The Tulip Tree

THE TULIP TREE Kathryn Blair

He disliked the girl he thought she was The idea of impersonating her stepsister hadn't seemed so bad back in Johannesburg. But here in Pietsdorp it was much, much different. Caught up in the life and personalities of this tiny African town, Sarah was feeling the consequences of her deceit. But mostly she wanted, and yet couldn't, to appeal to Brent Milward-as herself and for herself. She was in love with a man who didn't even know her name!

CHAPTER ONE WHEN Sarah awoke that Saturday morning in a tiny bachelor flat above one of the main roads north of Johannesburg her first sensation was one of complete bewilderment. She took a look at the inexpensive furniture, listened to the stream of cars making its way down from Orange Grove into the city for business and shopping purposes, and remembered suddenly that since yesterday afternoon she was without a job. A month's salary in her handbag, but no job. Well, it had been good for the six months it had lasted. The time had passed quickly, though in a way it seemed very much longer than six months since that day when Mr. Mulder, a visitor to the London office where she was employed, had suggested that she go to South Africa with himself and his wife. He was more than satisfied with the work she had done for him while he was more or less a guest at the office, and he was willing to engage her as his secretary, all expenses paid. At first, of course, Sarah had laughingly declined; she couldn't possibly leave her brother and sister - they were both older and would be against it, anyway. But the idea fermented, as such ideas will, and within a day or two she was talking it over a little feverishly with Madalyn, who was six years older and tremendously self-assured. And Madalyn wasn't against it at all. If the Mulder man was starting up a profitable business in Johannesburg, she pointed out, Sarah would get a good salary, and with all expenses paid she couldn't lose. Besides, Madalyn herself would be going on tour with Felix and the film unit, and it was already arranged that they should spend a couple of months in the Union, staying in the main centres. So it wasn't quite the lone venture it appeared. Because Bill, also, was keen for Sarah to grab at the chance of travel, the proposition became increasingly attractive, and in a dreamlike state Sarah had accepted.

From the moment of her arrival in South Africa, Sarah had loved it; her only regret was that cooped up in the fabulous Golden City without the use of a car she was able to see so little of the vast, magnetic country. But she had planned ahead for the month's holiday which would be due to her when she had worked for Mr. Mulder for a year, and her job was very interesting. Not for a moment had it occurred to her that Mr. Mulder's position might be unstable; he was solid-looking, of Dutch and English descent, and he had been much respected at the London office. Felix Frayne, well-known for his glamorous documentaries, had duly arrived with his camera gear and staff, and his admirable personal assistant, Madalyn Knight. Perhaps it was the excitement of having her half-sister here in Johannesburg which had rather blinded Sarah to the trend in Mr. Mulder's affairs. All she had seen till about a fortnight ago was that Mrs. Mulder was homesick for her native Holland. Then Mr. Mulder had sprung it; he was taking his wife back to Dordrecht and would go into partnership there with her father. His business in Johannesburg must be wound up. Yesterday, he had paid Sarah a full month's salary and said goodbye. Sarah edged her way into the tiny bath cubicle and turned on the taps. Madalyn would be along this morning to collect the remainder of her clothes, and for Madalyn one always had to be just right. Not that she bothered to criticise Sarah much these days; since Felix had left she had been rather more careful in her dealings with her sister, for Sarah, after all, was the only person who knew she had cheated. Sarah refused to think about it. She shook salts into the bath, stepped out of her pyjamas and proceeded to enjoy herself. When she had dressed in a plain cotton dress had some breakfast and washed, and made up the studio couch, she sat down to write to her brother. And as usual, before putting pen to paper she mused about him, feeling a tremendous gladness that she and Madalyn could afford, between them, to help out with his training in Edinburgh. For herself, it was a

bit of a strain sometimes, but Bill didn't know that, and she would have her reward when he was qualified and began to specialise in surgery. It was all some way off, but the day would come, sure as Christmas! She was halfway through the letter when the bell pinged, so she slid it into a drawer and opened the door. Madalyn came in with that practised walk of hers, dropped a linen handbag and gloves on the liny table and lifted the sea-green cap from the red-gold hair. Amazing hair, that could only belong with green eyes. She looked about her at the small room, gave a faint grimace of displeasure at the sight of her own dresses and coats lying over the studio couch. "You could have packed them for me, darling," she said in languid tones. "I can easily have them ironed. Walter has a most remarkable laundry boy." Sarah began to fold a cyclamen silk. "Did you come in one of Walter's remarkable cars?" she asked distantly. "Of course, and don't be nasty about it. I've been with him nearly two weeks now, and I know that when I accepted this appointment I did the right thing. The trouble is, I don't feel I should land him with my family; otherwise I'd get him to find you a good position. He has tremendous influence in Jo'burg." "A gold-mining magnate is bound to have," commented Sarah drily. "Does he give you plenty to do?" "There's heaps - all of it enjoyable. If it weren't for his old busybody of a mother everything would be marvellous. Still, one doesn't get everything in this world. We're having a special party tonight; it's his forty-second birthday."

"And you, as his secretary and hostess, will be very much in the limelight. Ah, well, it's what you wanted. But I still think you played a grubby trick on Felix." Madalyn spoke as if the subject bored her. "You're just oldfashioned, Sarah, and you won't believe I was really unwell when Felix decided to go on to Australia without me, I worked hard to get things organised for filming in various parts of South Africa, and everything went through like clockwork. I'd even planned ahead with Felix for the same sort of thing in Australia. The tour was worked out in detail, so Felix could manage alone without too much trouble - he said he could. He knew I'd slaved over the social contacts which were so necessary if we were to film the unusual in this country, and a breakdown wasn't a bit out of place." Sarah arranged a play-suit on its hanger inside the trunk. "Except that you didn't have a breakdown," she said. "You'd met Walter Barnard, and he was so attracted by your dress and poise that he offered a stupendous salary if you'd stay here and manage his social life. And now you have a luxurious apartment in his mansion, and everything is just too marvellous." "Don't forget the ancient mother, my dear. She could knock the gilt off any amount of gingerbread! Still, I must say everything has started off very nicely. I was thinking," she added softly, "that you might like to try a job in some other town. The coastal places are lovely, and you haven't seen them yet." Sarah didn't answer this: She was accustomed to Madalyn's wanting everything to be impeccably right and in her own favour, and she had discovered long ago, during the dreadful days just after their parents had crashed in a car on a snowy road, that one could be hurt by one's sister, yet still love her.

This matter of Madalyn's defection from her tour with Felix had disturbed Sarah in a different way. She liked Felix, his mane of black hair silvering at the temples, his fine aquiline face, his outmoded but charming air of chivalry. Madalyn always admitted that the luckiest day in her life had been when Felix took her on as his secretary, seven or eight years ago. At twenty-seven, Madalyn's was an accomplishment which all her friends in London had envied. She went to South America and Italy, to Canada and the Baltic countries; always with Felix. And then she had come here to South Africa, and been instrumental in charming privileges for the film unit from various people, so that Felix could claim that he really did have material which had not been filmed before. Everything had slipped along with precision, till two days before the company was due to depart by air for Sydney. Then Madalyn had unaccountably gone sick; nothing one could pin down, said the doctor whom Felix had anxiously summoned, but perhaps Miss Knight could rest and follow by a later plane. But Felix would not hear of this. For Madalyn, the Australian part of the tour was off. She must remain with Sarah, and Sarah must take the utmost care of her. Actually, Madalyn had lived with Sarah for less than a week. She had recovered miraculously, had come back from a lunch appointment one day flushed and exhilarated. The wealthy Walter Barnard, whom she had met only a few days before she was due to leave for Australia, was smitten by her beauty and "atmosphere"; he couldn't wait to import them both into his own home, and pay a large salary for the privilege. Sarah knew then that her sister's breakdown had been bogus, that Madalyn had remained in South Africa with this very situation in view. The bell rang again, rather more shrilly than when Madalyn had pressed it. Sarah opened the door, stared a little at the telegraph boy and took the orange envelope he offered. She thought instantly of Bill, signed rather shakily and pushed the door closed.

"Miss Madalyn Knight," she said with relief. "Lucky you're here." Madalyn didn't hurry to open the envelope. She took another pull at her cigarette and pressed it out, dusted her fingers and pushed a thumb under the flap. She went through the words carefully, turned back to the beginning and read again. Her expression altered, she looked up, her eyes a bright hard green. "What do you know!" she said under her breath. "Read it." Sarah took the cablegram from the slender, coral-tipped hand. "Still very anxious about you," she read. "Have cabled my cousin Ruth Masters to care for you in her home in the country and she will contact you at once. It will relieve me greatly to know you have left that small city flat and are recovering in the sunshine. Write me as soon as you arrive there. Love, Felix." Sarah looked across at Madalyn, saw the cold, calculating expression in those green eyes. "What does it mean, exactly?" Madalyn's teeth clicked, audibly. "Just what it says. This woman cousin of Felix's was a doctor in Zaire till a short while ago, and has now decided to retire. She's had a house built on a small farm, or something like that. Felix admires her terrifically for the way she's spent her life, and he wanted to see her, but he left it too late, so they only corresponded. I remember he told me she was going to write up her experiences for publication as a book." The voice which could be so suave and persuasive almost rasped. "Doesn't this beat everything!" "Where does this Dr. Masters live?" "Somewhere in the Eastern Transvaal - I think he said it's about two hundred miles from Johannesburg. I can't go there. I've promised

Walter I'll stay with him for three months, and Sarah ... I want to, very badly. I believe I'm in love with the man." "Good lord!" said Sarah soberly. "Are you sure it's the man, and not his money?" "I suppose the money helps. After all, mink and diamonds plus a man's affections are bound to be attractive, but I really do like Walter a great deal for himself. I'm certain I'd be happy if I married him." "Is there really a ... likelihood?" asked Sarah, a little aghast. "What do you think? I'm right there in his house, showing what a good hostess I can be, how lovely I can look at his table and circulating among the guests. Since I've been with him he doesn't even look at his letters; I read them and answer them. Only the other day he said how nice I am to come home to." "That's all very cosy; but look at this from the other angle. Felix went away trusting you and blaming himself for letting you get low in health - as he thought He's done so much for you. He deserves consideration." Madalyn got to her feet, found another cigarette; she used the lighter fiercely and it jibbed. With the still-unlighted cigarette between her fingers she said jerkily: "I'll have to think this one out. Felix is afraid I'm still unwell. He wants me to go to that woman because she's a doctor and lives out in the country. Country air and medical care. I daren't disappoint him." "No?" said Sarah curiously. "Then what are you going to do?" The telephone jangled suddenly, and Madalyn flicked an angry finger towards it. "Answer it, for heaven's sake!"

Sarah picked up the receiver, said automatically, "Miss Knight's apartment." The voice at the other end was deep and careless, very male. "Is that Miss Knight speaking?" "Yes." 'I'm Brent Milward, Miss Knight. I'm staying at a hotel here in Johannesburg, due to return home tomorrow. I've just had a telephone call from Dr. Masters." Precipitately, Sarah lowered the telephone, placed a hand over the mouthpiece. "It's a man named Brent Milward," she whispered swiftly to Madalyn. "He says Dr. Masters has just telephoned him." Madalyn showed admirable calm. "Tell him it's not convenient to speak to him just now. Ask him to ring back." Sarah dithered for a moment, then spoke once more into the phone. "Are you there?" "Sure. Where have you been?" She wanted to grin, but couldn't. "I'm sorry. I'm terribly tied up at the moment. Could you possibly ring a little later?" "Yes, but what I have to say won't take long." "A little later... please!" "Ten minutes?" "Say fifteen."

"You intrigue me. We'll make it fifteen, and I'll spend the time guessing what you're up to." She did smile then, a little. "That's fair enough. Goodbye." She dropped the telephone back into place, said "Phew!" and fanned herself. Madalyn, apparently, had managed some thinking even during the brief exchange. She stood back against the wall, looking cool and non-committal, said quietly, "Only you can get me out of this jam, Sarah. You'll have to go out to this woman in my place." Sarah was transfixed. She found herself still gazing at Madalyn as if they might both have gone slightly mad. "I... as you? Do you realise what you're saying?" "Very clearly. Dr. Masters is expecting a guest named Madalyn Knight. She's never seen either of us, and the place is rural, so you won't have to look too much as if you belong to the film industry; there'll be no difficulty in that direction. As luck has it, just now you haven't even a job, so there's no problem there. Actually, all you have to do is go there as a guest and tolerate being called by my name." "But it sounds loony!" "It's the only way out; you must see that, Sarah. I can't disappoint Felix - he has such faith in my integrity - and I can't relinquish this post with Walter while it has such possibilities." Madalyn allowed a little warmth to enter her tones. "It'll be easy, and you may find it fun. There'll be practically no pitfalls at all. The woman and Felix are never likely to meet; you know quite a lot about him, so you'll be able to answer questions, and you needn't stay so very long. And just think, Sarah. You'll be seeing something of South Africa at last! You'll love it!"

"But I certainly wouldn't love being you. I've never heard anything like it!" Sarah relaxed a little, sat down on the arm of the studio couch. "You'll have to cable some sort of reply to Felix. Tell him you're feeling better, that you feel you need life." "As if he'd believe that! I have all the excitement I want in London, and the company had a high time here in Johannesburg He left me lying in bed, looking as wan as a lack of rouge and lipstick can make a woman." She gestured impatiently. "You know Felix. If I don't do as he says he'll come tearing back and ruin the whole Australian tour - maybe lose his cameramen. I worked really hard for this position with Walter Barnard, and I'm not giving it up!" A little hopelessly, Sarah said, "Can't you be honest with Felix - tell him you're in love?" "No, I can't," returned her sister briefly. "But why should he be so upset if you cable him that you don't want to go to this cousin of his?" Madalyn let a second or two elapse before she answered baldly, "Because he's in love with me, in the good old heart- whole fashion. Before we left England he asked me to marry him and make this trip our honeymoon. I wanted something a little better - or shall we say different - in the way of marriage, and I begged him to let us make the tour on our old footing. I can't hurt Felix - I'm too fond of him." "But you say you're fond of Walter Barnard. You can't love two men!" "That's all you know, my pet. It's really very easy to be in love with two people who are very different from each other."

"I wouldn't think so. It seems to me you're just hanging on to Felix in case this man Barnard doesn't come to the point." "In a way that's true," said Madalyn reasonably. "I want to marry Walter, but it's a chancy business. There are idle and beautiful women around who have the same idea, and Walter's too experienced and canny to be rushed. Felix ... well, Felix is a dear, and he's been wonderfully considerate and generous. I don't want to distress him until ... unless it's absolutely necessary." "Am I really supposed to believe that you could marry either of them and be happy?" Madalyn's smile conveyed both pathos and sincerity. "I'm getting on, darling. At your age I had your outlook: a hero on horseback, all silver in the moonlight, sweeping me off my feet. Once or twice I thought I'd found him, but it was only a ghost. Felix was reality, and over the years I've grown to care for him. But now, Walter seems to have ... overwhelmed me, You do see how it is, don't you, sweetie?" "Vaguely. But the very thought of pretending to be you gives me goose-flesh. I might make some fearful blunder." "Not you. I'd trust you to make a perfect job of it. Look, Sarah, I'll take care of everything. You rent this place furnished, and it'll be easy to pass it on to someone else. I know you're not too flush, so I'll take care of your share of Bill's expenses, too, till you have a salary again. It's not such a tremendous lot to ask of you, darling!" "I'd rather have longer to think it over, though." "We may not have much longer." Madalyn's smile was a little playful, yet there was an edge to it. "You know, I could sort of threaten you into it if I liked. Bill's only my half-brother. I could walk

out on our gentleman's agreement to help finance him till he qualifies - or threaten to." There was something beside that hint of sharpness in Madalyn's expression, something so unpleasant that Sarah shied away from it. She thought of Bill's ambitions, of the family doctor who had urged that at any cost Bill should be given his chance. Madalyn was saying, "If you go to this Dr. Masters for me, Sarah, you merely have to be yourself. She's only just arrived at the house, so she won't have any close friends; there'll be almost no social activity. It'll be dead easy for you." "But what a nightmare if she found out!" "How could she? We're not known in this country." She gestured with both hands to indicate that she was being thoroughly fair. "You know my address - Walter's house - and the telephone number. If you're in the smallest doubt you can ring me. Don't act before you phone - just ring at once, and we'll decide what to do. But there won't be any trouble, I promise you. And let me assure you of this. If I've made no headway with Walter by the time you have to return to Johannesburg - say in two months - we'll both go back to England." Sarah said, her throat dry, "I believe you really do care for Mr. Barnard." Madalyn lowered her thickly fringed eyelids. "I wish feelings were the kind of thing one could explain. Walter hasn't made a single move." She twirled the small green hat. "About Felix I find that I have a conscience. Even if I never return to England I wouldn't have him know I deceived him so that he would leave me behind in Johannesburg; I couldn't bear to have him disillusioned about me, and I'm relying on you to see that it doesn't happen. If I do have to work with him again, though, I'll need an alibi for this time I'm

spending at the Barnard house - a neat and charming alibi. What could be better than the visit to his cousin's house?" "Poor Felix," murmured Sarah involuntarily. "You wouldn't want him hurt, either, would you?" said Madalyn softly. Then she spoke more briskly. "I'll lend you some clothes, if you need them, and we'll be very sensible about it all. No one but you and I will know the truth of this little plan, and all it really adds up to is that you keep the Knight flag flying and we both gain by it. You get a holiday in the bush - a chance to see more of the country, and I get a breathing space for my own affairs to even out. If only..." The telephone rang again and the two looked at each other, Madalyn with a slight smile and Sarah wide-eyed, palpitant. Saying, "One of us has to deal with it," Madalyn reached to pick up the instrument. "Miss Knight's apartment," she said coolly. Sarah watched those nearly perfect, unrevealing features, listened to half of the conversation. "Oh, yes, Mr. Milward. Sorry I had to put you off ... Yes, thank you, I'm now able to cope ... Yes, I had the cable only this morning, and of course I'll be charmed to visit Dr. Masters, but tomorrow is rather soon ... Oh, I see. Well, I daresay I could manage it. You'll call for me here... You have the address? Ten o'clock, then ... That's very charming of you. Goodbye." The telephone clicked back into place. Madalyn lifted a dark-gold eyebrow. "Something of a humorist, apparently. Well, there you are. Mr. Milward has been here on holiday and he's going back tomorrow in a ranch wagon with friends. Seems he's a neighbour of Ruth Masters', and after she had her cable from Felix she thought of him

and got through on the phone. She asked him to bring Miss Knight back with him." "I only hope," remarked Sarah apprehensively, "that we're doing the right thing." "It's always right for the members of a family to help one another," Madalyn told her, any elation she might feel carefully disguised. "There's no crime in one sister impersonating another to avoid hurting someone. I'm sure you'll do it splendidly for me, and it'll do you no end of good. I'm afraid I'll have to run along now. Just leave the trunk where it is, and if I'm not able to see you before you go tomorrow, leave the key with the caretaker. I'll deal with this flat and everything else first thing on Monday morning. And don't forget you mustn't write, but you can ring me whenever you like. Letters can be incriminating, and I don't trust that old mother of Walter's. Give me that urchin grin, darling!" But Sarah had never felt less like an urchin. Because she couldn't think of another thing to say, she let her sister go. Coherent reflection was going to be difficult for quite some time. But hours later it still seemed impossible that she was on the point of leaving Johannesburg and entering a new life, in which she would not be Sarah Knight, twenty-one, of pleasing personality and moderate good looks, but someone totally different. She decided her brain would have to absorb it by degrees!

While Sarah packed and destroyed an accumulation of rubbish, she found that in spite of misgivings she was growing a little excited. She must refuse to be made uneasy by the role into which Madalyn was thrusting her. After all, it was a fairly simple one, designed to hurt

nobody, and deep down she felt she was doing it as much for Bill as for Madalyn. Nevertheless, when she was ready next morning she did begin to feel a little odd. She stood at her window looking out at the glimpses of the skycrapers and at the thickly growing trees. The sky was very blue, and because it was Sunday the houseboys were singing, and the cars which passed flew an occasional gay towel or pair of trunks, or flaunted fishing- tackle upon their roofs. She turned suddenly to the telephone, dialled the number of Walter Barnard's house. His African major-domo answered. No, Miss Knight was not in; she had gone riding with the other guests. Sarah thanked him and dropped the receiver back into place. The next moment there came a rap on the door and she answered it. It was the service boy. "There is a baas for the madam," he told her. "He waits in the car." "Thank you. Will you take these two suitcases for me?" She locked up the flat with an odd feeling of finality, went ahead of the boy to the lift. There were few other people about in .the entrance when she handed over her key, and she tipped the boy and went out into the sunshine with a sensation that was a mixture of relief and fearful expectancy. She was committed ! The ranch-wagon was long, sleek and pale grey, a little dusty but very new and streamlined. The man who leaned against it, smoking negligently and talking to someone inside it, was the sort of owner one might have expected; he was like his voice, very male. He was big and brown and dark, wore a blue shirt with a fleck in it, and khaki shorts. His eyes were blue, his nose biggish, with a

prominent bridge, and there was a smile on his lips as he threw a remark through the rear window. He saw Sarah and straightened indolently, dropped his cigarette and trod on it. "Good morning, Miss Knight," he said. "I'm Brent Milward. These other two," they had swiftly got out on to the pavement, "are Lester and Bob Pengelly. Both countrymen of yours." "Which means that you're South African," said Sarah. "Do we all travel together?" "Why not? We're neighbours." "Won't it stifle things a bit, having a woman with you?" "Probably," he conceded, "but we shan't kick if you don't. You'd better sit beside me. There's more room. Let me put your hat in the wagon with the luggage." The cabin of the wagon was four-seated and as comfortable as a luxurious saloon. To combat her shyness, Sarah at once half-turned and spoke to the two black-haired, thin-faced Pengellys. Lester was the elder, about twenty-seven or eight; his brother would be in the region of twenty-three, and his manner was more smiling, less intense. "With a name like that," she said, "you must come from the Southwest. Cornwall?" "No, Devon," replied Lester. "We farmed on the moors, but lost a lot of sheep in the blizzards one winter and decided to move out. We've given up livestock and go in for oranges."

"Oranges?" she echoed eagerly. "Do they grow in ... in ..." She stopped suddenly, as if a chasm had opened at her feet. "Pietsdorp," supplied the wide-shouldered man at her side. "Oh, yes," she murmured thankfully, knowing that Madalyn would have the address filed away somewhere. "I don't know a thing about that part of the country." "That makes two of you," commented Brent Milward laconically. "Ruth hasn't lived there long herself." Ruth was Dr. Masters. She remembered that. "Well, it won't matter, will it?" she said brightly. "What is she like - Dr. Masters?" "Chunky, grey-haired, absent-minded when it's convenient. And she likes to be called Ruth." "Are you all... near neighbours of hers?" "Within a few miles." He cast her a dispassionate glance. "You're going to find it tough, after Jo'burg. No theatres, no smart hotels, no dress-shops to speak of, and just one tiny cinema that puts on antiquated films twice a week and has never heard of the glamorous travel tales of Felix Frayne." "But there's plenty doing really," Lester Pengelly hastened to assure her, "and Dr. Masters has borrowed a couple of horses. There's no end to keep one occupied." "I shan't be bored," said Sarah, a little scared because she was beginning to feel so happy. "I shall find things to do." She leaned forward then, and absorbedly watched the yellow slimes dump they were passing. Some way ahead one of the dry dumps rose sheer and conical, and farther on there was still another, an old one

this, with grass and bush growing from its sides. Then the car was forced to dawdle for a few minutes behind a lorry-load of darkskinned boys in dance regalia: brief skirts of leopard skin, bands below the knee from which jackal tails floated, dozens of bright anklets, bare torsos and collars of beads made from every conceivable material. They wielded knobkerries ornamented with bright rag streamers, and some wore tinted ostrich feathers in their thick dusty wool. Their singing, even above the roar of car engines, was musical as only the singing of African natives can be. To Sarah, who had seldom gone farther than the northern boundary of Johannesburg, this was more than freedom; it was a taste of heaven. To her surprise, she was loving every moment of it. By noon the Reef was left well behind. The country became luxuriantly hilly, the traffic sparse and the atmosphere, when they stopped near a koppie for lunch, was much hotter than Sarah had ever known it in town. She remarked upon it. "On the Reef you're six thousand feet up," Lester Pengelly explained. "After the first few days you won't mind the heat." Brent Milward looked up from opening the picnic basket. "You'll probably hate it," he said. "Chicken sandwich?" She took one, leaned back on the car-rug while she ate. "I don't wilt in the heat," she said. "The houses are built to cope with it." "Determinedly bright little thing, aren't you?" he said companionably. "Ruth enjoys having happy young beings about her. You'll go down well." "I hope so."

There was something about the man that made her feel faintly uncomfortable. The natural awkwardness at the beginning of the trip had faded quickly, probably because the two Pengellys were of a kind that she knew well; they were countrified English who found life good here in the sunshine and were keen to share it with others. Brent Milward, though, belonged to the wide landscape, the hot blue skies, the scattered native huts, the distant mountains, and somehow his manner made her feel alien. He seemed to take it for granted that the things she didn't know she would dislike. He was cool and pleasant, in a way that caused a slight prickle within Sarah, and his smile, showing strong white teeth and not always reaching those uncommunicative blue eyes, annoyed her; in her mind she called it arrogant. After they had been on the move again for about half an hour, the ranch wagon slowed and stopped beside a red gravel track which appeared to lead away into the bush. There was a signboard which said: "R. W. Pengelly. Citrus." Sarah looked round at the dark-eyed Lester. "Are we there? Is this your farm?" "No, this is my parents' place. My father has been looking after ours while we've been away, so we have to see him. He'll drive us home later in the day." "Give your people my regards," said Brent. Just a little offhandedly, Lester said, "They'd like to see you and meet Miss Knight." "We might all get together one night next week," Brent replied suavely. "Let's make it Wednesday, at my place. Come in time for drinks and stay for dinner."

"Thanks. I'll let you know. Well, so long, Miss Knight." "Goodbye," she said. "I'm looking forward to picking an orange from one of your trees." "I hope that's a promise. They won't be ripe for several weeks!" Sarah was smiling as the car moved on. But after she had leaned back into her corner a silence settled over them. Brent was driving fast, slowing down only at precipitous bends, and now she had to ask before he gave her the names of the tiny villages, of the stony krantzes, of the rock-flowers and little rivers that bubbled over boulders and here and there were diverted for irrigation purposes. She punctuated the silence with questions, but it was inescapable. They wound down into a kloof walled in by wild banana and cycads and mango bush, came out among hectares of low green plants. "Cotton," he said, before she could inquire. "We're nearly there." "Do you live close to Dr. Masters?" she asked with reserve. "My place is Comyns Ridge. I fenced off ten acres at one corner for Ruth." "Have you known her long?" "All my life. My mother was her elder sister." Sarah took this in, weighed it. He was actually Dr. Masters' nephew. Her heart beating rather fast, she said, "So in a way you're related to Felix Frayne?" "I suppose so, though I've only seen him twice in my life. That time in London, when I went to the studios, and then again in

Johannesburg, while he was in South Africa - we had a drink together." "Why didn't you mention it before?" she caught him up swiftly. His shoulders lifted. "I hardly know Felix. He's not my type." He gave her an oblique, calculating glance. "What are you afraid of?" "I'm not afraid. I don't care to think I might have been misled, that's all." "Too bad. Don't you ever mislead people?" The shaft came too close. "If you don't approve of me," she said crossly, "get Dr. Masters to send me straight away again. I daresay you have plenty of influence with her." "For a business woman you fire easily don't you?" he said with a hint of sarcasm. "I always thought grey eyes denoted a gentle nature. Did Ruth snatch you from the arms of a boyfriend?" "I'd hardly confide in you if she had. Why are you being insufferable?" "I'm just being me," he said. "You'll get used to it." He stopped the car then, on the side of a jagged hill. With one arm he indicated the valley and long miles of undulating land laid out to pasture and oranges. "Comyns Ridge," he said, leaning over her. "The house is over there, about three miles away, among the trees. You can glimpse the walls and the roof and see the outbuildings. Ruth's house is this nearer one; her trees are planted out, but she won't. have much benefit from them yet."

"There is a fully-grown tree - a big one." "It's a tulip tree. It's always thick with leaves, but has never borne a flower. We left it there when the house was built so that she'd have some shade to sit in and feel at home. She had tulip trees in Zaire." "That never flowered?" "Oh, they flowered. That's what makes this one unique. How do you feel about living down there for a few weeks?" "I'll reserve the answer to that one," she said. "Shall we go?" Ten minutes later they were down in the valley, with green and brown hills above them and the deep theatrical purple of mountains visible in the distance. They travelled a short way along a bare road beside a wire cyclone fence, turned through a gateway and stopped in front of a stark white house of pleasing design and many windows.

CHAPTER TWO IT was a house furnished, as yet, only with necessities. Sarah saw that the moment she entered the off-white sitting room. There were a couple of bright hand-made rugs, four contemporary chairs covered in pink tweed, a low coffee-table and a radio set. The curtains had cherry-coloured flowers on a grey background and were heavily lined. Ruth Masters came in from another room, wiping her hands on a check apron. Later, Sarah was to reflect how like a farm- wife she looked and how unlike one she really was, but in that moment she was aware only of the welcoming smile on the squarish face, the light blue twinkling eyes behind the thick lenses. "Forgive my hands being a bit sticky," Dr. Masters said. "I'm trying to frame a picture, and making a hell of a mess of it." Her head went back as she appraised the small, faintly tanned face and the light brown hair which had blown about the forehead and temples. "You're Madalyn, and not looking much the worse for your illness, thank heaven. I'm pleased to know you, my dear. Well, hallo, Brent. How many hearts did you break in Johannesburg?" "I think the score must have been low," commented Sarah. "He's been taking it out on me." "That wasn't nice," said Ruth placidly. "I'll show you your bedroom, Madalyn, and then we'll have tea. Staying for a cup, Brent?" "Nothing urgent up at my place?" he asked. "Not that I know of. Johannes said everything was all right when he came by this morning. Sit down, Brent. Men like you should only stand up outdoors."

He patted her shoulder and fleetingly she touched his hand before she moved away. She smiled at Sarah, waved at the door. "This way. The boy will already have taken your bags. You don't know how glad I am that you were able to come. Settling down pleasantly with the idea of getting busy on a book of experiences is something I've been looking forward to tremendously, and when Felix cabled that you were needing a rest, I thought it would be something for us to get interested in together. I'm sure you won't mind if I use you just a little. However we don't have to plunge into it unless you really want to." This speech had taken them along a short corridor and into a room as off-white as the sitting-room and as sparsely furnished. There were a divan bed, a built-in wardrobe, a dressing- table in pale African oak, a chintz chair and a kaross beside the bed. Curtains and bed-cover were in white chenille. "If things don't seem too organised," said Ruth Masters, pushing short thick fingers through grey hair which was already untidy, "you mustn't mind. I've never furnished a house in my life before, and I'm learning as I go along." She looked curiously into the young face that was just slightly above her own. "You're much younger than I expected. Felix has so much confidence in you that I took you to be about thirty. Not that it matters, if you're happy working with him. Are you really better now? Breakdowns are so annoying, aren't they? Even a doctor can't help you so much as you can help yourself, I must say you look very balanced." Sarah managed her bright defensive smile. "I'm fine, thanks. I do hope I shan't be in your way at all." "I like young people and they're good for me," said Ruth flatly. "I'm just a chubby old medico out of touch with civilisation, but so long as you enjoy being here I shall love having you. Besides, I'm going to

use you! Just wash your hands now; we've an excellent hot-water system, so you'll be able to take a bath whenever you like. The bathroom is right next door. We'll have tea before you unpack." Left alone in the room, Sarah felt she could hardly believe it. She washed in a glaring white bathroom, used a dab of powder, a rub of lipstick. She stood back from the dressing-table and was surprised that she looked no different from the girl who had dressed in the flat this morning. After Johannesburg this was like being in a different country, and she was certainly among quite different people. But she was going to fit in here; she was sure of it. Just as she was sure that her sister would have hated the isolated house and been contemptuous of the modern and tasteless furniture. She went out into the white corridor, closed her door and made her way back to the sitting room. Brent was saying, "You could still alter it, if you wanted to, but the layout is just right for the water available." He got up to seat Sarah, but went on, "If you weren't so keen on growing papaws and pineapples, we could change the crops over. Pines don't need special irrigation in this district; they have some means of their own of collecting moisture from the night air." "I suppose in these things I shall have to be led by you, though I did want this place to be my very own - you know that," said Dr. Masters. Brent looked about him, with irony. "It certainly isn't mine, sweetheart. Every time I enter this room I get twinges. Still, if it's what you've been dreaming about all these years ..." He let it tail off at that.

"You can't quarrel with my china, anyway," she said complacently. "Blue with white spots. I bought it in Elizabethville. Don't you think it's cute, Madalyn?" "It's very pretty - cottagey." Brent emptied his cup and stood up. "I'll get along," he said. "Take care of one another, won't you?" "When will you be over again?" "Tomorrow, some time; but call me if you want me." Dr. Masters looked up at him, a long way. "The Carsland girl left yesterday," she said. "Really?" he replied indifferently, as he moved towards the door. "She said she was going to the Cape." "I don't care if she's going to Spain," he said. "Brent," she began, "I know you couldn't help the girl making an idiot of herself, but I do think..." "Listen, Ruthie," he said, the hardness in his tones belying the words, "you're just a natural medicine gal, and you know precious little about people - white people. Just grow your pa- paws and write your book, there's a good baby." She adjusted her glasses and said with exasperation, "But I want you to get married, Brent! I didn't see much of Wendy Carsland, but I'm sure she's home-loving and..." "Clinging," he supplied with a sardonic smile. "And I can't cotton to a woman who clings. I've told you before - I'm not getting married.

Marriage is too chancy and it lasts too long." He grinned narrowly at Sarah. "You mustn't mind my being frank. You might as well be warned - just in case she tries hurling you at my head." "I have sharp corners," she said. "I'd probably hurt." "I believe you," he said, but he sounded nonchalant. "So long, you two. Have a good time together." And he strolled out to the ranch wagon. Neither woman spoke till the sound of the engine had merged with the natural noises of the countryside. Automatically, Sarah had put the cups and plates together on the tray, and when Ruth Masters turned back from the doorway she was standing above it, with her fingers on the handles. "Leave that for Jacob," said Ruth. "He has so little to do in this house that I have to let him do every bit of the housework. There'll be more for him now, of course, but he needs it. He won't have time to chase up patients for me." "Do you practice here?" "No, but you know how it is. All my time has been spent among black people, and I can recognise most of their ailments merely by looking at them." She shrugged humorously. "I often wake up to find two or three of them squatting on the drive. They'll wait all hours for free medical attention!" "Were you really glad to retire from Zaire?" Ruth sat down heavily in one of the pink tweed chairs. "Now that I've started a new life I'm wondering why I put it off for so long! I was a nurse to begin with, here in South Africa. Things happened, and I decided to qualify and specialise in tropical medicine. I enjoyed those

twenty-five years in the bush, but here at Comyns Ridge is where I belong, though I'm having to learn about it all over again. Brent's been at me for years to come home - he even wanted me to live over at the big house with him, but I wouldn't have that. If he wants a woman about the place he can darned well marry one." Still standing at the table, Sarah asked, "Is he odd, or merely South African?" Ruth smiled. "When a man reaches the age of thirty-two without knowing an urge to meet his ideal woman, you might think he'd be a confirmed bachelor. But Brent does like women; mostly he has a way with them that's quite charming. I think he must be very difficult to please. This Wendy Carsland, for instance." She paused and looked doubtfully at Sarah. "Are you interested?" "Very much!" "Well, when I came down to Pietsdorp I stayed over the way with Brent till this house was finished. Wendy was always drifting in ostensibly to speak to me, but really to catch a word with Brent. She was staying with friends - just went on staying with them and turning up at Comyns Ridge and everywhere else that Brent might be. I gather that at the beginning - it was before I arrived - he was nice to her and took her out a few times. His trip to Johannesburg had already been arranged, and it seemed that Wendy had relatives there; she hinted that she would like him to take her with him, but Brent ignored it. After he had left the girl came to me in a most depressed state." She threw out her short-fingered hands. "I was all mazed up, had no idea how to comfort her. In the end she hadn't the courage to stay on and see him again." "He sounds pretty heartless."

The older woman nodded. "I know, but he isn't in other directions. He gave me this land and I had to fight to pay my share of the building costs. His workers are the best housed and fed in the district. He helped the Pengellys to get started on their farm, and lots of others, and every season he gives what's called an 'orange party' for the poor of the district - invites them to a big outdoor meal and lets them collect as many oranges as they can carry away with them." Ruth ended thoughtfully, "It's women, I'm afraid. I don't suppose he ever thinks of one except as a necessary partner in an affair. I wish I knew him better." "He told me he'd known you all his life." "Well, yes, but not intimately. He came up to see me once or twice at the medical station, and once I spent a holiday down here, but you know how it is at such times. I knew there were several nice girls in the neighbourhood and assumed it would be only a matter of time before he married one of them. When I mention marriage to him now," she said vexedly, "he treats me as if I'm a cross between a schoolgirl and a dimwit!" Sarah laughed. "That's his conceit." "Conceit?" echoed Ruth in astonishment. "Brent's not conceited!" "His conceit is unbearable," said Sarah firmly, and this time she really did pick up the tray, "and I wouldn't mind telling him so. Which way is it to the kitchen?"

It was extraordinarily easy to settle into the household of Dr. Masters. For one thing, it was so newly established that Sarah could alter details without the change being discovered, and for another,

Ruth was herself a little confused about how such a house should be run. The doctor's quarters at the medical mission had been a mud- andthatch building furnished chiefly with bamboo. A hospital boy had cleaned the two rooms every morning, but she had taken her meals in a common room at the main building with the male doctor and two white nurses. She had had no leisure, she told Sarah; did not remember reading a word of fiction during the last ten years. Thus the small house on the edge of the Comyns Ridge estate was still at the stage of being a perplexing novelty. When Ruth talked about the interior of the house Sarah told herself that she had no right to offer suggestions. With no trouble at all she could see the long lounge with one turquoise wall at the end, a dark blue carpet, curtains of an angular pattern in gay colours, a reading lamp with a "coolie hat" shade and corner bookshelves with bright pottery ornaments along the top. The morning after Sarah's arrival she was taken into the third bedroom, which was to be the workroom for Ruth's proposed book. It held an old typing table, a battered typewriter, a hard chair and a plain wooden box stuffed with papers and photographs; nothing else at all. "You're sure you'll be interested?" Ruth asked hopefully. "Not only interested. I'll type the stuff for you." "That's fine. Things are going my way," Ruth commented happily. "I had the desk and typewriter given to me - otherwise I'd have bought something a bit better. Think the machine will do?" "Yes, if it works. It's not worth paying a lot simply for one book. Is there another small table I could have to work on?"

"We'll find something," Ruth replied, delighted. "With Felix you must have been used to luxurious working conditions - in his office, I mean. And then these colour films of his have probably intensified any eye you may have for style. Is this room terrible?" "Not terrible - just bare." "Well, look here, Madalyn, do what you like with it. Eventually it will be a spare bedroom, and if you care to make something of it, bearing that in mind, I'll be pleased. Spend as much as you need. I'm not poor." "I'd far rather leave permanent furnishing to you," said Sarah quickly. "I only need the extra table, a cushion for the chair and perhaps a rug. You may have such things around." But Ruth, once she had decided to permit the intrusion of another personality into her house, was adamant. "Have a go at it," she insisted. "I run an account at a store called Evatt's in Pietsdorp, and you have my permission to shop there. To be candid, I've too many rooms here for my meagre stock of ideas. Do what you can. Modern, mind!" The thought of the task was pleasurable, but Sarah put off its execution. When Ruth had wandered away she knelt near the box to examine the top layer of its contents. There were masses of notes, a few letters and photographs, crude native drawings, and sketches of masks and shields and assegais. Sarah sat back on her heels, appalled by the enormity of what, in a friendly spirit, she was taking on. But it lent her visit here some real meaning and purpose. Still, she ought to talk it over with Madalyn on the telephone. Yes, that was it! There must be a public telephone somewhere in the town, and somehow she would get to it and put through the call. She got up and went to the window, leaned out to look at the overhead

wires which brought electricity to the house. Brent Milward was on the telephone, she was sure, but it wouldn't be wise to speak to Madalyn from Comyns Ridge. She stayed there at the window because the view was good. Gentle blue mountains in the distance, orange-groves on the lower hillsides, the mass of trees that screened the big house and then pasture lands where cattle browsed. Nearer, stretched the new cyclone fence, and inside the garden were more trees in wire netting guards, the grass planted in rows, as they did it in this country. And almost within reach were the lower branches of the stubborn tulip tree which refused to send out buds. It was a tremendous tree, much bigger than any other flowering tree she had ever seen, and the branches were so densely leaved that even the golden weavers disdained it. At the moment a red bishop was perching on the tough tip of a branch, its scarlet breast like a splash against the dark green. She heard a car on the road, listened intently and knew it had stopped just round the corner of the house, in front. Ruth Masters must have been out there, for quite distinctly she said, "Good morning, Brent. You've come earlier than I expected." His voice sounded lazy and teasing. "You look like a sack of flour, Ruth. Isn't it time you pensioned those mission frocks?" "I'm going to buy heaps of new clothes one of these days, but give me time, will you! What's that - mail?" "Two letters for you and one for the Knight girl. Is she still here?" Sarah's face was hot as she withdrew from the window. But Ruth's rather strident tones pursued her.

"Of course she's still here! Sometimes you annoy me intensely, Brent." "Now don't go feminine on me. Have you asked her if she can drive?" "No, I forgot. But young things always can these days. Are you going to let me have that small car of yours? " "Yes, but I'd rather see at least one driving licence between you before you start using it. Tell you what - send her over on a horse to pick it up. Doing anything on Wednesday night?" "You know I never do anything, any night. What is it?" "The Pengellys - all four of them - are coming to me for the evening. I think Lester's a little bit gone on your guest." "I hope not! A girl with her background couldn't possibly fit into the Pengelly household - particularly if Bob's serious about Macleod's daughter. Brent, you'd better tell Lester..." His drawl broke in, "Stop playing the heavy counsellor, Ruth. Why shouldn't Lester have a girl to think about? It'll keep his mind on citrus." "I don't get the connection." There came a patient explanation. "Lester still likes sheep better than oranges, but sheep don't thrive here. If he wanted to start up he'd have to go south, with plenty of capital. If he gets interested in a girl he'll forget the sheep and improve the oranges. It's logic." "That's the trouble with you, Brent," complained his aunt. "You base your life on logic. Poor Lester isn't a very happy sort, is he?"

"More reason to let him have a fling with your honey-coloured companion. She's knocked around among film people and publicity hounds. She can take care of herself." It was then that Sarah decided to peg the window as wide as she could and wriggle through the opening. So she missed the next part of the exchange, but walked round the corner of the house in time to hear Ruth saying: "Well, don't expect me to dress up for it. I can't get anything that's a good fit in Pietsdorp, and there doesn't seem to be a dressmaker in the district. I never feel right except in my white overall." "I draw the line at having you to dinner in that," he said, and raised his eyebrows at Sarah. "Good morning, meisietjie. You look a treat." "Good morning, Mr. Milward," she answered frigidly. "Meisietjie isn't an insult," explained Ruth. "It's Afrikaans for girlie." "Almost an endearment," remarked Brent with sarcasm. He was standing near the ranch wagon, smiling and hatless. This morning he wore breeches and a shirt that looked dead white against the bronze of his skin. Comprehensively, he took in Sarah's slim figure in blue-and-white figured cotton, the light hair that lifted gently in the wind, the cool grey eyes. His mouth twitched just faintly, and Sarah was sure that but for Ruth's presence he would frankly have voiced the mockery apparent in his expression. Ruth said, "Here's a letter for you. Brent collects the mail for all of us, because I haven't yet given the house a name. We're still Comyns Ridge."

Sarah glanced down at the envelope, saw that the address was typewritten and the envelope postmarked in Johannesburg. The letter felt thick in the tight clasp of her fingers. "Thank you," she said. "I'd like to go into Pietsdorp today. You did say it's only four miles?" "That's right. Pity we didn't think of it earlier - you could have gone with Brent." "Can you drive a car?" Brent asked. She nodded, without smiling. "Like to see my licence?" He grinned. "No, I believe you. Get in the wagon and I'll take you to the car." "Can you wait a moment while I change my shoes?" "Sure." Sarah went to her bedroom, took off the flat sandals and trod into white court shoes. Swiftly, she slit the envelope of the letter and shook out the contents. Another letter fell on to the bed and an explanatory typed note fluttered after it. She read the paragraphs which seemed to have been addressed to no one in particular and to come from someone equally nebulous. "This morning we forgot the letter that Felix asked for in his telegram, so here it is. It's just a line, telling him I'm at Pietsdorp with his cousin and will report progress later. It'll have to be posted locally by you, of course, and I've already stamped it for airmail. Get it off as soon as you can." The sealed letter was addressed in type to Felix Frayne at the Sydney hotel which would be his headquarters in Australia.

Automatically, Sarah picked it up and dropped it into her white bag. Feeling a little sick and let down, she tore up the note and covering envelope and put them into the shoe bag she was using as a wastereceptacle. She went out again into the sunshine. Ruth was discussing her trees and the likelihood of keeping fowls and a goat or two. It seemed she was fond of goat's-milk cheese but unwilling to buy that made by the Africans. She didn't care for their indiscriminate use of utensils and blithe disregard of the principles of hygiene. "Goats have to be fenced off from the garden or tethered," Brent told her. "I don't see why you can't buy the goat's milk from my Africans and make your own cheese." "I'd have to boil the milk first, and then it wouldn't make good cheese," she protested. "Darn it, I even got first-rate goat's-milk cheese in Zaire!" "All right, hold your horses. We'll get it for you. I'll see about a fowlhouse, too, though I don't know one good reason why I can't go on supplying you with eggs." "I'm retired," came the flat reply, "and I want to be self- supporting. When this book is finished I must have other things to do - plenty of them, and I'm too independent to enjoy leaning on you for ever. In any case, I've decided I'd like to get everything rounded off while Madalyn's here. She's promised to help me, and I only hope she won't yet realise what she's letting herself in for!" "You might get her on buying a few things for the house," suggested Brent. "We've been into that, haven't we, Madalyn?" returned Ruth Masters, grimacing at him. "By the way, my dear, we haven't discussed how

long you can stay with me. When do you have to start working with Felix again?" Every time the woman mentioned Felix, Sarah's mouth went dry. "I think he has another three months in Australia," she answered, "and then the company returns by air to England." "I doubt if my book will be ready in that time," Ruth murmured, "but the important thing is to get all that stuff into some sort of order and throw out what we can do without. Oh, well, we should manage the worst of it in that time. You see, I'm shameless about depending on you! And now you'd better go with Brent for that car. Once we get some means of transport we really will be on our own." Brent put Sarah into the front seat she had occupied yesterday and waved negligently to Ruth as he turned the ranch wagon. They crunched up the road and on to tarmac, turned left between Brent's pastures and someone else's cotton-fields. About a mile along the road they turned on to a smooth gravel drive which ran on for about two hundred yards before curving round to the front of the great sprawling dwelling which had been built nearly fifty years ago, by Brent's father. "In a hurry?" he asked. "I would like to go straight into Pietsdorp," she replied. "What sort of car is it?" "A five-seater, almost new. I've very little use for a car that doesn't carry produce or supplies, but it's handy to have around. It's over here, in the second garage." The garages were apart from the house and screened from it by a tangle of flame-flowering climbers. The first stood empty, and Brent pulled back the door of the second on its rollers, to reveal a smart

navy car that threw out blinding shafts of light where the sun touched it. He took the car keys from his pocket and handed them over. "I'll go with you, just in case you find difficulty in handling it at first. Can you back it out?" "I just reverse round there and turn on the drive, don't I?" "That's right. Slide in." She managed it well, though the front bumper came close to the rear one of the ranch wagon as she circled to run down the drive. Slowing to sweep round on to the road, she grated the gears, but Brent made no comment. They had been going for several minutes before he said, "I don't seem to make you nervous. Had much driving experience?" "Very little, actually. I learnt because I thought it might be useful some time. There's not much danger here." "Except on mountain bends. Don't go far until you're entirely accustomed to handling it. You haven't been into Pietsdorp yet. What do you want to do there this morning?" "Post a letter and make a telephone call." "You could have phoned from my place. Where to - Jo'- burg?" She said guardedly, "What makes you think it might be Johannesburg?" "That's a reasonable question," he conceded equably. "It could be any of the other big towns, seeing that you've toured them. I was only going to point out that there's sometimes a two-hour wait for a connection to the Reef."

After a moment's silence she said, "I shall have to leave it, then." "You can still put it through from Comyns Ridge." "No, it doesn't matter." "Please yourself," he said with a shrug. "I'd leave you to it, and I don't have the sort of servants who listen in." "It's not urgent. I'll wait a day or two." She felt his glance upon her as he said, "If you can postpone it till Wednesday evening, you can take the call in my library. That dinner we spoke of yesterday is on." "Oh, yes," she Commented, watching the road. "You're hoping I'll persuade Lester Pengelly to forget sheep and concentrate on citrus." His smile sounded in his voice. "Where were you - behind the curtain?" "No, in my room round the corner." "Don't you fancy Lester?" "What I saw of him yesterday I liked very much." "What's the beef, then?" "Maybe I care as little as you do for having romance thrust upon me." "Don't tell me you're not the marrying sort," he jeered softly. "The sophisticated pose doesn't fox me, you know." Her hands became a trifle sticky on the wheel. "No? But then you're never deceived by anybody, are you, Mr. Milward?"

"I wouldn't say that. As a matter of fact, you puzzled me. For one thing, you can't be much over twenty, so Felix Frayne must have had some personal reason for making you his assistant and secretary unless you're prodigiously capable for your years... and appearance." "Is that a challenge to me to prove something?" "And in addition," he went on as though she had not spoken, "you're very much on the defensive. You don't want Ruth - or anyone else to become too friendly with you, do you?" This discerning query touched Sarah on a vital nerve. She felt her jaw stiffening, the faint dew of perspiration at her temples turning cold. She wished desperately that she were a better actress, that she could think herself into Madalyn's personality. Madalyn would have known how to parry this kind of cross-questioning. "Maybe," she said quietly, "I merely feel that I don't belong here that I'm only here because someone else wanted it. You don't put out roots wherever you visit." "One can get matey without digging in," he commented. "Lookout!" She braked hastily and swerved to avoid a calf which was wandering after its mother across the road. "They're mine," he said, looking back. "One of the piccanins must have left a gate open." And a minute or two later he pointed ahead as a few houses and shops came into view. "There's the big city!" Pietsdorp was a town typical of its setting. It had started as a few shops and dwellings on the main road and spread out on one side of the road into a compact mass of shopping streets and small houses with a better residential section at the back that straggled out into the veld. To the left of the main road ran the small branch railway which

handled the citrus and papaws, the bananas and cotton grown in this lush eastern district of the Transvaal. In the centre of the town stood an imposing hotel behind a semi-circular forecourt. "Springbok Hotel," she read out. "Does that mean there's game in this district?" "This is one of the jumping-off places for the Game Reserve," said Brent. "It's only forty miles away." "The Kruger National Park?" "Didn't you notice the signboards along the upper road yesterday?" "Yes, but no one bothers about distances here, and I thought it might be hundreds of miles further on. I don't seem to have got the geography of this place, somehow. I wonder ..." She broke off. "Are we near the post office?" "What do you wonder?" he asked. She smiled. "I've heard about the Game Reserve and rather hankered to see all those animals in their natural environment. A couple of Felix Frayne's cameramen went there to take some shots for a travel agency, and they said it's a fabulous place, eight thousand square miles of raw bush teeming with big game." "And small stuff," he nodded. "Everyone who tours South Africa visits the Game Reserve. We'll go out there one weekend." "Could we, really? I'd love it!" "That's the ticket," he said. "You've no idea how pretty you are when you decide to be yourself. Here we are. Just stop at the kerb and give me your letter."

Sarah hesitated. She already had the letter out of her bag when she said, "I'd rather take it myself." But it was in his hand and he was looking at it. "You've stamped it for England. Airmail to Australia is just twice as much. I'll fix it." Sarah felt too jumpy to remain behind the wheel. She got out of the car and went round to the pavement, stood there in the sunshine looking at low shops with shaded fronts and odd names over them. Naidoo, Patel, van der Westhuizen, Schonsken, and at the end a florist who for some reason called himself Mayfair. The sun burned, but there was a slight breeze that smelled of dust and the wares of the Indian fruit shop a few yards away. Brent came out and said, "Would you like to look at the shops?" "I'll save them, I think, but I'd like to buy some typing paper and a new ribbon." "The bookshop, then. That's what we call it, but they stock a little of most things. It's just along here." The shop was small and bright, and a woman who served them joked with Brent in Afrikaans and insisted on putting Sarah's purchases down on account. Brent slipped the parcel into the back seat and Sarah drove out of the town and back towards Comyns Ridge. To her relief, he spoke of the countryside and of the richness of its crops. When he looked across the lands to the distant mountains there was no mockery in him, only something that seemed like contentment. Well, one could be contented in such a place, reflected Sarah, and he appeared to be unfairly blessed with both worldly goods and the kind of character that finds no problem insoluble.

Thirty-two, good-looking in a lean tanned fashion, self- assured and quick-thinking. It must have been fatally easy for the clinging Wendy Carsland to fasten on to him as the man of her dreams. "But I'm made of sterner stuff," Sarah told herself very firmly, "and if I ever felt a need to cling I'd get as far away from him as I possibly could. He's a menace!" They passed the signboard announcing to the tourist that they were Comyns Ridge lands and the best Afrikander cattle were bred here, and the menace smiled at Sarah. "You can let me out at the top of the drive and I'll walk down. I don't think you'll have any trouble with the bus, but if you do, send Jacob over with a message." "Thanks. It was good of you to spare the time to go with me into Pietsdorp." She brought the car to a smooth halt "I'm very grateful, Mr. Milward." Brent opened his door, looked back at her with a tantalising grin. "You're welcome. Don't grind the gears more than you can help, will you?" "I only did it the once, before I had the feel of them!" Then she saw he was teasing her, and laughed. "I believe I could hate you almost without trying." "That seems a little unjust." He was out now, looking through the doorway. "If you'd like to give me the number and a message, I'll call that fellow in Johannesburg for you." Still smiling, she said, "I wouldn't trust you not to add a message of your own. I'll manage, thanks." "Well, on your way, Madalyn."

Sharply, on a reflex impulse, she said, "Don't call me Madalyn!" The blue glance held hers for a long moment; it was dark and calculating. The smile left his lips and the mouth drew in just enough to give him an expression of utter withdrawal. The sudden chill between them was almost tangible. Sarah looked away from him, pushed the lever into bottom gear. He spoke casually, as he straightened. "I'll remember that. Let me know if you ever become less exclusive." And the car door was shut conclusively but without much noise. Annoyed with herself, Sarah drove on to Ruth Masters' bungalow. She would have given anything not to have said those last few words to Brent Milward.

CHAPTER THREE BECAUSE Sarah was rather urgent about it, Dr. Masters agreed to begin sorting the box of papers that afternoon. Ruth thought that as a start it would be best to make two piles, one which could definitely be packed or thrown away, and the other a first choice of the morsels she should consider for inclusion in her book. Fortunately she had dated most of the material, and it was Sarah's task to put it into chronological order and then roughly type out each small clipful of notes. Seeing that the papers covered nearly twentyfive years of a doctor's experiences in outlandish situations and places, the task promised to be formidable. And this was only the beginning. Once her notes were easy to read, Ruth intended cutting out all extraneous material, improving the English and stringing the incidents together with narrative. "I think it'll take all of a year," she observed placidly, "but it's my testament and I intend it to rank with the best. Think you'll get used to my writing?" "After a day or two, yes," Sarah answered. "Would you like me to work definite hours? " "Why on earth should you?" Sarah floundered a little; it was fatal to think that because she wasn't Madalyn she must earn her keep. "There's so much of it," she pointed out. "Too much," Ruth said. "All I'm hoping for is that while you're typing you'll correct any glaring grammatical errors and generally put the stuff into readable condition. You can pass over to me every few pages as you finish them, and I'll get busy any time I feel like it. If we should have time while you're here to start on a first draft of the

book, well and good, but you're not to tie yourself to this room. It isn't necessary and it wouldn't be good for you. Though I must say you're much more fit than I anticipated. Felix must think a lot of you, to get so worked up. Some day you must tell me how you and he go about these documentaries, or whatever they're called." "I expect I shall loathe leaving your book in mid-air," Sarah said quickly. "It promises to be engrossing." Ruth was sidetracked. "Even so, it's not so important that we have to live it. On hot days we may find it less arduous to work only in the evening, but if we get wet weather we might put in longer hours. Just regard it as a hobby that we're working on together and let's hope we'll finish the first stage before you have to leave me. After all, it's this first sorting and editing that requires intelligence. The typing of the book can be placed with an office in Johannesburg." Now that she was launched on the preliminary work for the book, Sarah realised there was no urgent need for a talk with Madalyn, yet increasingly she felt the necessity to retain contact with her sister. In a way she was afraid - of fitting too snugly into this bungalow in Pietsdorp, of finding the people so absorbing that they were more real than those she had left behind. So if she could, she would put through a call to her sister on Wednesday evening; it might be possible, even, to arrange for Madalyn to call her at Brent Milward's house regularly one morning a week at a certain time while he was out. That would help considerably. Sarah did not see Brent Milward when he came along on Tuesday morning, or on Wednesday. From the room in which she worked she heard the ranch, wagon pull up and the door slam, but no conversation drifted round to her open window, and she surmised that he had either drawn Ruth down among the new papaw trees or come in with her to the sitting-room. Quite definitely, Sarah did not

want to see him, yet each morning it was with a faint sense of disappointment that she heard him drive away again. Over tea, in the middle of Wednesday afternoon, Sarah asked what was the correct wear for a dinner engagement in Pietsdorp. "Just an ordinary nice dress," Ruth said. "The men wear lounge suits. I always wear the same navy outfit - one I bought seven years ago on a trip to the Cape. It's the only thing that fits me decently." "Why don't you have it copied with variations in the finish?" "I would, if I knew someone to send it to." It was no use, Sarah told herself firmly, to think about tackling the thing in her spare time. Knocking up a dress for herself was comparatively easy, but Ruth was an awkwardly thick shape and needed good tailoring. Still, there might be something she could do. She must think it out. They were both ready by six-thirty, Sarah in a figured glazed cotton that fitted closely, was sleeveless and had a low round neck. She got out the car, dropped a white woollen stole about her shoulders and called to Ruth. It was dark as they sped along that mile of road and turned into the long Comyns Ridge drive. Sarah pulled up just behind the larger and much older car belonging to the elder Pengellys. When they reached the porch Brent was already there, smiling in that way he had of conveying both mockery and a sense of enjoyment. "Ah, here's Ruthie," he said. "And the pretty Miss Knight. Come on in. You're the last to arrive." It was difficult, with so many people in there, to take a good look at the great lounge, with its deep chairs and bright cushions, its

Koopman de Wet chest, the riempie stools and small blackwood tables, but the room gave an impression of spaciousness and comfort; it was homely rather than grand. Sarah found herself being introduced to the Pengelly parents, a small bird-like woman with very black hair and lined leathery cheeks and a man of average proportions who looked uncompromisingly blunt. Then she greeted Lester and Bob, told them she loved Pietsdorp and Dr. Masters' house, and passed on for an introduction to Pieter du Plessis and his sister, Cornelia. The latter couple, it transpired, owned a farm which adjoined Comyns Ridge. Pieter was engaged to a girl in Durban and hoped to live there, but Cornelia was strongly against giving up the farm. Sarah gathered that much while she sipped a Martini, and then she was drawn aside by Lester Pengelly. "Let me get you another drink," he said. "No, thanks. Was everything all right when you got back to your farm?" He nodded, drew her down on to a small Dutch sofa and took the glass from her fingers. His thin face looked eager and smiling - rather different from usual, she guessed. "The best of orange trees is that you can leave them without fear of their coming to much harm. They're at a stage now when they don't need much attention. You'll have to come over and see our place." "All right, but not yet. There seems to be so much to do!" "For Dr. Masters?"

"Around the house, and her book, but I'm loving it. Do you and your brother find it pays to work a different farm, away from your people?" This was a subject close to Lester's heart. "When we came out first, you know - Bob and I - it was all uphill and I was glad there was only the two of us. We'd been here about a year when a smaller place fell vacant, and I clinched it for my father. The old man likes the change from sheep." "But you don't?" "I don't mind it," Lester said evasively. "One year I tried to run the two together. I bought just thirty sheep, but within a few months we had a heat-wave with the temperature around a hundred and seven for several days, and the whole lot died. Everyone said it would happen, and it did." "What a pity. Cattle seem to survive." "They feel the heat, but they don't often die of it." He looked at her face, coloured just faintly and looked away again. "It's kind of you to ask about it, but I don't suppose you have the least interest in farming." "I can't imagine anyone living in this country and not becoming interested in the way things grow. Even Dr. Masters wants to grow things!" "She has it in her blood." "So have I," replied Sarah spontaneously. "My grandfather was a farmer in Norfolk, and the farm is still owned by an uncle of mine. We used to spend our holidays there as children." She caught herself

up quickly, fastened on to another topic. "There's quite a big social circle here in Pietsdorp, I believe?" If Lester was disconcerted he showed no sign of it. "Well, yes," he said. "We have a growers' association, so it's not difficult to get together. We're a mixture of English and Afrikaans, but we get along fine. Occasionally we have a social evening at the Springbok Hotel or a braaivleis at one of our homes. When it's my turn to give it I hope you'll come. In fact," in something of a rush, "I hope I'll meet you everywhere!" Sarah treated this airily. "Why, how sweet of you! I must admit I rather like the Englishman abroad." This final sentence, apparently, had been overheard. Brent said, at her side, "In that case we must see what we can do to rustle up a few more for you. Meanwhile, you might tolerate a South African for a minute. Come into the library and I'll show you that book I mentioned." On the point of telling him, with exasperation, that she didn't recollect discussing a book with him, Sarah capitulated. She smiled at Lester, told him she would be back, and moved at Brent's side towards a tall door at the end of the room. Brent opened it and stood aside for her to enter, then followed her into the book-lined library and closed the door. A single light illumined the room, that from a lamp on the desk. The telephone was beside it, and Brent indicated it as he walked round to pull open a drawer. He placed a Johannesburg telephone directory in front of her. "Here's the book I omitted to mention," he said with gentle sarcasm. "I suggest you put through a personal time call for nine o'clock. When it comes through I'll see you're not disturbed."

"I know the number, thanks." She placed her hand on the telephone, but did not lift it. "Do I seem to be awfully mysterious?" "Why, no. Love affairs are mysterious." "But this hasn't anything to do with a love affair." "You've let me down - I thought I was doing some heavy matchmaking. Well, go ahead. Just dial those two numbers that are circled in red -1 marked them for my houseboy when I'm away - and give the name, number and time. I'll leave you to it." Sarah waited till the door had closed behind him before she dialled, and of course she gave no name. It would be time enough to ask for Madalyn when the call came through. When she replaced the receiver she stood there for a moment, impelled by her surroundings to compare this library with other rooms she had known. The chairs were of comfortable leather which had lost its shine and the lamps were so placed that one could read in any corner of the room. The books were either packed too tightly into the shelves or had been left askew when some of their number had been extracted. There were a few sections of leather-backed tomes, but mainly the books had been bought over the past few years: biography and travel, books of operas, several on the drama, a number on social science, and a complete shelf of the more adventurous type of novel above another shelf of manuals on agriculture. The books had been read and lent, the reference volumes thumbed continually. The desk was of imbuia, and scratches were visible under the polish. On an impulse Sarah went round and sat in the chair, leant her arms on the desk and looked at the dark crimson brocade curtains which covered the window. During daylight he could look out upon his garden and his lands; but his place was not behind a desk. He probably did the farm accounts here and dealt with all the official

work, but for reading he slumped into one of the easies, stretched his long legs and pulled the round pedestal table close to hold his drink and a lamp. Sarah sighed with pleasure in the room. Like the lounge, it was part of a South African farmhouse. The whole place had an air of shabby excellence which was just right. She went back to the lounge, found them all ready to troop into the dining-room for dinner. And there again she was struck by the tightness of the Dutch mahogany chairs and cabinet, the long table shining with heavy glass and solid cutlery, the tantalus of wines, the long low copper container of waxen buds among dark green leaves. She couldn't help wondering who had arranged the blossoms; surely no man could have sustained the green-and-cream cushion effect the whole length of that bowl. It was a meal to be thankful for, a far better collection of courses than Sarah had eaten for a long, long time. And she loved the heavy old serving dishes, the big ladles, the silver cigarette boxes, the crystal ash-bowls. Brent carried it all off with that same air of having as good a time as his guests. His suit was grey and immaculate, his hair, under artificial light, decidedly brown, if very dark, and his skin, as he smiled, was tight and tanned. As Lester said softly to Sarah, "Brent's secure, in everything. He's established, and we'll all go on being new for years to come. He can have whatever he wants, because he has so much to offer. He's never known what it is to be uncertain." All of which might be true, though Sarah felt that Brent accomplished most by the sheer force of his personality. He was positive, charming and clever; he was of the land. He was also, she

told herself candidly, aggravating, exciting and dangerous; one felt it even as he came into a room, yet it was not easy to define. Perhaps merely by being himself he put others in peril. That poor girl Wendy Carsland, for instance. When they moved outside for coffee, she was still beside Lester. She sat on the veranda wall with him and listened while he related the numerous trials he and Bob had overcome since they had settled in Pietsdorp. Lester, she realised, was not easy to know. Every setback had been a frustration that had sealed up inside himself, not even discussing much with his brother because he was the elder and therefore responsible. Bob, on the other hand, was as uncomplicated as the seasons of an orange tree; even though he appeared to have fallen in love unwisely, there was no tangle about it. He was fond of Biddy Macleod and didn't care who knew it. The fact that the Macleods were poor and much despised by Mrs. Pengelly was just too bad, but it didn't dissuade Bob from visiting Biddy and taking her out whenever she would go with him. Sitting there on the veranda wall and looking into the aromatic darkness, Sarah thought what a strange mixture of people these were. The two Pengellys, so utterly different from each other; their parents, who appeared ordinary and likeable enough but would probably dislike their sons' wives whoever they might turn out to be; Ruth Masters, the doctor from the jungle; the brother and sister du Plessis, who were proud of their French Huguenot blood and used Afrikaans as their home language; Brent Milward, the owner of Comyns Ridge; and there was herself, Sarah Knight who was also Madalyn. Not for the first time since arriving at Pietsdorp, Sarah felt small and ineffectual. Everything and everyone seemed to be bigger and stronger than herself. Would she have felt like this if she had come here as Sarah, the young woman who had arrived in South Africa as

secretary to Mr. Mulder, who really had nothing whatever to do with Felix Frayne? Sarah thought not. She had always known a certain satisfaction in being herself, however insignificant her place in the scheme of things. Being someone else, though, even Madalyn, whom she knew so well, kept her too much on her toes. The moment she relaxed even slightly she was apt to reveal a character which was not in the least like her sister's. All very well for Madalyn to say that Sarah could be herself. It just wasn't practicable, because Sarah was normally open in her relationships and she had the knack of persuading others to be as frank. Still listening to Lester, she looked round at the rest of them, lounging in a line of chairs with the lights of the sitting-room streaming through the french window behind them. Brent was talking to Cornelia du Plessis, making a nonchalant sort of statement which she punctuated with nods. She was a calm, judicial sort of person with an ivory skin and masses of black hair, about twenty-eight, though she looked younger when she smiled. Those two gave the impression of having been friends for a long time; it was likely they had grown up together. One never saw the people one grew up with, not really. Sarah remembered a friend in London having married someone she had known from childhood. "It was only last summer that I really saw him," the friend explained wonderingly. "Too funny. He was quite a different person!" A little late for that to happen between Brent and Cornelia du Plessis, but she did measure up to what he had said he required of a woman. She was appropriate; no one more so in this particular setting than Cornelia. And quite certainly the woman had never clung to anyone in her life. Was this a case of a man missing the good thing that was nearest? Sarah found the reflection a little disturbing.

She saw a white-clad houseboy come out and speak to Brent, saw him excuse himself to Cornelia and stand up. He came over to Sarah. "Your call," he said. "Shall I go in with you?" "No, I'll find my way, thanks." She smiled at Lester, passed Brent and went into the lounge. The library door was open, and she entered the room and shut herself in. She picked up the telephone, heard a discreet click as the houseboy replaced the hall telephone, and very quietly said, "Hallo?" She was answered by Walter Barnard's major-domo, she recognised the thick African voice with its overtone of self- importance. Clearly, she asked to be put through to Miss Knight. "Sorry, ma'am. Miss Knight not hyah!" "Oh." Somehow, Sarah had not been prepared for this. Walter entertained nearly every night. He never went out. "Do you know when she'll be back?" "She not back for long time." "How long - two hours? " Ponderously, the man said, "She not back this week, ma'am." "This week! Where is Miss Knight?" "She at place near to Cape Town with the baas and the old Mrs. Barnard." "Do you mean they've gone away?" she demanded.

"Yas, gone away." Apparently he was relieved at having at last conveyed something which had been completely understood, for he became voluble. "Old missus fall down with the heart. Doctor say Jo'burg too high, she must go to the coast. Miss Knight take care of her. We are closing the house till the baas come back." There was more of it, but Sarah hardly took it in after the boy had said he did not know the Cape address. She put the telephone back where it belonged and pushed a hand over her honey-pale hair. Madalyn had gone to the coast with old Mrs. Barnard and Walter. The old lady had had a heart attack and been advised to leave Johannesburg's altitude, so the big house was being closed up, indefinitely. Sarah thought over the implications and was appalled. Someone, surely, must have instructions about forwarding Mr. Barnard's mail, but how was she to find out who it was? And in the unlikely event of her discovery the whereabouts of his office in Johannesburg, would anyone there simply pass his present address without question? Madalyn had been so emphatic that Sarah should telephone, and not write. She had implied that old Mrs. Barnard was a snooper, but possibly the woman was no longer in a condition to pry. Even so, it wouldn't be fair to write to Madalyn until she gave the word; otherwise, a letter might have been addressed to the Barnard house for forwarding. Sarah moved away from the desk, wondering why her own sense of let-down was so tremendous. What had she expected from a conversation with Madalyn? A few pointers on how she herself would have regarded the secretarial assistance Dr. Masters needed, an assurance that everything was going as Madalyn wished? Perhaps, but Sarah knew now that there had been something more. At the back of her mind had lain the hope that by some miracle things had radically changed with Madalyn -

that it was no longer necessary to maintain the deception at Pietsdorp. Almost without knowing it, she had quite desperately longed to be absolved from the promise to impersonate her sister. Now, she felt, she could confess and come out on the right side, but soon it would be too late because too much would have happened in her capacity of assistant to Felix Frayne. But for a while, at least, she was to go on being tied. According to that servant, the Barnards and Madalyn had left the house only yesterday, therefore it was unlikely they would be settled at the Cape before the week-end. She would have to sit back and wait for some word from Madalyn. It was too vexing. Music started up in the lounge, and Sarah braced herself to join the other guests. She opened the door quietly, slipped into the brightly-lit room and took a chair near Dr. Masters. She caught Lester's glance and smiled back, willing him to stay where he was, with his mother. Then Brent came beside her, lazily, hitched his trousers and took the chair to her left. "All right?" he asked. She nodded. "Thank you very much." "Disappointing?" She hadn't thought it showed. "A little." "Long-distance telephone conversations are always unsatisfactory. Is this friend of yours someone who came out with the film unit?" "Yes."

He let a moment or two elapse before saying, "If it's someone who stayed in South Africa to keep you company, why not invite her out here? There's room for another woman at Ruth's bungalow." "She's not that sort of person ... but if s good of you to think of it." "I'm like that," he said casually. He nodded towards the radiogram. "What do you think of this recording?" Sarah hadn't been listening. "It's very good." "Got any favourites among the composers?" "I enjoy most of the usual ones and some of the moderns." "Where do you live in London?" "In a flat at Maida Vale." "Not alone, I hope!" She gave him a pale smile. "No, not alone." "Talking to you about yourself is like trying to tap wine from a tree," he said conversationally. "What do you have in the way of a family?" She hesitated, said coolly, "A sister and a brother. This doesn't sound like party talk to me, Mr. Milward." "No, but then you're not in a party mood - particularly since the telephone call." Bluntly he added, "Would you rather talk to Lester?" "Not really. He's a bit difficult to understand." "You're not too easy yourself. He's one of the inhibited type, but you aren't." His smile at her was sudden, a little mocking. "I've decided

not to take you too seriously. When you went all English on me the other day and told me not to use your first name I could have spanked you. Then I realised how crazy it was to get hot over such a trifle. All that's wrong with you is that you haven't been around enough around Africa, I mean. Oh, yes, I know you went on tour and down into the reserves for those romanticised travelogues Felix produces, but you don't see much that way. I'm going to take you in hand, honey." She stared at him. "Are you? How?" "I shall start off by showing you things you haven't seen before, and the rest of your education will come naturally. Just leave it to me." "I'm not sure I want to," she said rather faintly. "Of course you don't. That's part of this cotton-wool you wrap yourself up in. But don't worry. I'll be as sweet as an uncle." "Don't I have any say in the matter?" "Not yet. You'd only back away like a frightened colt." He stopped, and looked at her closely. "That's almost unbelievable, isn't it - that you should strike me as small and frightened? How do you behave with Felix?" Her lips were cold. "What in the world are you getting at? Felix was... an employer." "Was?" "Was, and perhaps will be," she said recklessly. "I don't need this kindly help you're offering, Mr. Milward." "Think nothing of it," he said, indolently stretching his legs. "I shall get a kick out of it, too."

Possibly it was because she was uneasy that Sarah said, "Just as you got a kick out of Wendy Carsland till you tired of her?" His posture remained relaxed, but obviously something tightened within him. "Let's suppose," he said, looking along his knees to his shoes, "that Lester Pengelly were to fall for you before you leave Pietsdorp, but that you were not in the least stirred by him. What would you do about it?" "Is there a parallel?" "Sort of. The girl came here straight from university. She'd been accustomed to young men of her own age and presumably found them dull. She was a toothsome piece and I took her around." In spite of herself Sarah laughed. "What's toothsome exactly?" He shrugged. "She'd learned all the tricks, and some of them were cute, but after a while I was just plain bored with the girl. She was the same all through, and she was too much underfoot." "But it wasn't fair to leave her flat after leading her on!" He straightened, drew in his legs. A slightly metallic note in his voice he said, "One can't go through life being responsible for other people's idiocy What would you have had me do - give her a ring and clutter my life with her?" She lifted both hands. "You just went off and left her." "That's right. I didn't even give her goodbye." "You hurt her badly."

"She hurt herself through me," he said in hard tones. "In any case, I don't believe she had it in her to feel deeply for anyone. She'll find someone who'll be glad to have her cling to him." "I still think you could have put her off more gently." "I don't care what you think about it," he said tersely. "You weren't here, and you only know what you've heard. To me, Wendy Carsland was just a nice girl who spoiled herself by going tearful. Now be quiet about it." Sarah bridled. "Getting your own way all your life has made you pretty callous, hasn't it? Where other people's feelings are concerned you're hard as nails." "I'm not soft enough to marry out of pity, if that's what you mean." His eyes were narrowed at her, half-smiling. "I have to go down to a farm near Crocodile Falls tomorrow. Like to go along?" "No!" One of the thick straight brows rose. "As vehement as that? What's the reason?" "I shan't want to see you again that soon." "Why not?" He glinted at her. "Are you afraid of me - or of men?" "I'm not afraid." Though she was. "I just don't like you very much." "You're not quite sure whether you do or not. Go with me tomorrow, and find out for certain. I'll behave impeccably." "Ruth and I have decided to work tomorrow." "You can work in the morning and we'll go straight after lunch."

"But I don't want to go with you!" "All right, all right," he said tolerantly. "Don't protest too much." She didn't know whether to be angry or amused. In the end she said crossly, "Oh, go to Jericho!" and resolutely turned to speak to Ruth Masters. Brent changed the long-playing record for a selection of dance music, and because the first tune was a waltz he persuaded Mrs. Pengelly to take a turn with him. Cornelia danced with Lester, and Bob Pengelly, after being laughingly refused by Ruth, quite gratefully took Sarah into his arms. Bob, fortunately, was very much of the earth. He wouldn't know how to be sarcastic, how to pull that gently mocking note into his voice, or cool off and sound relaxed and completely uncaring when he was crossed. He hadn't the knack of tying a woman up with words, or sending blood both hot and cold through her veins. He was twentythree and inarticulate, and very much just then to Sarah's taste. In fact, when the dance ended she went outside with Bob and smoked a cigarette. He told her they expected a good crop of oranges, that they were hoping to pay off the rest of the mortgage bond at the end of the season. And he told her frankly that he would like her to meet Biddy Macleod. "So if Lester asks you over - and he's bound to - I'll have Biddy there," he said ingenuously. "She needs friends." "She has a good one in you," stated Sarah. The party broke up. The elder Pengellys went first and were closely followed by Bob and Lester. Then the rest strolled over to the small navy car.

Sarah muttered something appropriate, said goodnight to Cornelia and Pieter du Plessis, and got in behind the wheel. Brent looked through the window opening, said, "Ruth, I'll send your mail over in the morning, if there is any. I'll probably be out all day." "A stock sale?" she asked. He nodded. "It's not till the afternoon, but we'll make a day of it. Well, sleep tight." His smile as he withdrew was impersonal. Sarah turned on the drive, saw Brent standing back between Cornelia and her brother. His arm was linked with Cornelia's, his other hand lifted in salute. Out on the road Ruth said, "That was pleasant, wasn't it? I was just thinking as we came away how it would have been even pleasanter if Pieter du Plessis hadn't been there when we left them. Brent and Cornelia looked so right together, on the drive. The way they stood one could almost believe them already married." "Only a day or two ago," Sarah commented evenly, "you were regretting Wendy Carsland." "Yes, I know, but only because I was a bit sorry for the girl. I wonder if it ever does occur to Brent that he could marry Cornelia?" "You may be sure," remarked Sarah, "that there's not a possibility of any sort that hasn't occurred to Brent Milward. He knows it all." Ruth laughed, and then sighed. "Yes, you're right, and in a way it's rather a pity, because it must mean that women have no surprises for Brent. Even at that, I think he might make a good husband." "If he ever does marry," said Sarah, "you must let me know. I'll send him a little silver noose for a scarf-pin!"

They were home then, and Sarah put away the car. When she was alone at last in her bedroom she sat down rather heavily in the chair. For minutes she tried not to think, but finally she had to come to it. Brent's final few words to them had been deliberate. He had decided to make a day of it at the Falls tomorrow, with Cornelia du Plessis. It wasn't that she cared, she told herself firmly. She just didn't take to the idea of his knowing he could hurt her in such a fashion. For the way he had told them both in the car had been deliberate, she was sure. He'd meant to hurt if he could. It was all very subtle and discouraging, but there it was. Maybe, because she was decisively restrained with him, he saw her as a challenge. But she didn't see Brent as a challenge; he was a peril to which she was drawing far too close!

CHAPTER FOUR FOR a fortnight life passed busily on its way. Each day Sarah worked several hours on the notes and each night she passed the sheaf of typescript over to Ruth Masters. A few times they went out for a long drive, to find a certain stream that Ruth had known in her youth, or to learn whether the view from a particular eminence had changed, and on those days they returned at dusk, to eat and settle afterwards to the book. Inside the bungalow the book became the centre of existence for them both. At Ruth's insistence Sarah improved the study. In a saleroom she bought a thin old China rug, a set of bookshelves, a plain table and a faded ottoman. She had a long conversation with the owner of an Indian store, the outcome of which was a new gold-and-brown cover for the ottoman and matching curtains - all produced within two days of ordering. The same store stocked large quantities of English cottons and silks, and it was after examining some very good dark-patterned materials that she asked the man in a red fez whether he knew of a dressmaker in the town. There was no one who created stylish clothes for women, he told her with polite regret, but his own son was a man's tailor, an excellent one. Sarah went home and put a proposition to Ruth, and Ruth, of course, was anxious to pass over the whole matter to anyone who would take so much trouble on her behalf. So the navy blue suit which had been the doctor's "best" for many years was handed over to a younger man in a fez, together with a length of grey figured material, and by the end of that week Ruth owned a new best suit with modern touches that she hardly believed in. "You did it so easily," she protested, when she had tried it on and found it a perfect fit. "Pietsdorp is my home, yet I hadn't the vaguest

notion of how to set about getting a suit made. And to think that he's there, and will make anything for me from now on!" "You didn't try," said Sarah flatly. "The man has been there all along, but you didn't look for him. If I gave him a complete set of measurements he'll make dresses for you, too, in tailored styles." Now that she had a suit to dress up to, Ruth didn't need urging to buy smart new shoes at the local store, but she could not be persuaded to adopt anything new in the way of a hair style. Perhaps the short grey bob with the hint of a wave in it was the most suitable, anyway; it fitted the round face, the blue eyes which looked spuriously absentminded behind their spectacles. Brent called in most mornings, generally at a time when Sarah was absorbed in the intricacies of Ruth's handwriting. Once, he sauntered through into the study and looked about him. He scoffed quietly. "Ah, the film studio touch. Why didn't you throw out the desk and chair while you were about it?" "They'll disappear when the book's finished. Ruth has promised to get a good writing-table for this position near the window." "I'll send you a few books for those gaping shelves." "Good. We're reserving the bottom shelf for medical tomes - Ruth doesn't want to part with them." "If I were you," he said, "I'd have my bed moved in here. It's the pleasantest room in the house." "But you aren't me," she said equably. "If you're staying long you might sit down. I'm getting a crick in the neck."

He laughed, tugged a curl at her nape and went out. The room was bare and even cold without him. Bother Brent, she told herself crossly. He had no right to make himself important to everyone 1 Lester Pengelly timed his visits for the afternoon, generally around tea-time. On the first occasion he had been a little awkward, because Dr. Masters had never invited him to the bungalow, though she had welcomed him there with others once or twice, when she had first settled in. However, he sat with Sarah under the tulip tree, and in the course of the four or five afternoons she had learned pretty well all there was to know about Lester. It was strange, but he grew really good-looking and animated when he talked about sheep. He made her see the great farms of the Cape, the merinos grazing, the shearing-sheds, even the wool auctions down at the coast. For Lester, it was merely incidental that a woolfarmer these days was rich; it was the routine of sheep-rearing that he loved, the hectares of land they covered, keeping them healthy, the grand feeling that they were meat and wool, those two commodities so valuable everywhere. "Still," he was quick to assure her, "farming of any sort is great, and we're lucky to own a place that has some old heavy- bearing trees. They've helped us while the younger stuff matures. The prices are always good for oranges because of the export market." She smiled. "I wish I were going to be here at picking time," she said idly, "and I'd just love to see the trees in bloom. Is orange blossom like the artificial kind?" He nodded. "Not so perfect, naturally, though it's quite easy to find flawless sprays. I believe lots of brides in this country use the natural blossom when it's in season." His thin face lit with a smile. "I can't say I know much about it. I've never attended a wedding in my life!"

"In a couple of years," she remarked, "you'll be attending Bob's." He leant back in the deck chair, looked up at the blackish leaves overhead. He appeared young and even vulnerable as he said, "I hope I'll be the first to get married. It's such a darned awkward position when two brothers go partners in a place, but if the elder marries first he has the right to the house. You know, Madalyn," he rather overdid the casual tone, "the orange farm is not very big, and we can't call it prosperous till we've had a year free of bond repayments, but in the future it will make a very good living. At the beginning, I put much more money into it than Bob did, but we keep things level now. Still, I'm the senior in every way, and I'd have the right to buy him out." "But what would he do then? " "He'd have the money, wouldn't he? He might join my father or go in for a small place of his own." "But if he married and you didn't, it would only mean that Biddy would live there with you, keeping house." He must have clenched his teeth, for the bone of his jaw stood out whitely. But when he spoke his voice was normal. "I could never live there under those conditions. I was Bob's age and he was nineteen when we came out from England. I was the brains, and he just blithely waded in and worked with me. I couldn't possibly live in the house as a sort of manager, with Bob's wife and children around all the while." "But that's looking rather too far ahead," she said reasonably. "You won't be a crabby old bachelor." "No?" It was almost as if he wanted her to repeat the assurance. She didn't, of course, and he added, "I've never seen myself marrying, probably because I've never yet met a girl I could talk to for five

minutes without feeling self-conscious. I don't feel that way with you, though." "That's because I don't belong here. You're not afraid of making mistakes with me because I shan't always be here to remind you of them." "It's that," he admitted, "but something more." A pause, then diffidently, "You're sweet, Madalyn. You're the first girl who's ever made me realise that it might be wonderful to ... fall in love." Very hastily he tacked on, "I know I don't mean a thing to you. I'm not asking for... special treatment." . She looked at him frankly. "We're friends, Lester. I've only been here a couple of weeks, but I know already that I'm going to be terribly sorry to leave you all, when the time comes. But I also know that I must leave - that I can't possibly stay." Speaking the words aloud impressed the truth of this more forcibly upon Sarah than any amount of thinking had done. For a few moments she felt quite cold and sick, because she was Sarah Knight, whose existence wasn't even known about in this district. Lester said, "I'm not hoping for anything. In my friendships I've always been a little unfortunate; you get into the habit of expecting even less than you receive." "That's defeatist," she said firmly. "In life you get as good as you give - nothing more or less. How do you get on with Biddy Macleod?" "She's not a bad girl, and her father's been unfortunate rather than feckless. I've sometimes thought that if I could stave off the wedding for a few years I could withdraw from the orange farm myself, and let Bob have Biddy's parents to live with them and help. One of the snags is that my people won't meet Biddy. My mother has

tremendous pride and you can't shift it. My father would come round, I think." "Parents have been opposing their sons' marriages since the world began," she said, "and I believe they traditionally give in when the first grandchild arrives. Bob doesn't seem worried." "Bob never worries - and yet in his way he's fonder of our parents than I am. In our family I'm the odd man out." "It wasn't noticeable when I saw you all together." "It doesn't stick out, but it's there. As a boy I was always the introspective one - the difficult one. I actually emigrated to South Africa because I wanted to break it up, but you can't shed your nature so easily." He talked on, in a way Sarah knew he had never talked to anyone else. Outwardly, he was a fairly successful orange farmer, but inside he was a mass of struggling desires. Sometimes he seemed really old, and at others he was young and groping, needing someone placid and loyal of whom he could say, "She's mine, and she's always there for me." Yes, it had to be a woman. Lester was always smiling when he drove away in the old touring car, but the fact that he dropped in two or three times a week created a problem, because Sarah was sternly opposed to serving Jacob's indomitable rock-cakes. Without meaning to, she slid into the habit of making a small batch of shortbread or queen cakes every few days, and when Ruth declared them. "Edible - but distinctly!" she had to make more. And because Ruth was beginning to appreciate that there was a vast difference between well-cooked and mishandled food, Sarah turned out an occasional steak pie or a honeycomb mould with fruit.

Consequently, the time sped by far too quickly; Sarah even forgot to look for a letter from Madalyn. And then it came, another typed envelope postmarked in Cape Town, containing a single sheet that was undated and bore no name or address of any kind. "We are down here for Mrs. B's health. Everything is absolutely horrible, but W. is very kind. I will write you again, but meanwhile must go on trusting you to keep my end up where you are. I know you won't fail me." Well, it was something, though Sarah would have given a great deal to know more. Because she was busy and happy at Pietsdorp much of her involuntary bitterness towards her sister was evaporating, though there were still moments when she recalled with sadness and unbelief the veiled threat to Bill's future. Still, it seemed that Madalyn was not having all her own way. Madalyn certainly hadn't bargained for the trip to Cape Town. She loved the big house north of Johannesburg, revelled in the dressing up and acting as hostess which Walter Barnard expected of her. Those people, the wealthy kind who spread themselves over Walter's lawns during the summer week-ends and rode his ponies and came exquisitely dressed to his dinnerparties in the winter, were the breath of life to Madalyn. They were a type she knew well, because she had mixed among the English version with Felix. But the English weren't so extravagant, they hadn't that atmosphere of gold and glitter which was apparent in the monied people of the Reef. Even as a secretary, Madalyn fitted into that circle. And she was clever and beautiful enough to capture Walter if he was seeking a wife. But though the words of the communication were few, they were expressive. Poor Madalyn was finding life at Cape Town "absolutely horrible", which no doubt meant that she scarcely left the side of old Mrs. Barnard. Probably they had taken a hotel suite and Walter might be using her to keep his mother amused. Madalyn was in no position

to displease him, yet it did seem that if he had shown no sign of affection for her it would be better to break off the connection at once. But she had typed: "W. is very kind". Perhaps that was it. Walter had shown her that he wasn't indifferent, but concern for his mother had ousted other considerations for the moment. In the scheme of things, Madalyn's attentions to her prospective mother-in-law were important. Walter would compare her very favourably with the women friends he had left behind in Johannesburg. To Sarah, the whole situation revolved around the question of whether Madalyn was in love with the man, but that particular aspect had never emerged clearly. She had said she felt the same towards both Walter and Felix, that she wanted Walter because he had the most to offer. But to Sarah that didn't make sense; it never had made sense. She was sure you could love a man without knowing one thing about his background. The background helped, it gave you other facets of his nature, widened and deepened the love, but it couldn't light the spark; it was too material for that. Love was something natural and exciting, like the gathering of a storm, or the flames of a bush fire; it had nothing to do with gold-mines or marble swimmingpools or mink coats. And that, Sarah admonished herself as she set a match to the sheet of paper, is enough about love!

It was only a day or two later that Brent came in after dinner and suggested that the weather was just right for a visit to the Game Reserve. He had walked over in the darkness, crossed the mile of pasture and vaulted the cyclone fence, and he strolled into the house just as Jacob drifted along from the kitchen to tell the missus that he had finished for the day. Brent said he would pass on the good news,

and he went into the lounge and looked down at the two who were on the floor, engrossed in arranging photographs. Ruth gave him a harassed smile. "We've got so much stuff spread out in the study that we've had to bring the illustrations in here. Help us to pick out some good representative photographs, Brent." "A lot depends on the text." He lowered himself into one of the chairs and reached a long arm. "This is a good one of you with the pygmies, but that side of Zaire has been overdone. Use that modern hospital building, and your own primitive outfit. Each gives point to the other. How many illustrations do you intend to put in?" "I thought about forty or fifty. They tell so much in themselves." "Yes, but it's too many. Keep it down to thirty, and shove in one or two of those frightful ones of people with diseases. That'll shake 'em!" "Shake whom?" asked Sarah. "Those people you come from, who sit in armchairs round their fires and do their adventuring vicariously." He touched the tip of her nose lightly, with one finger. "It just misses a tilt, but it's a near thing." She got back from him, exasperated. "Keep to the subject. We have to send the pictures away so that they can be re-photographed and prepared for the press. Brent" - she sat on her heels and looked at him eagerly - "I've been wondering if some of this stuff couldn't be printed as articles before the book is published. An authentic article with a couple of photographs is bound to sell in England. It might even find a market in America - and think what a boost it would give the book. But Ruth's against it."

Ruth lifted her shoulders, moved her thickset figure on the uncomfortably hard floor. "I'm not a journalist. I merely want to set it all down in print." "Still, it's an idea," Brent conceded, "though not one to be rushed. When part of the book is quite ready you might write to that agent in London and find out what he thinks of selling it first as a series of articles." He picked up another of the photographs. "He's a nastylooking character. Orang-outang?" Ruth nodded. "The man who took it came to us badly mauled, his wounds septic. Those lion cubs are pretty, aren't they?" "That reminds me," he said. "It's nice and dry for a trip into the Game Reserve tomorrow. What about it? If we decide to stay overnight we shall easily fix up at a rest camp at this time of the year." "Is it open all the year round?" asked Sarah. "The southern part. After the end of May you can travel north, beyond the Oliphants River. Want to go?" "I don't," said Ruth. "Too dusty and tiring. Besides, I've had those animals pawing at my front door before now. Take Madalyn, though." "Anyone else going?" Sarah queried rather quickly. He leaned back, his blue eyes amused but keen. "We'll invite Lester, if you like." "You don't need anyone else," Ruth said practically. "Brent knows all the roads, and if it should be a sticky business getting fixed up for the night, he'll have the ranch wagon to sleep in. He'll get you in somewhere if he has to throw someone else out first. You've been

here just on three weeks and haven't seen a thing but hills and fruit trees. Go with Brent. You'll like the Game Reserve." That seemed the final word. But when Sarah went to bed that night she knew a sense of misgiving. It took a night's sleep and the bright early sun to put her into a mood in which a mounting happiness had part. She looked out of the window at the rows of new grass with tan-coloured earth between them, and she looked up at the intensely thick branches of the bedewed tulip tree and said aloud: "Darn you, why don't you flower in a place like this!" She took a shower in the clinically white bathroom and got into slacks and a sleeveless cotton shirt. Jacob came yawning into the house and set coffee to boil, and Sarah carried Ruth's tray into the bedroom herself. "Take an extra blouse and a jersey," Ruth advised, "and don't forget your pyjamas and toothbrush. Brent will take food supplies, and you can buy oddments at the rest camps." "I was wondering if you'd lend me your camera?" "Brent will take his - it's much more modern than mine. He'll have binoculars, too." She paused. "Does Brent make you uncertain of yourself?" "Why should he? " Sarah asked evenly. "I'm too old to know, but he does have an unsettling effect on younger women, and you do seem a bit keen not to please him." Ruth smiled, as though it were all beyond her. "If you want to be happy with him, don't let him affect you. I think that must be the secret. You

notice he never taunts Cornelia, and I should say that it's because he got over that stage with her a long time ago." Well, it was good advice, reflected Sarah as she folded the blouse and pyjamas into a zip-up bag; she did want to be happy with Brent, and it would do her all the good in the world if she could remain unaffected by him. It sounded like an impossibility, but it was worth trying. He came for her at seven-fifteen, got out of the ranch-wagon and came up the steps with that long indolent stride of his to take her bag. He smiled at her, called into the house, "Good morning, Ruthie!" and settled Sarah into her seat. It was a crystal-clear morning, and the craggy tops of the hills were brown and green against an opalescent sky. It was lush growing country, and from every height it was possible to look down upon the regimented lines of citrus, bananas and papaws, fields of cotton and market gardens. And then civilisation receded behind the folds of low mountain and there were stretches of undulating veld and the raw bush, a sudden krantz packed with cyads and wild nut trees. "This kind of country goes on and on," Brent said. "The Kruger National Park is two hundred miles long and forty miles across - just an immense stretch of bush bounded on the east by the Lebombo Mountains. The various types of animals keep close to the piece of country they've made their own, so that if you hang about in one part long enough you'll be sure to come across them within the area you expect you'll find them. You don't see elephant down south, but you do see lion, if you're patient." "Doesn't it feel... odd, being right among them?"

"I suppose it does, the first time. I can't remember. You're safe enough in the car." He smiled at her. "Even in slacks, you still look a city wench. I think it's the Elberta complexion." "Elberta?" "That's a compliment - our finest peach. Felix Frayne's crowd were down at the Cape during peach time - I read about it. What did you think of the orchards? " "I... didn't notice them." "Oh, come," he said easily. "That's like saying you haven't noticed the oranges of the lowveld." Fortunately he digressed. "This was the old ivory country. When my father bought the land at Comyns Ridge he found himself with too little capital for house-building and development, so he went elephant-hunting. Comyns Ridge is almost literally built on ivory." "They were romantic days, weren't they?" She sighed pleasurably. "Fifty years ago people got everything the hard way, but what fun they had getting it!" "Life's still like that," he said with gentle irony, "but the things we want are rather different. Romance isn't only in the untamed, you know." "No, but one sometimes wishes it were," she said artlessly. "The present-day high-gloss somehow spoils things." "What things?" He was laughing at her, but she didn't care. "We were discussing romance, in its various forms. There's no real romance in sophistication."

"Judging by the sort of news we're dished up in the daily papers I'd say there's something that comes fairly near to it. You're just carried away temporarily, by the African atmosphere, but I like you for it, honey." A flush swept up into Sarah's cheeks. She turned her head to look out of the window, willed the sudden tenseness from her limbs. This was the way he did it, she told herself. An insidious companionableness, a soft, scoffing note in his voice that came so naturally that he could hardly know it was there. A look, a few words - not even a touch was necessary - and the Wendy Carslands of this world were sunk. But not the Sarah Knights! It took more than mere charm to knock them off balance. She went on looking out at the trees and the distant mountains, however, till he said: "This is the final stretch before we actually enter the Reserve. The roads into it are gated, but there's no fencing, so you may see a buck or two before we get there." Sarah didn't, though; she only saw some ground-squirrels and a fat little meerkat scampering among the grasses. Brent stopped the car and got the permits at the small round office, and then they set off again, inside the Game Reserve. For two more hours Brent drove along miles of dusty road between tall grasses and thin forests. There were sudden streamlets edged thickly with cycads and African ferns, dense low bush through which an occasional buffalo or grandfather antelope out on a lone forage was visible. And then suddenly Sarah caught sight of her first giraffe, counted five of the tall impossible creatures nibbling the shoots from the tops of trees. Brent said that an assistant to Felix Frayne should know that

even though the animals were close to tie road they would not photograph well through the thin network of branches, but Sarah had to try. She used his camera and hoped for the best. But later that day she was able to snap a giraffe standing on the road in front of the car. It blinked its camel's eyes at her and strolled awkwardly to join its companions. They ate their picnic lunch inside the confines of a rest camp. Sarah was able to wash and tidy up, to brush some of the dust from her blouse and slacks. They walked above the ,Sabie River, and with the binoculars located a group of fat black hippos basking on the further bank. The afternoon in the car was less rewarding. There was still plenty of game, but except for bush pigs and a mongoose or two, nothing showed itself that they hadn't seen before. "Can't go home without seeing a lion," Brent said. "Think you could stick a night in the rest camp? " Sarah was tired, with that heavy tiredness which comes from heatladen inactivity. "There's no guarantee that we'll see lions tomorrow, is there? " "No, but there's every chance if we leave the rest camp at dawn. That's the time of the day when you see most." He paused. "There's plenty of room at the rest camps. Don't you fancy it?" Sarah couldn't have said why the thought of it made her uneasy. To Brent, she didn't even divulge the fact that she was uneasy. "I'll try it. It's something I've never done before." 'That's the spirit," he said, "but don't carry it too far, will you? All right, we'll make for the nearest rest camp."

It was a strange and lovely evening. At six o'clock the gates of the rest camp were closed against the awakening night beasts, and there were the rondavels lit up by the fires from the brick ovens. Folding chairs and tables were set up outside rondavel doors, and the few campers dined off fried chops and tinned vegetables prepared by the camp boys. Some people went straight in to bed after they had eaten, others lounged and read in the fitful firelight. The ranch wagon was parked between the two huts Brent had rented, and he and Sarah lounged on a rug. Then, from quite close, came two voices, a man's and a girl's. They spoke softly in Afrikaans for a moment, and then were quiet. "A significant silence," Brent commented in an undertone. "He just told her he loved her." Sarah answered a little too quickly. "It's happening all the time." Restlessly she stood up. "May we take a walk before bed?" "Of course. Let's go the whole way round the camp close to the palisade." It was cool, and Sarah slung her sweater round her back and tied the sleeves in front. Brent's fingers came under her elbow as they walked; strong and comforting but too magnetic in their warmth. "It's odd to think of us all being shut in here, in the midst of wild animals," she said. "You have a truly marvellous country, Brent." "This is all right for a day or two," he agreed, "but wait till you smell the orange blossom." "I shan't be here when the oranges bloom." "Pity. It's something special."

The total lack of regret in his tone stabbed Sarah into retorting, "The Pengellys don't think much of the scent; they say it's too overpowering." "Maybe it is, to a sheep-farmer. How are things going between you and Lester?" "How do you hope they're going?" "I'm not sure." He smiled in the darkness. "I think Lester counted on your being as easily bowled over as he was the moment he saw you. Since you came he smiles more often." "Good." "And now you're huffed. But don't you see you were bound to affect a chap like Lester? For some reason, he's always slightly raw inside, impatient of his family and irritated because he's doing something he doesn't really want to do. You come along looking immaculate and youthful and behaving sympathetically, and in his condition he doesn't stand a chance." "You don't have to harp on it!" "So you've found it out for yourself?" His tone probed, gently. "Ruth says he calls at the bungalow fairly often." "That's right," she said hardily. "I generally give him a cup of tea and a cake. Any objections?" "No, so long as you don't encourage him to do anything drastic, like walking out on his brother before the place is cleared of debt." "As if I would!" she said vexedly.

A minute elapsed before he asked, "Could you go for a chap like Lester?" His manner, both keen and teasing, brought a smile to her voice. "I might, if I had time. But then if I had time I might even go for ... for Bob. Do you think it's possible to love two people at the same time?" His reply was unequivocal. "If you mean man-and-woman business no!" "All right. I was just interested." "For yourself?" "You're too personal, Brent, and far too quick with it. You don't leave a woman a toe to stand on." "Does that mean you feel you're being swept off your feet?" he asked lazily. This was dangerous, amusing but definitely dangerous. She laughed and turned about, drew swiftly away from him and began to run lightly back towards the huts in the smoky darkness. He was behind her, not bothering to catch her up, but close enough so that she could hear him let out an occasional breath of laughter. She heard a lion roar, and the sound lent speed to her feet. She reached the hut and went inside into the lamplight, put a hand to her fast-beating heart as she faced Brent. Her bright glance and smile became fixed by the look in his eyes. Unresisting, she was in his arms, but he was pinning her shoulders so that her own arms were useless as he bent his head and found her lips. In that long moment she knew herself exquisitely, irretrievably lost.

He let her go. "That wasn't in the programme at all," he said, a slight thickness in his mocking tones. "You brought it on yourself. Lock your door when I'm gone. Good night." Mechanically, Sarah obeyed him. Then she came to stand between the two beds and pushed her hair hard back from her temples. He was right. It was her own fault, every bit of it. She should never have come here with him. A kiss meant nothing at all to Brent Milward, but to Sarah Knight such a kiss was disastrous. She wasn't Sarah; she was Madalyn, who would eventually marry someone who was certainly not Brent Milward. As Madalvn, she had no right to be here with Brent at all. She sat down suddenly on the side of the bed and pressed damp fingers to her eyelids. She couldn't think this out now. She was too nervy, too tired. All she knew was that she would give a great deal to wake up tomorrow morning in her bare little room at the bungalow.

CHAPTER FIVE IN the pearly light next morning they saw lions - six of them strolling in the bush not far from the road. Unconcernedly a lioness had looked their way and stalked on. Some time later, when they had given up hope of seeing more, they came across a lioness and her cubs, and as the car slowed, the big head and mane of the father appeared behind his family. In this southern part of the Reserve there was nothing more one could expect, and when Brent said he thought they might make their way back to Pietsdorp, Sarah agreed. She was quiet this morning, but Brent seemed no different. He had awakened her early with coffee brewed by the boy, had given her a bare ten minutes to get ready, and was standing beside the ranch wagon when she came out. To him, obviously, this was merely an expedition made with the purpose of showing the English girl the wilder parts of his country. His efforts were entirely for her, not for himself. On the trip back to Pietsdorp they conversed only desultorily. Everything, thought Sarah bleakly, had been said and done between them. Brent's mind was already busy, probably with farm affairs, and she might as well start thinking about the hours of work she would be able to put in as soon as she had had a bath and got into a dress. Thank heaven for those masses of Ruth's notes. Brent collected his mail in Pietsdorp and drove on to the bungalow. He got out and came round to Sarah just as she straightened on the path. "You look a bit flat," he said. "Never mind. I've heard it said by the less enthusiastic that a trip to the Game Reserve is more enjoyable in retrospect."

"Are you coming in to take a chance on lunch?" she asked, moving towards the steps. Before he could answer, Ruth had come out. She gestured and shook her head as if she were relieved but distracted. "Thank heaven you decided to come home early!" she exclaimed. "I've bad news, Brent. Cornelia du Plessis came over, half out of her mind. You knew Pieter was back in Durban? Well, it seems he took a flip in a private plane and crashed. He's dead." "Oh, my God," said Brent under his breath. Then, after a pause, "Tell me all you know, Ruth." "The news came by telegram, from Pieter's fiancée. I blame that girl..." "What did the telegram say?" "I didn't see it. Cornelia said she has to drive to Johannesburg and fly down. She's broken-hearted, can't face it alone, and she wants you to go with her, Brent." "Of course I'll go," he said at once, his manner quick and grave. "I'd better go straight to her now, and take her back to my house. It might be quicker to drive down to Durban from here. We'll decide between us." "You may be away some days. Is there anything I can do?" "I don't think so, Ruth. I'll tell Johannes to collect the mail and bring over any letters for you. I must get moving." "I'm so sorry for Cornelia."

"I'm more than sorry," he said. "She was cut up because Pieter wanted to divide the farm - didn't want to lose him from the district. I wouldn't like to imagine how she's feeling, now." "You'll comfort her," said Ruth. "She's fond of you." He nodded and got into the driver's seat. His hand rose automatically in salute as he moved away, but Sarah could see that his mind was elsewhere. She turned and went up into the house with Ruth, murmured something about cleaning up and went off to her bedroom. Slackly, she bathed and changed into a dress. She came to the diningroom as Jacob was laying the table, and she stood near the window sipping a glass of iced water, till Ruth came in. Ruth, of course, spoke of the matter which had been in her mind all morning. "They were twins, Cornelia and Pieter. They lost an elder brother and found themselves joint owners of Daniesrust while they were still in their early teens. Then a few months ago Pieter met this girl in Durban and she refused to rusticate, as she termed it. If Pieter wanted to marry her he must consent to live in Durban. Cornelia's one of your property-owning types, and she was fiercely against selling up and dividing the spoils. She meant to keep Daniesrust." Ruth heaved her chair closer to the table, poked without appetite at the meagre bowl of salad and took a small helping. "Things might have come out all right if Pieter hadn't been in such a hurry. He went back to Durban to plan a date for the wedding, but if he hadn't been so impatient there might have been another solution." "You mean... to do with Brent?" Ruth nodded. "I expect Brent will marry her soon, now that she's alone; I think he'd have come to it in time, anyway. Then Pieter could

easily have been paid off and Daniesrust incorporated with Comyns Ridge - they run side by side. What a pity that young man couldn't wait!" Sarah looked at the portion of salami and salad in front of her and decided she couldn't touch a mouthful of it. She drank more iced water, broke a water biscuit on her plate. She wished she could think of something to say, but what Ruth had told her did not invite comment. It was a statement of fact. It was no effort to recall the compassion and concern in Brent when he bad heard the news, or his immediate reaction; he had known at once that his place was with Cornelia. His emotions, in fact, had gone on ahead of him. Because something seemed to be expected of her, she said, "It's hard on the fiancée, too." "I don't know," said Ruth morosely. "What sort of girl would make a man give up his birthright simply because she wanted to live near beaches and cinemas? It was her friend who owned the plane, so if Pieter had never known her ..." She broke off, then added, as if there were a crumb of pleasure even in the tragedy, "Well, there's one thing - Brent won't hold back much longer. As soon as Cornelia seems to be fairly over it, they'll become engaged." Sarah nodded. It came to her suddenly that Brent might be wishing he hadn't kissed "the Knight girl" last night; on the other hand, he was just as likely to have forgotten the incident. Brent wasn't the sort of man to look back. She and Dr. Masters worked that afternoon and evening. They heard nothing more that day from Comyns Ridge, but next morning Johannes Bekker, the foreman, came along with a letter for Ruth and the information that Brent had driven Miss du Plessis straight down to Durban.

"Ag, lady," he said to Ruth, "that was a bad bit of business, but what we say is it might have been worse. It might have been Miss Cornelia, now, and then Pieter would have sold up everything. It is perhaps not kind to Pieter, but we are saying it might have been worse." That seemed to be the local reaction. Cornelia, as a hard- headed farmer, was respected. As a good-looking woman she was admired. But no one had an atom of respect or admiration for a man who had found the woman he wanted but was not strong enough even before marriage to bend her will to his. Then Lester Pengelly came to the bungalow and he, too, gave his verdict in the matter; but Lester applied it more to himself. "Bob and I are not in the same position as the du Plessis. Daniesrust is a family farm and they inherited, whereas we just bought an old orange farm and improved it. Still, we do share a farm, as they did, and it's not a good way to be." Lester was intense about it. "I feel more determined than ever to get out." "Well, that's all right, Lester," she said soothingly. "There's plenty of time." "I suppose so, except that it's beginning to get on my nerves." "Since when?" "Just recently. I don't want to worry you, Madalyn, but there's no one else I can talk it over with. Do you mind?" "Not a bit Glad to be of use." "Then will you help a bit more - and come over for a meal with us? I want you to see the place - to know what I'm talking about"

"I'd like to -when?" "Sunday, for lunch? I'm afraid Bob means to have Biddy there, but she won't turn up till later. I'll come with you." Sarah acquiesced; for the moment that was her mood. She gave in to whatever Ruth suggested, agreed, whatever might be mooted by anyone. Each day she looked for a letter from Madalyn and was disappointed. On the off-chance she went over to Brent's house and put a call through to Walter Barnard's mansion in Johannesburg. She sat in Brent's library trying to read a book and waiting for the connection, and in a surprisingly short time the operator rang through; on the instructions of Mr. Barnard the house telephone was out of commission during his absence. The week-end came, and on Saturday afternoon Sarah went out alone for a long walk. She climbed the nearest koppie, gathered a few rock flowers and then went higher, to look down over the other side of the hill at the distant river. There was not much of it to be seen - just a glimpse of silver here and there between the trees on its banks - and Sarah knew that the crocodiles for which it was named had long since congregated in the steamier reaches, towards East Africa. She came back round the hill, took a diagonal walk which ended only a few yards from the lane down to the bungalow. And there, as she reached the road, was the sleek grey ranch wagon, slowing to a halt. Brent got out and came round. He looked strange in a dark lounge suit, but he gave her a smile. "Hallo there. Have you missed me?" "Vaguely," she said. She was too aware of the woman in the front seat to say more.

Cornelia looked very different Sarah had only seen her the once, at Brent's house, but on that occasion she had thought how selfsufficient and calm, how thoroughly poised yet friendly, the woman was. Well, Cornelia was still poised; one might almost say too much so. She inclined her head at Sarah, then turned back to contemplation of the road. The olive skin was unnaturally pale, the cheeks hollowed, and the dark eyes had a new, deep-set appearance. The mass of black wavy hair had been brushed well back and caught into a knot. She looked ravaged and beautiful. She was a mature and appealing woman. Brent said, "Tell Ruth I'll come over as soon as I can - before I leave on Monday, anyway." "You're going away again?" "I'm taking Cornelia to stay with some friends. I may hang on there with her for a day or two." Cornelia's window was down, but she made no sign of having heard. She continued to give them both the smooth white profile. "I'll tell Ruth," Sarah said uncomfortably. Brent looked down at the flowers she held, passed his fingers over them and showed her the coloured pollens they had collected. "When I was a boy that used to be called a hay-fever posy," he said. "Don't put them in your bedroom." "I won't," she answered mechanically, and moved away. She walked quickly, heard the car start up again, but did not turn round to wave as it passed the lane. She tried to think only with pity of Cornelia, who was the last member of her family, but somehow it

was too easy to see that mute white face close to Brent's shoulder, his arms holding her when eventually she gave way to grief. She gave Ruth the message from Brent, went out to the kitchen to get the tea and decided, while she waited for the water to boil, that she would get Ruth to work on the manuscript all evening. There was still plenty of reading and typing to do, thank heaven.

The small orange farm run by Lester Pengelly and his brother had never been named. At the entrance there was a signboard, like the father's, but this one bore the two names and an arrow pointing along a track between young orange trees, Where business was concerned Lester had a tidy mind, and it was not surprising that the groves were weedless, the track graded. The house itself was square and unimaginative in design, but it was very white outside, and comfortably furnished in a slightly drab manner within. Lester explained that they had lived without much furniture till their parents had arrived, bringing with them the whole of their English home, and that the two houses had split the old furniture between them. Thus it was that their sitting-room had a wine-coloured moquette suite that was worn at the arms, and a set of newish imbuia tables strewn over an old fawn Wilton carpet. Nothing in the house was exactly what she would have chosen, but there was an air of pride about it that made her like Lester the more. She did wish he would be satisfied to grow oranges, though she realised, too, that this place would never be big enough to carry two families. The two men seemed to have slipped up in the planning. The lunch their houseboy served had been arranged with care. Tomato cocktail, a small portion of crayfish with a small salad and then roast beef and the local vegetables, followed by an ice cream

trifle. Lester was anxious, but a little more smiling as each course ended successfully. "We don't do badly, do we?" he said when the boy had brought coffee. "Mind you, this isn't regular." "Not by a long way," Bob put in cheerfully, helping himself to a couple of bananas from the dish of fruit. "Some nights the meat is like burnt leather and we don't get a pudding at all. Then it's breadand-cheese stakes, but we don't mind. After all, what can you expect when there's no woman about the house?" After Bob had said he would stroll down to meet Biddy, Lester set a chair on the stoep for Sarah, pulled up a low bench for himself and they sat together, looking over the closely-cropped grass at the orange trees. "What do you think of it?" he asked. "I can't understand why you want to leave it," she confessed. "The house is a little shut-in by the trees, but for an old farm it's a model one. You'd find sheep much more trouble." "Yes, but there's a satisfaction in livestock that you don't get with fruit. Ask Brent Milward. His acreage of oranges is as big as ours, but he runs thousands more acres for his cattle." "But he thinks you should stay." Lester shrugged. "Brent hasn't my problem. If I could be sure that Bob wouldn't marry for another five years I'd be fairly contented." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "We've neither the room nor the capital to build another house on the property, even if it would support us. And I've told you before that I'd never live with Bob and Biddy."

"On the other hand," she pointed out, "you're not the type to be able to withdraw your share and leave them struggling for years." "No," he admitted. "I have that on my mind, too." "But not yet. There's no question of their marrying soon." "I wish I could depend on that." He shifted his position. "Let's talk about something else. You've never told me about the trip to the Game Reserve." It was an impersonal subject, but fairly absorbing, and it took them through the next half-hour, till Bob and Biddy Macleod came sauntering round the house from the back path which, it seemed, led out into the cotton-field from which Mr. Macleod was hoping to make this year's living. Biddy wasn't quite what Sarah had expected. She was about Sarah's own age, hazel-eyed and fairly tall. Her straightish brown hair was tied back with a green ribbon so that the round lines of her face showed clearly, and a bar of freckles lay across her nose and cheeks. She wore a green-and-white cotton frock which had been laundered a good many times, and flat brown shoes. Her mouth needed a touch of lipstick, her nails were blunt and no one would have called her pretty. In repose, her face was entirely ordinary, but when she spoke her voice was animated, as if at heart she were really a gay person. Over a cup of tea she asked Biddy about cotton-growing, and found her well informed on the subject. "My father has tried growing most things," she said. "He's had some bad patches of illness, and my mother and I have had to help run the place. It's small, and we can manage with occasional help. Then in the orange-picking season I act as a paid tally clerk, so we get along

fairly well. Since Bob has been here we've borrowed the tractor, and Lester showed me easy ways of keeping the books and cutting costs." "Do you like the life?" Sarah asked. "I've never known anything else," was the simple reply. "Yes, I like it - when we have a fair season." Biddy paused and said quietly, "With those film people, you must have a glamorous life." "No, I just work, like anyone else." "Still," said Biddy, "you're used to something much different from this," she indicated the brief lawn and the trees. "It wouldn't satisfy you to live in this kind of place, would it?." "But of course it would!" Sarah saw the shadows come into the other girl's eyes, and added quickly, "I shall never live on an orange farm, but I could do it." She was rather glad that Lester entered the conversation just then, and very soon she said she must be going. As she went off with him in the old car she waved back at Biddy and Bob. About Biddy Macleod she felt definitely uneasy. Was the girl so simple in her thoughts that she imagined Sarah Knight bound to Lester Pengelly just because she had taken Sunday lunch with him? Was she afraid of Lester marrying first and taking control of the house? Sarah wished she knew and at the same time was glad she didn't know. She was beginning to feel it was too bad that she had to be yanked into the lives of people who could never mean a thing in her own future. Lester was saying, "This is a most unfamiliar procedure to me, you know. I haven't taken a girl out since I came to the country."

"But that's shocking," Sarah said. "No wonder you're always hankering for a change!" He laughed a little. "When I was young I wasn't girl-minded, and when I began to feel ... well, lonely, I hadn't the pluck to become suddenly attentive to girls I already knew, and fresh ones just didn't turn up. You were so friendly, right from the beginning. It's all wrong, I know, but you're affecting me in the way I'd like to affect... someone. I realise it can't be you, but there it is." "I believe people do turn up when you need them." But the moment Sarah had spoken she knew she didn't believe it any longer. "Perhaps they do. You certainly turned up just after I'd had a horrible couple of weeks' holiday and was feeling even lower still at the thought of returning to Pietsdorp." They had reached the bungalow, and as he stopped in front of the house, Sarah put the conventional query. "Coming in?" "No, I still feel a bit awkward with Dr. Masters. It's been a grand afternoon, and I want to keep it that way." "All right. Don't get out. And thanks very much, Lester." She stood smiling till he had reversed and departed, and then turned to go up into the house. Ruth called from the sitting-room. "We're in here, Madalyn!" So Sarah went to the open doorway, and as she looked in at Ruth and Brent, the one sitting and the other getting indolently to his feet, she experienced a thrust of pain at the back of her throat. Getting together again with Brent was going to be much more of an ordeal than she had thought.

She put on a bright social smile. "Hallo. Did you walk over?" "No, I rode," he said. "What about coming for a short ride with me?" "I? " Sarah shook her head. 'I'm not much on a horse." "You're being modest," put in Ruth. "I distinctly remember that in a letter Felix wrote me just before he left this country he said you were enjoying the chance to ride as often as you liked." Sarah's pulses drummed. She had walked right into that one. She felt Brent's discerning glance, knew the inadequacy of anything she might reply. He, in fact, spoke first. "Madalyn was being polite just now," he stated with dry sarcasm. "She merely meant that at the moment she doesn't care to ride with me." "Why, what's happened?" asked Ruth curiously. "I've always been rather glad that you two were good enough friends to rib each other." After the briefest of pauses she added, "Of course! You've hardly been together since you came back from the National Park. It must be something that happened there." "I can assure you," said Sarah quietly, "that nothing more important than the sight of five lions all at once happened in the Game Reserve." Brent's smile was aloof and watchful. "That's not quite true," he said smoothly, and was rewarded by a pink flush, a glance from angry grey eyes. He tacked on, mockingly, "There were six lions." "Oh, well," Ruth said practically, "if you don't want to ride with Brent, you don't. I was never much of a horsewoman myself. Have you had tea? "

"Yes, thank you." "With Lester?" queried Brent. "Yes, with Lester," she replied hardily. "I've been with him since eleven o'clock this morning and enjoyed every minute of it." "Fine," he said softly. He pushed his hands into his breeches pockets, moved round the table towards the door. "Well, I have to get back and change. Cornelia and I are due for dinner at a farm fifty miles away." "When do you think you'll be back?" Ruth asked. "Wednesday, I hope. I've got work piling up." He looked at Sarah. "Coming out to see me off?" Ruth laughed. "Go with him, Madalyn, and get it over." But Sarah hesitated. Then, because acquiescence was less ostentatious than self-assertion, she got up and preceded him outdoors. The big mahogany-coloured horse was just beyond the cyclone fence, grazing, and not far away were the two horses Brent had placed at Ruth's disposal weeks ago. So far one of his boys had had to exercise them. At the fence he leaned a hand on the top strand of wire and looked down at her. "Come to think of it," he said, "it's more than peculiar that you haven't ridden since you came. I know Felix left you behind because you weren't too well, but he went off some time before you came here. I'd say you were thoroughly healthy." "You'd be right," she said offhandedly. "But you've no urge to ride?"

"None at all, so far." "I don't believe you can ride," he said suddenly. "Why should Felix think you're a horsewoman? " "Felix is a better judge of box-office attractions than of horses and their riders." "Don't you ride at all?" This was an occasion on which she had to be Sarah, not Madalyn. She said firmly, "I've been out on a hack a few times on my uncle's farm in Norfolk, but I didn't distinguish myself." He smiled suddenly. "You don't have to; it's only necessary to enjoy yourself. When I get back I'll take you out over the veld." "I'll go alone if I feel the need of it," she said. "Thanks all the same." His smile sharpened, but his tone still mocked. "You hated like hell to have me kiss you that night, didn't you? I ought to have apologised, been a little abject about it, but then such an event is really a compliment to a woman - or hadn't you realised that?" "I can't see the compliment," she said evenly, "in being coupled with a girl like Wendy Carsland." "Steady," he said swiftly, and there was a metallic sparkle in the blue eyes. "That's the kind of crack that gets reprisals. Have you been discussing me with Lester?" "Why in the world should I?" "No reason, but your antagonism seems very new and alive."

Sarah shrugged. "I'm not antagonistic. I just don't care for being taken for granted. Did you really wish to speak to me alone about something?" He let out an exasperated sigh. "I was going to ask you to do a small job for me, but it can wait till I get back," Sarah's heart was tight. "I'll do anything to help, of course," she said quickly. "What is it?" "No, leave it. I can't keep Cornelia waiting. I'll go." His long legs took the fence, he whistled up the horse and swung into the saddle. His strong brown hand on the rein, he looked down at her. For a moment she was sure he would say something devastating; the well-cut lips were even parted for it. But they closed decisively. He merely wished her an unsmiling goodbye, pressed his heel to the horse's flank and was away, a big virile figure on a matching horse. Sarah watched him for less than a minute. She turned away and went round the side of the house to the tulip tree and stood in its shade looking over the newly planted land which was Ruth's. Parts of it were irrigated regularly by sprinkler pipes from a borehole, but growth was slowing down. The odd-shaped leaves of the papaws were pale green, the stems succulent- looking, and one or two had precociously grown flowers, small white clusters which would come to nothing. At this distance the two or three acres of pineapples were a patch of herringbone tweed. Ruth came out and looked at the border of seed-sewn annuals; then she glanced up at the tree. "I doubt if this thing will ever blossom," she said. "When I came with Brent to choose my site for the house, this was an overgrown shrubbery of natural growth. Nothing seemed to be worth keeping

but the tulip tree. I'm beginning to feel now that I should have had this down as well." "Oh, no!" said Sarah. "Jacob seems to think it could be made to bloom. What are the flowers like?" "This isn't the common scarlet variety. The blooms are greenishwhite and tulip-shaped - quite exotic." "Couldn't we prune it drastically?" "It's been tried before." "Jacob says it needs the heart cut out of it." "Africans are often right about such things. We'll try it some time." "Why not tomorrow - definitely?" Ruth looked at her. "Trying to prove something to yourself?" "I can see the tree from the study window and it irritates me. It seems to me that everything - except some one small detail - is in its favour. We ought to put it right." Ruth said tolerantly, "Haven't you had enough of trying to put Brent right? I saw the way he looked at you when he rode off." Sarah was silent for a few seconds. Then she asked. "Why didn't he bring Cornelia du Plessis over to see you this afternoon?" "He said she wouldn't come. She slept last night at Daniestrust, but she arrived at Comyns Ridge as soon as it was light. Said she couldn't stand being alone. She's been with Brent all day." Ruth added consideringly, "It's a great blow to lose one's last close relative, particularly if he happens to be one's twin, but Cornelia's reaction to

her brother's death is far more marked than I'd have expected. Normally, she doesn't show much feeling at all, but Brent said he had a gruelling time with her at Durban, that she's quite ill now." Sarah nodded soberly. "She looked it yesterday. Pieter wasn't very well liked in the district, was he?" "No, he was the weak half. Oh, well, she'll come round. It may sound a little callous, but there's no doubt that when she acquires a husband she'll stop missing Pieter. It's lucky she has Brent." To which there seemed nothing more to add. Murmuring that she felt the need of a wash and to change her dress, Sarah went into the house.

CHAPTER SIX THERE was rain the next day, the first Sarah had seen since coming to Pietsdorp. It started with a sudden electrical storm accompanied by hail, went on for three hours in a grey downpour and petered off into a stiff drizzle that ceased just after dark. It seemed to Sarah that this was the first day without a glimpse of the sun since she had arrived in South Africa. She and Ruth worked the whole day on the book, and after dinner neither had any inclination to go back to the study. So Sarah found herself, unfamiliarly, reading a novel. And because she had allowed herself so little time for pleasurable reading just lately she enjoyed it. Ruth read, too, but she chose glossy magazines for entertainment, and became absorbed in the advertisements. She showed Sarah a picture of a small cottage-style lounge. "Sometimes I wish I'd started on those lines," she said, glancing jadedly at her bare walls. "Honestly, I haven't a notion as to how to finish off this place. If I had, I'd do it right away." Sarah looked about her, thoughtfully. "A corner book fitment over there would look well - in light oak or beechwood. And in Evatt's store they have some new standard lamps. They're also showing a cherry-red rocker upholstered in foam rubber." "It all sounds wonderful." Ruth brightened. "We might go into town together tomorrow morning. You've seen heaps more furniture than I have during the past few years, and having worked on Felix's travel gems you probably have a shrewd eye for colour! Yes, let's make it tomorrow." So tomorrow it was. Characteristically, as soon as Ruth was launched on the buying spree she couldn't stop, and Sarah found it almost too

easy to make the older woman believe she had chosen everything herself. Ruth even bought a new turquoise bedroom carpet for her own room and a Persian square for the small entrance hall. And when they paused at the window of a gift shop and Sarah indicated a gay piece of Kalahari pottery which would look well on the top of the bookshelf-and-cupboard fitment they had ordered, Ruth rashly bought several bowls and figures and a hammered copper urn to be used as a walking-stick and umbrella-holder. Dr. Masters had no interest in literary pursuits at all that afternoon. Her goods were delivered, dusted and set in position, the bookshelves at one side of the fireplace, the tall standard lamp with its white-andcherry-red shade on the other. The rocker was placed near the lamp, some of the ornaments set out and the rest arranged in the small display cabinet which had also been bought this morning. When everything was arranged Sarah went to the study, but Ruth wandered about, admiring her purchases and feverishly wondering what else she needed. The afternoon passed, and when it grew dark Sarah came out to the front stoep, to breathe in the air which was still fresh from yesterday's rain. It smelled of damp warm earth, of eucalyptus and pines, and she lingered there waiting for the first star. She had been there perhaps ten minutes when Biddy Macleod cantered along the lane and reined in on the drive. She went down to meet the other girl, smiled a welcome. "I didn't think you'd ever have time to come here," she said, "but I'm very glad to see you." "I couldn't get away during the day," Biddy answered guardedly. "May I speak to you alone, Miss Knight?"

Normally, Sarah would have insisted on being called by her first name, but she had never taken to Madalyn's. She nodded. "Of course. Will you come in or would you rather we went for a walk?" "A walk, please." Biddy, apparently, felt more at ease wider the sky, in the darkness, "Perhaps you'll come out into the lane?" They walked together, not speaking till they were slowly treading through the rough grass verge next to the front fence of the bungalow. Once or twice Biddy moistened her lips, and Sarah would have given much to have an inkling of whatever it was that troubled her. But all she could do was wait. At length it came - at least, the preliminaries did. "I expect you'll think I'm a bit mad, coming to you like this," said Biddy with some difficulty, "You won't say anything about it to Bob or Lester, will you?" "I promise I won't." The quiet words lent Biddy confidence, but she still looked at the grass as she walked. "Before I tell you what I came for, well... is it cheek to ask if you... care for Lester?" Sarah smiled. "Seeing that you have a stake in the Pengelly family, I couldn't call it cheek. I like Lester, but I'm not in love with him." It was impossible to tell whether this piece of information relieved Biddy. She did let out a rather loud sigh, but though none of her reactions could be described as subtle, it could have meant anything. They were well past the house now and opposite the young papaws, and Biddy came to a halt and stood with her back to the fence, keeping her face shadowed.

Her voice slightly hoarse, she said, "What has Lester told you about Bob... and me?" "Only what everyone knows - that you're close friends and are likely to become something more to each other in due course." "Did... did Lester put it that way?" A strained note in the other's speech made Sarah pause before she answered carefully, "Even if Lester hadn't told me a word about it, I'd have guessed just that after seeing you with Bob on Sunday. You can't mind about it, Biddy - or can you? " Biddy Macleod was no more accustomed to speaking of her private feelings than Sarah was, but unlike Sarah she had never had to acquire a degree of poise. She drew a breath that made a queer sound in her throat, pushed the hand which had been hanging loosely at her side into her pocket, so that both fists were visible as little humps just below her hips. "There's not one person I can talk to about this, and it's driving me nutty. When I saw you over at their place I knew that you would either save me or send me crashing. Whichever it might be, I wanted it to happen soon. You see," she swallowed audibly, "I'm not in love with Bob. I need his friendship, but really I... I only use him. I let him take me to the house on Sundays because by the end of the week I'm just longing to see Lester." Again a breathy sound from her. "So now you know!" It was quite some time before Sarah took it in. She was facing Biddy and trying to believe, but she was afraid. Then, as if a lever had been depressed, the whole situation fell into focus, and she knew it would be difficult to stand aside and look on.

"Why, Biddy," She said gently, "what rotten luck you've had. What are you going to do?" "I don't know." She sounded forlorn, but relieved. "Not another soul knows about this, but after I'd met you I felt I couldn't handle it any longer. Just seeing you with Lester frightened me." A pause. "You've been around and you're about my age. Can't you advise me?" "I'm not clever about such things. You've been very unwise with Bob. He thinks that eventually you and he will marry." "That's the awful part of it!" Biddy exclaimed. "Bob Pengelly is the sort of man who could fall in love with' almost anyone who seemed right for him. He's so good, in a dull way, that he doesn't even see the obvious difficulties. If my father's affairs fell flat, Bob would take them on - look after both my parents. There'd never be a penny to spare, but that wouldn't worry him. I just don't love Bob!" Sarah nodded, slowly. "It's a sort of treachery to let him believe you do love him." "Don't I know it! Yet I feel even more of a traitor to Lester. In the beginning I was dead sure I'd get over it. I kept telling myself that though Bob lacked many things, he was stable and contented. Lester seemed so ... so way above me, that I hardly ever spoke to him. But each time I've seen him lately I've noticed a difference in him. He doesn't glower any more, or go tightmouthed. He used to be bitter when he talked about sheep- farming, but now ifs as though he knows it'll come, some time." "You watch him closely, don't you?" "I can't help it. There were times when all I wanted was for him to have his sheep, and I hated Bob for being in his way." She stopped suddenly, then added, "Do I sound cheap?"

Sarah was fogged. She said, "I'm not sure whether you've been unfortunate or just an ass. You admit to having been attracted to Lester, yet you allowed his brother to appropriate you. Didn't you realise that while you're Bob's girl, Lester would never regard you more intimately?" The hard brown hands came out of the pockets and gestured, helplessly. "I'm just a farming type. It took me months ... years, to understand how very different they were from each other, and by that time we'd fallen into the sort of relationship we have now. It's been damned hard, I can tell you!" Sarah was a little impatient. "But you haven't tried to help yourself, and you certainly haven't been fair either to Bob or Lester." "As if Lester cared!" "You didn't give him a chance to care!" Sarah's swift retort threw the other girl slightly off balance. She put both hands behind her on the fence and said stiffly, "I knew that in coming to you I was being a big fool, but I hoped you might be able to suggest some alternative to my own plan. As you can't, I can only say I'm sorry to have troubled you and get back upon the nag." . "So you have a plan?" said Sarah. "A simple one. I'm going away." "And what good will that do?" "My parents are the only ones who'll miss me." "Well, it's a noble idea," commented Sarah wearily. "Go right ahead." That seemed as though it must be the end of it. Biddy turned back towards the gate and Sarah let her go a pace or two in front. The old

horse had come out to crop the grass, and Biddy gathered up the rein, preparatory to mounting. She twisted slightly, and Sarah saw her face in the light from the bungalow window. It was sallow and drawn, and her forehead was creased as if with the effort of bearing a far heavier brain-load than it was accustomed to. Impulsively, Sarah said, "I haven't been very sympathetic, have I? I suppose I was shocked that you should have clung to one brother for the purpose of meeting the other sometimes." With her cheek against the horse's side, Biddy nodded. "I've made a mess of everything. I wasn't hoping you'd get me out of it - only that you might be able to think up something I could work on. I don't even have any hopes about Lester." "But that's where you went wrong, surely? Lester wants to marry." "Not to marry someone like me, who's never had a bean or even much of an education." "Candidly," said Sarah, "I'd say you're comparatively lucky. Your father isn't well off, as farmers these days mostly are, but he gets the same prices as everyone else for what he grows. You don't have to look a tramp all the time, Biddy. A girl can be fresh and dainty every evening at very little cost." "It takes courage to step out of the pattern you're used to." "Isn't Lester worth it?" Biddy wound the rein about her hand. "I've gone too far in the other direction. I can only pull up if I go away." "Where would you go, and what would you do?"

"There are jobs," Biddy said, vague with misery. "At least I wouldn't be worried to death any longer." "Even worry might be preferable to an eternal blankness," observed Sarah. "Don't do anything at once, Biddy. Try to be honest with Bob, and if you. can't be outspoken, at least show him that he can never mean much to you. He'll be hurt, but if things haven't gone far between you he'll get over it." "I don't think I can go on living so near them. I've told you that I was frightened of something developing between you and Lester. Well, that was only a warning. Next time I'm jealous of some girl he's friendly with it may be the real thing, and I shan't be able to stand it." "Unless," said Sarah, "you yourself happen to be the next girl to interest him. It's very much in your own hands, Biddy." Biddy hunched her shoulders and got into the saddle. With a muttered goodbye she was off. Sarah paused for some moments before going into the house. She hadn't helped Biddy, had hardly felt in the mood to do so. Biddy Macleod in love with Lester! It was still hard to believe, and what a muddle it created! Lester wanting to get away and leave Bob to farm oranges with his wife; the Pengelly parents contemptuous of the Macleods; Biddy hopeless and yearning. Only Bob seemed to be sailing along fairly happily, on a dream-cloud. What could an outsider possibly do about such a situation? But because Biddy had sought her out, Sarah felt an uneasy weight of responsibility. This perhaps wasn't quite the time, but she would like to ask Ruth to invite Biddy over one afternoon ; it would be quite easy to get Lester here at the same time, in order that their attitude to each other when Bob was not present could be observed. It might

have the atmosphere of a chemical experiment, but it was worth trying.

Brent came home that night. Sarah knew it, because she could see the points of light in the distance; his house was illumined till midnight. Then the lights went out, and Sarah turned on to her other side, so that she would not be tempted to reflect that there he was, a mile away across the pasture and possibly asleep already. But Brent was not to be dispelled by the mere turning of one's back upon his abode. He was painfully close; mocking, occasionally gentle, the good companion, the man who could change in the darkness of a hut into the semblance of a lover, and in different circumstances become cool and pleasant with anger. Seemingly, he had left Cornelia for a while. She would recuperate at the farm of her friends, and he would go over to see her - perhaps each week-end. At first he would be with her, and demand nothing. Then Cornelia's smile would return, her business-like interest in farm matters revive, and Brent would find himself the only man in her life. Not a long step, then, to an official engagement. Another hour passed before Sarah slept, and she awoke early with a sensation of impending catastrophe. Yet the sun came up just as bright and warm and the grass showed an increased greenness over yesterday. Even the yellow poppies and multicoloured petunias flowered in wider patches, covering the sandy earth of the front border. After breakfast Sarah went out for her usual brief walk. On the way back she tucked a tendril of canary creeper in and out of the fence it would one day obliterate, and pausing beside the bungalow she decided to suggest that Ruth might start one of those huge rockeries

just beyond the garage. In this country a rockery took to the landscape as a ship takes to sea. She saw the grey ranch-wagon turn from the road into the lane and without thinking she went quickly into the house. Ruth was in the hall; she had been watching at the window. "Hallo there, Brent!" she called. He came in half-smiling, dropped a kiss on the top of the grey head and looked across enigmatically into Sarah's eyes. His profile was clear and strong against the offwhite wall, till he turned his head to look into the lounge. With a brief, mocking whistle, he walked into the room. "My, my," he murmured. "You've been busy. I like the nifty lamp. Well, the room now has an indefinable something. Congratulations." "Thanks. How is Cornelia? " "Not too good, but it's quiet out there." He raised an eyebrow at Sarah. "Tired, little one? " "At this time of the morning?" "Could be the sight of me makes you tired." "Could be," she agreed, and sat down so that she could look out through the french window. He took some letters from his pocket, came over and dropped one of them into her lap. She looked down at the familiar flourish, the airmail stamps, the Sydney postmark. She was wearing a sleeveless, backless pink cotton frock, but suddenly she was chokingly hot about the throat. She slipped the letter quickly into her pocket, raised her head to meet a cobalt gaze.

Brent's shoulders lifted, he took another letter from his pocket and pushed it across the table to Ruth. "One from the same guy for you," he said. Ruth pounced. "Felix? How nice! That cousin of mine isn't a bit hard-boiled, you know, in spite of his connections. He has splendid manners - quite other-world." She slit the envelope, drew out a couple of sheets which were closely written in a thick ornate hand, and began to read. Brent sat down lazily, crossed his legs. "Read yours, if you want to, honey," he said to Sarah, with that air of twitting her companionably. "I can wait," she replied offhandedly. She was waiting for whatever might come from Ruth. Dr. Masters was emitting small sounds of satisfaction, but finally she couldn't even read the end of the letter without exclaiming, "Why, this is wonderful, Madalyn! Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah's hands clenched convulsively and damply. She smiled. "Tell you what?" "Perhaps," suggested Brent softly, "you'd find out more if you read your own letter." "Listen to this," said Ruth. "Felix says, 'By now you will have discovered that Madalyn has only a superficial interest in your country pursuits. She rides and swims, but only with a crowd, and she is far happier among people in the film profession than with those of the country. Well, so am I, which is why she and I find one another almost indispensable in London. Here, I'm missing her all the time...' " "Please don't read any more of it aloud," Sarah begged.

"Oh, but I like to hear it," said Brent, his smile just slightly edged. "Go on, Ruth. Give us the lot." Ruth did, of course. ".. and I can tell from her letter that she's missing me. Probably you know already that I proposed to Madalyn before we left England. We didn't become engaged, but it was understood that we'd marry soon after we were back again in London. So you can understand why I've already had too much of this tour. Take care of my titian-haired darling for me..." Ruth put down the letter and stared at Sarah. "The man's colourblind," she said, "but that's a common masculine failing when they're in love. Madalyn, I do wish you'd told us all this!" Brent was cool and non-committal. "A little long in the tooth for you, isn't he? Felix has been around, you know." Sarah was pale. "Yes, I know." "So you're going to marry him when you get back to England?" "Nothing... was settled." "He seems to be pretty sure of you. Is this the reason you put Lester in his place when he began to get ideas?" "No, I simply had no wish to be too friendly with Lester." "But it rather alters things," said Ruth. "You're going to be a cousin of mine by marriage!" "And a second cousin of mine," stated Brent satirically, "or is it auntie? I've never been quite sure how I'm related to Felix. This calls for a celebration!"

He crossed to the cupboard of the book fitment, unerringly found a bottle of South African champagne and glasses. He popped the cork, poured the sparkling liquid and brought a glass to Ruth and one to Sarah. Sarah's hands remained clasped tightly in her lap. She looked at the drink, then up at Brent. Behind the polite smile he was cold and watchful. "Take it," he said. "If it's too early to toast you as a pair, we'll drink to your future husband." "It's too early for that, too," she said, in a voice she scarcely recognised as her own. She stood up. "Will you both excuse me?" And she walked out into the garden. It was exhaustingly hot, but Sarah didn't notice it. She went out and down the lane away from the road. She crossed to the shade of a line of karri trees and leant back against one of them. Her pukes throbbed into the trunk and hot needles stabbed between her eyelids. This was something neither she nor Madalyn had foreseen. There was Felix, six thousand miles away in Sydney, thinking tenderly of his Madalyn who had more or less promised to marry him, and Madalyn was ... heaven knew where. Meanwhile, Sarah had to sit back and take it. Take Ruth's ebullient delight, Brent's sarcasm. She wouldn't stand another day of it! She would be honest with Ruth, and then get out. Now, even Madalyn's reasons for coercing her sister into taking her place at Pietsdorp seemed hazy and unimportant. Madalyn had been afraid of upsetting Felix irreparably; she had said she couldn't bear to have him know that her illness had been faked, let alone her reason for sending Sarah to Pietsdorp in her place. If only it were possible to get in touch with Madalyn. Cape Town must be nearly fifteen hundred miles away, and there wasn't a soul in Johannesburg to whom Sarah could go for help. This was a big

country, the towns far apart and a good deal of it untamed. Even the cities were bewildering, and for the life of her Sarah couldn't work out how, if she did go down to Cape Town, she could take steps to find her sister. Madalyn knew she was here; for that reason alone she daren't leave Pietsdorp. She heard Brent, willed steel into her backbone as she straightened to confront him. He was big and brown in the sunshine, the white shirt blew gently; his tone lacked expression. "If you've discovered since coming here that you can't marry Felix, why don't you find the courage to write and tell him so?" "It isn't something I can discuss with anyone," she said. "If it affects you so deeply," he answered abruptly, "it's definitely something you ought to discuss." Then, almost savagely, "What in the world made you believe yourself in love with a man like Felix Frayne? Just working with a chap doesn't force you to give in to him when he fancies a more intimate relationship." Huskily, she said, "You know nothing about it, Brent. Keep out of this." "Be frank," he said curtly. "Do you still have the same feeling for Felix that you had in England? " She could answer this as herself, damningly. "Yes, I do." "Then why didn't you go with him to Australia?" "He... he thought I wasn't well enough." "You could have followed him."

"Except that he had no sooner left the country than he thought up this plan of sending me to Pietsdorp for a quiet spell. Please leave it there, Brent." He looked for a moment into the pleading grey eyes, but they didn't soften him. The corners of his mouth turned down. "Maybe he's right for you at that. You certainly don't belong here. Come on back to the house; you're getting too hot." She hadn't the strength to refuse to go with him. She walked at his side, entered the garden and moved round to where Ruth was settling herself under the tulip tree. In her forthright fashion Ruth remarked, "Reading that letter aloud was in bad taste, and I apologise. But only Brent heard it, and he won't mention it to anyone, will you, Brent? I do hope you forgive me, Madalyn." Sarah made some sort of reply and sank down into the chair Brent placed for her. It was a relief to see that he had not brought a seat for himself; she longed for him to leave. "By the way," Ruth said comfortably, "Brent was going to ask you to go over to Daniesrust with him this afternoon. I wouldn't mind looking the place over myself, so I suggest we both go and meet him there." "What's happening at Daniesrust?" Sarah asked with an effort. "There are things to do," Brent said, as he moved away. "I mentioned a favour you could do for me last week-end, but we left it in the air. But you don't have to bother about it."

"Don't be so bearish, Brent," said Ruth. "We'll be there by three o'clock. Madalyn would love to list those pictures and antiques for you." "Oh, what the hell," he said under his breath, and went to his car. They watched him turn and shoot out on to the road, accelerate and disappear. Ruth sighed comfortably. "If you'd known Brent as long as I have you'd trust him," she said. "He doesn't often get bad-tempered, but when he does you have to ignore it. He didn't mean anything nasty about Felix; he merely has the foolish idea that you're too young for him. When you went out I told him straight that because he'd chosen a girl of Cornelia's age, it didn't mean that every man liked them so mature." Sarah inspected her fingernails. "What did he say to that?" "Something about my being a hidebound old medico who's never lived. He never takes any notice of me." Sarah changed the topic, asked a few random questions about the things that grew in Zaire. They talked for a while, after which she went in to put in a couple of hours in the study. But this morning the work on the book was terribly trying, and as she typed it seemed to Sarah that she had deciphered this particular piece of writing over and over again. The incident it recorded was interesting enough, but it was too far removed from Pietsdorp and Comyns Ridge, and the rest. Several times she re-lived those moments in the lounge when Ruth had read out Felix's letter and Brent had been sitting there with a smile on his lips and cool comprehension in the dark blue eyes.

Sickeningly, she recalled the sudden tangling of her own emotions, and again she knew the hot, choking sensation. It was beastly unfair to be so tied! Yet she was fatally aware that never in a thousand years could she reveal Madalyn's part in the whole business. She had come here as Madalyn Knight and she would leave as the same person, as uncaringly as she could. Brent had been right in saying she didn't belong here. But the reasons she didn't belong here were none that he knew about. As Sarah Knight she simply could not exist in Pietsdorp. She leant an arm along the typewriter and pressed her burning forehead to it. She was beginning to feel that if Madalyn didn't write soon she would go crazy.

CHAPTER SEVEN IT was a cool, gaily dressed Sarah who drove Ruth Masters over to Daniesrust that afternoon. The farm adjoined Comyns Ridge on the north side, and to the house it was five miles by road; a pleasant five miles through Comyns Ridge orange- groves and the Daniesrust cotton and tomato lands. Cornelia, it appeared, grew tomatoes for a canning concern, acres and acres of them which were bought by area and picked by the firm's band of wandering field natives. The house, built on old Cape Dutch lines, lay in a sundrenched pasture with only a small flower-garden around it. There was a screen of gums to windward, but on the other side the land sloped gently upwards to the lower reach of a small mountain. A servant let them in, and when Ruth had explained who they were he went away on large bare feet. Sarah took a look round the big sitting-room and decided that it wasn't rich and comfortable, like Comyns Ridge. It was certainly rich, but there was no casual warmth in the place. A show-house - just as there were show-houses in England where old beams and fireplaces were exposed and old furniture was collected with care for rooms which were draughty and low-ceilinged and full of odd steps to trap the unwary. By the standards of southern Africa the rooms were full of antiques. There were four-poster beds with brocade covers and valances, paintings of heavy-faced women in kappies and staunch old men with Dutch beards. There was an ancient cradle slung between carved posts, and in one bedroom stood a scarred fruitwood writing-desk with a brass plaque attached to it. The plaque stated, in high Dutch, that one Cornelius Nicholaas du Plessis had used the desk when writing his diary after the kaffir troubles in the district nearly a hundred years ago.

They had roamed the house for about twenty minutes before Brent turned up. A minor veld fire had claimed his attention, and he spoke as if he wouldn't have minded had it kept him for the rest of the afternoon. He didn't smile or tease, did not even rise to Ruth's clumsy banter, He was entirely businesslike. "An agent in Johannesburg is putting on a special sale for all the old pieces, and we have to get them listed and packed," he told them. "I'll mark all the bits of furniture that are worth sending. The rest of the stuff can go to the local auctioneer." "Do you mean that Cornelia's selling up everything?" demanded Ruth. "Every stick. She doesn't want to see any of it again." "But, good heavens, some of it must have been in her family for two hundred years!" "It's her decision," he said, shrugging. "The name is finished, and as far as she's concerned Daniesrust is finished as well. She's selling up." "That's a big step," Ruth remarked soberly. "I really think you should dissuade her till she's had time to get over Pieter's death." He shook his head. "She's in the hell of a way," he said, and left it at that. Sarah had put on the brightly striped dress for her own benefit, but in spite of it the afternoon was depressing. They started with the pictures, listing the name of each and its painter. To begin with, Brent helped, and as he knew most of the paintings, it was not necessary for him to turn them. He watched Sarah writing, asked once:

"Are you sure you'll be able to decipher that later?" To which she replied stiffly, "One generally has little difficulty with one's own scribble." Presently the servant called him away, and as Ruth had become immersed in an old medical encyclopaedia out in the hall, Sarah went on alone, carrying her kitchen chair to each picture, laboriously turning it, memorising the title and returning the frame to its original position and writing what she had learned. She reached a huge canvas showing the veld under a glowing sky, placed her chair and stood upon it, pondering, as she examined the irregular surface of the picture, how best to get at the title on its back. The artist's name she recognised and wrote down, and after further reflection she decided to back the wall and gently lift the frame, inserting her head upwards, to read the usual gummed slip. The idea worked. She got the four Dutch words of the name and then, fatally, raised her head to glance over the massive backboard of the canvas. Her blood froze, her throat let out a croak and in the same second the tips of her toes slipped on the painted chair, sending it sideways to crash on the floor. Simultaneously, the picture clanged back into position and Sarah collapsed in a heap, twisting her leg among the chair-rungs in the process. And there on the floor she saw the thing again, all the black seven inches of it, the side legs scuttling like a spider's, the pincers like scythes, the long tail purled up over its body, ready to sting. Sarah let out a full-blooded scream. Ruth Mid Brent dashed into the room together, saw her shrunk down against the wall gesticulating. Brent whipped out a handkerchief, fell upon the scorpion, killed it and tossed it out of the window. He came over swiftly and knelt with Ruth beside the shaking Sarah.

"God, I'm sorry," he said. "It's rarely you see them in daylight. Where was it?" "Behind the picture," Sarah said faintly. "I told you to leave those that were difficult! The thing didn't touch you, did it?" She shook her head. "It was the nightmare of my head being imprisoned up there with it. it looked ... frightful. I moved too quickly and the chair went over. I twisted my leg." "Let me see," he commanded. "My province, I think?" Ruth suggested politely. "Let's get her on to the couch." Brent managed it alone, easily. Perhaps it was the shock over the eerie thing that made Sarah wish she might weep. In falling, the waist seam of her dress had wrenched apart, and somehow the gaping hole' had a connection with the raggedness of her emotions; they were horribly untidy, too. She felt Ruth's hands over her legs, then Brent's fingers exploring her ankle and moving over the searing pain at her shin. If only they would go away and leave her alone! Into the middle of it all came the houseboy with a tea-tray. "No bones broken," said Ruth. "Just that long graze over the shin and possibly a bruise or two. Brent, where does Cornelia keep her firstaid kit?" "In the kitchen. The boy will fetch it." "I'll go myself and get hot water as well. You can pour Madalyn a cup of tea."

But when Ruth had gone he did not get up from where he sat, beside Sarah's feet on the couch. Almost unconsciously, it seemed, he was using a gentle massaging action with his two thumbs, one at each side of the wet, purple swelling. It relieved the pain so tremendously that she sat forward a little, watching him. His head rose, and she saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before, but except for the glint of anger his expression was unreadable. He spoke calmly. "Your legs are pretty," he said. "Pity to mark them." A pulsing was visible in the hollow of her throat. All at once, entirely without volition, she was saying quickly and not very coherently, "Don't judge me, Brent. Nothing is just as you think it is, and it isn't fair that you should be detached and contemptuous." "Supposing you tell me how I should act," he said evenly. "Shall I admire you as the girl who got her man - the secretary who rose in the world of films and eventually hooked her boss?" "You'll never understand," she replied, low-voiced, "but it isn't like that." His fingers drew slowly back from her leg, "Did his letter repeat the proposal?" he asked casually. "I don't know. I haven't opened it." "So you're a coward, as well as a bit of a cheat." "Brent..." "That's all right, my titian-haired darling," he drawled, unsmiling, as he got to his feet. "You have your own peculiar set of values and

your quota of good looks. You'll get by. Here's Ruth. I'll get you that tea." Quite happily, Ruth got busy. Brent brought the cup of tea, cooled it with more milk and held the saucer while Sarah drank. He took the cup and slipped a cigarette between her lips, flicked on his lighter. Sarah smoked, and tried to pull her shattered thoughts together. She looked up once, received the shock of his intent gaze, and looked down again at the top of Ruth's bent head. His hostile nearness was subtle torture. "There," Ruth said, as she sat back and regarded the dressing. "Can you walk on it, Madalyn?" Sarah tried, found the leg painful but no less strong than usual. "It's fine, thanks," she said. "Now let me give you your tea." Brent, by now, had gone over to the window, and was standing there, smoking. Sarah poured Ruth's tea, and asked: "A cup for you, Brent?" "No, thanks." "If you're free now we can finish listing the pictures together. It won't take long." "No, we'll leave them for the present," he said, without turning. "I don't want you to do anything more in this house. I'll manage it." "Very well. I may as well go." "I'll take you." "It isn't necessary. I shan't have any difficulty in driving."

"I'll take you, all the same," he said. "I'll come back for my own wagon later." Ruth, when she heard his decision, argued vaguely. She had found the old medical volume old-fashioned and therefore highly diverting, and would have enjoyed another hour over it. However, she had no sooner finished her tea than Brent had them outside, in the navy car, Ruth beside him and Sarah in the back. In no time at all they were at the bungalow. In reply to a query from Ruth, Brent said, "I'll catch a horse and get on home. We're fairly busy just now." And he was gone.

Within a couple of days the worst of the pain had left Sarah's leg. A three-inch scab formed over the shin, but in time that too would disappear. Mental pain, she thought and hoped, followed the same course. It diminished, hung on for a time as a local hurt, and then disappeared. She was still unwilling to admit to heartache. She argued, foolishly, that it was no use being in love with Brent, therefore she wasn't in love with him. Lester Pengelly came over one afternoon, but Sarah could only spare him half an hour. Lester was reorganising, cutting down on labour costs and selling off a few surplus implements in his barn to increase their capital. "Somehow, I just hadn't the urge to think it all out before, but it's an obvious way of putting the place on to a better financial basis. With oranges you don't have to plough so much back into the land, and when, eventually, there's as much money as the value of the farm, it can be mine, and Bob won't be any the worse off." "But isn't it awfully long-term?" she queried.

"Yes, but you haven't heard the has quarrelled with Bob. I don't row, because Bob isn't the type. said Biddy wouldn't be coming taking up nursing."

latest development. Biddy Macleod think it could have been much of a He just went silent last Sunday and over any more. Seems she talks of

Sarah blamed herself for forgetting Biddy, yet there was very little she could do for her. Without assistance, the girl had taken the first step in the right direction, but Sarah couldn't think it was right for her to go away. She loved Lester; quite apart from her own statements, she had proved it by acting quickly in the matter of Bob. But apparently she still planned to back out. Tentatively, Sarah said, "Are you sorry you won't have Biddy for a sister-in-law?" Lester gave this some thought. "I haven't wanted it all along, but I couldn't go against it because my reasons weren't the same as my mother's, and I knew Biddy would think they were and hate me for it." "What were your reasons?" He lifted his shoulders, as if he hadn't really given them much thought. "I've nothing against the Macleods, but I didn't fancy them overrunning the orange farm from their smallholding. When Biddy marries she'll need to get right away from her parents - otherwise they'll simply go on using her. They're fond of her, but it's what they're accustomed to." "What about Bob? He must be feeling rather sick." "Maybe, but he'll find someone else. He's got plenty of time."

When Lester had gone, Sarah reflected that he had changed considerably during the last few weeks, and made up her mind that she would get in touch with Biddy. Before she could do so, however, a more important matter took all her attention. It arrived in the form of a letter, next morning. Ruth came into the study, holding the letter. "Brent left it a few minutes ago. It's marked urgent, so I thought you'd better have it at once. I'll leave you alone to read it, but let me know if you need any help." As usual, the envelope was typed, but this time it was postmarked from Johannesburg. The letter inside was normal in every way to look at; the printed address of Walter Barnard's house at the top, Madalyn's writing and even her own initial at the end. Sarah read, felt her lips go dry, and moistened them. She rested her arms on the desk and tried to think, then read the note again. "It's all over. Walter proposed to the young widow who owns the house where we stayed in Cape Town, and I gave him notice. I can't explain in a letter, but I'm back at his house in Johannesburg for a week, and must see you. Tell them you have to buy a hat or something, only come. I can put you up overnight. Make it Friday, and I'll stay in all day. Burn this letter and start packing your toothbrush, there's a pet" In the next few moments Sarah discovered something. It was one thing to live in torment among people who matter, and quite another to be wrenched from their midst in order to discuss parting with them for ever. She had longed so much for word from Madalyn, yet now it had come she would have given everything to be back where she had been an hour ago, undisturbed at any rate in her anguish. This, it would appear, was a preparation for the end. Madalyn had gambled and lost, and now she had to decide the finer points of a

fresh meeting with Felix in London; she had to know much more about Pietsdorp and Cousin Ruth. Mechanically she set a flame to the letter and envelope, then she went along to Ruth in the sitting-room. The older woman looked up from a selection of glossy prints she had received through the post. "They're good!" she said enthusiastically. Then, her tones lower, "Had bad news?" Sarah hesitated. She ought to have rehearsed this scene, gone through it again and again so that she would not be forced to lie. "I have to see a friend in Johannesburg," she said. "I'll go one day and come back the next." "You may not get trains that conveniently. When do you want to go?" "Tomorrow, Friday. I ... I was wondering if I might use the car." Ruth considered this. "It's a long way for a woman to travel alone by road. I'd like to go with you, but perhaps you'd rather I didn't?" "Well ... I've been invited to stay with someone for the night." "I see. I don't want to force anything on you, but I needn't intrude. You could drop me at a hotel as soon as we arrive, and pick me up when you're ready to leave next day. I'm afraid that's the only way Brent would consent to your taking the car." Sarah nodded, and smiled palely. "You've said several times you'd like to do a morning's shopping in Johannesburg. Shall I send a note across to Brent?"

"No, I'll do it. I don't know why, but he doesn't favour you just now. As it happens, he's going over to spend the week-end with Cornelia, so he'll be in a better mood. Leave it with me." Sarah couldn't settle back to work that day. She thought of Brent in the same house with a Cornelia who needed love and sympathy, and knew a wild and illogical flare of jealousy. She thought of Madalyn, serenely waiting for the sister who had kept one fire going while she herself fanned a spark that had gone damp on her. From the beginning Sarah had disliked the whole business, and now life itself had grown purposeless and distasteful. Into the bargain, she seemed to have acquired a new, tyrannical, obsessive emotion that was foreign to her usual happy nature. She needed to get away from Pietsdorp, needed it badly; yet even so brief an absence would be like severing a thin and precious link. How was she going to bear the final cut? There could have been little opposition from Brent. He himself drove the small car down to the Pietsdorp garage and had it greased and filled up. When he returned it to the bungalow, at about four-thirty, he merely stepped from it into his own vehicle. "See that she takes care," he said to Ruth through the window, and then waved at them both before he moved away. "I ought to be going for good," thought Sarah desolately. "If I were, he'd be glad." The two women were up early next morning, but even so there were two patients who had to be attended to before Ruth could leave. However, they were on the road before nine, and consuming the miles on a trafficless ribbon of tarmac that curled down into krantzes and up over mountains and ran round the green bowls of the fertile valleys.

The journey took longer than the outward trip Sarah had made in the ranch wagon, and they were not even within sight of the Reef when they stopped for a picnic lunch. They filled up with petrol and went on, sighted their first gold-mine dump half an hour later. Somehow, Sarah missed the by-pass, and it was small towns and mine-heaps the whole way to Johannesburg. And she shivered from the surprising coolness of the atmosphere. The sky was overcast and dry lightning flickered incessantly. Summer in the high veld always ended in storms and cold nights. It felt as if they were on a different side of the world. They were among the traffic and the skyscrapers. Ruth indicated a hotel and Sarah drove round the block and came back to it. They went together into the vestibule, the reception clerk confirmed that he had a room with a private bath for Dr. Masters, and the two said goodbye. It was not till she had left those crowded streets behind and was speeding north on one of the wide roads, that Sarah permitted herself to think ahead to the meeting with Madalyn, Even then she could not imagine the course their interview might take, but of one thing she was sure: Madalyn already had everything mapped out, her decisions made. She recognised the Barnard house from Madalyn's description, drove over the cattle-guard and along the drive to the heavily ornamented front door. She got out of the car and her glance was attracted to the balcony above the porch. Madalyn was there, waving languidly and smiling. "I'll come right down," she called. "Don't ring." Sarah waited. The main door opened and Madalyn came out She didn't greet her sister, but looked over the dusty car.

"Neat, but opulent," she said. "Whose?" "It's been lent to Dr. Masters, but she doesn't drive. Do I bring my bag?" "Oh, yes. I haven't a proper servant. A houseboy cleans up every morning, but I go out to most of my meals. I couldn't stick around this graveyard all day." Sarah took her case from the back of the car and followed her sister into the massive, over-furnished hall. Madalyn indicated the ornate staircase and they went upstairs together, and turned along a glassroofed corridor. Madalyn opened a door. "I've given you the room next to mine. The boy made up the bed this morning." "You must have been very sure I'd turn up today." "Well, darling, I asked you to," said Madalyn, in a tone of mild reproof. "This is life or death to me, Sarah." Madalyn leant against the door-frame, her hands in the pockets of her black house slacks. The tight emerald sweater was high-necked, the sleeves rolled above the elbows. Somehow, here, where the air was abnormally dry even in the rains, Madalyn kept the creamy, supple skin, the unlined brow. The red hair must have received expert attention recently; it curled back carelessly, gleamed even in the comparative dimness of the bedroom. Sarah dropped her linen jacket into a chair, "Where does one wash in this palace?" she asked. "That door over there leads to a bathroom between your room and mine. The whole upper floor is built that way - a bathroom to each pair of bedrooms."

"Very convenient. Mind if I get rid of the grime?" "I suppose that now you're here we have plenty of time for talking. I'll wait for you." She went to the bedside table, took a cigarette from the silver box kept there and lit up. By the time she had strolled across the room to look out at the gathering storm, Sarah was back again, taking a comb from her bag. Madalyn turned her back to the window, watched her sister for a minute. Then she said, "Considering where you've come from you're singularly uncommunicative." "I rather surmised," said Sarah, "that I'd been called here to listen, not to talk." She replaced the comb, took an envelope from the bag. "This came for you from Felix. He wrote and told Dr. Masters that he hoped to marry you in England." Madalyn took the letter and slit the envelope. "Good old Felix. He's full of love for little me. He's waited so long to marry that I think he'll make quite an exciting husband. He'll be so grateful." "You don't seem to be very cut up about Walter," "I'm over it now. I've lived with it for quite a while - ever since we arrived in Cape Town, in fact. We were actually lent a house, but the owner was there underfoot all the time. An old flame of Walter's. I saw it happening and couldn't do a thing about it. The old lady doted on her, and Walter was so flattered that he walked about with a perpetual silly smile. It was my most sickening experience!" "Wasn't it rather pointed - to leave him the moment you knew he was going to be married?"

Madalyn flicked away ash with pink-tipped fingers. "I saw it coming and used my last card. It was through me that things came to a head as soon as they did. I told him I might have to return to England at short notice - left it open for him to beg me to stay or look around for a substitute." She smiled wryly. "He didn't beg me to stay." "How do you happen to be here, in his house?" "That was easy. I'd left things in my room, and I needed a place to stay while I made my travel arrangements. He gave me his doorkeys, and I'm to post them back to him next Monday. Accommodating chap, Walter. Wouldn't hurt a fly." Sarah shook the linen jacket and slipped it back over the sleeveless blouse. She moved across the room and sat down on a chair that looked as if it ought to belong to some period or other, though Sarah couldn't think which. She watched her sister read the letter from Felix, saw the slight smile on her red lips as she folded the sheets and tucked them back into the envelope. "With Walter Barnard it was just a try-on, wasn't it?" Sarah queried. "You didn't care for him, but you'd have liked to be married to a gold mine." "You're so crude, darling - a bit like brother Bill. Walter's a likeable man, but I have to admit now that on the whole I prefer Felix. When I get away from this place I shan't mind things having taken this turn. It's only by Walter's standards that Felix is poor; in England he's well off." "And you think that's a good basis for marriage?" "You don't have my slant on things, Sarah, and you aren't twentyseven." She laughed suddenly. "I'll bet Dr. Masters has a weird

picture of the woman who's going to marry her cousin! How do you get on with the old warhorse?" "She's neither old nor a warhorse. I respect her tremendously." "You're too easily taken in. What if she has been a doctor in Zaire? No one sent her there!" "You didn't ask me here to discuss Ruth's character. Are you definitely going to marry Felix?" "Yes, I am." "And you intend to carry this deception right through?" Madalyn's stare was hard and it glittered. "Do you suppose that after going to all this trouble, I'd play the sweet innocent and confess? Where would I be then, with a man like Felix?" "If he loves you, he'll get over it." "My dear Sarah," said Madalyn unpleasantly, "your knowledge of Felix covers the few times you met him during the couple of months he spent in this country. I've been with him seven or eight years, and it would be hard to find anyone connected with films as simple and straitlaced. If he hadn't had a rigid code I'd never have sent you to this Pietsdorp place." The last sentence was unfortunately phrased, and besides, after six hours on the road, Sarah was tired. "What if I have other plans?" she demanded. "Do you think I exist merely to be pushed around on your affairs?" "Now, darling," Madalyn said softly, cajolingly. "I do care for Felix and I want to marry him. You don't know how glad I am that you

took this job on for me, and if I could, I'd finish it myself. I'm grateful, Sarah. Really!" "Did you get me here to tell me that?" "What a mood you're in! There's lots I have to know, and we couldn't manage it all on the telephone." "Do you have the use of a car?" "Oh, yes. Walter's generosity is almost alarming." "And it didn't occur to you that you might have met me near to Pietsdorp? I'm doing all this for you, Madalyn, not for myself." Madalyn's lips curved in a secret smile. "I believe it was as much for Bill's sake as mine that you took it on, darling." "You put me in a spot where I couldn't even send Bill my address." "But you've been able to write to him. I'm quite sure you handled him diplomatically; you wouldn't have Bill worried for the world." . "I'm not feeling diplomatic any longer. I've had more than enough of being someone else!" Petulantly, Madalyn flung her cigarette out of the window. "I'm beginning to wonder about you," she said. "What's been happening at that place to make you like this? " Sarah rubbed her eyes, a little wearily. "It hasn't been easy, but if I thought I was doing the right thing I'd go on as long as you want me to. I'll never believe that being dishonest with Felix over this is the way to deal with it. I've longed for you to get in touch with me, so that we could come to some other arrangement, but for weeks you've

simply ignored me. Now you're speaking as if you expect me to go on indefinitely. I can't do it, Madalyn!" "I trusted you implicitly, darling," said Madalyn, helping herself to another cigarette, "I knew you'd never let me down, and I'm quite sure that even though you haven't had my experience you've worked hard to make Dr. Masters believe in you ... in me, I should say. She's probably easily foxed, but you had to live up to me - I realise that. I had so little to tell you till now. Don't you understand?" Sarah nodded; her sister could never see her own behaviour as monstrous. She tried a different line. "Supposing we carry this through successfully and you do marry Felix. It'll always be there between you, and there'll always be the danger of Ruth's deciding to take a holiday in England. She and Felix admire each other for what they are and they'd be bound to meet." Madalyn laughed. "Leave that sort of detail to me. I'll keep them apart, but even if she did turn up unexpectedly it wouldn't be for years, and I'd brazen it out. Not that she'll ever leave the bush, or whatever it is. One thing I do know about her is that she's never been out of Africa, and she's hardly likely to start wandering now. And Felix won't come this way again; he's photographed so much of South Africa that there'd be no point in it." She paused. "In this letter you brought me he says he's sick to death of travelling and not feeling too well. By the way, he's expecting me to leave South Africa in a month's time, and he'll probably write again to Pietsdorp. While you're here I'll answer this epistle and you can post it when you get back. Now, darling, get it into your head that we're going to finish this thing we've started so well. At the most, you won't have to stay longer than a month, and as soon as I'm quite sure, I'll make a reservation on a ship for you. You can't stay in this country, of course; it's large, but there'd always be the risk of meeting someone from Pietsdorp. I'll go home by air myself."

"And what am I supposed to have been doing while you were with Dr. Masters?" asked Sarah stiffly. "You just worked here in Johannesburg for - let's say an industrial agent. That sounds harmless enough to stave off further inquiries. After all, once I'm married you'll have to live alone, and we aren't likely to be together an awful lot. You'll be careful on this one subject with Felix. I'm sure of it." Just then Sarah felt she couldn't endure any more. She had known that Madalyn was selfish and clever at using other people to her own ends, but this cold, calculating outlook, this calm looking into a future in which Sarah would be merely an acquaintance carving her own way in the world, was just a little too much to absorb, on top of everything else. She stood up abruptly. "May I make a cup of tea? " "Why, of course. As you were coming, I didn't arrange to go out to dinner tonight, so we'll have to make do with tinned stuff. But you'll manage. Come down, and I'll show you the kitchen." While Sarah was making tea in the oversized modern kitchen, the storm broke. Hailstones battered the windows, thunder shook them and violet-coloured lightning split the sky with a series of cracks. "We have one of these every afternoon now," Madalyn said, as she sat on the table swinging her legs- "That's why I've decided to spend the rest of my time at the coast. It'll be warmer there, anyway, and I shall be able to have a real holiday. I have a standing invitation from a man and his wife whom I met while we - the company - were down in Durban." She winked. "Cheaper and more fun than staying at a hotel."

Sarah drank her tea almost without speaking. On her way to Johannesburg she had hoped for very little from Madalyn, yet now she knew for certain that nothing had changed, she felt a sense of letdown so complete that it was like a delayed disaster. Perhaps subconsciously she had imagined herself going back for long enough to tell everyone she was not Madalyn Knight, but Sarah, half-sister to Madalyn. Darkness came and the rain stopped. They ate warmed-up food from elegant china and drank coffee in the kitchen, and Madalyn cheerfully suggested a cinema. They found one in that northern suburb, and when they got back to the house went straight to bed. It had been such a long day for Sarah that she was asleep within ten minutes. Even next morning Madalyn did not show much interest in Pietsdorp. "I know the set-up," she said, "and if Felix is interested in Dr. Masters' book I'll be playful, and insist that he wait till it's published. If I should need to know more later on, I'll ask you about it Too silly to clutter myself with a lot of information I may not need." "Ruth isn't a hermit, you know. There are neighbours." "Are there?" Madalyn pondered, then shrugged. "Only farmers, I suppose, and Felix knows I wouldn't be bothered with the type. By the way" - a glint of interest did come into the green eyes then "what is that man like - the one who drove you out there?" "He's Dr. Masters' nephew, a landowner," Sarah said with reserve. "Young and good-looking?" "Fairly."

Madalyn's glance was inquisitive. "Could you lose your heart to him?" "It wouldn't do, would it?" remarked Sarah coolly. "I'm afraid not. You're Madalyn, engaged to Felix. Never forget it, sweetie!" Madalyn drifted around in a green nylon neglige, stood by while Sarah telephoned Ruth and arranged to pick her up at ten-thirty. She pencilled the Durban address on a slip of paper and tucked it into Sarah's pocket, gave her the letter for posting to Felix. Out on the drive she shaded her eyes to look across the rain- washed lawns. "Well, it was great while it lasted," she said. "Beside a whacking salary I had some grand presents from Walter and wonderful times. If I'd married him I'd have gone over to the other side of the footlights, and it might have become a bore. It's banal to say that everything happens for the best, but in my case it's true." "I hope you'll appreciate Felix when you get him," Sarah commented. "When shall I hear from you? " "I'm not sure, but I shall leave for Durban on Monday. I think I can get a lift down there in someone's car. You can take it that I'm at the Durban address from Monday night onwards, and if anything comes from Felix you can re-address it. Thanks a lot, Sarah." Sarah turned the navy car, called goodbye and drove away from the house of Walter Barnard.

CHAPTER EIGHT IT was quieter than ever at the bungalow, and for three days they had no visitors at all. Consequently, the two women worked intensively, and on Tuesday evening found themselves at the end of the doctor's notes. Ruth was jubilant, but tired of it all. "We must rest from it," she stated firmly. "If only Pietsdorp had some excitement to offer once in a while! We might have dinner at the Springbok." "That reminds me. There was an invitation from Lester to both of us. The Growers' Association dinner, I think. Shall we go?" Ruth nodded. "I can get by at a binge of that sort in my new silk suit. We don't go in much for evening dress in the country. On Friday, isn't it? I wonder if Brent will be back?" "I thought he was only going away for the week-end." "So did I, but Johannes Bekker says he had a message to carry on as best he could. I'm quite worried about Cornelia." "Do you think she's ill?" "What else would keep him? I'd like to have had a talk with her, but neither of them gave me a chance. Let's forget it all. We'll take a picnic down to Crocodile Falls tomorrow, and you can teach me to knit. It's a terrible thing, but I've never knitted in my life!" So they had their day by the river, admired the rushing waters and the walls of rock at the Falls, and late in the afternoon came to a glade where trees were hung with Spanish moss and a perilous log bridge spanned the river. It was an idyllic spot and they lazed there for a while. Ruth even juggled with a ball of wool and knitting-pins.

They arrived home just after dark, to find Biddy Macleod's motheaten steed chewing at the new grass in the garden. Ruth shooed him outside the gate and lifted her shoulders at Sarah. "For you, I hope," she said under her breath. "I only like love-stories that have happy endings." Sarah had no time to reply, for Biddy came forward from the gloom of the stoep and down the steps. She bade Ruth a polite "Good evening", and stood silent till she was alone with Sarah. Then Sarah asked, "Would you rather stay outside?" Biddy nodded, and moved backward into the light from the doorway. She wore old denims, but her shoes were ordinary brown brogues and her shirt white. Her hair was less strained- looking, and Sarah realised, after a moment, that the horse-tail had been looped up into a loose knot. It was the hair which made the difference, really. Biddy wore no make-up - not even the rub of lipstick Sarah had advised but the relaxed, adult hair-do turned her from an overgrown hoyden into a farm-bred young woman. She moistened her lips. "I'm sorry to trouble you again, Miss Knight..." "It's no trouble, Biddy. Come and sit on the step." They sank down together. Biddy glanced from her own shoes to the plain white sandals worn by Sarah. Now that they were not facing each other, Sarah could give more attention to the freckled face and rather tight mouth of the other girl. No doubt about it, Biddy looked older and a little chastened. "You've heard that I've broken with Bob?" Biddy asked. "Yes. I expect it took some courage."

"Not much. I didn't prepare for it at all. Bob just said something one day that riled me and I told him I disliked both him and his damned elephant's hide. Everything was getting me down, I guess, and I took it out on Bob." "It had to come, but I suppose it's awkward for you, seeing him often." Biddy shrugged. "He looked a bit hurt at first, but now he doesn't seem to care. I'm... going in for nursing." "Lester told me you were thinking of it. Can't you stick it out here?" "What's the use?" She sounded jaded and hopeless. "I need to get well away from this place and to be busy. I'm sorry to have come to you again, but my father wants me to go to the Growers' Association dinner. He's been saying for years that I should start going when I was twenty-one, and this will be the first time. I have the money for a dress, but I wondered if you'd go with me to buy it. If I go alone I'll come out with a couple of sensible cottons and a pair of shorts." Sarah smiled. "At least you haven't lost your sense of humour," she said. "All right, we'll go tomorrow morning. Shall I meet you in town?" "Outside Evatt's at ten. Thanks a lot." "And don't turn up on a horse, wearing slacks!" Sarah thought of something. "Biddy, will you go riding with me one day - show me how to look as if I were born in a saddle?" "Sure. That's one thing I do know about. It'll be nice to do something for you, for a change. I wish you'd been around a few years ago, when the Pengelleys first came to these parts. At seventeen I was just a lout."

Sarah laughed. "I was shy and earnest, which is just as bad. What about coming inside for a cool drink?" Biddy shrank back into her rough shell. "Well... no, thanks. I won't take up any more of your time. Ten in the morning. G'bye." Next morning they bought the dress, a printed silk with a pale green background and a low round neck that was daintily scalloped. Biddy, a little feverish with delight and apprehension, quite needed fresh air when they came out of the shop. "How did you get into town? " asked Sarah. "I walked. That's why I felt so sticky while I was trying on the dress. I feel better now, though." "Let me take you home." "Will you?" But Biddy looked reluctant. "I'll drop you at your gate," said Sarah diplomatically. Biddy talked brightly as they ran out of town and took a side road, and it was not till they were running alongside Pengelly's land that Sarah dared suggest: "What about shoes to go with your new dress, Biddy?" "I have some black suede flats my mother bought for my birthday haven't worn them yet. I couldn't wear high heels, anyway." "Can you dance?" "A little - chiefly the volkspele." "What in the world is that?"

"Folk dances - Afrikaans fashion." Ingenuously, she added, "You'll like them, Madalyn. They're jolly and ... not embarrassing!" A moment later she said, "This opening is ours - we don't have a gate." Then, quietly, "I'd like you to meet my mom and dad. They came from Newcastle nearly thirty years ago, when they were first married." The house was tiny, but very white. It was set amid bare earth, where healthy-looking poultry scratched, and the view was of cotton and a few citrus trees. In the narrow stoep a window-sill was loaded with azaleas in pots, and from the roof was suspended a gaily painted tin that spilled a profusion of weeping fern. The door opened straight into a living-room which was furnished cheaply but with far more taste than Walter Barnard had displayed in his mansion. Mrs. Macleod came from the kitchen, a plump brown woman with hair like Biddy's except that it was streaked with grey, and tired but humorous eyes. A shade nervously, Biddy made the introduction. "Sit you down," said Mrs. Macleod, with a remnant of Geordie accent. "My husband's coming for his tea just now, and Biddy will get extra cups." She called after her daughter. "I was just halving the scones. Will you do it, lass?" Sharing the Macleods' tea, hot scones with home-made butter and half-an-hour's conversation did more to endear Biddy to Sarah than any of the talks she had had with the girl herself. While Biddy was in the kitchen filling up the milk jug, Sarah had a few revealing words with Mrs. Macleod. "Did our Biddy tell you she wants to go nursing?" the woman asked quickly, low-voiced.

Sarah nodded. "She's the kind to make a good nurse." "Except that we'd rather she made a good wife. It's not that we mind her leaving home so much; she's stuck to us for too long, and it might do her good to get away. But she doesn't make friends easily, and she won't be happy alone. It's kind of worrying." "She hasn't gone yet," said her husband. "No, but there's nothing to keep her here now that she won't have anything more to do with Bob Pengelly. As a matter of fact," stated Mrs. Macleod quietly but proudly, "I always thought Biddy, too good for Bob. He's a pleasant lad, but he wouldn't have got anywhere without Lester. Biddy's got spirit; if she does go off on her own she'll fight through. I don't want her to be lonely and miserable while she's doing it, that's all." Biddy came back into the room just then, but the brief exchange decided Sarah. For as long as she herself remained in Pietsdorp she would do all she could to help Biddy Macleod. She told Biddy that she could expect to be picked up on Friday evening, said a cheerful goodbye and drove back to the bungalow. Friday arrived and Brent came back. He got in early, but Johannes went into town for the mail and came by with a letter for Sarah from Madalyn. Her sister, Sarah learned, had arrived in Durban, and thought Sarah should tell Dr. Masters she must leave Pietsdorp a month from this week-end. She gave a date for her own return to the Reef, and thought the two of them might have a last meeting in Johannesburg before the plane left. After that, Sarah could make her way to Cape Town. Sarah wrote a brief reply, agreeing to do as Madalyn wished, and drove down to the post office with it. Instead of returning straightway to the bungalow, she drove on through the town and out on to the

road she had taken with Brent to the Game Reserve. The night at the rest camp seemed a long, long way away, more like something she had thought up than reality. At the time it had been too real; the sudden chase along the path beside the palisade, the distant roar of a lion, the dim lamp in the hut, Brent's grip, his lips.... She pulled in beside an orchard of sub-tropical fruits, rested her arms on the wheel and her forehead against the back of her wrist. Sitting there, she knew an unbearable sense of failure. She had not failed Madalyn or Bill, but herself. Here in the lowveld she had lost something infinitely precious, something she would miss for the rest of her life. She might be gay with Ruth, encouraging towards Biddy, friendly with Lester, but she could not escape the cold emptiness of her heart. Driven by an unhappy restlessness, she moved on, but it didn't help, and as it got towards one o'clock she halted the car on the gravel drive outside the bungalow. She heard a whinny and knew the horses must be close to the fence, but somehow she had no urge to go round and stroke their noses. She went up and into the house, realised she was holding some new periodicals she had bought and took them into the lounge. And there she found Brent. He was standing with his back to the window, the breeze gently blowing across the top of his dark head. One hand was in the pocket of his breeches and in the other he held a cigarette. He smiled faintlyShe did the same; it was just a cold, bright movement of her mouth. "How are you?" he asked coolly. "Is that a greeting, or do you really want to know?" She dropped the papers on to the table and stood there, with one hand resting on them. "More to the point, how is Cornelia?"

"She's coming round, slowly," he said. "It's selling up the house and its contents that's the devil. I've been around, seeing various agents. That's what's kept me away this week." "And is it all settled now?" "The trouble is only beginning, but I'm hoping to get hold of a chap to handle the whole thing for me." He pressed out his cigarette. "Where have you been all morning?" "Just driving." "You can't escape yourself that way. I expect you discovered that." She ignored this. "I suppose you've seen Ruth?" "I've been here more than an hour - she's gone off to change. As a matter of fact, I'm staying to lunch." "Did Ruth remember to tell Jacob? " "I told him myself." His eyes narrowed at her. "In a cleft stick, aren't you, honey?" Her heart lurched, but she said evenly, "What are you getting at?" "Just that. You're caught by promises you've made to Felix, and you haven't the pluck to be honest with him. It looks as if it's getting you down." "Seeing that you're so discerning," she said, "I won't trouble to deny a thing." Then, illogically, "Do I really look unhappy?"

"I'd say you look unnaturally bright, which could amount to the same thing." He shoved the other hand into his pocket. "Ruth says you haven't talked to her about it at all." "That's right. Why should you concern yourself?" His teeth went together. "I wouldn't, if the thought of becoming Felix's wife made you ecstatic. But, hell, why should I bother! You must be older than you look, or you couldn't have become that familiar with him. What I'll never understand is why you didn't go on with him to Australia ... or were you uncertain even before you came to Pietsdorp? " Sarah's nerves were tight. "I can't discuss it, Brent. If you'll excuse me, I'd like a wash before lunch." She escaped quickly, felt her eyes smarting as she soaped her hands. She admitted now that she had hoped Brent would return in a changed mood; instead, his old mood had hardened and sharpened. He must be even more worried than she had thought over Cornelia, and, in a man's way, he was taking his revenge on others. She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror, used powder and lipstick and smoothed the collar of the blue-and-white dress. She heard his voice, suddenly - not what he was saying, just his tones, and her heart gave a suffocating leap. Odd that in the midst of so much pain the mere sound of his voice could bring such swift delight. She stood back from the mirror, looked straight into her own grey eyes. Just for that one long moment anything seemed possible. She could go to Brent and tell him the truth, swear him to secrecy. For these last weeks they could understand each other. The moment passed. She bent and took a handkerchief from a drawer and went along to the lounge. Brent and Ruth were having a drink,

and he got up to pour granadilla for Sarah. They took their glasses with them into the dining-room, and Jacob set the cold chicken in front of Brent, the salads in the centre of the table. Ruth was merry. "I didn't tell you we'd finished the first rough draft of the book, did I, Brent? We just went at it after the week-end in Jo'burg, and did about twenty thousand words in three days. So we're resting now, before we start on lacing it all together with narrative. You know, if Madalyn were going to stay on, we could complete the whole job in another three months." "You should offer her a bigger salary than she gets from Felix," he commented, with a hint of sarcasm. "It might do the trick." Ruth accepted her plate from him, looked dubiously at the browned leg of chicken and the large slice of ham. "I've a good appetite, but I'm not a farmer," she said. "Don't give Madalyn a portion this size, or she won't even start on it." "I think I'd like just salad, please," Sarah said quickly. He passed her an empty plate, pushed the salad bowls nearer to her and said laconically, "Help yourself." Then he carved a leg of chicken for himself. Sarah took green salad and chopped pineapple, ate a little and braced herself to speak. "I'm afraid I have to leave just a month from this week-end," she said, "but we can get quite a lot done in a month." Brent, who was on her right at the square table, lifted a sardonic brow. "I'll see you off at the airport," he said. "You'll see me off right here," she answered quietly. "I'm leaving Pietsdorp by train, alone."

There was a silence, uncomfortable for Sarah, though Brent went on eating, unperturbed. Ruth looked from one to the other, creased her forehead. "Well, we don't have to talk about it yet, do we?" she said, with a determined smile, "though I must say you're not flattering, Brent. Don't mind him, Madalyn. If you're going to marry Felix, I'm glad for you, even if Brent isn't." She tut- tutted. "I shouldn't have mentioned that because it isn't our business, anyway." Brent said, "Relax, Ruthie. When Madalyn came into this household she brought her complications with her, even if we didn't know about them at the time. We're entitled to our opinions about the things she does. You can be sure she's come to some very definite conclusions about Comyns Ridge." He looked at Sarah with a small tight smile. "That gives you permission to say what you think about us, too." "Thanks," she said drily. Ruth let out a half-desperate sigh. "A new topic is indicated, I think," she said. "Are you going to the Growers' Association" dinner tonight, Brent?" "That's why I made sure of getting back today. I thought I was taking you two girls." "Well... Lester asked us and we accepted." He shrugged. "I'll see you there, then." "Well, why didn't you invite us before?" she exclaimed. "I wasn't sure you wouldn't bring Cornelia back with you - that's why I accepted." "Go with Lester, by all means," he said patiently. "As it happens, I want to see him tonight; I've some news for him."

"For Lester?" said Ruth. He nodded, and answered firmly, "And I'm not talking it over with you first. More chicken? " Ruth didn't reply to this. She prodded the piece he had already given her and abandoned it, ate some ham. The meal proceeded along orthodox lines till Jacob came in with the coffee. Brent went off at about two-thirty; he vaulted the fence, climbed oh to a horse and was away. Ruth and Sarah dawdled around the garden and then sat under the tulip tree with books. "When do these bloom, if they're going to?" asked Sarah idly. "I had a couple in Zaire that bloomed twice a year," Ruth answered. "Trees vary in hot countries. In my experience, the trees in this part of the world simply dote on flowering. This one is just an old crosspatch." "You'll have to be drastic with it." "I haven't the heart. Tell you what, Madalyn - if I'm out at any time when you happen to be in, call one of the garden boys and get him to slaughter it. I'd like to see a flower or two on it next year."

Sarah wore a tan-coloured silk that evening. There was a stole to match the dress, but because Biddy possessed no such adjunct, Sarah decided to do without her own. The evenings were still very warm. Lester came at about a quarter to seven, looking almost handsome in a slim dark fashion. In his careful way he was lively, too. "You look stunning," he said. "Is Dr. Masters ready?"

"She won't be a moment. Would you like a drink, Lester?" "Yes, but perhaps we oughtn't to wait that long. Bob's outside." This rather upset Sarah's calculations. She had seen herself and Ruth in the back of the car and a spare seat beside Lester. "Yours only holds four, doesn't it?" He nodded. "But I'll squeeze over and give your skirt plenty of room." "Yes, but..." she hesitated. "Lester, I promised we'd pick up Biddy Macleod." "Biddy!" He stared. "Biddy never attends this kind of affair. What were you thinking of?" "She's going," said Sarah flatly. "Her father's keen and she has a new dress. I do hope it's going to be a lovely evening for her. She's so looking forward to it." Lester looked at her curiously. "Are you at the back of it all?" "I only went with Biddy to choose the dress and then home to her house for a cup of tea." Without pausing to think deeply, she went on, "She has nice people, Lester, and I like Biddy herself. I admire her for breaking with Bob." "Well, so do I," he said. "Bob needs someone insensitive, like himself." "I'm glad you realise that Biddy has feelings." Afraid that this remark might be too pointed, she added swiftly, "Your brother won't like the idea of picking up Biddy, so we'll have to make a different arrangement. Couldn't you leave him here, so that we can take him in

our car? Then you could go on and pick up Biddy, and we'll meet you at the Springbok." "That's the hell of an idea. You're my guest, not Biddy. If you like, Bob can stay and drive your car with Dr. Masters, and I'll take you along and collect Biddy." And that was how it had to be. Bob was called in, given a drink and told the new arrangement. At mention of Biddy his jaw went stubborn and he professed himself willing to drive Dr. Masters' car. Ruth raised an eyebrow and fell in with the plan, and Lester and Sarah set off first. Lester turned on to the road which led to his own home, and farther on, that of the Macleods. Outside the house he blared the hooter, and a second later Biddy appeared and he got out to put her into the back seat. Sarah turned her head quickly. "All right, Biddy? " she whispered. "Fine, but I had the dickens of a job to keep Mom and Dad indoors. If I'd let them they'd have sent up sky-rockets. Biddy steps out!" Lester got in behind the wheel, said over his shoulder, "Wow! You've been holding out on us, Biddy. I didn't even know you had a waistline!" Which, in Sarah's opinion, was fairly satisfactory. It would have been much better, of course, if Lester had been spellbound and merely sent a startled glance over the girl he knew so well in old slacks and faded shirts. However, this was only the beginning. Sarah had her own plans for the evening, plans for Biddy, that is. For the present she was content…

The Springbok Hotel was strung with coloured lights, and every window blazed. Couples and groups were arriving, to be greeted by the Chairman of the Growers' Association and his wife, and all were passed on into a fair-sized lounge where drinks were being served. Brent was already there, talking to some men near the bar. He saw Ruth and came over to join the party, gave Biddy a word of welcome and looked her over with a teasing admiration that brought Sarah's heart painfully to her throat. Why, she thought fiercely, does he never look at me like that? In fact, his smile faded just slightly as it rested upon Sarah. "You look delectable, as usual," he said quietly. "About half the age of Biddy and twice as sophisticated. Dance with me, later?" "Yes, if you'll promise not to talk. Those remarks of yours set my teeth on edge." "They're meant to, honey," he said. "For the moment it's the only way I can shake you." He spoke to Ruth, turned to Lester and told him he would like a few words with him after dinner. Lester looked mystified and a little apprehensive, and Sarah remembered that those two had never before found much to say to each other; she had the premonition that Brent was up to something, but could not imagine what it might be. They went into the dining-room, where most of the tables were specially decorated for the dinner; at those which weren't, presumably, the hotel residents were intended to dine. Sarah sat with Ruth, Lester and a middle-aged farmer from Barber- ton. Biddy was at the very next table with a family of three who knew her parents, and she was so seated that it was easy to converse with her. Well arranged, so far, Sarah decided. Lester joked once or twice with Biddy and insisted, later, that she try one of his cigarettes. They all

went out on to the terrace together and, unostentatiously, Sarah moved so that Biddy was nearer to Lester. Presently she said: "The music is beginning - light classics for a warm-up. Do you know these volkspele things, Lester?" "I've only watched them," he answered. "The dancers always look too expert for me." "You must let Biddy take you round. I'm going to find a man who'll teach them to me, too." "Bob knows how," he began, then stopped suddenly. Biddy nodded, and said with a trace of hoarseness, "You were going to say that I taught him." "Dash it, Biddy," he said offhandedly. "It's just that I've thought of you for so long as Bob's girl. You know I don't mean to hurt you." Sarah felt rather as though she were walking a tight-rope. "I think it would be a good idea if we went in, don't you?" she said brightly. "Everyone seems to be drifting towards the music." It was then that they met Brent, coming from the main entrance. He had dutifully brought two young men, whom he introduced. "If you'll excuse Lester and me," he said then, pleasantly, and Sarah found that she and Biddy were being escorted into the lounge and asked to dance. Biddy flatly refused. "I'm sorry, but in this kind of dance I'd only be in the way. I've never tried ballroom dancing in my life." Sarah whirled away in her partner's arms, and wondered. When the music ended she was way down the room, but she saw Biddy slip

away, and felt uneasy. She danced again, went to the ladies' restroom to look for the other girl. No Biddy, of course. Sarah came out and stood in the corridor. Biddy would have gone the other way, into the grounds at the back. There was not much garden, but Sarah hesitated to explore it. In like circumstances she herself would want to be alone. Yet this was all wrong, so different from what she had hoped for. Sarah leaned back to look out of a window at the terrace. Along there, some distance away, Brent and Lester still sat talking. Brent was sketching something on the back of a cigarette box; his back to Sarah, but she could see his hand, with the pencil in it, moving quickly and then pointing. Lester was facing this way, but all one could learn from his expression was that he was listening intently. Bother Brent! Why did he have to use the evening in this fashion? She was sure that Lester would have danced with Biddy, insisted on showing her how easy it was to go round in the arms of a man. But Biddy, had run away into the darkness, and Lester had forgotten her all because of Brent! Bob Pengelly was bending over Sarah. "Come for a gallop with me? I'm better than you'd think." She was still with Bob when the music changed into the fast tempo of "Heer's ek weer" and the folk-dancing began. If only, she thought in agony, she could send Bob to find Biddy and make her dance! But surely She would turn up when she heard this lively, familiar music. Biddy did come into the doorway of the lounge and stand there for a minute or two. She would be in the next dance, thought Sarah thankfully. But the orchestra, a five-piece affair which relied on an accordion for volume, played on and on, sliding from one Afrikaans tune to another, the players laughing and shouting, streaming with perspiration and trying to make the dancers stream even more profusely. Everyone was singing, and not caring how they danced,

and Sarah felt herself lifted bodily, several times. Dancers dropped out and others came in, but Bob seemed determined to last right through to the end. It was almost as though he had trained for this marathon and meant to win it. When finally the music stopped, Sarah was ready to collapse. Bob beamed and found her a chair, mopped his face and neck and brought her an iced drink. He was talking a mixture of English and bad Afrikaans and enjoying himself hugely. Politely, but firmly, Sarah asked him to find a different partner for the next session. When she felt cooler, she moved near to the window. Those two were still out there, but they were standing now, one stage nearer to the end of their discussion. She knew, though, that there could be many false terminations to men's conversation. She stood there, willing Lester to come in before the next bout of dancing began, and then, at last, she saw him put out a hand that Brent gripped. What on earth was happening between them? She looked quickly among the laughing people for a glimpse of Biddy. Lester would consider it his duty to find Sarah, and Sarah wanted to be sure that Biddy was with her when he did. Oh, heavens, matchmaking was a heavy business! She made her way among the people; they were very courteous, these farming folk, and she found herself saying, "Baie dankie," as they gave her room. Then she met Ruth, who complained that she was tired out and ready to leave. "It's after eleven, so I haven't done badly, for a first time. I think I'll get Brent to take me soon. You stay and enjoy yourself." Sarah smiled, and pressed on anxiously in her search for Biddy Macleod. A dark-skinned waiter in a white coat approached her.

"I have a message for the madam," he said. "Miss Macleod said I must tell you she has gone home." Sarah's heart plunged. She stared at the Indian waiter, thinking furiously. "Has she only just left?" "No, madam - some time ago. When there was dancing Miss Macleod pointed you out and said I must give you the message. She left at once." "By car?" "I do not know." "Well... thanks." Sarah went out into the vestibule. Her throat was hot and dry, her eyes stung with tears. Poor Biddy! Somehow, Sarah was sure the other girl had pinned ecstatic hopes to this function tonight, and it seemed as though she, Sarah, was to blame for the failure. Biddy, of course, knew these people and Sarah didn't, but perhaps Biddy wasn't too easily accepted. Almost any crowd will pay homage to worldly success, and feel only charitably inclined towards the poor. She came out on to the terrace, saw Lester going in through a terrace door and Brent strolling towards the entrance, where she stood. He was big and arrogant, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world! Sarah's hands clenched at her sides. He became aware of her, said casually, "I saw you cavorting around at great speed. You should stay inside till you've thoroughly cooled off." "Go to blazes," she said. "You've spoiled everything!"

"Hal-lo," he exclaimed with surprised concern. "What are you steamed up about?" "Oh, go away. If you're going inside you can tell Lester I've gone home. Ruth wants you, too." She made to move round him, but his hand came out and grasped her elbow. "What is this? Are you mad because I hung on to Lester?" "Let's just say I'm mad. Let me go!" His grip tightened. "You promised me a dance, remember?" "For heaven's sake, Brent," she said unsteadily. "You've done enough for one evening. Just leave me alone!" His eyes glinted. "Let you throw accusations and get away with them? Not on your life! We're going to talk this out." She jerked the arm he held, but it was fast in his grip. She looked up at him fully then, for the first time, her eyes full of tears, her lips trembling. He gazed at her in consternation, and in that second his grip weakened. She wrenched away, ran down the drive to where Bob had conveniently parked the navy car facing the road. Brent was there before her, his hand on the car door. "You're not driving in this mood, Madalyn," he said abruptly. "I don't know what's got into you, but I mean to find out. We'll both sit in the car and you'll tell me." "I'll tell you nothing." Her breath caught. The strong breeze sent a shiver through her. "Please let me get in!" He opened the door swiftly, and closed it after She had got behind the wheel. As if a mechanical brain had taken possession of her, she bent and found the car keys where Bob had left them, under the rubber

mat. With experienced fingers she jabbed the right key into the ignition. At the same moment she saw that the car was parked far too close to another for Brent to get in on the other side. He must have realised what she intended within seconds, for he came quickly round to the headlights. Rattled but determined, Sarah swung out and round him. She heard him pull at the handle of the back door as it passed him, imagined his fury when he found it locked. A minute later she was skimming through the deserted streets of Pietsdorp.

CHAPTER NINE SARAH could hardly see as she drove. All through her dealings with Madalyn she had maintained the dry eye and rigid upper lip, but Biddy Macleod, of all people, had made her wonder if things ever came right for anyone. She didn't actually weep; her eyes remained filled, blurring her vision, her nose felt hot and her mouth stiff. She drove with her toe hard down on the accelerator. She saw brilliant beams flood the back of the car, saw them go dim and come much closer. He had followed her, as she had guessed he would, and she didn't care. She would keep going at sixty, give him something to fume about. He came out and drew level; she heard him shout, "Slow down, Madalyn!" and ignored him. An intensity of bitterness and frustration drove her on. Was Biddy weeping? Or had she gone back to her parents with a smile on her lips, let them think the affair had ended early and she had been brought home? An oncoming car forced Brent to drop back. He would not pass her, she knew, because he'd be afraid that if she were compelled to slow down she would hit the back of his car and bang her head through the windscreen. They flashed past Comyns Ridge and the path to the bungalow, and about half a mile farther on she swung suddenly to the left on a narrow lane between citrus trees. He followed, of course, came level again, so close that there could hot have been more than four inches between the paintwork of the two cars. She had to brake, heard him shout clearly, "If you don't stop the car I'll ram the front wing!" She tried to put on speed, actually gaining a yard or two and then was blinded by the turn of his headlights. He meant it! She dragged the wheel, sailed right off the road into a patch of milk bush, and the

nearside wheel sank down into the sand at the edge of a sluit. The engine stopped. In the sudden uncanny quietness Sarah leaned one hand on the wheel and passed the other over her clammy forehead. He'd set out to frighten her and got away with it. Had she given herself time to think, she would have known that he would never risk ramming the ranch wagon into the smaller car. She could have driven on for ever - or until the petrol ran out! She felt sick and defeated. Her door opened, his hand touched her shoulder. "All right?" he demanded swiftly. She lifted to him a pale face. "That was clever," she said. "Not a scratch - either of us." "Now, look here, child..." "You can get the car out of the ditch yourself. Since you've won, I've no option but to ask you to take me home." It was difficult to scramble out of the lopsided car, but she did it as far as possible without help. She walked past him, got into the ranch wagon and drew into the corner. He slid into his own seat, dropped the keys of the smaller car into his pocket. Suddenly he switched on the interior lights and looked at her white face and wet lashes. He glanced at the fingers locked tightly in the lap of the tan silk dress and then back at the lowered eyelids and controlled mouth. The lights went off again. "This is hell," he said. "You've got to tell me what's wrong." "And give you a laugh?" she said bitterly. "I've done enough of that already."

"Stop it," he said roughly. "If you want to cry, go ahead. It's not the sort of thing I'm used to, but I daresay I can take it." "If I wept I'd probably cling, too, and you can't bear women who cling." "I'd manage," he said grimly. "Let's drop it. Take me home." "Not till I know what it's all about. You said I'd spoiled everything, and I've a right to know how." She gestured. "I was angry. You couldn't have known I was pinning my hopes on tonight. I hardly knew it myself. Please leave it like that." "Hopes for what?" he persisted, exasperated. "I looked into the lounge several times from the terrace, and each time you seemed to be gay as a lark. Then suddenly we meet and your eyes are darned great pools and you're hating me. We may not always be the best of friends, but we don't hate each other. Or do we?" She caught the keen note in his voice and said dispiritedly, "You wouldn't understand at all. It hasn't anything to do with you personally. It was merely the fact that you took possession of Lester for the evening." "Isn't it time," he asked with a hint of harshness, "that you chose definitely between Lester and Felix Frayne?" "I'm not in this," she said with a weary shrug. "It's Biddy." "Biddy Macleod?" He paused. "Do you mean Biddy and Lester? The girl has only recently broken off with Bob!"

"Yes, but Lester was the reason, though he doesn't know it. Biddy mustn't know that I've told you this - you promise?" "Of course! She's a good kid - hasn't had a chance to grow up properly. The Macleods are proud as the devil. You can't help them." She sighed. "I thought I was helping Biddy. She came to me some time ago and told me she was in love with Lester. I said she ought to finish with Bob, but no one was more surprised than I when she did it so thoroughly. I began to feel she was a person who could be helped. She's talking of training as a nurse, but I had the foolish notion that Lester might wake up before she had time to go into it thoroughly. I... I had everything set for tonight - but you kept Lester on the terrace. It ruined Biddy's evening. She didn't dance at all, and about an hour ago she walked out - went home. A waiter had just told me that when I met you." "For Pete's sake," he said soberly. "And you let it happen, without doing a thing." "Are you blaming me?" she demanded in swift fury. "I've never seen any of these people before, and Biddy knew them all. I thought she'd have no difficulty at all in getting through till you released Lester. He took me there, and I was watching for him to be free, so that Biddy could be with me when he came. Once, I went looking for her, but..." she broke off, trembling. "You were talking to him for more than two hours!" He put out a hand, saw her shrink from it and drew it back. His voice hard, he said, "I'm sorry. What I had to tell Lester could have waited till tomorrow. When I said you let it happen without doing anything about it, I meant that you should have come out, both of you, and broken up our discussion. I'm not so slow that I wouldn't have guessed there'd be something behind it, and you could have explained

later. If you were distressed on Biddy's account, why didn't you come to me?" She drew in her lip. "We're not exactly ... chummy, you and I, and you were obviously engrossed. It's done now; there's no point in turning it all over. Biddy will recover." After that he didn't speak for some moments. "What about Lester?" he said finally, "Has he any feeling for Biddy?" "I don't know, but it was worth trying to find out." "He didn't seem to object to the possibility of her marrying his brother." "Lester and I have talked of these things occasionally..." "I don't doubt that," drily. "Well?" "He got into the habit of thinking she belonged to Bob, but he didn't like it. He told me flatly that he wouldn't live on at the farm if they married, and I thought he seemed relieved when those two parted. He said once that he ... wanted to marry." "Yes?" He sounded cynical, probing. "He's changed since I first knew him," she said hardily. "I can't tell you what his emotions are where Biddy is concerned, but I'm certain that what he wants more than anything is to have someone so deeply in love with him that she'll back him in everything he wants to do. Well, I believe Biddy does love him that much." "Lucky Lester," he said laconically. "Anything more?" "What more can there be?"

"Haven't you ever heard of a kind of love that's all on one side?" Heard of it! She'd lived with it for weeks. "How do we know," she said as evenly as she was able, "that Lester isn't fond of Biddy? Don't you think it's possible that if he had an inkling of how she felt for him, something might... might flare up in him? You do hear of a couple being ordinary friends for years, and suddenly marrying." "And you hoped," he commented with sarcasm, "that holding Biddy in his arms on the dance-floor would start the flames leaping in Lester. A trifle chancy, wasn't it?" "You're hopeless," she said, low-voiced. "All I wanted was that Biddy should have an opportunity of showing him that she's as sweet and normal as any other girl of her age." "Yourself, for instance? Lester judges other women by you." "That's because he hasn't known many." "It's also because he's half in love with you. With you around, he isn't likely to look at Biddy. She's been on the spot too long." "But not as she is now!" cried Sarah desperately. "She looks older, prettier, and by giving up Bob she's proved she won't marry just for a home. When we came out this evening I felt happy and optimistic about them." "You don't appear to have given one aspect of it any thought at all," he remarked casually. "Do you think Lester would marry Biddy and take her into that house with his brother under the same roof?" She shook her head. "I hadn't got that far. If two people are really in love with each other, things work out."

"Not without a shove here and there," he said. "Well, it seems we have Biddy in love with Lester, but so full of pride that she'll go away rather than do much about it, and Lester blissfully ignorant, but anxious to load himself with a wife. Before we decide what to do about it, let me tell you what I discussed with Lester." "Are you sure he'd want me to know?" she asked quickly. "I thought women thrived on secrets. This is only a secret till he's made his decision. I told him he must sleep on it." "Oh." Then, guardedly, "I'm listening." He shifted slightly. "I told you I got in touch with several estate agents while I was away - on Cornelia's behalf. Most of them were anxious to handle Daniesrust and its contents, and they gave me lists of properties entrusted to them for sale. In one list I saw the name of a man I know very well, and the advertisement stated that he wished to sell up half his sheep and land. It's good sheep country, in the Cape, and I thought it over. I telegraphed the man and we met at a place called Colesburg. It turned out as I thought it would. The man has no children and the farm is too big both for his needs and for him to run on his own. I told him about Lester, and he's keen to meet him. We didn't go much further than that, but it seemed to me a good proposition for Lester, so long as he can put in a bit of capital." "You mean he could go into partnership with the man? " "He might start that way, but this chap who owns the farm really does want to carve up the land, and he's asking a reasonable figure. If Lester could put down enough cash, he could pay off the bulk as his profits come in - just as he does here. He'd have to build some sort of home fairly soon, but it need only be a simple place that he could add to, if it became necessary. The best of this proposition is that he'll be alongside a man of integrity who knows merinos."

"And it's exactly what Lester wants," she said quietly. "But you've always spoken as if you were against his leaving the orange farm." "I'm not against it. I just don't care for a man's loyalties to be divided. If he's taken on oranges, then he should give all he has to them, not sit around dreaming about sheep." "Was Lester excited?" "He's keen, but I wouldn't let him give me an answer till he has spoken with his brother. He's coming over to see me tomorrow." "Biddy would love it," she said. "They'd get through together." "It's up to Lester. By the way, I asked him not to mention it even to you till we'd decided something. I also promised I'd help Bob if he should need it." "You want him to take it on, don't you?" she asked curiously. "When I began to talk to him this evening I didn't much care either way, but when you get Lester on sheep you realise he's wasted on oranges. .1 like livestock myself." He paused. "Lester's coming to Comyns Ridge at six tomorrow. How about coming over with Biddy at seven? We'll all have dinner together." "Do you mean that?" "Why shouldn't I?" "I don't know. Ruth as well?" "We'll leave her out this time. She won't mind." "Maybe Biddy will guess we've arranged it and refuse to come."

"Tell her the truth - that I want to atone for keeping Lester away from her tonight." "She's hurt, and she'll be suspicious." He shrugged impatiently. "Get round her in your own way. You make a good job of it with men, so I shouldn't think a girl like Biddy could floor you!" Sarah's relief was tinged with sadness; she didn't know why. There seemed to be a new physical weight close to her heart. "I'll do what I can with Biddy," she said. "May I go to the bungalow now?" "There's just one more thing." He sounded shrewd and thoughtful. "How old are you, Madalyn? " Her nerves tightened. Since her arrival in Pietsdorp this was the first time the question had been put to her pointblank. "I believe it's customary for a woman to be twenty-one till she's twenty-nine," she answered. "I'm not twenty-nine." "With your eyes full of tears you look nineteen," he said. "You must have been absurdly young when you first worked for Felix." She made no reply and he went on, "He trained you, didn't he? Was it because you were grateful that you agreed to marry him?" "I haven't agreed to marry him," she said, her expression pulled-in. "If you'll get the other car out of the sluit for me I'll drive it home myself and you can go back for Ruth." "I wouldn't trust you behind a wheel again tonight," he said, with an edge to his voice. "I'll see to it."

He turned the ranch wagon and drove her swiftly to the bungalow. He got out with her, took her key and opened the door and then went in to switch on a couple of lights. He came back to her in the hall, looked down at her coolly and said good night. He had left the latch down, so that when he closed the door behind him the lock gave a final sounding click. Sarah went into her room and took off her dress, hung it away and slipped her sandals into their box. She put on pyjamas and dressing gown, creamed the make-up from her face and sat there on the stool with her back to the mirror. She thought of Lester and the possibility of his acquiring a small sheep farm much quicker than he had expected; of Biddy, miserable in her bed tonight; of Bob, who was seldom deeply disturbed over anything. And it came to her, suddenly, that only three weeks of Pietsdorp were left to her. About six weeks from now she would be back in London, looking for a job, and doing her utmost to forget she had ever visited this vast and surprising country.

Next morning Sarah began typing the manuscript again, from the beginning. This time it ran smoothly, like fiction, and though Ruth had given her permission to alter the construction whenever a passage seemed stilted, it was seldom necessary. Such a book needed to be written simply and conversationally, and Ruth's companionable style suited the subject. But only half of Sarah's attention was on the work she did, because she was wondering how to get in touch with Biddy. It would look odd if she went over to the Macleods, and in any case it would be better to know what Biddy had told her parents at last night's dinner before speaking to them. Should she send a note, making the

appointment for tonight? No, Biddy would refuse, and who would blame her? She had to see Biddy in person, somehow. The problem was resolved just before noon, when Biddy came to the bungalow. She was on horseback, of course, but she remembered to attach the rein to the gate before she came hesitantly up into the porch, where Ruth was sitting with yesterday's newspaper across her lap. Sarah heard Ruth's call and came out, to find Biddy looking rather more shabby even than usual in a blue shirt she had doubtless cast off some time ago but which she had now brought out in a spirit of bravado, and the old denims. Ruth said, "I expect Biddy wants to speak to you alone, Madalyn. Take her into the study." Biddy's lower lip looked stubborn, but she followed Sarah into the house and carefully looked nowhere. Even inside the study she appeared not to notice the chair Sarah indicated. "I came to apologise for running out last night," she said. "I realised afterwards that you probably thought I felt humiliated. I didn't; I was bored." "It wasn't quite my cup of tea, either," Sarah said casually, "I came away early, too. Have you seen Lester today?" Biddy shook her head and said woodenly, 'I'll be glad when I leave behind all risk of seeing him." "Oh. Then you won't want to go with me to Comyns Ridge tonight. It seems that Brent Milward is doing some sort of business deal with Lester and they're meeting there at six. You and I are invited over to make a foursome of it for dinner."

She could take it or leave it, thought Sarah; you could do just so much for a girl like Biddy, and after that she had to help herself. "I've never been inside the house at Comyns Ridge in my life," the other girl said. "Why should Brent Milward ask me over?" "He brought me home last night, and I told him frankly that Lester had escorted me to the dinner and that by monopolising him he'd spoiled the evening for both you and me. He said straightway that he'd atone for it by giving us a good time tonight. I'm afraid I accepted for us, but I can send a message if you'd rather stay away." Biddy stared out of the window. "I don't want charity," she said. "I'm sure Brent didn't mean it that way, but you don't have to go." Sarah thought of something. "You were going riding with me, remember? Are you free for an hour?" Biddy nodded. "You'll have to wear slacks." "It won't take me a jiffy to change. Will you wait here?" Sarah sighed as she changed. She felt sorry for Biddy, terribly sorry, but there was also something about the Macleod girl that irritated her intensely. Yet in a way she could feel for herself how Biddy felt; the frustration and hopelessness, the strong thread of pride. A girl needed to be sought by the man she loved, particularly when she imagined she had little to offer him. She came back to the study to find Biddy staring out of the window at the tulip tree. The horse-tail was there again, secured by an elastic band. Biddy pointed to the tree. "It needs thinning," she said. "We had a magnolia with the same trouble, but after we'd pruned it for a couple

of years it was covered with flowers. It still blooms for six months of the year." "This tree doesn't bloom at all." "Then maybe it's just blind, though I never heard of one that was. When I was little I used to worry about our magnolia. My father talked of felling it, but I'd always told it my secrets and I couldn't bear to think of them all being burnt up. So he hacked the thing instead, and when it blossomed so well I felt uplifted in a most peculiar way, for weeks. That year our lands yielded the best crops ever." This was a long speech for Biddy, and revealing; she moved selfconsciously towards the door. They went out, Sarah replied to Ruth's raised eyebrows with the ghost of a wink, and led Biddy down to the gate in the fence. Biddy let out an experienced whistle, and a calm brown mare sidled up. She was saddled, and Sarah, with some apprehension, mounted her. The mare looked round and up at her with mild interest, and ambled off beside Biddy's well-worn gelding with an air of willing detachment. There was nothing to see that Sarah had not seen before, but from the back of a horse, she discovered, almost everything acquired freshness and brilliance. No sky had ever arched more blue overhead, no hills had ever risen more vividly on the horizon, and the sight of a string of African women carrying bundles and pots on their heads was like a frieze pasted against the glaring backcloth of the morning. It was getting towards one o'clock when they turned back, and Biddy said she would be expected home about now. She gave Sarah a few tips about riding, said that practice was the only way to become expert and reined in near the bungalow.

There, she said offhandedly, "The only decent dress I have is the one I wore last night. Shall I wear it for the date tonight?" "Yes, of course. You looked wonderful." "Will you wear the same - the tan?" "Well, I..." "Please! I won't go if you don't promise." "All right. You'll be picked up around seven. So long, Biddy." Sarah went indoors feeling worn. After lunch she typed for more than an hour, after which she shampooed her hair and set it with pins. She took a book outside and Sat in the sun, and presently, when the hair felt dry, she pulled the cover over the chair and drowsed. She looked at her watch and decided to go inside for a comb-up at four- fifteen. She read a little more, drew the pins from her hair and ran her fingers through it. It felt soft and clean and unmanageable; in this air it dried almost too quickly. She closed the book and was about to go into the house when a neat maroon car rounded the corner, purred along the drive and stopped in front of the bungalow. Sarah's chest tightened. She found her fingers grasping the book more firmly as she moved towards the woman who emerged from the car and stood on the gravel. A woman in dark grey silk whose black wavy hair was loosely brushed back into a knot. Cornelia du Plessis. Sarah moved towards her, wearing the infallible armour of a smile. "Hallo," she said. "Do come in."

Cornelia spoke in correct English. "Good afternoon. I've been to Comyns Ridge, but Brent is out. I thought Dr. Masters might like to give me a cup of tea." "I'm quite sure she would." They were in the hall, entering the lounge. Cornelia looked about her, impersonally but critically, sat down and placed a black handbag on the small table near her chair. "I'll tell Ruth you're here," said Sarah. "Thank you." Ruth must have heard voices or the car, for she came just then from her room. Sarah heard the two greet each other as she went to her own room; they sounded distant and polite with each other, and she recalled Ruth's saying that though she liked Cornelia they had never come close in any way. Sarah combed her hair and used a lipstick. She stared at her reflection and tried to decide whether she looked as sick as she was feeling. This was the nearest she had ever come to Cornelia, and even if little were said, it was likely to be an ordeal. Back in the lounge she found Ruth smiling and solicitous, leaning forward almost professionally in her chair. Cornelia lay back, and with a shock Sarah saw that the hollow ravaged look made her even more beautiful than she had appeared that day in the ranch wagon. "So you drove up alone," Ruth was saying. "Didn't Brent know you were coming?" Cornelia shook her head. "He doesn't like my doing things alone particularly driving. I've been driving for years, of course, but when my nerves went to pieces I seemed, to lose control a little. I tried a

car out during those few days he spent with my friends, but drove so badly that he said I mustn't try again till I felt better." "Seeing that you got here safely," Ruth said brightly, "you must be feeling fit again." "I came slowly. As a matter of fact I came to see you, as well as Brent. He'd be worried if I went to a doctor, but there's no reason why he should know I've spoken to you otherwise than socially." Sarah stood up again, quickly. "I'll go and see if Jacob's getting the tea." Cornelia looked up at her as if her going or staying could matter very little. Sarah went out to the kitchen, found her fingers trembling as she switched on the kettle. She looked through the kitchen window and saw Jacob sleeping peacefully under a scanty young orange tree and decided to leave him there. She set the tray with Ruth's cottage china, got out napkins and arranged a few small cakes on a dish. As she made the tea she felt a small throbbing in her temple, and she told herself that this was no time to start a headache. She picked up the tray and carried it into the lounge. Ruth waved to her to pour, and she obeyed. Cornelia's cup was set upon the small table, Ruth's on the wide wooden arm of her chair. Ruth's elbows were well back, her fingers locked upon her ample waist. She looked at Cornelia through the strong lenses of her glasses and smiled. "It was a very natural reaction," she said, 'but it might have been a great deal worse. You might, for instance, have kept everything bottled up. But you were lucky enough to have Brent, and from my

knowledge of him I'd say that he made you face things. That way, you'll get over it all much more quickly." Cornelia spoke quietly. "Yes, Brent has been marvellous. It's for his sake that I want to feel quite well as soon as possible. You know that I'm selling Daniesrust?" Ruth laughed. "We know, all right, don't we, Madalyn? We found a scorpion behind one of your pictures." Cornelia's dark glance rested upon Sarah's small, colourless face. "Oh, yes," softly, "I heard about that. I'm sorry. You were very frightened, I believe?" "It was some size," said Ruth. Cornelia nodded. "Brent told me that Miss Knight comes from England and was even amazed at the size of our ants. Perhaps you will enjoy scorpions in retrospect, Miss Knight, when you are back among the rooineks." It was spoken smoothly, even with a hint of humour. Sarah returned the other's glance briefly and smiled to indicate that she understood. Cornelia had the reputation of being a forthright business woman, and as such no doubt she had appealed only to one side of Brent's nature. Since losing her brother, though, it seemed that she had softened considerably, and in the process become an enigmatic personality. She drank her tea, conversed desultorily about the trials of starting up such a small-holding as Ruth's and said, generously, that she would like to give her a belated house-warming present from her own belongings.

"Most of my stuff is being crated tomorrow, so perhaps you'd like to go along there early and choose some article that you'd really enjoy seeing here in your own house. Anything, Ruth." "That's wonderful of you, Cornelia. Will you be at Daniesrust yourself?" Cornelia's glance lowered. "I never want to see the house again. I'm spending tonight at the hotel. I shall probably dine with Brent this evening." Ruth looked at Sarah, smiled at Cornelia and said, "Madalyn and Biddy Macleod are going over to the house for dinner tonight. Lester Pengelly will be there, too." Cornelia pondered this. "I did want him to myself for tonight," she said on a sigh. "I have so much to discuss with him. But I daresay I shall be alone with him all day tomorrow." "That sounds like a declaration!" exclaimed Ruth archly. "Between ourselves," said Cornelia, "my problem is to stave off a declaration till I feel I can give it all the joy it deserves. Till then, I must go on convincing Brent of my sincerity where he's concerned." "You're very sensible," said Ruth approvingly. "I know that when this spell of misfortune is over you two are going to be entirely happy together." Not long after this Cornelia drove away. Sarah ran an iron over the tan silk dress and took a bath. She used bath essence and her favourite talcum, but even as she dressed she caught the elusive but distinctive perfume of Cornelia du Plessis.

CHAPTER TEN DINNER at Comyns Ridge that night was served companionably, on the veranda. In the roof above the table a yellow light buzzed with insects, but no one thought about it except to be grateful it was there to attract the pests. They had crushed pineapple cocktails, steaks with squash and mushrooms, strawberry tart and cream, cheese and coffee, and over the meal Brent, for the most part, was casually entertaining. Biddy's hostile shyness diminished. She sat at the square table facing Sarah, with Lester to her left and Brent at the right, and she ate as if she were enjoying every mouthful. She was no longer the Biddy Macleod who had a blight on her like the blight which so often had ruined her father's crops; she was a young woman having a good time and hardly believing it. Brent was charming to her. When glasses were filled he clinked his with hers, and when a radio played "Jan Pirewiet" he sang it softly with her, and after it they exchanged a few laughing remarks in Afrikaans. "These English think they know everything," he said to her with a wink, "but they can't even pick up the taal. Ever had a go at teaching Lester?" To her own surprise, Biddy said, "I ought to, oughtn't I? Where will he be on a sheep farm, without Afrikaans!" "It's a deal,'" said Lester. "Can you have me fluent in a couple of months?" Perhaps it was fortunate for Biddy that the light was not too bright. "Is... is that when you hope to leave Pietsdorp?"

Brent put in easily, "Nothing is arranged yet. Lester and I are going down to the farm one day next week." Then, as if it had just occurred to him, "Madalyn and Biddy might go with us, Lester. It's a longish run and women do obviate tedium, whatever the cynics might say to the contrary. Can you manage it, Madalyn?" "That's as nice an invitation as I've ever had," Sarah said, with brittle gaiety. "I'll let you know." They moved along the veranda into canvas chairs, talked and smoked till ten o'clock. Then Sarah said she thought it time to leave. Brent insisted on nightcaps, and while they drank he said the four of them must do this again; he hadn't had such a pleasant evening for a long time. "You may as well take Biddy home," he said to Lester, "and I'll run Madalyn along to the bungalow." "I'll take Madalyn first," offered Lester. "It'll save you getting out the car." "I have to get it out. I'm going to the Springbok Hotel. So go ahead, you two." Her eyes cautiously shining, Biddy said good night and got into Lester's old tourer. It moved away and Brent looked up at the night. "Fancy the walk across the pasture?" he asked. The walk would take twenty minutes, and somehow Sarah felt she couldn't stand that much longer of Brent tonight. "No, thanks," she said. "I'm tired." "Tired, or just keyed up?" he suggested quietly. "Tired," she repeated. "Thanks very much for all you did for Biddy."

"I'll do as much for you if you're ever in the same fix." "I'm sure of it. You're dangerously expert at arranging other people's lives. But there's nothing of that kind you can do for me." "I wonder? Biddy's homespun, but she knows what she wants. You're more complex and you'd want rather more than she does. For instance, you couldn't sit back and wait for a man to fall in love with you; it would be too much for those fine-drawn nerves of yours." "You've got it all wrong. I'm not a nervy type," she said evenly. "Not normally," he agreed, "but you haven't been feeling normal lately. You don't even look well. But perhaps you're missing Felix?" "Perhaps I am. By the way, what are you going to do about this trip to the sheep farm? Can I back out?" "Of course. I'm certainly not going myself. I've a special reason for not wanting to leave Pietsdorp just now. It won't be difficult to fix up." "Not for you," she said. He looked down at her calculatingly. "I'm quite certain," he said deliberately, "that the day is coming when there'll be a thundering blaze-up between you and me. It can't be too far off, either. Wait here." And abruptly he left her. A couple of minutes later the ranch wagon ran smoothly along the drive in front of the house and she got in. They moved out on to the road, and reached the bungalow without speaking. He slid out to open the door. "Thank you. Good night," she said.

She saw his face as he answered. It jutted, and there was an unpleasant twist at his mouth, but as she went in to her room she knew the austerity in him would soon disintegrate. He was on his way to the hotel. Cornelia had not come to Comyns Ridge for dinner, but she had made an arrangement which probably suited her much better. No hour of the day is so intimate as the last hour before midnight.

Two days later another letter arrived from Madalyn. She was enjoying, she said, her laziest and therefore most wonderful weeks since she had come to South Africa. Such a pity she had only two weeks more, but it would be safer if she moved to a hotel in Johannesburg well before the day of her departure. She gave the exact date on which she wished Sarah to arrive in Johannesburg, and stated that she would try to remember to reserve a berth on a ship. Her own air passage, she was happy to say, was definitely booked. She was quite looking forward to seeing Felix again, and supposed that it would not be long before they announced the date of their marriage. "One good thing about the interlude with Walter Barnard," she ended, "is that I do feel sure about Felix now. I honestly believe I'm enjoying these weeks so much because I've decided, and feel secure. I suppose in a way I owe some of the sense of security to you, but then you've had an experience which would never have come your way if I hadn't sent you to the Eastern Transvaal. So we've both come off fairly well, and Felix, bless him, is going to get what he's been wanting for so long. Remember to burn this letter the minute you've read it, darling." For a while after reading those paragraphs Sarah thought of the paleskinned Madalyn with her remarkably beautiful titian hair and green

eyes. If another Walter Barnard turned up, Madalyn would take whatever he offered, but keep clear of entanglements. From now on she would prefer the certainty of life with Felix to the gamble of chasing a fortune. In a way, Sarah reflected, the trip to South Africa had formed her sister's future. But for the chastening experience with Walter Barnard, Madalyn might never have settled permanently for Felix Frayne. So perhaps some good had come out of the deception. Sometimes, Sarah felt herself on the point of asking Ruth if she would release her before the month was up. In her mind she formed reasons which should seem adequate to Ruth, but somehow she never got round to voicing them. The unusual always made Ruth inquisitive, and she had, besides, become fond of Sarah in a way which was bound up with the fact that Felix was going to marry her young companion. Towards the end of that week Lester went down to the Cape about the sheep farm. Biddy, wearing a striped cotton frock and new brown sandals, went with him. It had been decided they would stay overnight in a town on the way. Only a couple of hours after they had left a note was brought to Sarah by a young African boy. "Dear Miss Knight," it said, "Could you please come along and see me today? It's very urgent, and I'd be grateful." The signature was Mrs. Macleod's. Because Ruth was now a member of the small conspiracy, Sarah showed her the note. "They want to see you while Biddy's out of the way, to find out whether Lester's intentions are serious," Ruth hazarded. "I'd keep out of it if I were you."

"It can't be that, because they never bothered about Bob's intentions. Probably they just want a general talk. I'll have to go." "Well, don't commit yourself. You've already done enough for that young woman." Sarah drove down to the small house with its chicken-patch and few wild trees, and she was greeted in the narrow stoep by Mrs. Macleod. They went into the living-room and at once were in a sea of materials and patterns with a sewing-machine set up in the centre. "I hope you didn't mind my sending for you," said Mrs. Macleod in her quiet north-country tones. "It hasn't anything to do with all this dressmaking - though I suppose in a way it has. I'm making new dresses for Biddy, so that she won't feel out of it with the other lasses when she goes nursing." She smiled and pressed a bewildered hand to her forehead. "Perhaps I ought to have said if she goes nursing. I really don't know where I am." She cleared a chair, but Sarah waited till the older woman found a seat for herself before she sat down. She fingered a length of light flowered cotton which lay on a stool. "Pretty," she said. "Isn't it amazing how girlish Biddy looks in dresses!" "Girlish?" echoed her mother doubtfully. "You know Biddy's only just come of age, but she looks about twenty-five since she's looped up her hair at the back. It looks much better, I grant you, but I've always liked her to look very young." She paused, then said almost desperately, "Miss Knight, my husband and I have been invited to the Pengellys' for tea on Sunday. It's ... it's revolutionary! Do you know anything about it?" "Not a thing. Will Biddy go with you?"

"I suppose so. I don't like it, but we'll have to go. It seems very peculiar that I should have to speak to you - who are almost a stranger - about my own daughter, but I feel Biddy must have told you far more than she's ever told us. Is she fond of Lester?" "Yes," said Sarah simply. "I see." The plump face creased with anxiety. "So that's why she wouldn't have anything more to do with Bob. She never tells me such things, but I think I understand why. She doesn't want me to reproach myself for all the youthful pleasure she's had to miss. I do reproach myself, though. This Sunday invitation is queer. The Pengellys aren't inviting us for the sake of friendship - I do know that!" "Lester could have asked them to invite you." "I tried to believe that at first, but then I remembered how preoccupied he looked when they went off this morning." Her eyes were moist as she continued, "Lester's often been good to our Biddy, and that's all he's doing now, Miss Knight. She just happened to be around, and he needed companionship on the journey, so he gave her the treat. I don't need Mrs. Pengelly to tell me that." The fierce pride again; Sarah respected it, because she found the same sort of armour necessary for herself. "They didn't object openly to Bob's interest in Biddy," she commented. "They hated it, but consoled themselves that at least it wasn't Lester." Mrs. Macleod spread plump, work-roughened hands. "Lester's the older son, and it was on his initiative that the whole family came to South Africa. He took on the orange farm, and he got his father's place ready before the parents arrived. Bob is the blindly affectionate type, but there's more in Lester; it's funny, but the less feeling a man

shows his family the more they respect him. Mrs, Pengelly intends to tell me as politely as she can that Biddy needn't hope for anything from Lester." Sarah protested, "It hasn't really anything to do with Mrs. Pengelly. Lester will please himself. In your place, I'd be inclined to go to the Pengellys' in a spirit of fun, and steer clear of any mention of the subject." "It's what I'd like to do myself," Mrs. Macleod said, smiling faintly. "But you can bet Mrs. Pengelly will see to it that she's alone with me. Her type can be fierce about anything that touches the heart. I really don't know what to do." Sarah thought for a moment. Mrs. Macleod couldn't have hoped for much help from a stranger - particularly from one who hardly knew the Pengelly parents - but she was hoping for a new slant on the matter, some angle which would dictate her own behaviour. "You feel sure in your own mind that Lester won't be there, don't you?" she said. "Wouldn't you be?" "Yes, I think I would. Couldn't you be frank with Lester when he gets back tomorrow?" "I would, but there's Biddy. If, as you say, she likes Lester, her feelings about the matter will be ... well, delicate. She's had so little, Miss Knight, and she's touchy. When she hears Mrs. Pengelly has invited us, she'll refuse to go." Sarah hesitated, wondered for a moment if she were being unwise, then plunged. "Mrs. Macleod, I'll see Lester tomorrow and ask him to turn up, as if accidentally, at his mother's for tea on Sunday. With

him there she won't be unpleasant. It will only postpone the thing, of course, but time just now is important to Biddy. Will that do?" Apparently it would do perfectly. Mrs. Macleod bent forward suddenly and kissed Sarah's cheek. "I felt certain you wouldn't mind doing something like that for me. My husband said it wasn't fair to drag you into it, but a mother will do anything for her daughter's happiness. I'm not hoping that Lester will suddenly fall in love with Biddy. I just don't want her made more unhappy than necessary." After that, she showed Sarah the dress patterns and more materials. There was a printed terylene which she was uncertain how to handle, and Sarah got busy with her, cutting the material and a matching slip, pinning and tacking. It was after twelve-thirty when Sarah left the smallholding. She drove back along the road, but at the path to the Pengelly brothers' orange farm she turned, and a few minutes later she ran round in front of the house and braked. She got out and went up into the porch. The door was wide open, and she leant forward to rap on the panel. The African servant shambled into the hall and told her the young master would be here soon. She waited on the stoep, sat in an old chair and looked at the confining trees laden with yellowing oranges. And presently Bob came round the house, whistling tunelessly as he looked up at the hot blue sky. "Oh, hallo," he said, with unusual reserve. She smiled at him. "I expect you're needing your lunch, so I won't keep you. I came to leave a message for Lester. Will you ask him to get in touch with me as soon as he comes back?" "Yes, I'll do that."

"Annoyed with me over something?" "Of course not. I just haven't anything to be chirpy about." She was on the lowest step, her glance just slightly above his. "Bob, will you mind very much if Lester goes in for sheep at the Cape?" He was looking away at the trees. "I'll get through. When... a little while ago I used to wish he would do it, because this place wouldn't keep two families, and ... oh, what's the use of going into it? I like orange farming and I don't go much for sheep. I owe the place to Lester, and the least I can do is to agree to his taking the available cash. He says he'll make over this place entirely to me, so I'll have more than my share." "But you don't care for the idea of the change?" she said gently. "I suppose that's it. I daresay it was wrong, but I've been blaming you." "Oh, come now," she protested. "Lester was determined to have his sheep, and you know it. It would have come some time." "You're right, I guess. When Lester goes I shall alter things here. For one thing, I'll have people out every week-end. He can't stick the noisy type, but I like 'em." "So you're not really down about it?" "I shan't mind, once everything's settled. I don't like upheavals, but I guess I'm adaptable." "Good. You're a nice boy, Bob." He grinned. "So that's the way you do it. Come in and have something to eat with me? "

"Sorry, but I have to get back. Don't forget to give Lester my message!" "I won't. Cheerio." Over lunch, Ruth was sceptical. "I don't entirely see how you became mixed up in all these other people's affairs, and I think you ought to drop out as soon as you can. It's unfair to you and foolish from their own point of view. I blame Lester." "But why should you?" Ruth's shoulders lifted. "You came here, and he fell for you. You told him it was no go, so he started working himself up all over again over sheep farming. Why can't the man see Biddy Macleod instead of the silly sheep?" "Let's hope he sees both," said Sarah, and for a while that was the end of Lester Pengelly. All the morning Sarah had been conscious of an ache at each side of her throat. When she rested in the study after lunch the ache developed into a pain and her throat felt hot She swallowed an aspirin and lay back in a chair with Ruth's manuscript on her knees, but it was difficult to concentrate on the typewritten word which she already knew too well.' She drowsed, and at four-thirty it took a tremendous effort to get herself moving. She went to the kitchen and made tea, carried the tray along to the lounge. Ruth was reading, and happy to go on with her books while she ate shortbreads and drank tea. Sarah sipped and pretended an interest in a magazine she had read several times before.

Was she sickening for something? Her head seemed clear enough but she felt slack; the heat could be blamed for the slackness, though. There were days like this occasionally, endless hours when the sun beat upon the bungalow and drew every scrap of moisture from the earth and atmosphere. But they had never before affected her throat. She took a bath and changed, gargled with salt water which seemed to find a rawness in her throat. Fortunately, she could give the heat as her reason for lack of appetite at dinner, and Ruth liked to go to bed early herself, so Sarah's decision to seek her sheets soon after dinner invited no comment. Sarah lay in the darkness, scarcely able to breathe. The windows were wide, but no breeze stirred, and what air there was in the room settled upon her like a stifling blanket. It must have been well into the small hours when she got up to refill the carafe on her bedside table. She tiptoed out of her room and into the bathroom, turned the tap gently. When the carafe was full she wetted her hands and pressed them to her throat, and that was how Ruth found her. Shapeless in a red silk wrap, Dr. Masters poked her head round the bathroom door. She looked searchingly at Sarah. "I've never heard you get up before. Can't you sleep?" "Did I waken you? I'm sorry." The croaking voice stirred the professional in Ruth. She came right into the bathroom, stared into Sarah's face. She reached and drew one of the hands from her throat, and mechanically felt the glands. "If you've picked up something," she said, "Felix will never forgive me. Sore throat?" "I'm afraid so."

"Anything else?" "No, but it won't let me sleep." "Go back to bed. I'll come in there to you." Sarah had wanted to avoid this, yet now that Ruth was in command she knew relief. A sore throat was nothing to a doctor. She went back to bed and waited. Ruth brought her little case, took a look at the throat and made a few tests. "I can't understand you, Madalyn," she complained. "You came here for a complete rest and a change, yet I don't believe you're as fit as when you arrived. It's a pretty poor reflection on me, you know!" "I'm all right. I just need some sulpha tablets for the throat." "You know too much. I'll give you the tablets, but you'll have to rest, too. Your temperature's up slightly, but I don't think there's a thing to worry about. The soreness could be caused by an allergy or even a physical tiredness, but it shouldn't happen. I'm not blind, my dear." "I've never suggested you were." "What I mean is," Ruth floundered, but she did it firmly, even a trifle belligerently, "there's something wrong. You ... you're not as bright as you should be ... or do I mean you're too bright? Too artificially bright, that's it! Does that indicate there's something you're not happy about? I'm not a psychologist, so I wouldn't know. But I do know there's something odd about you ... and Lester ... and Biddy ..." she sighed, "and everybody else except me. Not making myself very clear, am I?" "I merely have a sore throat," whispered Sarah mildly. "If you dose me it'll be better in the morning."

"You're staying in bed to-morrow - all day." "In this heat!" "We'll draw the curtains and you can have the fan. Your time with me is nearly up, Madalyn, and I'm not taking chances at this stage. Now lie still while I get the medicine." The throat was a little better next morning, but Sarah was under Ruth's orders. She remained in bed, and after the sun had finished slanting through the window it was much cooler in the room. There was no need for the fan because the weather had changed slightly, and Sarah found that she really did need the prescribed rest. She felt flat and uninterested, and the tablets, taken at four-hourly intervals, made her brain woolly. She dozed, ate almost nothing and read when she was wide enough awake. The day slid slowly past. There were cups of lemon tea, fruit drinks, grapes and late mangoes; then, for supper at seven, a boiled egg and some fingers of toast. During the day the throat had improved so much that Sarah thought she might get up for an hour or two, but Ruth vetoed this without argument. She brought Sarah a fresh book and went to have her own dinner. It must have been about eight-thirty when Lester came. Sarah heard a car and Ruth talking to a man. Then the two of them came to the doorway of the bedroom, and Ruth said, "Get it over in ten minutes, Madalyn. He can tell you how goodlooking the sheep are tomorrow." Lester came in quietly, his expression astonished and concerned. "I'm terribly sorry to find you like this," he said. "Bob didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with you when he saw you yesterday."

"It's nothing. Ruth thinks some pollen or other may have irritated my throat, and inflamed it. Something like hay fever, except that my nose isn't affected. How did you get on, Lester?" "Oh, wonderfully!" His face was eager. "As far as the cash goes, it can be arranged. The man is willing to take me on Brent Milward's recommendation - in fact I rather gathered that Brent had mentioned he would put up some of the cash. I can't think why he should do such a thing for me, but I'd accept, of course. I wish you'd seen the place, Madalyn!" This wasn't what she wanted him to say. "Do you think everything will work out all right?" "Yes, but it'll take several weeks. The land has to be legally divided..." "Then you're not going in first as a partner?" "We decided against it. The man will help me - he wants to - but I'll be on my own from the beginning. I chose a spot where he can build a rondavel for me, and that will have to do till I can afford to put up a house. It'll mean living a simple life for some time, but it's a beginning." "What about your parents?" she asked carefully. "Have you told them?" He shook his head. "Bob said he mentioned it to my mother yesterday, but I haven't told them anything official." His face closed up. "Perhaps it's wrong, but for years now I haven't consulted them about anything. I have to go my own way, and if it doesn't coincide with theirs, it can't be helped. Whatever they may say, I'm not turning this chance down."

She smiled at him. "It must be great to be sure of yourself. I'm glad." "Well, I've felt insecure for a long time, and I'm about due for a change." He paused. "Forgive me," he added quickly. "I'm talking about myself again, and it was you who got me here, so there must be something else we have to discuss." Sarah pressed her head back into the pillow, as if bracing herself. "I wish what I have to say were more pleasant," she said. "Lester, will you do something for me without wanting to know what it's all about?" He pulled his chair closer to the bed, crossed his legs and rested an elbow on his knee. He was smiling as he answered, "I'll do anything for you - you know that." It wasn't too easy to put it into words. "Did you know that your mother has invited the Macleods to tea on Sunday?" "Good heavens, no! But she ought to have done it years ago." She searched his face for some revealing sign and found none, said baldly, "Will you turn up there for tea as well, Lester? Just make sure of being there before the Macleods arrive, and leave after they do. Don't let your mother speak to Mrs. Macleod or Biddy alone." Lester frowned. "I frankly don't get it. Here's my mother making a belated gesture of goodwill towards the Macleods, and it's apparently being misunderstood. Is this the thing you wanted me to do, without question?" She nodded. "But it's natural that you should want to know more." She threw out a hand and sighed. "This isn't my business, Lester, and Ruth says I'm an idiot to take it on, but I promised Mrs. Macleod. You're not dense. You must see what's happening."

Lester's face, just then, was peculiar. It paled slightly, and then two faint spots of colour appeared high on his cheekbones. He looked confusedly at Sarah. "So that's it," he said. "I should never have taken Biddy down to the sheep farm with me." "Oh, yes, you should," she said impulsively. "I'm sure you both enjoyed the trip," "Poor Biddy. She listened to my ranting all the way home as if she loved it." "She probably did. Bob never made those demands on her." Sarah was beginning to feel she had had enough, when she asked, "Lester, do you care at all for Biddy?" He pushed a hand over his chin. "Lord, I don't know. Biddy's great; I wouldn't want her hurt, but ..." He broke off, and tried again. "Madalyn, you of all people ought to know that my feelings are all haywire just now. Biddy's good and sweet, but why should I think she cares any more for me than she did for Bob? They were close friends for a couple of years." "Till she discovered she couldn't love him." He nodded slowly. "That's right. Madalyn ... are you hinting at something?" "Not too good, am I? But you must understand this, Lester. Mrs. Macleod is certain your mother is keen to come between you and Biddy. If you don't care about Biddy you may as well tell your mother outright, so that the Macleods can stay away. If ... if you have any feeling at all for Biddy you must protect her - and her parents. That's all."

Sarah felt exhausted, and a faint dew was visible at her temples. The heavy silk pyjamas were too warm for this atmosphere, and she wasn't really up to this kind of scene. She felt Lester's hand close over her own on the counterpane. "Thanks, Madalyn," he said quietly. "Things are happening too quickly, but you've warned me, and I'll see that Biddy doesn't come to any harm." He gave a short strained laugh. "I'll confound the whole lot of them. I'll take the Macleods over to see the folks myself on Sunday, and they can make what they like of it!" "I'm so glad," she said, and because her throat was aching with all the exercise she had given it, she closed her eyes. She didn't hear Lester get to his feet, but she did hear him say, "You're such a darling, Madalyn." And then with a mild sense of shock she felt his lips on her forehead. Her eyes opened swiftly, and her glance was drawn at once to the doorway, beyond Lester. Brent stood there, with his hands in his pockets, and a set smile on his lips. Sarah stared, and became conscious, as she had not done with Lester, that she was in bed. Lester murmured, "Well, I won't bother you any longer tonight. I do hope you'll feel well tomorrow. Good night." He turned to go and saw Brent, said awkwardly, "I was just coming over to your place. Thought you might like to have a report." Brent answered coolly, "Save it till tomorrow, Lester. So long." Lester passed him and went out. Brent advanced a few paces into the bare little room and stood at the foot of the bed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN BRENT didn't hurry to speak. In fact he stood there for quite some moments contemplating Sarah with sharp blue eyes that were both aloof and .probing. She had not moved from her position among the pillows, and lying there she looked small and worn and incapable of caring. "The kiss on the brow was touching," he said at last. "Did you invite him in here?" "We had something to talk over," she answered in dispirited tones, "but that can't be said of you and me." "It happens that I've been out all day and only just got back. I came over in friendly mood, and Ruth told me you'd had some throat trouble. How is it now?" "I'm practically normal." "You look knocked out. Why in the world did you bother with Lester?" "I had to. No more questions about him, please!" He came slowly round to the side of the bed and looked down at her damp forehead. Without speaking, he took the handkerchief from his top pocket, poured water over it from the carafe and pressed it straight across from one temple to the other. The idiotic thought occurred to her that he was expunging that light kiss. "That's nice," she said softly, "but I don't trust you when you're nice. Go away, Brent." "Do you mean you don't trust yourself when I'm nice?" he queried. "How many men have called you darling, Madalyn?"

She spoke in tired tones. "I'll look up my diary and let you know. Thanks for coaling me off." "Are you really sleepy, or is this an act, to get rid of me?" "I'm sleepy," she said, "and I want you to go." "Because I'm too disturbing?" She spoke under her breath. "You're too everything." "And you'll be glad to get back to England and away from the risk of meeting me every day? " "How did you guess?" A pause. "It won't be long now before you see Felix again." "No, I suppose not." "Aching for it?" "Don't badger me, Brent. Please." He dropped the handkerchief in a damp heap on the bedside table, picked up a tumbler half-full of melting ice-cubes and poured orangejuice from a jug over the cubes. His face was dark and set. "Have a freshener," he said. "As a matter of fact I came over hoping to have a private word with you tonight. There's something you ought to know, but I'm afraid this isn't the best time to tell you. I daresay it can wait." "I'll listen, if it's necessary." "No. Sit up a little and take this drink."

She sat forward and put a hand behind her to adjust the two pillows. But Brent pulled them upright. She felt his hand, cool and firm through the silk of the pyjama jacket, and automatically her skin shrank from the touch. He put the glass into her hand and stood back. The sternness in his expression made her feel weak. Before he could speak there came a brief laugh from somewhere in the house; it had a hard, confident sound. Very quietly she asked, "Is that Cornelia?" He nodded. "She dined with me. We walked over together." Sarah looked into the pale orange liquid she held. "She seems to be recovering from the loss of her brother." "At heart, Cornelia's the most sensible woman I know. She's relieved today because we've had a good offer for Daniesrust. It's on the cards that in a few days there may be an even better offer. She's decided to hang on, and see." Gently, she swirled the contents of the glass, so that the ice clinked. "What was it you thought you ought to tell me?" "It doesn't matter," he said offhandedly. "Just get well as soon as you can. Shall I switch on the main light?" "Yes, please." "Nothing you want?" She shook her head. "I shall get up tomorrow." "Let Ruth decide that. Good night, honey."

It was said unsmilingly, as if she were a child who had offended and been only half forgiven, she thought bitterly. She answered him without looking his way, and as soon as he had gone she put the glass back on the table and slumped. She wished he had closed the door, but it stood wide, letting in muffled conversation from the lounge. It went on for some time, then drifted outside. She listened for the creak of the gate in the cyclone fence, heard it and knew that those two were now walking back across the pasture to the big house. Cornelia's arm would be linked with his and they would talk about things which concerned the two of them. There was a bond between them, forged when they were very young together and strengthened by the years and propinquity. They understood each other thoroughly. Cornelia was no doubt the reason he could have no lasting interest in the young clinging type, like Wendy Carsland. They wouldn't pause in the pasture; they knew their surroundings too well for that. Brent had said the night was cool and starry, so they would linger outside the big house, breathing in familiar night perfumes and listening to the cicadas and perhaps not talking very much because some rare quality had stolen into the atmosphere. And finally, inevitably, he would take her into his arms. Nothing to go tight about in that, Sarah told herself bleakly. He had possibly done it many times before. Brent knew women, and his power over them. Ruth came in with warm milk and more tablets. "This last dose should complete the trick," she said cheerfully. Then she paused. "Was it Lester or Brent?" she demanded. "Was what Lester or Brent?" "You look as if you've lost a pound and found a tickey. I shouldn't have let them loose on you. I knew it!"

"It doesn't matter. I think it's going to be all right about Lester." "Good. It's also my opinion that everything is going well between Brent and Cornelia. Though, do you know," she hesitated wrinkling her brow, "Cornelia's flint-hard inside. I realised it very forcibly this evening. Brent's been nursing her along, but the thing that livens her up is an offer of nearly twice as much as Daniesrust is worth - even at today's inflated prices. And she's holding out for more. I wonder what sort of wife she'll make?" "You'll see, but I shan't. Brent may wish he'd gone in for someone simpler, after all." "You said that as if you hope so." Ruth looked at the pale face, the fairish, untidy hair, the shadowed grey eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't keep him out of the room, but I hadn't a chance. I'd no sooner mentioned that you were in bed with a throat than he came this way. You know Brent." "Yes, I know," Sarah said quietly. "You must be tired, Ruth. I'll wait on you tomorrow." "Don't count on that. I haven't had a white patient for years!"

Sarah got up late next morning, and she was still dressing when Brent came with letters for Ruth. This time he didn't come into the bedroom, because Sarah had locked the door. He tapped. "How's the invalid this morning?" "Entirely recovered," she replied. "I've brought you a couple of best-sellers from town."

"Thanks. You're very generous." "Would you rather not see me today?" "Yes, please." A brief silence. "All right," in humourless tones. "Take care of yourself." Ten minutes later he went off in the car, and Sarah wandered through to the lounge, where Ruth was reading her letters. The two books were there, new thick volumes in attractive jackets. Sarah turned the pages, sat down to begin reading. She rather longed to become absorbed in someone else's story. Ruth looked up. suddenly. "Great luck," she said. "You remember the letter we sent to the agent in London? He wants the book in sections as it's typed, and he's willing to put one of his own staff on picking up pieces to be sold in article form to the press. I think we'll send those first two or three chapters, don't you?" "It's possible you'll want to make further alterations, but I suppose you could do that to a carbon copy, when the whole thing is complete. I'll type as much as I can next week, and perhaps I can fix up with someone in Pietsdorp to go on doing it for you. There must surely be a typist with time on her hands in the district!" "I wouldn't like to bet on it, and I'd so love you to do it," Ruth lamented. "We've got on so well together, and you've become so much part of the place that I hate to think of you leaving." Her eyes widened thoughtfully behind her glasses. "Funny I should say that, when your real background is so very different." "I've loved it here," said Sarah quickly.

"Even though we've all used you, one way or another? I'm glad." Ruth paused. "Will you go on working for Felix after you're married?" "I... haven't thought about it." Ruth leaned forward, over the table. "I believe you're still uncertain about him. I know he's kind and sweet, but don't give in to him just because he wants you. I've no experience in these things, but I do know that you can't be happily married to a man unless you're in love with him. If you don't love Felix enough, you must tell him so the moment you, meet him in England. I wish you'd promise me that, Madalyn." Sarah contrived a bright smile. "I believe you've really thought seriously about it. You don't have to worry about me, Ruth." "I'm beginning to realise," commented Ruth ruefully, "that one does worry about the people one's fond of. Marriage is an awfully serious step, my dear." Sarah could think of no response to this, so she merely smiled again and went back to her book. Next day she felt quite normal, and to prove it she rode by herself, taking the track across the veld and up the hillside. The cotton-fields were changing, losing their greenness but acquiring flecks of white as the bolls burst from the pods. The orange- groves were changing, too; the orderly rows of thick green trees were covered with bright globes, and among some of them the preliminary picking had started, to relieve the loaded branches. She wouldn't see them at their best, but they were already looking lovely in an exotic fashion. She remembered reading that the northern part of the Game Reserve had opened to visitors, and she thought it might have been exciting to travel up beyond the Oliphants River into the hot country where

elephants roamed and the rarer species of wild game gathered in herds. Well, it was too late now. After lunch, Ruth went to her room to lie down, but Sarah was restless. She took the coffee dips to the kitchen and went out the back way into the hot garden. One of the land boys was rolling the new grass, and he paused in the shade of the tulip tree to lean on the handle of the roller and stare into the distance. He wore a cabbage leaf under his ancient hat, but sweated profusely nevertheless. "George," she said, "I want you to cut the tree." He thought about this. "To cut it, missus?" "Yes." "Is too big, missus? " "Too thick. Do you know where the saw is kept?" He knew, and went off to get it. When he came back she directed him. "The lower branches first. This one, and this, and this. Can you take them off where they join the trunk?" "Other boy must help," he said firmly. "No, he's hoeing among the papaws. I'll call Jacob." To have the lunch messing around till mid-afternoon was bad enough, said Jacob's expression when he wandered into view; this tree-cutting was stretching things too far. He moved with deliberate sluggishness, carefully kept the sleeves of his white shirt rolled high on his chocolate-brown arms.

He said sententiously, "Must cut out the heart of this tree." "One thing at a time," said Sarah, as a branch creaked and fell. "Drag the lopped branches right away, Jacob, so that George can see what he's doing." It took a long time, but gradually the tulip tree thinned out and the beauty of the leaves was visible. Jacob repeated his statement, but he looked hurt when Sarah sent him for the necessary ladder. She prevailed upon him to climb it, however, and told the other boy to hand up to him the saw. To the accompaniment of rhythmic groaning, the main trunk was cut right through and the top half dragged clear of the tree. Sarah stood back to view the boys' work, and felt a qualm. The tulip tree looked terribly shorn, but it still gave a fair amount of shade. To prove this last, Sarah went close to the trunk and looked up through the branches. She saw the white scars made by the saw, a few broken leaves, a scattering of sawdust here and there on the bark. She put an arm about the trunk and peered up at something that looked like ... that was a bud! A bud on the tulip tree! As feverishly as if her life depended on it she examined every branch that was near enough. No signs of a flower anywhere, but there, hidden close to the trunk, was the solitary bud which, now that sun and air could get to it, would expand into one of the greenish-white tulip bells with splashes of orange at its base. She ran round the house to Ruth's bedroom window, and called inside. "Ruth, we've pruned the tree!"

Ruth answered from her bed. "Is that what all the noise was about? Does it look terrible?" "I thought so, till I saw ... Oh, Ruth, it's got a bud! Just one!" Ruth didn't get up. "That shows it's not blind, anyway," she said with satisfaction. "I'm glad you've done it." Absurd to feel that Ruth should consider a bud on the tree to have significance. Sarah drew away from the window. The lone little flower was rather sad, really; all lonely things were sad. She had been foolish about the tree, allowed it a sort of ominous importance. But she hadn't expected to find a flower; it was as though it had hidden there, hopefully, ready to bloom even out of season if it were given the chance. But now it seemed that it could mean nothing at all. Sarah went indoors and washed, saw that it was five-thirty and time she changed into a dress. But Ruth called out that it would be good to have a cup of tea, and as Jacob had sulked away towards his quarters, Sarah went through to the kitchen and filled the kettle. The sun had gone completely, and the sky had the glorious purple hue washed over with gold which was twilight in Pietsdorp. The window grated with the breeze, and Sarah pegged it. She got out cups, heard a car on the drive and put another cup-on the tray. Lester? she wondered, while her heart told her it was Brent. The tight, sickening sensation came into her chest; her hand shook as she filled the teapot and set the biscuit jar beside it on the tray. She opened the kitchen door, heard Ruth's voice quick and high-pitched, talking to someone. Then: "Madalyn! Come into the lounge."

Sarah took her time. She looked down at her grubby slacks, at the old white shirt which had ripped near the shoulder where it had caught on a branch. She picked up the loaded tray and went along to the sittingroom. It was that time of the evening when lamplight merges with the remnants of radiance outdoors. Sarah was watching the tray, and when Brent took it from her she still watched it, because the cups were not too securely placed. "Did Ruth tell you about the tulip tree?" she said. "We thinned it this afternoon and found a bud. I couldn't believe it! I do hope it comes out quickly so that I can see it in its glory. I think I deserve..." She stopped as if the rest of the sentence had been cut off with a knife. Brent turned from placing the tray on the table, but she was not looking at him. White-faced, she was staring beyond him at the man who stood with his back to the window. A man who had crinkly hair that was grey at the temples, a long, handsome actor's face, and an expression both puzzled and delighted. "Felix!" she whispered. "Why, Sarah," he exclaimed, in the carefully cultured tones which gave the well-known commentaries on his travelogues. "I didn't know you were here, too! I'm glad to see you, my dear." "Sarah?" put in Brent swiftly, his eyes suddenly hot and metallic. Her brain had never been so empty and cold. She moistened chilled lips, managed at last to look at Ruth's intent face and then, fleetingly, at the rather frightening Brent. "I... I want to speak to Felix alone," she managed.

"Of course you shall," Felix said indulgently, "but not till after I've seen Madalyn. Do go and tell her I'm here, Sarah!" She swayed slightly, felt herself being lowered to a chair. She looked up into the blue leaping eyes, heard Brent say fiercely, "So you're not Madalyn Knight! You're Sarah someone. Good God, what is all this?" "Be quiet," she almost choked. "You'll make everything a thousand times more difficult to explain than it is already!" Brent didn't answer. He somehow got behind her and leant against the wall. In more even tones he said, "This isn't quite how I imagined a meeting between you two, but go ahead. It's enthralling!" Felix had sat down rather suddenly, in a chair near the table. He placed long fingers on the arms of his chair, sat so that he could look straight across the table at Sarah. His expression was pitiable. Slowly, he said, "Do I understand that Madalyn isn't here? Tell me what's been happening, Sarah. Did she become ill again? Where is she now? I have to know, my dear." "She's not ill. I . , I'll explain it all when we're alone." Then, despairingly, "You're not even supposed to have left Australia yet. Why did you come here, Felix?" "Maybe I'd better clear up this particular point," said Brent behind her, in a smooth, steely voice. "I cabled to Felix two or three weeks ago - just after those two letters arrived from him. I said we'd be happy if he could break his journey here. Naturally, I thought we had his fiancée on the premises, or I wouldn't have suggested it." "You'd do anything to cause a riot," Sarah said in a tight voice. "At least you might have mentioned it!"

"I did tell you there was something you ought to know, but now I'm quite glad that circumstances kept me silent. If I had told you, you'd have cleared out. We'd never have had this enlightening scene." While Brent was speaking Felix had closed his heavy-lidded eyes, as if stunned. Now he opened them and gazed again at Sarah. "Having gone so far, I must know the truth of this," he said. "The absolute truth, Sarah." "But, Felix..." "It's necessary. You must realise that!" She swallowed. "I can't tell you anything till I've spoken to Madalyn. Nothing dreadful has happened, Felix. Please believe that!" For the first time, Ruth spoke. "Are you one of the film company, Madalyn?" Felix winced. "Sarah," he corrected her. "Sarah Knight - Madalyn's half-sister. Sarah came out to South Africa several months before we did. I left Madalyn at her flat in Johannesburg when the company went to Australia." "Then she's never been your assistant, or been employed by you at all?" "Never," said Felix hollowly. "Well, I must say," said Ruth admiringly, "that she managed the role quite successfully." She remembered something, and asked, "Has Madalyn got red hair?" No one answered her.

Sarah felt as bruised as if she were being trampled on. Huskily, she said, "Well, you know it all now. I came here to Dr. Masters because Madalyn couldn't. I promised her that this would never happen - and now I've let her down." "Don't take it too hard, little one," said an austere voice at her back. "I'd say that this sister of yours deserves all that's coming to her." This was too much, Sarah jumped to her feet and swung round. "You're the cause of this... this beastly business! What right had you to telegraph Felix? What could it matter to you which of the Knight sisters I happened to be! I did my best to be as honest as possible with Ruth, and she's satisfied that..." He interrupted, staring down at her inflexibly. "Stop getting worked up. I had no idea till you met Felix just now that you were not the person you pretended to be. My reason for inviting Felix here had quite a different angle from any you can think of, but I repeat that I couldn't be more pleased to have him at Pietsdorp. Didn't it ever occur to you how terribly wrong it was to take your sister's place? And where has she been all this time - or should I ask with whom? " "You ... you're unbearable!" She turned swiftly. "Pay no attention to what he's saying, Felix. He doesn't care how he discredits people. He's never met Madalyn - hasn't an inkling of where she is or what she's doing. If you'll let me see you alone I can tell you about it. Please, Felix!" Poor Felix was looking quite old. He shook his head. "I trusted Madalyn," he said, "and I trusted my cousin Ruth to look after her for me. Brent has made this his concern, and he's entitled to hear what you have to say. Where is she, Sarah?" White, and trembling a little, Sarah said, "She's in Durban, and I'm meeting her in Johannesburg in a few days' time. She's arranged to

fly home in time to ... to meet the plane from Sydney. She's looking forward so much to seeing you, Felix." Almost as if he were acting a part on a stage, Felix said, "And now tell us the reason for the deception. We have to know." "I can't. You must ask Madalyn yourself." Brent's voice came over, crisp and clear. "Was there a man in it?" "Madalyn," said Sarah unsteadily, "is in love with Felix and hopes to marry him." "But I think," murmured Felix unhappily, "that you should tell us why you're here in Madalyn's place. I arranged for her to come to Ruth, and she has actually written to me from this house. Sarah, why did she send you here?" "Well ... she got well quickly and the flat was too small. When you cabled she'd already taken a temporary post and wasn't free to come." "It meant so much to her - this temporary position?" Sarah looked at him pleadingly. "Don't you see the fix she was in? I was free to come and she wasn't. That's really all there was to it." "But I'd have accepted you as you are," put in Ruth, practically. "You needn't have done any of this for my benefit." "I think I understand," said Felix, pushing a weary hand over his brow. "Madalyn was afraid to disappoint me. I've always made rather a fetish of my own integrity and demanding integrity of others particularly of Madalyn. I thought she would come to you even if the illness had passed, because she knew I wanted it, but perhaps I sometimes expect too much. Madalyn knows me so well, my old-

fashioned ways and prejudices. She contrived the deception for my sake." "Then... you forgive her?" asked Sarah. "I don't think I can. She put this ... this temporary association with someone else before my concern for her. Sarah, was it a man?" Sarah would have given the world to be able to reply in a brief negative. But she couldn't; she floundered. "Yes, but. but he's married - just married very happily. Madalyn only worked for him. Felix, you're keen on people keeping promises. Well, you're making me break my word to Madalyn, and I can't go any further with it." "That's true," he said, grey-faced. "But there's one thing more you must tell me - her address in Durban. I shall have to go down and see her at once." Before Sarah could protest, Ruth said, "I think you should give yourself a little time, Felix. Let Sarah write to her sister and tell her about your arrival. She could ask her to come at once to Johannesburg, and you and she could meet there, without anyone else around. Don't you think that would be wise?" He shook his head. "There's no need for Sarah to be implicated in any way in my having learned about this matter. I'll explain it all, but I must have the truth. I love Madalyn very much - more than I've ever dared to tell her," he ended simply. "I'm hurt, but I won't be angry with her, because I do realise that this is partly my fault. I suppose I panicked at leaving her unwell in a strange country, and you, being a doctor, seemed to me the best person to have care of her. Sarah's so young, and the flat in Johannesburg was inadequate." Brent said, "All you need is the address in Durban. Here's an old envelope, honey. You can write if down for Felix."

Sarah couldn't bear to look at him. "I'll write to Madalyn," she said, "but I won't give the address without her permission." Felix gave her a tired smile. "My dear, it won't make any difference, I promise you." "I'm sorry, Felix," she said stubbornly. "Don't be such a little mule," said Brent decisively. "Give Felix the address and forget the whole grubby business. You were crazy to take it on, but no doubt you meant well. Anyway, there's no need to stick your silly head further into the hornet's nest." She blazed round at him. "Keep out of this, you big interfering brute! I have to accept the fact that you've upset everything, but I won't have you dictate to me about how I shall treat my own sister. If you hadn't been so..." "Steady," he said calmly. "I admit that if I hadn't got Felix here no one would have known that your sister is a two-timer, but don't you think it's just as well that he should know what he's letting himself in for? Give him that address, and have done with it!" "I won't!" "Very well. There are ways of finding it out." He was looking pinched about the nostrils now. "If she's in a hotel it's probably the one the film unit stayed at on tour. Otherwise, she'll be staying with friends she made during the tour - or at least they'll be in touch with her. Remember anyone in Durban, particularly, Felix?" Felix lifted burdened shoulders. "I have all the addresses of people who were kind to us. I intended writing letters of thanks as soon as I returned to England."

"You see?" said Brent to Sarah. "Felix doesn't need that address, but you could save him the trouble and humiliation of making inquiries." She spoke to him with difficulty. "You've ruined everything," she said. "You and that... outsize ego of yours! You've made several people wretched, and I only hope that... someone does the same to you one day!" She turned and fled from the room, heard the crash of an overturned chair and his swift, heavy footsteps. She slipped into her room, banged the door and turned the key. The handle rattled. "Let me in there," he commanded. "I've got to talk to you!" The muscles of her jaw twitched uncontrollably. "Go and get Ruth's permission to smash the door," she answered. "It's the only way you'll get in!" There was silence. Sarah went to the window and leant her forehead against the cold pane. She felt limp as wet string.

CHAPTER TWELVE THIS was something neither Sarah nor Madalyn had imagined could possibly happen. Felix Frayne here at Pietsdorp, brought by the ruthless Brent. Sarah's heart wept for Felix, yet secretly she was relieved that he knew. Would he forgive Madalyn - would he marry her? And would Madalyn ever believe that she, Sarah, had striven to keep her word, even against the two men? It couldn't matter now what anyone thought, but as far as possible the situation must be retrieved. Madalyn had to be contacted, either by telephone or telegram. Telegrams were risky - anyone in a household might open them - but it would take some time to get through on the telephone, and it was so difficult when the only public telephone in the district was in the Pietsdorp post office. It would mean waiting there for some time. Still, it could be done. Anything was better than just standing about in a locked room, wondering how to act for the best. But she would never get out of the house past Brent, and in any case he always parked in a position that made it difficult to back the navy car from the garage. He'd hear it, anyway. No, she would have to ride. And there was no reason why she should not get out of the window. She had done it before! Cautiously, she opened the window wider. Then it occurred to her that she would need money, and she transferred her purse from her bag to the pocket of her trousers. Luckily she had kept the slacks on. She climbed stealthily, let down her legs outside the window and dropped to the grass. The gate to the pasture was not far away, just down there at the back of the garage. One of the small lounge windows looked that way; but it was dusk. She would have to chance it.

She moved along the wall, looked longingly at the sleek grey ranch wagon. It would serve him right if she got into it and drove away. Not a bad idea at that! The keys of the small car were in her pocket, so he wouldn't be able to follow. Could she manage the ranch wagon? The gears, she thought, were the usual kind, and the engine made hardly any noise when it started up, but would he have left the keys in the ignition? No, it was too risky. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, moved without a rustle along the wall to the corridor of the house. And there, her heart turned. For Brent straightened from the wall, gave her a pulled-in sort of smile and firmly took her elbow. "I thought that was what you'd do," he said. "There are times when I know just what you're thinking, or the trend your thoughts are likely to take." "You're the most maddening man," she said under her breath, "but you're not going to stop me." "I'm not going to try, but I'm going with you. In fact you're going with me. What had you decided, telegram or telephone?" "You're quite sure it's one or the other?" "Of course. Felix will reach your sister before you do over your dead body. Right?" "Right," she sighed. "Why don't you leave me alone?" "You might as well ask me not to breathe. Get in the car and be still for a minute. Perhaps we hadn't better talk till we get to the house." "You can't leave Felix like that!"

"Can't I?" he said grimly. "Let him finish wallowing in his troubles with Ruth. We'll come back later." He backed the ranch wagon, turned out on to the lane and along the road. I give up, thought Sarah despairingly; he'll go on managing me till I leave Pietsdorp - I've got to endure it. At the house he led her up into the hall and switched on some lights. A servant appeared, and Brent told him to bring a jug of water and some ice to the library. Then he opened the library door and snapped on the desk lamp. "Put your call in," he said. "I'll be back in two minutes." "Give me longer. I have to enquire the number first." "Four minutes, then. Go ahead." Sarah made her inquiry, was told that there might be a long-ish delay. She replaced the receiver and leant back upon the desk, found that she was trembling again and helped herself to a cigarette from the box. Brent came in then, and flicked his lighter. She drew on the cigarette, cast him a quick glance and moved slightly. The tautness about him touched her already vibrating nerves. "Do you feel better now that you've accepted the inevitable?" he asked. "Slightly. I'll feel easier about it when I've spoken to my sister." He lit his own cigarette, put away the lighter. "I know now why you didn't care to be called Madalyn; a few other things become clear, too. So it's Sarah." He repeated the name, reflectively. "I like it, and if anything it makes you more you - if you know what I mean." Then: "You were going to remain Madalyn and walk right out on us, weren't you?"

"There'd have been no sense in going through these past weeks if I hadn't." A boy came in with ice and water and an array of glasses. He gave Sarah an engaging smile as he went out. Brent opened a small cupboard and took out a couple of bottles and a siphon. "Seeing that you missed your tea, we'll have a drink right away," he said. "Sit down just here, and relax." She thanked him for the drink he placed near her, sat back and crossed her ankles. The silence stretched intolerably. She said, "Sorry I'm in such a messy condition. I haven't changed since I went riding this morning." He answered offhandedly, "To me you always look scrubbed and immaculate - even with a hole in your blouse. So you did some surgery to the tulip tree?" To Sarah the room seemed fitted with electric wires. She nodded, "The bud was close to the trunk. It's stupid, but it seemed like a ... an omen, a happy one." She looked up with misty eyes. "Then you brought Felix!" He set his drink down with a thud. "Hell, I had to! I knew you weren't in love with him - I could feel it. Before that day when Ruth read the letter from Felix it didn't occur to me at all that there might be something between him and his assistant. I couldn't connect you with him intimately - the two of you are so opposed in character. But there it was, written down for anyone to know, and he wrote you... your sister by the same mail. It changed everything. Don't you see that?" "No," she replied faintly. "I can't say I do."

"You'll have to accept my word for it, then." He sounded strange, a little harsh. "I thought it over for a day or two, then decided to get Felix to come here to Pietsdorp. You don't steal a man's girl while his back is turned." There definitely was something extraordinary in the air. Sarah managed an inadequate, "Don't you?" He sat suddenly on the edge of the desk, bent towards her. His face was dark, the blue eyes burned. "You've got to understand me, honey. This - disclosure, shall we call it? - was much more of a surprise to me than it was to you. You've been risking it all along. Perhaps I imagined a worse task than this, but..." he broke off impatiently, gave a brief strained laugh. "God, Sarah, this would be a lot easier if you'd shout at me, or break down, or something. Don't just stare as if you're afraid I'm loco!" "Well... aren't you?" she asked hoarsely. "If it's mad to be in love, then I'm in the final stages. I love you, I want you, I need you and I mean to have you. That should be clear!" She contrived a scared smile. "You can't mean you've been horrid to me because..." Firmly he took her glass and placed it out of reach. Then he grasped her wrists, shook her slightly and spoke forcibly, quite close to her face. "I haven't been horrid. I've been restrained and very English too damned honourable for words! Now, my small quivering darling, I'm going to be me. I'll give you something to tremble for!" And he did. When Sarah began to feel again wild tremors ran along her nerves. She put her arms tightly about him, slipped her hands up

over his back to his shoulders and surrendered to the hard, hungry kisses. These were the most ecstatic mo- merits of her life. The insistent, high-pitched ringing of the telephone brought them back to the library. Sarah stood there palpitating, gazing at him with shining eyes while her hand sought the telephone. "Yes?" she said dazedly. "You have a call to Durban," a dulcet voice murmured. "We've found that number you wanted and are putting the call through. There will be an hour's delay." "Thank you." She dropped the receiver back into place and said helplessly, "Another hour. Why did they have to ring just then?" Brent laughed, hugged her and pushed her gently back into her chair. He dragged up another chair and sat on the arm of it. "I've discovered something," he said. "I do like a girl to cling, so long as she's you. I hate that sister of yours for what she did to you, but I could almost love her as well, for sending you here. If only you'd come here as yourself, though! The time we've wasted!" "Brent... I'm so glad I don't have to go away." "Then you must be in love with me," he said, as if he hadn't believed it before. "Now that you admit you belong to me, tell me about the abominable sister-in-law I'm acquiring. We don't have secrets any longer." But the habit of safeguarding Madalyn's interests was too strong to be shed so swiftly. "I'll tell you after I've spoken to her," Sarah said.

"Madalyn's lovely - in looks, I mean - and she's several years older than I am." "She's also selfish and she'd hate farm life - that's one of the reasons she didn't come here herself. That's so, isn't it?" "Don't let's judge her, Brent. She's had her disappointments, too. I'll confess that when I first came to Pietsdorp I wondered what she'd let me in for. There was Lester..." "Did he ask you to marry him?" "Of course not. I'm hoping very much that he'll marry Biddy." "Thank heaven he's clearing off to raise sheep. I won't have him so much as look at you again!" He paused. "Your sister hasn't written you very often, has she?" "It was safer that she shouldn't. I saw her in Johannesburg that time I went with Ruth." "She certainly has nerve. I rather think she's one of these women who find it convenient to love where there happens to be money. She can't really care much for Felix." Sarah said earnestly, "She does care for him, as much as she's able to care for anybody, and I think she'll make him happy now that ..." she hesitated. "I do hope Felix will understand and forgive." "I shouldn't worry," said Brent with irony. "She talked you into taking her place at Pietsdorp, and Felix is a man and far gone on the woman. Somehow she'll end things to her own advantage. She must have tremendous vanity." "Madalyn's all right in many ways," she answered, avoiding in her own mind all thought of the cruel threat to Bill's career. "We lived

together in London, and though we parted for a while when I first came to South Africa, I suppose it was natural for her to resume the idea that she had control over me. The fact that we're only half-sisters seems to have spoiled the relationship for Madalyn. It was because she was always keen to get her own way that I kept out of the film world. In London, I was a secretary to a very ordinary business man." "What about the brother you once admitted to?" "Bill?" Her glance softened. "He's going to be a famous surgeon. I wish you could meet him." "All in good time," he said tolerantly. "Is he really keen on medicine?" "Terrifically. He and I used to talk about it while we were still at school, and I became as enthusiastic as he was," "And your influence is pretty potent," he said teasingly. "I suppose soon you'll get cracking on Comyns Ridge, and we shan't recognise the place!" "No, I love it as it is." Colour brightened her pale tan. "I can't believe I'm going to live here!" "I can; it's been in my mind for weeks. I thought I might have to fight Felix for you, but I meant to have you. Your place is here with me, Sarah. I nearly told Cornelia, once." "Cornelia?" she echoed, and her smile faded. "For the moment I'd forgotten Cornelia. You and she are ... very close friends, aren't you?" "I suppose so." He took her hand on to his knee, between his own palms. "We've known each other since childhood, and Pieter was there too, of course. And there was an elder brother, Johan - he and I

went to school and university together. Strangely enough, Cornelia had a far better business brain than either of her brothers, and for that reason we all made rather a lot of her. When anyone is complimented a great deal they go for even bigger successes. After Johan died she ran the place on her own; for the most part Pieter only took an allowance." "And then he died," she said quietly. Brent stroked her fingers. "Cornelia felt his death more than she's ever felt anything. She went right to pieces; I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. Pieter was her twin and the last male du Plessis, but there was more to it than that. It was only a day or two ago, when we had the big offer for Daniesrust and she brightened so swiftly, that I heard the truth of it. It seems that before Pieter left Daniesrust that last time he once more asked for his share in cash. Cornelia told him he could have it on condition that he signed away all right to the family pictures and other treasures, and all right to live in the house. It sounds callous, but that's Cornelia. Pieter's fiancée was keen to own some of the old furniture herself, so he refused. They had a big row, and Cornelia, in a fit of anger, told him she intended to marry a man who would change his name to du Plessis and carry on at Daniesrust. To Pieter the very suggestion was sacrilegious -I must confess. I don't care for it myself - and he went off saying that he hoped he'd never see her again. Well, he never did." "Did Cornelia tell you this herself? " He nodded. "That was how she explained her own collapse when her brother's death was reported. I suppose that for a while it looked like a sort of judgment." Sarah tried not to sound urgent. "But she's still going to sell Daniesrust?"

"Yes. She finds now that she can't resist the big money. She's already negotiating for a directorship in an importing firm at the coast." Sarah was silent a moment, while gratitude stole sweetly over her. "I was awfully afraid she wanted you as a husband," she said. "In fact, I'm sure she gave it serious thought. And I wasn't too sure you didn't fancy her as a wife." "Chump," he said softly. "I knew Cornelia when she was younger and prettier than she is now, but I wouldn't have taken her on as a wife if she'd been the last woman in the world. Clever women are always hard. That's why there's still hope for your sister - she wasn't quite clever enough." Sarah looked at him and loved him, loved the lines of his face, the darkish blue of his eyes, the straight brows. She saw laughter and need in those eyes, felt strength from his hands flowing into her, saw his dark head against the background of crimson curtaining at the window. Her breath caught, and she said foolishly, "I'll be able to finish Ruth's book with her. She'll be delighted." "It'll have to wait till we've had a honeymoon. I'm not one of these chaps who can wait around for heaven. I want mine red- hot!" "Oh, darling," she said, with that delicious feeling of helplessness, "you say the craziest things. Who ever heard of a red- hot heaven? I love you!" And that, naturally, was more than enough encouragement for Brent. He proceeded to convince her, with a passion both savage and tender, that she was the most adored creature in the universe.

And just for a second she thought thankfully that of all the women in the world only she could be Sarah, wife of Brent.