The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (20 page)

She laughed up at him. ‘I can trust you not to betray my secret, dearest. Shouldn't we be drinking champagne to toast the New Year?'

In the consequent movement round the room, Jon tried to slip away, but Tim found
her
and made her stand in a group with the Oswalds, laughing and joking. Inside her, Jon wondered what would happen in the new year that lay ahead. Would she still be here next December the thirty-first? Would she be living with her mother? Would she have a stepfather who was the man she loved so much? Would she have given in and sold him the farm?

No, a thousand times no. She owed so much to Uncle Ned that she could never let him down. He had said never sell the farm to Alex. And that was one thing Jon knew that she would never do. She might be forced to sell the farm one day—but it never would be to Alex!

CHAPTER TEN

The days passed and the holidays were over; the children, most of them at boarding school, vanished and life returned to normal. Tim and Jon visited the Oswalds a lot; Jon painted, gardened, and her love for the blue mountains became almost an obsession. She grew accustomed to waking soon after four each morning and lying in bed, watching through the window the magic of sunrise—the palest green streaks, the soft gold, the pink shades. Sometimes she slept again, but more often she got up, put on jeans and a thin old shirt and sandals and slipped out of the house, the dogs
with
her. This was the best part of the day, she found. How could she bear to leave now she had grown to love it all so much? Jabula meant happiness. If only it could have meant that for her!

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Occasionally Tim came to her with the suggestion of buying a new truck or some other thing they needed. He would always discuss it seriously, pointing out that money spent like that was an investment, for the more pineapples they could handle and sell, the more money they would make.

One day Jon had driven her mother to Qwaleni to meet some friends and had then gone shopping, still searching for a book on first aid. Alex had, it seemed, forgotten his promise to lend her one. Her study of Violet and Dorcas's language was not very successful. She practised with them, asking them to show her how to pronounce the difficult words, but she saw how hard it was for them not to laugh at her!

‘Jon!' a cold voice said curtly.

Alex! she thought with a strange mixture of joy and dismay. She was growing used to Alex's infuriating habit of sneaking up behind her and had controlled her start.

‘Good morning,' she said with equal coldness as she turned to face him.

They stared at one another silently for a moment, then Alex spoke.

‘I
want to talk to you alone, Jon. Can you meet me in half an hour at the Karrafin Café? It's urgent.'

‘Urgent?' she echoed, and nodded. ‘I'll be there.'

‘Thanks.' He turned away abruptly and left her.

Jon glanced at her watch and wandered round the shop, idly turning pages but not seeing a word she read, for her thoughts were jumbled. Alex had sounded serious. What could have happened?

It was with her usual wariness that she went to the café and found Alex already there, although she was ten minutes early. He had chosen a table under a large sun-umbrella and asked her if she would prefer a cold drink or coffee.

She dabbed at her face with a tissue. As fast as she put on make-up, the perspiration streamed down her face and spoilt her looks. ‘Cold drink, please.'

Alex smiled. ‘It is hot,' he said sympathetically. ‘Hotter than where we live. Mind, I'm higher than you, so I do get the wind—when there is any.'

They talked of unimportant things until the cold drinks arrived and they were alone and then Alex's face changed and became grave.

‘Jon, are you doing anything about preparing the guest house for Dean?'

Surprised and puzzled, Jon shook her head.
‘I
haven't thought of it. He seems quite happy living with us.'

Alex's mouth was a thin line as if he was controlling anger.

‘I'm sure he is, but that's another matter. Surely it's struck you that your mother won't always want to live in Jabula? She never has liked it. I think, too, that she's met so many friends of Uncle Ned that she begins to realize she misjudged him and this makes her feel guilty and unhappy in his home. Guilt is an unpleasant companion.'

‘She was very young when Dad died,' Jon said quickly, leaping to her mother's defence. ‘And she loved him very much.'

‘I'm aware of that,' Alex said coldly. ‘The point is—has it struck you that she might be thinking of marrying again?'

There was a silence so tense that Jon could scarcely breathe. A silence that grew and grew, but she could not say a word. So this was the moment—the moment when Alex was going to tell her he loved her mother and they were to be married.

She clutched the arms of her chair and stared at him. His face was a blur.

‘I . . . I . . . I had wondered . . .' she managed to say. ‘I hope . . .'

Alex frowned impatiently. ‘She's in no hurry, of course. Her main trouble is you. She can't just walk out and leave you alone in the house with Tim Dean. The local gossip is bad
enough
now without you adding to it.'

‘When will the wedding be?' Jon asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Alex shrugged. ‘Nothing's been decided yet. There's no hurry, but you're holding her back and I'm sure that's the last thing you want to do. After all, you've been wanting your independence for a long time, haven't you?' he added with a cold smile.

‘I want her to be happy,' Jon said quickly.

Alex smiled. ‘Well, that's settled that. I take it you'll have the guest house tackled immediately?'

She nodded. Inside her, words churned angrily together. She wanted to accuse him of trying to cheat her—ask him if it was true about the dam going to be built and the high compensation payment she would get? She wanted to tell him that she could no longer trust him. That Uncle Ned had warned her . . .

Half closing her eyes, she corrected herself. Uncle Ned had not warned her
against
Alex. He had said Alex could be trusted. How wrong he was!

A quiet ominous rumble broke the stillness and Jon looked up at the sky. A few dark clouds were collecting on the horizon. She wanted to get home before the storm broke . . .

She picked up her handbag, but Alex put out his hand and took it away.

‘I haven't finished yet,' he said coldly.

She looked round her, wishing she could
escape.
The slight breeze that had welcomed them had suddenly vanished and the heat seemed to press down on her. The bright sunshine made her eyes and head ache—or was it Alex? she wondered.

He leant forward. ‘Jon, I feel it my duty to tell you that the costs of running your farm have risen considerably since Dean started to work for you. He is buying unnecessary vehicles, wasting your money.'

Jon looked at him. ‘I am aware of his purchases,' she said stiffly. ‘Tim orders nothing without my consent. We always discuss it first. We are investing money in . . . in things we'll need in the future.'

‘What future?'

Jon bit her lower lip, trying not to lose her temper. ‘The future of Jabula—or are you still hoping I'll sell it to you?' She leaned forward over the table, her control vanishing. ‘I never will, Alex Roe, that I swear. No matter what you do to me, steal my boys, sabotage everything, I'll never sell to
you
. . .'

For a moment, he looked shocked. ‘I haven't asked you to sell to me,' he said, his voice icy. ‘I am no longer interested in it.'

‘That's a lie. If you don't want to ruin me, why are you stealing all our best workers?'

Alex's eyes narrowed, but a smile played round his mouth. ‘So that's what you think? Or did Dean suggest it to you? I'm stealing your best workers?' He laughed. ‘My dear little Jon,
just
how gullible can you be? I have workers I've had for years. I don't want yours. If they prefer to work for me rather than for Dean, is it my fault?'

Jon could hardly speak. ‘It is your fault. Why didn't you tell me about the dam?'

‘The dam?'

‘You know very well what I mean.' Jon found herself thumping the table with her fist. ‘If the dam is built, they'll pay me compensation, but you want that compensation, don't you? That's why you're trying to make me sell the farm to you. All you think of is money. Haven't you got enough? Why must you . . . why must you . . .' She pressed her hand against her mouth, for the tears were painfully near and her voice unsteady.

‘So that's what you believe of me,' Alex said slowly. There was no anger in his voice. No pain. No contradiction. Just acceptance. ‘I can see you've been well brainwashed. Jon, I didn't tell you before as Dean had just started with you and I knew how much it meant to you to get rid of me, but that little cat of yours, I found it on the Repan Rock.'

Jon stared at him, shocked. ‘But how did she get there?'

‘Exactly. She must have been put there. You may remember that Dean said he hadn't known the cat was yours—that he thought it was a stray. Doesn't that add up? Or are you
so
crazily in love with him that you're wilfully blind?'

‘You mean—you think Tim put her there— to starve to death?'

Repan Rock was a local landmark—a huge rock, shaped vaguely like a lion's head, surrounded by a wide stream of deep water that ran fast before starting on its journey down the mountain side. ‘No, he would never do such a thing.'

‘The heat would have killed the cat. That's the sort of man your precious Tim is.' Alex's voice lost its cold impersonal note as he showed his anger.

‘I don't believe it!' Jon stared at him defiantly. ‘You're making it all up. Tim isn't a murderer . . . like you were,' she added, startled as she heard what she had said and wondering if she had gone too far.

But Alex merely looked puzzled and then his face broke into a smile. ‘I see. Caroline has been talking to you. Why? I thought she'd given me up years ago. She's never forgiven me, you know. She wanted us to marry and go to England. I had to tell her that I didn't love her. In those days I was as naïve as you are today.'

‘That's not what she told me.'

Alex laughed. ‘I bet it isn't! Did she say she refused to marry me because my work came first? The second part was true, but not the first. I never loved her.'

How
cruelly, how coldly he said it, Jon thought. He just doesn't care how many hearts he breaks.

‘She said you killed animals for money— that you took wealthy Americans on safari trips and murdered harmless creatures. Was it monkeys?'

Alex shook his head. ‘I was very young when I shot my first monkey. Never again. They cry like a baby—terrible. Lions, elephants are more my mark.'

There was another ominous rumble of thunder and Alex stood up. ‘You'd better get going before the storm does.' He called the waiter and paid for the cold drinks and walked with Jon to her car.

‘I'll be coming along in an hour's time so if you get into trouble, just wait for me.'

He said it impersonally, almost as if talking to a complete stranger, she thought as she drove away.

She drove quickly but carefully, thinking of what Alex had said, and anger grew again inside her. How he hated poor Tim! He was always trying to make Tim seem bad when all the time it was Alex. . .

Or was it? She found it hard to believe that Alex could be so mean, so cruel and hard. Yet she knew it from experience, didn't she? she asked herself. A man of many moods. A man you could never understand—only love. And where did that get you?

Why
hadn't he told her the whole story when he talked of her mother remarrying? Why . . .

She slowed down as a herd of goats ran down the rocky hillside and strolled over the road. A small baby goat stood still in the middle and stared at her. Then down came a little African boy, waving his minute stick.

Why did she keep asking
herself
all these questions but never the people concerned? she asked herself. Perhaps her mother would welcome a question, perhaps it would give her an opening . . .

That evening her mother was staying in and Jon invented a headache, so Tim went out alone. He never stayed at the house in the evening if he could avoid it, she realized.

It seemed strange to be alone with her mother again, almost like the old days in Bexhill. After dinner, they sat on the stoep, small coils burning to keep away the mosquitoes. Her mother was knitting a pullover, an attractive shade of grey. Jon tucked her feet under her, linking her thin fingers together.

‘Mum,' she said abruptly, ‘why didn't you tell me you were thinking of getting married?'

Her mother looked up, dropped a stitch but ignored it.

‘How did you know, Jon?'

‘Alex told me.'

‘Alex?' Her mother frowned. ‘But why . . . ?'

‘He
said I must get the guest house ready for Tim, because after you go, I can't be alone in the house with him.'

‘Alex said that?' Her mother carefully picked up the dropped stitch, folded up the knitting, clasped her hands and looked at her daughter. ‘Jon, would you mind very much if I did marry? I'm not so young and I often get lonely. One day you'll get married and I'll have no one. He's such a darling and he needs someone to look after him. I'm sure you can see that?'

‘I suppose so . . .' Jon said slowly, trying to imagine Alex needing to be looked after! Maybe love made her mother wish that to be true and had made herself believe it.

‘When are you getting married? Alex said you were in no hurry. He blames me for . . . for that. He says you feel you can't leave me alone with . . .'