Love So Rare

LOVE SO RARE Anne Hampson

SHE WAS MARRIED TO A STRANGER.... At last Dawn was on her way to South Africa to claim her half of the estate she had inherited with Ralf Deverell, the arrogant, bronzed Afrikaner she had unwillingly married as part of a legal agreement. When she arrived at the stately mansion in the Transvaal, Ralf was cold and unwelcoming. But as the weeks passed, Dawn saw a spark of desire in his eyes, desire that threatened to burst into a flaming passion. Now they were truly man and wife--but Dawn had fallen in love with a husband who wanted to keep their marriage a secret!

Chapter One The snow had come late, when everyone was expecting some fine sunny weather to welcome the spring flowers into the world. MidMarch, and no sign of blue skies. Dawn looked from the window of her sister-in-law's cafe and decided that the dismal prospect before her eyes suited her mood. Life was so dull! Why, she wondered for the twentieth time, had she ever agreed to come to the cafe? But at the time Greta was distraught at the sudden death of her husband in an accident at his work. Dawn, herself stricken by the loss of her only near relative, had quite naturally desired to ease the lot of her brother's widow. But lately—two years after the death of Owen— Greta was becoming more and more difficult to live with. A deep sigh escaped Dawn. She ought not to have given up her home, she thought, turning from the gloom of the street and beginning to strip the soiled cloths from the tables. To have agreed to help her sister-in-law with the cafe was one thing, but she should never have let Greta persuade her to sell up and move into a room above the cafe. Dawn's only excuse was that at the time she herself was unable to think rationally, so great was the shock she had received at the tragic loss of the brother with whom she had always been close. 'I never even looked for the snags,' she whispered to herself. 'And yet I ought to have done, knowing how difficult Greta could be at times.' Dawn had no privacy except when she was in her bedroom, which was only late at night because there was so much to do—Sunday, and Wednesday afternoons being the only times the cafe was closed. 'Are you coming into the kitchen for your lunch?' Greta's dull and lifeless voice drifted to Dawn from the inner door and she frowned.

'I'll take these cloths off first and lay up again.' The cafe closed for an hour after the lunchtime rush, and opened again at about half past three, or a little earlier, for afternoon teas. Then at six began the cooked meals, which were available until half past eight. After that there was all the tidying up to do, and the kitchen and cafe to be thoroughly cleaned in readiness for the following morning. 'You've no need to do it now,' called Greta. 'There's a bit of steak pie left over, and some mashed potatoes.' Steak pie and mash! Always it was steak pie that was left, simply because, being cheap to make, it was on the menu every day. It had been in the oven since twelve o'clock, keeping warm; the crust would be like rock, the meat hard and the gravy dried up. The mash just didn't bear thinking about! Dawn could not help recalling those appetising lunches— subsidised by the firm where she had worked as a typist—which she had eaten prior to coming to work for Greta. She had lost everything—home, furniture, a good, comfortable job with a month's holiday every year, and—she was beginning to realise—her looks. Yes, these days the honey-brown hair that had once been so much admired was invariably dull, as were her eyes, soft violet eyes, limpid and widely spaced beneath delicately curving brows and framed by long dark lashes. Her skin, once clear and cool as fine porcelain, was now more often than not red from the heat of the stove, and damp with perspiration, the result of rushing about, for she was the only waitress serving over forty customers every lunch- time. 'Are you coming?' The colourless monotone again! 'I'll be there in a minute,' sighed Dawn. 'You don't seem too happy,' from Greta when at last they were seated at the kitchen table. Dawn cast her a sidelong glance. 'I might as well be honest, Greta. I'm far from happy.'

'You regret coming here to help me when I was so desperate, and so broken-hearted?' Dawn shook her head, toying for a moment with an iron-hard wedge of pastry. 'I don't regret coming to you then, but I do regret having stayed all this time. What is there in my life, Greta?' 'For that matter,' returned Greta plaintively, 'what is there in mine?' 'I know it's bad for you,' conceded Dawn, 'but don't you think you ought to be doing something about making your life easier?' 'Such as?' Greta pushed a tangle of hair from her forehead with a greasy hand, a hand on which there were two livid patches—oven burns healing up. 'You could sell the cafe and get a job.' 'Sell it! I got it as a hobby, and—' 'That's just it. You got it as a hobby, to provide you with some pin money and to add a bit to Owen's wages. Your hours were short; you closed after lunch every day. But now you're working till late at night, bent on making a fortune.' 'Oh, how can you say so!' 'You could afford another waitress, Greta. And someone to help you with the cooking. You and I are doing the work of at least four people. At Grange Cafe they have a woman for the washing up and the preparation of vegetables. She does nothing else.' 'I can't afford to pay anyone other than you, Dawn.' Greta picked up a piece of pie in her fingers. Dawn looked at it, disgusted. It was

actually burnt. Yet there were chops in the fridge, and roast pork. 'I'm not making any money at all, no matter what you think to the contrary.' Dawn let the matter drop. She did the accounts and knew the extent of her sister-in-law's profits. She was doing very well indeed, while Dawn's wages were even less than she had received when working in the office. There was at least one bright spot in Dawn's life, though: Paul Austin, a young man who had begun coming into the café two months ago. He had instantly taken a liking to Dawn and she to him. They had been keeping company for seven weeks, but Dawn had not mentioned this to Greta. She wished she could persuade Greta to sell the cafe so that she, Dawn, could get a better-paid job and begin saving money, just in case Paul should ask her to marry him. She was meeting him that evening, but not until nine o'clock, as Greta could not manage on her own before then. 'You look absolutely jiggered,' was Paul's not very tactful remark when Dawn met him in the Bullring. 'Had a particularly hard day?' 'Every day is hard.' She had not meant to say anything like that, but it slipped out, uttered on a note of bitterness. They got into Paul's car and drove to The Beeches for a quiet drink and a bar snack. These little trips in the car were a joy to Dawn, the only brightness in her life. 'I have to go away,' Paul informed her right out of the blue. He had lunched in the cafe that day, but he and Dawn had not been able to have a private word together. 'Away?' Dawn's heart caught, then dragged. 'Oh, no, Paul!'

'Afraid so, Dawn. It's for six months initially. London. Too good to pass up—promotion that I didn't expect for awhile.' He picked up his glass and drank his beer thirstily. 'After London it could be somewhere abroad.' Dawn saw that he was no longer with her, that his mind was occupied by the promotion that had come his way. She swallowed something hard and painful in her throat, admitting that, on Paul's part, their relationship had meant no more than a pleasant interlude, and one that could be easily forgotten. Well, perhaps it was for the best, since she could not marry him yet. It saved her having to explain, and asking him to wait until she was free. She picked up her glass, then absently took up a slice of tomato on her fork. 'I'm glad for you,' she said. 'Thanks. I like London—so much going on all the time. I once had a girl friend who went to work there. I might be able to look her up.' Dawn nodded as she placed her glass on the table. 'That'll be nice for you. You'll not be lonely.' Paul leant back and lit a cigarette. 'If you get a weekend off, why don't you come down? We'd do a show and see the sights.' 'I can't leave Greta,' she returned flatly. 'I'd get out if I were you.' Paul eyed her narrowly through the film of smoke he was creating. 'You're beautiful, Dawn, but this sort of work'll rob you of your looks in no time at all.' Dawn popped the piece of tomato into her mouth and laid the fork down on her plate.

'Yes,' she agreed. 'I expect it will.' 'Yet you won't leave? Loyalty, eh? I don't believe you owe Greta any. She isn't a relative now that your brother's dead.' 'I can't desert her, Paul.' 'Then you're crazy. Are you going to go on like this forever?' Dawn made no answer. But she could have said quite truthfully that it would not go on for more than another eighteen months, simply because of her expectations. She had told Paul everything about herself, except that she was married. Even Greta did not know about it. Not that it was a real marriage; it had been all over and done with in about fifteen minutes, at the Registrar's Office in Dunfield, the next town, five miles from there. No attendants, no meal afterwards, no honeymoon. Just the surly- faced registrar and the two witnesses he had produced from somewhere. But by the marriage two people had come into a handsome property in South Africa. The only thing was that Dawn had not benefited yet, while her husband was in fact 'sitting pretty,' as Dawn's solicitor had grimly remarked. For almost eighteen months she had been married, and she could not bring the face of Ralf Deverell to mind. He was a South African, with the blue blood of his Voortrekker ancestors running through his veins. Dawn recalled that he was a big man, tall and lean and very bronzed. He had a sinewed hardness about him that had repelled her, and an inherent arrogance that made her feel inferior. This arrogance was stamped into his clear-cut features, she remembered, and wondered at her inability to bring those features into her mental focus. They had certainly impressed her at the time. So too had everything else about him—his broad square shoulders and narrow hips, his noble carriage, those lignite-brown eyes that seemed to turn steely-grey in certain lights. The lawyer, she remembered, had been staring, short-sightedly at the will and had snapped on a light. It was

then that Ralf Deverell's eyes seemed to take on that steely glint. They were disconcerting, too, as they rested half-frowningly on the girl who, at that time, had no idea she would become his wife within a matter of days. It had all begun when Dawn received a letter from a solicitor. Greta was out, a circumstance for which Dawn was glad, since she had no wish that she should know of her activities at this stage. Greta was curious about anything Dawn did, curious in fact to the point of interference. Greatly puzzled by the letter, Dawn went off the following Wednesday afternoon to see the solicitor. And within a quarter of an hour of entering the office of Lovat, Bright and Fletcher she and Ralf were staring at one another disbelievingly. 'A farm in South Africa!' Dawn shook her head, feeling sure there was some mistake. But the lawyer soon explained, convincing her that she really had inherited a half share in a vast estate in the Transvaal. She had visions of selling her share and rescuing herself from the drudgery of the cafe. She would be able to help Greta, too, she thought. 'Mr. Deverell and I . . .' She had looked at him, surprised to see a frown on his face. 'We own it between us . . . ?' 'Mr. Deverell knew Mr. Cleveland,' said the lawyer. 'You saved his life, I believe?' The big South African nodded, but impatiently. 'I never expected this sort of a reward.' His voice was clipped, almost angry. 'He was bathing in the sea, and you saved him from a shark—'

'Never mind that,' interrupted Ralf Deverell with some asperity. 'Can we go on? I flew in last night and I'd like to try for a plane later today.' 'Yes, yes, of course. Well, now . . .' His voice droned on as if all was mechanical, as if he were heartily sick of this kind of thing—dealing with wills. Listening intently, Dawn heard that Michael Cleveland, only three months before his death at the age of eighty-three, had somehow discovered the existence of a distant relative living in England. He had immediately engaged a firm of lawyers to make inquiries. Those inquiries revealed that the relative in question— Dawn's mother—was dead and that her daughter was now Mr. Cleveland's only surviving relative. 'We found out all about you,' continued Mr. Fletcher, looking at Dawn in his short-sighted way. 'Your circumstances were far from comfortable, and on hearing this, Mr. Cleveland decided to make provision for you. However, it was going to upset all his plans, since he had already left everything to the man who, years before, had saved his life at the risk of his own.' He glanced at Ralf, whose frown was darker than before. Plainly he hated to be reminded of his bravery. 'Had you no idea at all, Mr. Deverell, that you were his beneficiary?' 'I had an idea, obviously, when I was requested to come over here regarding his will. But half his estate—' He spread his hands in an angry gesture. 'It's incredible!' 'It's happened, all the same,' said the lawyer matter-of-factly. 'As I was saying, the discovery that his only blood relation was an orphan, and a female, caused Mr. Cleveland to alter his plans for the disposal of his property when he had gone. He felt he must provide for Miss Sutton, but at the same time he wanted you, Mr. Deverell, to run his estate. He knew it would be done efficiently as you had a similar estate of your own. He had a problem, as you can see. Also, he was

over eighty years of age and had some odd ideas.' He looked first at Dawn and then at Ralf. Noticing the man's expression, Dawn wondered if Ralf had reached the same conclusion as she, that something very unusual was forthcoming. When it did come it left them both bereft of speech. Dawn was the one to break the silence. 'Marry hint!' The unthinking exclamation was out before she had time to realise just how disparaging was the tone she used, and she had the grace to blush under the arrogant stare to which the South African subjected her. 'Yes, Miss Sutton. He decided that as you were an orphan it would be a good thing for you to marry Mr. Deverell. It would mean that Mr. Deverell would manage the estate, which was what Mr. Cleveland wanted.' Dawn, conscious still of the arrogant eyes of Ralf upon her, put up a hand to tidy her hair. She felt awful—what with her coming out with that unwarranted exclamation, and the state of her appearance —her hair being dull and lifeless, her tired eyes, her drawn features—she wanted only to leave this office, to efface herself as quickly as she could. 'You can give my share to charity,' decided Ralf and rose at once, as if the interview were at an end as far as he was concerned. 'If you do that, Mr. Deverell,' said the lawyer severely, 'you'll be robbing Miss Sutton.' 'Robbing her?' frowned Ralf, glancing down at her from his great height. 'How can that be?' 'If you don't marry, there is no provision for Miss Sutton. Unfortunately the will is badly done, made out by the man himself.

I'm afraid that marriage is the only solution—' He stopped on seeing that Dawn desired to interrupt him. 'Forget it, Mr. Fletcher. If there's nothing else, then perhaps you will excuse me?' She rose from her chair, feeling small and inadequate beside the man already standing there, his presence seeming to fill the entire office. But her head was held high, unnaturally so, because she resented the examining eyes of the South African, eyes that were plainly expressing disdain. Mr. Fletcher drew an impatient breath, flicked a hand exasperatedly and said, 'Sit down, both of you! Do you know how much is at stake? You don't go throwing it away, just like that!' He glowered at them in turn before adding, 'You, Miss Sutton, look as if the legacy would be more than welcome!' She blushed, more than ever conscious of her drab appearance. She could certainly do with a new coat, that was for sure! 'Sit down,' ordered Mr. Fletcher again testily, 'and listen to what I have to say!' Dawn did as she was told, surprised to see the Afrikaner do the same, though there was a decidedly dangerous gleam in his eyes. Dawn felt sure he had never been given an order before in his life— certainly not in his adult life. The lawyer continued. He had discovered one slight loophole and felt it could be used to the advantage of them both. His voice droned on and on in boring monotony; Dawn found concentration leaving her so that she became detached. Perhaps it was the physical fatigue that was also affecting her mind; she knew she ought to be attending but the effort was too great. However, she did notice that Ralf Deverell was listening most intently, and wondered if, when all this was over, she dare venture to ask him to explain it to her in words of one syllable.

Vaguely she caught something about 'three years,' and this made her pay attention again. Apparently the old man had been realistic enough to understand that the couple might not be happy together, and he had added a clumsy sort of codicil to cater to such an eventuality. If the two could not get on, then they could separate after three years. 'Why three years?' Dawn heard Ralf inquire curiously. 'I took it that he felt there would be an heir in that time. This child would inherit and so there would be a continuance of ownership in the same family.' The lawyer shook his head impatiently. 'Why he didn't have the will drawn up by someone capable of doing it, I really do not know! It only makes things difficult for others when people do this kind of thing. However, this three-year business seems to indicate that you could marry now and in three years' time have a divorce.' 'There's nothing to say that an heir must be produced?' Ralf was plainly becoming interested in the inheritance. 'We must stay married for only three years in order to inherit this property?' 'This seems to be the case. My partners and I have been into it and we've reached the conclusion that there are no further snags to the will.' He looked at Dawn. 'You're a lucky young lady,' he began, then stopped on noticing her expression change. She did not think that any woman married to Ralf Deverell would be lucky! Some further discussion took place between Ralf and Mr. Fletcher, but once again Dawn's thoughts drifted. She had no intention of marrying the man, so it was a waste of time for her to be here at all. 'I advise you to marry, and after three years you could have a divorce, sell the property and share the proceeds.'

Dawn frowned at this, but now her interest had been caught. Three years was not much, after all . . . 'Dawn . . . you're miles away.' Paul's soft voice recalled her from her prolonged reflections and she looked at him apologetically. 'I was lost in thoughts,' she admitted. 'Sorry, Paul, to be such dull company.' 'What were you thinking about?' he asked, watching her curiously and thinking how tragic it was for her beauty to be fading in the way it was doing. 'Something that happened a year and a half ago.' Another year and a half and divorce proceedings could be set in motion, but there might be a longer wait for the final settlement, which would see Dawn's financial circumstances change for the better. 'What happened a year and a half ago?' Paul beckoned for the waiter and ordered more drinks. Dawn smiled to herself, wondering what Paul's reaction would be if she were to tell him the truth. Instead she merely said, T met someone from South Africa who was to play an important part in my life, but that's all I can say, Paul. It's a very private matter between him and me.' He shrugged resignedly, but curiosity did make him ask, 'What part did he come from?' 'The Transvaal. He has a farm there.' 'Lovely place—mostly. I'd like to visit South Africa one day. It must be a fascinating country.'

For some reason his words impressed Dawn strongly. She had inherited property and had never even seen it. She never would see it. At present Ralf Deverell was managing it—in fact he was living in the house, as it was more convenient for him to live at Dombeya Lodge than in his own home. He had written to the solicitors explaining this. His own farm was much smaller and, therefore, he was able to have it run efficiently by a foreman. The Dombeya estate was far more extensive and difficult to manage, and he had decided it would be better for him to take up residence there. Dawn had been consulted, and had raised no objections. The property was so remote, and in any case, as Mr. Fletcher pointed out, the house would very rapidly deteriorate in that climate if it remained unoccupied for any length of time. Recently, however, Dawn had sought the advice of another solicitor, and this man did not like the idea of Ralf being in full possession. As he remarked, her husband was sitting pretty while she was suffering hardships. Dawn's musings were again brought to a halt by the arrival of the waiter with the drinks. 'Thank you,' she said automatically, watching Paul seeking for the money to pay. 'If you have a friend in South Africa,' Paul said after a space, 'then you ought to take a holiday there. Get away from that damned cafe for a while.' She gave a small sigh. It would be nice to take a holiday to see her property before it passed out of her hands forever. 'It just isn't possible,' she said. 'Greta couldn't possibly manage on her own.' 'Then let her get someone else,' said Paul heartlessly.

An hour later he was driving her home, back to the grim bedroom which she had almost come to regard as a prison. 'Is Greta out?' Having parked the car close to the cafe window, Paul looked up, into the windows of the flat above. 'Everywhere's dark.' 'Yes, I can see.' A frown appeared on her forehead. 'It's not usual for her to go out, but sometimes she goes to the cinema. She always mentions it beforehand, though.' Dawn inserted her key and unlocked the door. They had to pass through the cafe to reach the stairs leading off from the kitchen. The smell of food cooked hours previously hung nauseatingly to everything, and she heard Paul exclaim, 'Good lord, what a stench!' 'It's not as bad as that,' protested Dawn, snapping on a light. 'We're exceptionally clean in here, but cooking smells always hang.' She was troubled without knowing why. All was so quiet and still. Greta must be out. . . . And yet . . . 'Shall I come up with you?' Paul stood at the foot of the stairs beside Dawn. 'Yes, I will,' he decided before she could answer. 'It isn't right that you should go up there on your own if Greta is out.' 'She might be in bed.' It was unlikely. Greta always waited up for Dawn, which was the reason why Dawn made a point of never staying out late. 'God, what a dismal place it is! How do you live here, Dawn?' She made no answer, but began to mount the stairs. He followed closely, their footsteps sounding incredibly loud on the thin, threadbare carpet; the low-wattage lamp over the stairs added to the sense of gloom and dinginess.

The living room was tidy, as usual, but Dawn's eyes were drawn instantly to the couch. The cushions were flattened, as if someone had been lying on them. Greta had a habit of always punching every cushion before going to bed. 'I feel strange . . .' Dawn trailed off, looking up at Paul. 'If I call and she's asleep, it'll waken her—' 'Which is her room?' he interrupted curtly. There was a strange atmosphere about the place, no doubt about that. 'Just along the landing here.' Dawn called out, softly at first, then more loudly and urgently. She opened Greta's door without knocking and snapped on the light. Her heart gave a great lurch as she saw her sister-in-law lying by the bed. 'Oh . . . what has happened?' Greta looked as if she had fallen while trying to get into bed. She was fully clothed, with part of the counterpane draped over her inert body. She had obviously clutched it as she fell. 'She's not . . . dead?' 'No.' Paul was cool, efficient. Dawn had never been so thankful for someone's help. He had knelt down and was feeling Greta's heart. 'Have you a phone here?' 'No, Greta wouldn't have one. I'll run over to the box on High Street.' She helped Paul get Greta onto the bed, then turned immediately to the door. 'Her doctor isn't very keen on being brought out at night—' 'Tell him it's urgent!' To Dawn's surprise the doctor agreed to come immediately. 'Mrs. Sutton rang me earlier,' he informed Dawn, going on to say that she had complained of a pain in her chest. 'I thought it might be

indigestion, but obviously it's something much more serious. I'll be there in about a quarter of an hour.' 'It's not difficult to form a picture of what's happened,' Paul said when Dawn got back. 'Greta felt ill and laid down on the couch. But on realising she was becoming worse, she got up, went out and phoned the doctor.' 'It must have been awful, if she was in pain—and all on her own, too. Oh, why did I go out and leave her?' 'You can't blame yourself,' returned Paul shortly. 'Good God, girl, you've done nothing but make sacrifices since the day she was left a widow! As I was saying, she managed to get to the phone. From what you've told me, I expect the doctor advised her to take indigestion tablets and come to the surgery tomorrow morning. She probably took the tablets, then decided to go to bed.' 'But she couldn't get herself up—' Dawn bit her lip until she almost drew blood. She had just noticed the blue tinge about Greta's mouth. 'I'd never have left her if I'd known she wasn't well.' 'It's her heart, obviously. As you know, a person can appear to be in the pink of health one moment and dead the next with a complaint like this.' 'But she's still breathing, you said.' 'Yes, and if she can be got to the hospital in time, she might be all right.' But Greta died in the ambulance, with both Dawn and Paul beside her. Dawn felt numbed, in the same way she had felt numbed on the tragic death of her brother. Why, oh why, had she not tried harder to make Greta give up the cafe? She must have mumbled something

aloud, as she and Paul were leaving the hospital just before midnight, for he said, stopping in the wide doorway that led to the grounds, 'Stop blaming yourself, Dawn! I might sound callous to you, but I feel that this has been a timely release—' 'No, Paul!' 'A timely release,' he repeated, ignoring the interruption. 'It could have been you, just remember that!' Dawn shook her head. 'I'm stronger than she was.' Paul said nothing more about it and, getting into the taxi he had ordered, they drove back to the cafe. Dawn had never felt so lost and lonely, and she looked up at Paul and said on a deep and quivering sigh, 'I don't want to go in.' She felt a coward, but she hated the idea of spending the night in the cafe on her own. The building looked so dim and dark . . . except for Greta's light, which was still on. 'I shall have to, though . . .' 'You'd better come home with me. Mother'll be in bed, but she won't mind being wakened up, not for something like this. Give me your key; I'll just go up and switch off that light.' She got into his car, which was still by the cafe window where he had parked it so short a time ago. He seemed to be gone for an age and she sat there shivering, her mind numbed, yet dwelling vaguely on Greta's life cut short, as Owen's had been. Dawn had no one now, no one except her husband. . . .

She would never know what impulse catapulted her into making a hasty decision, which she instantly acted on. She supposed that part

of it was due to shock, both over Greta's sudden death and the fact that she had left the cafe and all her money to charity. It was not that Dawn had either wanted or expected anything, but as all her own possessions had gone when she chose to throw in her lot with Greta, she felt hurt and slighted on learning that Greta had not even made it possible for Dawn to provide herself with a home. The idea to go to Africa was born when Paul repeated his assertion that she could do with a holiday. She tried to ignore it, fully aware that she had no right to inflict her presence on her husband. He owed her nothing. But it was as if some force beyond her control was propelling her to actions which, deep in her subconscious, she felt she would regret. She found herself writing a letter and sending it off to Dombeya Lodge; then she became impatient for a reply and when none arrived, she sent a cable. Meanwhile, her clothes were all packed; her few possessions were stored in the attic of Paul's mother's house. The cable merely stated that she was intending to come out for a holiday and she would be staying at Dombeya Lodge.

Chapter Two The dawn was opal, spreading hazy shadows over the silent bushveld. There had been rain in the night and the earth was heady with the smell of the clear soft water that had penetrated its thirsty depths. Dawn stood at her window, waiting for the full glory of the sunrise, but her mind was deeply troubled. She had acted precipitously and as a result was suffering pangs of embarrassment and regret. She could have asked him for money, Ralf had told her on her arrival, and when this simple method of solving her financial problem was pointed out it amazed her that she had not thought of it herself. Her letter had not reached Ralf until his return from a visit to friends in Pretoria; the cable awaited him at the same time. He had dutifully met her at the airport, but one look at his face made Dawn feel like turning right around and going back the way she had come. He had looked so angry, and just as arrogant as she had remembered him, on that first meeting, in the lawyer's office. He had suggested she accept an allowance and return immediately to England, and she had promised him she would do so. But on arrival at the lovely white homestead, something quite alien to her nature had entered into her. She was piqued that he was living so well while she had been suffering hardships. She was penniless, and yet this property which Ralf was enjoying was half hers. True, he had not known of her circumstances, but even if he had, Dawn doubted whether he would have concerned himself about them. 'I'd like to stay for a holiday,' she had ventured after taking one look at the house. She was angry that he should act as if he owned the entire property. It would seem that he considered possession to be nine points of the law.

'You've just promised to accept an allowance and return to England.' Ralf was frowning heavily; she knew that her presence was both an inconvenience and an irritation to him. 'Yes, but—' Dawn spread a hand, indicating the spectacular well-kept gardens, basking in the sunshine. She had left snow behind in England, even though it was April, and the idea of sunny weather for a few weeks was so tempting that Dawn could not even think of going home immediately. 'It's all so beautiful. I feel I'd like to get to know it, just for a little while.' She glanced up at him apologetically. 'I did make you a promise, but I hadn't seen the property then. I can stay, can't I?' 'It's not convenient,' he had snapped. 'There isn't any room for you.' His attitude made her bristle, but she had no intention of losing her temper. No room—in a house of this size? 'There appears to be plenty of room,' she said gently. 'There must be four bedrooms at least.' She glanced at the building again, admiring its stately elegance. A long, low, white-gabled colonial mansion, it had a patrician quality about its simple, perfectly proportioned lines. They had approached it through a pair of high wrought-iron gates which had led to a long drive lined with trees, royal palms that waved their spearlike foliage in the soft breeze drifting in from the mountains. 'I shall need only a small room,' she added persuasively, fluttering Ralf a smile that invited reciprocation. But he seemed almost to scowl, and an unpleasant silence ensued before he said, obviously with a trace of reluctance, 'I haven't told my family that I'm married, Dawn. It wasn't necessary; I think you will agree?' She nodded, accepting that there was no need for his family to know he was married. His family . . . How little she knew about him, she thought, yet the next moment admitting that there was no necessity for her to know anything about him.

'If you don't want me to say anything, then I won't,' she promised. And then, as the thought occurred to her, 'Do some of your family live here, with you?' 'That's just it; they all live here. That's why there's no room for you. They're away at present, on holiday in Durban, and I'd like you to be gone by the time they return.' He was getting a key from his jacket pocket, but at that moment the front door was opened by an ebony girl who was introduced to Dawn as Letsie; she stood to one side as Ralf and Dawn entered the hall. Dawn glanced around, admiring the two high arches around which flourished exotic plants of decorative foliage. The floor was darkly polished and partly covered with two identical handmade Chinese rugs, large and fringed and worked in the most delicate colours imaginable. The furniture was in teak—all but a wagon chest, which was of oak that had turned black with age. Dawn, who loved old wood, wanted to touch it, to sense the patina by tactile contact, but she refrained, sure that her husband would regard it as a liberty. She said, not looking at him, 'The furniture ... is it yours, or was it in the house?' 'Some of it was in the house,' he answered curtly, and added, causing her to frown in protest, 'A comprehensive inventory was made before I moved in. You'll get your share of everything; you need have no fear of that.' Unhappily she shook her head, vaguely aware that he was giving an order to Letsie to fetch someone called Paulo who would take Miss Sutton's luggage out of the car and up to the room which had been prepared. Miss Sutton. . . .

Well, it didn't matter, really, as she had never used her married name, nor did she ever intend doing so. It would not be too long before she and Ralf were having the divorce they both desired. A step on the stoep below her bedroom window brought Dawn's mind back from that first day, and she glanced down to see Ralf striding from the stoep towards a small, attractive wooden building which he used as the estate office. He was always up early; this she had learned in the five days she had been here. She turned, her pensive gaze swinging round the tiny room that had been given to her. It had been a storeroom, the information having come from Letsie after Dawn had questioned her. 'All the other rooms are in use,' Letsie had said. 'And so Mr. Deverell told me and the houseboy to make the storeroom comfortable. It is nice for you, yes?' Dawn had said yes, it was very nice. She continued to examine it now, as she stood there, close to the window. A single bed with snow-white sheets and pillowcases and a pretty spread which matched the curtains at the small high window. A narrow wardrobe, a dressing table and a chair. Nothing more. Very nice . . . ? Passable, but she would not have hurt the housegirl's feelings by appearing to be dissatisfied. Yes, it was passable, but not the room which her benefactor would have expected her to be given, surely? The sky was alive now with all the gold-spangled glory of the full sunrise. The trees and bushes in the garden were bathed in a warm orange glow and the summits of the long line of kopjes to the south stole light from the myriad tints of orange and crimson and magenta that were shooting out in long, brilliant skeins from the eastern sky. Over the bush was a rosy glow, which turned golden even as Dawn watched. She sighed, wishing she could make up her mind what to do. The picture of what her life at home would be was by no means a

happy one. She was thoroughly tired, suffering both from physical and mental fatigue, and the task of setting herself up in a home seemed to take on such gargantuan proportions that the very idea daunted her. She wanted someone to lean on, but there was no one in the whole world to whom she could turn. If she stayed on here, at Dombeya Lodge, life would be simple and uncomplicated ... if it weren't for the attitude of the man who was her husband. She felt he was unreasonable in not making her welcome, in not offering her a home until she could sort herself out. She had told him what had happened and he had extended sympathy, but that was all. He stressed the fact that they were strangers; he seemed to think that money would solve everything. If he gave her a generous allowance out of her share of the property, then what was to stop her getting a nice little place of her own and furnishing it? She could get a job if she wanted to, he had said, but had gone on to assure her that there would be no real need for her to work. His manner had been casual, but she sensed a quality of anxiety about him . . . anxiety in case she should not be intending to take his repeated advice, and go home. His relatives were due to arrive in another nine days; he was most anxious to have her away before then, and she strongly suspected that he would have the storeroom immediately put back to its former use and no one would even know she had been here. There were the servants of course, two houseboys and Letsie, but Dawn had no doubts about his ordering them to maintain a silence regarding her visit. Yes, she was sure he had it well worked out. But he could not arrange her travel until she gave him her firm promise that she would leave. She had not made the promise, being gripped by an apathy she was unable to shake off. Breakfast was ready; she dreaded the inevitable tension born of Ralf s impatience with her tardiness. He could not understand her feelings,

her sense of aloneness, her desperate urge sometimes to reach out and grasp something to which she could hold onto firmly. Why were men so insensible to a woman's emotions? Nature had slipped up somewhere, drastically. She had tried to analyse her action in coming here and believed she had done so. After Greta's sudden death, and on top of it the knowledge that she, Dawn, had neither home nor money, she had been like some small animal wandering in a fog, unsure and half-afraid, and then suddenly Ralf—who was her husband—and the home that was half hers, had combined to form a strong support for her to take advantage of in her distress. And so without any thought to the consequences, she had made her swift decision, had wasted no time at all in carrying out her plan. It had never occurred to her that Ralf would have the house full of his relations; she had never given a thought to the possibility of his not wanting her. Well, it was her own fault, and now she was faced with the problem of whether to leave, meekly and in obedience to Ralf's wishes, or to insist on staying and accept the consequences, whatever they might be. Letsie had told her about Ralf s mother; watching her closely, Dawn had noticed the smile vanish from her lips. Letsie had mentioned Ralf s two sisters, one married and separated from her husband, and the other, aged twenty, whose fiancé was killed last year in an air crash. 'Miss Avice never gets over it,' Letsie said sadly. 'She cry all the time when she's alone, in her room. I know because I hear her through the door.' There was one more relation, again a woman. It was Esther, second cousin to Ralf, who had come as companion to his mother. Letsie's face was impassive when she spoke of Esther, and it was impossible to make a guess as to whether the African girl liked her or not.

All these females living with Ralf. Dawn wondered how he got on with them. He seemed more of a man's man than one who would be happy among a houseful of females. He was already in the breakfast room when she entered. She apologised for keeping him waiting, but he assured her she was not late. 'Well,' he said without preamble as they sat down to the table, 'have you made up your mind? Have you decided to leave?' She shook her head, wishing she did not have this inferiority complex when in his company, that her defences were a little more sound. 'No, I haven't, Ralf. I want to stay for a while, to enjoy the sun and this beautiful home, before I let it go forever.' 'You act as if you regret promising to sell your share to me. You'd never have been able to live here, you know.' 'Yes, I do know. I'd have had to sell out to someone.' She ventured a smile but, as always, received no response. 'I don't regret my promise,' she denied quietly. 'I think I'd rather you have it than the house have gone to strangers.' He looked sharply at her and she coloured up. He was reminding her even yet again that he and she were strangers. 'Is your mind definitely made up?' His lignite- brown eyes settled on her pallid face with a look of deep displeasure. 'You're determined to stay?' 'If you don't mind.' Moisture was suddenly blurring her vision, the result of stretched nerves and the knowledge of being totally unwanted here, in this beautiful house that was half hers. Recalling

her solicitor's dislike of the whole arrangement, she now knew she ought to have listened to his advice and had him send the letter reminding Ralf that as his client was co-owner of Dombeya Lodge, he must recognise her claim to accommodation if at any time she should decide to make her home on the estate. But as at that time Dawn saw not the remotest possibility of her ever wanting to go out to Africa, she had flatly refused to let her solicitor send the letter. 'I have already made it quite clear that I do mind.' Curt the tones and edged with fury. 'This house is full to overflowing already.' She looked at him, trifling with her grapefruit. 'Can't your two sisters share a bedroom?' she suggested reasonably. 'You seem to have forgotten that I have more right here than they have.' Brave words, but she knew she must gather courage if she was not to be completely browbeaten by this man whose personality was one of intense power and dominance. Those piercing brown eyes below straight dark brows, the clear deep bronze of his skin that seemed in some intangible way to accentuate the austerity of his angular, sun-bitten features, the way his proud head was set on broad, powerful shoulders ... all these combined to place him high above her, like a god upon a pedestal, untouchable to a mere mortal like herself. She allowed her eyes to wander to his thick brown hair, bleached at the front and sprinkled with grey. Thirty-one. . . . His age and his nationality were just about the limit of her knowledge of Ralf on the day she had become his wife. 'My sisters don't get on well enough to share a bedroom,' Ralf was saying, a grim note running through his voice. 'No, that would be impossible,' he decided inexorably. Then he said, his voice carrying a mixture of persuasion and asperity, 'It would be much simpler for all concerned if you accepted the allowance and returned to England. Think about it—' An imperative flip of his hand silenced Dawn's interruption even before it was voiced. 'Don't be so hasty,' he

snapped. 'Give the matter more thought. You have several days to reach a decision.' Several days. ... Of everything he had said, this provoked her intensely, hammering at her brain in angry repetition. So he would allow her several days in which to make up her mind, would he? Suddenly her chin lifted and a glint of defiance lit her eyes. 'It sounds like an ultimatum,' she accused, marvelling at her temerity in making this stand. 'Call it what you like,' he returned shortly. 'I'm merely asking that you use your common sense.' Her violet eyes met his unflinchingly. 'In my present circumstances,' she said levelly, 'it makes more sense for me to stay here for a time, just until I recover from what has happened during the past couple of years.' She paused, thinking he might evince a little sympathy but, instead, there was about him an attitude of recrimination that riled her. But she did not intend to be put at a disadvantage if she could possibly help it. 'I am co-owner of this estate,' she reminded him defensively, 'and as such I feel entitled to have a prolonged holiday here if I wish. After all, were the positions reversed, I should never deny you access to the house.' She stopped somewhat abruptly, conscious of his steady, disconcerting gaze, the uplift of those arrogant eyebrows which told her quite categorically that the positions never could have been reversed, simply because he'd not have agreed to an arrangement which put him in the inferior position. So like a man, she thought, and especially one of Ralf s calibre whose demeanour was always that of a man accustomed to command. 'I'm still asking you to think about it.' There was an aura of selfcontrol about Ralf now which made his voice sound almost

expressionless. 'Give me your answer in a few days' time—and not before!' he added peremptorily as Dawn opened her mouth to inform him that she had already made up her mind, that she intended to stay at Dombeya Lodge for a little while at least.

Each succeeding day passed with a speed that astounded Dawn, and she supposed it was because she was finding so much of interest in her new surroundings. As a young child she had learned to ride a horse, and when she saw a quiet little mare in one of the paddocks she asked Ralf if she could ride her. That the request did not please him was evident, but at the same time it was plain that he was reluctant to refuse—whether it was because he had no wish to antagonise her further or whether he was admitting that she had every right to use the horse, she could not have said, nor did she care much. Her decision was made and the time limit he had given her rarely came to mind. She was enjoying her days, her senses becoming more and more sharpened to the pull of her surroundings as she continued to explore them. She was finding pastimes that were pleasant and which she meant to follow for as long as she remained at Dombeya Lodge. The mare, called Marylou, took to Dawn immediately, so much so that whenever Dawn passed by the paddock she would come trotting up, whinnying as if she and Dawn had been acquainted for months instead of days. Then there was Shaitan, the ridgeback, who from the first had realised that the newcomer was an animal lover and in consequence he followed her everywhere, trotting alongside her when she was out with Marylou. Kimani, the houseboy, and Letsie had been no trouble to get on with, and now Dawn was gradually getting to know the men who worked in the fields, especially George, the foreman, whose wife, Theresa, came daily to help in the house. Life was quiet and uneventful, the freedom from worry enabling her to make a gradual, but noticeable recovery. The several shocks she had sustained, the disappointment of losing Paul so soon after she had found him . . . There was so much from which she had to recover

that it was bound to take time, but life was fast falling into a quiet but interesting routine which in itself was balm to Dawn's system, and with every day that passed she was feeling better, more cheerful, more ready to cope with her husband's family. Very soon now, they would all return from their vacation, descending on the restful tranquillity of the mellowed old house and its occupants, for Dawn and Ralf had seemed—on the surface at any rate—to get along fairly amicably together since the day he had told her to wait a few days before she made up her mind. The weather was warm and dry, and already an attractive honey-tan was replacing the pallor which had been so noticeable by Paul, arousing his anger. Some mornings she would wander for a long way on Marylou, traversing rutted dusty lanes, all of which appeared to be within the vast periphery of the Dombeya estate. There were fields of cotton and maize, vast acres of cowpeas and soya beans, but it was the citrus orchards that captured Dawn's interest for they stretched away in long neat rows of fruit trees as far as the eye could see in one direction, and right up to the line of kopjes in another, sheltered along the entire length by windbreaks of bamboo and eucalyptus trees. From what she had seen since coming to Dombeya Lodge, Dawn was in no doubt about the prosperity of the estate, and surmised that its value was far greater than she had ever visualised. She found herself generously giving Ralf the credit for most of it, since there was no doubt at all that he was patting a great deal into it, improving it all the time. From George she had gained the information that large acres of bush had been cleared by Ralf and planted with citrus trees. He had worked hard and she could well understand his wanting to buy her out. One morning she was standing in a wild part of the homestead grounds, the warm sun on her face, admiring the flowers—lovely blue blossoms like verbenas, African violets, wild lilies and mauve bougainvillaea—when her attention was arrested by Ralf on horseback, cantering over some rough bush- veld that had not yet

been cleared for cultivation. Dawn stood motionless, watching his approach, her hand lifted to shade her eyes from the sun. What symmetry—with noble man and horse moving as one in perfect rhythm and balance. Dawn caught her breath, a strange, impalpable fluttering in the region of her heart. It was a totally new sensation, as fleeting as it was disturbing. She tried to analyse it as she strolled along, into the more formal part of the grounds where two gardeners were busy in the borders and sprinklers were working on the wellmanicured lawns. From there she went to the back of the house, across the yard, and was on her way to take a stroll along the river bank when she saw Ralf again, this time heading for the homestead. As he rode, she noticed the rippling muscles beneath his shirt; he was a superlative specimen of male physique, exemplifying power and strength and latent virility. She slowed her steps, again aware of flutterings within her, new emotions ... an indefinable yearning for something out of reach. . . . Ralf dismounted in the yard, handing the bridle to one of the boys who came running in a way that plainly suggested he was obeying a tacit order, and a familiar one. Dawn had stopped and was standing there, watching the majestic approach of six-plus feet of perfectly formed muscle and bone clad in dark blue denims, an open-necked white shirt and a slouch hat tilted to the back of his head. She noticed his inquiring look and said without hesitation, 'Will it be possible for me to borrow a vehicle of some kind, Ralf? I'd like to run into town this afternoon.' A quick, unconscious dart of her eyes to the low-slung white sports car standing there caused Ralf's glance to follow their direction. 'That happens to be mine,' he informed her smoothly, 'and, therefore, is not part of the property.'

Colouring at the raw implication, Dawn glanced away, saying quietly, 'I didn't expect to borrow that. I wondered if there was a spare Land-Rover—or something,' she added vaguely. 'That station wagon came with the property.' He thumbed towards a tired-looking contraption standing over by the dairy. Dawn looked at it. Her expression was closed, her voice fully under control as she asked if it was safe. 'It's safe enough,' she was assured at once, but Ralf was frowning his displeasure at the idea of her going into town. 'You want something special?' he inquired. 'I could perhaps get it for you?' 'No, there's nothing I really want at all,' she admitted, 'it's just that I'd like to take a look around the town.' She had already asked Letsie about the little town of Hortsburg and learned that it had a church and small school, a bank and library, several good shops, a beauty salon and barber shop and the usual administrative offices necessary in every town, however small. Last but not least there was the Jacaranda Club where, according to Letsie; everything of importance happened—dances, all kinds of celebrations and functions, and every Saturday evening there was a dinner dance when many of the farflung neighbours—farmers and others—would meet in the flowerbedecked lounge for drinks and gossip before dinner was served and they all proceeded to their respective tables which had been booked in advance. 'I'd rather you didn't go into town,' Ralf said frankly. 'Ours is a small community and people are naturally curious about a new face—' 'Oh, I'd not do or say anything to embarrass you, Ralf,' she swiftly assured him. 'If anyone asks me who I am, I'll merely say I'm a friend of yours who's staying for a while.' Her eyes lifted to his bronzed, austere countenance, and even before he spoke she saw that her answer was unsatisfactory.

'I haven't mentioned anything about expecting a visitor.' His voice was hard, implacable, as he added, before she could speak, 'No, it won't do at all. You mustn't go into town.' Anger lit sparks in her eyes, infected her voice with a rough quality that grated even on her own ears. 'Am I to regard myself as a prisoner, then?' 'Don't be absurd,' he snapped, chilling contempt in his gaze. 'There's no question of your being a prisoner.' 'But if I'm not supposed to go into town, what else is it than imprisonment?' The brown eyes glinted almost dangerously. 'I'm merely asking that you consider my position. No one here knows of my marriage—' 'Nor will they know,' broke in Dawn, fighting down her anger with difficulty. 'But if I'm to stay here, then I shall have to go into town sometime, shan't I?' There, it was out without his asking her decision, and she waited, wondering how he would react. His voice was surprisingly quiet when, after a prolonged silence, he eventually spoke. 'So you're determined to stay here—indefinitely?' 'Not indefinitely, but for a while.' There was a tense silence, the atmosphere fraught with hostility. Dawn half-turned from him, and for a few seconds her attention was more happily concentrated on the lovely butterflies flitting about in the grenadilla hedge which enclosed part of the. garden. Behind, in the far distance, beyond the grassy plains of the Dombeya estate and

beyond the vast stretch of bushveld, rose the mountain backcloth, its summits starkly outlined against the brilliant blue of an African sky. 'Is that your last word?' gritted Ralf at last, and Dawn nodded her head, opened her mouth to speak and then found herself wordless, uneasy and to her surprise and vexation, as undecided as she had been in the beginning: almost intimidated by her husband's formidable personality, his autocratic, overbearing manner, his innate ability to dictate and command. But by some miracle strength seeped into her, the strength to hold her own, and she managed to say, 'Yes, Ralf, that's my last word. I do want to stay for a while, and enjoy what I've inherited.' A momentary pause and then, her lovely eyes lifted to his, 'I've agreed to say nothing about our marriage, or that I own an equal share in this house and estate. In continuing to keep these things secret I shall consider I am doing my part. . . .' Her voice trailed. Her challenge was quite open, but he deliberately ignored it, saying harshly, 'Have you thought about your position when my people arrive back here?' 'We shall have to discuss that before they come. I feel sure you'll be able to make something up to explain my presence here?' She looked at him questioningly, saw the dark fury in his eyes, the tensed line of his jaw, the tight compression of his mouth. Dejection flowed over her because she had neither expected nor steeled herself for a situation quite like this. True, she had felt a little apprehensive as to how her husband would receive her but, ignorant of the fact that he had all his relatives living with him, she had never envisaged these complications. 'I do fully understand that if I left it would simplify matters,' she went on when he maintained a wrathful silence, 'but on the other hand, I'm entitled to stay here and this I want to do—' She broke off and then said levelly, 'This I intend to do, Ralf, so you

might as well resign yourself and begin thinking of some way of accounting for my presence here.' He looked down at her from his superior height, chilling dislike in the depth of his eyes. A hostile silence dragged as he and Dawn stared at one another before, turning on his heels, he strode away in the direction of the house.

Chapter Three Lunch was a silent meal, with Ralf never even glancing Dawn's way. Although uncomfortable, she was determined to eat her meal, seeing no sense in jeopardising her health again after the improvement which had been made since her arrival at Dombeya Lodge, the time being short but the results satisfactory. Her skin had attained a healthy texture and colour, her eyes were brighter, her hair was beginning to regain the distinctive sheen it had lost through the grease and dampness of the cafe kitchen. When lunch was over Ralf spoke, asking her if she had any idea how long she would be staying. 'At the moment, I don't know,' she replied frankly. 'I must tell you, though, that I'm thoroughly enjoying it here; I love the peace, the feeling of being away from the world. It could be that the novelty of it is attracting me and that it'll wear off quite soon, but I don't think so.' She paused, quite unconscious of her pleading, wide-eyed stare. He waited for her to continue, his stony gaze revealing nothing of his emotions. 'I can fully understand that my appearance here had disconcerted you, but, fortunately, your people were away, which has given you time to think up something to tell them. I do want you to believe that I'm sorry for upsetting you, but I'd ask also that you see my point of view. Surely I'm entitled to enjoy my property for just a little while? After all, it can only be for eighteen months at the very most . . .' Her voice had become tremulous as she spoke; it now trailed away on a little quivering sigh as she saw the tightly drawn lines of anger stiffen his features as a result of her mentioning the eighteen months. 'I probably won't be staying that long.' She looked wistful. 'Perhaps six months, or a little more.' She glanced past him as she said that, to the long vista discernible through the window. From the moment she had stepped foot on the property she had been affected by her surroundings, by the clear blue sky, the warmth of the days and the starlit cool of the nights. In her explorations she had

found something intensely soothing in the immensity and harmony of the landscape, something impressive in the untouched simplicity of the wild bushveld, shimmering at times beneath a brittle heat-haze that looked like oil, shining and smooth and faintly mysterious, like the land itself; this primitive land where one's senses were always aware of the overmastering strength and power of nature. 'Six months. . . .' Ralf's softly spoken words recalled her attention and she waited for him to continue. 'Have you any idea what I can say to account for your presence here?' he inquired coldly. Dawn bit her lip and dropped her eyes under his forbidding gaze. 'No, but I took it for granted that you'd be able to concoct something,' she returned, and for the first time she saw him smile, though it was a smile completely devoid of humour. She had set him a problem and could understand his dilemma, sympathise with his initial reluctance to mention a wife, for as she had promised to sell out to him there had been no need to tell his relatives anything about his marriage. For a space Dawn's thoughts wandered to the explorations she had made since coming to Dombeya Lodge. They had taken her farther and farther afield and she was more and more appreciating the magnitude of the estate, the value, the prestige and respect which the owner of so impressive a property must command. She had come to think that Ralf ought to be showing a little gratitude instead of treating her as an intruder, someone who had no right to be here at all. By two. very excellent reasons she had the right to be here: firstly, she owned half the property, and secondly she was Ralf's wife. Not that this latter carried any real weight since it had not been a marriage at all but merely a cold-blooded business deal that was not totally honest in that it bypassed the actual wishes of their benefactor. Her thoughts reached a standstill as the silence in the room penetrated her consciousness; it was heavy and oppressive. She moistened her lips and forced herself to speak into it.

'If the worst comes to the worst, you can tell them the truth.' 'The truth!' He cast her a smouldering glance. 'Impossible!' Dawn sighed. This conversation was too infinitely depressing. 'It would make it easier for us both,' she ventured, not looking at him. 'A lie might be difficult to keep up.' He eyed her coldly. 'Perhaps, but at this stage I am not willing to admit that I'm married and that I own only half of the estate.' He paused, giving her the chance to speak, but she had nothing to say. 'If I'd had the least suspicion that you'd decide to spring your unwanted presence on me like this, I'd never have listened to that damned lawyer!' Another tension-filled silence followed with Dawn quailing under his unnerving anger and having to marshal all her courage not to capitulate at once and promise to go home. But she had only to look beyond him, to the now-familiar scene of exotic gardens which were half hers, to the neat, attractive layout of the citrus groves, and beyond them to the silent bushlands, their appeal illusive yet compelling, intangible and yet potent to the senses. No, she would not leave! The whole fabric of her life was falling into a pattern; she felt safe, secure, and knew that deep in her subconscious she was hoping to stay until the divorce, when she would receive her money from Ralf—money that would be the means by which she would find a new security, at home in England. She looked at him with determination in her eyes. For once in her life she would do what she wanted to do and not what was convenient to someone else—to this stranger-husband whose whole manner, since the day of her arrival, had been one of

resentment. She said at last, infusing a note of apology into her voice because, despite her resolve, she was profoundly conscious of the awkward situation which Ralf was finding himself in because of her being here, 'There must be something we can think of—' Ralf cut her short. 'Such as?' His voice was roughened by anger. 'In what possible way can I account for your presence here?' 'You can say I'm a—a friend,' she suggested, conscious of the hard eyes boring into her. 'There must be something,' she said again, stressing the second word. 'I could be a friend of a friend of yours, perhaps?' It all sounded so absurdly weak that she fully expected him to treat it with the disparagement he would consider it deserved. But instead he suddenly became thoughtful, lines of concentration appearing on his forehead. Long moments later he looked at her and said, 'I've a friend who left Pretoria for England some months ago. He's English and has a daughter in her early twenties who's been ill. The last time he wrote to me he mentioned the idea of sending her away to the sunshine to convalesce, and if he did decide to do so it would be quite natural for him to ask if she could come here. My mother and sisters don't know this man at all, so obviously don't know his daughter— nor have I met the daughter because she remained in England with her mother.' Ralf paused in thought as if searching for any snags that might be likely to occur. Obviously he found none because his next words were, 'It could work. All I have to do is tell Mother that he wrote to me, making the request, and I agreed to have his daughter for a month or two.' A month or two. . . . Dawn looked up into the lean inflexibility of his face and wisely allowed that to pass without comment.

'As you say, it might work,' she agreed, but went on to inquire if there was any likelihood of his mother or sisters asking the kind of questions that she would find too difficult to answer. 'I don't think so,' he replied, 'not after I've explained. All you have to do is act naturally, remembering your role as guest in the house, daughter of my friend.' Pointed the remarks ... or was 'warnings' a better term to describe his words? It was of no importance, decided Dawn; what was important was that at last he had produced a credible explanation to account for her presence here. Bridges, she decided, should be crossed as one came to them and not before. And if by some mischance one or two sticky situations should arise as a result of the deception, then without doubt Ralf would know how to deal with them, it being his problem, not hers. 'I'm far from happy, but it's the best I can come up with and so we shall have to make an effort to pull it off.' His eyes darkened as they met hers, and she felt sure there was a threat in their depths. 'Make one false move,' they seemed to warn, 'and, by God, you'll regret it!' Aloud he said, 'So that's settled, then. Is there anything you want to ask me?' She hesitated, but only for a moment. 'I'd like a better room, Ralf. The one I'm in is all right for a week or two, but not for six months or more.' 'More!' he echoed sharply. 'You definitely mentioned six months just now.' 'We'll see,' was all she was willing to say to that, simply because it was impossible to know how she would be feeling in six months' time. She might have come to like it so much that she would not mind staying forever—which would not be possible of course owing to her promise to sell out to Ralf. 'I think you'll agree that it isn't asking much when so many rooms are taken up with your family.'

His jaw flexed. She wondered if he knew, deep inside him, just how unreasonable he was being with her. 'I can't throw someone out of their room,' he argued tautly. 'Can't you manage? Is there something else you need for your comfort—' 'Yes, Ralf,' broke in Dawn gently, 'another room.' For a moment he seemed as if he would like to do her an injury, so angry did he look. 'It can't be done!' he snapped, still glowering at her. 'That's your final word?' Most of the colour had left Dawn's face, and she was quivering inwardly, but she was determined to hold out for what was her right. 'It's my final word!' A weighty tension marked the long silence that fell between them before Dawn said, rising from the table, 'In that case, Ralf, I shall have no alternative other than to tell your mother and sisters the truth— that I own half of this estate and, therefore, I demand a decent bedroom—!' She stopped a moment to gather the strength to add, 'I expect you have the best bedroom in the house; I shall have the second best.' And before he had time to make any protest she had moved from the table to the door. With a scowl between his eyes and an expletive on his lips Ralf watched the door close softly behind her.

It took Dawn some little time to recover from the tussle with her husband, but, determined as she was to hold her own, and also to reap a little benefit from her inheritance, she calmed down at length, had a wash and changed into a pretty flowered cotton dress which she had made herself just before coming out to Africa; she brushed her

hair, used the blusher on her cheeks and felt much better for the effort of making herself look nice. A glance in the mirror pleased her; she picked up the folds of the full skirt and let them fall, feeling rather proud of the professional touch she had somehow managed to give to the dress. She was still a little thin, but it fitted well, the tight-fitting bodice looking as if it had been moulded to her figure, the shoulder straps put there to hold it up seeming almost unnecessary. Taking up a white handbag, she went from the bedroom, pausing in the wide corridor, her eyes flickering along its length. Just at that moment Ralf passed through the hall and she called to him. 'I'm just going to take a look at the rooms, Ralf. And I shall decide which one I want to take over.' He stopped, threads of crimson stealing up the sides of his mouth and under the tightly drawn skin of his cheeks. 'What did you say?' A challenge in the roughened tone, a dangerous glint in the dark brown eyes. 'I asked you a question,' he gritted when she did not answer. His eyes roved her body, seeming to leave it naked. Little did he know that the reason she had not answered was because she had a blockage in her throat. Yet she managed to hold on to her determination, being under no illusions that once she showed the slightest sign of weakness she was lost. This man would dominate over her, and she would find herself obeying his every wish, while her own wishes were effectively crushed. Resolved to stand up to him, she repeated what she had already said. She heard him grit his teeth, and automatically a hand fluttered to the bannister rail (for she felt she needed support, seeing that her legs were beginning to feel weak). 'You can't enter any of those rooms while they're still occupied.' His eyes held hers inflexibly. 'I absolutely forbid it!' The sheer ruthlessness of his voice and manner sent Dawn's stomach nerves fluttering, and for one defeatist moment she was ready to capitulate,

the effort of standing up to him demanding strength which she felt she did not possess. But even yet again she rallied, aware as she was that once she weakened she might as well pack her bags and go home. 'I intend to take possession of one of them, Ralf. And whether it be now or later depends on you. You said earlier that I can't have a decent room, but you know as well as I that I'm in a position to demand one. You knew this relative of mine very well and, therefore, you also know that he meant me to benefit equally with you. This high-handed manner won't do. I shall resort to sending you a lawyer's letter if you don't give me what I want.' Although he gritted his teeth again, and the tiny threads of crimson spread even further into his face, he did seem to realise that what she said was right. Her benefactor did intend that they should both share and share alike. 'I'll have to see what can be done,' he rasped, and Dawn knew for sure that he meant her to suffer for causing him this loss of face. 'For the present, I ask you to remain where you are.' She nodded in agreement. 'Until your people return.' Again her eyes flickered along the corridor. She surmised that Ralf would be occupying the last bedroom. 'Which is the second-best room?' she asked, not quite sure that he would trouble to answer her. He did answer, curtly telling her that his mother had the second-best bedroom. Dawn bit her lip, accepting that she could not take this room for herself. 'The next, then?' she queried, and this time he did not answer, but instead drew an impatient, exasperated breath and left her standing there, embarrassment bringing the hot colour flooding into her cheeks. *

She drove the station wagon along the dusty road leading to Hortsburg, passing smart white bungalows here and there along the way, slowing down for little children. Through the open window of the car drifted the sharp aroma of herbs growing by the roadside, the more pervasive scent of honeysuckle blooming in profusion in the hedgerows. The sunshine was brittle, the air heavy and still. Despite the disunity existing between her and Ralf, Dawn was singularly light-hearted and she found herself actually breaking into song as she drove along the bumpy, dust-covered road. Eventually the town was reached and, after parking the car, she made her way to the one main street where the shops were situated. It was exciting, wandering along, beneath the feathery foliage of tamarisk trees lining the street on both sides. Right at the end was the library, a low red building towards which she walked automatically, and was pleasantly surprised to find a sizable and interesting collection of books upon its shelves. She inquired about joining; the librarian looked curiously at her and Dawn supplied the information that she was a guest of Mr. Ralf Deverell, the instant result being that the woman's face cleared and she extended her hand immediately. 'Welcome,' she smiled. 'I'm Mary Nugent. Yes, of course you can join. How long are you to be with Mr. Deverell?' 'Oh, perhaps three or four months,' answered Dawn casually, then gave her name. 'Are you liking it?' asked the older woman, and Dawn nodded eagerly. 'Very much indeed. It's something vastly different from where I lived in the north of England.' 'The north?' with a new interest. 'What part?'

'Cheshire, but right on the border of Shropshire.' 'Coincidence! My aunt and two cousins live in Cheshire—' She stopped and shrugged apologetically. 'Excuse me,' she said and moved to the other side of the counter to stamp some books out for a young man who seemed to have a dozen at least. He looked across at Dawn with interest, then smiled. She responded, liking his open face, the clear blue eyes set wide apart, the generous mouth, the thick fair hair above a wide intelligent forehead. He was of medium height, well made with very little excess weight, his body clad in a checked shirt and faded denims. She watched him begin to stuff the books into a duffle bag, then turned away to wander among the shelves, undecided as to whether to choose something light or something more uplifting. She chose a book of poems in the end, feeling inordinately happy that she was free for leisurely pursuits such as this, that she had all the time in the world to read and relax and do just what she liked. What a dramatic change had taken place in so short a time! It seemed only last week since she was a prisoner in that cafe, working long weary hours and too tired at the end of the day even to read for half an hour before going to bed. The next place she went to was the chemist's where to her surprise she managed to buy her favourite toilet soap. She bought nothing else, for her air fare had left her short of money and she did not suppose that Ralf would offer her any. If he did, she would certainly not refuse it. It was hers by right and would be deducted from her share when the final settlement took place. However, she had no intention of asking him for money; she had enough for the bare necessities which she would require for the next few months, and she was not interested in carrying her thoughts further just at this time. It seemed that she had subconsciously decided to live for the day, to forget the past and ignore the future. After wandering about for another fifteen minutes she found herself face-to-face with the young man she'd seen in the library.

'Hello, stranger!' he greeted her without preamble. 'Who are you and where are you living?' He grinned ruefully and held forth a hand. 'Jack Moore —happy to meet you.' Dawn found herself smiling in response to this totally uninhibited approach. 'I'm Dawn,' she returned, gripping his hand. 'I'm staying at Dombeya Lodge as guest of Mr. Deverell.' 'You are?' with a widening stare. 'Well, now, that's mighty interesting! How's that green-eyed chunk of dazzling sex appeal reacting to you?' Dawn frowned, not quite sure how to take him, or whether she liked his familiar, devil-may-care attitude after all. He was acting as if he'd known her for weeks instead of having only just met her. 'Ralf s family's away at the present—' 'Of course!' He slapped his knee. 'I knew they were, but forgot for the moment.' In as few words as possible he told her that he was English, that he was twenty-five, that he and his brother had bought the small farm, Yellow Gables, which was on the opposite' side of town from Dombeya Lodge, that they had been in residence for five months but still knew precious little about farming methods in Africa. 'All those books you saw are on various aspects of farming. I've just taken them to the car,' he explained finally, and in the next breath was inviting her to have afternoon tea with him at the Jacaranda Club. 'Well—I—' 'Don't refuse,' he insisted. 'I always have tea there when I'm in town, and it'd be much more pleasant to have company.'

She made no further demur but fell into step beside him, her spirits lifting even higher than before at the prospect of having male company—and such pleasant male company as his. They were shown to a table in the corner where the view was to the exotic, beautifully kept gardens of the club. 'They have barbecues out there,' he informed her when they were seated and he had given their order. 'Tell me about yourself,' he urged then, his blue eyes travelling appreciatively over the part of her body that was visible above the top of the table. 'Are you on your own here?' 'Yes, I'm on my own.' 'Staying long?' 'A few months,' she replied, wishing he was not quite so inquisitive. 'You're some relation to Ralf Deverell?' She shook her head. 'No, not a relation.' She paused, gaining courage to tell the lies. 'My father's a friend of Ralf, and I've come here to recuperate from an illness.' Once it was out she breathed a sigh of relief, for although she had rehearsed it several times on the way to Hortsburg—just in case someone should ask the kind of pertinent questions being asked by Jack—she had not known whether the explanation would sound feasible. It must have done so because Jack was nodding and saying that the sun and the air around these parts would very soon put her right. 'Mind you,' he went on after pulling himself up abruptly, 'you don't look as if you've been ill to me. In fact, I think you're lovely—'

'Please.' She held up a hand, but he only laughed. 'No flattery. I don't react to it in the way most females do.' His eyes opened wide. 'You don't like it?' 'I've never had any,' she confessed, 'and so it naturally embarrasses me.' 'How the devil can it embarrass you if you've never had any?' he demanded reasonably, and Dawn could do no more than burst out laughing. 'And how is it that you've never had any flattery?' He went on without giving her a chance to speak. 'How old are you for a start?' 'You should never ask a woman her age,' she admonished severely. 'That's not true! Depends on how old the woman is!' 'Well, all right. If she's turned twenty—' 'Rubbish! Forty's the fatal age. I know because my mother almost went into a decline after her fortieth birthday. So I said that when she was fifty she'd darn well wish she was forty and it was amazing how quickly she recovered. Women are funny creatures,' he added, then lapsed into silence as if he had to give himself breathing space. The tea came, along with toasted scones oozing with butter. There was black cherry jam on the table and a jug of cream. 'That was lovely!' exclaimed Dawn, leaning back in her chair when she had finished. 'Thank you for the invitation.' 'Thank you for accepting it,' he smiled, the blue eyes exploring again with undisguised admiration. 'It isn't often we have charming young

ladies coming out here on their own.' His eyes dropped to the hand that lay on the tablecloth. 'Not married,' he observed. 'I predict some fun for you, young lady! We've several lonely and eligible bachelors living around these parts—my brother and me for two!' he ended, grinning to reveal a row of even white teeth. 'Hope you'll remember that I saw you first!' 'I'll do that,' she promised, her eyes dancing. 'I've a feeling that you're the district's biggest flirt.' 'Unkind!' he retorted. 'Just because a bloke likes a bit of fun! Besides, there aren't any eligible females to flirt with!' He paused a moment, and when he spoke again all the frivolity had disappeared and his expression was serious. 'If you're a friend of Ralf Deverell's, then you'll know all about the family?' 'I know a little,' she answered guardedly, then went on to say that it was her father who was Ralf s friend and that she had never met Ralf until she came for this visit. 'Oh, I see.' His curious glance made Dawn wonder what sort of questions he would ask next. She decided to forestall him and delicately changed the subject. 'What part of England do you come from? Obviously it's the north.' 'My accent?' he grinned, nodding his head. 'Same county as you— Lancashire.' 'I'm from Cheshire—next door.' 'Pretty, but its people are dumb.' Dawn's eyes sparkled. 'They're better farmers than you'll find in Lancashire!' she retorted. 'No wonder you don't know anything about it.'

Jack chuckled and said, 'Dawn What's-your- name, I could never do battle with you!' 'Sutton,' she provided, laughing, then a silence fell momentarily as Jack paid the bill which the waitress had brought to the table. 'Are you in a hurry?' he asked then. 'If not, we could sit in the garden for a spell.' She agreed after only the slightest hesitation. He might be rather overwhelming in some ways, but he was pleasant company for all that. He knew his way about, and Dawn found herself being led across a sweeping lawn towards a belt of tall palms through which there was a path leading to a shady bower looking onto a small water garden and cascade. 'This is lovely!' she exclaimed, savouring the beautiful aspect around her, savouring too the freedom from the drudgery that had been hers for the past couple of years. Inevitably she would at times feel a sadness creeping into her thoughts as she dwelt on her sister-in-law's untimely death, but since there was no profit in these mindwanderings, she was able to cast them off without too much trouble. It wasn't as if there had been any deep bond between Greta and herself; Greta was an introvert and always had been, even before her husband's death. 'Do you know,' observed Jack, sitting down close to her on the little rush seat, 'I get the impression that you've not had much in your life.' Half question and his glance was interrogating. 'I haven't been well,' she reminded him, and such was her tone and glance that he left it at that, rather to her surprise because there was no doubt that he was a most persistent and uninhibited young man.

'When are all those women expected back at Dombeya Lodge?' he inquired after a while. 'In three or four days' time.' A sigh escape^ her involuntarily as she wondered whether they would welcome a guest in the home that had been all theirs for the past year and a half. 'Five women. . . .'murmured Jack with a wry grimace. 'And Ralf Deverell giving the impression that he's a man's man!' 'I had the same impression myself.' 'He had to take Myra, it seems, because her husband sold up the house over her head, then went off with another woman, leaving Myra homeless and destitute. He's never been heard of since. Myra hasn't a clue to his whereabouts.' 'How awful. What a rotter he must have been!' 'I wouldn't know about that,' returned Jack thoughtfully. 'From the bits of gossip I've heard from time to time, I'd say it was her own fault. She's a hard one, and calculating.' Jack shifted his position a little, spreading his arm along the back of the seat. 'I hope you're going to get along with these women,' he murmured doubtfully. 'Ralf Deverell's mother's a Tartar, too—' He stopped abruptly and Dawn was reminded of the way Letsie's smile faded when she mentioned the woman. 'What's she like?' Dawn was curious now and decided that, if a few questions would put her wise to what she must expect, then she was not averse to asking them. 'Autocratic—no, worse than that; she's the biggest snob I've ever met! Thinks herself above everyone since her son inherited Dombeya. Everyone knows it's the largest and most prosperous estate

hereabouts, but why the devil that should cause the woman to regard herself as superior to everyone else beats me.' 'She has no friends, then?' Dawn was becoming perturbed now. Hitherto she had refused to form pictures that would in all probability be wrong, since she'd nothing whatsoever to go on, but now . . . 'How old is she?' 'I should say around fifty-five—at a rough guess.' 'She runs the house for her son, I suppose?' 'Well . . . yes, but then there's Esther who fully intends to become mistress of Dombeya Lodge. Very beautiful in a sophisticated way. Came supposedly to look after the old girl—who doesn't need any looking after from what I've seen of her. No, Miss Esther Mansfield came husband-hunting, and she's doing very well from the reports that are circulating. It's expected that an engagement's in the offing and I expect the wedding'll follow very soon afterwards,' Dawn had to smile, wondering what Jack would have to say were she to tell him that Ralf was married already. Half an hour later Dawn was on her way back to Dombeya Lodge, her thoughts on the people who would soon be returning, but especially was she thinking about one of them, Ralf's younger sister, Avice. There had been an odd, unfathomable inflection in Jack's voice when he spoke about her, immediately after describing her mother. His eyes had been shadowed at first and then restless. A lovely girl, he had called her, with silver-blond hair and sapphireblue eyes. 'She's very different from the rest,' he had said finally, then changed the subject to make a date with Dawn. 'Saturday night, then,' he was saying as they separated, each to go to their respective vehicles which

happened to be parked within a few yards of one another, 'in the lounge of the Jacaranda Club!'

Chapter Four Ralf happened to be in the yard when Dawn returned; he was standing in the shade of one of the buildings, his tall muscular frame clad in brown shorts and a white cotton shirt, short sleeved and with the collar open to reveal a mahogany-coloured throat and a mass of dark hair beneath it. His firm, regular features were set, arrogantly inflexible; his mouth seemed to tighten as he watched her park the station wagon against the wall of the dairy, his whole manner one of hostility, and yet she sensed an unusual interest in her appearance as she walked from the vehicle, her bag slung over her shoulder, the book in her hand. The dark eyes were insolent in their scrutiny, flickering from her face to the delicate curve of her throat and lower, to rest for an unconscionable length of time on the firm, high roundness of her breasts. A slow flush spread over her face and she stopped, only to begin shifting uncomfortably on her feet, wishing to escape and yet she was tongue-tied, unable to voice the excuse which her mind had already produced. 'You found the library,' he observed, glancing at the title. 'Palgrave's Golden Treasury . . .' He seemed surprised at her choice, and she felt her hackles rise. His eyes flicked back to her face, glimmering coldly as he added, 'I was in town this afternoon and saw you with Jack Moore.' 'Yes?' Something in the way he said that triggered off a nerve spring and she was impelled to say, 'Have you some particular reason for mentioning the fact?' 'You've probably realised already that he's a flirt?' 'I haven't realised any such thing.' Ralf gave her a slow, measuring look which made her feel naked.

'Are you trying to tell me he didn't flirt with you?' At the icy contempt in his voice her temper flared, but with admirable restraint she managed to control it. 'I'm not trying to tell you anything,' she answered in a crisp but quiet tone. 'I'm afraid your attitude puzzles me.' 'He isn't the sort of man I'd recommend you to become overly friendly with.' Dawn stiffened. 'I don't think I understand,' she said levelly. 'I can't believe that you're presuming to tell me whom I shall not speak to.' 'I'm advising, that's all.' There was a moment suggestive of real enmity before he added, 'You'd do well to take that advice.' Dawn stared still contriving to remain calm. And suddenly she knew a strange uneasiness, her nerves fluttering inexplicably as she noticed again the concentrated manner in which he was examining her, his wandering eyes absorbing everything about her, from her head to her feet. There seemed to be a strange, intangible undercurrent about him, the presence of something indefinable beneath the surface as he brought his eyes back to her face and kept them there, looking through her now as if his thoughts were somewhere else. Dawn frowned at last, chiding herself for the impressions she was getting. There was nothing different about him ... or was there? Bringing his full attention back, he appeared to be waiting for some comment; when none was forthcoming he said, an edge of authority to his voice, 'Keep him at a distance, then you won't get embroiled.' And before she had time to say anything, he strode away, his long smooth strides lengthening the distance with incredible speed.

Trembling with suppressed anger, Dawn followed his progress until he was out of sight before she began to make her way slowly in the direction of the homestead. It was late afternoon, with the light growing golden and the shadows of the palms lengthening across the lawn, and as always she was deeply touched by the sheer undiluted beauty of her surroundings. Entering the house she stood for a moment to admire the lovely plants in the hall, so many kinds, spilling over the edges of jardinieres, festooning tall pillars or hanging from baskets chained to the ceiling. They stood out against the white walls, complementing the furniture. They were just right and Dawn wondered which of the four women in her husband's life was responsible for such artistry. Somehow she knew instinctively that it was Avice, the girl who had lost her fiancé, who had arranged the plants in their various positions. She realised, too, that Avice was the only one of the four with whom there was any likelihood of her becoming friendly. That night she was on the stoep, enjoying a peaceful half hour before going to bed, when suddenly she stiffened and turned her head. Ralf was there, behind her, a massive dark outline against the subdued glow from the room behind. Nerves tingled but she had no idea why. She supposed, after pondering for a while, that it was because he overpowered her with his height, with the studied coolness he almost always adopted towards her, the impression he gave of superiority, which invariably had the uncomfortable effect of making her feel small and inadequate and totally out of place. For something to say she commented on the softness of the air, its perfumes and its warmth. 'The stars are so bright,' she added finally, a sudden dryness affecting her throat, for there was something different about him, and quite without warning she found herself assailed by misgivings. She swallowed convulsively, angry because of the way she was feeling— apprehensive— No, more than that, she was actually afraid of him.

'This happens to be a pleasant time of the year— our autumn. Later in the year it can become unbearably hot.' 'December and January? Yes, I know it can.' She paused, but he did not speak. Nor did he move, and his presence behind her chair unnerved her. She got up, keeping her distance, as she added, 'I daresay that by then I'll have acclimatized.' 'You're really determined to stay?' 'Yes, Ralf,' she returned, 'I've already said so.' She heard him expel a breath. 'It's absurd!' he snapped. 'I don't know why you continue to adopt this attitude. After all, you've invented a reason for my being here.' She was facing him now, and his hostility was more than evident in his expression. 'It'll suffice as an explanation for a short stay, but certainly not a prolonged one.' She merely shrugged, endeavouring to adopt a casual mien despite the uneasy and inexplicable sensation of fear that was spreading over her. 'I'll say good-night,' she murmured, moving into the light, towards the window through which he had emerged a moment before. 'I've just had a phone call from my mother,' he said before she could go. 'She has decided to stay on with her friends for at least an extra week.' 'An extra week? And the others, are they staying too?'

'Yes,' he nodded, 'they are. So it will be about ten days to a fortnight before they get back here.' 'What about the room I want? I don't feel like waiting indefinitely.' 'I've been thinking about it and I'm afraid there is nothing that can be done. If I were to make someone give up their room in order to give it to you, supposedly a stranger, I'd have to provide a feasible explanation which, you'll agree, is impossible.' She met his arrogant stare challengingly, for it was not the content of his words that set her teeth on edge, but the finality in his voice which was clearly meant to crush any further argument on her part. Courage came to her, the result of her previous determination not to be browbeaten, yet there was a certain hollowness in her voice over which she had no control. 'I shall choose a room, Ralf, and move into it tomorrow.' 'You—!' The snap of his teeth accompanied the dangerous glint that entered his eyes. 'You'll do no such thing!' 'We shall see.' And without giving him any time to answer, she went into the house and mounted the stairs. As on a couple of previous occasions, she let her eyes wander along the well-lit corridor; without warning anger surged at the thought that she had not even seen inside any of the bedrooms except the small one which she was at present occupying. At least she had the right to look! she was saying angrily as she undressed and slipped into a pretty, diaphanous nightgown she had extravagantly treated herself to just before embarking on this trip. She donned the matching neglige, her anger still rising. She would look, she decided, going first to the window to assure herself that Ralf was still on the stoep. Satisfied that he was, she opened her door and stepped into the corridor. The first room she entered was high ceilinged, large and airy, comfortably furnished with single bed, two wardrobes, a dressing

table and two bedside tables on which were pretty, amber-shaded electric lamps. The carpet was pale rose, the drapes a deeper shade of the same colour. Dawn's eyes wandered around broodingly before, closing the door, she proceeded to the next room. Of similar size, it was more dainty, with white wood furniture, and the carpet, drapes and bedcover being in a pastel shade of blue. The third room was obviously occupied by Ralf's mother, and because Dawn surmised that the one next door would be occupied by the girl, Esther, who had come here supposedly to look after Ralf's mother, she opened the door and went inside, only to realise at once that her assumption was wrong, and this was Ralf's room. Yet it was so attractive that she stood for a while admiring the lovely handmade furniture, the massive bed, the soft green carpet and matching drapes. It must have a magnificent view to the mountains, and without even stopping to think that she ought not to be here at all, she went over to the window. She was just peering out when Ralf's harsh and incredulous voice brought her swinging round, the blood rushing into her face. 'What the hell are you doing in my room?' 'I'm—sorry,' she faltered, the nerves in her throat pulsing erratically. 'I—er—wanted to take a look at the rooms. . . .' Her voice trailed to an apologetic silence and she paused, quailing under the fury of his gaze. 'Do you usually walk into someone's bedroom without asking their permission?' To Dawn's surprise, his voice was no longer harsh, but any relief was short-lived as she met the expression in his eyes. A trembling seized her, and instinctively she drew the front of her neglige closer around her. But she was painfully conscious of the inadequacy of her covering, as her husband's eyes moved, slowly to rove over her body before coming to rest on the tender upsweep of her breasts. She recalled her impression that there was something different about his manner with her; it had not been anything tangible, for she had merely sensed its presence. Now, as she stared,

fascinated and yet afraid, into the intentness of his gaze, she wondered if her husband, in spite of his dislike, had begun to desire her. They had been together in the house they jointly owned, alone but for the servants; they were husband and wife. ... And Ralf was very plainly a virile man. 'I don't know what made me want to see the rooms at this time of the night,' she faltered. 'And as for this particular one—I had no idea it was yours—' 'No idea?' with a lift of his brows and an amused sort of smile. 'You've been here all this time and you don't know where I sleep?' The sarcasm came through, but it was the cynical ring to his voice that brought the angry glint to Dawn's eyes. Her chin went up, and when she spoke her voice was sharp and icily cold. 'As I had no interest in where you slept, there is nothing strange about my ignorance!' The lignite eyes narrowed slowly. 'Just why are you here?' he asked in a voice of soft inquiry but which carried a vibrant note that only served to increase Dawn's trepidation. 'I've told you, I wanted to see the bedrooms.' Slowly he came towards her, incredibly handsome, his lean, aristocratic features clear cut in the bright electric light, his eyes steely grey and narrowed. Dawn eyed the door; it was slowly closing from the slight push given it by her husband ... an automatic gesture, or deliberate? Dawn's heart was beating overrate; her nerve ends were ragged. 'And the matter was so urgent that you had to come tonight—in this attire?' Again the cynical note, this time matched by the lift at one

side of his mouth. 'What kind of a story is that?' he asked in some amusement. 'And what's the idea of the reluctant pose?' She pretended not to grasp his meaning. 'I don't understand you,' she said, and in his eyes she noticed a sudden gleam of humour. 'Then you must be very obtuse.' Dawn made no answer, and after a moment he added, 'When I came in here and found you my first reaction was anger— and perhaps some surprise came into it too. But on noticing your attire, perception came swiftly and my anger died—' 'To be replaced by desire,' she inserted, then felt her cheeks grow hot at what she had so impulsively blurted out. 'Exactly.' Ralf's eyes wandered over her in a slow, appraising look that stripped her body naked. 'In all honesty, Dawn,' he said at length, 'I have to admit that you hold a certain attraction for me, and perhaps the situation we are in, and the fact that you are my wife, has had something to do with it—' 'But you do not want me as your wife,' she cut in desperately. 'That is immaterial.' Ralf's voice was smoothly deep and firm. 'What is important is the fact that we are both in the mood for making love.' She had known it would come, and yet she froze at his outspokenness. 'You take a lot for granted,' she managed, marvelling at the steadiness of her voice, for she was trembling so violently now that her legs felt weak, ready to withdraw their support. 'I spoke the truth when I said I came merely to look at the rooms. I had no idea this one was yours or I'd never have dreamed of coming in.' She glanced at the closed door, aware that her husband's tall frame was between her and it. 'I must be

going,' she said, but Ralf made no move to get out of her way. 'Please let me pass.' Instead, he reached out; she shied away, but the window was behind her. Terrified, she allowed her eyes a fleeting glance at the big, kingsized bed and her trembling increased. She clutched at the edges of her neglige, which had come apart, and drew them together, averting her eyes against the glimmer of amusement that had entered Ralf's at her action. His hand caught her wrist; she was drawn to him even though she protested by a series of twists and turns. Laughter rose to her husband's lips and he said in some amusement, 'You act as though escape is paramount.' 'It is!' she returned fiercely. 'Let me go! You wouldn't dare to molest me!' 'Molest?' softly and with a lift of his straight dark brows. 'You're my wife. You have gone out of your way to remind me of the fact—' 'But not for that reason!' 'What reason?' She glared at him, hating him for playing with her, deriving amusement at her expense. 'I want to go to my room!' 'You said you didn't like the one you have.' His grip tightened on her wrist as she tried again to wrench herself to freedom. 'Well, my dear, you shall share my room tonight . . . and my bed— No, don't protest any more,' he said sternly as she made to interrupt. 'I'm not a man who has patience with prevarication and pretence! You have desires and so do I, and the solution's simple.' Without warning he jerked her body against his own, then bent his head and kissed her on the lips.

She tried to struggle even though hope was draining out of her. How could she ever hope to combat a man of Ralf's sinewed strength? His lips were exploring tender, vulnerable places, and suddenly she seemed to be partaking of an adventure that was both scaring and exciting her. Ralf teased with his hands, touching lightly the blue veins at her temple, then fingering her ear and her throat while his mouth gently pressed into the warm seductive valley between her breasts. A shudder passed through her, but fear was dying as desire was born, result of her husband's knowledge and expertise. She failed to understand herself. Why wasn't she continuing to struggle? What would Ralf think of her if she reciprocated in the way a normal wife would? After all, she had never considered herself married to him, had never even corresponded until she decided to come out here, just for a holiday— certainly not with the idea of demanding that she be recognised as his lawful wife. 'Let me go,' she begged when eventually he held her from him. Her protest was weak as she added, 'You have no right to do this to me....' And it wasn't even finished because he was silently laughing at her, his eyes gleaming with amusement, his mouth curved with a sort of cynical humour. He wanted her—badly. And yet she knew that his desire for her had no other basis than what was purely physical. And why should it be anything deeper? They were almost strangers still, with nothing in common except that they were joint owners of a most valuable property. She thought of what he had admitted: that he had begun to find her attractive. She had made things easy for him by giving way to her curiosity and coming into his room. . . . No, she would not make things easy for him! She would not submit to his desires! Wrenching herself free by taking him by surprise, she raced for the door; but he was swifter than she and she found herself captured again, and treated more roughly this time as her husband crushed her tender curves against the granite hardness of his body. Her breasts were flattened against his chest; she was made to arch her body, compelled to feel the virile hardness against the tender swell of

her stomach. She tried vainly to fight him, but her strength was a puny, useless effort, and almost before she realised it she was picked up and carried to the bed. 'No, let me go!' she cried as he put her on her feet. 'I don't want—' 'Stop it!' he commanded, clearly losing patience with what he truly believed to be an act on her part. 'Be your age!' Resentment flared, but before she could speak his strong arms were around her again and she was drawn against his roused body, being made vitally aware of his need as he moved in slow rhythm, his hand exploring, finding tender places; and when he cupped one small firm breast, teasing the nipple to the peak of desire, she knew she was lost, that she would struggle no more. She found herself responding to the movements of his hard, demanding body, reciprocating to the pressure of his mouth by parting her lips to allow his tongue to enter. After a long while he held her from him to ease away the shoulders of the neglige; she coloured as it slipped to the floor and he kicked it away with the toe of his shoe. He still held her from him, devouring her beauty through the transparency of the remaining garment. The light cast shadows which caught and held his attention; Dawn saw his eyes darken with passion, noticed a nerve pulsating in his throat. She made no attempt to stop him taking off the nightgown, but her cheeks became hot as she stood there, naked before the husband she scarcely knew, the man she had married merely for convenience. He caressed her, and she quivered at the contact of his hands. 'You're very beautiful,' he murmured unexpectedly as he stood above her, looking down at the soft young body he was about to make his own. 'I had no idea my wife was like this. At the time I first met you—' He stopped and frowned and told her roughly to get into bed. She obeyed, thinking of her drab appearance that day in the lawyer's office, and felt that had Ralf finished the sentence he would have

said, '. . . You were plain,' or perhaps he would have been a little more tactful than that. It was a matter of minutes before Ralf slid in beside her; she quivered with excitement when his warm hands began to roam, and yet troublesome thoughts occupied her mind. She heard herself say in a choked little voice, 'You'll despise me tomorrow, Ralf.' It was a plea, desperate and earnest, for all at once his opinion of her mattered ... so much that she knew she must ask herself why. But for the present her mind was becoming drugged by his sensuous exploration of her body. 'This is tonight,' her husband was murmuring, his mouth moist against her breast. 'Tomorrow will take care of itself.'

Chapter Five It was only to be expected that Dawn would feel embarrassment flow over her when she awoke the following morning to the realisation that she was in her husband's bed. Reluctantly she turned to look at him. So tranquil! His bronzed face was sideways on the pillow, contrasting starkly with its whiteness. Memories gushed into her mind; the gentle and prolonged love play before the final act which took her to heights of ecstasy she had never dreamed existed. Oh, yes, she knew that love was bliss, but never in her wildest imaginings would she have envisaged anything so rapturous as her experience of last night. Ralf must have had endless practice, she thought, for he seemed to sense exactly what would please her . . . and make her give him her all in consequence. Love . . . ? Was it possible that one night in his arms could result in the birth of love? It did not seem feasible . . . and yet . . . What, then, was this emotion within her heart? Strong and vibrant, it made her feel exhilarated in spite of her embarrassment. It was excitement and expectation, and it was optimism and happiness. It was love. She had no need to question herself further; she was in love with her husband. He stirred and opened his eyes. 'Hello,' she said, for the need to break the silence seemed urgent. He looked at her long and hard, saw the hot colour wash into her cheeks then ebb immediately to leave her very pale. 'Good morning,' he said. 'I hope you slept well?' Dawn pushed a hand through her hair; it was an instinctive gesture to hide her embarrassment. 'Very well, thank you,' she returned, stiff-lipped.

Ralf's eyes became fixed, and Dawn swiftly lifted the cover over her chest, noting his amusement as she did so. She wanted to get up and wished she had done so before he wakened. 'What time is it?' he asked. 'Half past eight.' His eyes widened. 'I haven't slept this late for years!' He smiled faintly at her. 'Love is good for one,' he remarked and rose from the bed, taking up his dressing gown from the chair where he had left it the previous night. She waited until he was in his bathroom before getting out of bed. A bathroom en suite was very convenient, she thought, her intention being to have one of the rooms which was so equipped. She felt awkward at breakfast, avoiding looking at Ralf until he said from across the table, 'There's no need for you to feel uncomfortable, Dawn. It was a natural thing that happened to us.' 'You don't despise me, then?' 'Of course not. Why should I?' She looked at him, a chill spreading over her heart. He was so matterof-fact—generously not condemning her but neither was he evincing any sign of affection. It was as if what had happened was considered by him to be inevitable, the very natural outcome of the situation in which they had found themselves. It meant nothing now that it was over and done with. And perhaps he considered that any regrets she might have were entirely her own fault; she had insisted on coming here, and staying, so what did she expect? Yes, she concluded as she studied his lean, angular face, her deductions were undoubtedly correct.

She felt a tightness in her throat; she tried to deny her admission that she was in love with him, endeavoured to convince herself that it had merely been a delusion brought on by the situation she had been in, with her husband making love to her, taking her to ecstatic heights, his hands and his mouth gentle, just as they would have been had he loved her. Tears stung her eyes; she clenched her jaws to halt their fall. She did not think her husband would care to see her crying . . . nor would he have much patience, she decided grimly. Restless after the meal was over and Ralf had gone across to work at clearing more bush for the planting of even more citrus trees, Dawn fetched Marylou and, with Shaitan trotting along at her heels, they went towards the riverbank, where there was a narrow path along which Dawn had ridden several times before. As always when she was riding, the vastness of the Dombeya estate made an immense impression on her mind. She guessed that her half share would be more than enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life . . . but just now she had no wish to have her half. All she desired was to stay, for the rest of her life. A futile dream, she thought with a sigh, and her lovely eyes grew dark with sadness. She dwelt on what Jack had said about Esther being very beautiful and hoping to marry Ralf and become mistress of the vast estate of Dombeya. Well, she would have to wait for that dream to come true, mused Dawn spitefully. Yes, at least three years because it would probably take eighteen additional months for the divorce to go through to its final stages. The path petered out and she turned, then noticed another path which penetrated right into the region of forest which thickly bordered the riverbed. With the sunlight shafting through the thick foliage of the trees the path looked inordinately inviting, especially as the ground sported lush greenery of ferns and tall waving grasses and flowers of

various varieties, several that she had never noticed before. For some reason she felt excited, as if she were about to make a dramatic discovery. She urged Marylou forward gently over ground that had become rougher than usual, and she found herself winding about, with high trees on either side, winding into an enclosure, and suddenly she heard a sound, that of a waterfall making music as it cascaded down onto the rocks. With a little cry of delight she saw the pool, sparkling in the sunshine, lilies floating on its surface while around it willowlike trees bent their branches into the water. Gaily coloured butterflies flitted about, while some duller moths hovered above flowers of brilliant colours. Dawn saw orchids clinging to trees, mauve and blue and emerald green. But for the music of the cascade there was silence; even the cicadas were still. There was a coolness in the air, a welcome coolness. Dismounting, she tethered Marylou to a tree and wandered towards the pool, dipped her hand in the water to find it warm and soft. It was a magical place, and she wondered if she were the only person who had discovered it, wondered too how it had come to be here because the pool—particularly the shape of it—fascinated her, until she realised it was a cut-off meander of the river: it was an oxbow lake, as the geomorphologists would very well know, small and exquisitely shaped. She sat down on a boulder, absorbing the peace, every sense affected by her surroundings, by the atmosphere, the clear air and the coolness, the breeze making music as it wafted through the bamboos sheltering one side of the little enclosure. She seemed to be a million miles away from the civilised world, even from the bushveld. Certainly miles and miles away from the homestead and Ralf, who resented her presence. This little grottolike enclosure seemed to welcome her, extending warmth; she felt safe, secure and at peace with the world.

She was just asking herself again if she was the only one who had trodden this ground when something caught her eye, something white, fluttering—a handkerchief caught on the thorns of a prickly pear. She went towards it, picked it up. A moment later she was fingering the raised embroidery in one corner—the initial A. Avice? Yes, she felt sure that this handkerchief belonged to Avice. She felt sure that she had discovered the girl's secret place, the haven to which she often escaped. Dawn remembered Letsie saying that Avice never stopped crying. . . . And this was the place to which Avice came and cried. And the last time, or maybe the time before, she had left her handkerchief behind; the wind had lifted it and carried it to the thorn- bush. . . . There was something infinitely poignant and depressing about the handkerchief. It seemed to tell such a tragic story of a girl pining for the lover who had died only a year before. Dawn folded the handkerchief carefully and put it into her pocket, then sat down again on the boulder, her thoughts flitting from one thing to another, from the husband who didn't want her to his sister who was pining, and to his mother whom Jack had said was autocratic; Esther who wanted to be Ralf's wife, and Myrna who'd had a tragic life and a disastrous marriage but, according to Jack, had deserved it. It would seem that all the women round Ralf were hard except for Avice, and somehow Dawn reached the conclusion that the only friend Avice had in the house was her brother. She wondered just how close the relationship was, because Ralf appeared to be a hard man on the surface. But Dawn couldn't forget his lovemaking—the tenderness, his every thought for her. There had been no question of taking all and giving nothing: he gave as well as took. His lovemaking was generous; there was kindness in his makeup. The hardness she had discovered in him was, she supposed, the result of surprise on his suddenly being confronted with the wife whom he had almost forgotten about. At the back of his mind would have been the knowledge that he would eventually have to pay his

wife what was due to her, but as regards her appearing on the scene—such an eventuality would never have entered his head. Dawn felt she couldn't altogether condemn him for his antagonism, and yet on the other hand she felt he should have shown some degree of generosity and, more important, some understanding of her situation. He should have compared his lot with hers. True, he had probably been a wealthy man before ever he took over the Dombeya Lodge, which meant his position had been superior to hers anyway. But after the legacy she should have been a wealthy woman; instead, she was working in the cafe, slaving for her sister-in-law, living meagrely, with no rest or pleasure in her life. Then, when her sisterin-law died, and she was without a home, what was more natural than that she should turn to her husband, despite the fact that they had contracted a marriage of convenience? Dawn sighed, and tried to recapture the peace around her, but the place seemed to have changed. Now that she knew it was Avice's secret haven, she felt an intruder. It seemed almost sacrilege to walk on this ground, to sit here where probably Avice had sat, spending hours and hours alone, sadly thinking about her fiancé. Rising at last, Dawn patted Mary-Lou's nose and mounted her, then rode slowly back to the path, Shaitan walking beside her. Her thoughts flitted to Jack, Jack who, though strangely reticent about Avice, had given Dawn the impression that he liked her. There had been a brooding introversion about him when he remarked on the girl's beauty, almost as if it hurt him to say it. Dawn suddenly reflected on Ralf's opinion of Jack— his assertion that he was a flirt. Undoubtedly he was, yet Dawn strongly suspected that the devilmay-care manner he adopted was all on the surface. He was funloving, light-hearted, always ready to laugh, but Dawn sensed that underneath there was an attractive seriousness in his makeup . . . and something sad. ...

That night at dinner, Dawn broached the subject of the room again. Her husband scowled, glowered at her almost, and she waited, breathless and almost distracted at the idea that they might quarrel. But no, she would not quarrel with him, and she wouldn't let him quarrel with her. 'We've been into all this,' he said, 'and it's absolutely impossible for you to take over a room in the absence of those who occupy them.' She said nothing, and he added, surprising her, 'What room had you in mind?' It was a moment or two before she answered, not quite knowing what to say. 'Well, I can't take yours, obviously. I should really be entitled to the second-best room, but your mother has that, so I wouldn't take it. I wouldn't take Avice's room.' His brows lifted. 'Why?' Ralf's voice was curious. She shook her head. 'It's impossible. I couldn't take Avice's room.' 'That leaves Myrna's and Esther's,' he said. She nodded. 'Yes, and I suppose I can't really take Myrna's.' He looked at her sharply. 'You want Esther's?' 'Well . . .' She paused. 'That's the only room I can have, isn't it?' 'And you want Esther to take over your small room?' Dawn drew an exasperated breath. 'Look, Ralf,' she said, 'I am entitled to a decent bedroom. I want a bathroom en suite, and Esther's

room has one. I think, as your wife, that I should be entitled to a pleasant room. You seem to forget that I have as much right to be here as you, and more right than any of these other women.' Her voice was low, her wide eyes limpid and appealing. She was willing him to remember his lovemaking of last night, his tenderness, willing him to regard himself as her husband, but dejection gripped her when his face remained hard. Was he battling within himself? He must know that it was unjust and unfair not to grant her this most reasonable request. On the other hand, though, he would find it embarrassingly awkward to say to Esther, 'I'm sorry, but I've turned you out of your room in order to give it to Dawn.' And all at once, Dawn saw the whole situation from his point of view. But she sat for a moment considering, while the atmosphere grew tense. It was a relief when Kimani came in to serve the second course, relieving the tension, clearing the atmosphere. It made way for Dawn to say, 'Never mind, Ralf, I'll stay where I am. I do realise it would be far too awkward for you.' He looked surprised, and inordinately relieved. 'You mean it?' She nodded. 'Yes,' she said, 'for the time being.' His coldness dissolved, and Dawn was disproportionately happy to see him smile, her own lips moving in response; her eyes were bright, for tears were very close. How she loved him! If only he knew—but he must never know. 'Is there anything you need to make you more comfortable?' he asked, as soon as Kimani had left the room and closed the door behind him.

'Well, I suppose a carpet would be nice, and if there was a shower . . . ?' 'There's another little storage area next to your room,' he began. 'It could be made into a bathroom.' Dawn's eyes brightened. 'That would be nice.' All restraint dissolved between them, the tension and antagonism, so that the meal was a most pleasant interlude. Afterwards, they sat on the stoep, drinking coffee and liqueurs as they watched the hammock of the moon sailing amid a million stars surrounding it. The bushveld was silent, drowsy in the starlight, and from the distance the mysterious, melancholy beat of a native drum could be heard. Dawn looked out into the darkness, vitally conscious of the romantic atmosphere—two people sharing the quiet, in this primitive land which seemed a million miles from civilisation. She glanced at him, saw that his eyes were fixed upon her, appreciative, wandering over her then resting for a moment on the firm outline of her breasts. She saw the dark eyes flicker, noticed the movement in his cheek as if a nerve were out of control. Her glance fell to his hands; one closed slowly then opened again against the white linen of his coat. He said, right out of the blue, 'Are you going to share my room again tonight?' She was all confusion, but the swift refusal that leapt into her mind never reached her lips. She just stared at him, unable to speak. He added, in a lazy, drawling sort of voice, 'Why not? We're man and wife.' She lowered her eyes, increased colour rising to her cheeks. The moment was tense. She felt that if she looked up she would see amusement in his eyes, a matching quirk of humour curving his lips.

Had he no feelings, no sensibilities? She heard herself say, 'What about, in a few days, when your family returns?' 'What of it?' Ralf's voice was indifferent. 'We can't sleep together then.' 'Why not?' Dawn looked up swiftly. 'What do you mean?' 'There's no reason why you shouldn't come to my room.' Her eyes flickered curiously. 'What are you suggesting?' 'Well, as long as you're staying here, Dawn, and as you insist on reminding me of our marriage, there's no reason why we shouldn't live together as man and wife.' She hesitated, knowing she should refuse his offer, but instead, she was considering it. There was no reason to ask herself why. She loved him, wanted him, desired to be with him, to lie close, desired his lovemaking, his hands exploring her body. It was natural. A sigh escaped her. To Ralf she was just any woman while, to her, he was someone very special, not only her husband but the man she loved. She said, 'All right,' and blushed again, lowering her eyes. The next moment they were both standing together in the starlight, the breeze on their faces, her head on his breast. . . . They strolled in the garden for half an hour, a companionable silence between them. Ralf was still holding her hand when they came back to the homestead, releasing it only when Kimani came across the hall.

Dawn went upstairs to her room, collected her nightdress and neglige, and went happily along to join her husband.

Chapter Six The drowsy landscape was awakening. From far away came the call of a bird, and then the sharper, shriller cry of some wild animal. Dawn was on the verandah of her husband's bedroom. She had been there ten minutes or more, having wakened early, felt restless, and now she turned back into the room to find him leaning up on one elbow. 'You're an early bird,' he said, and there was a smile on his lips. She smiled in response. 'I nearly always wake up early,' she said. 'I'm used to it.' 'At home you do?' 'Yes, always.' She paused a moment to see if he would speak, but he just stared at her. She drew the folds of her neglige around her, but the chiffon didn't leave much to the imagination. 'What are you going to do with yourself today?' he asked, surprising her. It was the first time he had asked her, the first time he had shown any interest in her activities. 'I'll go for a ride, and then I might take a trip into town this afternoon.' His expression changed. 'You're not bored?' She shook her head. 'No, of course not. I couldn't be bored here; I love it.' And then his mouth was tight. 'You can't stay indefinitely. You do realise that.'

She nodded. 'Of course.' It was strange, but she had the impression that his mind was confused. He held out his hand and she heard his peremptory voice telling her to come to him—no, commanding her to come to him. She paused then obeyed, slipping off her neglige before lying down beside him. His strong arms came around her as his lips began to caress her mouth, her cheek, her throat where a pulse, activated by desire, brought added pressure to his lips. Bliss streamed through her as his hands roamed; her brain seemed to be drifting away from clear thought, as if an anaesthetic had been administered and was beginning to take effect. Languor, sweet and ecstatic, spread through every body cell as she gave herself up to his expert lovemaking. He had drawn her warm slender frame so close to his that its pressure on her breasts and thighs became the pleasure pain of sensuous rapture. 'Ralf . . .' she murmured huskily. 'I—' Her voice cut on a little cry as the embers of desire, fanned by his loveplay to white-hot flames of passion, spread like an all-consuming conflagration through their clinging bodies. A little moan of ecstasy escaped her, half-stopped by his lips, sensuous and possessive, and when at last he drew away, his breath, mingling with hers, was like a warm tropical breeze on her face. Several times they came together, and when finally their passion died Dawn found herself floating through a veil of sensuous languor as she nestled her head against his chest. 'Happy?' he asked, and there was something in his voice she had never heard before, an undercurrent which was as puzzling as it was exciting. Was there a hint of tenderness in the tone ... or had she merely imagined it because of the way she herself was feeling? She let her arm steal around his neck as she replied, 'Very happy, Ralf . . . and you?'

A small pause and then, 'I'm happy too.' But now there was no expression in his voice, and his hand was removed from her breast. 'It's time we were getting up,' he added almost brusquely. 'I have work to do.'

Later Dawn went into town and, as before, she happened to run into Jack. 'Hello there,' he said. 'So we're here again together. Afternoon tea?' 'Yes, of course. I'd like that,' she agreed. She was glad she'd run into him. She particularly wanted to question him about Avice, but knew she would have to do it in a subtle way. They sat down under a shady tree in the garden of the small cafe. He gave her an opening by asking when the womenfolk were coming back. 'In a few days,' she said, and then, 'I'm looking forward to meeting Avice.' She watched his face closely, saw his mouth go tight. 'Why Avice particularly?' 'Well, she seems the only one whom I'll get on with.' 'Avice doesn't want to get on with anyone,' he said tautly. 'Because of the tragedy?' He nodded. 'Yes, because of the tragedy.' He seemed to draw an impatient breath. 'A tragedy a year old.' Dawn said softly, 'A year's not long, Jack.' 'You don't think so?'

'To a woman in love it isn't very long to forget one you've loved.' She paused a moment, saw him catch his underlip between his teeth and added slowly, 'Avice will get over it eventually. Time's the infallible healer, although I doubt she believes it at this moment. Grief has a habit of clinging, and this is often made easy because the one suffering it has no wish to be free from it.' Dawn had no idea why she was saying all this; it seemed that something inside her were impelling her to reassure and comfort him, for she very much thought that he was in love with the girl. 'Does she ever go to the dances at the club?' He shook his head, but it was a mechanical gesture because he said immediately, 'Now and then, but she won't get up. I've met her there and always I try to stay with her. She doesn't seem to resent my insistence, but on the other hand she never by a word or look gives me any encouragement.' Jack's voice was low, and bitter. 'You've obviously been with her other than at the dances.' 'I sometimes meet her in town. She might or might not consent to have afternoon tea with me—depends on the mood she happens to be in.' 'You—love her?' inquired Dawn tentatively. 'It wasn't a brilliant guess.' 'But a correct one.' 'I don't know why I bother.' The bitterness came back into his voice and his face was faintly drawn. 'If she wants to wallow in misery, who am I to try to stop her?' 'That's not very nice.' Dawn frowned at him, darkly. 'I'm fed up!'

'Then you get fed up very easily!' she retorted in defence of the unknown Avice. 'If she's worth having, then she's worth waiting for.' Jack's blue eyes flickered as they looked into hers. 'You firmly believe it's only a matter of time?' 'Of course. It's not natural for a young girl to carry grief for too long. But you'll have to be prepared to give her at least another year.' 'I care so much.' 'In that case you should be willing to wait, and to persevere.' 'I'm not a patient man.' He looked at Dawn again across the table. 'I guess I like you a lot, Dawn.' She had to smile. 'I could call you fickle but I won't. I'm pretty sure that what you feel for Avice is the real thing.' 'But I'd like to flirt with you, nevertheless.' 'Well, as I am not prepared to flirt with you, you can forget it.' 'Anyone else—back home, I mean?' 'No one back home,' she answered, and it was only later that it struck her she had forgotten that once she had hoped Paul Austin would become serious with her. She now knew the 'affair' had merely been for escapism on her part. 'Most women fall for Ralf Deverell.'

'About Avice—' Dawn swiftly changed the subject. 'Why don't you invite her to the dance one Saturday evening instead of waiting to see if she turns up?' 'She'd not come,' he said with conviction, but Dawn was shaking her head impatiently. 'If you've not asked her, then you don't know.' 'I somehow feel it'll always be a losing battle.' Jack toyed with a scone and then put it onto the edge of his plate. 'You'll come to the club with me every Saturday, won't you?' 'Not every Saturday. This coming Saturday, yes—' She broke, and as he noticed her changing expression something urged Jack to say, 'You're not sure? Has anything happened to make you less keen than you were?' Dawn decided to be frank with him. 'Ralf considers you to be a flirt.' Jack's mouth went tight. 'And what the devil has it to do with him anyway? You're your own mistress! He acts as if he has a hold on you—' 'I'm his guest,' interrupted Dawn hastily. 'He naturally feels some responsibility for me.' 'Tell him you're not a child. He's altogether too imperious from what I've seen of him, arrogant and too big for his hat and shoes! As for his opinion of me—well, I'd tell him to keep it to himself for two pins!'

'Please don't quarrel with Ralf over me,' begged Dawn, wishing she had kept a rein on her tongue. 'Don't worry, I'll go to the club dance with you.' He seemed to be satisfied with her answer, and the small meal of tea and scones was eaten in the friendly atmosphere of small talk until Jack said, casting Dawn a strange glance, 'If I could make Avice jealous . . .' The significance of the trailing voice spoke far more than any added words could have done. • Dawn frowned darkly at him and said admonishingly, 'That's not the way to achieve your objective.' 'It might help.' 'If there's no love, there can't be jealousy,' she pointed out. 'She's given me more attention than any other man,' he said. 'And how much attention is that?' 'Not much,' he had to admit, and now there was a sulky expression on his face. 'You feel, though, that she's not totally indifferent to you, is that it?' Dawn examined his features and as in the beginning she liked what she saw. 'Not totally,' he agreed, but his voice was flat and he seemed down all at once. 'In that case you should be optimistic,' Dawn told him, then added after a slight pause, 'and patient, Jack. You could do more harm than good by trying to rush her.'

'I can see the logic of your argument,' he agreed, surprising her. And now he was brighter and the rather roguish glimmer was there in his eyes again. 'I'll take your advice, Dawn.' 'And no using me to make her jealous, remember!' He coloured and was about to deny any such intention, but Dawn's censorious glance was more than enough to stem the words on his lips. They parted outside the club restaurant and went their separate ways, Dawn thoughtful, and although she was not looking forward to the return of the women to Dombeya Lodge, she was certainly interested to know what Avice was like.

Ralf mentioned the club dance, and although Dawn felt most reluctant to tell him she was meeting Jack there, she did not see how she could keep silent because Ralf was going and had said that if she wanted to go he would drive her there. He stared when she told him about her date with Jack and his mouth went tight. 'You know my opinion of him,' he snapped. 'I don't want your name to be bandied about—' 'Why should it be bandied about?' she broke in to ask, angry even though she had no wish to be. All she wanted was for there to be friendliness between her and her husband. 'It's innocent enough.' 'To you perhaps, but that fellow, in only five months, has gained a reputation for himself.'

Dawn looked at him and paused for a moment, wondering if he had any idea that Jack was in love with his sister. She decided against mentioning anything which would give him even one small hint. 'He isn't as frivolous as he appears on the surface,' was all she said, and to her relief Ralf allowed the matter to rest there. For the dance she wore another pretty cotton dress she had made herself; it was flared and long, with a snugly fitting bodice and a small, high lace collar—very demure-looking. The sleeves were short and puffed, trimmed with white ribbon bows which made a nice contrast to the salmon pink of the material of which the dress was made. Ralf's eyes lingered long when she came from her bedroom and moved slowly down the stairs. He was at the bottom, in the luxurious hall, an impressive figure in a buff-coloured tropical suit, his hair gleaming, his skin seeming to be darker than an Arab's and shining with health. The firm features had about them a classical quality, noble, distinguished, and giving the impression of a quite extraordinary personality. She felt colour drift into her cheeks, and the hand sliding along the bannister rail felt suddenly moist. Her heart too was affected, and nerves and pulse. This was crazy! Why couldn't she be calm, indifferent—at least, outwardly? If she wasn't careful, the astute Ralf Deverell would soon be making an intelligent guess at her feelings! 'Ready?' 'Yes—er—I haven't bothered about a coat. I shan't need one, shall I?' 'I don't think so. You'll be in the car seconds after you leave the club.' His eyes were still fixed on her face, but slowly they began to move and she felt another flush of colour when they came to rest on the

delectable curves outlined by the tightness of the bodice. He smiled faintly when presently his eyes lifted to her face. 'Shy?' he mocked, eyebrows raised a fraction. 'Surely not.' She did not like the way he reminded her of the intimacy which had occurred between them, and so she turned her head, pretending to have had her attention caught by some sound. 'Letsie,' he explained. 'She's mixing pastry for the freezer.' He was amused, teasing her because he knew of her embarrassment. 'Come,' he added, and to her surprise held out a hand. She put hers into it and together they went out to where he had the low-slung sports car waiting in the forecourt. They drove along the now-familiar road, but darkness had fallen and the night was bright with stars and a crescent moon suspended like a hammock in their midst. Dawn stirred restlessly in her comfortable seat and cast a sideways glance at her husband's fixed profile. What was he thinking at this moment? she wondered. Was he thinking of Esther—the girl whom everyone expected he was going to marry? And what of the girl herself? She had no idea that Ralf was already married and so she was in for a shock. Dawn could not help allowing her thoughts to wander, and to feel strangely exultant that she was the one in possession! A crude way to put it, she frowned and disliked herself for a space. She heard her husband's quiet voice asking her a question. 'Where are your thoughts, Dawn?' 'I was wondering where yours were,' she countered before she had time to stop herself. He laughed and said, 'Two curious people, wanting to know each other's thoughts.' He drove on, along the dusty road, his headlights

picking out strange, nebulous shapes, foreign and mysterious with vast space all around them. 'Tell me a little more about yourself,' he invited presently. 'I know so little about you.' 'I know even less about you,' countered Dawn, and again he laughed. 'That's a challenge. You go first.' 'Why not you?' She had no idea why she should be adopting this attitude, unless she was piqued by his imperious request. 'Very well,' he replied, surprising her. 'I shall go first.' He talked of his father, who had inherited his family estate from an uncle. 'Although much smaller than the Dombeya estate, it's a prosperous tobacco-growing project and after Father died eight years ago I enlarged it considerably —though, as I say, it is still a much smaller estate than Dombeya.' 'It sounds charming.' 'It is. I enjoyed living there.', 'But your manager is in possession now?' 'That's right.' He cast her a sidelong glance, taking his eyes off the road for a few seconds. 'You're thinking that my mother should live there?' 'It isn't possible, is it—if your manager lives there. Has he a family?' 'Three children.' 'Tell me some more about your father,' she invited, and it was in order to veer the subject away from his mother. 'How old was he when he died?'

'Oh, quite old. He was over seventy. He was twenty-two years older than my mother.' 'That's a lot.' 'He was frail for some years before his death, but he managed the estate for all that.' 'You weren't involved, then?' 'I was away at the university.' He turned to her again and smiled. 'That's about it,' he said, but she interrupted him. 'I do happen to have learned a little of your family—the women who live with you at Dombeya Lodge—' 'From Jack, I presume?' She nodded her head. 'Yes, from Jack. He told me about Avice and her loss. But it was all rather sparse so—well, perhaps you would tell me a bit more.' She faltered over the last few words and added swiftly, 'But I suppose you think it's unimportant that I know anything at all about your family—seeing that—that our marriage is only a sham.' She felt a leaden weight descend on her heart and in the darkness of the car her lips quivered. 'A sham. . . .'He became thoughtful. 'You could be pregnant,' he said, and she thought there was a sudden frown on his brow. 'Had you not thought of that?' 'As a matter of fact,' she quavered, 'I hadn't.' 'It would complicate matters, wouldn't it?' 'Very much.' She found herself trembling at the idea of her being pregnant. It would mean that Ralf could not very well send her back

to England—she did not think he would want to, for that would mean he had no interest in his child. 'Well, let us not meet trouble halfway,' he said lightly, and for the rest of the journey they both became lost in thought. But as they got out of the car Dawn said quietly, 'You sounded as if you wouldn't be too troubled if—if I were having a child.' He locked the car and stood there a moment, looking down into her anxious face. 'It would complicate matters,' he said again, and there was an abruptness in his voice that forbade any further words on the subject.

Jack was smiling as he came up to her. She saw Ralf's mouth compress, but he said nothing when Jack whisked her away to the bar for predinner drinks. He had already introduced her to one or two people when they were in town, but now he introduced her to his brother, Kenneth, who was tall and thin and serious of countenance. His eyes were blue, like Jack's, and his hair was brown. He smiled slowly on being introduced and his eyes moved just as slowly as they slid over her slender frame before settling on her face. 'Jack's been telling me about you,' he said. 'You're to be here for a few months, he said?' 'That's right.' She was aware of Ralf's eyes upon her and they seemed a little hard. 'You must come to dinner at our place one evening.' 'I—well…'

'She feels obliged to ask permission of her host first—' began Jack when he was stopped by her frown and the sudden gleam of anger in her eyes. 'I am not obliged to ask him anything, Jack, but on the other hand it would at least be courteous of me to ask if he minded.' 'I can't see why.' Before anything else could be said a young couple came up, and with a smile the girl asked to be introduced. 'Sheila, meet Dawn—' Jack flipped a hand carelessly. He seemed to be in the best of spirits. 'She's the guest of Ralf Deverell.' 'Happy to meet you, Dawn.' Sheila waited until her husband had shaken hands and then said, 'Are you enjoying your stay?' 'Very much.' Dawn looked at her, saw a slender girl of about twentyfive, dark-haired and brown- eyed. 'Do you farm here?' she inquired conversationally. 'We have what is merely a small holding in comparison to Ralf Deverell's estate,' interposed Sheila's husband, Len. 'But we enjoy the very hard work involved in order to make a living.' 'It's a mixed farm, like ours,' explained Jack, and he added after a moment's pause, 'There aren't many estates the size of Ralf's around this region. Dombeya is exceptional.' Dawn's eyes flickered towards that part of the bar where Ralf was standing, chatting with three other men and two well-dressed women. She heard Len saying, 'Ralf Deverell's a wizard as regards management. He has a flair, seems to anticipate all the snags and prepares for them.'

'Snags?' Dawn glanced inquiringly at him from above the rim of her glass. 'There are always things going wrong,' explained Jack. 'Heavy rainstorms, for instance, can play havoc with crops, and even with buildings. I had my dairy roof blown off a few months ago.' The four chatted for another few minutes and then Dawn and Jack moved on, to socialise before dinner. The meal was slow, with dancing in between, and when Ralf strode up and asked Dawn for a dance, he did seem to be adopting a masterful, imperious attitude towards her. And she noticed as she lifted her eyes that his face was set and stern and the tightness of his mouth added to the impression of austerity. He was cool of speech and she sensed that he was not in the best of tempers. Venturing a question she said, 'Is something wrong, Ralf?' His dark eyes glinted as they subjected her to a cold stare. 'What should be wrong?' he countered, and Dawn felt she had received a severe snub. 'You seem to be—in a bad temper,' she managed jerkily. 'I oughtn't to have allowed you to make a date with Jack.' Dawn's eyes flew open, and her pulse quickened absurdly. He actually sounded as though he were jealous! 'I didn't think you'd mind,' was all she could muster up with her pulse doing such strange things. 'You do happen to be my wife,' he almost snapped. 'But you said emphatically that you didn't want anyone to know it.'

He said nothing for a moment and it seemed almost as if he were listening to the music. 'I forbid you to continue this association with a man who is a known flirt,' he said at last. 'Forbid?' she echoed, all else forgotten as a surge of anger welled up within her. 'Who are you to forbid anything?' He held her from him, eyes narrowed, the directness of his stare disconcerting her so much that she was compelled to lower her eyes. He seemed so dominating, so powerful; she felt weak and submissive and her anger increased because of it. 'I have just reminded you that I'm your husband,' gritted Ralf at length. 'And it is by that right that I forbid you to continue to make dates with Jack.' She fell silent, trying to convince herself that jealousy prompted the imperative manner but yet at the same time denying the possibility and accepting that he was merely adopting an air of authority because it satisfied his ego. He didn't like Jack and, therefore, he objected to Dawn's friendship with him. The music stopped; Ralf stood for a moment looking down into her face. She had an urge to move away, but his voice detained her even as she took the first step. 'Remember,' he said evenly, 'no more dates!' And with that he elbowed her back to her table, nodded to Sheila and went off towards the table he was sharing with his friends. Dawn was thrown into confusion when at the end of the evening Jack asked her over to Yellow Gables for dinner the following Wednesday.

'I don't think I can accept. . . .' Her voice trailed off unhappily as she noticed his expression of astonishment. 'It's Ralf, isn't it? He won't let you make any more dates with me.' 'You're very perceptive,' she said. 'It was easy to see that, when he danced with you, he was telling you off. And as his eyes kept darting smoulderingly in my direction, it didn't take much deduction to make a guess at what was going on.' He paused, but Dawn did not speak. 'I wonder . . .' He broke off slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. 'I wonder if he has an inkling that I care for his sister.' She looked swiftly at him. They were standing in the entrance hall of the club and all around them good-nights were being said. 'You mean—that would account for his objection to my friendship with you?' Jack nodded mechanically, his brow still creased in thought. 'Naturally it would. On the other hand, though, he might just be acting in a high-handed way—which wouldn't be a new thing for him.' 'Do you suppose it's possible that Ralf could have guessed that you care for Avice?' Even as she asked the question Dawn was shaking her head. 'How could he? You rarely see Avice, do you?' 'Not a lot.' He paused a moment and then decisively, 'She has a sort of secret spot she goes to—to brood, I reckon. Well, by a mere chance I was over that way in the car one day and saw her walking slowly—very slowly, with feet fairly dragging—and I couldn't resist parking the car and following her— Oh, I know you're horrified, but remember I didn't know at that time where she was going,' he

hurriedly inserted as Dawn would have interrupted. 'She frightened me, Dawn. I know it was stupid, but the idea of—of suicide came to me, and believe me, nothing, just nothing could have prevented me from following. There was plenty of cover—acacia bushes and bamboos and the like—so I managed very well to keep myself out of her sight. In any case,' he continued reflectively, 'she never turned around. She just dragged on and the river was in spate at the time as we'd had an all-night storm and torrential rain had dropped. But it wasn't the riverbank she was making for; it was a delightful little spot, Dawn, a blissful glade, sort of, with a charming little waterfall sparkling as it tumbled down the rocky slope. It fell into a pool of water lilies; trees bent— willows mostly—and in the branches of other trees orchids had made their homes.' He paused. Dawn had listened, fascinated, as he described the spot which she herself had accidentally found—Avice's secret place. 'She stopped by the pool, Dawn, and the sadness of her was so depressing I actually felt tears in my eyes—' 'Tears, you!' The exclamation was out before she had time to suppress it and she instantly added an apology. 'Don't bother,' he said wanly. 'I've this reputation for being a flirt, though God knows there's scarcely an unattached female to flirt with! I make eyes at the marrieds, though, so I've only myself to blame. I'd settle down if only I had Avice for my girl, believe me, Dawn; she is all I want or will ever want.' He lifted a hand and Dawn saw with a little shock of surprise that beads of perspiration were standing out on his forehead, evidence of just how deeply affected he was by his narrative. 'As I was saying, Avice looked so tragic, standing there by the sparkling pool, that I had the greatest difficulty in keeping out of sight. I wanted to go to her and comfort her, but I knew I'd be doing my cause far more harm than, good.'

'Indeed yes, Jack,' agreed Dawn fervently, and with a little instinctive gesture of comfort she laid her hand upon his arm. 'This is a most attractive side of you,' she told him. 'Just be patient, for I am sure that when Avice gets to know you she's going to find you very nice—' 'Nice?' with a lift of his eyebrows. 'I want her to find much more than niceness about me.' 'She will—' Dawn was suddenly aware of dark eyes fixing her with a critical and disconcerting stare, and she found herself swiftly removing her hand from Jack's arm. Embarrassment at her own action caused colour to drift into her cheeks and it brought forth the question, 'Something wrong, Dawn?' She shook her head; she realised that Ralf was waiting for her, his having said good night to his friends. She wondered what they had thought when, after she had been introduced to them as she and Ralf entered the club, she had gone off with Jack and had stayed with him all the evening. But she supposed Ralf would have had some feasible explanation to give to his friends. 'I had better go, Jack,' she said hurriedly. 'But—this dinner we want you to come and sample?' 'Maybe another time, Jack. Meanwhile, I shall be in town on Tuesday afternoon—if you are there, we could have tea together.' 'Okay, I suppose that'll have to suffice for the time being.' 'I should like to hear more about Avice,' she smiled. 'We'll talk when I see you on Tuesday.' 'Avice should be coming home within the next few days.'

'Yes, she should.' Dawn's eyes darted to Ralf again. 'Good night, Jack,' she said. 'Good night,' with irony as his eyes followed the direction of her gaze. 'Till Tuesday, then.'

Chapter Seven There was a sort of tense and almost hostile silence in the car as Ralf drove home along the dark and dusty roads. Dawn, feeling she could not stand the nervous tension any longer, just had to ask what was the matter. 'I should imagine you know,' was the crisp reply. 'You're not obtuse.' 'You have all the wrong ideas about Jack,' she said. 'Then so have many others,' he reminded her grimly. 'In a small community like this people gossip about anything and nothing, as my great-aunt would have said. Jack was probably a little unwise in the beginning, but there's a very serious side to him, which is also exceedingly attractive.' Unthinking words which brought a sudden tautness to her husband's jaw. 'So you find him attractive, do you?' Her chin shot up. 'And what if I do?' she challenged without having any idea why she should be adopting an attitude like this, knowing it would only aggravate the situation. 'You're married!' 'Ralf,' she said with a baffled inflection, 'you're very puzzling to me. Are you—do you—I mean . . .' 'You don't appear to know what you do mean,' he said without taking his eyes off the road.

'And neither do you,' she flashed back. 'This inexplicable exception you're taking to my friendship with Jack quite naturally has me puzzled.' 'I don't approve of the friendship, as you call it. That should be sufficient.' 'Well, it isn't sufficient!' she retorted. 'I see no reason why I should suddenly cut him—if I happen to see him in town, that is!' Ralf made no answer; he seemed to be containing a fury that was to Dawn's mind quite out of proportion. Again she found herself introducing the idea that he might be jealous. . . . Yet if this were so, and he cared for her, then what was there to stop him from saying so? True, the situation between them was awkward to say the least, and for him to acknowledge her as his wife would certainly 'put the cat among the pigeons'— another of her great-aunt's numerous north-country sayings. Yes, for he would have to own to his family that he had been married for over eighteen months and also that Dombeya Lodge and estate belonged jointly to him and his wife. After some moments of dwelling on the matter, Dawn impatiently dismissed it from her mind. Ralf was not jealous. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in his attitude towards her that savoured of affection, much less love. And without love there could not possibly be jealousy.

She said a brief and rather cool good-night immediately they arrived at the Dombeya homestead, and went to her room. The next day the man was coming from Hortsburg to look over the bedroom and the smaller room off it and would give an estimate for the renovation to

be carried out. But as she entered the larger of the rooms and glanced around, Dawn began to regret having given way to Ralf; she should have insisted on a better room altogether. She felt low in spirit because of the chill atmosphere which had arisen between her and her husband on the way home. She would not sleep, she realised, and after a moment or two of indecision she went down again and out into the garden. It was already dewy sweet and fresh, and in a tree a warbler made noises as if he had been disturbed by some alien night sound. She wandered on, listening to the distant echo of a native drumbeat and noticing how harmoniously it blended with the sough of the breeze coming down from the mountains to sweep over the drowsy bushveld. The night sky was filled with stars, and just a wisp of cirrus drifting across the purple dome of the heavens. Here in the garden all was peace and the awareness of being close to nature, close and in harmony. Perfumes drifting— honey fragrances mingling with the pungency of pines, the scents of night flowers blooming in the borders. And suddenly a swish of foliage and the pad of an animal foot and she turned in swift panic only to be confronted with Shaitan, tongue lolling, paw raised in the familiar way he had of giving her a silent greeting. She took it, laughed for the sheer joy of his company and bent to stroke his back where the fur felt as though it had been cut and part of it was now growing the wrong way. An apt name, ridge- back, she thought. He gave a small whine as if wanting more attention, and after receiving another pat he was happy to trot along beside her. She walked on, noting the play of light and shade as palm fronds swayed against the glorious moonlight, appreciative to the halo of stars around the argent sphere, the vastness below that mysterious canopy, the infinite horizon, the spread of the bush- veld away to a limitless, baffling extremity. So still; and as silent as only Africa can be . . . and then again that mystic blending of a drumbeat and the gentle breeze, and Shaitan

yawning at her heels, making his own little contribution to the night sounds, regretting, perhaps, that he had not remained sleeping on the stoep. A night bird, and crickets . . . and then silence again as if all had died, by common consent. Dawn stopped in her tracks and swung around, some vital and profound force guiding her to where she did not want to go— Avice's secret place that was a secret no more for it was known to two others. . . . Jack . . . Would he ever gain the girl's love? Suddenly Dawn was eager to meet the girl, impatient to see what she was like. 'Dawn!' The imperious call halted her, and for a split second her heart had seemed to stand still, with fright. Anger rose then fell. To meet with fear always made her angry, but tonight she did not want to fight with her husband. 'What on earth are you doing out here at this time?' he demanded, coming alongside her, tall and straight and a little awe-inspiring, still in the safari jacket he had worn at the dance. 'I didn't think I'd sleep so I came for a stroll,' she said, and in her nervousness stooped to dig her fingers into Shaitan's coat. 'It's not safe,' he almost snapped. 'I've done it before. What do you mean, it's not safe? You think that prowlers could be around?' The thought had never before occurred to her. 'Anywhere, at this time of night, you could have prowlers around.' 'I have Shaitan with me,' she pointed out. 'You didn't have him at first. He was with me until a few moments ago, on the stoep.' She said, beginning to walk on again, 'So you couldn't sleep either?'

'I haven't tried,' curtly and with a hint of impatience too. 'It's a lovely night. A shame to go to bed.' He had fallen into step beside her. 'How long are you thinking of staying out here?' Her eyes wandered into the nebulous distance and she heard herself say, 'I was going to a—a rather pretty spot.' 'A ... V She felt that he was frowning all at once. 'Where is this pretty spot, and why is it so special?' He paused and then went on, almost as if he had known she would not answer him. 'What appeal can it have in the dark?' 'It's bright moonlight.' She glanced towards the star-spangled heavens and the moonlight seemed more brilliant than ever. 'There's a waterfall; it will look beautiful in the moonglow.' 'I'd like to see this place.' She shook her head. 'It's a secret place—' She broke off and made a little self-deprecating noise with her tongue. 'Forget it, Ralf,' she said. 'If you want me to, I'll go back to the house.' 'That's up to you.' 'But you don't like the idea of my being out here alone.' 'You're not alone.' 'You don't want to stay out, do you?' A laugh fell on the quiet air.

'Are we talking for the sake of it, Dawn?' He reached for her hand and she quivered to the warmth and strength of the long slender fingers curling around hers. 'Why did you decide to come out here, all by yourself?' 'I've said, I knew I wouldn't sleep.' 'There's usually a good reason why a person cannot sleep.' 'You mean, I've something on my mind?' She stopped and stared up into his face, wishing she knew what his thoughts were. 'Yes, obviously I've things on my mind.' 'For instance?' She had lowered her eyes as she spoke and now she felt his finger tilting her chin so that she was compelled to look at him again. 'Come, what things have you on your mind?' 'My situation for one thing.' 'I thought we'd sorted that out. We know what explanation we're going to give to my people.' So unemotional and calm; nothing troubling him, and she realised fully that nothing had changed; he still did not want her. 'I am looking forward to meeting Avice,' she said, and saw him give a start at the abrupt and incomprehensible way in which she had changed the subject. 'Why Avice particularly?' he demanded, a frown on his brow. Dawn began to walk on again, moving towards a path bordered by jacaranda trees and tall flowering gums. 'She intrigues me—with her sadness. Oh, I hope you don't think it's morbid curiosity,' she added hastily and with an edge of anxiety to

her voice. 'No, it isn't anything like that, Ralf, but just an interest, a genuine one.' 'Am I to take it you are thinking you'll be able to make her snap out of her misery?' Dawn paused in thought before answering. 'Perhaps that is part of the reason for my interest,' she found herself admitting. 'Yes, I feel I can make a friend of her and help her over this terrible time she is going through.' Was it imagination, but had his fingers fleetingly tightened over hers? Certainly there was a tinge of emotion in his tone as he said, 'It's kind of you, Dawn, and I sincerely hope you are not being overoptimistic. I feel that if she had a good friend it would help. As it is, well, she doesn't have a friend.' 'Myra,' began Dawn. 'Her sister. . . .' 'Myra is self-centered and at present nursing her own misfortunes and hurts.' Ralf's voice was brusque but took on an edge of satire as he added, 'I'm afraid, my dear, that you are in for some surprises when my family reassembles here in a few days' time. Myra will probably take an instant dislike to you because she'll resent another woman in the house—' 'But why? There are four of them already. One more can't make much difference.' 'Myra would like to be here on her own, so she could run the household side of things.' 'I see. . . .' Dawn gave a small sigh and looked down at Shaitan, thinking there was a lot to be said for the placidity of animals, and of their acceptance of whatever life had to offer them. 'And your

mother?' A fleeting pause and then quite swiftly, 'Will she resent me too?' 'Mother's arrogant but harmless,' he answered and threw Dawn a speculative glance. 'She's always been envious of youth.' Dawn stared. 'You're very outspoken about your mother,' she said. 'Why not? You will very soon know for yourself what she's like.' They wandered on in silence for a while, each deep in thought. The path they were traversing meandered back on itself so that now they were heading for the house. In the shrubbery alongside the path dark shapes gave evidence of exotic plants—canna lilies and allamandas, hibiscus and oleander and passion flowers. Palms and bamboos rose at the back, interspersed with slender poplars and forest-juniper trees. Dawn broke the silence by asking about Esther; it was a hesitant question, but one she had wanted to ask at the very beginning. 'The companion to your mother, is she here at Dombeya permanently?' 'I don't see the reason for your question, Dawn,' he said after a moment of considering. 'Interest, I suppose. I've learned something about all the others, so naturally it would come around to her, wouldn't it?' Ralf stopped to look down at her with a hint of mocking amusement. 'Didn't your friend Jack tell you about Esther?' he inquired, the quiver in his tone a reflection of the expression in his gaze. She coloured and averted her face.

'He did mention her, yes,' she owned at length. 'And how did he describe her?' Dawn could not suppress the smile that rose to her lips. She had half a mind to repeat that Jack had referred to Esther as a green-eyed chunk of dazzling sex appeal, but of course she refrained. Ralf had noticed the smile, though, and he responded with, 'Too descriptive for you to repeat it to me, is that it?' 'Depends on what you mean by descriptive. He gave me to understand that she was rather good looking.' 'An understatement. Esther is an extraordinarily beautiful woman.' 'And you—er—like her a lot?' 'She's very attractive.' 'If you weren't married to—to me . . . ?' He laughed, but there seemed to be no humour in the laugh. 'I am married to you, though,' he said unnecessarily. 'But if you weren't,' she persisted, driven by some force she could not control. She just had to know what his feelings for the girl were. 'Are you asking me if I would marry Esther?' 'You know I am.' She lifted her eyes, saw him stare as if his interest were well and truly caught. Dawn could not know that in the moonlight's silver effulgence she was, to his gaze, far more beautiful than Esther, or any other woman he knew, for that matter.

He said abruptly, 'Let's go in, Dawn. It's very late and we can talk some more tomorrow, if that is what you want.' There was a hint of tolerance in his manner, but at the same time Dawn realised that he would not stay out here much longer. She fell into step as he moved on, with Shaitan coming along behind. The lights from the stoep were amber and homely and welcoming, and suddenly Dawn's heart was warm with longing . . . longing for a permanent home here, with a husband who loved her. Turning to her as they entered the living room, he said without preamble, 'Are you sleeping with me tonight, Dawn?' She caught her underlip between her teeth; she felt chilled and depressed and her voice was strained as she replied, 'I don't think so, Ralf—' 'Why not? We both enjoy the lovemaking, so why deny ourselves?' 'It seems wrong—' 'We're married, so how can it be wrong?' '—Without love,' she finished, ignoring the interruption. 'There might not be love, but there's respect, my dear,' he said, and all at once his voice was temptingly gentle, as was the touch of his hand on her arm. There might not be love. ... A sigh escaped her and she turned away, blinking rapidly to keep back the tears. She wanted him, desperately yearned for the caress of those lean brown fingers, the mastery of his lips, the sheer pleasure-pain of his arms crushing her body to his . . . the final act after rapturous loveplay. ... He was watching her as she turned again. She had no resistance against his magnetism, or her own burning desire to surrender herself, giving pleasure, taking it.

She collected her nightgown and neglige, her toilet bag and her hairbrush, and went along to Ralf's bedroom, and it was only natural that her thoughts should slide to the near future and the return of the other four inhabitants of the house. Ralf had said they could still sleep together, but she felt she would never dare to do what she was doing now, going to his room. He had already showered and was in a dark red dressing gown tied lightly at the waist with a cord that seemed likely to come adrift at any moment. Dawn coloured at her own thoughts and mind pictures and went past him without a word and entered the bathroom, from where she emerged a quarter of an hour later looking small and dainty and virginal in a diaphanous nightgown with the matching neglige merely draped loosely across her shoulders. Ralf looked at her with an unfathomable expression and she thought that he sighed inwardly. She was recalling his mention of a baby and wished again that she could become pregnant. It would seem that Ralf wasn't too troubled and she had the growing doubt that, if she wasn't already pregnant, there would be no chance of her becoming pregnant in the future. Ralf would take care that she didn't. He held out his hands and she swayed towards him, the filmy nightdress shaping itself to her Venuslike curves; she went slowly but not reluctantly, and there was a smile on her lips, a glow in her eyes. This moment in time was all that mattered. One must always live for the present, she had once read, for the past was dead and the future had yet to be born . . . and so the time was now, urgently, rapturously now! And so when her husband brought her to him, she came willingly, delighting in the whipcord hardness of a body that would soon master hers. She felt herself crushed against him, her soft breasts flattened to his chest, his mouth moistly exploring,

demanding, coercing so that she parted her lips and quivered to the ecstasy of his exploring tongue, rough against her own, teasing, tantalising, just as a hand was tantalising as it closed over her lower curves to become restless and urgent, kneading her tender flesh so that her desire was fanned to an inextinguishable flame of fierce and primitive yearning. His mouth moved, to find pleasure in exploring sensitive places; his hand found her small firm breast, and the long slender fingers caught the nipple, and while he teased it to the point of desire he never took his dark, sensuous eyes from her face. She coloured delicately, but shyness was lost when, after having removed the neglige, he very soon dropped the nightgown beside it on the floor. With strong arms he lifted her, and she felt her nakedness against his hard flesh as his dressing gown fell open. For a long moment he looked down at her, a curiously tender smile on his lips. She whispered something he did not hear, but yet he gave a low laugh and said hoarsely, 'I intend to love you, my dear ... as you have never been loved before.'

She awoke to a golden dawn, with the fields barely touched by the sun, for as yet it was still rising behind the long line of kopjes. The sky was changing from opal to rose and then all colours merged with the gold as the fiery ball rose to its full glory and the bushveld sprang to life. Dawn watched, entranced, for a short while, and then turned to smile at the sleeping man who was her husband, and her lover. She had nothing under the neglige, and when Ralf opened his eyes he immediately said, 'Come here, come back to bed.' 'Daybreak's so beautiful,' she said a little breathlessly. 'Come and see.' 'I've seen it hundreds of times and shall do so again.' Rising to lean on an elbow, he let his sensuous gaze rest where dark shadows lay temptingly beneath the diaphanous material of the flimsy garment

she had swiftly donned on getting out of bed. 'Come here, I said.' Imperious the voice and narrowed the eyes. Dawn lifted her chin in mock defiance and said tartly, 'I'm having a bath, so you'll have to wait for yours—' She did not manage to get any further; Ralf was out of bed and grasping her by the wrist. And then she was being swept into his arms, her lips possessed in moist and sensuous mobility as his mouth slid temptingly over hers. Unexpectedly his tongue entered the darkness and began tantalising, its roughness a thrill in itself, a stimulant to already heightened emotions. One lean brown hand closed over her breast after the neglige had been pushed away from her shoulders. The other hand slid over her curves, slowly and with the finesse of the truly experienced lover. Dawn arched, quivering in every nerve cell at the awareness of his all-demanding virility as the hardness pressed against the gentle swell of her stomach. Within her loins desire was rising like flames in a furnace, and when his hand curled so that the long fingers found what they were seeking, a little moan of fierce longing escaped her, and with a low laugh of triumph her husband jerked her from her feet and carried her to the bed. Her strong young arms came about him, her hands thrilling to the tactile pleasure of their own explorations. Ralf slid on top of her, and soon their bodies were united in an explosion of rapture which was repeated over and over again until their pulsating bodies became weak and still. 'You're wonderful . . . !'It was a throaty exclamation as Ralf buried his head in the delectable valley between her breasts. 'Wonderful. . . .'

Chapter Eight Dawn sat on the stoep and stared at the girl sitting opposite to her, an untouched cup of tea on the rattan table in front of her. Fair and lovely and giving the impression of fragility, Avice Deverell at nineteen was undoubtedly steeped as far as she could be in grief, and Dawn, who had known her less than a week, and who had tentatively tried to interest the girl in all kinds of things, felt a sagging weight in her chest and a heavy sigh escaped her because she was almost admitting failure. And yet, it was outside the bounds of all that was logical that Avice should retain such anguish forever. She was so young, with so much before her, that although Dawn had once or twice despaired of ever managing to give only a little help, she decided here and now that she must persevere. For there was no one else in this house who had either the interest or the patience to help the girl. Except of course Ralf, but he too seemed to have lost patience, or perhaps he had decided to treat the 'malady' in a philosophical way and was allowing time to be the infallible healer. 'You're trying hard with Avice,' he had observed on the third day after the arrival back of his family. 'But there won't be any response.' 'She can't carry such misery forever,' frowned Dawn. 'Her attachment to Terrence was so deep that it'll take a long time for her to become normal again.' There was a brooding manner about Ralf, but he had soon given a characteristic lift of his broad shoulders and with a sigh had walked away, leaving his wife in a state of frustration and pity.

She spoke now to the girl who, unknowingly, was her sister-in-law, saying gently, 'Would you like to come into town with me this afternoon, Avice?' The girl instantly shook her head. 'There's nothing for me to go for,' she returned flatly. 'It'll be a change—something to do,' persevered Dawn. It was Tuesday and she knew that Jack would be in town. 'You can't sit here on your own all the time—' 'What has it to do with you?' broke in Avice. 'You're a stranger— well, a guest of my brother, but our affairs are certainly not yours, Dawn.' 'And you'll thank me to mind my own business!' Dawn's voice was sharp and she hadn't meant it to be. 'I am only trying to help,' she added in a softer tone of voice. 'I know. People do try to help, but they don't understand.' 'You can't live like this forever, Avice.' 'Why not?' 'You're only nineteen; you've a lifetime before you.' 'I shan't live to be old.' Dawn rose from her chair. 'I'm going for a walk,' she said. Avice watched her go, biting her lip, and then she too rose and almost without her own volition found herself hurrying to join the girl who desperately wanted to be her friend.

'I'll come with you,' she managed, and Dawn, pulse tingling at this modicum of success at last, contrived to say quite casually, 'Oh, that'll be nice. I feel like company today.' 'Shaitan's always with you.' Avice looked down at the dog, then bent to pat his head. 'Ralf promised to get another, but he's not bothered.' Avice fell into step beside Dawn. 'You'd like a puppy, you mean?' Dawn deliberately tried to keep any hint of eagerness out of her voice. 'Yes, it would be rather nice to have a pet of my very own.' Dawn said nothing, but she was thinking of Jack, whose ridgeback bitch had recently had a litter of pups. . . . 'Which way do you want to go?' Dawn waited, wondering if Avice would make for her 'secret' place. But the girl said she would like to stroll along the riverbank. 'The orchids there are something,' she said. 'Have you seen them?' Dawn nodded her head. 'Yes, I've explored quite a lot of the area around here.' 'There are some very pretty places.' Avice's voice seemed not to be quite so flat as it usually was. 'So I have noticed.' 'But you need to leave the beaten track to .find the really exotic and untrodden places.' Avice seemed to be in a dreamy sort of mood and Dawn wisely made no attempt to break into it. She was feeling almost exultant; certainly she knew a degree of excitement not unmingled with optimism. It would certainly be a feather in her cap if she could shake her sister-in- law from the pressing weight of grief

she had carried for over a year. 'I have found several places. . . .' Avice let her voice taper off as if she regretted the words she had just spoken, and again Dawn refrained from making any comment. She must tread carefully, she decided, if she was to make any progress at all. One day she hoped that she would be taken to the place which both she and Jack knew about already. At lunch that day there were the familiar cold expressions on the three women who sat there, plainly not pleased at having a visitor, especially one whose stay was not limited. Mrs. Deverell had several times inquired of Dawn, 'Have you decided when you are leaving us?' And Dawn with a smile had replied, 'No, not yet, Mrs. Deverell. I am so happy here that I don't want to hurry my departure.' Tight-lipped, Mrs. Deverell had stalked away to confer with Esther, no doubt, and Myra. Avice, as Dawn had suspected, was the odd one out and she did not seem to mind in the least. She preferred solitude; she made no attempt to contribute to any conversation, and in fact the only person she spoke to for days on end was Ralf, with just the odd answer to any question put to her by Dawn. The other three women seemed to have accepted that the girl had no intention of talking to them and so they never even tried to include her in their conversations. Once or twice Avice had absented herself from the table, both at lunchtime and at dinnertime. She would wander off and Dawn knew just where she was going. . . . She seemed not to miss food or even drink when she went off to the place where she would sit and brood, and weep. Ralf often had his lunch in the room which was his own private sitting room. He had a massive oak desk in it and one wall was

completely covered with bookshelves. The drapes and carpet were in a matching shade of light green, a colour extended to the Regency settee and chair whose covers were obviously modern but done with taste and delicacy. Dawn had been in the room only twice, but she loved it. She could imagine his having his lunch at the table by the window where the scene outside was one of sheer exotic beauty and interest, with cannas and passion flowers, oleanders and the flaring hibiscus, the lovely golden allamandas and spray orchids. Dawn as usual was glad when lunch was over, for the cold faces and the cool and sparse conversation were invariably daunting to her, and she had now begun to contemplate taking her lunch on the stoep, on her own. Dinner was not too bad because Ralf was there and he and Dawn always led a conversation which became general in a short space of time. 'Are you going out this afternoon?' inquired Esther with a supercilious flicker of her eyes as she let them wander over Dawn's figure. 'Yes, I'm going into town.' 'I ask because I am wanting the station wagon.' Dawn had already risen from the table, but now she turned to stare down into the face of the girl who from the first moment of meeting Dawn had made no attempt to be friendly—or even civil at times. 'I need it,' said Dawn quietly, 'as I have made an appointment to have my hair done.' 'Sorry,' with a careless shrug, 'but I want it.'

'Are you going into town?' inquired Dawn, trying to keep in mind that as far as these women were concerned she, Dawn, had no right to the vehicle. 'No, I'm not, or I'd have offered you a lift.' Esther's glance was arrogant, her manner positive, unyielding. Dawn licked her lips, conscious of rising temper but still profoundly aware that she must tread cautiously. 'Perhaps,' she said as calmly as her anger would allow, 'I could drop you somewhere, and then call for you later?' An astounded silence followed while Esther and Mrs. Deverell exchanged glances and Myra, still sitting at the table, stared in silent disbelief at the suggestion Dawn had just made. 'You cannot have the station wagon,' stated Mrs. Deverell. 'You ought to have made sure it was not needed by any of us before you made your appointment.' The woman's voice was pointedly sharp and censurious, her eyes chilling to say the least. 'It was presumptuous of you to have taken for granted that the vehicle was always available to you.' Dawn turned away and made for the door. Ralf called, 'Come in,' in response to her quiet knock a few moments later, and she entered, unaware that her face was pale apart from two bright spots of colour and a hint of crimson along the sides of her mouth. Ralf was at the table, but had finished his lunch. He had a cup of coffee beside his empty plate. 'Hello, Dawn.' He smiled at her, but only in a perfunctory kind of way. She thought; our intimacy hasn't changed a thing. To Ralf it's merely a diversion; he still waits only for the day I shall leave here.

'What can I do for you?' His dark eyes swept her figure and she was glad she had chosen the crisp flowered cotton dress in preference to the denims she had almost put on after her bath that morning. 'I need a vehicle,' she told him quietly. 'I've made an appointment to have my hair done.' She did not consider it either wise or necessary to mention that she was meeting Jack for afternoon tea at the club. 'The station wagon—' he began when she interrupted him. 'Esther says she wants it.' 'Oh ... I see. . . .' 'Do you?' dryly and with a lift of her eyebrows. 'Awkward, isn't it? But, Ralf, I am taking the station wagon and I expect you to see that I get it without further trouble,' His mouth went tight and his eyes narrowed at her attitude. 'You're obviously in a temper,' he observed, taking in the spots of colour in her cheeks. 'I have a right to that vehicle!' 'You and I know it, but Esther doesn't,' was his cold reply. 'Your mother said quite firmly that I couldn't have it.' 'My mother?' with a sudden frown of puzzlement. 'I thought you said it was Esther—' 'Your mother butted in!' 'For God's sake, control yourself!' he snapped impatiently. 'We've to think of a way out— Do you really need it today?'

'I need it almost immediately,' she answered, her voice unsteady with anger. She eyed him with a challenging look. 'Do you want me to explain to them how and why I have a right to the vehicle, Ralf?' 'There's no need to go to extremes.' He paused a moment and then, 'You can take my car. It's fast, so be careful.' He picked up his coffee cup and put it to his lips. For him, the matter was settled. 'You've taken the easy way out,' she accused. He stared at her for a moment in silence as the hostility between them was growing all the time. 'Just what did you expect me to do under the circumstances?' he asked her coldly. 'I don't know,' she had to confess. 'The situation's becoming intolerable. I'm made to feel like an interloper by that crowd in there! As for Esther— she isn't even a close relative of yours so why should she take preference over me regarding the station wagon?' 'Simply because we aren't able to tell them the truth. It's natural that Esther will expect to have the station wagon, as usual.' 'Usual?' 'She's always been able to have it,' returned Ralf exasperatedly. 'It's there for the use of all of them.' 'Well, you can give me the money to buy a car of my own,' she said, and without affording him time to retort to that she swung round and left the room. Once outside she found herself trembling, not only because of the scene just enacted but also because she didn't at all relish the idea of driving Ralf's very fast and very expensive car.' However, as she had

no intention of going back and starting another argument, she went to her room for her handbag and then out to the garage where the car was kept. 'The keys . . .' She hesitated, then determinedly went over to the window of Ralf's room and tapped lightly upon it. 'Well?' he frowned as he opened it. 'What is it now?' She looked at him and suddenly her lip quivered. The love she felt for him was all that occupied her mind, the intimate hours, the change in his attitude towards her which, she had hoped, would survive the appearance of the other women in his life. But from the first he had seemed conscious of the awkwardness of the situation; it hadn't helped when his mother had seemed at once to resent Dawn's presence, and this she never tried to hide from her son. As a result Ralf's manner with his wife had reverted to one of coolness and he had made no further request that she should share his bedroom. 'I asked you what you wanted, Dawn.' 'The keys, please,' she answered stiffly. 'Of course.' He paused and frowned, and she rather thought that deep inside he was softening towards her . . . and perhaps feeling guilty. 'Perhaps I will drive you to town,' he said. 'You feel I can't manage the car?' 'It isn't that—' He broke off and seemed impatient that they should be talking through the window. 'I'll take you,' he repeated. 'Must you go right now?' She glanced at her watch.

'My appointment's for two o'clock.' 'We have a few minutes. I'd like to finish a letter so I can get it in the post.' 'I'll be on the stoep, then.' But she paused, thinking of Jack and not wanting to disappoint him. She knew that if she let Ralf take her into town he'd not want to wait around while she took afternoon tea with Jack. 'You know,' she murmured, 'I'm sure I can manage your car all right.' He hesitated; it was plain that he didn't really want to waste time in taking her to town. 'You're sure?' 'Of course. Two minutes at the wheel and I'll be used to the car.' 'Very well.' He turned away and a moment or two later he was handing her the keys. 'Thank you.' Her voice was cool, giving no indication of the pain within her. 'I'll be very careful with it.' ^ 'I think I'd better back it out of the garage,' he suggested and held out his hands to take back the keys. She was waiting by the open garage doors. Ralf stopped to stare down at her and say in a voice devoid of expression, 'You didn't mean it just now, about having a car of your own?' 'I did.' 'But you'll not be here long enough,' he pointed out.

'You have no idea how long I shall be here, nor have I. All I know is that whether it's a month or a year I am not begging for a car. The station wagon wasn't good enough anyway. I want a decent car.' He continued with that disconcerting stare, but by now Dawn was so angered and hurt that she wanted to hit back at someone. She found herself possessed with an almost diabolical determination to assert herself, this in spite of the rather daunting factors of the ruthless set of Ralf s jaw, the harsh twist to his mouth. She realised that it wasn't really Ralf whom she wanted to upset, but three of the four women living in the Dombeya house. And if she wanted to upset them, she hadn't made a bad start, she realised with growing satisfaction as she became aware of eyes peering out from the living-room window, stares of astonishment as Ralf, having slid from the car, stood with the door in his hand while Dawn slipped into the seat he had vacated. 'I might take a look at some cars while I'm in town,' she couldn't resist saying, and then chided herself for being so childishly spiteful. She was driving gingerly past the front door of the homestead when it opened and Avice came running down the steps. 'Are you using Ralf's car?' she exclaimed in a breathless little voice. 'That's right.' 'Oh . . . well, I—er—I'll come with you after all, if you don't mind?' 'Not at all,' returned Dawn, and this time she was unable to hide her eagerness. 'Hop in and don't mind my slowness. I'm positively scared of doing something awful to this car.'

'How did it come about?' Avice was inquiring when she was seated and Dawn was edging forward, still aware of disbelieving eyes watching her. 'Your brother kindly lent it to me when I told him I'd made the hair appointment and Esther wanted the station wagon.' 'I can hardly believe it! Ralf never lends his car, not even to Myra, who's a marvellous driver.' 'He must have felt sorry for me.' Avice slanted her a strange glance. 'Somehow, Dawn, you're not very convincing.' This startled Dawn, as well it might, and she had no immediate response to make. However, as Avice remained silent, and as Dawn did want to keep a conversation going with her if only to keep her from brooding and falling back into that state of morose introversion, she said with a touch of caution, 'You don't believe your brother felt sorry for me, you mean?' 'It wasn't that. It was the way you said it, as if it were a cover for something else.' A pause and then, 'We are all rather puzzled as a matter of fact, Dawn.' 'Puzzled?' feigning bewilderment. 'What about? 'Your presence here.' 'Ralf explained it to you all.' 'None of us has ever heard either of your father, who is supposed to be Ralf's friend, or of you. We arrive back from our holiday and here

you are, appearing to be so settled that you haven't an idea when you'll be leaving.' 'I've been ill, as you know, and Father sent me here to convalesce.' 'What was wrong with you?' 'General debility—just as Ralf explained to your mother.' 'Had you been overworking, or something?' Dawn frowned. It would seem she was safer when Avice was silently brooding, for these direct questions were plainly the result of doubt as to the authenticity of Ralf's explanation of Dawn's presence here. After some considering, Dawn decided that the best method of defence was attack. 'Why all this cross-examination, Avice? I fail to see the point of what you are trying to get at.' Avice actually smiled—the first time she had done so since Dawn had met her. 'Why don't you tell me to mind my own business?' she said at last. 'That,' returned Dawn in low and almost expressionless tones, 'would be the kind of rudeness which I pride myself on never indulging in, no matter what the provocation.' And now, to Dawn's astonishment, Avice actually gave a little laugh. 'Fibber!' she accused. 'Why, I've heard you being rude to Myra and Esther—especially Esther— several times!' 'Oh, them!' rejoined Dawn without thinking. 'They deserve it. In any case, it's merely retaliation because they're often rude to me.'

'Esther doesn't like you, but you'd be dumb if you hadn't noticed that she's jealous.' 'Jealous?' 'You're very attractive, Dawn, and Esther's been after my brother for some time. What she'll think of his lending you his car I can't even begin to visualise. She'll be so mad she'll want to scratch your eyes out.' Dawn said nothing; she had just taken an acute bend and was watching the four children playing in the middle of the ocre-coloured road who seemed not to have any intention of getting out of her way. She hooted and they looked up, then all laughed. One waved her on, but in the end she had to stop. And it was just at that very moment that Esther happened to come speeding along in the station wagon, driving far too fast both for the road and for the good of the ancient vehicle. Too late Dawn flagged her down, aware that Esther hadn't had her eyes on the road so the presence of the children had escaped her. With a crash she came to a stop, having swerved but not sufficiently to avoid scraping all along the side of Ralf's car. 'You stupid idiot!' she stormed as she swung from the car and glowered at Dawn who had also alighted from the car. 'What in heaven's name did you pull up like that for?' 'The children. . . .' Dawn turned to point, but the children had all disappeared into a hut at the side of the road. 'There were four children and I had to stop. You didn't notice them because you were beyond the bend—but you came round it far too quickly—' 'No such thing! You oughtn't to have a car like that if you don't know how to drive it!' Plainly Esther was agitated and this resulted in her being on the defensive, blaming Dawn for the damage to Ralf's car. 'Avice, you saw what happened, didn't you?'

Avice was looking at the damage, a worried frown on her forehead. 'I didn't see it—nor did Dawn. But it's easy to grasp just what happened, Esther. You were at fault, not Dawn.' 'Oh , . .' seethed Esther with a glowing look which travelled swiftly from one girl to the other. 'Taking her side! Well, we shall see who'll be believed by Ralf!' 'You're implying that he'll take your word before mine?' Avice spoke calmly enough, and in a most quiet tone of voice, but there was a certain frigidity about her manner, and an arrogance that seemed totally out of place. 'I think you are in for a disappointment, Esther,' continued Avice. 'In any case, Dawn will have her say, too.' 'I see. . . .' Esther stood there trembling with anger. That she was frightened, too, was evident, frightened of what Ralf would have to say to her. Trouble was, it could take months for the repair to be done to the car. 'Well,' said Avice with a faint shrug, 'we're not doing any good here.' 'We'll talk about it when we get home,' from Esther, her face dark with anger. 'I'm certainly not to blame no matter what you two say to the contrary!' The incident put a blight on the trip into town but, strangely, it was Avice who made things easier by saying, 'Cheer up, Dawn; Ralf can't eat you.' 'It's such an unfortunate thing to have happened, though.' 'He lent you his car so he took a risk.' 'It needn't have happened. Oh, why did I stop so suddenly?'

'Because it was preferable to running the children down,' was Avice's casual and astonishing reply. She was so calm, so totally unruffled, which, to Dawn's way of thinking, was out of character simply because Avice up till now had been so sunk in the doldrums, and Dawn would have thought that a thing like this would have made her worse. 'Ralf will understand so stop worrying,' went on Avice when at length Dawn was parking the car. 'Esther will have to take the blame.' 'I can't see her doing so.' 'I shall support you, Dawn, so please stop worrying.' A sigh escaped Dawn; it was so easy to say stop worrying, but as she looked at the damage to the car—the long dinge in the side and the paint scratched off—she could not help worrying. 'What are you going to do while I have my hair done?' asked Dawn after locking the car and putting the keys in her bag. 'I'll wander around. Where shall we meet?' 'I thought at the club cafe where we can have tea.' 'Good idea.' Avice wasn't showing any enthusiasm, but the very fact that she was talking and agreeing to have tea was to Dawn partway to victory. She had not told Avice that Jack would be in the café and she decided not to mention it now. 'I'll see you there, then. I expect to be out of the hairdresser's by about a quarter past three.' Dawn glanced at the car and then turned swiftly away. The damage might not be her fault, but if she hadn't insisted on having a car, it would never have happened and so, indirectly, she would be held responsible by Ralf; of this Dawn had no doubt at all.

She arrived at the club cafe at half past three, to see Jack and Avice seated at a table on the verandah where vines intertwined on a trellis provided pleasant and welcome shade from the fierce afternoon sun which, shining over the distant veld, quivered, like oil on a wide expanse of water. Jack looked up and his eyes held a strange expression as they met Dawn's. He obviously believed she had engineered this meeting. 'Your hair looks very nice,' he said, and Dawn nodded and took possession of the chair he had vacated for her. He drew up another and sat down, his eyes bright, a smile on his lips. Avice on the other hand was almost stolid in her expression and Dawn with a frown decided she wouldn't be there had she known that Jack would be at the cafe. However, the order was given and Avice seemed to enjoy the scones and jam and cream cakes that followed. Conversation was trivial, but after a small lull Jack said tentatively, 'Why not come to the dance on Saturday, Avice?' She began to shake her head, but Dawn broke in swiftly in support of what Jack had said and added before Avice could speak, 'I'll be there and Ralf, and of course Myra and Esther.' 'Esther?' with a deprecating swing of Avice's long curling eyelashes. 'What makes you suppose that her presence would be an incentive for me to attend the dance?' Dawn said nothing; at times it was inevitable that she should become impatient with the girl. It was Jack who broke the silence. 'You've no need to bother with her, Avice. Do come . . . and sit at our table. My brother will be there as you know.'

Avice looked at him, seeming to be examining him with at least a modicum of interest. At last she said, but with a frown, 'I might. . . .' She shook her head. 'I don't know, Jack. I'm not good company—' 'Of course you are,' he broke in eagerly. 'I think so, anyway.' Dawn, watching Avice, did not know how she could fail to respond to Jack's mood, but for a long moment it did seem that she would do so. However, in the end she actually managed a smile as she said, 'All right, then. I'll come.' 'And you'll sit at our table?' 'Ralf might want—' 'I'm sure he'd be happy if you sat with Jack,' interposed Dawn. 'A change of company's good for a person.' Avice looked at her, said nothing as she picked up the teapot to pour herself more tea. Then she seemed to remember her manners. 'Do you want another cup, Dawn?' 'Please.' 'Jack, do you want a fill up?' 'Of course.' He was trying not to seem too eager, but having a certain amount of difficulty in spite of his efforts. 'How did you manage it?' he was asking a short while later when Avice had gone to the powder room. 'I didn't. She suddenly decided to come with me.' 'You'd already asked her, though?'

Dawn nodded her head. 'Yes, but she'd refused. I didn't tell her that you were to be here, of course.' 'You think she might not have come?' 'Perhaps she wouldn't have; I don't know. She seems different today—more cheerful—and it could be the beginning of her recovery, but you'll have to tread cautiously, Jack. She's by no means ready to put another man in the place of the one she was engaged to.' 'I realise that.' Jack paused and his expression was grave. 'I hope I won't make any stupid blunders, Dawn.' 'Just don't push things,' she advised. She looked at him across the table. 'What did she say when she saw you—I mean, how did she react?' 'She looked surprised, but I thought it best to explain, at least a little, so I said that sometimes you and I ran across one another when we were in town and that we had tea here, at the club.' 'So you made it sound as if it was all chance?' 'That's right. I felt I ought not to mention that we had in fact arranged to meet here today.' Dawn said nothing; she was thinking that all had gone off very well and that Avice could not possibly assume that she, Dawn, had had any deliberate hand in bringing about the meeting. 'You've scored some success,' smiled Dawn after a swift glance had assured her that Avice was not approaching the table. 'At least Avice will be at the dance on Saturday.' She was recalling Ralf's forbidding her to make any further dates with Jack and so felt glad that Avice's going to the dance would dispense with the possibility of Jack's asking her, Dawn, to be with him for the evening. 'If you're careful,

as I said before, you might make some headway with Avice,' she added. After Jack had said a fervent, 'I sincerely hope so!' Dawn then mentioned that Avice was wanting a puppy. 'She is?' eagerly from Jack. 'Did you tell her I have a litter?' Dawn shook her head at once. 'I didn't, Jack. I'm leaving that to you—but make sure you mention it subtly. Don't let her think for one moment I had anything to do with it.' 'I'll mention it in passing, on Saturday evening,' he decided. 'She'll then probably tell me she wants a puppy.' 'And you'll offer her one,' smiled Dawn. 'Naturally, and let's hope she accepts it.' 'I said I'd have a look at cars—' Dawn broke off abruptly, vexed with herself for saying a thing like that to Jack who would want to know more about it. 'Cars? What for?' She had to say, 'I'd like one of my own—' 'But you won't be here long enough to need a car!' Exactly what Ralf had said, she thought. 'I had to borrow Ralf's car this afternoon,' she explained, and if Jack's eyes had widened at her words over getting her own car, they fairly took on the proportions of saucers at the calmly supplied information that she had borrowed Ralf Deverell's luxurious car.

'He—lent it to you . . . ?' Jack was shaking his head as if he would answer his own question, in the negative. 'I'd made a hair appointment and Esther wanted the station wagon, so I told Ralf. He then said I could have his car.' Dawn was feeling awkward, as well she might, the disbelieving way she was being stared at by the incredulous man at the other side of the table. 'I can't believe it!' he gasped. 'Well, he did lend it to me.' Dawn paused a moment, fully aware that Jack would accompany her and Avice over to where the car was parked and wait until they had driven away before going to his own vehicle. 'I'm afraid it's been damaged,' she said with a sigh. 'Esther came along behind me and I had to pull up quickly when I saw some children in the road. Esther swerved but didn't stop in time and the station wagon scraped Ralf's car.' She gave another sigh, wishing the next couple of hours were over and done with. 'He's going to be so mad.' 'Is it much?' Jack sounded concerned, she thought, and her heart warmed to him. 'It's fairly bad—well, you'll see it when we go out to the car park.' 'You look worried,' observed Jack. 'But it obviously wasn't your fault. How is it that she couldn't pull up in time?' 'She was at the far side of the bend—the one by the Scotts' bungalow. I always reduce my speed when approaching that bend, but she was plainly taking it far too quickly. When she came round it and saw me, she hadn't time to stop.' Jack shrugged as if by so doing he would dismiss any idea of blame attaching to Dawn.

'If Avice was there, then you have a witness, so what are you worrying about?' 'I oughtn't to have borrowed it,' she said. 'You're now thinking of having a car of your own? They're expensive here and it hardly seems worth it for a few weeks, surely? You'll lose when you come to sell it, you know,' he thought to add, and Dawn merely nodded her head, relieved to see Avice coming back from the powder room. Jack could not help giving a little whistle when he saw the damage to the car. 'You're right,' he agreed, 'Ralf's going to be mad when he sees this.' 'No blame attaches to Dawn,' Avice was quick to say. 'No; she's explained just what happened. Esther does drive far too fast, though, for these roads.' He looked at Avice as she stepped into the car. 'I'll see you Saturday, then?' Avice merely nodded but Dawn, watching her as she herself slid into the car, knew for sure that the girl would not change her mind.

Chapter Nine As it happened Esther managed to get in her say first, and both Avice and Dawn strongly suspected that she had hurried back home in order to see Ralf before they did. Ralf was on the front stoep when Dawn slid his car to a halt. He came forward, regarded the damage with a growing frown, before turning his attention to Dawn who was now standing there, looking forlorn and guilty, just as though she really were to blame for what had happened. 'Come on in,' he invited, 'and tell me all about it.' 'I'll come too,' from Avice, and she followed the others into Ralf's private room. Dawn explained, her narrative punctuated from time to time with a few words of support from her sister-in-law. It didn't take long and there followed a short, thoughtful silence before Ralf said slowly, 'Your story's rather different from Esther's.' 'I expect she's trying to put the blame on Dawn,' said his sister, and Ralf nodded automatically. 'Well, Esther was entirely to blame. She took the bend too quickly.' 'Didn't you hoot your horn to make the children get out of the way?' 'I did, but—' 'Esther said you didn't, and that's why she ran into you. If you'd sounded your horn, it would have alerted her and she'd have slowed down.' 'Dawn definitely did sound her horn,' said Avice.

Ralf looked hard at her. 'Esther seems to think that you two have decided to league up against her,' he said, and the starts given by both girls could not possibly escape him. Again he nodded his head. 'Well, the damage is done now and no amount of cross-blaming will put it right.' That he was suppressing anger was evident; Dawn knew that he was thinking that if she hadn't insisted on having the station wagon then none of this would have happened simply because he would not have been forced to lend her his car. 'I ought to have driven you into town myself,' he added, and Dawn could not help retorting, in a tone that immediately caused Avice's eyes to widen in surprise and puzzlement, 'What difference would it have made? It would have been you instead of me who would have had to stop!' 'If the same set of circumstances had occurred, yes, but in all probability they would not have occurred.' His voice was clipped, his eyes glinting with anger. Avice glanced from one to the other and Dawn was reminded of her saying that they were all puzzled by her being here. Avice herself would be more puzzled than ever now.

That evening at dinner both Dawn and Avice were quiet, leaving all conversation to the other three women and to Ralf, who seemed faintly bored, and Dawn felt sorry for him. But then she thought, it's his own fault for taking them all in! If he allows four women into the home, then he's obviously to put up with them. Perhaps it was boredom which prompted him to ask Esther to go for a stroll on the grounds of the homestead. She glowed, showing even white teeth in a smile, pushing back a lock of auburn hair in a characteristic manner she had and which invariably attracted attention to the glory of her hair.

Dawn watched them go from where she stood on the stoep and jealousy with its stabbing pain flowed over her. The couple disappeared into the darkness and her thoughts ran riot as she imagined Esther in Ralf's arms. . . . 'They make a charming couple, don't they?' Dawn swung around at the words and looked into the hard features of her husband's mother. 'We're hoping they'll be getting married before long.' Myra had come to join her mother and they both sat down in brightly coloured, upholstered chairs. Lights from the brackets above revealed the satisfaction on both faces, and for one moment of almost unbridled anger Dawn was tempted to tell them that Ralf was her husband. But she controlled the impulse and would have turned into the house without a word if Mrs. Deverell had not said, 'Have you decided on the date of your departure yet?' Dawn looked at her for a long moment in complete silence. 'No, Mrs. Deverell,' she replied with slow deliberation, 'I have not.' Both women gave a start, which did not surprise Dawn because in their ignorance of the situation they must be finding her attitude strange to say the least. The older woman's eyes glittered and her mouth went tight. 'I can't understand why you are here at all,' she almost snapped. 'Ralf said you'd been ill, but why come here to recuperate—why here?' she demanded. 'I believe you know the reason why I came here, Mrs. Deverell,' returned Dawn, wondering if she were as pale as she felt. Up till now she had managed to avoid a confrontation like this, having for the most part kept herself to herself. She rode often, taking Marylou out

and not returning for several hours. In fact, she sometimes took sandwiches and did not come back for lunch. She had never felt comfortable since the women's return, but she was determined not to be driven away until it suited her to leave. 'Do I?' sceptically as Mrs. Deverell leant back in her chair and stared up into Dawn's face. 'It sounds very strange to me—this explanation Ralf gave us. For one thing, he's never ever mentioned your father to me which, you must admit, is most incomprehensible seeing that the friendship's so strong that your father could ask my son to have you here, for an indefinite period.' The challenging look she cast at Dawn was in itself enough to daunt her and to convince her that Ralf's explanation was weak, after all. Dawn rather thought he himself would have doubted its complete acceptance, but it had to suffice for want of something more convincing. Dawn realised just how great was the embarrassment caused to her husband by her presence, and she now accepted that it was only her love for him which kept her here. Life was not pleasant with these women, and she suspected that it would become even less pleasant with each day that passed, for clearly she was resented by almost everyone in this house. Anger surged for one overcharged moment as Mrs. Deverell's eyes continued to challenge, but by a supreme effort Dawn kept her temper in check. 'I daresay,' she managed in a fully controlled voice, 'that Ralf has many friends whom you don't know about. Young men don't always tell their parents everything.' Not very diplomatic and the woman's mouth tightened to a thin and ugly line. 'My son has never been in the habit of keeping secrets from me!' she snapped, and at this Dawn just could not repress the swift smile of sheer amusement that leapt to her lips.

'And what,' demanded Myra, 'is so funny?' 'The conviction your mother has that Ralf would never have secrets from her.' How tempting it was to come out with the truth! It didn't need much imagination to visualise the consternation, the gnashing of teeth, the anger. 'I'm very sure, Mrs. Deverell, that Ralf has many secrets which he keeps to himself.' Dawn realised her mistake instantly as the two women swiftly exchanged glances. 'Secrets shared with you?' the older woman murmured slowly, her eyes fixed upon Dawn's face in the most disconcerting manner. 'I think that Ralf would not be pleased that we are discussing him,' returned Dawn with dignity, and she turned and made for the open French window leading into the living room of the homestead. 'I shall speak to him!' she heard Mrs. Deverell say. 'I shall demand an explanation!'

At first Dawn had intended going to her room and reading for an hour, but she felt restless, profoundly conscious of the fact that her husband was out there in the dark intimacy of the garden, with another woman . . . another woman who was hoping one day to become his wife. The weight of misery pressed down and although she knew very well that she ought not to go out there, that it was the very last place she should think of going to, she nevertheless was impelled by some irresistible force to wander on the grounds. And she found her footsteps leading her out of the grounds and along the narrow path which would eventually lead to Avice's secret place. Ralf had warned her that it could be dangerous to wander about in the

dark on her own, but she had no fear of danger tonight because all was so peaceful, with only a few night sounds—crickets in the branches, the occasional cry of a night bird, the familiar beat of a native drum floating across the dark mysterious bushveld. Above, a million stars spangled the vast dome of the African sky, and away in the distance the kopjes rose in primordial shapes, like mutant dinosaurs, silent and still. The sound of trodden leaves set her heart pulsing until with a heavy gasp of sheer relief she saw Shaitan beside her. 'You came to me. . . .' She stooped to pat his head and knew she would miss him when she went away. When. ... It couldn't really be long, she decided . . . and yet, another part of her mind was quick to tell her that she had every right to stay and that if anyone should go it ought to be the three women she detested, one of whom was out here with her husband. Suddenly Shaitan began to bark loudly and aggressively and, startled, Dawn stopped, pressing against a tree, the blood feeling as if it were slowly freezing in her veins. A dark shape moving with stealth, then Shaitan bounding forward, a snarl echoing over the grounds. 'Shaitan!' Dawn relaxed but instantly became tensed again, this time for an altogether different reason since it was not fear which affected her now but the embarrassment she was shortly to feel on coming upon Ralf and Esther together. 'What the devil . . . ?' Ralf was there, alone. Dawn looked beyond him, but there was no sign of Esther.

'I came for a walk,' Dawn informed him defensively. 'There's no law against it!' He seemed faintly taken aback, but she could not be sure. His features were unreadable in the darkness. 'I've warned you about coming out alone,' he said, but his voice was quiet, untinged with anger or reproof. 'What made you do it?' She made no answer, for her eyes were again focused on the place where that shadowy shape had been seen. She said quiveringly, 'There was someone over there—' She pointed, but Ralf immediately said, 'It was me.' 'Shaitan's still growling.' 'So he is.' Ralf swung around, but there was no sign of anyone else about. The dog went quiet and Ralf frowningly said, 'When will you learn, Dawn, not to come out alone at night?' 'I'm sorry.' 'Not as sorry as you might have been,' and now there was anger in his voice. 'Don't do it again, understand?' 'Yes,' she replied, 'I understand.' She had received a fright, and that in itself would have been a sufficient enough preventative without the order just given her by her husband. 'Do you want to walk on?' he asked. Dawn eased her slender body away from the tree. 'Where's Esther? You went out with her.'

There was a silent pause before he spoke. 'She wanted to go in,' was all Ralf said, but his voice seemed to be a trifle taut. 'You—are you wanting to continue your walk?' he said again. 'For a little way—that is, if you'll come with me?' 'Of course.' He took her hand, surprising her. She was speculating on what had happened to make Esther want to leave him. Well, she would never find the answer, so she dismissed the matter from her mind and gave herself over to the enjoyment of her husband's company. She felt it incumbent on her to say, when they had walked in silence for a space, 'Your mother's becoming curious about me.' 'Which is not surprising, is it?' No expression in the voice so Dawn was left guessing as to the effect her statement had had upon him. 'I suppose so.' They were alongside the riverbed which was almost dry but which would be in spate when rain fell in its familiar steady downpour after a broiling day when the thirsty air filled the clouds and made them too heavy to hold the moisture. 'She asked me when I was leaving.' 'And you said?' 'I said I hadn't made up my mind.' 'And that's true, I suppose.' He seemed miles away from her, lost in thought all at once. 'I don't know. . . .' She paused, but he seemed not even to have heard her. 'Your mother said you'd never had any secrets from her.' He turned then to slant her a glance, and she rather thought that if she could see him properly there would be an amused curve to his mouth.

'And what did you say to that?' he wanted to know. 'I had to smile,' she confessed, 'and that wasn't a very tactful thing to do, because after a moment your mother became suspicious. But they've been suspicious before,' she added on recalling what Avice had said. 'I suppose it does seem strange that I'm here and won't say when I'm leaving.' 'You've certainly created an awkward situation by coming in the first place and now by insisting on staying.' He paused a moment and then, 'You really mean to buy a car?' 'I will need one if I stay,' she replied, but she was already undecided about buying a car. 'I don't really know what to do,' she added, and her voice was flat, listless. 'You—are you—in l-love with Esther?' Silence, long and profound, before she heard her husband say, 'I sometimes wonder if I am capable of loving any woman.' 'So you are not thinking of marrying her?' Dawn's voice had a breathless quality and her heart was beating far too quickly. 'You don't care for her, in that way?' 'Not enough for marriage— In any case,' he added unemotionally, 'I am married.' 'But we are supposed to be having a divorce.' She waited, still breathless, for what he would say to those words. 'It seems to me,' he said after some thought, 'that as long as I'm not the type to fall in love I might as well stay married to you—if that's what you want, of course.' 'Might as well. ... It sounds so—so . . .' She tailed off, choked by the lump rising in her throat. 'I appeal to you physically, don't I?' she

managed at last, glad of the darkness which hid the tears stiffening her lashes. 'Yes,' he admitted at once, 'you do.' He paused, then went on when she did not speak. 'You enjoy the physical side, too, and so it seems a good idea for us to stay married. I'd like a son—and perhaps a daughter—' 'Oh, stop!' she cried. 'Why be so clinical about it?' 'Because there's no love between us,' he answered with a hint of impatience. 'Look, Dawn, you and I are married—were married to suit our own convenience. We said we'd have a divorce, but is it logical, now that we've become acquainted and have learned that each has a certain appeal for the other? You've explained that you're on your own, that when you go back to England you've to establish yourself in a home and perhaps a job—although this latter isn't necessary as you know. However, isn't the whole situation made simpler if you and I stay married?' She shook her head; it was not a negative gesture but merely one of doubt. That she loved him was all-important to her decision, but at the same time her common sense urged her to go away, to let her heart heal with time, since to remain married to a man as unemotional about love as Ralf appeared to be could eventually become sheer hell. Better to go now, before children came along to tie them both to a marriage that could become as irksome to him as it could be to her. He was speaking, telling her to take her time, to think carefully before giving him her answer. 'There's no desperate hurry,' he ended, and it was then that Dawn said curiously, 'You'll not mind telling your people the truth, then?'

'If we decided to stay married, I shall have to tell them, shan't I?' 'And you will let them all stay?' He made no answer for a space, and when presently he did it was to say that he would have seriously to consider the matter. 'I don't suppose you'd want them here indefinitely,' he said finally. 'For one thing there'd be no room once we had a family. . . .' What was she saying? She was talking as if her decision was already made, and it was definitely not! 'I agree, but more than that, you don't seem to be getting on with any of them.' 'I get on with Avice—well, at last I am getting through to her.' 'So I've noticed, and I'm grateful to you.' Dawn hesitated, but then decided she wanted to veer the subject away from the personal and so she told Ralf that Avice had made a date with Jack. 'He's not a flirt,' she added hastily. 'You don't know him properly, Ralf. He's in love with Avice— I perhaps ought not to have told you, but I don't think he'd mind very much. He adores her and I feel she could learn to love him with time.' 'I've had an idea that he was interested in her,' mused Ralf in quiet tones. 'So at last she's beginning to take an interest in life.' 'You don't mind that it's Jack?' 'I'm not Avice's keeper.'

Dawn recalled that he had been angry at the idea of her going about with Jack, but yet he did not seem to mind in the least if it should transpire that his sister should go about with him. 'Jack's ridgeback's had pups, and as Avice wants a dog of her own, then it seems sensible that he should let her have one. You wouldn't mind?' He gave a short laugh. 'I wouldn't, but I can't speak for Shaitan, here. He's used to a good deal of fuss, and it's in the cards that he'll resent another dog.' 'He'll not mind a puppy,' rejoined Dawn with conviction. 'I daresay he'll want to protect it.' 'I hope you're right,' was all Ralf said, but on the way back to the homestead he asked her to come to his room. She felt her nerves tingle, the fine hairs rise on her forearms. She said quiveringly, 'Supposing I—we— what I mean is, we could be discovered.' She was hot with embarrassment and angry with her husband because of it. Yet no denying that she wanted to go to his room. . . . 'If you are careful, no one will see you coming to my room,' he said quite casually. 'And in the morning?' Dawn's anger increased because she hated the idea of acting as if she were doing something underhanded and reprehensible, something of which she ought to be ashamed. 'We'll manage to get you back to your room—' He broke off and seemed to draw an impatient breath. 'You sound as if you don't want to come?'

She said nothing because she knew if she spoke it would be to say something she would regret, for in spite 'of the feeling of depression that had come over her, she still wanted to sleep with her husband.

Chapter Ten Dawn went stealthily along the corridor, despising herself for not refusing to run this kind of risk. Supposing one of the doors opened and she was caught going along to Ralf's bedroom. Fear hastened her steps, but the need for silence was momentarily forgotten and she caught her breath as she heard her own footsteps for a few seconds before she proceeded silently again. She glanced backwards before stepping into the room with its door ajar. Ralf was standing there in a dark blue dressing gown, his hair damp from the shower. Dawn swallowed hard and moved to the bathroom, her nightgown and neglige over her arm, her toilet bag dangling from her hand. Her heart was pounding abnormally and she realised that her fear was actually mounting. 'Supposing someone heard me,' she said chokingly, and Ralf merely flicked his hand and, walking over to the outer door, he quietly closed it. Dawn had calmed down by the time she reappeared after undressing. She managed a smile as Ralf opened his arms to her. 'You're a silly girl,' he said in some amusement. 'They've been in bed for half an hour or more.' 'But might not be asleep.' 'Forget them,' he recommended, and the next moment she was in his arms, her slender frame crushed to his hard body, her breasts flattened against his chest. His lips, moist and sensuous, possessed hers in a long and sense-stirring kiss which sent darts of rapture into Dawn's veins, brought her eager arms curving about his neck, her body straining against him, seeking for the pleasure of knowledge . . . knowledge of her husband's need of her. She felt him against the low swell of her stomach, sensed his growing eagerness and the increase

in his heartbeats as his strength grew and his mouth became fiercely and hungrily demanding and dominant. She parted her lips at the insistence of his, thrilled to the sensual experience of intimacy as he teased her tongue with the moist roughness of his. The drapes had been left wide open and moonlight, soft and romantic, flowed into the room, highlighting her beauty, while at the same time melding their two bodies to form a single silhouette against the backcloth of the bedroom wall. 'You're delightfully tempting. . . .' Ralf's voice was throaty, almost guttural, as passion engulfed him. 'Kiss me,' he commanded and she obeyed, giving her lips, parting them for his pleasure and his sensuality. She felt small and weak, a slave to his demands, the suppliant before the conqueror. Her soft young arms were still curved around his neck, her pliant fingers finding sensitive places before plunging into the thick mass of his hair. Ralf's hands were slipping the thin straps of her nightgown from her shoulders; she coloured as he looked down with a kind of satirical amusement at her nakedness, at the breasts, high and firm, and the nipples not yet teased to hard buds of desire. His mouth caressed their softness, his tongue teased and then his fingers closed in masterful possession and insistence until a little moan that was a mingling of pain and pleasure escaped from her lips, and the fierce turbulence of her own increasing passion thrust her body so close that she felt that already they were one. She knew the heady sensation of near drunkenness as shock waves of allconsuming ecstasy shuddered through her, like uncontrollable convulsions that left her trembling and spent even before Ralf, with a little triumphant laugh, swept her up into his arms and, stepping over the dainty garment which dropped to the floor, he laid her on the bed. She knew a sudden overwhelming embarrassment when both his hands spread themselves over her breasts, then moved with slow deliberation downwards, over her stomach to find the fiery heat between her thighs.

His dressing gown was soon discarded and he was down beside her on the cool coverlet, and the argent moonglow affording just sufficient light to supply the sense of sight with all that was needed to ignite other senses, spurring the desire for further tactile pleasure, for the taste of each other's lips, the scent of his body mingling with that of hers. Passion, tempestuous and primordial, possessed them both as volcanic heat spread through their veins and their pulses and their very cells themselves, encompassing everything within them as the paroxysm of fulfilment finally carried them to the door of paradise, and beyond. The ferment was stilled at last and they lay naked and close, arms about each other, lips warm and moist and tingling. Dawn felt her husband wrap his legs about her, find a place for his head between the softness of her breasts and soon she was hearing even breathing and a smile of tenderness hovered on her lips as she fell into a long and peaceful sleep.

The blushing pink of an African dawn had given way to the golden glow of the sun rising over the low hills when Dawn awakened to find her husband still asleep. Her heart gave a lurch as she saw the time—a quarter past seven. She had planned to leave Ralf's room before six, just to be on the safe side, but now . . . Gently she shook him, heard his contented little grunt before he said, 'I'm going to make love to you again.' 'No! Ralf, it's quite late and—'

'What do you call late?' He managed to ease up on one elbow to look at the clock. 'Late?' he said with a lift of his brows. 'I've to get back to my room. . . .' She went swiftly into the bathroom and emerged within minutes, fully dressed. 'Don't panic, Dawn. No one will be about yet.' She went to the door, opened it slowly and peered out along the corridor. 'I'm going.' She was treading cautiously and her thoughts were bitter. They were destined to be even more bitter when, just as she reached Mrs. Deverell's door, it opened and she found herself confronted with the very last person she wanted to see. 'Good morning, Dawn.' The voice was harsh and clipped and tinged with contempt to match the expression in the eyes that wandered over her and then came to rest on the toilet bag she carried. Dawn had left her nightgown and neglige behind, but felt she needed the bag; she now cursed herself for not leaving that behind too. However, as it happened it made no difference, for she heard Mrs. Deverell say, 'Did you sleep well? I saw you going along to my son's room last night . . . when you thought we'd all gone to bed.' Dawn's mouth went dry. She just looked at the woman through a haze and went on, to her own room. But once there she found herself trembling from head to foot, and part of it was caused through anger, anger against her husband. She left her room again and entered his, to stand just inside the door as she realised he was in the bathroom. Then without more ado she went forward. He was showering behind a curtain, and she saw his frame outlined.

'Your mother knows,' she said in a loud voice, and to her dismay this brought him out. Colour flooded her cheeks, but he merely smiled at her discomfiture. 'What did you say?' 'Your mother saw me come here last night, and so she was waiting for me to pass her door this morning.' The dark eyes narrowed. 'What did she say?' 'She asked me if I'd slept well!' 'Just like her!' 'Don't you care?' she asked. 'Of course I care, but what's done is done—' 'I don't believe you do care!' she broke in quiveringly. 'I've nothing to be ashamed of and yet I am ashamed—and humiliated!' She turned and ran from the room, tears blinding her vision. To go in to breakfast was unthinkable. In fact she felt she could not face those women at all. But of course she would have to, sometime. For the present though, she evaded the issue and, saddling Marylou, she went off into the solitude of the veld, Shaitan trotting along beside the horse. Somehow she eventually found herself close to Avice's secret place and, tethering Marylou to a tree where beneath it there was some grass for her to crop, Dawn went on and sat down on a boulder by the waterfall, her thoughts chaotic as, one moment she was telling herself that she had only to agree to stay married and all would be resolved, since Ralf would then tell his mother that he and Dawn were man and

wife. But against this was the impossibility —to Dawn's mind—of the success of a marriage where there was love on one side only. Ralf had been so casual when he said he was not the type to fall in love. He did not seem to want anything deeper from marriage than the physical satisfaction and pleasure. No, decided Dawn, she would not stay married to a man like that; it was courting trouble in plenty, whereas if she went home now she must eventually get over the heartache. Avice was getting over her hurt, she recalled. It was almost lunchtime when Dawn glanced up to see Avice standing there, staring at her with a mingling of surprise and resentment. 'I saw Marylou,' she murmured. 'How did you find this place?' 'By accident, as I expect you did.' Dawn rose to her feet with an expression of apology on her face. 'I knew it was your place,' she admitted. 'I found a handkerchief of yours—' 'Mine? How could you know it was mine?' Avice came forward, towards the sparkling cascade that was splashing down into the rocky pool. 'It had the initial A on it.' Dawn wondered if it was her imagination or if Avice was regarding her with a hint of contempt and she was impelled to ask, 'Has your mother said anything about me this morning?' Avice shook her head, looking surprised. 'No. What do you mean?' Dawn stared, quite unable to believe that Mrs. Deverell had kept her knowledge to herself. Yet apparently she had not said anything to her

younger daughter, whatever she might have said to Myra and Esther. But perhaps she would not tell Esther. 'Nothing,' she said when Avice moved impatiently, waiting for her to speak. 'It doesn't matter. Er—where is Ralf?' 'He was in his room when I came out. He had previously asked me where you were and I said I saw you going off on Marylou.' Avice paused, and it was understandable that she seemed rather puzzled. 'Something's going on, isn't it, Dawn?' 'Going on?' with feigned incomprehension. 'In what way?' 'All right,' impatiently and with a further few steps to bring Avice closer to the waterfall. 'You're secretive and I accept it. We've become friends, in a way, but we haven't established any real strength to our friendship simply because it's so new.' She moved again, a slender, graceful girl with sadness in her eyes, a quiver to her mouth. 'I'd like to know you forever, Dawn, but that's not possible because you'll be going back to your own home soon. Write to me, won't you?' she begged. 'You've done wonders for me in a very short space of time,' she added and, bending, she put her nose to a flower of delicate blue that was blooming among the wide variety of ferns bending over the side of the pool. Above, the sky was blue, brittle as only an African sky could be, with just a trace of cirrus clouds to add movement and diversion of colour. 'I'll write to you as soon as I get back home. . . .' But Dawn rather thought she would make a complete break with Dombeya and all those who had made their home in its luxurious walls. 'I think you'd better go back,' advised Avice after a silence had ensued. 'Ralf seemed almost ready to come out to look for you.' 'He did?' in some surprise. 'But he must know I am quite safe.'

'He seemed concerned,' was all Avice could find to say, except that when Dawn asked where her mother was she informed her that the three women had gone off in the station wagon to town. 'They'll be gone all the afternoon,' she ended, eyeing Dawn curiously as if expecting some reaction. Dawn managed to assume a casual mien, saying she would get back to the homestead.

'Where have you been?' demanded Ralf when at last Dawn, having knocked on the door of his room, was invited to enter. He was at his desk, but rose at her entry. 'You've been gone for hours.' Her chin lifted and a sparkle of wrath kindled in her eyes. 'I believe I can please myself what I do,' she said acidly. He looked at her through narrowed eyes. 'There was no need for you to go off like that.' Plainly he was controlling some profound emotion. 'You were upset, which was understandable—' 'Many thanks for your understanding!' she flashed at him. 'I asked where you had been.' Ralf's voice was low but dangerous. 'Answer me, at once!' Her eyes widened. 'You have some preconceived ideas?' she challenged. 'There was no need for you to go off like that,' he said again. 'I wanted to get away, before your mother told them all about seeing me come from your room.'

'She didn't tell anyone except me.' 'You?' she echoed. 'So she tackled you about it?' 'Yes.' The dark eyes glinted like tempered steel. 'She was disgusted— ' 'Of course she was! What did you expect!' 'So I told her we were married,' continued her husband calmly, bypassing the angry interruption. 'I—' 'You told her . . . ?' Dawn stared at him in dismay. 'But I'm not staying married to you,' she told him. 'You said I must take time in making a decision, so I can't imagine why you should tell your mother we're married. I do not intend staying married to you, Ralf, so you've only made things more awkward for yourself than they were before.' Was it imagination, wondered Dawn, or was he really amazed by her statement? 'You don't want to stay married? Are you serious?' 'Certainly I'm serious! What kind of a marriage could it be without love? No, let us keep to the original arrangement and have a divorce when the three years are up.' 'That's your final word?' His voice seemed a little hoarse, and a frown touched his brow. 'Yes,' she said, even while for some inexplicable reason she felt she ought not to be saying anything of the kind, 'it is my last word.' 'I see. . . .' By his expression it seemed to Dawn that he didn't see at all. 'So when do you want to leave?'

'As soon as possible.' She felt a chill along her spine, and the weight of dejection on her heart and mind was something she desperately wanted to weep over. Yes, tears would bring momentary relief, but what of the years ahead, long, endless years of memories, of yearnings, of unprofitable visions of what might have been? Might. . . . How could one overcome the hardness of a personality like that of her husband? He had admitted that he was not the kind of man to fall in love, had suggested so casually that he might as well stay married to her—if that was what she wanted, of course. Well, it was not what she wanted! 'I'll try to arrange it for next weekend, then,' she heard him say in a tone devoid of emotion. And then he added before she could speak, 'We must discuss your financial situation, though. You must have a home and an income and the comforts to which you are entitled.' She looked at him through a sudden mist of unshed tears and was driven—almost against her will—to say, 'It's certainly taken you long enough to honour your commitments.' He nodded, much to her surprise, for she had fully expected a swift and angry retort. 'I didn't know you then,' he said, and his voice was almost tender. 'You were a stranger, a complete stranger, and so I didn't feel in any way obligated to divert from the arrangement we had made. It was purely a business deal and, therefore, as far as I was concerned there was nothing personal in it, nor did there seem to be any need for anything personal.' 'But now?' Dawn found herself swallowing convulsively to dislodge the hurtful little lump that was blocking her throat.

He merely shrugged his shoulders and said without emotion, 'Now things do happen to be a little different. We've met and we know each other. I've learned of your problems; I am now realising that I owe you something. So whatever you want, Dawn, in the way of money, you have only to let me know and I shall see that you have it.' 'So I am never to want again. . . .' She spoke to herself, unable to understand why she wasn't feeling at least a little comforted by his reassuring words, for after all, this was what she had wanted for some time—to have some of her share so that she could make herself comfortable. 'No, you will never want again,' he said and he sat down at his desk. 'I'm rather busy,' he said after a small pause. 'And so I must ask you to leave—' 'Ralf. . .' 'Yes?' He glanced up from the paper he had pulled towards him over the tooled leather surface of the desk. 'Nothing,' she murmured, for his face was set in rigid lines of austerity and the eyes that swept over her were hard as granite. 'I'll— leave you th-then, to get on with your w-work.' Tears blinded her as she found the door handle and turned it. She felt crucified by what had happened. She felt she herself was mainly responsible, and that didn't help at all. Something seemed wrong, out of place, and she had allowed its manoeuvreability to escape her. Strange thoughts and impressions drove her mind into ravels which she found impossible to unwind. She had the sensation of being driven by forces she ought to have been able to control but could not. There had been something about her husband's manner that baffled her, and now that she was away from him she chided herself for not attempting to understand him. Yet what was there to understand?

Impatient and desperately unhappy, Dawn decided that the only sensible course would be to get away just as soon as she could, and so at the first opportunity she tackled Ralf and asked if he could arrange a flight for her before next weekend. 'Why the sudden haste?' His voice was harsh and daunting and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. 'I thought that as long as I'd made up my mind then there didn't seem any sense in dallying.' The hard eyes swept over her and a long, uncomfortable silence reigned. At last he said curtly, 'I'll do what I can.' And he turned on his heels and left her, standing there by the paddock, Marylou close by, ready to nuzzle just as if she understood and was as unhappy as the girl who had . come to love her.

Restless, she went off again, this time to ride slowly along the riverbank, misery overwhelming her at the knowledge that this would probably be the last time she would come along this now-familiar path, stopping to admire flowers or listen to the murmurings of insects among the bright green foliage. Clouds were gathering overhead, but she was only perfunctorily aware that a storm was brewing. She would turn back soon, she decided, and take a last look at Avice's place. Marylou was slow, almost as if she too were conscious of something sad about her rider. Horses and dogs were so sensitive; they were profoundly susceptible to the moods—and the idiosyncrasies—of their owners, and even Shaitan's manner was lethargic as he came along beside the horse with a gait that seemed to be too much trouble for him. Dawn drew in and tethered Marylou to a tree, staying a moment to fondle her neck. Shaitan barked as if he too desired attention, and

with unwanted tightness in her throat Dawn stooped to give him a pat. Then she wandered on along the bank, her thoughts flitting backwards and forwards until she found herself living through the mists of time from her earliest recollections of a happy family life before the deaths of her parents; she recalled happy times brought about by her closeness to her brother. When he announced his engagement Dawn was thrilled, and always she tried to become close to the girl she dearly wanted to regard as a sister, the sister she had never had. Then the death of her brother and Greta's sinking into the moroseness of sheer greed for money. The mistake of giving up all to live at the cafe; the endless grumbles and complaints of Greta; the monotony and soul-destruction of those long months of kitchen work, of waiting on in the cafe, of eating food that should have been thrown away. Dawn wandered on and on, so absorbed in her thoughts that she forgot all else, and even the growing dimness did not register. Now and then she would stop, though, to break her mind-wanderings by the appreciation of something that had caught her eye or her nostrils. She saw a wild duck rise from the reeds and the bulrushes, a blackand-yellow butterfly on a bottlebrush tree and another fluttering its iridescent wings above lovely pendulous flowers of bluish lilac. And assailing her nostrils the scent of bog myrtle and pines flourishing on a rise among the glorious dome palms whose fronds, Dawn noticed, were waving rather quickly. With her painful train of thought returning, she strolled on again, not even noticing that the scenery was now unfamiliar. She automatically trod the narrow path which, ridden with surface roots, was by. no means as pleasant a thoroughfare as the soft, mossy path she had left behind ... far behind.

She was now reliving the good-bye with Paul, the decision to come to Africa—an impulsive, unwise decision as it had turned out to be— the arrival and the realisation that she was unwanted—no, not only that! She had been regarded as an intruder, a nuisance, by the man who was her husband. But his acceptance had come and he had found some sort of an explanation to give his mother for her presence here. When it came to the intimacy of her marriage, Dawn resolutely dragged her thoughts into other channels and she was determinedly turning to the future, when, with all memory of her husband so dim that its recurrence would be unimportant, she had made a new and decent life for herself, using the rightful inheritance which was hers owing to that incredible will made by a man she had never even met. The distant rumble of thunder was the first nerve shock which jerked Dawn right back to the present and to where she was. She swung around, unable to believe she had been so fully absorbed as to have missed the fact that a grey gloom was encompassing everything around her, including the distant kopjes and the infinity of the bushveld. Apart from Shaitan, she seemed to be the only moving thing for miles around. And then suddenly the wind had risen again to stir the trees. Lightning sizzled across the sky and the clap of thunder caused Shaitan to begin barking loudly. Dawn turned around again, fully expecting to see Ralf's extensive orchards—a dark nebulous mass, yes, but there all the same. Nothing! Nothing even remotely familiar to her eyes except the long line of kopjes, and even these had taken on totally indefinable shapes that were more than ever reminiscent of mutant animals of prehistory. Another flash of lightning was the prelude to deafening cracks of thunder as the electric, tropical storm strengthened in preparation for its gathering momentum. What a fool she was to have come this far! How far had she come? She had just begun to retrace her steps when the first huge drop of

rain fell on her head. She thought guiltily of Marylou, tethered to that tree—a prisoner probably terrified because she could not break free. Dawn began to run, with Shaitan barking continually as he went on ahead of her racing figure. The wind was rising to full force, moving the trees erratically, branches protesting and leaves swirling in eddies to mingle with flower petals helplessly being torn from the stems that had held them. Dawn had not experienced a tropical storm before, and although both Ralf and Avice had mentioned what it was like, Dawn realised one had to experience one of these wild, destructive turbulences in order to appreciate fully just what it was like. Torrential rain was falling now and she was drenched right to the skin within seconds; mud was forming between the roots dangerously intertwining all along the path, and the trees were swaying so low that it seemed their trunks must inevitably snap. Overhead the blackening mass was increasing in size as the tempest raged. Lightning continued to streak and zigzag across the angry sky, followed by rolling thunder, and all the time the wind was lashing itself into a fury. Dawn, running and then slowing down, was becoming exhausted, with the breath drawn from her lungs by the merciless velocity of the wind. All was dark when suddenly the lightning flashed; a tree trunk cracked like a rifle shot and fell across her path some distance ahead. She was terrified now, mainly of the lightning, and her thoughts were with Marylou; and it was thinking of her that made Dawn begin to cry. How far had she come? she asked herself again, for although she seemed to have run a mile or more she had still not come upon anything familiar. But visibility was so bad that she could scarcely see where she was going, and so she hopefully plodded on, sure she was not very far from the homestead. Yet after another quarter of an hour or more she had not come upon Marylou, and with a lurch of her heart she suspected that she had diverted somewhere and was not now on the path she had come along in the first place.

'Shaitan,' she murmured, a sob in her throat caused as much through exhaustion as despair and fear, 'why was I so stupid?' He barked and came to her. He looked so bedraggled but not too unhappy, under the circumstances, she thought, bending to stroke his saturated fur. She looked around, unsure of whether or not to carry on and hope she had kept to the right path. . . . But she could not have for surely she would have reached the river by now. How she had come to leave it she did not know, because she had intended to carry on along the bank for a little way and then turn back and go to Avice's place. She had no idea of the time, as she had left her watch in her room after having taken it off to wash her hands. 'I'm hopelessly lost!' she cried, and because she felt so spent both physically and mentally she sank down on a boulder and thought it best to await the end of the storm. But after it had continued to rage for an interminable length of time, she decided to go on again. But she had not taken above a dozen steps when disaster overtook her. She caught her foot in a twisted root which sent her plunging forward into the mud. She managed to scramble to her feet, sobs rising in her throat and a terrible weakness taking possession of her. Steps flagged; she was fighting for breath and conscious of Shaitan whining beside her, his big eyes looking upwards into her face. Another root sent her exhausted body down again and this time she hit the stump of a dead tree. Her head seemed to spin with the pain, and stars shot from her vision into space. The next moment a terrible blackness descended. She remembered giving a little moan, and then she was drifting into the realm of oblivion.

She woke to the sound of voices and stared up at the ceiling. Where . . . what . . . ? 'At last she's coming round.' Ralf's voice . . . and it did sound strained and deeply troubled, mused Dawn through the tangled skeins of a mind endeavouring to produce clarity of thought. 'It's a nasty wound but not serious.' A cool hand was on her forehead and another holding her wrist. 'How are you feeling, young lady?' She looked at the lined face above her and heard herself say, 'You're a doctor? Did they find Marylou —and is she all right?' 'We found her and she's all right.' Dawn glanced beyond the face above her to the drawn and dark countenance of her husband. 'You found her?' she asked, wishing she could moisten her throat; it felt so dry and rough. 'Yes, I found her.' 'And me?' 'I asked how you are feeling.' The doctor broke in, and it was very plain that he was impatient to be off. 'Not too bad—er—I hit my head on something.' 'And received a nasty wound which might give you some pain now and then, but other than that you've been very fortunate. If it hadn't been for this faithful animal down here, you could have died because you were right off the known track. Why—?'

'It doesn't matter, Tom,' broke in Ralf. 'All's well that ends well,' he quoted. Then he added, 'You'll come in tomorrow?' 'Of course, to dress the wound.' He paused a moment, staring down into Dawn's pallid face. 'I'll leave you some tablets. Stay in bed for today. I'll probably let you get up after I've seen you tomorrow.' 'What time is it?' she thought to ask, and was told it was late afternoon. She glanced towards the window, to see slanting rays of sunshine which brought a little disbelieving gasp from her lips. 'The storm's over, then?' 'Storms rage but they don't linger.' The doctor moved away from the bed. 'Till tomorrow, then, Ralf.' He went to the door and Ralf went through it with him. Avice came in and stood by the bed. 'You gave us a terrible fright,' she said in an admonishing tone. 'Ralf was almost out of his mind when Shaitan came in, whining and obviously wanting someone to follow him. Ralf took two of the boys and went off. One of them brought Marylou back after Ralf had found her tied to a tree. Then they began to search for you.' 'I've caused a lot of trouble. I'm sorry.' 'I've never seen my brother so upset in the whole of my life.' 'He brought me in—I mean, how did they carry me?' 'Ralf carried you all the way. I undressed you and got you into bed. The others decided to stay the night in town because of the storm, but also because something seemed to be wrong with the station wagon.' 'So they're not here now?' 'No, they don't know about all this.'

'I'm glad.' 'You don't like any of them, do you?' 'They don't like me,' was all Dawn said in answer to that, and before Avice could say anything else Ralf was standing at the door and asking her in a quiet voice to leave. 'I'll make a drink,' smiled Avice and was gone. A silence reigned for a space after Ralf had closed the door on his sister. Dawn broke it, saying huskily, 'I'm sorry for all the trouble, Ralf. I didn't intend going so far—you must know I didn't or I'd not have left Marylou behind. Somehow I wandered on and on—' 'But you must have seen that a storm was coming.' 'It didn't register,' she offered lamely. 'I was— thinking.' She had no idea just how forlorn she sounded, or that the quivering of her lips was almost more than her husband could bear. 'Thank you for—for looking for me—' 'It was natural I'd look for you,' he broke in roughly. 'It was obvious when Shaitan came home in that state—he was covered with mud— that something was very wrong. We discovered that you'd taken the horse, and I thought at first that you must have had a fall from the horse, but when I found Marylou on her own—' He broke off and she saw with a little shock of surprise that there were tiny beads of perspiration gathering rapidly on his forehead. 'How are you feeling?' he inquired brusquely. 'Any pain?' 'No pain. I guess I shall have, though, eventually. But I feel okay.' She paused a moment. 'This has—has upset our plans, hasn't it, Ralf?' 'What plans?' came his taut inquiry.

She licked her parched lips. 'My going away—' 'You're not going away,' he cut in and his voice was suddenly like a whiplash. 'You're my wife and you'll stay here, with me!' 'But—' 'No argument, Dawn! You chose to come. It was your decision. And now it's my turn to decide. You will stay here, as my wife, for good!' He was in a blazing temper, regarding her with a thunderous expression. 'Do you suppose you can come over here to Dombeya, demand to stay, remind me that I'm your husband and then calmly decide to leave? What kind of a man do you think you're dealing with?' he demanded hostilely. 'Or perhaps you don't regard me as a man at all, but a spineless jellyfish who'll let you do as you like. If so, then you're in for a disappointment. You've met your match,' he went on grittingly, 'and the sooner you resign yourself the happier you will be.' He stopped at last, and Dawn put a quivering hand to her head. She was recalling Avice's disclosure that she had never before seen her brother so upset in the whole of her life. It would almost seem that Ralf cared for her ... if it wasn't for the horrid way he was treating her now, wrathfully declaring that she had to stay with him, and glowering at her with this thunderous look in his dark and narrowed eyes, his whole manner that of one who was at daggers drawn and not in the least troubled that she was feeling shaken by her experience and unhappy in the bargain. Self-pity rose like a deluge; she tried valiantly to stem the tears, because she was very sure her husband was in no mood to sympathise, and because she didn't want to let him see her weakness anyway. But her efforts were futile; she was far too overwrought, her nerves strung up and her spirits so low that she felt as if all the troubles of the world were pressing down on her. The tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks, but all Ralf did was to stand and stare at her through those hard eyes, his mouth compressed and his jaw out- thrust and rigid. Never had Dawn seen him looking so formidable, and the result was that her tears flowed

even more freely and, her mind becoming totally infused with pity for herself, she burst out into a tirade of censure before saying something she certainly would never have said had she been able to think clearly. '. . . Hateful and cruel and—and I d-don't know how I could have— have fallen in—in love with anyone so detestable and domineering and ruthless and self-opinionated and—' 'Hold on a moment! Did you say . . . something about loving me?' 'No, I didn't!' she flashed on suddenly realising her slip. 'Love anyone like you—!'' 'My God, Dawn, if you weren't lying there with that damned dressing on your head and—' He stopped to draw a breath. 'I'd shake the living daylights out of you! If you love me, then what the devil is this all about?' 'I don't love you,' she began, then broke off because it did seem for one fearful moment that he would do her an injury in spite of the dressing on her head. 'You don't love me!' She shot at him without quite knowing why. He stood for a long, silent moment staring down into her tear-stained face, a smile curving lips that only seconds ago had been drawn tight in anger. 'You little fool,' he murmured with a small sigh. 'I gave you credit for intelligence, but—' He shook his head. 'Obviously you don't possess one iota of that woman's intuition which is so often talked about.' 'Intuition?' she blinked, then closed her eyes as he began to dab them with his handkerchief. 'Ralf . . .' 'Remind me to . explain it to you when you're feeling better.'

'Ralf—' 'And don't interrupt your husband when he's chastising you!' He bent then, and kissed her hard on the mouth. 'Dawn, my dear love, why didn't you tell me you loved me?' So gentle the tone and the touch of his fingers on her cheek. 'I can ask you the same,' she just had to say. 'I only really admitted it when you were missing,' he said. 'Whereas you appear to have been in love with me for some time.' 'How could I tell you, though,' she inquired reasonably, 'when I had no idea that you might come to feel the same way about me?' 'All right, sweetheart, I concede the point. Oh, my love, how I want to hold you, but I daren't. Be quick, darling, and get well.' A lovely smile lit Dawn's eyes and her voice was husky with emotion as she replied, 'I will, Ralf, I promise.'

They moved together through the darkness, the sound of native drums beautiful from the distance— the slow, mysterious rhythm, the falling cadence which faded finally into the night so there was only silence over the timeless bushveld, inexorably hushed and primitive. Dawn's small hand was clasped tightly within her husband's strong and slender fingers, and a sigh of infinite contentment issued from her lips. She looked up at him, a smile lingering in her lovely eyes. 'It's like a miracle,' she said, and her voice was husky with tender emotion. She was vitally aware of him as a man, drawn by his magnetism, her love for him filling every part of her.

'Thank you for coming,' he responded, and stopped to kiss her. 'Do you realise, my love, that we wasted a year and a half?' She laughed and then lifted her face to invite another, longer and more passionate kiss. He obliged, and for a timeless interlude their bodies and lips united. 'I meant it when I said that all are leaving except Avice.' 'I feel awful—in a way.' 'They have no real right at Dombeya, and now that my wife is here to stay they have to leave.' 'You didn't say where they were going.' 'Esther's father left her a house in Pretoria. She's had it rented out, but I understand that it is vacant at this time. I advised her to take up residence and she agreed. Mother and Myra are to live with her for the time being.' 'I suppose they will visit us sometimes—your mother and Myra, that is.' 'I doubt it,' was Ralf's casual rejoinder. 'Let us not pretend that any of the three have taken kindly to the fact of our marriage and to the knowledge that you own half of the estate. It was a blow and I feel to blame.' He stopped, and Dawn prudently did not interrupt his thoughts. She felt sure that he had meant it for the best when he gave the women a home; he had not for one moment contemplated the appearance of his wife on the scene. Now all was changed and the three women had to readjust their lives. Dawn felt glad that they had a nice home to go to. She said after a while, 'Do you suppose that Avice will accept Jack as a very dear friend?'

'It's more than likely.' 'I'm waiting for Saturday and the dance, just to see what happens.' She was eager, and it was something of a blow when her husband said with a hint of mastery, 'There'll be no dancing for you on Saturday. You're very lucky to be out now, seeing that it's little more than twenty-four hours since I brought you out of that quagmire, unconscious.' They had had a quiet, candlelit dinner on their own in Ralf's room, and now they were strolling for a few moments in the balmy air of the homestead grounds. Night had fallen gently, caressing the landscape, lulling the bushveld to slumber. Above in the star-dusted purple dome of the sky an argent moon hung like a hammock, while skeins of lazy clouds created shadows to obscure and at the same time to mystify. 'I still can't believe it's true, Ralf. Oh, but how my life has changed in a few short hours!' 'And mine, my darling—' He stopped and his lips were a tender caress upon her mouth, his hands gentle as they slid into her hair. They cupped her lovely face and she thrilled to their warmth, to the ecstatic contact of his flesh with hers. Time stood still for one vibrant and emotional interlude before Ralf said in a tender but ardent voice, 'We've walked long enough, my darling; it's time we went in.' A deep sigh of contentment was the prelude to her reply. 'Yes, my dearest Ralf, it's time we went in.' He took her hand in the silence and together they continued along the path to where their home shone white and welcoming in the silver glow from a million stars spangling the deep purple dome of an African sky.