at him thoughtfully, but didn't speak. She turned to Jon. ‘And you refuse to sell it to Alex? The courage!' she laughed. ‘I suppose you're another victim of his charm?'

It was Alex who laughed. ‘On the contrary, we're enemies.' He smiled at Jon—that slow smile she hated. ‘Aren't we, little Jon?'

Jon smiled back. ‘If you say so, Alex. Of course you're always right.' She turned to Tim. ‘Come on, Tim darling, let's go where we can breathe,' she said, and walked off the patio, towards the dark trees. She was trembling with
anger.
How dared Alex treat her like that in front of people?

*          *          *

As the evening passed, Jon danced mostly with Tim. She saw that Alex danced with Antonia most of the time, too. She caught a glimpse of Madeleine's pale sulky face as she tossed back her golden hair and laughed at her partner, a sturdily-built eighteen-year-old who was painfully shy. Madeleine was looking beautiful in a long frock that matched her hair, but her eyes were miserably sad as she watched Alex dance by, Antonia in his arms.

Jon caught her breath. If she was jealous of Antonia—and Madeleine was, too, then what about her own mother? she wondered. She looked round anxiously. Bless her, she thought, for her mother was putting on as brave a face as Jon herself was trying to do! Her mother was dancing with that old Colonel who was teaching her bridge and whom she was obviously sorry for. He was a widower and lonely, her mother had once said.

The sympathy and understanding in Jon made her see her mother as a woman, perhaps for the first time—a woman whose heart could be broken, whose hopes raised and then dropped, who could be loved and later forgotten. A woman like herself. Suddenly Jon wanted to go to her mother, to comfort her, to
promise
her that she would get over it, that you always do—just as Kirsty had tried to comfort her.

It was nearly midnight and they formed a circle, crossing hands, and she found her hand clasped firmly by Alex. Startled, she looked up at him, but he was not smiling. He gave her a long thoughtful look, almost a concerned look, she thought for a moment, then told herself she must be imagining it. Alex was certainly not concerned about her! As they danced in a circle, laughing and singing
Auld Lang Syne
, Jon was only conscious of the firm but impersonal touch of Alex's fingers.

As the singing stopped, he looked down at her. ‘What's happened to your voice, little Jon? I didn't hear you singing.'

Her cheeks burned as he could always make them do. ‘Didn't I?' she asked, then smiled sweetly. ‘Perhaps you're growing deaf.'

Antonia, on his other side, burst out laughing.

‘How lovely! Alex, you are growing white, you know.' She caressed the side of his head. ‘I love white-haired men,' she added.

Alex laughed. ‘Watch your step. I know your age, remember?'