Portrait of Susan Page 2

  About a mile further on the wire fencing was broken. Susan dismounted to examine the break, discovered that it would need expert attention and decided to join it temporarily, so that it would not be conspicuous. The thick galvanized wire was tough and hurt her hands, and by the time she had twisted all the several ends together she was fuming.

  There were more fallen trees and a new squatters’ hut, and she saw that a huge drainpipe which might save the land from flood in heavy rain was choked with dried clay. She dug at the clay with a sharp flint, dragged whole lumps of it out with her hands, eventually pushed head and shoulders into the hole and cleared it thoroughly. Phew!

  Grimy and exhausted, she got back into the saddle and looked at her watch. Heavens, it was after two! Paul would be wondering what had happened to her, and Amos would be ready to send out a search-party. She would have to leave the rest till the morning. She turned the gelding, pressed a heel into his side and made for home.

  She returned as she had come, by way of the sheds to the back of the house. A boy took the horse and Susan walked into the kitchen, her knees trembling with the heat, her head buzzing. The kitchen was empty and it seemed that Paul had eaten, because there was a half-empty salad bowl and a few soiled plates on the table. Well, she wasn’t very hungry; more than anything she needed a wash and a cool drink.

  The bathroom door stood wide and someone tall and broad-shouldered was washing his hands under running water. Thinking it was a friend of Paul’s she said, “Oh, I’m sorry; I’ll come back.”

  The man straightened, reached unhurriedly for one of the clean towels which hung on the rail, and turned to look at her. The movements of his hands ceased abruptly; keen-eyed, he appraised her.

  Susan had the queer sensation one sometimes gets in a dream—as if there was something drastic one ought to do but the limbs have become lead, the brain paralyzed. She was conscious of her appearance, the yellow hair that clung in streaks to her forehead and temples, her face gritty, her white shirt and grey slacks a uniform of khaki from the clay dust. She didn’t know that her eyes had gone very large and that her mouth was parted with astonishment and apprehension.

  When her brain did resume its functioning, she said the first thing that came to it. “This isn’t my usual condition. I took a tumble.”

  “Took it all over, didn’t you?” he said, with a casualness that belied the sharp grey glance. “I’m David Forrest.”

  “I was afraid of that. I’m Paul’s sister—Susan Darcey.”

  “I was afraid of that, too,” he said, and passed her in the doorway. “Where is your brother?”

  “Haven’t you seen him? Well, of course you haven’t or you wouldn’t ask.” She paused ruefully. “I expect he stayed to lunch with the Colonel. What time did you get here?”

  “About noon.” He flickered another glance over her. “You’d better clean up. I’ll be in the living-room.” And he moved off.

  Susan’s teeth went together and she bent resolutely over the wash basin. As she soaped and scrubbed, she thought furiously. Of all the disgusting luck. She hadn’t looked at the date on his beastly letter, but he had probably sent it a week or more ago, and imagined them receiving it within four or five days. If Paul hadn’t forgotten to collect the mail, they would have had it yesterday. She had actually gone into Kumati this morning mainly for the letters, but it had been too late. Far better if he’d arrived before his letter, because that way he would, at least, have stood a chance of being greeted by one or both of them, decently dressed.

  It wasn’t that he’d said much, but he was obviously the type who could look a great deal without much change of expression. She had thought of seeing him first in a lounge suit, but he must already have taken over the bedroom because he had changed into a bush shirt and shorts and looked as much at home in them as if he had never worn anything else. She remembered asking Paul if David Forrest was good-looking, and receiving the airy reply. “You’d probably think so. I don’t care too much for dark men with strong features; they subdue me.” But those dark good looks, the high-bridged nose, the enigmatic mouth, the calculating grey eyes and long well-cut chin had not subdued Susan; having gained the impression that the Darceys were on their way out, she was militantly on the defensive.

  Quickly, she changed into a flowered cotton, combed up her hair and used a dab of powder. She trod into sandals which were merely a single strap of leather over a soft sole, and walked almost noiselessly to the living-room. He got up from a chair as she came in, and squashed out his cigarette. Yes, he belonged here, she thought bleakly; which was more than the Darceys ever would. Well, it had been a good year.

  He didn’t seem to notice anything more entrancing in her appearance but commented politely, “I hope the fall wasn’t too serious.”

  By now, Susan had realized the hopelessness of trying to hoodwink him. “I didn’t fall,” she said. “I got that way through grubbing in a ditch. I was out riding and noticed an irrigation pipe that had become clogged.”

  He nodded. “Amos told me you had my letter only this morning, but I still don’t see how the irrigation becomes your business. The house, if I may so, looks extraordinarily bright, and I notice the accounts books are made up to date in writing that must be yours.”

  “Paul keeps a rough set of books and I copy them up, that’s all.”

  “A commendable practice,” he said “Sit down, Miss Darcey.”

  “Have you liked it here?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Made plenty of friends?”

  “Quite a few.”

  “I take it you’re disappointed by my decision to live in my own home.”

  Should she give him the truth or the gloss of insincerity? Susan looked at his fairly sardonic mouth. “How I feel about it can’t possibly matter; Willowfield is yours. Paul will be glad to continue working for you, if you need a manager.”

  He nodded, but did not speak for a minute. Then; “I finished up rather suddenly in England and haven’t had much time to think over details. Your brother has shown a profit on the year, but then it would be a poor farmer in this district who could make a loss. I’d like him to stay on for a while. If the time should come when he wishes to leave, he’ll have farming experience in this country to back an application for a similar post. I could probably get him a good position if he needed it.” A pause. “You and he have decided to stay in Rhodesia, haven’t you?”

  “I think we’d like to.”

  “How old are you, Miss Darcey?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Are you engaged?”

  “Good Lord, no!”

  The black eyebrows rose. “Why so emphatic? To my knowledge there are at least half a dozen men in this district, each badly needing a wife. If you set your mind to it, you could marry any one of them.”

  “Is that the way you regard marriage?” she asked scornfully. “As a pairing up with any partner who happens to be handy?”

  His smile, as he leaned near the french window, was amused. “You’re young and perhaps you still cherish dreams. As you get older you’ll think and behave like the rest, who find it very easy to love where money is. Don’t think I blame women. More power to them! I daresay most of them set out upon married life with the intention of giving value for money, and what comes after is up to the man.”

  Susan’s feet planted themselves more firmly on the carpet. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Do you want Paul to live in the foreman’s house?”

  He looked out at the hibiscus bushes, pushed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to look the place over.” His head turned again, and once more she saw that appraising look, felt its penetrating quality as it slipped over her. “For the present you and your brother will stay here in this house. From today I’ll take on the final accounts books myself, and Amos will run things indoors.”

  Susan’s hands curled into fists in her lap. “You don’t want me to do anything here, at all?”
<
br />   “Before I left Willowfield,” he answered evenly, “Amos and a couple of other boys ran the place, and did it well; that can happen again. Your brother’s quarters, when they’re ready, will be big enough to accommodate the two of you, but we’ll talk of that again. In any case, he’ll do the work.”

  “Do you mean,” asked Susan, with tiny points of light in her eyes, “that you’re going to be charitable enough to regard me as a guest in this house until you’ve chosen suitable quarters for my brother and myself?”

  “I mean,” he said coolly, “that there’ll be big trouble if I ever see you again in the sort of mess you were in half an hour ago. Your brother took on the management of Willowfield, and you came presumably to keep house for him. Well, I’m here now, and I don’t need you as a housekeeper. However,” he paused, “I do have a sort of job for you, Miss Darcey. In fact, I’m more or less counting on you—or someone like you. Interested?”

  “I’m devoured with curiosity,” she said frigidly.

  He smiled, as if weighing the wisdom of what he was about to do, but went on, “I didn’t travel from England alone. I brought with me a distant English cousin of mine, Deline Maynton. I’ve left her with some friends in Salisbury, but she has actually come over to live here at Willowfield for a few months. I travelled on to the farm alone because I wasn’t too sure of what I’d find, and because I knew the household would have to be rearranged before Deline would fit in. The truth is, she’s not particularly well, but we’re hoping a spell in a good climate will set her up. She’s had a nasty time.”

  Susan waited for more but he, apparently, thought it time she made some reply. So she said, “What do you expect of me?”

  “Deline couldn’t live here without another woman in the house. She was going to try to hire a companion, but I remembered that you were on the spot and felt, too, that it would be much better for her to have a friend somewhere near her own age than to engage an older woman who might not take to Africa.”

  “Are you asking me to be a nurse-companion to your cousin?”

  His expression was sarcastic. “You like to label everything, don’t you? I’d rather put it that Deline would be glad to have you as a friend in the house.”

  “You called it ‘a sort of job’.”

  “Well, so it is,” he answered with a trace of exasperation. “Deline is twenty-seven. She was married to a London business man; while they were on holiday last year he crashed the car they were travelling in and he was killed. Deline suffered only bruises and shocks, but it didn’t help things when she discovered he’d left her almost penniless. Before the accident I hardly knew them, but since then I’ve seen Deline fairly often, and when I decided to come home I felt that to give her a few months here would repay her for the hospitality she’s shown me, and also do her no end of good. You’ll get along with her all right. She’s quite a sweet person.”

  Susan stiffened against his taking it for granted that she would acquiesce to anything he might suggest. The proposition wasn’t all that alluring.

  “Are you telling me,” she enquired, “that if I wish to stay on at Willowfield I have to act as a companion to your cousin?”

  He said indifferently, “I’ve paid you the compliment of being completely frank with you. Before Deline can come here I must be sure that there will be another woman in the house, and because I feel you have a right to remain here till I find you and your brother fresh quarters, I’m putting the proposition to you first. You’re at liberty to turn it down—but you’ll be an idiot if you do.”

  She bridled. “What’s idiotic about preserving one’s independence?”

  His shoulders lifted. “Personally, I go the easy way about keeping my independence, and I’d advise you to do the same. You’ve been doing so much during this past year that inaction is going to come hard. If you move out with your brother you’ll feel frustrated and useless, and probably arrive at some fool decision to look for a job in Bulawayo or Salisbury. With Deline you’ll lead a normal social life and be near enough to your brother to look over his household arrangements as often as you like. You’ll be entirely free to see your friends.”

  “All you really want is a chaperone, isn’t it?” she demanded crossly.

  Another shrug. “I’ve explained what I want. Think it over, but don’t keep me waiting too long for your decision. I shall fetch Deline at the weekend.”

  Something cold and hard seemed to butt itself against Susan’s heart. She saw him move towards the door, saw the jut of his chin, the impersonal gesture which meant he had nothing more to say. She swallowed hard, turned and walked firmly into the garden.

  For a minute she moved blindly, but soon she found herself down on the front drive, and stepping aside because the jeep was approaching. Her instinct was to avoid Paul, but habit and affection had their way. She held up an urgent hand and stopped the jeep.

  “He’s here,” she said a little breathlessly. “David Forrest! He may be looking this way now, so you’d better go straight on. I had to warn you.”

  “But, Sue...”

  She waved him on. “Be careful with him—he’s dangerous. I’m going for a walk.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SUSAN returned to the house after a hot, dusty walk, to find Paul staring first to the right and then to the left. She gave a half-hearted wave and he started swiftly towards her. He had a harassed smile but didn’t look depressed. No doubt, she reflected vexedly, the owner of Willowfield used a different technique in his dealings with men.

  “He’s gone out to see the Colonel and one or two others,” announced Paul as he reached her. “And you’re to have a meal at once.”

  “A meal?” echoed Susan broodingly.

  Paul nodded. “Amos came in while we were talking and said you hadn’t eaten. So Mr. Forrest said I must find you right away and see that you ate.”

  “Mr. Forrest,” she murmured witheringly. “What does he care whether I eat or starve! Honestly, Paul...”

  “I know,” he broke in hastily as they turned into the drive. “He described what you looked like when you met, and I assured him you were impulsive and had never before dug out an irrigation ditch to my knowledge. He was pretty acid for a few minutes—but only against me. It’s a shock—his turning up so soon—but I don’t see that it really matters, once he’d decided to come.”

  “Did he tell you that a woman cousin of his is coming to Willowfield?”

  He nodded. “I thought it good news. If he’s going to be busy that way, he’s more likely to keep me on. You’ll accept his offer to stay, won’t you?”

  “No, I won’t,” she said firmly.

  “But you must Sue. If you refuse and transfer to my quarters—wherever they may be—there’ll be unpleasantness. And I won’t have you to go off without me!”

  She looked at him, was not deceived by the air of authority. She had left school at seventeen and been with Paul ever since. She knew him through and through, was well aware that though he liked to be considered her guardian he would have been horrified had anyone compelled him to assert his guardianship. He was too easygoing to have sole charge of anything that mattered.

  “Do you really expect me to live in the house as companion to his cousin?” she demanded.

  “Aren’t you rather inflating the whole thing?” he said. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t enjoy living in the house with another woman. I know it would be a come-down, but it would also be a change.”

  “I’d rather find a job elsewhere.”

  “And have me worried every minute of the day.”

  Susan doubted this, but where Paul was concerned she was always careful to leave intact his sense of responsibility. “There wouldn’t be any need for you to worry. Lots of English girls work in Rhodesia, and I’m already accustomed to the country.”

  “Well, let’s get down to facts,” he said cajolingly. “Colonel Wardon was very decent when I saw him this morning. He said that if David Forrest decides to do without a manager there a
re plenty of other jobs, but I’d have to take a salary cut and might not get permission for you to live with me. He advised me to stick to Willowfield as long as I possibly can, and save hard for a place of my own.”

  On the point of moving indoors, Susan stopped. This was the very thing she wanted for Paul, the course she had advocated within a week of arriving in Rhodesia. Land was cheap, a habitable dwelling could be run up at the cost of timber and native labor, and while the land was being cleared and planted it was possible to live fairly inexpensively. But in those days Paul had laughed. Why dwell upon such spine-chilling hardship, he had said, when the abundance of Willowfield was all about them? Month after month he had paid the food bills from his salary and used the rest of his money on his various activities at the Kumati club. For her own needs Susan had drawn upon her savings. Though Paul was willing to use her services it had never occurred to him that she might miss the wage she had earned in England.

  She put a direct question. “Do you really want a place of your own?”

  “Why, naturally. So does any man who farms. I haven’t given it much thought before because I imagined we were established here for years. While I was in full charge here a smallholding of my own seemed footling, but now I feel differently about it. At the moment, though, our best bet is to stay at Willowfield and put some money aside. You can help me a lot, Sue.”

  “I wish that were true,” she said from the heart.