The Reluctant Guest Read online

  THE RELUCTANT GUEST

  Rosalind Brett

  When Ann Calvert went to spend a month on a South African farm with Theo Borland and his sister, she expected a pleasant holiday; just that. But she got both less and more than she bargained for.

  Both Theo and Elva proved to be different from her first idea of them, and there was a totally unexpected element in the person of Storr Peterson—the most dynamic and disturbing man she had ever met.

  CHAPTER ONE

  FROM the train window the morning looked cool and brilliant, typical of any April morning in the Belati district. The veld stretched away for undulating miles, and only the peacefully grazing sheep and cattle and an occasional mass of dark trees hiding a farmhouse showed that people lived and worked in this part of the Great Karoo. To Ann, who had never ventured more than fifty miles from Cape Town since she had arrived in South Africa eighteen months ago, it was a little disappointing. The Cape was so lush and green all the year round. Here, it looked as if it were quite a problem to get a tree to take root.

  But her main sensation was less of disappointment than of apprehension. Since leaving Cape Town last night she had wondered if it had been wise to accept Elva Borland’s invitation. If Theo had had a mother, and the mother had written the letter, everything would have been more conventional. Not that Ann minded informality; she liked the unexpected and was eager for experience. But after all, this was still a strange country, and she had never before visited a South African farm.

  She finished dressing, folded her pyjamas and put them away in the overnight case, pushed the washbasin back into its nook. Carefully, she had avoided looking at the other occupant of the coupe, but now the older woman’s voice came cheerfully from the lower bunk.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep?”

  Ann smiled down at the middle-aged woman, who wore hair-curlers and shortie pyjamas and lay with her arms under her head on the pillow.

  “Good morning. No, I’m afraid I didn’t sleep—too noisy. But the bunk was very comfortable. You slept soundly, I believe.”

  “Yes. I’m used to train travelling, and if you take a journey of any length in this country you’re bound to put in a night or two on the move. If you’re leaving the train at Belati West you’ll be there in time for breakfast. Going to friends?”

  Ann nodded. “Actually, I only know one member of the family, but I’m due to stay at the farm for a month.”

  “A young man?” the woman asked archly.

  For some reason, Ann found it a relief to talk to this stranger, who had been sleeping almost since they had boarded the train, and who would go on to some distant destination.

  “I met him at the Show in Cape Town. He stayed on for a couple of weeks and we went out together at weekends and in the evenings. I thought it was just one of those fleeting friendships, but I felt very flat after he’d gone. Then he wrote to me, and so did his sister. I was invited to the farm. My parents liked Theo immensely, and they urged me to accept the invitation.”

  “But you weren’t too keen?”

  “Oh, yes,” Ann said firmly. “It’s something I’ve wanted—a spell on a farm. I do feel a bit odd about it, though. They’ll all be strangers, except Theo Borland.”

  “Borland,” the woman echoed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before. What’s the name of the farm?”

  “Groenkop. The address is simply P.O. Belati West.”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m a townie myself. But don’t you worry. These farming types are exceptionally hospitable, and if the man’s got his eyes on you ...” She broke off with a laugh.

  But Ann knew it would take more than a train companion to convince her that she had done the right thing. She looked at her face in the little round mirror on the wall, saw a slightly pixie-ish reflection and thought, despairingly, that everyone except Theo would be disappointed in her. The face was thin, fine-boned and golden brown, quite ordinary and uninspiring. True, the tawny brown hair had a mild natural wave and her teeth were good, but Ann Calvert, she decided, looked exactly what she was: a girl of twenty-one with no career to speak of, who had grown up in the shelter of her family and possessed only a normal girl’s ambitions. For the first time in her life she wished she were dashing and sophisticated ... and unafraid.

  The train slowed and lurched, continued the uneven rhythm for about five miles, till the wayside halt at Belati West came into sight. There was merely a platform the size of a pocket handkerchief and a brown wooden hut, with the inevitable African in ragged shirt and trousers, wearing a cloth about his head, lounging in the sunshine on the concrete. The train halted, a porter threw out some bundles of newspapers and lowered Ann’s large suitcases, and Ann herself said goodbye to her companion and stepped down on to the glaring platform. She was the only passenger either going or coming.

  The breeze was cool, the sun warm and the whole atmosphere invigorating. Ann breathed deeply, blinked at the gleaming rails and turned towards the thin bush which had been left standing at the back of the little station. Beyond it lay a long tan ribbon of gravel, Perhaps Theo was waiting out there beyond the trees. Her heart gave a suffocating leap. She was actually here in Belati, committed to a month with Theo and his sister.

  The train moved out, the African stirred himself and took charge of the suitcase. He ambled down the steps at the other side of the platform and turned right, to where the road came beside the cattle loading bay. He pushed the cloth from his head and scratched his wool, addressed Ann in Afrikaans.

  “Missus has no motor?”

  She understood, but replied in English, “No. There should be someone to meet me.”

  “Oh.” It was the usual long sound that any African is apt to emit when he has no suggestion to offer. He pushed at his shiny black nose and squatted beside the case in the dust as if willing to wait all day for the inevitable tip.

  But they had waited no more than ten minutes when an estate car swept down the road in a cloud of dust and spurted to a halt right in front of them. A fair young woman got out, gave a harassed smile and offered a brown hand.

  “You’re Ann.” she said, in a hoarse, well-bred voice. “I’m Elva Borland. So sorry I couldn’t get here earlier—unusual for the train to be on time, anyway. Deuce of a place to be left high and dry, isn’t it?” She turned to the native and let out a stream of Kaffir, then said to Ann, “Sit in, will you? Just throw the boy a tickey.”

  But Ann knew that in this land of prosperity a threepenny bit was practically worthless; she made it a shilling. The car moved away and quickly gathered speed, but they had travelled at least a mile before Ann sat more comfortably and looked at the other girl. So this was Elva Borland; sun-bleached golden hair tied back with a tape, a coarse but flawless brown skin, good features which were a little on the heavy side, eyes a darker blue than Theo’s but still light, hands rather large and bony, but capable-looking; the dark slacks and check blouse were entirely appropriate. She was twenty-five, Ann remembered, and she had kept house for Theo during the last few years.

  Elva said non-committally, “You probably expected Theo to meet you. He would have, but something cropped up last night, and he had to go out early. I doubt if you’ll see him before tonight.” A pause. Then, again: “Sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” But Ann’s spirits had lowered somewhat. “The train arrives at a rather inconvenient time, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I’d have made it if it hadn’t been—” She broke off. “It’s not important, now you’re here. Glad you could come.”

  It was about time she spoke a word of welcome. Ann smiled. “I’m glad you wanted me. You South Africans leave me a little breathless.”

  “In what way?”

 
“Well, I felt as if I hardly knew Theo ... and then you invited me for a month.”

  “Oh, that. We don’t get so many visitors that we can pass up the chance of someone new from Cape Town. Besides, Theo was quite smitten, and as he’s too tied up to come to you again, I thought it only fair to him to have you here, if you’d come.” She added flippantly, “Handsome brother I’ve got, haven’t I?”

  “He has amazing good looks.”

  “Did he behave well in Cape Town?”

  “Exceedingly. It was a pity you didn’t come down for the Show. It was exciting.”

  “So I heard. I’m not cattle minded myself. Though your line is horses, isn’t it?”

  Ann laughed and shook her head. “Not really. I keep the accounts for the Crest Riding School and three days a week I take the very small children for a lesson or two. I had to attend the Show every day because we had several young competitors in the riding events and they needed looking after.”

  Elva Borland slid a glance over the slim girl at her side, a comprehensive glance that took in good legs and English walking shoes, the fine blue tweed suit and white shirt, the navy felt beret.

  “It’s funny,” she said. “You’re not the type I imagined Theo would fall for. Maybe in riding breeches you look less inhibited.”

  Elva was frank, anyway, and Ann liked her for it. She thrust aside the let-down feeling and looked at the countryside. It was the brown of rocks and the green of rock-plants. There were patches of mauve daisies and a few clumps of blue plumbago, an occasional expanse of trailing silver leaves, but no trees except a line of blue gums in the distance.

  Elva braked slightly, put a question, curiously. “You’ve been out from England only a year or so, haven’t you? Do you like it here?”

  “Yes, I love it. We came for my mother’s health, and she’s lots better.”

  ‘The Cape Town climate doesn’t suit everyone.”

  “She likes it, but the doctor has just advised a cruise in warmer waters for the South African winter. My father and mother are leaving by ship in a day or two for a trip round the coast, stopping at various towns for a few days. They’ll be away seven or eight weeks—perhaps longer?”

  “Didn’t you want to go with them?”

  Ann said simply, “We couldn’t afford it for three. My father’s had to get special leave—he’s an accountant. I was due for a holiday—I haven’t had one at all in the eighteen months I’ve been with the Riding School, so my mother persuaded me to take it while they are away. She was so pleased you invited me to Belati.”

  Elva sounded a little hard. “Afraid you wouldn’t look after yourself properly if you were left alone? Are you a spoiled one-and-only?”

  “No, I’ve a married sister in England.” She smiled frankly. “I don’t believe I’m any more spoiled than you are. We were just raised differently.”

  Elva shrugged and made no reply. They were near the glue gums now, and she slowed to take a left turn along a drive which ran very straight between the huge gum trees and curved round on to a path which circled a fine green lawn. But Elva drove past the magnificent Cape Dutch dwelling and down a track that ran through an orchard of peaches and pears, nectarines and figs, all of them a little sere and without fruit at this time of the year. They arrived at another garden, a small, overgrown one this, and moved round a weedy drive to stop in front of a square thatched house.

  Elva slipped from the driver’s seat. “Well, here we are—the old homestead itself. Leave your bags for the boy. I expect you’re hungry.”

  Ann took one look at the rather spectacular estate car in which they had driven, and another at the slightly seedy-looking house, and then followed Elva into the porch. The door stood open, revealing a room full of faded chintz, scarred woodwork and a clutter of magazines and other oddments. The table was set with washed-out pink linen and the cutlery and plain china necessary for breakfast.

  Elva shouted through a doorway. “Aaron, bring breakfast—plenty!” and turned to indicate one of the chairs at the table. “Make yourself at home, Ann. There’s a bedroom for you and plenty of chow.” Again the thread of hardness in her voice. “We haven’t much time for the refinements.”

  Ann took off her beret and placed it with her bag on a chair, slipped undone the buttons of her jacket and sat down at the table. She shook out a napkin and sipped the orange juice that stood beside her plate. Elva gulped down her fruit juice as if it were water and looked round as the African houseboy brought dishes of porridge and a rack of toast.

  Some people eat porridge without even thinking about it and follow it up with ham and eggs, toast and marmalade and two large cups of strong coffee. Elva was one of them. Ann, on the other hand, had always found that if she ate porridge she could manage nothing else. She looked at the thick brown stuff the boy had placed in front of her, saw Elva shake two heaped tablespoonfuls of sugar over her own substantial portion and drown it in milk. Then Elva looked up.

  With a sharp smile she asked, “Don’t you make mabela this way in Cape Town?”

  Ann said, “It looks and smells delicious, but I’m afraid I’m not a porridge-eater. Maybe if you’ll let me help on the farm I’ll manage the whole breakfast one morning.”

  Ungraciously, Elva said, “Leave it. You’re a guest here, so you can please yourself what you turn down. Aaron! Take away the missus’ plate and bring on the bacon. And make plenty of coffee!”

  It was an unpleasant beginning to her stay, and Ann began wondering why she was here at all. It seemed impossible that Elva Borland could have written the sparkling letter of invitation; the only explanation of her present mood seemed to be that something had gone wrong in the interval between posting the letter and Ann’s arrival. If only Theo were here! He was smiling and nonchalant, could be so charming if he chose, and he did care for Ann. He had told her so that last night, and again in the morning, when he was on the point of leaving. True, his one and only kiss had been sketchy, but they had parted on a sidewalk in Cape Town, right outside his hotel. He had got into the car—not the new estate wagon out there but a presentable car nevertheless—and blown her a second kiss as he had switched on and driven away.

  “This isn’t goodbye,” he said. “I’ll write to you.”

  He had written, a short gay note of thanks for her company and a few lines at the end which conveyed that he hoped to see her again soon. Ann recalled that, reading it, she had found herself smiling and expectant. Theo had a way with him; she had wanted to see him again, too. How she wished he were here now!

  She attacked an outsize helping of bacon and scrambled eggs, would have given a great deal to feel hungry enough to wolf it down, as Elva did hers.

  Elva had just poured second cups of thick black coffee and lit a cigarette when steps sounded in the porch and a man came in. Ann’s heart turned, but it wasn’t Theo. The man was very tall and dark, he wore a white shirt and riding breeches, and walked in with only the lightest tap at the door.

  Elva stood up. “Hallo,” she said awkwardly. “Have you come to bawl me out?”

  “Not exactly.” The man’s lean and knowledgeable smile rested on her for a moment, then the grey glance flickered towards Ann. “You might have told my servant you were hooking the wagon. I’ve had to ride over for it.”

  “I thought you’d be gone longer. I intended to drive it back right now.” Elva lifted her shoulders. “I never get away with a thing.”

  “Did you have to get away with it? I take it you borrowed the car to collect your friend. It’s usual to introduce people.”

  “Storr Peterson ... Ann Calvert,” she said abruptly.

  The man gave Ann a brief ironical bow. “You mustn’t mind Elva. She’s hipped because I sent her brother out for the day. He should have been here to meet you, but I didn’t know till Elva herself told me you were coming, just after Theo had left this morning. Even then she didn’t say you were expected on an early train. Theo should be back late this afternoon.”

  “It’s quit
e all right,” said Ann. “I don’t mind.”

  Her clear, clipped speech sounded incongruous in that room. He looked at her with dispassionate interest “From England?”

  “Yes.”

  Offhandedly, Elva said, “If you two are going to talk, do you mind going out to the veranda? The boy has to clear up in here and do the floor.”

  Storr Peterson, Ann guessed, was not a man to relish bad manners. He took Elva’s forearm and shook it, but spoke calmly. “Look here, Elva, nothing has changed. Just believe that, and you’ll feel better. I don’t want to make any changes, even on my own place—not yet, anyway.”

  Elva squashed out the half-smoked cigarette in a saucer. “You’ll make them,” she said. “You won’t be able to help it. Excuse me?”

  Without another look at either of them, she went out of the room, towards the kitchen. Storr Peterson stood there for a moment, his dark eyebrows lifted. Then he turned to Ann, gave her another impersonal scrutiny.

  “Do you know anything about the set-up here?”

  “Very little. I know that Theo farms and Elva keeps house for him and helps.”

  “Elva’s all right,” he said. “I’ve upset everything by coming home when I wasn’t expected. This is my first visit to Belati for eight months and I didn’t let them know I was coming.” He paused. “That was my house you passed on the way here.”

  “Oh, was it? Is that Groenkop?”

  “The whole farm is Groenkop. This was a foreman’s cottage until three years ago.” He seemed to be weighing up how much he should tell her. He added, “You may have heard of Peterson Airways?”

  “Yes, I think I have. You run special trips from Johannesburg to the Continent.”

  “That’s right. Theo was one of our best pilots, but three years ago he had a bit of an upset and we had to ground him. Hasn’t he told you about it?”