WINDS IN THE

WILDERNESS

Rosalind Brett
When Lou and Nadine and Daphne went to spend six months on
Nadine's farm in Mlemba, they intended to be self-sufficient.

But the nearest farm was a bachelor set-up, and when men and
women are neighbours, things are bound to start happening. Most of
the happenings at Four Winds centred on masterful Damon Thorpe.
Nadine liked his conversation and Daphne his looks, but it was Lou,
the youngest, who was destined to feel the full impact of his
personality.
CHAPTER I

NADINE switched off the engine of the grimy little jeep, crossed both
her arms on the wheel and stared.

"Great heavens," she murmured soberly. "Six thousand miles ... for
this?"

Daphne's voice quavered. "It's too bad. I'm horribly tired and those
beastly roads have shaken my bones from their sockets. And then
you have to take the wrong road into the bargain. This can't possibly
be the place, Nadine."

"I assure you it is," said Nadine hollowly. "We are exactly three and
a half miles beyond Mlemba, and those peeling letters on that poor,
besotted gate spell Four Winds. Four Winds," she repeated bitterly.
"Why didn't we guess that a house with a name like that wouldn't
know which way to lean? "

As a matter of fact the walls were fairly perpendicular, even if they

were constructed of corrugated iron. The roof, though, had a sad and
rakish air. The thatch was sparse and gnawed here and there into
holes, and the single chimney let through sunshine between the
bricks. From the cracks in the stone veranda pushed prickly pear and
milk bush, and some kind of creeper had taken root in the
accumulation of dust between the slats of the shutters which covered
the windows. The bungalow gave the impression of yearning for the
rain which would nourish the growth in which it was endeavouring
to blanket itself before decaying gracefully into the soil.

As for the farm lands of which the house was monarch, they
stretched, flat, bush-grown and unproductive, to a belt of blue gums
which gave out half-way up the side of a low, rocky mountain. Sere
grass everywhere between those bushes, except for a patch of brown
mealie stalks from last year's crop.
The heavy silence in the jeep was broken by a laugh from the back,
which was instantly stifled. Nadine turned.

"Really, Lou, this is no time ..." She broke off and her narrow,
reddened lips forced into an unwilling smile, which graduated into
one of pure amusement. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "Lou's right. It
is funny. Here we were, expecting to be greeted by a colonial
mansion set among exotic trees and a string of African servants
falling over themselves to carry our bags and brew tea - and what do
we find?"

"A shanty!" supplied Daphne broodingly. "That uncle of yours must

have been crazy."

"I like it," said Lou.

Two pairs of eyes came round to regard her: one pair blue and
hostile, the other dark brown and indulgent.

"She likes it," Nadine told Daphne with a kindly nod. "That's one of
us, anyway. Since you like it," she said to Lou, "perhaps you'll take
the key and risk the place falling about your ears when the door
opens. Look out for snakes!"

Lou climbed past the suitcases and big coats, stepped out with relief
into the sunshine, took another look at Four Winds, and still liked it.
Small, decrepit and square against the hot blue sky, it threw out a
challenge. And Lou wasn't up to her eyebrows in a career like
Nadine, or recovering from an abortive love affair, like Daphne. Lou
was free and untrammelled, and so wholeheartedly glad to be in
Rhodesia that the challenge was merely exhilarating.

She stepped along the weed-grown path, went up two cement steps
into a porch rippled like the desert with sand. The key fitted into the
lock and turned with a savage, grating sound. She pushed, saw a
large spider scurry, enraged, across a worn rug near the door, and
walked into the living room which had belonged for twenty years to
Nadine's uncle.

Blurred pencils of light barred the room through the festooned

shutters, and when her eyes became inured to the dimness Lou saw a
couple of baggy armchairs, a plain wood table and four Windsor
chairs, a home-made cupboard with drawers at the top and, under
the window, a small inlaid writing table which breathed elegance
even through the eight months' thickness of dust.

That writing table had a history, thought Lou; probably a

sentimental one for poor Uncle Simon Gardner.

"My, my," breathed Nadine, just behind her. "What a glorious end
for a poet. Let it be a lesson to you, Lou, my poppet. Never lose that
nice red head of yours in the clouds."

"It looks horrid in here now," Lou conceded, "but I expect it was a
comfy room when he lived here. Men don't notice the lack of
ornamentation, and a poet would be even more immune. I'm glad we
brought a set of his books with us."

"You're not suggesting," said Daphne in sombre tones, "that we live

in this hut?"

"Of course we're staying here. That's what we came for." Lou's grey
eyes anxiously scanned Nadine's face. "You do agree, don't you,
Nadine? We can't run to the cost of living at a hotel while this place
is done up, and that shop in Mlemba did promise to deliver the
divan and camp-bed this afternoon. Tidying up the place will be the
greatest fun in the world."

"Fun," echoed Nadine. "Do you hear that, Daphne darling? Fun!"

"If it's all the same to you," said Daphne thinly, "I'll treat myself to a
few nights at the last hotel we passed, while you burrow."
Lou had gone through a doorway, discovered a bedroom furnished
on a par with the living room, another room which was empty and a
green-painted kitchen which had a wood stove set in a recess under
the chimney opening. She twisted the key in the lock of the back
door and flung it wide to let air and light into the oven-hot, dust-
smelling abode.

There was an iron sink with a pump handle at one side of it, a
scarred enamel-top table, with a cupboard under it which held an
assortment of saucepans and a black kettle. Another cupboard, fixed
to the wall, contained some thick cups? saucers and plates, a few
pieces of cutlery and a brown earthenware teapot.

Happily, Lou grabbed at a folded tea towel which lay upon the pile
of plates and tucked one end of it into the belt of her frock, forming
an apron. She looked into the living room.

"I'm going to get our box of supplies and the spirit stove from the
car. Dust off a chair or two and sit down, and in no time I'll bring
you a cup of tea. After that we'll wade in so thoroughly that even
Daphne won't want to miss a night here."

And that was how Nadine Gardner, Daphne Pryce and Lou Meredith
came to live at Four Winds in the district of Mlemba, which lay to
the north-west of Bulawayo.

Nadine had been left the house and lands by her uncle who, a minor
man of letters, had realised that she was the only other member of
the Gardner family with talent. In his will he had asked, but not
commanded, that she live there for six months and try to turn out
something better than the sophisticated drawings to which he had
seen her name attached in various magazines. Nadine, thirty, svelte
and darkly beautiful, had cocked an eyebrow at the eccentric will.
The truth was she didn't want to turn out anything better. Her work
was always in demand and also there was a flattering prestige
attached to her position. She enjoyed life in a service flat and didn't
a bit mind living up to her income.

For a few months she got a kick out of mentioning "my African
farm". The fact that she knew no details whatever of the place rather
enhanced it as a subject for conjecture, but she was too busy to give
deep thought to it. She had seen pictures of some of the lovely
farmhouses in the Bulawayo and Salisbury districts and formed the
impression that Four Winds would be the same thing on a smaller
scale. Some time, she had decided eventually, she must sell the
farm.

Then, at the end of the London winter, she had caught a chill and it
had been the dickens of a job to struggle back to the grind. Lou, that
stubborn child who looked no more substantial than a willow
sapling, had harped on the climate of Rhodesia and the benefits of a
sea trip.

"Just go and see Four Winds," she had coaxed. "It's inhuman to set
about selling the farm without seeing it first. And take lots of snaps
of it for us. You'll come back bursting with energy and ideas."

Nadine was nearly in a condition to give in, but not quite. It had
taken Daphne's mistaken plunge into the fiery cauldron called love
to complete the resolve.

Daphne was a model in an exclusive dressmaking establishment.

She was also the figure Nadine used when she needed to draw
someone exceptionally pretty and well- proportioned which was
often. Daphne had fallen so fatally for a certain rich business man
that one couldn't help but pity her when he had made public his
engagement to someone else. Poor Daphne had dropped
straightaway into a vacuum in which nothing mattered. She had
worked badly and often spent a whole day in bed for no other reason
than that life was too much trouble.
When the man's wedding date was announced in several daily
papers, Nadine acted. She took a taxi out to a small house in a quiet
avenue at the far end of Hampstead, and there she begged Charles
Meredith to allow Lou to make the trip to Africa.

"It won't cost a lot, Charles," she had said firmly. "Only her fare. I
know Lou always seems to be happy enough looking after you, but
it's no life for a girl of twenty. You must see that. Besides, if she's
not here, you'll feel better about marrying Mrs. Camfield. Don't
think I blame you for that she's a charming person but ever
since Lou left school she's been running the house, and she'd be
bound to feel it if she were pushed aside," Giving him no time to
retort, she added, "In the six months Lou will be away, your new
wife can become entrenched. You're my cousin, Charles," she had
ended with a smile, "and I've always been fond of you, but if -you
do anything to prevent Lou going with Daphne and me, I'll disown
you for ever."

His answer had been, "Take her with you, by all means. In her way
she's as self-reliant as you are, so I shan't have many qualms." And
with the ghost of a wink, "Don't set out to be a fond aunt, Nadine;
you'll find her looking after you, instead."

Days elapsed before Lou really believed in her luck. She was
breathless with wonder and terribly relieved because, to be honest,
she was a little afraid of Netta Camfield, and desperately
apprehensive of the day when she would enter the Meredith
household as its mistress.

She resigned from her post at the local library, ran up shorts and
summer frocks on the old machine in the kitchen, did her own and
Nadine's packing, and even made most of the necessary enquiries at
the shipping office. For Daphne, who was almost too spent to throw
her wonderful clothes into a trunk, she knew a profound pity. Before
then Lou had always regarded love as something to look forward to;
a warm thrill of anticipation, friendship with a mounting, heady
excitement and then a hazy but glorious climax in which a man
thought you the most wonderful woman in the world, and you had
similar but more palpitating thoughts about him.

But Daphne's experience was definitely chilling. If a man could

make love to a woman of blonde good looks and much intelligence
a woman, moreover, who would make an excellent wife for a
business magnate and yet turn almost blindly towards an older
woman of plain appearance the moment she showed up on his
horizon, then the male species was of the less comprehensible than
Lou had imagined. It was safer not to have too much to do with it.

She had enjoyed the men passengers on the boat, though, and had
lots of secret amusement from their advances to Nadine and
Daphne. Nadine was superb with men; a good listener and a better
talker, with that faint cheerful sarcasm which so often brought a
smile to masculine lips.

Lou had always loved and admired Nadine, and in a way she was
also fond of Daphne. Probably through her profession, Daphne was
too physically conscious of herself. It had become more natural to
her to pose than to be normal, and she couldn't bear to obscure the
fair, silken hair by a turban or disguise her winsome curves in a
print overall. Consequently it was Lou who did most of the dirty
work at Four Winds during those first days.

While she washed and painted the plywood walls of the rooms,
Nadine amused herself with her palette, making large pictures of
birds and flowers on the matt white doors; she was one of those rare
people who can accept as gracefully as they give and, having no
flair for housework and knowing that Lou would never be capable
of voicing all the gratitude she felt, she let her young cousin scrub
and polish till she was ready to melt.
Daphne, for all her initial antipathy to the house and its stored dust,
was by no means idle. In a frilly, polka-dot apron, and with a ribbon
about her hair, she looked much younger than her twenty-four years,
and a little happier besides, while she stitched up the rents in the
curtains, or made the regular pots of tea.

It was grand, Lou found, to break off from clearing down the
bookshelves or repairing a kitchen chair, to drink tea with the others
in the shabby but already familiar little living room. She would pull
off the scarf which bound the red-gold hair, dab away the sweat
which had gathered at each temple, and spread herself out on the
floor. The two easy chairs, of course, were Nadine's and Daphne's;
Nadine had already branded her own with paint-stains from her
smock.

"You know," said Lou contentedly one morning, over elevenses,

"we may become so attached to this place that we'll never want to
leave it."

"Lord" - from Daphne - "what an outlook! The three old maids of

Four Winds. I believe the locals already think we're touched."

"Are there any locals?" asked Nadine interestedly. "I've seen

Africans trudging by, but no white people. There must be
neighbouring farms, though."

Daphne nodded. "There's a man who goes by in a big tourer -

yesterday there were two of them in it. They slowed and stared at
this delectable dwelling."

"They'd stare harder if they saw the inmates. We'll never have room
to entertain, thank goodness." Nadine took a packet of cigarettes
from her pocket and offered them. "I expect there's a club at
Mlemba. You two ought to join."
"Why not you, as well?" demanded Lou. "It would be exciting to
have somewhere to go at weekends."

"Exciting - among farmers and government officials? You're so

refreshing, Lou."

"They probably have womenfolk. Besides, what's wrong with

farmers? That's what we'd be if we stayed on here. We can-t shut
ourselves away from everyone, and settlers are friendly. The man
Daphne saw in the tourer, for instance; one day he may stop here."

"He did stop here," said Daphne. "This morning."

"Oh?" Nadine puffed out smoke and stared at her. "Why keep it up
your sleeve?"

Daphne gave a small grin. "Don't worry. He was pleasant to start

with, but froze when I told him we were three women. His name is
Damon Thorpe, and he lives at a farm called Redlands, which is
about five miles farther on up the road. He talks as if he's a planter,
but I don't somehow think he is. One of those very lean men - you
know, looks as if he exists on coffee and cigarettes, but is awfully
strong. I think he only pulled up because I was near the front gate
and he considered it his duty."

"How did he look at you?" enquired Nadine. "No hunger?"

"Not a scrap."

"Good. That probably means he's married."

"He isn't. Apparently the man he was with yesterday lives with him.
The other's a little older."
"Two bachelors!" Nadine's smooth brow rose. "Let's hope they're
both woman-shy. The only husband we're hunting is a sweet boy for
Lou and that can wait a while, too."

They laughed and drank their tea. Lou was flat on the rug with her
face between her hands. She looked up at the pure, half-humorous
lines of Nadine's face and put a question she had put before, in
different words, without gaining a satisfactory answer.

"Why do you always speak as if you'll never marry, Nadine?"

The other considered. "Probably because that's the way I feel," she
said. "Some women need marriage more than others. I was lucky
enough to get my first break with a magazine editor before I left Art
School, and since then I've been increasingly busy. Emotionally, my
life has been uncomplicated, and I'm glad."

"You expect us to believe that at your age you've never had a heart-
throb?" scoffed Daphne; unexpectedly, she added, "Everyone needs"
someone to love, but I suppose it doesn't have to be one of the
opposite sex. The trouble is that once you've allowed yourself to
believe marriage is your destiny, life isn't worth having without it."

"You'll marry," Nadine said confidently. "You're over the first phase
of heartache already."

"But you, Nadine," Lou persisted. "My father always said you
should marry someone very clever, but I don't agree. I think you
should marry someone masterful, who'd make you give up
working."

"The man doesn't exist who could do that! I'm fond of you and
Daphne," she said tersely, "and I serve the public.

To love and to serve, they say, is the complete existence. It's all I
want. A man would be in the way."
"I envy you," sighed Daphne. "More tea?"

The pot was drained and they returned to their various tasks. Lou
was painting the window-frame in Nadine's room while its occupant
worked at some sketches in the narrow veranda, and Daphne was
preparing to cook the only dish at which she was really good
French omelette.

It was nearly lunch time when a very black Rhodesian boy knocked
at the back door. Daphne opened the door and went cold. She
stepped back and called "Lou!" in a frightened croak.

The boy gave Lou a wide, confiding and very white smile. "Master
send me," he said. "I work for you."

"But we don't need anyone," she told him.

"I do anything. Mend roof, clean the house, make the garden. Master
send me," he repeated, as if this were the final word on any subject.

"Which master?"

"Big master at Redlands."

Lou consulted Nadine. A hefty African would be an immense help,

they both conceded, and it would be as well to get the roof repaired,
even though this was the dry season. After all, if they were hoping
eventually to sell the place it had to be made waterproof and
attractive. It wouldn't hurt to plan a bit of a garden, too. They might
make his wages on the selling price.

So James, whose surname began with four consonants and was

consequently unpronounceable by the three English women,
obligingly went off, first to cut straw to dry out-for the roof, and
then to bring his battered suitcase and blanket to the servant's hut at
the back of the house.
They were settling in like bees into a hive, thought Lou happily, a
few days later. The roof had been patched up and, at her suggestion,
the whole of it had been treated to a new layer of thatch to avoid the
leprous look. The outer walls, though the even undulations could not
be masked, nevertheless were smartened considerably by a coat of
cream paint, and the rotting veranda posts were replaced by new
ones, painted green, like the low rail and guttering. To Lou it was a
dear little house, and she couldn't have chosen better companions.
She was so glad it was possible for them all to sleep separately.
Nadine, naturally, had to have the best room to herself, and the
second bedroom was made neat and clean for Daphne. Lou slept on
the camp-bed in a room of attic proportions which was also the
bathroom, ironing room and linen room. Her clothes were in
Daphne's cupboard, but her small treasures and photographs had to
remain in the case in which she had brought them down the East
Coast of Africa, and by road in the jeep from Durban.

When the lunch was cleared she often went for a walk. There were
footpaths through the scrubland of stunted acacia and marula that
led into quite a dense little forest which, presumably, belonged to
Nadine. Here it was cool, except where a blade of sunshine pierced
the dimness, and the ground was iron-hard with dryness. The rains
had finished a couple of months ago and even the reeds in the dry
streambeds had wilted and dropped their heads into the red earth.

Not much of the farm had ever been cultivated, though there were
long, flat sandy stretches which ought, surely, to produce something
worthwhile. What was it they grew hereabouts - coffee, tobacco,
tea? Lou wished she knew. She was thinking quite deeply about it
one afternoon as she came back to the house. That was why she
started so violently as she entered the living room and found herself
confronted by a tall man who looked as if he couldn't smile if he
tried. A man in the house reduced its size considerably. He was
totally out of place and seemed to know it.

"Good afternoon," he said abruptly. "Seeing that there's neither a

bell nor a knocker I came inside and tried to make myself heard.
You're not Miss Gardner, are you?"

"No. I expect Nadine's working in her room. Are you Mr. Thorpe?"

"I am. It's merely a conventional call. I knew Simon Gardner and
thought I ought to make myself known to his niece. It doesn't
matter, though."

"But it does," she said hastily. "Please sit down and I'll tell Nadine
you're here." She turned and nearly fell over a huge dictionary. He
moved quickly and picked it up.

"I beg your pardon. I dropped .that purposely, to see if I could shake
some life into the place."

She laughed suddenly, her small nose with the freckles across the
bridge crinkled and the grey eyes took a sudden sparkle. "It's funny -
your standing in here throwing the dictionary about. They must be
very fast asleep."

The ghost of a smile came into his greenish-blue glance. "You're the
youngest, aren't you - the one who gives James his orders? He called
you the little missus."

"James is a gem. We haven't thanked you for him - but, well ... we
rather got the impression you didn't want us to."

"We're lending him to you for as long as you stay. What's your
name? "

"Lou Meredith."
"Louise or Louisa?"

"Louise," she answered, wondering if it mattered. She looked up at

him enquiringly. "You hated having to come here and see Nadine,
didn't you?"

"What if I did?" he said coolly. "I've often been compelled to do

things I hate."

"I can't imagine that. People who dislike doing the polite thing by
others are usually accustomed to having their own way. The reason I
mentioned it is that Nadine won't mind if you're the kind who can't
be bothered with women. She doesn't want to be bothered with men,
either."

The thinnish brown face took a sardonic cast. "What devastating

frankness. Are you her bodyguard, or merely a child anxious to
please the person who brought you here?"

She hardened slightly. "I was trying to be helpful, to both of you,

but chiefly to Nadine. She's the only one of us who has work to do,
and to get on with it she has to have peace and quiet. But she'll be
happy to see anyone who knew her uncle."

"I'll come some other time," he said, moving towards the open door.

"Oh, dear. I've offended you, haven't I?"

He paused, looking her over with dispassionate curiosity, "I'm never

offended. In my job one takes human nature as one finds it. I've got
out of the way of seeing everything from a personal viewpoint."

Something drove Lou to ask, "What is your job? Don't you belong
here? "

"I'm a U.N. official in Malawi," he answered briefly.

"On leave?"

He nodded. "Six months - practically four of them still to go."

"Then ... then Redlands . . ."

"Is mine," he finished for her, with a dismissive shrug. "Please tell
Miss Gardner I'll look in again some time."

"If you'll only climb down and wait a minute," she exclaimed in
exasperation, "I'll call Nadine."

"You needn't call, my pet," came even, ironic tones from the inner
doorway. "I guessed we had a visitor, but I was taking a bath.
Forgive me for being so long about it, but in our bathroom one has
to be something of a contortionist and very patient. I expect you're
Damon Thorpe, who supplied the invaluable James, who, in turn,
supplies us with your milk. How do you do?"

Trust Nadine to soothe the man into taking a chair and lighting a
cigarette. Lou looked at his crisp, dark brown hair, at the strong
bony fingers holding the cigarette, and at the immaculate crease in
his khaki shorts; so this was a U.N. official from the tropics. Seated,
he was still too big for the room.

"I'll make some tea," she said, and escaped.

He was their first visitor and there wasn't a cake in the house.
Nadine didn't care for cakes and Daphne never varied her strict diet,
so Lou did without them because baking cost money and her
existence here was justified by their low cost of living. The water
had boiled and she was filling the pot when Daphne drifted in, fresh
in stiff yellow voile and with a white ribbon in her hair. Daphne had
been sleeping and the blue eyes had the untroubled lustre of a
babe's.
"I'm not late," she said. "Why are you making the tea?"

Lou explained. "And we haven't a scone or a cake in the cupboard -

and not even a decent sandwich filling."

"He doesn't look a cake-eater. Why only two cups?"

"He's come to see Nadine. We'll have ours in here."

"I certainly won't!" Daphne bridled. "The man's the only interesting
thing that's happened in the fortnight we've been here. I'm going to
make the most of it." Unnecessarily she patted her sleek curls and
the skirt of her dress. "I'll take the tray."

For the first minute or two she was alone Lou had the uneasy
conviction that Damon Thorpe would dub her ungracious; oddly,
she didn't want him to do that. On the other hand he might consider,
as she did, that a third woman in the tiny living room was a bit too
much of a good thing, and the other two were so good-looking that
Lou would be the flop of anticlimax. She would rather be Cinderella
in the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later he left. Lou heard them at the front door; then
a car started up and swished away down the gravel road. She walked
round to the front of the house and came upon Nadine, leaning
against a veranda post, while Daphne sat in one of the sagging grass
chairs.

Nadine was smiling. "I don't see why we shouldn't accept all the
assistance he's willing to give us," she said musingly. "In fact, it's an
intriguing situation. He'll improve the farm for us and we'll
eventually sell it to him."

"He didn't say he would buy," objected Daphne.

"He will, though. He admitted he offered to buy it from Uncle
Simon when he was here on leave three years ago."

"He's not the acquisitive sort," stated Daphne definitely. "He bought
Redlands for somewhere to live when he finishes his time in
Malawi. He said outright that his reason for offering to buy from
your uncle was a desire to get him to return to England for medical
treatment."

"That's so." Nadine stroked her long, fine jaw. "He's a strange sort
of a man and apparently somewhat of a paradox."

"In a way he's like you."

"Like me!"

"Self-sufficient," nodded Daphne, "and with something about him

that puts a woman on her mettle. He's not quite like any man I've
ever met."

Lou, resting against the outside of the low veranda wall, looked at
Daphne and remembered her misery in London and complete apathy
towards men on the boat. Now, her lovely skin was slightly flushed
and the faint droop had gone from her mouth. It was about seven
weeks since she had been torn with anguish and disillusionment.
Nadine had prophesied that her recovery would take the best part of
a year, but Lou's calculations put it at much less. Daphne Pryce was
already putting the past well behind her.

Nadine was saying, "I hope you're not suggesting there's something
about me which puts a man on his mettle!"

"Not any man, perhaps, but you might have that effect on his kind."

"Use your wits, darling. He dwells womanless in the wilds, and the
only feminine things he does come across are the stalwart wives of
missionaries at least, I expect so. What he looks for in a woman
is relaxation, and he wouldn't get that crossing swords with me.
You're much more his little dish of delight, thank the stars. How
would you like to be a U.N. officer's wife, Daphne?"

"It's hot enough here - I couldn't stand up to Malawi. But he

certainly gives Mlemba an atmosphere. He has a sort of acid
charm." A pause. "I wonder what the other man is like?"

"Prosaic, I'd say. It would take a stolid man to live with Damon
Thorpe for six months and remain his friend." Nadine bent and gave
a tug at the rough red-gold locks. "Why did you run away, Lou? Did
the big man frighten' you?"

It was Daphne, who answered. "Lou's still at the self- conscious

stage with men. She certainly couldn't cope with a hawk like
Damon."

"I'm pleased to hear it," said Nadine. "Lou wants someone as young
and innocent as she is herself. But I don't think we'll have trouble,
from Damon or from his manager- friend. If they repair our
windmill and clear some of the scrub I shall ask no more."

The conversation continued, desultorily, till Lou went indoors to

prepare the evening meal.

It was much later, nearly bed-time, when Nadine looked up from her
book to mention casually:

"I forgot to tell you, Lou. The he-man up at Redlands objects to

your strolling alone in the woods. It seems it's the breeding season
for bucks, or something equally countrified, and the parent bucks
can get nasty. They're normally timid, but if you should happen on
one in a delicate condition you may get injured by its mate. So he
said."
"We've never seen a sign of a buck. They're your trees, aren't they?"

"According to him there's no fence between his land and ours

only white posts set up at thirty-yard intervals; he arranged that with
my uncle. Have you come across any white posts?"

"Yes, but they're not far in."

"I'm afraid you're trespassing if you go beyond them. He said he'd

seen you while he was out riding, from the other side, so you must
have penetrated rather deep."

"Why did he have to cook up a story about bucks?" said Lou

vexedly. "The fact is, he's anxious to keep us on our own side of the
boundary. I rather gathered he was that kind of pig when I spoke to
him."

Nadine laughed. "Love thy neighbour," she advised, "particularly

when he's itching to repair the windmill and inspire us with his own
fastidiousness regarding weeds. Have you ever heard of
helichrysum?"

"Yes, it's that silver-grey bushy stuff. We've tons of it."

"Tons too much," Nadine told her solemnly. "It's death to good
pasture land, isn't it, Daphne? It has to be scorched off and rooigrass
encouraged."

Daphne said, "I don't know how you manage to remember so much
of what he said. Farming is an awful bore."

"Didn't he also say we shouldn't be living in a house like this?"

demanded Lou.
"Surprisingly, he didn't, but then he probably realized that we hadn't
many beans to rattle together. Don't forget about those bucks and
their babies, will you?"

On and off Lou had felt rather horrid all evening about the brief
exchange she had had with Damon Thorpe that afternoon; she had
never felt that way about a new acquaintance before, and the
unusualness of it rankled. She did wish Nadine had refused to accept
anything from him.

Nadine's attitude was strange, by the way. Had she spotted in

Damon that rare thing, a kindred spirit - or had it suddenly occurred
to her that another man was the best remedy for Daphne's malaise?

And what were the man's own reactions to the small houseful of
women? That, Lou was sure, would never be known to anyone but
Damon Thorpe!
CHAPTER II

THE following fortnight provided several small excitements. First

came a letter for Nadine from London, commissioning a series of
cover-girls, the cheque for which would pay the food bills for at
least two months.

By the same mail Lou had a few pages from her father, to which
was added a postscript by her stepmother. Thinking about Netta she
shivered a little. Netta was thirty-eight, about ten years younger than
Charles Meredith. She was one of those lively, sharp-witted
widows; she dressed extraordinarily well and discussed most things
with amazing intelligence. With Charles, who was a lazy and good-
humoured conversationalist and tolerant in his attitude towards
everything, she was slightly maternal and wholly accommodating.

Her relationship with Lou, however, had bristled with small

difficulties. The girl was too domesticated, pronounced Netta, and
too engrossed in her work at the library. She ought to get out more
and it would do her the world of good to take a flat with a girl
friend. Nothing like living away from home^ to give a girl
independence. And Lou really ought to do something about those
freckles.

No; to other women Netta might be an agreeable companion but she

could never be really lovable. Lou didn't see how she could ever go
back to live in the house at Hampstead. However, there was no need
to think about that for a long time.

She was doing so many things now that she had never done before.
Supervising James was a small education in itself, for the African,
besides his willingness and immense strength, had a sense of
humour and a thirst for facts. If Lou happened to be dusting one of
the rooms while he was slowly and rhythmically polishing the floor,
they held staccato speech with one another; it could not be termed
conversation.

Also, she had learned to drive the jeep by cruising up and down the
road in front of the house. In the Mlemba district there was little
traffic to negotiate. The farms were widely spaced and their private
lanes joined the main road at long intervals, between which it was
uncommon to meet another vehicle.

Lou's first real venture in the car was the three-and-a-half mile trip
into the town for supplies. She parked under one of the big redwood
trees opposite the hotel, walked to the store and had her order
packed and stowed in the jeep. The full glare of the sun beat
brazenly down upon the dusty road, and Lou stood for a moment
looking rather longingly at the hotel veranda, where a few men sat
with tankards and tall glasses in front of them. They were ruddy-
skinned men with open-necked shirts, Rhodesians in town for some
reason and combining conviviality with business.

Resolutely resisting temptation, she got into the jeep and pressed the
starter. The engine gave its usual preliminary groan, and Lou went
hot under the sudden concentrated gaze of the drinkers in the hotel
veranda. She tried the starter again, with a similar reproachful result.
Dash the thing. It would decide to behave eccentrically while she
had' an audience - a critical one, at that. She was red to the ears.

Simulating calmness, she made a third valiant onslaught. The sound

of it had barely died away before the inevitable happened. A
masculine face appeared to her right, bent level to her own, and a
kindly voice not one of the younger ones, thank heaven - said :

"She's an old bus, isn't she? You'll have to pull out the choke."
Lou gave herself a mental kick for having forgotten, got the engine
running and turned to him a politely grateful smile. "Thank you, Mr.
.. . Thank you very much."

"Marston," he said. "George Marston. I know you by sight already,

Miss Meredith. I manage the Redlands estate for Damon Thorpe."

For the first time she looked at him squarely, saw a face which was
too rugged to be termed good-looking, and darkish hair which was
greying at the temples. He must be nearly forty, but he had an
ageless, open, smiling look in his hazel eyes. "I'm sorry to have
wrenched you from your drink," she said.

"I'm glad you did." The eyes crinkled at the corners into a grin.
"You three ladies are the talk of the district. When we over there"
he nodded at the hotel - "saw you drive up this morning we began to
make plans for laying siege, to Four Winds. Do you realize you're
the only unattached women in Mlemba?"

"But we are attached - to one another!"

"That's all wrong. If the other two are as pretty as you..."

"They're much more beautiful." She gave a clear little laugh. "I'll tell
them you're interested."

"Heaven forbid," he said more soberly. "Not I! It's these young ones.
Will you come and be introduced?"

"Now?" she exclaimed in alarm.

"Why not? I'll guarantee to get the jeep going again, and you'll be
perfectly safe with me. I'm your neighbour, you know, and I'm
regarded as a universal uncle in these parts."
She went- with him up the red polished steps, allowed him to
introduce her to several of the people and took one of the iron chairs
at a small table. An orange drink that clinked with ice was set before
her, and she drew at the straw luxuriously. She would certainly have
something to tell Nadine and Daphne when she got home.

George Marston was one of those men one instinctively trusts. Also,
his years as an irrigation officer in the lonely reaches of Malawi-had
made him a respecter of human beings, so that Lou, though she was
only half his age, felt that he liked her as much as and as
impersonally as she liked him.

Involuntarily she said, "You're not a bit like your house companion,
are you? Did he tell you he came to see us?"

"Of course. Even to Damon, you're news."

"Was he curious about us?"

"I've never yet seen Damon curious about women. He got on well
with Simon Gardner, though the old chap irritated him. He used to
get Simon over to Redlands and talk poetry with him."

"Poetry ... Mr. Thorpe?"

He laughed briefly. "Damon can discuss anything. By the way, he's

not very pleased with the fact of three women living in the little tin
hut. What in the world possessed you Londoners to choose Four
Winds as a holiday camp?"

George Marston was the easiest person in the world to confide in.
Lou found herself telling him about Nadine's winter chill and
hinting at Daphne's erstwhile unhappiness, and she even gave him a
graphic description of the colonial dwelling they had hoped to find.
And presently she listened while he expanded upon his own
experiences.
He had spent ten years in Malawi and towards the end of that time
had met Damon Thorpe. They had arranged matters so that Damon's
leave coincided with his own final departure from the humid, sub-
tropical region of Lake Malawi, and together had come south to take
a look at Red- lands, which was then for sale. Damon had bought
the place and he, George, had agreed to manage it for him till he
also was done with Malawi.

"That was six years ago," George concluded, "just before Damon
was thirty. He was asked to remain on for a further period, so he
won't be free for two more years."

"Don't you find him difficult to live with? " she asked.

"He's the best friend I ever had." He stared into his drink and pushed
with a spoon at the floating slice of lemon. "We don't always agree -
particularly on one subject - but we've never had a row."

Damon, thought Lou tartly, was hardly likely to quarrel with the one
man whom he could trust to give conscientious attention to the farm
in his absence. George Marston was nice, too nice to be worried. For
there was a hint of worry in his manner. It had been quite obvious
for a moment or two after he'd admitted that there was a subject on
which he and Damon did not agree. Oddly, she grew a little angry
with the owner of Redlands.

She finished her drink regretfully. "That was grand. I'll have to go
now or they'll think I've landed in a ditch."

He stood up with her. "We haven't a club in Mlemba - not enough of

us to make one a paying proposition - but most of us come here for
dinner and dancing on Saturday nights. May I pick you up next
Saturday? Still the uncle, mind!"

"It's very kind of you, but I'll have to consult my housemates."

Without thinking she added, "Why don't you call in?"
"I've been hoping you'd say that." He hesitated, looking down at her.
"I mean it about Saturday. There's someone I want you to meet."

"I'd like to come," she told him frankly. "May I send an answer by
James?"

"No, I'll take you at your word and drop in - tomorrow morning at
about ten. All right?"

She nodded brightly, though inwardly dubious. However, he seemed

rather determined and vaguely happier than he had been a few
minutes ago. Daphne wouldn't mind having a visitor, even so
unexciting a one as George Marston, and Nadine could keep out of
his way if she preferred. These other men might be warded off, but
not one's nearest neighbour.

Over a lunch of tinned corn beef with toast fingers, she recounted
her meeting with the man. "You'll like him, Nadine," she said
eagerly. "He appears to be a confirmed bachelor of the pleasant
kind. He likes women but doesn't feel any urge to marry. He won't
bother us much, but we may need his help when Damon's gone."

"When Damon's gone," replied Nadine impressively, "We'll be

preparing to go, too. However, your George sounds harmless, and
we'd better look him over if he's taking you out to dinner."

"I call it cheek," said Daphne. "Lou hooking the first dinner date.
Wait till I get into my stride!"

"When you get into your stride," returned Lou, "the men won't
remind you that their intentions are strictly brotherly."

As it happened, George Marston came earlier next day than he had

intended. Something had cropped up at the other end of the
Redlands teak plantation, so he had decided to get in his call at Four
Winds before setting out. Consequently it was soon after nine when
he reined his horse to the gatepost and came up the narrow curving
path into the small veranda, where Nadine was setting up her easel.

As usual, she wore a brown holland smock with the sleeves rolled to
the elbows, and her hair was smoothed back and coiled into a tight
bun. Her long features would have remained expressionless had it
not been for the slight elevation of the shapely black wings of her
brows.

Her voice was cool and amused. "Terrible country, isn't it? There's
never anyone around to effect an introduction."

"It's not important. After speaking to your golden-red Lou

yesterday, I feel I know you very well." To his own astonishment he
asked a question which he realized almost at once was far too
personal after a few seconds' acquaintance. "Are you going to
placate the wraith of Uncle Simon by painting something real?"

Nadine, of course, was not nonplussed. This frontal attack from one
who was obviously more at home in the saddle than in a drawing
room was easy to parry. "I know my limitations far better than
Uncle Simon knew his. I paint Daphne; she's real enough for me."

"Why not try a portrait of young Lou? "

"My dear man," said Nadine equably, as she placed to her own
satisfaction the chair in which Daphne would pose, "when I aspire to
canvas I'll take a garret in Paris and wear a beret. In this atmosphere,
I shall be lucky if I manage to complete my commissions. Do sit
down. Men like you and Damon Thorpe are definitely too large to
stand around anywhere except under the sky."

He laughed, and lowered himself to the wooden veranda rail. "Have

you always been the instructor - never the instructed? Since you left
school, I mean."
She had taken a penknife from her pocket and was pointing her
pencil. The graphite flew out in a little cloud which she blew away
before answering: "Independence is a thing of the spirit. One has it,
or one hasn't. I have my full quota, that's all. I'm aware that men
don't care for independence in women, but I live my life to please
myself, not men."

"I see. You must be that brand known as the New Woman. I always
imagined the type to be frightening, but you're not."

She casually pushed a drawing-pin into one corner of the paper

which hung on the board. "I've never wanted to frighten a man in
my life. I'm not that interested in them," she commented. "You're
like the rest - so full of the importance of being a man that you can't
believe in the woman who's unimpressed by the magnificence of the
sex."

"Not at all." He was entirely unruffled. "We men are often very
foolish, and few of us can be termed magnificent. We have
independence thrust upon us and most of us eventually take to it
because there's no other course. I rather admire the woman -
particularly if she's beautiful - who voluntarily stands alone."

"For a bachelor who's lived for ten years in the wilderness and
another six here at Mlemba," remarked Nadine, smiling aloofly,
"you turn a pretty compliment. I think Lou will be safe with you
next Saturday."

"Thanks." He considered for a moment. "If I made up a party would

you and Miss Pryce come, too?"

"Invite Daphne, if you like. I'm not club-minded."

"You don't want to make friends here, do you?"

She shrugged, took a duster from the small table and flicked it over
the easel. "There's not much point in it, is there? We're here for only
a few months."

"Supposing," he said, looking at her neat dark head with some

deliberation, "your two companions were to find husbands in
Mlemba?"

"I'd be overjoyed," she said sweetly, "though Lou is the only one of
us who could settle in this parched land and be happy about it.
Daphne and I are complete townies. I'm afraid I have to get down to
work now. Give Lou a shout through the living room, will you?"

He took his dismissal pleasantly. "I won't trouble her now. Tell her
I'll pick her up at seven-thirty on Saturday." He moved along to the
steps and looked back at her. "The new sails for your mill will be
ready in a few days. We'll get it fixed for you as soon as they
arrive."

"Damon works fast, doesn't he?" she said evenly. "I'll thank him
when I see him."

For her dinner engagement on Saturday, Lou decided to wear a

green silk trouser suit. She guessed, correctly, that only on special
occasions was full evening wear necessary. George appeared
pleased with her appearance, and on the way from Four Winds into
the town he told her about some of the families who lived scattered
over the two hundred square miles which constituted the Mlemba
district.

He parked his sedan on the end of a line of assorted vehicles, and

they crossed the road to the hotel, which looked bigger and more
imposing by night. The veranda and lounge were crowded and
noisy, and everyone seemed to know everyone else.
George took her through the vestibule into a room which opened to
a balcony. Here, there were two or three vacant tables, and George
chose the one out on the balcony, which looked over a small dry
garden with a date palm in the centre.

He ordered whisky for himself and a grenadilla with a dash of gin

for Lou. Had she not been absorbed in new sensations she might
have noticed that he was just a little restless and on edge. He looked
at his watch more than once, but his talk, still about local conditions
and the utter happiness which could be achieved however simply
one lived, flowed easily and continuously. He was the pleasantest of
companions.

People were leaving the lounge for the dining room. George again
shot back his cuff, then finished his drink. "I've reserved a table," he
said, "but perhaps we'd better go in and take it. Ready?"

Lou nodded and was about to stand when he added, in some relief,
"I told you the other day I'd like you to meet someone I know. Here
he comes, through the garden. Val will never push his way through
a crowd if he can help it."

With curiosity and detachment Lou watched a slim young man

heave himself over the balcony rail. He did not do it with the
careless assurance one would expect from a man of his age - he
couldn't be more than twenty-five or six - nor did he wear the smile
which usually goes with that kind of behaviour.

He stared at Lou, cast his glance quickly at George and back to Lou.
George was saying smoothly, "You're a bit late, Val; we were just
going in to dinner. Lou, this is my brother. He's learning how to
farm before he takes a place of his own. Lou Meredith, Val."
The young man slicked back his fairish hair with an almost nervous
gesture. His eyes, a very light grey-blue, again flickered over them
both and he smiled, with the same touch of nervousness.

"When George dines with a woman it's something," he said. "Sure I

won't be in the way?"

"My dear boy," replied George, "this occasion was manufactured

expressly for you. Would you like a drink?"

He shook his head but sat down. He got out cigarettes and offered
them. Lou noticed nicotine stains on slim, sensitive fingers which
looked as if they belonged to an artist rather than to a farmer. She
felt him looking at her again, and she smiled, showing her even little
teeth and the hint of a dimple at the corner of her mouth. He smiled,
too, and for a strange minute it seemed as if they were alone,
understanding each other: the young man whose light eyes were
inexplicably shadowed, and the smiling, candid girl.

George said, "Shall we go to dinner?"

As they went through to the vestibule Val slipped a hand into the
crook of her arm. Walking behind them, George saw it and his own
hand doubled at his side. Was this little thing with the rough,
reddish hair and appealing grey eyes the answer? Instinctively, the
other day, he had thought she was. He knew Val better than Val
knew himself; the loneliness, because he was more of an intellectual
than most of the men here, and that ingrown anguish which only a
loving and compassionate woman could obliterate.

They were crossing the vestibule to the dining room when Damon
came in from the veranda. Lou felt the fingers close tighter about
her arm as they stopped, she the least concerned of the three of
them.
Damon, tall, dark, and eagle-faced, wore an immaculate white
dinner jacket. He took the pace or two which divided them, bowed
slightly in Lou's direction and said, "Good evening, Miss Meredith.
How's it going, Val? Still planting tobacco?"

In flat tones, Val answered, "I'm getting along." His manner added,
"Without your help!"

Steadily, George put-in, "He'll be starting a place of his own in a

few months. In fact, I'm hoping to pin him down soon, so that I can
get some of the clearing done while you're still here."

Damon shrugged. "If you're determined to be unwise, I'll do what I

can for you. We'll discuss it."

"That isn't necessary." It was Val who spoke, apparently to the mild
surprise of both his brother and Damon. "I intend to go in for
farming in this district, and George's experience is good enough for
me. I wouldn't accept a loan if you offered it, Damon. I'd sooner
take out a mortgage."

There was no heat in his voice and Damon appeared scarcely to

heed the remarks, yet Lou felt the antipathy between them as if it
were tangible. Damon, accustomed to working among Africans,
behaved with everyone as if the world were his footstool. His
judicial coldness antagonized even Lou, so it must cause a genuine
fury in Val. As for George ... well, he knew Damon rather better
than anyone else knew him.

George said now, "We won't do anything in a hurry. There are

several aspects to consider."

"Quite," from Damon.

Lou became aware that the deliberate greenish-blue gaze was taking
her in from head to toe, as if she were one of the aspects. She met
his eyes fearlessly but found them quite unreadable.

"By the way, Miss Meredith," he said, as though it were an

afterthought, "I'd like you three ladies of Four Winds to come to
Redlands for dinner tomorrow. I'll send the car for you."

"I'm not sure we can come."

"Made other arrangements?" he asked coolly.

"I don't think so, but..."

"Seven o'clock, then. Perhaps Val will make a sixth. He doesn't

usually care for Redlands, but I daresay your persuasions will outdo
the strength of his will." He pushed a hand into his pocket and half
turned away. "The bunch here doesn't change much, does it? Thank
heaven I'm dining over at the Stricklands'. See you later, George.
Good night, Miss Meredith and Val."

For a while, even when they were consuming chicken soup and a
casserole of venison and pork, the shadow of Damon hung over
them. His cold and strong personality lingered, stunting their
conversation till George made a determined effort to be gay. They
had coffee with Chartreuse, and later Lou danced with them both in
the small ballroom at the back of the hotel to magnified gramophone
music; once with George and twice with Val.

Val seemed to be losing some of the nervy tenseness. He gave Lou

details of the farm on the edge of the Mlemba district where he
worked as an assistant. He lived in a comfortable log cabin and
spent half his salary on books which he ordered from England;
which was odd, she reflected, when he was hoping to buy a farm.
He had been in Rhodesia eighteen months and for the most part he
liked it. Not the summers; they were too hot, and he would have
preferred to live nearer the coast.

He talked quite charmingly and with an air of honesty which,

however, did not altogether succeed. Just what it was about him that
puzzled her Lou could not have explained. She got the impression
that maybe he had had a serious illness or some other setback, and
that George was doing all in his power to get him over it.

It was Val who took her home, in his worn two-seater. He stood
with her at the gate and held one of her hands in both of his.

"You're very sweet, Lou," he said. "Like a draught of spring water.

Now that you're here I shall live for the weekends. I wish Thorpe
were away, so that I could stay with George; then I'd see you most
of the time."

"Will you be at Redlands tomorrow night?"

He frowned. "I haven't decided." He looked away and said

hurriedly, "There's so much I must tell you - but I can't spoil our
first meeting with it. I think I'd better have a private word with
George tomorrow morning. If I don't see you again this weekend,
promise you'll keep next weekend open for me. I'll be here, at Four
Winds, by lunch time next Saturday.

Soon after that he hastily put her hand to his cheek, and left her.
That last brief gesture Lou found touching. She watched him reverse
the car and bump away over the loose stones, and then turned to go
into the house.
CHAPTER III

DAMON'S tourer arrived at Four Winds dead on time. It was driven

by an African boy in a white safari suit who went round to the back
of the house to inform James he was ready to carry the three white
"missus" back to Redlands.

They were all dressed and waiting. Nadine, statuesque in black and
white, the dark hair parted in the centre and drawn back in two
shallow waves to coil in her neck. Daphne wearing a smart ice-blue
linen suit and dainty mesh pumps, and Lou in slim-fitting white.

Nadine's attitude to the invitation had been tolerant. "Sunday supper

with the Squire," she commented. "I ought to have remembered to
bring a straw hat with cherries round the brim. I haven't even a pair
of black cotton gloves."

Daphne's reaction had been more enthusiastic. "You can weigh up a

man in his own surroundings. Perhaps we shall find out if Damon
really is the cold fish he appears. Do you know what I wish?"

"That Damon would turn out to be the man to crush all other men in
your love life," suggested Nadine dryly.

"Not exactly. I'm not anxious to repeat past blunders. But I would
like to discover whether it's possible to rouse him. I believe I'll try."

Incomprehensibly, Lou had inserted rather sharply, "It's not so long

since you were heartbroken and wanted nothing more to do with
men."

"The heart can't bleed for ever, darling," returned Daphne flippantly.
"I could still feel horribly grim about that affair if I let myself, but
what's the good P He's on his honeymoon in South America, and I
wish him joy of it. I'll have a honeymoon myself one of these days,
but meanwhile I'll have fun. Damon behaves as if he'd never in his
life felt any urge to kiss a woman. I'd love to tilt his equilibrium."

"Take it steadily and you'll do it," murmured Nadine, to whom all

human nature had its frail spot. "I'd say that his woman must be
modest and sophisticated, and no one knows better than you, my
pet, how to combine those qualities."

It was only light-hearted chatter, but Lou hadn't liked it. Her own
pleasant anticipation of an evening at Redlands had dwindled, so
that it was even an effort to dress for it.

But as they sat in the car, she beside the boy and the other two in the
back, her spirit revived. A pity it was so dark, but the vision grew
accustomed to it, and presently she could pick out the big eucalyptus
trees which bordered the Red- lands timber.

The house was a low white structure, the rooms sprawling round a
centre forecourt, the thatched roof almost hidden by thick
bougainvillea, flowering, at this season, in masses of cerise and
purple. The front door, a studded oaken affair, opened straight into a
wide lounge, and the dining room lay beyond it, up two wide steps
and through an archway.

Lou saw this much before she saw Damon. He came swiftly through
the long dining room into the lounge.

"Sorry I wasn't out in front to greet you," he said. "The kitchen boy
has just gashed his arm and I had to give first aid." His smile was
aloof but perfectly friendly. "Jacob will take your wraps. Sit down
wherever you fancy. A drink?"

"Thank you, Damon," said Nadine, with lifted, sardonic brows. She
looked about her at the deep chairs, the carved tables and at the
fireplace at the far end of the room which was flanked oil each side
by crammed bookshelves. "Martini for me."
George came in, smiling, and fresh in a suit a shade darker than
Damon's light tropical one. He greeted them individually, gave Lou
a special smile and poured himself a whisky and soda.

"I'm afraid we're five," Damon said. "We invited a sixth but he
couldn't make it. However, as we're neighbours, it hardly matters."

"We shan't be able to return your hospitality unless you're willing to

eat on the veranda," Nadine remarked calmly. She patted the wide,
overstuffed arm of her chair. "It seems ten years since I last sat in
such luxury. Uncle Simon must have been something of a Spartan."

"I don't think we'd better talk about your house," said Damon
crisply.

"Does it make you wince to think of three lovelies inhabiting such a

shack?" she asked sympathetically. "We don't mind. It's like
camping - better, because we're protected from straying cattle and
crawlies. Think how we're going to enjoy our service flats when we
get back to them!"

"I must say you take it well," George commented.

Nadine's expression sharpened ever so little. "Women do, you know.

It's men who are the creatures of comfort. Lou has the least comfort
of any of us, and look how she blooms."

Lou bloomed at that moment, scarlet. George smiled across at her

reassuringly, and Damon gave her a cool, slanting glance. Daphne
diverted their attention, her blue eyes sparkling.

"Don't pity us we have fun. Nadine works, I pose, and Lou's the
maid. I help with the cooking occasionally, but on the whole I'm one
of the sensuous type - in the best sense, of course! You wouldn't
believe it possible for three women to get along together so well as
we do."
"I suspect," remarked Damon, "that one is completely self-assured,
one so beautiful that she invariably gets her own way, and the third
too young to be permitted a personality. The relationship may last
the six months you've set yourselves, but it wouldn't stretch longer."

"Oh, but why not?" demanded Daphne.

"Because you're a definite triangle - your personalities don't merge;

your only common ground is in being women, which you'll agree" -
with a hint of satire - "is not usually considered much of a bond.
And whether you like it or not, there'll be outside influences." He
opened a crystal box of cigarettes and leant over to offer one to
Nadine. "Would it matter so much," he enquired negligently, "if you
didn't go back to England?"

"Not go back?" Nadine sounded slightly staggered. "I wouldn't have

come here if I'd thought there was the smallest risk of that. I couldn't
settle here. It's all right for a break, but to do decent work I need the
traffic and the people of London. I'd stifle here!"

"Noise drugs the spirit," George observed musingly. "I suppose

that's sometimes convenient."

Nadine set her cigarette to Damon's lighter and drew at it rather

hard. The slender, expressive brows came together, but she
answered agreeably, "You're like a nice horse, George utterly
trustworthy but occasionally disconcerting.

I once learned a lot about horses at a country house-party."

"And you concluded," he said with a slow, pointed grin, "that you
were happier when they stayed in their stables. Very sensible."

The talk turned to horse-riding. Damon offered mounts, and George

undertook to teach Lou, if she liked. Nadine refused to imagine
herself on horseback, and Daphne, who, in the course of her training
as a model, had attended a riding school for a season, agreed to go
out with Damon one morning next week. Before the subject was
quite disposed of a servant came in to inform his master that dinner
was ready to be served.

During the meal Lou felt a trifle more at ease. Damon sat at the head
of the table and the others were arranged two on each side; there
was no one at the foot. Lou had Nadine on her right and George just
opposite which, to her relief, obviated the exchange of many
pleasantries with their host. There was something about him which
set her teeth on edge; an utter lack of emotion backed up by a blade-
sharp- ness in his character that reminded her continually of her own
youth and innocence.

Yet she had to admit that he was a charming companion; unfailingly

courteous and attentive to his guests, and an interesting
conversationalist. There was a moment when she was even beguiled
into asking him a question.

"What is it like in Malawi?"

His smile at her held mockery. "It's hot and sticky, malarial in parts
and lonely for white people. You'd loathe it."

"You seem to like it, and George didn't mind it, either."

"We're only men. We don't measure enjoyment in new frocks and

jaunts to the cinema."

Lou's sinews tightened. He meant to hurt, but she intended that he

shouldn't see how far he had succeeded. "I suppose in the tropics,"
she remarked, "you measure it by whisky bottles and games of
poker. It's merely a matter of comparison."

His mouth twitched. "How right you are. I didn't guess you had it in
you, Louise."
They carried their nightcaps out into the veranda which looked out
over the crazy-paved courtyard. Cicadas were shrilling in the great
columns of bougainvillea and tall, grotesque palms rustled their
fronds against the wine-dark sky.

"What's the smell," Lou queried, "orange blossom? "

Damon nodded. "A few precociously early flowers. We haven't

picked all of last season's oranges yet. Like to see them?"

"Isn't it too dark?"

"Not for eyes as young as yours."

More quickly than she had expected, he took her drink from her
hand and placed it on the circular table around which they were
grouped. "Come on," he said with a trace of impatience.

He led the way to the fruit garden, offhandedly indicating a row of

dwarf orange trees whose large golden globes were quite clearly to
be seen in the pale radiance of the stars.

"I didn't bring you here to dilate upon fruit-growing," he said

abruptly. "I hoped to get a word alone with you tonight, but it didn't
work out. Will you meet me tomorrow?"

Her heart began unaccountably to thump. "We're alone now," she

pointed out.

"What I have to tell you can't be said in a hurry. Tomorrow?" he

insisted.

"You're very mysterious. There can't possibly be any reason why..."

"For Pete's- sake! This is entirely for your good not mine." His
eyes were actually glittering and she could see his teeth closed tight
with distaste and irritability. "If I could see you alone at Four Winds
I'd come. As I can't you must meet me somewhere. Go to the
boundary in the trees; find one of the white posts and stay near it. I'll
ride through till I meet you. Can you manage it straight after
breakfast?"

"I'm busy then, but the others rest after lunch."

"Very well, after lunch. Say two-thirty. And stay well in the open on
the boundary path. It's safe there." With an odd, savage movement
he tugged at a spray of orange-flower buds and thrust it into her
hand. "Here, take this and display it."

As they went back to the veranda he said nothing at all. Daphne, as

fresh now as when she had arrived four hours ago, made a teasing
remark, and Damon, after he had seen Lou seated, went round to
take the chair he had vacated, between the other two women.

There was more jesting, a little more music, then George got out his
own car to drive the occupants of Four Winds to their abode.

It was not till next morning that Lou could think with clarity about
Damon's request of the previous evening. The queerness of it was
even more stark by daylight. Except for the sprig of orange blossom
which stood in a beaker on the window-sill of her little room, she
would have attributed the brief scene in the garden to her
imagination.

She came back to the wax-white flowers several times during the
morning. They were opening and smelled heavily- sweet; it was a
scent her thoughts would for ever connect with the master of
Redlands. Fortunately, though, one seldom contacted natural orange
blossom in England. She wouldn't be reminded of him there.
Nadine worked desultorily, and the conversation when the three got
together over mid-morning coffee naturally focused upon their two
neighbours.

"I think we're lucky," she stated. "We might have had someone
middle-aged with a fussy, inquisitive wife. Damon's stimulating."

"George has his moments, too," submitted Daphne mischievously.

"He has it in for you, darling."

"I know." Nadine snapped her long fingers. "I can handle him; he's
slow."

"He's not slow at all - he merely gives an impression of slowness. In

one breath he says he admires career women and in the next he
gives a half-wink. The plodding kind can be dangerous."

Nadine's slim shoulders lifted. "George Marston could never be

dangerous to anyone, but Damon is a different proposition; neither
so cold nor so remote as he would have us believe. He's capable of
swift decisions, so you'd better watch your step, or you may find
yourself a benighted bride in Central Africa."

"There's just the chance," said Daphne lightly, "that I could win him
away from Africa. If it came to the point I'd have a darned good
try."

"You wouldn't succeed," put in Lou, more doggedly than was

necessary. "He works in Malawi and is putting out roots in
Rhodesia. I don't think he'll ever marry, but if he does, the woman
will have to grow in with him, not he with her."

Daphne remarked maddeningly, "You're only an infant, Lou, and

when you fall in love it will be something tender and sweet and
whole-hog. I've grown beyond that. When I marry it'll be half for
love and the other half for a good time. The dominant sex owes me
that!"

"Would you consider it fair to marry with that kind of idea in your
mind?"

Nadine said soothingly, "The man who marries Daphne will get his
money's worth, my pet. So will the man who marries you - but in a
different way. How thankful I am that your problems won't be
mine!" She drained her coffee cup. "I hope they won't invite us up
there too often. I haven't felt so slack since I had 'flu, back in
England."

Lou took away the coffee tray and washed up. She felt quite flat
herself. Indeed, Daphne was the only one who looked really alive
today. It was as if the last-shred of humiliation over her cruelly-
ended love affair had drifted off, leaving her as gay and beauty-
conscious as she had been a year ago.

Lou was beginning to feel her position in the house rather keenly.
Between them, Nadine and Daphne were earning money. Lou had
brought a few pounds and she had left the rest of her small savings
with her father so that she would not be penniless when she came
home. Vaguely, she had thought of earning her keep by working in
the house and on .the farm, but Four Winds had turned out to be so
small, the land so barren that she could only stand and stare at it,
and wish. Had Mlemba been a bigger town she might have got a job
there.

She had not entirely climbed out of her depression when she cleared
the lunch table and changed into a striped frock and white sandals.
But when she had been walking for a while, first of all in the shade
of the thorn-bush hedge and then among the thorn trees which
bordered Four Winds, she felt better.
She had been resting against a post for perhaps five minutes when
Damon cantered into sight. Here, he was about three miles from his
house, whereas she, had the trees not been in the way, could have
glimpsed Four Winds in the distance.

He reined in and swung to the ground, looped the reins over the
saddle and, as he gave the horse a push, mentioned that she was late;
this was his second ride along the path.

He looked down at Lou as she stood before him, her feet in the flat
sandals planted squarely as if she were nerving herself for a session
with the headmistress, the striped dress with the clipped-in waist,
the grey eyes a shade smoky in the light which filtered through the
branches. Cynicism pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll bet you hate those freckles," he said.

Lou became conscious of her own tension and willed herself to

relax. She contrived a non-committal smile. "Why should I?"

"Because with them you're only pretty, whereas without them you
could aspire to a genuine, if simple, beauty. I expect one of these
days you'll go into a beauty parlour for a few hours and emerge
flawless." He added unexpectedly, "Don't ever bleach your hair,
though, will you?"

Lou let out an imprisoned breath. Her voice had gone husky.
"Suppose you tell me why I had to meet you here today," she said.

He allowed several seconds to elapse before answering pleasantly,

"You probably have a good notion already. I can't imagine Val
Marston fighting very long against the need to pour his anxieties
into your small, receptive ear. But he won't have told you the plain
truth."

"He hasn't told me anything," she said quickly.

"No? Then he's even more serious about you than I thought."

His infuriating coolness made her touchy. "What are you getting
at?" she demanded crossly. "I've only met Val once, and it's enough
for me that he's George's brother. What he and I have to say to each
other can hardly be your business."

"That's so," he conceded. "You should be grateful to me for taking

an interest. I'm doing it because you strike me as being easily put
upon."

"I assure you I'm not!"

He shrugged disbelief. "Let me tell you something. George and I

have been friends for nearly eight years. He runs the farm just as I
like it, and I hope that eventually, when we add to the acreage of
Redlands, we'll manage the place together. He and his kind are the
salt of the British colonies. But George like all nice men has
his blind spot; in his case it's his brother." He paused, then queried
quietly, "What did you think of Val Marston?"

Lou was remembering a statement of George's - that there was one

subject upon which he and Damon could not agree; and,
inexplicably, she ranged herself on George's side.

"I like Val," she said firmly.

"Because he's a lame dog?"

"Is he? I wouldn't have thought it. He has nothing in common with
you, of course, but that doesn't make him any the less likeable."

Damon's eyes narrowed. "I know you're going to hold this against
me, but I'm afraid I don't care. Get one thing fixed in your mind; in
talking to you like this I've nothing to gain and nothing to lose. It's
merely that I consider it my duty, because I'm the only one outside
those two who knows the facts."

"Are you quite sure," she said, "that they wish me to know the facts?
Wouldn't it be best to leave the telling to them?"

"Don't get tough with me," he replied coolly. "I set myself this
anything but pleasant task and I mean to carry it through. You must
have realized already that Val is essentially a limp character, but
you're not experienced enough to see through George. You regard
him as a good, accommodating sort of chap who wants nothing so
much as to be a kind uncle to you. Actually, the relationship he's
after is rather closer; he'd prefer to be your brother-in-law." As she
made to speak he held up a peremptory hand. "Don't exclaim your
incredulity. I've lived with George for nearly three months, and it
didn't take me anything like that long to learn that his big ambition
is to find a dear, loyal little wife for Val."

She would be silenced no longer. "You're being ridiculous," she

said. "Val's twenty-six. He'll find his own wife when he's ready to
marry! I really don't understand what you're getting at."

"Try listening for a bit, and you will. Let's walk." He took a grip on
her arm and turned her so that they were moving slowly, side by
side, up the track. "Soon maybe the next time you meet - Val will
give you his life story and make much of the accident which drove
him to Rhodesia. Baldly, what happened is this: he crashed a car in
one of England's country lanes and his passenger was killed. The
passenger was his mother.''

"Oh." It was a sound of pity, and involuntarily she stopped and

stared up at him. But the hand on her arm pushed her inexorably on.
"So that's why he's strung up all the time," she ended softly.
"It happened," replied Damon flatly, "just on two years ago.
Following the shock and remorse he had a nervous breakdown and
was unable to follow his profession - he was training in research
chemistry. George got him to come out here which wouldn't have
been a bad move, except that he was so shaken by the difference in
his brother that he went all sentimental and paternal."

"But that's understandable. It must have been a ghastly experience

for Val!"

"Agreed," said Damon tersely. "It's something that no man would be

entirely able to live down, inside himself. On the other hand, he can
best make up the loss to his brother and the world at large by
becoming a passably worthy creature himself. I never knew Val
before I came down to Red- lands this time, but from what I've seen
of him I doubt if he's ever been anything but a spoiled boy. He's
fourteen years younger than George, was cosseted as a child and
doted on as he grew older. He's soft right through to the core."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

His hand dropped and every vestige of' intimacy went from his tone.
"You're all for the weak; I knew you would be. You've a sturdy little
backbone of your own and you're willing to share it. George guessed
that the first time he ran into you, down in Mlemba. He said nothing
of the kind to me, of course, but I got the hang of it when I saw you
in the hotel with the two of them on Saturday. I'm not blaming
George. He's one of the best, and as far as he could he'd help you to
make a success of marriage with Val."

"For heaven's sake stop talking of marriage," she said with vexation.
"I hardly know Val."
His mouth mocked. "He'll put that right, my child. In a month you'll
know him so well that his troubles will be all yours. I'm warning
you to stiffen yourself against him. He'll have you if you don't!"

Lou felt a little sick and unhappy, and wasn't quite sure why. She
pitied Val, but it was not pity which caused the sensation of
coldness and deflation; there was some connection with Damon. She
drew a long sigh.

"You're ruthless," she said. "How would you treat Val if you were
George?"

"In the first place," he answered evenly, "I'd have put it to him quite
forcibly that as a citizen of the world he had responsibilities. Then
I'd have shoved him into a horticultural research station it's the
nearest thing we have in this country to what he was doing in
England. I'd have made him realize that it was his job, even more
than anyone else's, to save lives by combating the pests that destroy
foods and cause famines. I'd keep him at it - and I would not let up
till I was convinced he'd regained his self-respect."

"But he's sensitive. He needed sympathy."

"He got it," Damon said bluntly, "and what good did he get out of
it? He's a rotten driver, because he torments himself with
remembering that other grisly drive. He's a poor farmer because his
heart isn't in farming, and he does what no man should ever do - he
clings. To George, to bitter memories - and he'll cling to you,
because you're about the first unmarried girl he's come across in
Rhodesia."

They had turned into a footpath and come to the end of the trees.
The chestnut was over there, grazing on Four Winds land, and the
house looked tiny against the distant mountain; a cottage-shaped
ornament, thought Lou, dropped on to a crumple of brown and green
homespun. The simile was English, but there was nothing English
about the sky and the sun. They burned.

Damon lightly touched her head. "You're not sufficiently

accustomed to this sun to come out without a hat. Think you could
sit my horse?"

"He's too big. I'll go the way I came, in the shade of the hedge."

"I'll take you," he said.

He whistled to the horse and it came at the quick, awkward walk of

a beast which habitually moves with speed. Damon sprang into the
saddle with a lightness amazing in one so tall, and leaned down
towards Lou.

"Put up your arms," he said.

He caught her under them with a hold that bruised, and lifted her. In
a second she was sitting side-saddle in front of him. She heard the
smile in his voice and wished she could see it; he smiled so seldom.

"It's far less comfortable than it looks on the films, but we'll make it.
Brig will hardly notice your extra weight."

His heel prodded the horse into a lope. Lou felt terribly insecure,
and then she forgot the insecurity of her posture because Damon's
hand was hard and warm through the thin dress at her waist and he
was like a wall at her back. Had she been capable of thinking clearly
she would have admitted that on the whole she had never felt more
entrenched ... nor more unwilling for the moments to pass. It was
exciting, and totally unreal.

He pulled up about a hundred yards from the house, and got down
with her.
"Overrated, isn't it?" he said. "The romance is blunted by the edge of
the saddle. Well, don't forget all I've told you. You're in time, now,
to keep your distance from Val. If you get embroiled, it'll be your
own fault."

"I suppose I ought to thank you."

"Not if you don't feel that way," he said carelessly. "Run along in."

"You won't come in for a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks. That place makes me feel like a Great Dane in a

terrier's kennel." He was up on Brig's back when he added casually,
"You might remind the fair Daphne that she and I are riding together
on Wednesday morning. I've picked out a sedate gelding for her."

With an economical lift of the hand he turned the horse and galloped
off over the grass towards the trees. Lou's fingers had curled into her
palms and one fist unconsciously pressed against the warmth in her
side, where his hand had lain. She watched him grow small and
disappear into the timber, and then went indoors to make tea.
CHAPTER IV

TOWARDS the end of that week the repairs to the water- mill were
completed, and with every breeze water was pumped into the huge
round cement reservoir which was connected to the house by
pipeline. They could now have a bath as often as they pleased, and
also try planting a few vegetables which eventually might help Lou
to save on the household bills. For a farming country, meat and
vegetables were outrageously expensive.

To Lou, that week was interminable. No one called, Nadine was

working at top pitch, and Daphne alternated exasperatingly between
high spirits and drowsing for hours with a novel. Lou was glad when
Saturday dawned and she could take the jeep into Mlemba and do
some marketing.

It was a funny little market. The stalls were old boards on trestles,
and the produce the surplus from the crops of the local farmers; the
usual English vegetables, plus pumpkins, squashes, avocado pears, a
few papaws from those farms which were well irrigated, and an
occasional box of guavas. There were a fair supply of eggs, a pound
or two of farm butter and an occasional piece of home-cured bacon,
but no one ever offered the smallest slice of cheese.

With fresh vegetables in the house and an odd treat in the way of
new rolls or white cheese which Lou had made from an
accumulation of sour milk, Saturday lunch was the most interesting
meal of the week. On that particular Saturday she braised a small
piece of steak and poached some guavas in syrup; the coffee was
extra good, too, and inevitably they sat longer at the table.

Consequently, when Val drove up in his two-seater at something

after two, Lou had hardly finished washing up. Hurriedly, she
introduced him to Nadine and Daphne in the living room, and went
off to wash and change.
She had almost forgotten Val's promise to come today, but she
wasn't sorry he had kept it. He looked attractive, with his light tan
and well-brushed fair hair, and he had smiled as if he hadn't a care in
the world. Damon's grim warning seemed somewhat overdone.

Val planned to take her to see the polo at Mlemba Park, after which
they would spend the evening at the hotel. Nadine looked at Lou and
her lower lid twitched in the ghost of a wink.

"You're getting around, Lou, but I approve your escort. He's

certainly more your cup of tea than our George. Have fun, ducky.
These are the best years of your life. So long, Val."

As he drove down into Mlemba, Val had an air of quiet happiness.

The tension was gone, arid he commented with amusement upon
Nadine and Daphne.

"What an assorted trio you are," he said. "Nadine is fine, but I find
Daphne frightening."

"Frightening?" she echoed. "Men adore her. She's entirely a man's

woman."

"A certain type might take to her. She strikes me as mercenary, as if

she'd put into any relationship whether friendship or something
more intimate just a little less than she got out of it. She's hard as
nails."

"That's not quite fair. Daphne had bad luck in England and she's not
altogether over it, that's all. Everyone takes to her your brother
included."

"George gets on well with everyone - even with Damon Thorpe.

Daphne Pryce and Damon are about level in most respects." He
grimaced. "How I hate the clever man or woman!"
"Nadine's clever," she pointed out, "and she's the dearest person on
earth."

"Hers isn't a calculated cleverness. It has a lot to do with her being

older and more experienced than we are. I should imagine she's
forbearing, a good friend."

"All that and more. She and I are second cousins and I've looked up
..to her ever since I was a child. She's never let me down." She
glanced at him curiously. "You total people up pretty thoroughly,
don't you?"

"It's a habit that's grown on me since I've been in Rhodesia. The

result of introspection, I suppose. Whenever I meet someone new I
wonder how they're going to affect me. I'm horribly susceptible to
the influences of other people."

"Aren't we all!" she agreed a trifle ruefully, recollecting Damon's

cold logic on the subject.

Val nodded his smiling comprehension, his eyes on the road ahead.
He drove carefully, and Lou recalled the statement that Val was a
rotten driver. He seemed to be doing well enough now. Damon, in
his dislike of George's brother, had really gone a bit too far.

It was a wonderfully pleasant afternoon. They sat under thickly-

leaved acacias and watched a moderately exciting game of polo,
went into the pavilion for tea and came out to see more polo as the
sun went down.

Dusk was falling as they left the ground, and when they reached the
hotel the stars were struggling through, isolated gems against purple
velvet.

Neither was well known at the hotel, so they were able to drink, dine
and dance without being coaxed to join a group. Val wanted to
know about her childhood, where she lived and what she had done
during the last few years. Lou answered simply but asked no
questions in return.

There was a moment, when they were dancing, in which his arm had
tightened about her and she had been certain in her mind that for
some reason anguish had revived in him. She went on dancing,
effortlessly, and soon the arm slackened.

"I believe," he said then, "that you and I are going to understand
each other without words. I'm so terribly glad you've come into my
life, Lou so glad that I'm shaky with it."

They were in the car outside Four Winds when he told her about his
mother's death. He had driven her up, and in the second or two after
the engine had stopped had placed his hand over hers, detaining her
without words. She had known what was coming and sat very still,
and presently, with, a self-deprecating little apology it had all come
out, very quietly and with scarcely a tremor. Lou listened and felt
some of the horror which had gripped him. Involuntarily, the hand
which had been under his on the seat between them twisted and
clasped his fingers.

He was very white when he had finished, white and spent. He could
not look her way.

"It's past," she said softly, "and it does no good to anyone to go on

punishing yourself. It's wrong to keep on suffering for something
which was unavoidable. You must see that, Val."

"I do see it, mostly. But life has been so empty without her. Even
George doesn't realize how close we were, particularly after my
father died." He paused. "You know, you have an odd effect on me,
Lou. If I'd told you all this last week I'd have made an ass of myself.
After a week of having you to look forward to I can see it more
objectively. George always says it's saner to dwell on the living than
on the dead, and that's what I've been doing since we met. I couldn't
get you out of my mind ... didn't want to."

Gently she withdrew her hand. "You've wallowed too much," she
said with a compassionate smile. "Don't look back any more; there
are such heaps of lovely things in the present. Do you mind if I go
now? "

"I've kept you late, haven't I? May I come along tomorrow?"

"If you like, but there won't be much to do."

"I'm pretty good at doing nothing. I'll come to breakfast."

"Don't do that," she said in alarm. "Nadine and Daphne have theirs
in bed on Sundays."

"All the better. We'll be tte--tte yet perfectly proper with two
heavy chaperons in the background."

She said a quick-good night, got out of the car before he could help
her and flitted up the path.

Val had been far more companionable than she had anticipated,
reflected Lou as she slipped into bed and turned down the lamp.
Damon's prejudice arose, she rather thought, from Val's youth and
vulnerability. He expected superhuman control from everyone;
probably had no time for the more sensitive character. What was
more natural than that Val should find it necessary to confide in a
woman? His confession had been restrained enough to satisfy the
coolest listener, and she didn't think he would refer to the subject
again.

Val turned up at a quarter to nine next morning. He ate eggs and

bacon, dried the dishes which Lou had washed, and persuaded her to
take a walk over the bush-covered mountain slope. Considering they
had been together for so many hours the day before, it was amazing
how much they found to talk about.

The Marstons came from the Midlands, and Val, hypersensitive

about factory chimneys and the grime which goes with industry, had
found relief and escape in music. He had enjoyed his own job, but
even that had demanded too much precision, too frequent contact
with the humdrum to be really congenial. Concerts had been his
outlet, and he didn't play the piano too badly himself.

"Is there a piano at the farm where you live?" she asked.

"Yes, an old-fashioned instrument of torture; I never play it." He

flexed his fingers, watching the knuckles turn white. "Damon
Thorpe has a music room, with a grand piano. Did you know that?"

"Lord, no. The man's full of surprises. Surely he doesn't play?"

Val gave a short laugh. "Not he. But he says that new countries
always lack culture, and the music room is there to encourage local
talent. Every few weeks he gives a highbrow party which develops
into a musical evening."

"Have you played there? "

"Yes, once. His Eminence described my performance as painfully

over-emotionalized." Val shrugged. "He and I are poles apart. We'll
never see any good in each other."

"That's how it is with some of us," Lou agreed sympathetically.

"You ought to get hold of a piano for your little log cabin."

"A decent one would be expensive. George offered to give me one

when I first came out, but I think he was relieved when I refused it.
George is of the earth, and a man at a piano strikes him as
effeminate - a man who isn't a genius or a jazz-fiend, that is. Even
George has a respect for genius."

"I like your brother," she said. "He's a grand potential husband gone
to waste."

Val walked on for a minute or two in silence, flicking at the

rooibosch on his side of the path with a stick he had picked up. Then
he enquired on a tentative note, "What does a woman look for in a
husband - just security?"

"I don't think she looks for anything," she answered honestly, "not
till after she's in love, anyway. Love comes first. Later she may
discover it was the man's obvious integrity which attracted her, but
it might just as easily have been his charming smile or his air of
seriousness. It depends so much on one's own personality the sort
of people one's attracted to, I mean."

"Yes, it does. You're such a wise little person, Lou." He smiled into
her eyes. "You're so direct that I believe you'll always get what you
want. You must find life very uncomplicated."

"Not exactly," she said, with a trace of irony which had nothing to
do with Val. "Other people tend to complicate one's existence, as
we've said before."

On the way back Val slid his arm round Lou's. The sun was high
and hot, but a strong wind whipped the dry soil into whirlpools of
dust and carried leaves and twigs across the sere grass.

"This is a dangerous time of the year," he said idly. "A dropped

cigarette can do no end of damage. Might do your land a bit of
good, though. That helichrysum should be scorched off."

"Your brother is going to do it for us. I suppose Damon wants the

land to be shipshape when he takes over."
"Is Damon buying it?" he demanded quickly. "Is that official?"

"No, but we adjoin Redlands and he's after more land. He offered to
buy from Nadine's uncle, two or three years ago."

After a moment Val said, his lips thin, "I hope Nadine will force up
the price. Better still, I hope she'll sell to someone else." He pushed
back his shoulders as if throwing off ill-feeling, and smiled at her.
"Not that I really care. You're good for me, Lou - you stop me from
brooding."

When they got back to the house he had a cup of coffee and some
biscuits, chatted with the three women for a while and then said
good-bye. He had to be back at the farm to do some evening duties,
and he wanted to see George before leaving. If they didn't mind he
would call in again next weekend.

"Well," said Nadine, when Lou had come back to the living room
from seeing him off, "he's yours if you want him, my dear. If that
look in his eyes wasn't the need of a man for one particular woman,
I've never seen it before!"

Lou was putting the coffee cups back on the tray and scooping ash
from the table top. "He's just lonely," she commented. "I don't want
him to come here every weekend. We can't possibly find different
things to talk about so often, and besides, his kind of caller is
expensive. He had two of our dozen eggs and a large-sized rasher
this morning."

"That's sobering," observed Nadine, "particularly as I've a strange

feeling that our financial resources are going to dry up."

Daphne, who had been perusing a periodical and paying no attention

to the conversation, now planked the magazine on the table and
leaned upon it, staring at Nadine. "Are you serious?"
"As serious as not receiving letters from England can make me. I got
that one commission because it was half arranged before I left. I was
promised others, but looking at it squarely, I can't for the life of me
see why they should send to Rhodesia for drawings which, with less
trouble, can be done in England. Then there's the chance that my
stuff might not be quite right. I've had to do alterations now and then
but who's going to send them back here to be touched up?"
Nadine's well-shaped shoulders lifted. "I'm not worried about losing
my market; I've too many good friends over there who will be only
too glad to give me a break when I get back. But we are going to be
a little short of cash."

A brief silence. Then Lou said, "I think I ought to get a job in
Bulawayo. I could come here weekends. I've felt all along that we
didn't work things out on the right lines before we came."

"Lou may be right," began Daphne.

But Nadine decisively shook her head. "We're not splitting up. I
promised Lou's father to keep her in my care and he gave me a
cheque towards her expenses. In any case, with her running the
place it costs no more to keep three than it would to keep two if
Daphne and I were alone. And heaven knows we ought to be able to
afford to have a visitor occasionally. I'm hoping that at the worst
we'll only have to cut our stay short by a few weeks."

"If that's all there is to it," said Daphne, "what are we anxious about?
It won't be too interesting here, anyway, once Damon's gone. He
said last night he might not be spending the whole of his leave in
Rhodesia."

A pulse beat queerly in Lou's throat, and she closed the biscuit tin
with a snap. "Was Damon here last night?"
Nadine slanted a smile at her fingertips. "He's allowing himself to
fall very slightly for Daphne. He came after dinner, ostensibly on his
way to town, but he lingered about an hour, on the veranda. We
haven't seen you alone since you went out with young Romeo
yesterday afternoon, have we? You didn't know we're invited to tea
and tennis at Red- lands this afternoon."

Lou looked at Nadine's smooth dark head and at the pale burnished
curls of Daphne. She drew in her lip. "Five is an awkward number,"
she said, "and I don't fancy tennis. I'll stay at home and catch up on
my reading."

The best thing about Nadine was her reluctance to pry. Lou felt the
dark eyes watching her, she even tensed herself defensively, but
Nadine offered no comment. She merely leaned back gracefully in
her baggy chair and raised her feet to a stool which stood nearby,
and Lou was able to gather up the tray and go.

When Nadine and Daphne were ready that afternoon in their white
pleated dresses, Lou paid each a compliment, and then went out to
the lean-to shed which protected the jeep from sun and dust. James
had cleaned the vehicle after her jaunt into Mlemba yesterday, but
she spent some more time on it, polishing the headlamps and the
windscreen.

She heard a car pull up on the road, and was disconcerted, a minute
later, to see Damon standing at the entrance to the lean-to. In white
slacks and shirt, and with his back to the strong light, he looked big
and handsome, burned brown by the sun. The thinnish, hawklike
face was softened by shadow, but there was nothing yielding about
his voice.

"I saw your red head from the hill," he , said. "It's four o'clock.
You're leaving it late before you change, aren't you?"
She blew a speck from the bonnet of the jeep. "I'm not coming," she
answered. "I knew you wouldn't mind."

"Tired out?" he queried sarcastically.

"Maybe."

"Was it worth it?"

"What?" She feigned sudden comprehension. "Oh, you mean Val.

We had quite a pleasant time, thanks."

"I told you he had a line you'd fall for. You could have taken my
word for that, couldn't you?" His mouth dented sardonically. "You
can take my word for the rest, as well."

"It's sometimes more fun to find out things for oneself. So far,
you've only been partly right about him. The factual part."

"From which I gather," he said, "that he didn't hold your hand while
he unburdened. It'll come, little one."

"As a matter of fact," she said coolly, "we did hold hands. Do you
object?"

"Not a scrap," he told her, his tones clipped. "I'm annoyed with
myself, that's all. I was deceived in you I can't think why. If I
hadn't imagined you possessed intelligence I wouldn't have troubled
to warn you against the insidious Val. Next time you two collide,"
he finished, his lips bent almost into a sneer, "he'll kiss you. But I
expect that's another spot of fun you'd prefer to find out for
yourself."

She leaned through the open window of the jeep and rubbed the
duster over the dashboard. "You detest Val, don't you?" she said in a
steady little voice. "It's beyond everything the great Damon
Thorpe bothering to hate someone so insignificant."

"My dear girl," he answered with exasperating calm, "Valentine

Marston hasn't the power to inspire hate in anyone. I'd even go so
far as to say he hasn't the power to inspire love, either. George's
feeling for him is' blunt and brotherly, and yours is, or will be, soft
and pitying. I thought you had the sense to be saved, but you
evidently intend to go ahead and hurt yourself." His tones sharpened
with irritation. "Stop ticking about with that rag and go indoors and
change!"

Her eyes widened and gazed at him across the nose of the jeep.
Whom did he think he was ordering about? If he imagined it would
get him anywhere with Lou Meredith she would prove him
mistaken! Yet even in the moment that she defied the green glance
her will weakened; she shivered and looked away.

"There's George and Nadine, you and Daphne. I'd feel odd man
out," she said.

"No, you won't. I've invited two men and another woman. Eight
altogether. Come on, Louise," he said with a brusque, unsmiling
charm. "Try to forget for a while that you've taken on the job of
acting cushion to Val Marston. If we're going to be neighbours for
another couple of months you'll have to get used to my nasty ways."

"You might be accommodating and mend them a little."

"I'm too old to change. You'll take me as I am, and like it. Now cut
along."

She hung the duster over a hook and came round to where he stood.
She had meant to pass him, of course, and go into the house, but
Damon's hand came up and she hesitated. She felt him take a
handful of the shining red-gold hair, and the gentle pull with which
he made her look up at him. And oddly, though this was Damon
Thorpe whom she had thought cold all through and cynical about
women, she was not surprised when he grinned and touched his
mouth to her temple. A little frightened, but not surprised.

"That was a bit out of character, wasn't it?" she managed.

"It's the unexpected that spices a character. Didn't you know that?"

"How am I supposed to react?"

He was smiling mockingly. "How do you feel like reacting?"

Supposing she had the courage to tell him the truth. Supposing she
whispered, "I want you to hold me, Damon. I just want to lean
against you; nothing else just to lean against you." It would
probably strike him as mighty funny.

He was experimenting, just as, when he went riding, he

experimented with Daphne. Made her jump because he knew her
natural inclinations were all against it; and today he was going to
force her to play tennis.

He had somehow got the impression that' Lou was half afraid of the
mildest preliminaries to lovemaking. As indeed she was, but it was
the delicious kind of fear, the fear which is every woman's when she
is on the brink of new ecstatic knowledge.

His hand had moved to her shoulder, dropped unostentatiously back

into his pocket. "I take it you're left speechless," he said with a hint
of curtness. "You'd better get busy. It's late."

Lou did not go to the front of the house with him. She edged past
him and round to the back. Quickly she washed and got into white
shorts and shirt. She used a little makeup and took her racquet from
its press, half hoping that the changes in climate would have
snapped a few strings. But they were all intact, and she had no
option but to collect her yellow cardigan and go through to the
veranda, where the others were waiting.

Nadine pushed up from her grass chair. "Good news, Lou," she said.
"I've just cadged an ice-box from Damon, and he promises to send
us a block or two of ice from his own fridge with the milk each
morning. Isn't it wonderful" with a crooked smile "to be
blessed with a wealthy neighbour who has no wife to curb his
generosity !"

"Just think," Damon added with satire, "how fortunate it is for all of
us that you should come to Mlemba just now. Six months either way
and I wouldn't be here."

Daphne, standing close to him, raised her china blue eyes. "Yet don't
you somehow feel that we were all meant to meet?" Her glance did
not waver from him as she reiterated, "Don't you, Damon?"

"Yes, I do," he said, as if he were speaking only to her. Then, to all

of them, "None of you are behaving as if you're keen for a game of
tennis, but I intend to get you on the run, nevertheless. To the car,
ladies."

Lou sat in the back with Nadine. She didn't know why Nadine patted
her knee as they moved off up the road, but it was a comforting
gesture and helped her to relax.

She saw Redlands for the first time by daylight, the great clusters of
purple and cerise which covered the pillars and most of the roof, the
crazy-paved courtyard with portulaca flowering between the stones
and the long, low house against the trees.

As soon as they had been introduced in the veranda to the other

three guests, George poured tea and offered an assortment of
cookies which, he explained, was their weekly bake supplied by a
local farmer's wife.

"Damon smokes with his tea, but I enjoy a cake which probably
accounts for my being slower and heavier than he is."

"It probably also accounts for your being so domesticated," said

Nadine kindly. "You pour beautifully, George."

"Thanks." He grinned and gave her one of her own tolerant nods.
"But I expect you serve cocktails better than I do. Try a jam tart. It
will remind you of the days you've grown out of - when you loved
the simple things."

With part of her mind Lou listened to their nonsense. George and
Nadine couldn't meet without getting at each other, but there was
mostly a vein of humour in their exchanges. The rest of her attention
encompassed Damon, Daphne and the others.

Presently Damon said, "We'll have to move if we're going to get in a

couple of games before the light goes. Come on, four of you, and I'll
get you fixed up."

Five of them went off, leaving George, Nadine and Lou. Damon,
Lou noticed, was walking with Daphne, who looked really lovely
with that silky hair barely brushing the collar of the loose, powder-
blue jacket which came just short of the hem of her brief white
frock. Her long slim legs moved gracefully, even in tennis shoes and
socks.

Daphne was apparently being amusing, for Damon was looking at

her with a half-smile which was ready to break into a laugh. Where
Nadine and Daphne were concerned his smile wasn't at all rare.
The group turned a bend in the path and only their voices came back
on the breeze: a remark in masculine tones and a scandalized,
exuberant exclamation from Daphne.

Lou jumped up. "May I walk in the garden, George? It smells so

sweet."

"Of course. I'll show you the summer house and the rockeries."

"Let me explore alone ... please!"

Nadine pressed deeper into her chair. "Let her go," she said. "She'll
be happier without you, George."

Lou left them quickly and took the path to the right. She came to the
grove of dwarf oranges and walked on, down towards the thatched
rondavel which was presumably the summer house. She had to be
alone yet was scared of solitude because it would etch in relief the
horrid truth - that she was allowing herself, without any real
struggle, to fall in love with Damon Thorpe.
CHAPTER V

FOR several minutes after Lou had vanished round the corner of the
house, Nadine and George smoked tranquilly. The sun had gone
from this side and the veranda was warm and dim, the still air
conducive to somnolence. Nadine glanced about her for an ashtray,
and dropped her cigarette into the metal one which George pushed
close on the tea table.

"I wish it would rain," she said.

"I'm afraid it won't. The rains aren't due for several weeks, and
they're often late at that. Why are you longing for rain?"

"For a change, I suppose. A change of weather sometimes alters

one's luck."

Already George knew better than to show concern. "Is your luck out
at the moment?" he asked casually.

"Not really. I dragged Daphne and Lou out here, and I feel they're
my responsibility. Daphne's no problem - she'd get by anywhere
because she's not troubled with much conscience - but Lou's more
difficult."

"Personally," said George, "I'd sooner deal with Lou than with either
of you two others. There's no sham about that child."

Nadine looked at him sideways, through half-closed lids. "So that's

the way you see us," she commented sweetly. "Dear George!"

"To be frank," he said, "I see beyond the sham not Daphne's, but
yours."

"How interesting."
"It is, rather. Would you like to hear the findings?"

"It might help to pass a moment or two."

George propped an elbow on the table and looked her over

thoughtfully. "How long did it take you to build that armour? Eight
... ten years? What was he like, Nadine?"

"You're crazy," she answered, "and exceedingly trite."

"But not far from the truth." His voice went very quiet. "How did
you lose him?"

She pulled in her lip between her teeth, made it turn pale under the
carmine. Then she replied stiffly, "It was nothing - only the very
beginning of an affair. I was a few months older than Lou is now.
We met, and within days he was killed in a car crash. We hardly
knew each other, yet the sense of loss was unbearable." She left the
words in the air as though there were much more to follow, but they
trailed off into silence.

"So you decided never to lay yourself open again," he said at length,
softly, "and became a career woman."

"Give me a cigarette," she said abruptly. And, after it was between

her lips, "Heaven knows why I told you that. I've , never told anyone
else."

"It's safe enough with me," he said. "I'm glad I wasn't wrong about
you."

"You're certainly wrong about me now," she returned in a hard

voice. "I haven't thought about that callow romance for years, and it
has nothing to do with my present conduct."
"As a matter of fact your present conduct is based on nothing else,"
he told her companionably, "but let it pass. Have a light. Cigarettes
smoke better that way."

She leaned to the flame he had been holding for some time and
puffed a grey cloud. "Shall we go down and watch the play?"

"Not yet. I've something to ask you. Don't panic" - as she shot him a
rapier-like glance - "I'm not going to propose to you. I haven't that
type of conceit." He put both forearms on the table and leaned
towards her. "Quite simply, it's this. I'd like to buy Four Winds
the whole place as it stands. I don't need the house; it's set right on
the edge of the land, anyway, and the space it takes up is negligible.
You can stay on there for ever, if you like, because I'd probably
build right at the other end, farthest from Redlands. I want the land,
and I want it soon."

Nadine's fingernail flicked a shred of tobacco from her tongue and

she turned round slightly, the easier to see his rugged face with the
grey wings at the temples and the brown hair above his brow. "Is
Damon in on this?"

He shook his head. "I expect he intends to make you an offer before
he leaves, but he hasn't mentioned it to me. I'm not competing with
Damon - I haven't his kind of bank balance - but I'll pay you the
valuation price, in cash."

Nadine considered. "Are you aiming to farm Four Winds for

yourself?"

"It's for Val," he said. "He's learned a lot and now he's chafing for a
place of his own. Naturally, he'll need my help, and I can give it
easily if he adjoins Redlands."

"Will Damon like having him so near?"

Had George been the kind to display his feelings he would have
winced; being George, he merely traced a pattern on the tea cloth
with a spoon. "You seem to have guessed that Damon and Val don't
quite get on together," he said. "At this stage it isn't important.
Damon will be going back to Malawi, and by the time he's ready to
live here permanently, Val will have an established farm of his own,
and probably a wife as well. Damon's not vindictive; he just doesn't
understand Val. He'll be friendly enough when the boy has proved
himself a good farmer."

Nadine permitted herself a small indiscretion. "You're very fond of

your brother, aren't you? You feel you must put him on the right
road, whatever the cost. That's how I am about Lou."

"Are you?" He looked up now, keenly. "Then that's another reason

why you should let me buy Four Winds. I had lunch with Val at the
hotel today and he appears to be floored by Lou. He's never been
like that about a girl and I'm sure it's serious. I hope so." He paused,
and carefully excluded the enthusiasm which had risen to his voice,
"I expect you're as anxious as I am to encourage young love. It rests
with you, Nadine. I'll pay the market value for Four Winds, or you
can hang on and get a better price from Damon."

She stared out at the clipped shrubs which bordered the winding
path that led to the tennis court. She was thinking of Lou, of the way
she had smiled when Val was around and later wilted on coming
into contact with Damon. Something rather odd there, though
Damon possibly did have that effect on the young and
inexperienced.

Nadine was uncertain about Val Marston. It had occurred to her

earlier, when he had been pleasant over coffee and biscuits, that he
had neither the physical nor mental stamina of George, and
apparently he was willing to appropriate his brother's capital without
a murmur. There seemed to be no question of the young man
starting a farm which he would eventually share with George; Four
Winds was to be Val's.

George, she reflected, was an idealizing fool. He had sweated in the

tropics to put in a fair amount of hard work at Redlands for a salary,
and now, at forty, he was blandly contemplating splashing his
savings on a venture for Val. It spelled sentimentality, not common
sense, but that was his own business.

Nadine came back to Lou. At twenty a girl is ready for love and
marriage. Val was young and keen on farming, and George would
be on hand to give counsel and affection. The younger Marston
wasn't exactly the man she would have chosen for Lou, but he had
the essentials: youth, ardour and singleness of purpose. And in
marrying her he would make her safe from the fascinations of men
like - well, like Damon and from women like her stepmother,
who could hurt. He would give her the kind of home and interests
she needed. So long as, she loved him enough, it was unlikely that
Lou would lose anything by marrying Val.

"Well," said George pleasantly, "will you think it over?"

"About selling the farm, yes. But I won't try to push Lou into
marriage. To be absolutely honest, George, I don't think your
brother is good enough for her."

A faint flush darkened his tan. "I know, but she's as human as the
rest of us. My mother was a good woman and Val adored her and
would have done anything for her. Lou wouldn't ask more than
that."

"If she loved him, she'd make no demands at all." Nadine tapped ash
into the tray. "You may have detected a buried fact or two about me,
George, but you know nothing whatever about girls of Lou's age. To
you, she's a feminine Val, to be guided and pampered into believing
that you know what's best for her. Actually, you may not even know
what's best for Val. In any case, Lou is more independent than he is
and she has the stronger personality. Val has charm, but he hasn't
strength."

"You talk like Damon," he said. "You both have the gift of objective
reasoning, and you're apt to depose anyone who acts from the heart
rather than the head. All right" - with a shrug - "Lou pleases herself.
I still want Four Winds."

"T don't see why you shouldn't have it," she said. "I'll let you know
definitely in a couple of days."

Her almost ruthless directness had alienated them. Nadine felt the
estrangement and analysed it detachedly. Val came first with his
brother. The "boy" was twenty-six, but for some reason George was
driven to look after him and plan his future. First, Val had had "a
mother upon whom he depended for most things, and now he turned
to George. George Marston was the placid, gentle kind, and possibly
he had hoped to stir her to sympathy. That was why he had started
off on the personal note. A poor trick, really; she had expected
better from him.

She disposed of her cigarette and got to her feet. "Let's go to the
tennis court," she said. "I expect Lou's there already."

As it happened, Lou wasn't there; she was in the summer house. She
had paused outside the adobe structure and abstractedly turned the
handle of the door. It had opened inward, revealing a circular room
for which wicker furniture had been specially made, a curved
bookcase that fitted the curved walls, and a low fruitwood table. She
noticed the high windows with their plastic venetian blinds, was
astonished at the coolness and spaciousness, the atmosphere of
studious luxury.

Then a movement caught her eye, and she stood very still, watching
the small, frightened animal which lay on a folded blanket in the
seat of one of the chairs. It lifted its head but made no noise.
Carefully she moved towards it, and with a light forefinger stroked
the black nose. The body was beige and faintly striped, the legs long
for so small a creature, and one of them was tightly bandaged from
flank to paw. Some tiny species of buck, she supposed, which
George had brought home for doctoring.

She knelt, dipped her fingers into the bowl of milk that stood on the
floor and moistened the small mouth. A pink tongue licked, the soft
brown eyes watched her, begging for more. She slipped a hand
under the bony little shoulder and raised him so that he could lap at
the bowl, but he was too young to make a good job of feeding
himself. The milk splashed her shorts and the polished stone floor.

Lou laughed softly. Poor mite! How odd he must feel, all closed in
and no mother to put him right. But he was safe and snug in here.

She remained beside the chair, on her knees, smoothing the downy
coat and whispering an occasional endearment, till George walked
in.

He came over and smiled down at her. "So you found the patient.
Cute, isn't he?"

"He's sweet. Where did he come from?"

"You needn't whisper. He's been here three days and he's hot a bit
shy. Damon brought him home. The little beggar dashed from the
bush under the horse, and he was so young that his leg got bent - a
greenstick fracture. He'll soon be right and then we'll let him loose."
"What is he?"

"Steinbok - about ten days old."

"Who fixed his leg?"

"Damon. He has a way with animals."

Lou's smile faded. "He has a way with everyone." She let him help
her to her feet, before she added hesitantly, "I ... I'd like to talk to
you, some time. I need advice, and you're the only one I can
approach."

"In a jam of some sort?" he asked quickly.

"No, nothing like that." She moved a step or so away from him.
"George, I have to earn some money."

He gave a brief laugh of relief. "For a moment I thought a dozen

things - all of them horrible. Why the sudden need for cash - or is it
something personal?"

"It's only personal insofar as one has to live and the money I brought
with me has practically run out. You see, everything here has been
much more expensive than we anticipated. We didn't know that Four
Winds was just barren acres, and we imagined ourselves living off
farm produce and only having to buy flour and sugar and other
oddments.

' I'm not complaining. I like the funny old iron house and the
windmill and the hump of the mountain against the sky, but I've had
my holiday and I want to work. Is everything on a farm slow to
mature? Couldn't I start salad- growing or poultry-keeping and show
a fairly quick return?"
"Poultry is the better idea of the two you can always get a good
price for table chickens and eggs - but to do it on a worthwhile scale
would take time and money." He stopped suddenly. "I've an idea
which has nothing at all to do with farming. Interested?"

"Of course!"

He moved back and leaned against the wall. "How would you like to
run a private bus service in Nadine's jeep?"

"Don't be enigmatic, please."

"I'm not. There's a school in Mlemba which the local youngsters

attend five days a week. They have to be taken in by car from
distances up to thirty miles, at a colossal waste of time and petrol.
The parents would gladly pay you well to pick up those kids around
eight a.m. and take them home every day at one-thirty. Incidentally,
you'd collect your vegetables free. They'd be bound to heap you
with their surplus produce."

"Really?" She gazed at him in delight. "Can it be arranged?"

"I'll sound them down at the hotel tomorrow."

"You're an angel, George."

"With tattered wings," he said. "Try it out, anyway. If it doesn't

work you can drop it."

"I think Nadine will agree. She bought the jeep cheaply at the coast
when we landed because she thought it would be useful on a farm
and save huge train fares besides. I'll bet it never occurred to her that
it might come in handy as a bus."

He turned his head as if giving most of his attention to the baby

steinbok, which had comfortably closed its eyes. His tone was
almost offhand. "I came to fetch you for tennis. The others were
near the end of their game."

Lou took a last glance at the dozing gazelle, and turned towards the
doorway. George came beside her and laid a brotherly arm across
her shoulders.

"You look good against the Rhodesian background," he said. "I can't
imagine you anywhere else."

"I don't go too badly with bookshelves," she answered with an

unconvincing flippancy. "I may get my job back when I go home."

Coming out into the late sun they were face to face with Damon.
Without haste, George withdrew his arm from her shoulder and
pulled shut the door.

"I found Lou crooning to Bambi," he said.

Damon appeared uninterested. "If you're going in for your own

racquet, will you bring mine?"

"Sure, and I'll pick yours up from the veranda, Lou."

George veered towards the house and Damon stalked at Lou's side,
making her conscious of her smallness and insignificance.

"The baby buck is a darling," she said. "I fed him some milk and he
actually went to sleep while George and I were talking."

"What did you talk about - the thrills of living on a small farm in
Rhodesia? The life might suit you, at that."

"I know you don't mean it as a compliment," she answered, "but I'll
take it that way." Somehow, she couldn't converse normally with
Damon, and to tell him about George's scheme for transporting the
children to school would be to invite opposition. So she tacked on,
"I thought George must have brought home the steinbok. It doesn't
sound like you."

"How would you know?" he asked evenly. "What is there about me

that suggests I might prolong the suffering of a dumb creature?"

"I didn't imply that. I can imagine you deciding the poor little chap
was useless, and shooting him."

"Maybe I didn't happen to be carrying a gun," he said coolly. They

were in sight now of the wired-in tennis court, and he added
brutally, "After a morning out with Val and a fraternal session with
George - not to mention an energetic hour of polishing the jeep -
you're somewhat the worse for wear. You'd better partner me.
George might expect some co-operation."

She sighed. "You're such a beast, Damon. Is it a sort of revenge for

being so much alone in Malawi that drives you to hurt people when
you get among them?"

He glanced at her sharply. "No," he said, "it isn't that at all. There's a
quality in you - a lavish tenderness and a foolish courage - that
makes me want to bruise you into awareness before it's too late. I've
no craving to hurt you, but if you don't soon show some sense I'll do
it even more thoroughly."

"What do you mean by... sense?"

"You know well enough. Get the right slant on this vacation in
Rhodesia. You're here for a few months and you don't have to send
out roots. You'll meet people and have good times, but the whole
thing is transient, and you should finish up owing allegiance to no
one." He had slowed nearly to a standstill. "I'm advising you for
your own good."
"Fathers have been doing that down the ages," she told him, trying
to exclude bitterness from her voice, "but the quest for experience
goes on. Your experience is no good to me, Damon; nor is Nadine's,
nor anyone else's. I should think you'd be the last to deny me the
few knocks that one gathers on the way to maturity."

"There's more than one road to maturity," he replied decisively.

"With the right man you could travel it beautifully in spite of the
freckles."

"Oh," she said hollowly, ignoring the hint of humour, "are we back
to that? You know, it would be much kinder if you let us alone at
Four Winds. None of us is the grateful, worshipping type, and you're
really wasting your time."

"Possibly - but with Daphne, at least, it's a mighty pleasant method

of wasting time," he returned mockingly. "I generally finish the
things I start, so I'm afraid you'll have to put up with it, Louise. Here
comes our friend with the racquets. Smile prettily, now, for Brother
George !"

Lou hated him, his firm, lean jaw, the sardonic mouth, the sleek
head, even his hard-thewed arms glinting with golden hairs. The
unshakable Damon.

It was much later, long after she had made a wretched mess of
partnering him at tennis, had sipped a cocktail and climbed back
into the car for home, that Lou recalled one of his remarks: "I
generally finish the things I start." And he had spoken it while
referring to Daphne.

So he was beginning an affair, or perhaps it was already well on its

sophisticated way. With Daphne one wouldn't know, because she
measured the progress of friendship with a man by the value of the
gifts she collected, and all Damon had so far yielded was the loan of
a gelding - a rather doubtful acquisition considering Daphne's innate
indifference to horses.

Lou had given up trying to reconcile Daphne's patent grief in

England with her present uncaring acceptance of all die
inconveniences of Four Winds. She had given up conjecturing about
Damon and Daphne, too; it was profitless and painful.

Next day George called in to inform Lou that his idea had been well
received by the two or three farmers he had spoken to at the hotel.
They had promised to spread the news, and tomorrow she would
probably receive messages from those who were keen to utilize her
services. No doubt she would have to get busy on Wednesday.

Nadine was in favour of the proposition but not enthusiastic. It

seemed to her a trouble and a tie for small returns. "George is only
doing it to make you feel happy and secure," she said when he had
gone. "Somehow, I don't trust him as I did."

Lou was amazed. "George? I'd trust him with anything. He's the
nicest man I've ever known."

"He's also one-track. Keep an open mind about him, if you can. That
goes for his sensitive little brother, as well."

With which cryptic utterance Nadine went to her room to do some

work.

It had become too windy to do much out of doors. It was a cooler

wind, which at night brought a biting coldness for which they had
been unprepared. They had become accustomed to the house
sweltering at noon, and grown to look forward to the nights, when
the corrugated iron creaked and banged as it soaked up what chill
there was in the air and cooled the rooms. But midnight now was
frigid and the one blanket apiece not nearly enough, though Lou
insisted she was never cold because Nadine had to be heaped with at
least a couple of the travelling coats.

Lou was terrified of Nadine's becoming ill again. It had taken her so
long to get over that last bout in England, and she hadn't really had
much will to get well; Lou couldn't think why - except that Nadine
had stood so much alone that perhaps when her spirits were at their
lowest she had felt she would not be missed.

You could never get really close to Nadine, thought Lou, as she lay
shivering in her camp-bed below a cutting draught from the
window. She was wonderfully good and kind, generous to a fault
with her money and apparently happier with women than with men,
though she had often been heard to condemn her own sex as
insincere. Lou had a wholehearted love and admiration for Nadine.
That was why she got up in the middle of the night to make sure that
her cousin's shoulders were covered, and in a roundabout way it was
also the reason Lou herself caught a chill.

It started with a sore throat and a feeling of slackness on the first

morning that she was to collect the children for school. She drove up
the road, past the gates to Redlands and on into the wilds. There
were eleven children to pick up from seven homes, and she
managed it and got them to the small schoolhouse with three
minutes to spare.

Groggily, and valiantly keeping her indisposition to herself, Lou got

through the remainder of the week. Because she was young and
resilient the sore throat cleared up and the shakiness left her limbs,
but the malaise and depression hung on.

On Friday night Nadine told the other two that George Marston was
buying Four Winds, that he had already signed an agreement to sell
at a surprisingly good price. She explained as many details as she
thought they ought to know and added the information that George
himself was going to tell Damon. The sale had to be registered and
approved before she would get the cheque, but she had agreed to
carry on as if the farm were already his. Damon's boys would be
withdrawn from clearing operations and a new lot put on to various
jobs. Native workers' huts would be erected on a spot as far from the
house as possible and George himself would supervise the men.

Nadine's manner, as she doled out facts, was dry and emotionless,
but Lou wondered if it stung her a little to be selling up the land
from which her uncle had drawn inspiration. And why had she sold
to George, not Damon?

Daphne made a candid declaration. "It's the first time I've known
you to act like an idiot, darling. Damon would have paid you twice
as much, and it was only fair to give him first option. After all, he
did mention buying you out at the very beginning."

"He mentioned having offered to buy from my uncle, not from me,
and it hasn't cropped up again. We can do with that money as soon
as it's available."

"Damon's going to hate your hide, my sweet."

"It's done," said Nadine. "Damon won't say a word, because he deals
in facts, and he'll be faced with an accomplished one. In any case, he
won't be ready to expand till he comes to live here for good, and by
that time George himself may be ready to sell out. In my opinion,
we're very lucky, particularly as we can stay on in the house as long
as we like. When I've properly realized that Four Winds doesn't
belong to me any longer and that I have a substantial amount of cash
coming to me instead, I shall be really exuberant."

Nevertheless, Lou sensed a sharpness in Nadine that she could only

attribute to regret. Daphne alone was undisturbed at the prospect of
Four Winds passing from its present ownership; her sole objection
to the sale was based on the fact that Damon would have paid more.

It was not till the following afternoon that Lou learned about Val's
part in the transaction. Four Winds was to be registered in his name
and within three months he would be finishing with his present
employer and transferring to Mlemba.

They were walking at the edge of the belt of timber when he came
out with all this, and she could feel his nerviness and excitement, the
tension to which he was once again keyed up.

"You see how it is, Lou," he said in low, urgent tones. "The farm
will be my own - two hundred and fifty acres! Once it's planned it
will only need supervision. I'll be able to live as I've never lived
before. I'll have time to study and play the piano, and to have fun.
I'll have what I've always longed for freedom."

"You can't very well relax till you've repaid your brother."

He looked at her oddly. "George won't take anything from me. He's
so much older that he regards it as his duty to do all he can. Since I
was a schoolboy he's taken the place of my father."

"But he can't go on doing that. He has his own life," she exclaimed.
"He may not always want to stay at Redlands, and if he's not going
to share Four Winds with you ..."

"He certainly isn't!" Val laughed jubilantly. "Don't you worry about
George. He's so solid he'll always get through."

"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that you ought to insist on a
private arrangement with him - a proportion of the profits, or
something like it."
The boyishness slid away into an uneasy smile. "He's perfectly
satisfied with things as they are."

"But he shouldn't be. You have a duty to him as well, you know."

She had an urge to say something which would get under his skin,
and then she looked up and saw that his eyes were feverish and full
of entreaty, and her heart gave one abnormally heavy thud.
Basically, Val was still a boy. He longed for her to be as pleased and
excited as he was and to approve everything he did and said.

Her own feeling of physical depression rendered her more sensitive

to his mood, and she saw, in a moment of intense clarity, what it
was about Val that made George willing to sink every material
possession in a bid for the young man's happiness.

This was the real Val, this fair, thin-faced man with the light,
burning eyes, delicate nostrils and mobile mouth, this creature who
was so perilously balanced between the heights and the depths.
George was right. Val had had enough of torment. He must be made
happy.

She smiled at him and slipped a hand into the crook of his arm. "I've
no right to speak to you like that. I was thinking only of George, and
he, of course, is thinking only of you. He's a splendid brother, Val."

"The very best." He stopped and pressed his other hand over hers on
his sleeve. "You're so sound, Lou, like a strong, slim sapling.
You've a remarkably clear mind, too, much clearer than mine, and
you've a sense of justice. I'll do what- every you say about George."

"I can't dictate to you, Val."

"You can, my lovely," he said, and lightly touched her hair.

During the whole of that weekend danger seemed to hover near
whenever the two of them were together. They dined at the hotel,
spent Sunday morning on the mountainside and drove some miles
on the Bulawayo road after lunch. There was a moment when Val,
lying in the grass and looking down over the mountain slope, had
twisted and rested his head in her lap. He had looked up into her
eyes but mercifully left the moment wordless.

No invitation had arrived at Four Winds from Redlands, so Val had

an early dinner with the three women, thanked Nadine charmingly,
and at about eight-thirty went with Lou to his two-seater.

They stood one each side of the gate and he took her shoulders and
stared down at the pale blue of her face in the darkness.

"I've a feeling that the whole of life is just beginning," he whispered.

"No more torment, no more loneliness." His grip tightened and she
felt him quiver. "You're a miracle, Lou. I adore you."

He put his hot cheek to hers, turned his head and kissed her lips.
Then he wrenched away and slid into the car, to zigzag alarmingly
away over the gravel road.

Five minutes later Lou had not moved from the gate. Her heart was
full and bitter, her limbs leaden as if her despondency had grown too
heavy to bear. It was as well, just then, that she did not remember
Damon's forecast that Val would kiss her next time they met. That
really would have been too much.
CHAPTER VI

WITH the sale of the farm an indefinable change settled over the
Four Winds household. Nadine had finished all the commissioned
drawings, and she spent most of her time conning over the big art
books she had brought with her from England, and desultorily
experimenting. Daphne, of course, had never had difficulty in
passing the time, and her mood was rather sweeter than formerly
because she was not compelled to go riding.

Lou, practically recovered now, was kept busy in several ways.

Once her spirit had revived she enjoyed driving the children to
school. They told her about their homes and toys, and she taught
them songs which they sang so lustily that everyone in Mlemba
knew when the jeep was on its way.

Also George had decided, at Lou's request, to build poultry sheds

and runs near the house. In return for egg supplies and a weekly
table chicken Lou would look after them for him, and by the time
Nadine was ready to leave he would have Val's house well on the
way to completion, and the poultry could be transferred down there.

For a week there was no contact with Damon. He had a couple of

guests at Redlands and would be returning with them to Bulawayo
for a brief stay. To Nadine's enquiry as to how he had received the
news that Four Winds was passing to Val, George answered,

"He only shrugged and said he wasn't surprised. It won't make any
difference to him."

As the weekend neared again Lou dreaded the arrival of Val. She
hadn't been well enough last week to withstand him, and she was
horribly afraid she had permitted him to go just a little too far. Yet
she felt for him a deep and vibrant sympathy. It wasn't Val's fault
that he had been brought up by a loving and strong-willed mother,
nor could he be blamed for regarding George as a provider and
mainstay. In a way, this last was George's own fault. Probably when
Val had turned up in Rhodesia his appearance and nervous condition
had been such that his older brother had simply melted with pity and
affection. Lou could understand that, because in a lesser degree that
was how she reacted to Val herself.

It did seem, though, that George, a man of the rugged, seasoned

type, should have managed somehow to discourage and lessen the
tendency in Val to regard the world as his enemy. The manner of his
mother's death had been stark tragedy, but if George had tackled
him differently he could have been encouraged to live down the
worst of it.

What with one thing and another, Lou was becoming slightly
agitated herself, but she did have the courage to take herself sternly
in hand.

That Saturday she went into Mlemba rather earlier than usual to
collect chicken meal and corn which George had ordered. She made
a few purchases at the stalls and walked down to the tiny post office
to collect the mail. It was on her way back to the jeep that she
encountered Damon. The big tourer pulled in under a tree and he at
once got out and came round to where she hesitated on the narrow
pavement.

"Good morning," he said. "I've been hoping for a private word with
you. Get into the car and we'll drive a mile out of town."

"Well..."

"It won't take long. If we stay here we're bound to be interrupted."

She got into the front seat and he slammed the door. Almost the next
second he was behind the wheel and letting in the clutch. Lou lay
back in her corner, oddly at peace. In no time at all they were
through the little town and out on the sun-baked, dusty road. Damon
drove till he came to a side turning, swung the car and braked in the
shade of a big Zambesi teak.

He leaned his right arm on the wheel and regarded her appraisingly.
Foolishly, she wished she had dressed in something crisp and
dainty; her slacks and shirts were fading and they made her look an
urchin. An appealing urchin, had she but known.

"You don't appear to be very chipper," he commented. "What's

wrong?"

"Nothing very definite. Don't let's talk about me."

"When a woman says that there's disaster in the air. What's been
happening?" He took her chin firmly between his fingers and turned
her face. "Good lord, I believe you're on the verge of tears !"

"I never cry," she said, not too steadily. "It's simply that so much has
been going on that I've got a bit strung up this week."

"Oh, yes," he said, the green-blue eyes watchful. "I've heard about
your activities. I suppose you do realize your driving those kids
about is illegal?"

"This isn't England," she answered. "Everyone knows I'm doing it

and no objection has been raised."

"But everyone isn't aware that you've only a learner's licence."

"The police know, because I asked them how to set about getting a
proper one. They told me I'd have to take a test in Bulawayo, but I
just can't afford to spend several days there."
His shoulders lifted. "You're not entitled to drive passengers till you
have taken a test. I agree that the risks in this district are negligible,
but laws are made to be kept. You'll have to drop the silly business."

She was silent. She hadn't the energy to combat Damon this
morning. Yet there was infinite balm, whatever his manner, in
sitting here with him, breathing in his male fragrance and glancing
now and then at his hawklike profile.

"What are you thinking now?" he demanded abruptly.

"Something even more stupid than usual - that in some moods you
might be awfully easy to ... like."

He laughed briefly. "As you say something even more stupid

than usual. I'm glad you didn't reach the outer edge of absurdity and
substitute the word love for like. Are you trying to tell me that you
find my company pleasant occasionally?"

"Very occasionally. Mostly I dislike you intensely." It was true, she

thought in sudden self-knowledge; she both loved him and disliked
him, which surely proved that even her deepest feelings for him
could not be quite genuine? She hoped so.

His mouth thinned, but his tone hardly altered. "What do you expect
from a man - always the brotherly touch or clinging vine tactics? I'm
only your friend, Louise. I don't aspire to call you sister - or to place
an imprisoning band on your finger." He paused. "You wouldn't
believe it if I told you I'd like to see you happy, would you?"

"You never do anything to convince me of it but it doesn't

matter." Her throat was painful, but she contrived an offhand smile.
"What did you want to see me about - Daphne?"

"Hell, no," he said with sarcasm. "I'd hardly enlist you as Cupid. For
one thing your conception of an affair wouldn't line up with mine."
Her fingers locked together and tightened. "You're being
deliberately cynical," she said. "Please get down to whatever it is."

He was looking out at the pitiless heat trembling on the still air, at
the wind-torn buffalo grass hanging dryly on either side of the lane.
He let out a short, audible breath.

"Been cold, hasn't it? The little steinbok caught a chill and died."

There was a moment's quietness filled by the measured ticking of

the clock in the dashboard.

"Oh," she said softly. "Poor little scrap. I'm so sorry."

They were drawn together in a shared pity for the bright- eyed,
black-nosed gazelle climbing out of the blankets to perish in the
midnight cold. She raised her head and found him looking into her
face, studying her.

"Louise, I'm worried about you, particularly now that George has
bought the farm. You realize what he intends, don't you?"

"He doesn't intend anything. He isn't cold-blooded."

"Listen to me," he said, stiffening. "George has only one end in view
- his brother's happiness. He's using up almost every cent he owns to
buy Four Winds and build a house for Val, and he'll also use you, if
you let him. He's not cold-blooded, but in this one thing the even-
tempered, easy-going George is a fanatic. So far I haven't talked to
him about you and Val because I'm likely to get very hot over the
whole business, and the last thing I'm looking for is a split with
George."

"Naturally," she flashed. "You'd never get another like him to

manage Redlands."
"It happens," he told her roughly, "that I value him more as a friend
but let that pass. You're in a sticky spot, my child, and there's
only one way to get out of it. You'll have to leave Four Winds."

"I couldn't possibly do that!"

"Yes, you can. I've been thinking it over and it's really quite simple.
I've a married couple staying with me. They go home on Monday
and I've promised to go with them. They live in a decent-sized house
on the edge of Bulawayo and they'd be glad to have you for a couple
of months. They belong to several clubs, so you'd have a far better
time than you do here, and I'd be there at the start to help you dig
in."

A holiday with Damon! It didn't bear thinking about. "I can't park
with strangers," she protested. "Besides, Nadine would be frightfully
upset."

"I'd explain to her, and I'd be absolutely honest with George. Don't
you see what you're asking for if you remain here, at Val's mercy
every weekend?" His eyes narrowed and glittered at her. "Isn't that
why you look half-dead this morning - apprehension concerning
Val?"

"Of course it isn't," she flung back at him precipitately, forgetting

her earlier dread. "I can deal with Val. In any case, I won't run away
from him. You're making him out a monster."

"He's not that. He's just a self-willed, neurotic boy who'll never
grow up while he has George or someone like you to lean on. That
George should impoverish himself for his brother is a big enough
sin - but at least he's asked for it. You're merely an innocent girl
dragged into the mess as a sort of stake for an ailing plant. It's a
completely mad situation because we all happen to be friends and
unless we're very careful somebody's bound to be badly injured. It
needn't be you, though."

"You overdo it, Damon," she said in flat tones. "Val is nervy and he
does take a little too much for granted, but he's not as bad as you
make out, and there's a lot in him that's likeable."

"Just a moment," he put in sharply. "What is he taking too much for

granted?"

"Different things," she said confusedly.

"Such as the fact that you're going to marry him?"

"It isn't a fact. I'm not going to marry him - but neither am I going to
walk out on him. He's at a stage now when he needs plenty of help."

"You mean support! He does need it, but you're too young, too
easily hurt to give it. You make me angry so angry that I could
hurt you myself physically."

As he broke off he was breathing slightly more heavily than usual.

She could see his anger; the sea-coloured eyes looked nearly black
and the lean jaw was taut. She had once thought that if she ever did
see Damon angry she would be frightened; but she wasn't. Instead
she was vaguely pleased to witness the change in him from aloof
mockery.

"You haven't regarded this from my viewpoint," she said. "To you
I'm just a child in peril, to be shipped off somewhere till the storm is
over. But even in this country I have ties. I do the housekeeping at
Four Winds, and I've promised to take care of a thousand chickens
for George. And much as you despise my bus routine, I've taken it
on and I mean to stick to it. I can't throw up everything because of
Valentine Marston."
His teeth snapped. "The trouble is you don't understand what you're
up against. George himself doesn't realize it. You're going to be
disgusted at this, but I'll say it just the same. Val's a self-pitying
parasite and if I could kick him out of the country I would."

She looked down at the fingers still twisted whitely together on her
knees. She was wincing inside as if he had touched a naked nerve.
"You haven't a shred of humanity in you," she said low-voiced, and
unconsciously added words of Val's own. "Since his mother's death
he's lived in continual torment and loneliness, and now you'd deny
him the chance of grasping at peace and freedom. I believe they'll
make him a better man and certainly a happier one, and if I can help
him to put the past behind him, nothing you can trot out will stop
me."

"Very well," he answered curtly. "I'll speak to George myself. I

won't have you shove your head into a trap."

"I wish," she said warmly, "that you wouldn't persist in treating me
as if I were an idiot. I'm twenty and capable of looking after myself.
What is it to you if I make a friend of Val or even get into a
muddle through him? I don't want your advice, Damon. I'd sooner
take Nadine's any day. You make me tired."

"That's two of us needing a rest!" He switched on the ignition and

gave the starter a fierce jab. Almost imperceptibly the engine ticked
over, but he didn't release the brake at once. "We don't seem to have
got anywhere, do we? You're the great age of twenty and
imperturbable. Short of marriage, Val can take what he likes ...
which means that you're fond of the fellow and might even consider
becoming engaged to him if he were a little more of a man. Well''
he pushed over the gear lever - "we'll let it ride for a week or two.
Not much can happen in that time."

"You've done your best," she said.

"Not quite." His jaw loosened and took on a faint suggestion of
gentleness. "I treat you as an idiot, Louise, because you are one. It'd
be the deuce of a lot simpler if I were an idiot, too, because then I'd
probably get you out of the mess by marrying you."

She digested this before answering. "So you think it's only idiots
who go in for marriage?"

He pulled the car round and swerved on to the main road. "I'm not
talking about others," he said calmly. "It would be stark lunacy if I
were to marry you, that's all."

She could find no reply to this, none at all. Yet the atmosphere of
the car seemed to be loaded with all the things she might have said.
But what was the good of expanding the subject? Damon was only
stating something which was true for him and it would be ridiculous
for her to question it.

They were back in Mlemba, slowing because a span of sixteen oxen

drawing a laden cart was turning from the main street along a track
which led into the veld where native huts were scattered. It was a
sight which at any other time Lou would have found picturesque and
memorable, but now she scarcely noticed it.

Damon said evenly, "Sorry I've offended you, particularly as I was

about to issue an invitation before that last reprehensible remark of
mine. Consider it spoken in jest." Having drawn no comment he
went on, rather more sharply, "I want you to bring Val Marston to
dinner at Red- lands tonight. Will you do it?"

"So that you can get at him, as well?"

"I was handling men while you were still in the kindergarten. If Val
is going to be my neighbour I'll have to try, for George's sake, to
break down the antagonism between us." He stopped outside the
hotel, opposite the busy little market. "Will you persuade him to
come tonight?"

"I'll try."

"Tonight at seven," he said crisply. "I'll expect all of you."

Lou was half-way back to Four Winds before she could think
clearly, and even then her brain seemed to be uncertain which
direction to take. Her heart, of course, was treacherous; it persisted
in reminding her that she would again see Damon and the rambling,
flower-encrusted house this evening. She would have preferred to
go without Val, but the instant she had admitted this she repented.

It was true that if Val and Damon could not be friends they would,
at any rate, have to tolerate each other. Damon, whether he had
wanted the Four Winds land or not, was now prepared to take the
logical course, and she must help Val to realize that it would benefit
him to be on good terms with Redlands.

As she neared Four Winds she caught the acrid odor of scorched
helichrysum, and when she entered the house she found George
there, taking morning coffee with Nadine and Daphne. She placed
her perishable purchases in the icebox and came back to the polite
and chilly atmosphere of the living room to pour a cup of coffee for
herself.

"I collected the poultry food," she told George.

"Good. We'll finish off the runs on Monday and I'll have the
livestock delivered on Tuesday it's coming from one of the
farms. I'm including about thirty second-year hens so that you'll
have a few eggs right away." He smiled at her. "You don't have to
keep accounts, Lou only see that James attends regularly to the
feeding." He. pushed his cup across the table. "Can you spare me
some more?"
Nadine sat regarding her slim crossed ankles and navy linen sandals.
The book she had apparently been reading when George came in lay
open but face downwards on her lap, and her expression was faintly
bored. Daphne, deep in the lurid adventures of a countess and her
gigolo, was practically insensible to the real world. George, Lou
decided, had been anything but a welcome caller.

As soon as their cups were empty she went outside with him. The
henhouses were already in position about two hundred yards from
the back door, and James, with another boy, was sinking the corner
posts to which wire netting would be attached to create the long
runs.

They walked round the creosote-smelling wooden structures and

stood watching the boys. Smoke drifted over from the burning
weeds and George waved it away.

"You won't have to put up with much more of this," he said. "Next
Wednesday should see the end of it. Does Nadine complain?"

"Not to me. After all, everything here is yours now."

"She doesn't give you the impression she's sorry to be selling up?"

"Of course not. She came to Rhodesia with that idea and, if
anything, she's relieved."

He nodded. "I suppose so. One couldn't imagine her digging herself
into a farm."

"I don't know," Lou returned musingly. "If you'd seen her flat in
London you might be astonished at the way she's settled into Four
Winds - yet she's no different here. Nadine carries her world with
her."
"That's her trouble," he said somewhat abruptly. "Thank heavens
you're not like that, Lou."

She had no idea what he meant and forbore to make enquiries. For
the present there were quite enough complications hanging around.
She parted from him and called James to stow the chicken food
where rats and veld mice could not reach it.

When Val drove up that afternoon he was in exuberant businesslike

mood. He was here for the week, he told her, to her private dismay.
She must help him choose the site for the house, and they could
draw up a design. It was a pity the cost had to be kept down to three
thousand, but all the money could be spent on the building, and a
tennis court and swimming pool could be added later, when profits
allowed. Didn't she agree?

Lou hadn't the heart to discourage him. Already, as the owner of

Four Winds, he was maturing and becoming more observant and his
proprietorial tenderness was by no means intolerable, even if it did
remind her of "clinging vine tactics".

It was with some restraint, though, that he agreed to go to Redlands

for dinner. Had George passed on the invitation he would have
refused outright, but Lou put it to him, reasonably, that Damon's
friendship, however precarious, was something he could not afford
to be without, and it was up to Val to look after his own interests,
irrespective of whether he liked Damon personally or not; a
viewpoint which was bound to appeal to Val.

To Lou, that evening at Redlands 'began disappointingly and ended

catastrophically. There were at least fifteen guests, including Nadine
and Daphne, and with all of them Damon appeared much more
friendly than he was with Lou Meredith. The amazingly good dinner
had been planned by Babs Dennis, the wife of Damon's friend from
Bulawayo.
Babs was a gay little person who loved visiting and having visitors.
She had a head of crisp, short, dark curls, an olive complexion and
pointed, vivacious features. She was about Nadine's age and her
husband, a man of George's disposition, was a year or two older.

Lou danced with Jim Dennis and found him very agreeable, but it
was a lot later, after Val had had his brief and guarded exchange
with Damon, that she had a word with the lovely Babs.

The gramophone was playing and half a dozen people still danced in
the lounge, while the rest had drinks on the veranda. Lou took a seat
between Val and Nadine and accepted a tall glass from- Damon,
who lounged just beyond the round table, almost opposite. Babs was
talking of coming events in Bulawayo, throwing out the information
that they had two spare bedrooms and asking, point-blank, if there
wasn't a woman among them who would like to come along with
Damon when they all left on Monday morning.

"Jim has one of those soft jobs," she said, "and he's officially on
holiday till next Thursday, so we could have grand times." She
turned to Nadine. "What about it? I'm sure you could handle
Damon."

Nadine laughed. "Not I," she said. "Since I sold my farm to George,
Damon and I are scarcely on nodding terms; I couldn't face living in
the same house with him. Daphne's his girl - didn't you know?"

Damon was grinning at Lou with a hint of malice and she thought,
bleakly, that she could have been the one to travel south in his car
and to stay under the same roof with him for a week. Perhaps even
now it was not too late!

But Daphne, from the other side of Val, said with sudden and
suspect interest, "Ever since we came through Bulawayo on the way
to Mlemba I've wanted to have a real look at the city. I was amazed
at its size and modern appearance."

Lou's hands clung wetly to the wooden arms of her folding canvas
chair. Did Damon know that Val was here for a week or more? Was
he demonstrating, by that malicious smile and an uncaring silence,
that Val's new enthusiasm had convinced him of his sincerity and
good will? Had Damon given her up?

Babs laughed delightedly. "We'll count on you, then, Daphne. I'm so

glad it's fixed up."

It was then that she leaned on the table towards Lou, and said
charmingly, "I know you're awfully busy just now, but I do hope
you'll come and stay with us some time. You and Val, perhaps."

This was practically the last straw. Dew started at Lou's temples and
her throat was on fire. Without glancing at any of the others she
could have told how they looked; Nadine non-committal, Daphne
self-assured and probably indifferent, George and Val pleased and
vaguely possessive, and Damon ... well, Damon would still be
smiling with acid pleasure in her discomfiture. Tacitly he was
saying: Wriggle out of that and I'll believe that your only interest in
Val is the humane one.

Jim Dennis took Daphne in to dance, then George asked Nadine, so

that those at the table were reduced to four. Babs was talking to Lou,
asking about England, because it was five years since she had been
home.

In a lull, Val said, "Shall we dance, Lou?"

Damon, producing cigarettes and settling back into his chair, looked
quizzically from one to the other. "She hasn't the smallest wish to
dance, have you, Louise? Take Mrs. Dennis, Val."
Val stared at him slightly murderously but bowed towards the older
woman.

"Why does everyone give in to Damon?" Babs exclaimed, getting

up nevertheless.

"The iron hand in the velvet glove," Damon exclaimed lazily. "It's
very useful."

He and Lou were left alone in the long veranda. The music which
came through the open windows was Latin- American, and one of
those dancing was singing in a false nasal voice to supplement it.

Damon drew comfortably on his cigarette. "I must hand it to you,

Louise," he said. "I had a talk with your swain and he's already
becoming more amenable, less of a victim to the usual instincts
which are uppermost in the rickety type. You shouldn't have real
trouble with him for a long while."

She was grateful for the darkness which hid the pallor of her face.
She still felt a little sick with the knowledge that Daphne would be
going to Bulawayo with Damon, and there was something else
besides, something she would not be able to think about till she was
quite alone.

"You and I haven't anything to discuss," she said in dry, quiet tones.
"If you hadn't been so keen to exert that omnipotence of yours I'd be
dancing now with Val - and probably enjoying it."

"You can dance with me instead."

"No, thanks."

"Oh, yes, you will," he said, and pressed out his cigarette.
She stood up quickly and unconsciously moved away about a foot,
bringing herself up under the lamp which hung from a beam across
the veranda. Her face had a sallow tiredness, and the grey eyes were
large and bright with tears.

He murmured a savage oath. "I'll take you home and tell the others
afterwards that you acquired a headache. Did you have a coat?"

She shook her head, and, because it seemed the only thing to do,
went with him down the drive to his car. Nothing was said on the
way to Four Winds, nor did she demur when he walked up the path
with her and into the tiny porch. The door was unlocked and he
stepped into the living room and struck a match. She brought him
the lamp, and after he had lit it and set it on the table, she moved to
the door, ready to close it after he had gone out.

A sob forced its way into her throat and made a small sound. Before
she could realize what was happening his arm slipped about her and
his hand pushed her head hard against his shoulder. Her heart
behaved queerly and her breathing jerked.

After a minute or two he took her shoulders and pushed her gently
from him. The hard lines of his face had relaxed.

"I'm surprised at you," he said softly, derisively. Then, "Good-night,

Baby Lou," and he was gone.

And Lou was left to face the devastating truth that she was in
love with Damon, and wouldn't be able to go on living in the same
part of the world for much longer.
CHAPTER VII

IT was quiet at Four Winds without Daphne. Not that Daphne was
noisy, but she was always the first to suggest playing a record on the
portable record player Damon had lent them, and invariably keen to
talk over the fashion notes in the periodicals which came weekly to
Mlemba about three weeks after publication in England. Also, as
Nadine pointed out, Daphne was as good as two people - herself and
her diet. One couldn't help but miss them.

When the mail arrived bringing only a letter from Lou's father and
another from Daphne's old faithful, Tony Cottrell, Nadine grew
quick of tongue and sarcastic. The sarcasm, when directed at anyone
but Lou, became dry and caustic. Now it wasn't that she needed the
cash a commission would bring; it must have been the sensation of
knowing herself already forgotten that stung a little.

But she was unfailingly sweet to Lou, and it was to please Lou that
she consented most afternoons to taking a picnic flask and cakes out
to where George and Val were working with the boys.

The weather was glorious, the night breeze cool and vitalizing
without being chilly. George said it wouldn't be so long before the
belt of timber was clothed in new greenness, though it would take
the rains to get the grass started.

Wednesday was the final day of earth-scorching, and oddly enough

it was the only day on which they had trouble with the flames. Had
the wind been strong George would have known how to deal with it,
but it was fitful; the strips of fire died out only to rekindle much
later and cause a frenzied race across the land and the beating of
flames with sacks and branches.
Lou could not sleep that night. She had a horror of the henhouses
catching and the hundreds of new chickens being destroyed. There
was also the risk to the thatch of the house.

She tiptoed into Daphne's room to make sure, through the large
window, that the two boys were on guard. The mountain, the trees
and the blackened earth slept under an indigo sky in which a sickle
moon cut a sharp radiance. The insects were not very lively tonight;
normally the air vibrated with the shrilling of the singing beetles and
cicadas, but smoke and heat had driven them away into the timber.

Lou remained close to the window till her feet were cold, and then
she went quietly into the tiny corridor. A rustling noise swung her
round to face Nadine.

"You gave me a fright," she said. "Can't you sleep, either?"

Nadine shrugged her slim shoulders in the navy tailored dressing

gown. Her hair was drawn back and tied with a ribbon, and without
make-up her skin was pale as alabaster ; she couldn't tan.

"Perhaps it's the beastly smell of smoke. Let's make some tea."

Lou followed her into the kitchen, lit a lamp and set the kettle on the
paraffin ring. Nadine got out the cups and as she placed them on the
table Lou noticed shadows under the lovely brown eyes, though the
narrow, well-cut mouth was smiling slightly.

"It's ages since I last had a cup of tea at three in the morning," said
Nadine. "I was so busy in England that I always slept heavily, but
I'm often awake now for half the night."

"Why don't you write to them?" coaxed Lou. "They love your stuff,
really."
"To be perfectly honest, I've hardly any desire to work. I only wish I
had Uncle Simon's convictions about my innate worth; I'd then set
about creating a masterpiece." She gave an amused sigh. "Four
Winds doesn't inspire me. I'm the cosy armchair and radiogram
type."

Lou measured tea into the pot and set it close to the kettle to warm.
"Do you want to go home?" she asked.

There was a pause before Nadine answered, without expression,

"Not frantically, but I'm horribly tired of this shanty, and I would
like to go places occasionally. There's nothing here for a gal like me,
that's all."

"Where would you choose to go - Bulawayo?"

"I'd go up north and see the Falls first and then take a plane to North
Africa." Nadine dug a spoon into the sugar bowl. "Pipe dreams,
darling. I don't fancy doing anything alone, and you and Daphne
have connections here which I won't disrupt."

Lou lifted the jug of milk from the ice box and found a few dry
biscuits before mentioning casually, "I'd go with you, Nadine. I've
had enough of Mlemba myself."

"You have?" The dark gaze was alert. "You mean you're needing a
holiday from the place?"

"If you were leaving permanently I'd do the same. James could stay
on in his hut and look after the poultry. And I daresay Daphne ..."

"My dear girl," broke in Nadine, "do you realize what you're
saying?"

Lou nodded, and took off the lid of the kettle; the water seemed to
be taking an unconscionable time to boil. "I've given it plenty of
thought," she said. "We've had some good times here, but as far as
we're concerned the charms of the district are more or less spent.
Physically, it must have done you a lot of good, and that's primarily
why you came here."

"But look here, Lou!" Nadine spoke forcefully, her hand imperative
on the thin sleeve of Lou's wrap. "Val thinks you're going to marry
him - he's counting on it, planning his whole future with the idea of
having you to share it. It isn't like you, to lead a man on and leave
him flat."

With relief, Lou saw steam begin to spiral from the spout of the
kettle. She moved away from Nadine and half-filled the teapot. "I
haven't agreed to marry Val - he hasn't asked me yet. I suppose
there's something about him that rouses the maternal instinct, but
there's also some element in his character which I find vaguely
repellent."

"Funny," observed Nadine slowly, "but he strikes me that way, too. I

took it that because you were young you had more in common with
him, and perhaps understood him better than I could." She sat down
on the enamel top of the table and looked at Lou's small serious face
bent over the teacups. "You know that George is counting, on your
marrying Val?"

"I guessed it - but I'd sooner marry George himself. No woman

could ever find peace with Val; he has too large and distorted an
ego." She poured tea and pushed the sugar bowl close to Nadine. "I
think it would be best if George and Val shared Four Winds, and
George married. It might provide the sort of background Val needs."

"George is a sentimental fool," said Nadine unemotionally. "He

wasn't bound to spend his every bean on a brother of twenty-six, and
it makes me sick to see him doing it with such gusto."
Lou pondered, then queried cautiously, "Hasn't he ever told you the
reason Val came to Rhodesia?"

"No. What was it?"

Lou hesitated. She hadn't been bound to secrecy and Nadine was
entitled to know as much as she knew herself. So she said somewhat
flatly, "Val crashed a car and killed his mother. It sent him all tense
and temperamental, and George more or less dedicated himself to
the task of helping him to forget."

A silence ensued. The light was too dim to reveal Nadine's

expression, but Lou felt strangely sure that she was shaken. It was
queer, thought Lou, that they should be sitting here in the dead of
night discussing two men who were doubtless deep in healthy sleep
about five miles away. She stirred her tea and sipped.

"Did George tell you?" asked Nadine.

"Damon told me first, and then Val spilled the whole story. George
never speaks of it to anyone, but I don't believe it's ever far from his
thoughts."

"Now that it's clear why that young man presumes society owes him
an easy time, I'm more disposed to like him," said Nadine at last.
"On the other hand, George shouldn't try to force you into marrying
him." Her glance veered to rest on Lou. "My pet, I'm afraid you've
slipped into a prickly situation. Even if you were in love with Val I'd
do my utmost, now that I know more about him, to prevent your
marrying anyone so unstable. Seeing that you're not, it's
comparatively simple. Before he goes back next Sunday you must
show him where he stands. And if he kicks up a fuss I'll go straight
to George."

"I'll manage it," said Lou quickly. She wasn't quite sure how, but she
would. The chief obstacle was that kiss she had allowed him to take;
a man of Val's type would build on that, but she would have to be
firm and strong. To Nadine she added, a hollowness in her chest,
"We could pack up and go fairly soon, couldn't we?"

"We'll talk it over with Daphne." She placed her cup on the table
and tacked on unexpectedly, "I wish you'd told me about this before,
because I'm horribly afraid that Val may let George down and his
money will be wasted."

"But George could keep on the farm for himself."

Nadine's grimace was tinged with bitterness and disgust. "I don't
understand the man. Ah, well, he's taken on his load of trouble, and
he certainly wouldn't thank anyone for interfering. I'm going back to
bed."

"There's more tea in the pot," said Lou. "Hop along, and I'll bring
you a second cup."

It was nearly four before she got down into her camp bed; too late to
do more than doze.

The next couple of days were even quieter than those earlier in the
week, because Nadine decided that they should drive into the
country around lunch time and stay away till after dark; it was not
cowardice, she stated, but merely one of the strategies of self-
defence. The first day they parked near one of the dried-up stream-
beds, and Nadine made sketches; and on the second day they chose
to explore a sere piece of jungle which lay about fifty miles to the
east of Mlemba.

After having some tea from the flask, Nadine ignored all the
startling wild beauty around her and chose to do a drawing of Lou.
She had sketched Lou before, in England, but now she became more
interested in the features than in the general youthfulness of her
subject.
After a bit she looked at Lou shrewdly. "George Marston once
advised me to paint a portrait of you," she remarked. "He thought
you would present no difficulties because you're young and
untouched. As usual in his diagnoses about people, the man's all
wrong. You've more experience in your face than even I thought,
Lou."

"Experience?" Lou echoed guardedly. "Surely I have not so much

that it shows!"

"Nothing drastic, but you're not the merry child who set about
making Four Winds fit to live in. Come to that, I'm not so frivolous
myself as I was, and Daphne has changed, too." She laughed,
without rancour. "It's those damned men at Redlands. We intended
not to let them impinge upon us, but when men and women get
within a certain distance of each other a chemical reaction is bound
to be set up. Still, we have the satisfaction of knowing that if we're
not as we were, neither are they!"

"I doubt if Damon's altered much."

"He is a bit different, though, probably because he's entered into our
problems. There's something about Damon that I like very much."

"I suppose it's the objective angle from which you see him,"
observed Lou soberly. "I expect he's a wonderful U.N. officer. You
can imagine him palavering with Africans, hobnobbing with the
Prime Minister and talking people into being inoculated with the
same air of complete nonchalance."

Nadine's smile was absorbed as she touched in the brows on her

drawing. "These officials get that way. The greater their notions of
humanity, their tact and impartiality, the higher they rise in their
profession. They're a rare type; strong, relentless, impeccably turned
out and sticklers for progress. If they also have a sense of humour
they're nearly unique."

Next morning Lou had reason to remember that talk. Though it was
Saturday she had nothing to go to the market for because, as George
had predicted, she had been loaded with oddments of produce by the
parents of the school children, which would be ample for herself and
Nadine for several days ahead. But she did need some brown cotton
to repair a rip in one of Nadine's smocks, and the jeep could do with
a fill-up and some wind in the tyres.

So she drove into town and parked in her usual place, a hundred
yards beyond the market. It was the end of the month and native
women thronged the dim store, carrying wide flat baskets upon their
heads and babies on their backs. Some of them were interested only
in the crammed clothing counter, where they stood, still balancing a
head-load while choosing flowered cotton for themselves or khaki
shorts for their piccaninnies; the girls always wore their mother's
cut- downs or frocks which white children had grown out of.

When she watched Africans in the store or on the street Lou

invariably formed hazy plans for all the good things she would like
to do for them, but this morning, amid their gay chatter and earnest
purchasing, she reflected that they were obviously much happier
than she was herself. They didn't want help, only to be allowed to
live their own lives.

She bought her cotton and came out again to the jeep, to find a
folded note held down by the windscreen wiper. Straightaway she
thought she had committed a parking offence, but then she saw the
absurdity of it; there were no parking troubles in Mlemba.
She opened the sheet of paper, saw the discreet official heading, and
read: "Miss Meredith. Will you please come to the police station for
five minutes while you are in town this morning. Respectfully, J. C.
Heal, sergeant."

Dropping the note into her pocket, she turned and walked along to
the courthouse and down the lane at its side to the navy blue gate
which always stood open. She trod the short path and looked into
the square office from the doorway. Sergeant Heal, very smart in his
uniform and with his sandy hair slicked level with his scalp, came
quickly from behind his desk and begged her to sit down. To her
surprise, he appeared almost nervous; his diffidence was very
marked.

"Good of you to come so soon," he said. "I hope you didn't mind my
asking you to come here. I could have sent someone to Four Winds,
but thought it wiser to handle it myself."

"You're awfully mysterious, but something tells me I needn't be

frightened."

He looked at her- gratefully. "Lord, no. You haven't done anything

very wrong, and this is the bush, not England."

His last few words rang a bell; Lou was sure it wasn't so long since
she had used them herself. "Have I committed a motoring offence?"

"I'm afraid so, and we've condoned it. You see, legally, you're not
even entitled to drive alone on a learner's licence you should
always have someone with you who is properly licensed. We don't
enforce that in Mlemba because there's hardly any traffic to contend
with, and it wouldn't be fair to the planters who've taught their wives
to drive. We'd never come down on you for driving the jeep without
an instructor, but taxiing these children is a different matter. You
just can't do it, Miss Meredith."
"I drive carefully and there's not a fraction of danger. The farmers
find it a tremendous help."

"I know . .. but there it is."

She pondered for a moment, then said, ''You're aware that I've been
driving the children for nearly three weeks, aren't you? You've seen
us - and said nothing."

He ran an awkward finger round his collar. "I mentioned a minute

ago that we'd condoned it, to help the farmers. But when we get a
complaint from outside we have to act."

"A complaint - from Mr. Thorpe?"

The sergeant emitted a cautious, relieved sigh. "You knew he

objected? In that case you can see how we're placed."

"When did he see you about it? "

"Last Sunday morning."

Only a few hours after he had taken her home, and held her, and
called her Baby Lou. Her fingers closed tightly round the reel of
cotton in her pocket. "I must thank you for permitting me to go on
for one more week," she said.

The young man's relief became more patent, and he leaned over the
desk, conspiratorially. "I heard that Mr. Thorpe is due back next
Tuesday or Wednesday, so there's no need for you to travel round
the farms during the weekend. Take the kids as usual on Monday
and tell their parents then."

"Thanks." Lou smiled faintly. "I'm grateful to you for winking an

eye while you could."
"And I'm glad you take it that way." He nodded towards the inner
room. "The boy is making coffee. Will you have some?"

"I don't think so, thank you. I have to get back. Goodbye, Sergeant
Heal. No hard feelings."

.She had taken her fist from her pocket, but it was still clenched as
she marched up the street. Damon and his imperiousness! She could
have strangled him. He had guessed she would pay no attention to
his warning and gone about the matter in his own inimitable fashion.
She couldn't even believe that he had meant well. He was merely
contemptuous about the whole thing and determined that she should
not contravene the law. He had probably decided that in any event
the transport service would have to cease when she left the district,
and it was up to the farmers to get together and plan something more
definite and lasting.

He had not thought about her, personally; didn't care enough to

pause and consider her side of it the little money and vegetables
she was able to add to the household budget. Well, as far as she was
concerned it was the end. She wanted nothing more to do with him,
wished it were possible never to see him again.

Against this as her heart revolted, sickeningly. As she sat in the jeep,
her hands too rigid on the wheel and her foot pressed on the
accelerator, a wet heat suffused her body, and for the first time since
he had left Redlands she imagined him with Daphne, facing her
mockingly across the breakfast table, riding with her, lunching at the
houses of friends with Daphne as his accepted companion, dining
and dancing with her, and talking with her under the bright half-
moon.

Too much private emotionalism, Lou found later, temporarily dulls

one's normal feelings. When Val came in that afternoon and said he
had booked a table at the hotel for dinner, she shrugged and said she
wouldn't go. The boyish smile faded and he went a bit pinched at the
nostrils, but she refused to give in. Nadine veiled a sharp glance at
Lou and casually suggested that he dine at Four Winds, and George,
who had dropped in on his way to see someone in town, said he
would like to even up the number.

Without any enthusiasm Lou cooked a chicken and made a fruit

sponge from tinned raspberries, and from habit she was polite and
attentive all through dinner. It was over coffee that Val told them he
must be back at his job by noon the next day; it was typical of him
that he would not face the unpleasant fact of departure till the last
minute.

"I'll be along next Saturday, of course ... probably for good."

George paused in the act of lighting a cigarette. "For good? You've

given three months' notice. They've taught you everything you
know. You can't walk out on them like that."

"I can't stick it there, knowing there's so much to be done here. After
all, this place is much more important to me now, and I'm anxious to
get a cabin built near the house site, so that we can push on with the
building. I can live there cheaply, and see that the boys get a move
on."

"But you have obligations. You have a contract with those people
you work for, and they have the right to three months' notice. Quite
apart from the inconvenience you'd cause them by leaving suddenly,
the ethics of it, in fact, they're entitled to claim three months' salary
from you; you know that."

"They won't, though," Val said easily. "They're quite decent, but I
can't work well for them any more."
Nadine wouldn't have dreamt of putting in an opinion, but she
watched George through narrowed lids. When next he spoke her lips
dented, cynically.

"All right," he said with resignation. "I'll go out and see them. I may
be able to recommend someone else to them soon."

Val finished his coffee and got to his feet. "Let's go for a walk, Lou.
I've a couple of things to talk over with you."

"With me?" Lou hesitated. It would be easy to refuse him because

he aroused no response in her, but for the same reason this was as
good a time as any to show him exactly how they stood. "All right.
For ten minutes."

She went out to the veranda and down the steps to the path. As Val
came beside her she turned to take the footpath on the Four Winds
side of the thorny hedge. He caught her wrist as it swung between
them and she thought, remotely, that in most relationships physical
coolness meant nothing at all. She was as far from Val as if a
continent divided them.

"Won't you be glad when I don't have to go away any more?" he

asked with gentle urgency. "I've so enjoyed this week that I just
loathe having to leave tomorrow morning. You will be glad, won't
you?"

"For your sake, yes."

"You sound horribly cool," he said. "I'm not doing anything for my
own sake. You must realize that."

"Come, come," she rallied him, without much humour. "Don't ask
me to believe you're not thinking entirely of yourself when you
refuse to work out your three months' notice. You're even willing to
make George do something hateful to gain your ends."
His grasp tightened about her wrist. "You're not talking like yourself
at all," he said in strained tones. "You didn't disagree back there in
the living room."

"Why should I? I'm not the keeper of your conscience.

Do what you like, Val, and if it makes you happy, so much the
better."

"I don't get this at all." His convulsive grip compelled her to stop
and she saw detachedly in the moonlight that his face was dark and
probably flushed, his eyes even lighter than usual by comparison. "I
wouldn't hurt you for anything. I was certain you'd want me to be
near, to get on with the house. After all, the house is more important
to me than the land itself, and I don't like the idea of leaving it to
George."

"Afraid he'll let you down?" she queried dryly. "He's the one person
you'll always be able to count on, Val. He's given up all hope of
happiness for himself so that you shall have yours."

"What on earth are you getting at?" he demanded pettishly.

It was strange how she knew, so suddenly and infallibly. Intuition,

perhaps or merely an accumulation of details forming a solid
fact. She said baldly, "Your brother is fond of Nadine, but by the
time he has set you up here he'll be penniless."

He stared at her, his jaw moving. Then he laughed on a cracked

note. "How utterly absurd, Lou. George has no desire to marry he
told me so himself and Nadine wouldn't marry a planter and
settle in Rhodesia. She treats him as she treats me." His voice
strengthened with confidence. "Darling, your imagination is running
round in circles."
She was able unobtrusively to pull away her hand, and walk on. "I'm
right - but you needn't fear that George will withdraw his support.
You'll always be first on his list. You're probably correct about
Nadine, but George will never know whether he could have made
her care enough to marry him."

For a while they strolled on wordlessly. Lou wondered if she had

stirred him to self-contempt, and actually hoped she had. There must
be some way of shaking him out of his absorption with himself. But
when he spoke she realized her own impotence. The topic was
apparently distasteful, and he had shelved it.

"We've hardly been alone all the week," he said, "and I've such a lot
to discuss with you. The most important, of course, is when we can
announce our engagement."

Subconsciously, Lou must have been prepared for this. She cast him
a fleeting glance, then slowly turned to walk back to the house.
Impersonally, she noticed that a lamp had been placed in the
veranda, and she supposed that Nadine was there with George,
indulging in a conversational sparring match.

"I've given you no reason to think I'd marry you, Val," she said.

Again he gave that curious, broken laugh, and this time it reminded
her that he was hypersensitive and unable to cope with too much
frustration at one time. So she added quickly, "You're not in love
with me; you don't know me well enough. And anyway, it wouldn't
be good for you to have everything at one go. You'll be taking over
the farm and building a house, and that will last you quite a time.
You can start thinking about marriage in a year or two."

He grabbed her arm, as she had guessed he would, and jerked her so
that she faced him. His speech was swift but by no means
incoherent. "I am in love with you. I loved you the moment we met,
and I determined then to marry you. You've become the basis of my
life, and I won't live without you. What is the good of Four Winds to
me, if you're not going to be there? You are Four Winds. You've got
to marry me, Lou !"

"My dear man," she answered reasonably, "you're merely trying to

bite off too large a lump of cake. Forget about marriage for a few
months, and put all your energies into making a success of the farm.
You owe that to George."

"He agrees to my getting married, and he's very fond of you. I used
not to care what might happen to me, but you've given me an object
to live for, Lou." His breath was hot upon her forehead, his hand on
her shoulder twitched and clung. "Oh, my darling, I know I'm not
much - a chap who takes all from his brother and behaves a little
unscrupulously by his employer - but I love you more than I've ever
loved anyone." This statement hung between them and conjured a
ghost. "Yes," he added unsteadily, "even more than I loved my
mother. This that I feel for you is so different, so much more intense
and beautiful."

Is there a normal woman anywhere who can deliberately wound a

man who loves her? Lou couldn't do it... not yet, anyway. She
smiled at him sadly. "Give time a chance," she said. "Maybe it will
show you that freckles and reddish hair wouldn't be too good to live
with for the rest of your life. No" pushing at him with the flat of
her hand - "no kisses. They're hampering when you're trying to see
straight."

"I do see straight," he said. "A long, uncomplicated road which the
two of us will walk together, serenely. You must marry me, Lou. It's
the only thing worth having."

She might have remarked that love itself isn't worth having if it
inspires nothing in return; she was bitterly aware of that. Or she
might, in her comparative strength, have persuaded him to work out
the three months' notice before delving deeply into Four Winds. She
did neither, because she was tired and still emotionally numb.

They were seen from the veranda, and George called, "Hadn't better
be too late, Val. You'll have to be up at four."

When the two men had driven off Nadine seemed willing to linger
in the living room, but Lou put out one of the lamps and carried the
other into the large bedroom.

Following, Nadine said flippantly, "Engaging pair of brothers, aren't

they? It would give me the greatest pleasure in the world to knock
their heads together."

"Me, too," Lou said briefly. "Good night, Nadine."

For the last time Lou took the children to school on Monday
morning, and while in town she bought some air letters and
collected the mail. Nothing from her father this time and only a
postcard from Netta, sent by surface mail while she and Charles
Meredith had been on holiday in Devon. The card was dog-eared
and grubby, and Lou speculated idly upon its six weeks' journey
from England to Rhodesia. Probably it had been lying hidden in
another bush post office, like Mlemba's.

It was nine o'clock when she got back to Four Winds, to swerve
round Damon's tourer and park the jeep. When she came to the
veranda her heart was bumping against her ribs while she vainly
willed it to close against the man whose pleasant clipped tones came
through the open door.

She had to stand still for a long moment before she could steel
herself to go in.
CHAPTER VIII

DAMON was lounging against the wall and drinking a cup of tea. He
wore shorts and a white shirt and the crisp hair was rough from the
wind. In spite of herself she looked, hurriedly and absurdly, for a
difference in him. But his face was still lean and tanned, the
greenish eyes still mocked and his mouth still twisted sardonically.

"Ah, Louise," he said. "With your head like that against the light
you're like a bronze chrysanthemum. How's it going?"

"Very well," she answered, with reserve. "Hello, Daphne. Had fun?"

"Heaps of it, and I'm not too thrilled to be back. Damon's

inconvenient memory reminded him of something which positively
had to be done today, so here we are."

"We're glad to see you, anyway," said Lou automatically.

"Tea, Lou?" from Nadine.

"I'll have a cigarette instead, thanks."

She took one from Damon's case and leant to the flame of his
lighter. Anger against his invulnerability welled up in her, to be
swamped in a tide of longing which was so strong that she feared it
must show in her eyes. His nearness was a pain, and she moved to
the table to leaf through a glossy magazine which Daphne had
brought.

"I must get along," Damon said. "Will you all come to dinner at
Redlands tonight?"

Lou replied swiftly, without thinking. "Count me out, Damon. I've

had a busy weekend and I shall need my bed early."
"Even so, you'll have to dine somewhere," he said. "I'll call for you
all at seven."

Taut with resolve, she followed him outside and down to the path.
He turned and simulated surprise. "Well, little one, what do you
wish to ask of Damon?"

"Nothing," she told him hardly. "I'm not coming tonight, that's all. I
won't come to Redlands again."

The straight brows rose, tantalizingly. "You're cross because I won't

allow you to go on tearing around the countryside collecting
schoolchildren. I'm sorry, but I had to do it. I hoped you'd be over
the worst before I got back."

"Well, I'm not! You're an overbearing horror, Damon, and you're too
fond of intruding into other people's affairs. From now on, you'd
better leave me alone."

"Are you threatening me?" he enquired mildly. "If so, you're very
unwise. I never have taken kindly to threats. By the way, how is the
romance going?"

Lou's shoulders lifted. "Just leave me alone. I don't want anything

but that."

He was still smiling, but his voice had taken an edge. "Putting things
right is a habit with me; my training in the wilderness, I guess. Run
along in out of the sun and have a nice sleep this afternoon. I'll come
down at seven, and if you're in bed I'll give you just five minutes to
dress. So long!"

With a mere flick of the hand he went out to the gate, and to save
what was left of her pride Lou at once hurried indoors.
Daphne had just finished reading the letter which had arrived from
Tony Cottrell last week. "What do you know!" she exclaimed softly.
"Tony's been left nine thousand by a fond aunt. The nitwit thinks it's
enough to get married on. Practically the only thing I admire about
that man is his tenacity."

"Then why keep him dangling?" asked Nadine.

"If I don't," said Daphne with a grin, "he'll marry someone else. If
only he were ten years older!"

"If he were he'd be nearly forty."

"He'd also be taking a wonderful salary, my sweet. And, anyway, I

like a man to be over thirty. Think of the chasm between Tony's
character and Damon Thorpe's and you'll see what I mean. I'm afraid
that after being so friendly with Damon I'd find Tony a thumping
bore quite apart from the financial aspect."

"You'd never get Damon to throw up his job and go back to

England."

"I know; if I had any hopes they've been squashed during this week
in Bulawayo. He loves lording it over them all in Malawi." Daphne
gave a superficial sigh and smiled with rueful vexation. "Isn't it
maddening? In most ways he's just right."

Lou's anger with Damon had crystallized into something cool and
hard. Looking at Daphne she saw her soft, indeterminate features,
the floss-silk hair curling just above the collar of the slate-blue linen
jacket in which she had travelled, at Damon's side, from Bulawayo.

"Did Damon propose to you?" she enquired.

"Of course not, or I'd be flashing a solitaire, and we'd have told you
at once."
"So you'd accept him without being in love with him just as
you'd have accepted that man in London if he'd given you the
chance."

"Lou!" put in Nadine warningly.

Daphne showed no particular emotion, but she looked up and

queried patronizingly, "Jealous, Lou? Would you rather have
Damon than Valentine Bright-eyes? So would I."

"I don't believe you've ever been in love, Daphne," Lou said, with
the same brittle coolness. "In London your pride was dreadfully
damaged, but your heart wasn't even touched."

Nadine spoke calmly but firmly. "We're not going to quarrel. The
trouble is, we've been here too long. I don't think this place really
suits any of us, and the sooner we get out the safer for our sanity.
We'll have to plan what we're going to do."

Daphne shrugged. "I've certainly had enough of Africa, but I'm not
quite ready to go. When will you get your cheque for Four Winds?"

"In a week or two."

"Then let's put off discussion till it arrives." Magnanimously she

added, "Sorry if I upset you, Lou. You're too soft, my dear, and it
doesn't pay in this world."

Lou acknowledged the apology and went through to the kitchen.

Daphne raised her sleek brows at Nadine.

"Jumpy, isn't she? What's been happening?"

After a minute's reflection Nadine gave a few bald facts about Val,
not, however, mentioning the tragic episode from his past. "He
thinks he's going to marry her, but she doesn't care that much for
him. In many ways she's more courageous than you or me, but she
just hasn't the type of pluck it takes to hurt anyone deliberately. I
don't think she can quite bring herself to tell that young man exactly
where he stands."

Daphne's stare held curiosity. "What about you? Can't you do it?"

"I'm in an odd position. There's George to reckon with - and he is

buying the farm, after all. We can't handle this for Lou; she has to
do it herself."

"She'll never be brutally frank with Val Marston."

"She must. I've told her so."

Daphne shrugged. "There's plenty of time. She hasn't known the

fellow long. We haven't, really known any of them long enough to
get tied up with them."

Because there was no avoiding it, Lou went to Redlands for dinner
that night and again later in the week, but she took care to have no
private conversation with Damon; nor did she rise to his banter.
Once or twice she caught him regarding her with lynx-eyed interest,
and over the dinner table on the second occasion he demanded
point-blank:

"What's wrong with the food, Louise? Afraid of being poisoned?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not hungry."

"To me," he said, "you look hungrier than any of us. Aren't you
feeling-good?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "Just not hungry."

"A girl of your age ought to be."

Nadine interposed lazily, "Don't bully, Damon. You always treat

Lou as if she hadn't a mind of her own."

"Has she?" he enquired with sarcasm. "I got the impression that
someone else was running it for her." His tone altered, became
rough yet clipped, almost as if he were angry. Yet the question he
put might have been prompted by concern. "Try some fish, Louise?
It's trout baked in vinegar - you'll like it."

Anything, she thought, to escape being the centre of attention. The

truth was as she had stated: she just had no appetite. One couldn't
enjoy food when everything around one was chaos. And it was
getting towards the weekend again; she felt defeated, unable to face
up to Val once more.

Later that same night she listened to plans for a party on the coming
Saturday. It was to be a musical evening such as Damon gave every
few weeks while he was at Redlands, and he promised to rope in all
the local talent.

He took them into the music room, which none of them had seen
before, and Lou realized it was actually an extension to the house
which he had built on when he first acquired the place. It was a long
room with a grand piano at one end and many chairs along the
walls. In the corner farthest from the piano, packed bookshelves
reached to the ceiling and to one side of them, under a window that
looked out over the orange trees, stood a large linenfold writing
table which appeared to be in daily use. It was a cosy corner in the
big airy room.

The following morning, when George called at Four Winds and

found Lou alone in the front patch of garden, he straightway
mentioned the proposed party.
"Damon's inviting Val," he said. "He wants him to play."

Lou drew off a gardening glove and pushed back a reddish curl. She
said musingly, "You don't like Val playing, do you P"

"I don't mind." But he sounded exasperated. "Perhaps I'm soulless,

but I always feel that a farmer shouldn't have a taste for Chopin and
Stravinsky. The last time Damon heard him - a week or two before
you came - Val let himself go and Damon got a rise out of him. Val
has more control now - you've done that for him, Lou - but I wish
you'd ask him to play something ordinary and unemotional."

"Couldn't you persuade him?"

George smiled. "He'd tell me to stick to planting, and you couldn't

blame him. My taste in music rises no higher than the most popular
classics. He wouldn't take any notice of me.'

"He might not take any notice of me, either."

George's laugh was affectionate. "No one else has ever influenced
him so swiftly and completely as you have. I don't believe you quite
understand how important you've become to Val. He changed from
the moment you met, became more alive and smiling, and much
more interested in life. Before that he was corroded by a neurosis ..."
He stopped abruptly and the smile was forced into a conventional
cast. "That sounds horrible, as if he'd been mentally ill. He wasn't,
of course. He's told you all he's been through, hasn't he?"

She nodded. "He's getting over it now."

"Oh, yes." George was reassuring. "I doubt if he ever thinks back
over those days. He's too engrossed with the farm and you."

She said offhandedly, "The farm is a big enough pro-, position, to

begin with."
"Not for Val." His expression a shade embarrassed, he added, "He's
not like me. He's always had to love and be loved. Some might think
it a weakness in a man, but you don't, do you?"

"Of course not. We're none of us alike."

This was her opening. She should have said, "but I don't love him,
George. I don't love him, and I can't promise to marry him." The
moment passed, however, and she found herself stooping to pull a
weed and mentioning that it was time for a mid-morning refresher.

Sternly she told herself that she was more of a coward with George
than with Val himself. But that was because George had given up so
much, had more or less beggared himself in a bid for his brother's
happiness. She badly wanted to help him, yet couldn't.

It was late on Friday evening, when Daphne had settled to the

loathed task of answering correspondence, that she made a startling
discovery.

"Good lord," she ejaculated soberly. Then quickly, in annoyance and

excitement, "Tony's writing is the limit! That wasn't nine thousand
this aunt left him it was nineteen thousand. The one is stuck on to
the pound sign. What do you make of that?"

Nadine looked up from chipping at a lino cut. "What will you make
of it, my pet?" she asked with amiable sarcasm. "Looks as if Tony
may have hooked himself a wife."

Daphne threw down her pen. "Quite a sum, isn't it? And Tony's not
bad. He runs with a cheerful set. Don't you think it's better to marry
someone you're not mad about? It puts you in a strong position and
the marriage is more likely to last, particularly if he happens to be
crazy about you."
"It might suit your type," Nadine agreed, "and Tony's not too deep,
so he'd be happy enough. London's your back-ground, Daphne."

"How I know it!" She sat with her chin in her hand, staring unseeing
at the wall, and a smile roved the small red mouth. She gave a long,
pleasurable sigh. "I wouldn't go back to work, but I might model for
an artist now and then to keep my hand in, and I'd always be
available if you wanted me, Nadine."

"Would you give up Damon?" Lou put in hardily.

"I'm attracted to Damon," came the pat reply, "about as much as he's
attracted to me which is considerable. But he'd want too much of
any woman, and you'd always have the feeling you could be
dispensed with. To be honest, I don't fancy it, but I'd go about things
differently if I thought I could get him away from Africa."

"As you can't you'll marry Tony Cottrell for his money!"

"What an acid creature you're becoming, Lou. I'm not sure that I will
marry Tony, but I'm glad I read his letter again before writing. He
has four times as much money as I thought, so I shall be four times
as sweet to him." She gave Lou a sudden, disarming grin. "You'd
like me a lot better if you'd accept me as a hard-headed business
woman who has had her failure and profited thereby. Nadine does."

Lou jabbed her needle into her sewing. "It seems such a shame not
... not to be in love when you marry." Eyes downcast, she tacked on,
"And it isn't really fair to Tony to marry him on the rebound."

"A woman on the rebound has much more horse-sense than an

innocent who's reaching for the stars. She's not likely to make a
second blunder."

"True enough," inserted Nadine. She took another little dig at the
lino block and announced heavily, "I'm awfully tired of men, and
talk of men. What I'd like more than anything at the moment is a
seat in a London theatre and a really luscious box of chocolates."

"The nearest you'll get to that," Daphne told her blithely, "is an
armchair in the Redlands music room tomorrow and a box of
cigarettes at your elbow. Let's hope it won't be too highbrow."

The afternoon slipped away quietly. All three of them managed a

cool bath, and as dusk came down they started to dress. Lou was
ready first, in a simple blue dress, and while waiting for the others
she made some coffee and took the tray to the living-room.

Daphne was in soft lilac with touches of white, her lips and finger
nails an unusual shade of deep, dusty pink. Her pastel coolness was
out of place in Rhodesia, yet there was something about her which
blended with Redlands. So there was about Nadine, come to that. By
the time George came to pick them up Lou had a decided feeling of
bafflement and inferiority. All she could be certain of was that this
couldn't last. She did wish Nadine would decide on a date for their
departure.

George put an immediate question. "Where's Val? I thought I'd find

him here."

"I took it that he was working with you somewhere," replied Lou.

"Strange." He paused, his frown faintly worried. "I wonder if that

two-seater of his has let him down?"

Just a trifle callously, Nadine said, "If it has, he'll have to manage as
you or anyone else -should."

His glance slid over her dark hair and leaf-green slenderness, and
was averted. "You don't understand."
"I think I do," she said evenly. "He's finishing at that farm and it's
possibly taken him a little while to clear up and pack."

His frown cleared. "That must be it. I did write to his employer, so
there'll be no trouble there."

"That's fine. It would be too bad if Val had to behave normally, like
everyone else."

Daphne broke in, "Heavens, are you two still at it? What is it about
Nadine that puts your back up, George?"

There was no answer to this. George held wide the door and the
women passed through and got into his car.

There were already about twenty guests at Redlands and within the
next half-hour that number nearly doubled. Cocktails and snacks
were served in the music room and lounge while a string quartet
played Brahms. After that, everyone sat down to serious listening. A
couple of singers gave creditable performances and a guitarist
played a selection of light Latin airs.

During the interval a buffet supper was eaten in the veranda and
courtyard, and when, after an hour or so, most people wandered
back to the music room, Daphne retained her chair in a cool dim
corner of the veranda. She had had enough musical education for
one evening. These amateurs took themselves too seriously and she
couldn't think why they bothered; even in Rhodesia one could buy
recordings of good music and listen to the B.B.C.

She heard a car pull up on the gravel road, and wondered who
would be arriving at this late hour; it must be ten-thirty. She looked
towards the gates and gave a tolerant sigh. It was Valentine of the
light blue eyes; the bone of contention between Nadine and George,
and Lou's unwanted swain. He walked swiftly, his step eager, the
pale hair flopped forward as if he had driven at speed in a wind.
"Hello there," she said softly.

He veered from entering the house and stepped towards her along
the veranda. "Good evening." He sounded bright and breathless.
"Your boy told me you'd all come here and I gathered that it's a
musical do, so perhaps I shall be able to dig Lou out of it,
unnoticed."

Daphne looked up at him, and her tone held a tantalizing challenge.

"What makes you think she might want to be rescued? She's fond of
this stuff."

"I've got lots to talk to her about."

"If you go in there," she said lazily, "they'll ask you to play. You
were supposed to be on the programme."

"I wouldn't play for them. I haven't touched a piano for weeks." He
hesitated, though. "Daphne, will you ... would you mind..."

"Take a seat," she interrupted him airily. "You'd better talk to me till
it's over." Not that she had any inclination to converse with Val; his
behaving as if people existed to smooth his passage through life was
irksome to a woman who earned her own living. She felt she would
like to give him a jolt.

He sank into a chair at her side, but the awkwardness which Daphne
always inspired in him kept him silent. He leaned forward with his
arms across his knees and looked into the dark garden. The
restlessness of his hands and that quickened breathing showed him
excited and impatient. Impatient to unload a new crop of troubles
and anticipations upon Lou, guessed Daphne. Poor Lou! How she
suffered rather than take a stab at the young man's conceit.

"I hear you've given up working for the tobacco farmer," she said
conversationally.
"Yes. I've brought my stuff away; that's what made me so late. This
week I'll have a log cabin built, and in a couple of months the house
will be completed."

"It seems to me," she answered reasonably, "that you could live in
our house for a few years and save George the expense of building."

He jumped up and went to lean against the nearest pillar. His head,
against the night, had almost the ashen blondeness of Daphne's.
With an undertone of uneasiness he said quickly, "You and Nadine
don't realize what it will mean to me to be settled in a place of my
own. Lou is the only one who does."

"And George," she laconically reminded him. "Don't leave out dear
old George." Quite pleasantly, she asked, "Has anyone ever called
you a selfish blighter, Val?"

"Don't!" The exclamation was angry and abrupt. "I love Lou and I'm
going to make her happy. And if we're happy, George will be, too.
It's no one else's business."

Her shoulders lifted. "You're afraid of the truth, aren't you? But
when Lou's gone, you'll have to face it."

"When ... when Lou's gone?" he said jerkily. "What are you getting
at? "

Very calmly she stated, "You won't have her for much longer, you
know. As soon as the sale of Four Winds has gone through, we're
flitting back to England."

"You and Nadine - but not Lou!" His tone was suddenly strained to
cracking point. "Has something new turned up?"

"Not to my knowledge."
He drew a loud breath. "You had me scared, but I ought to have
known better. Lou will never walk out on me. We're going to be
married."

Daphne stared up speculatively at his thin, indistinct face. If only

Val had had some of his brother's rugged charm she would have
spared him. But what charm he had was of a taut, boyish variety,
and seeing that he was the same age as herself - indeed, a year or so
older - his boyishness rasped.

Yes, it was time someone forced him to face his own shortcomings.

Had Daphne known of the tragic circumstances in which he had lost

his mother she might have been compassionate. But she only saw
the self-willed young man who was making Lou miserable, and
disliked him accordingly.

A couple approached from the garden, and she waited till they had
gone into the house before saying smoothly and clearly, "Lou
doesn't love you, Val, so you've got to let her walk out on you. She
doesn't love you, she's never loved you, and she never will. Got
that?"

His eyes went brilliant with anguish, his mouth tight with disbelief.
He bent towards her in the dimness. "Has ... Lou said that?"

"Not to me, but it's true. By harping on marriage you're making her
feel absolutely wretched. Haven't you got more pride than to cling to
a woman who doesn't want you?"

"You know nothing about it," he burst out. "You don't know Lou ...
you don't know me. I can't live without her." Emotion grated in his
voice. "Why don't you mind your own business!"

"My dear man," said Daphne, on a hard note, "I'm more fond of Lou
than you'll ever be. You love yourself, Val, and you want Lou
because she'd make that self bigger and better. If you like, I'll be
really outspoken and tell you that she's far too good for you. How do
you like that?"

He stepped back a pace and his hands went behind him, as if he

were seeking the support of the pillar. Now she could only see those
bright, feverish points in his eyes; even his lips must have been
white.

He spoke with difficulty, thickly. "I'll speak to Lou. I'll tell her what
you've said. She'll hate you for this ... as much as I hate you I"

He was gone then, along the veranda and into the lounge. Daphne
took another cigarette from the box on the iron table and viciously
struck a match. What a fool he was; what a vain, contemptible fool!
She only hoped that Lou would have the sense to follow up, now
that the ice was broken.

Daphne got up and went out into the garden. He had left a
disagreeable atmosphere behind him and she wasn't accustomed to
putting up with that kind of thing.

She walked right down the garden and came up slowly, on a

different path. She had nearly reached the house again when a car
started up out there beyond the gate. The engine roared, gears,
ground discordantly and the car shot away, much too fast. Val, of
course. She had upset him, and serve him right.

She arrived at the door just as several people were coming out.

Damon said carelessly, "Been playing hookey, Daphne? You haven't

been alone, surely? "

Nadine took a breath of the dry, night air. "I quite enjoyed your
musical friends, Damon, but I think we'd better be going."
"Where's Lou?" enquired Daphne.

"Yes, where is Lou?" Damon glanced about him at the gathering

guests. "I was speaking to her five minutes ago."

"She told me that Val had arrived and was taking her home."

"Val? I didn't see him."

"No," said Nadine with reserve. "You might tell George his little
brother turned up; he was anxious about him. Thanks for a nice
evening, Damon."

He made a brief rejoinder, saw them into the car of another couple
who were driving down to Mlemba, and said good night. In the back
of the strange car Daphne looked at Nadine and away again. Neither
commented on the fact that Lou had gone off without saying good
night and thank you for the pleasant evening.
CHAPTER IX

NADINE roused late next morning. As it was Sunday she lay for a
while staring at the asbestos-board ceiling and wondering how many
more weekends they would have to spend at Four Winds. This
morning she felt she couldn't bear it if by next Saturday they were
not beginning to make arrangements for the disposal of the
furniture.

It would be good to get back to work, though she was inclined to

believe the saying that the person who has lived in Africa for a spell
can never quite pick up the threads of former existence. There was
an insidious charm about the country, a brooding warmth, an
essence which must tritely be described as magic and mysterious.
Still, she had found work the cure for almost everything. Not that
she needed a cure now, she assured herself swiftly. She was merely
feeling wry and ironical.

She reached to the bedside table for her watch and discovered that it
was a quarter past eight. A quarter past eight, and Lou hadn't yet
budged to get the breakfast. Usually on Sundays she brought a cup
of tea at seven-thirty and followed it up with a breakfast tray. But
she was probably tired this morning. One way and another the
musical evening had been exhausting, and she, poor kid, had no
doubt wound it up with a scene; a long-drawn scene, too, judging by
the fact that Nadine had gone to sleep before Lou had come in.

Nadine threw back the blanket and swung down her legs. It wouldn't
hurt to get up for breakfast, and Daphne might as well roll out, too.
They would have tea and toast on the veranda and dress at leisure,
afterwards. This would have to be a lazy day.

She got into her navy dressing gown and went to the kitchen to put
on the kettle. She drew a bowl of water at the sink and splashed her
face with its luxurious coolness, and as she stood patting her skin
with the rough kitchen towel and looking through the window at the
white grass which extended to the ploughed land that curved round
the foot of the mountain, she knew regret and a queer longing which
was difficult to pin down. Foolish, really, because there was little
beauty in the view, and she had previously decided that Uncle
Simon must have been crazy or else inspired from within.

Shrugging, she got out cups and saucers and took the loaf Lou had
baked yesterday from the bread tin. No use making toast yet,
though, if those two hadn't even wakened.

Nadine walked out into the tiny passage and called, "Lou! It's
getting late. Are you coming?" And then, "You'll have to get up for
brek today, Daphne. I'm just making tea."

She received a murmur from Daphne but no sound at all from Lou.
A trifle impatiently she went to the end of the brief corridor and
shoved wide the door of the all-purpose cubby-hole.

"Lou, what the dickens..."

She broke off abruptly, staring. Involuntarily, her hand went up to

her throat and her mouth parted with incredulity and fear.

The thin green blanket on the camp bed was smooth and firmly
tucked in. The pillow sat white and plump at the head of the bed and
at the foot lay Lou's clean underwear, washed and ironed yesterday
but not, for some reason, put away in Daphne's bedroom. The camp
bed had not been slept in. Nor was there any trace of the dress and
shoes Lou had worn last night.

Nadine backed precipitately from the room and flung open the other
bedroom door. "Daphne, did you hear Lou come in last night?" she
demanded sharply.
The fair head rose, the blue eyes gazed sleepily, and Daphne
yawned. "No, I was flat out." An alien urgency in Nadine's manner
brought her upright in the bed. "You look like a ghost. What's
wrong?"

The dark eyes were large and shadowed. "She didn't come home
I'm sure of it. And Val's the cause. Daphne, I'm frightened."

Daphne slid from her bed. "Now, don't let's be hasty. She may be
out feeding the chickens."

"Her bed hasn't been slept in."

Daphne pushed fingers through her hair, frowning. "I believe you're
right it is Val. I had a talk with that young egotist last night and a
short while afterwards he went thundering away with Lou."

"What did you say to him?"

"Well, I told him what you hadn't the nerve to tell him - that Lou
hadn't any use for him."

"Oh, lord," said Nadine below her breath. Then, with more strength
in her voice, "You upset him and he took it out on Lou. Heaven only
knows where he's dragged her."

Daphne, shouldering into a maize silk wrap, said slowly, "I see what
he's up to. It's a cheap trick, but he thinks it will work with a girl as
simple as Lou. He drove her into the wilds so that she'd have to
spend the night in his company, and the sap actually thought he
could get away with making her marry him on the strength of it - in
these enlightened times."

"We can't be sure that's what he's done." Nadine made a visible
effort to brace herself. "We've got to act. I'm going to see Damon."
"I'll be dressed as quickly as you are. We'll both go."

"No. One of us must stay here in case she turns up." She was out of
the door and almost in her own room as she added, "They may have
some news at Redlands, and anyway, Damon will know what to do."

Five minutes later, her hair smoothed down but rather less
immaculate than usual, Nadine pressed the starter of the jeep and let
in the clutch. Daphne had already opened the gates, so she was able
to turn out on to the road and accelerate at once.

She drove as fast as the jeep would go, her mind blank except for
the grey cloud of worry. The Redlands gates were open, too, and she
swerved between the pillars and round the drive to the courtyard.

There was no one in sight, but a bag of golf clubs leaned against one
of the posts as if placed there by a servant for his master. Nadine
went to the open door and into the lounge. She saw her head
suddenly in the mirror, and automatically ran a hand along the collar
of her frock and over the knot of hair in her nape. But for once she
didn't care how she looked.

"Damon," she cried abruptly. Then louder, "Damon!"

He came quickly, probably from a bedroom. For a second he

hesitated in the archway between lounge and dining room, and then
he strode forward.

"Trouble?" he asked quickly. "What is it?"

In spite of an almost iron control, a dry sob of relief caught in her

throat. Trust Damon to jump straight to the point. She came out with
it hurriedly but lucidly, knowing that nothing less would do for him.
She saw a terrible sternness tighten his features, and his lip go
between his white teeth.
"You say Daphne told Val a few truths about himself. Did she
mention whether he made any threats?"

"No, but I don't think he could have. I suppose he just rushed into
the house and collared Lou. He meant to find out if Daphne had
spoken the truth. Daphne thinks he purposely drove into the country
intending to stay out all night - to compromise Lou."

Damon snapped, "He's capable of it!" His mouth was narrow and
cruel as he tacked on, "If he's been up to any tricks I'll break his
neck."

"What can we do?"

He patted her shoulder. "You've done all you can. Sit down and
have some coffee. George will be back in a minute and you'll have
to tell him. Make him stay here with you."

"But where are you going?"

"First to the hotel in Mlemba. Then I shall make enquiries and

follow up anything that seems likely."

"Let me go with you!"

He was already at the door. "Do as I ask, there's a good girl. Relax,
and keep George here. I'll let you know as soon as I find out
anything."

"Do you suspect..."

"There's no time to discuss suspicions."

She was following him. "But, Damon ..."

"I'm depending on you," he said tersely. "Leave Lou to me. I'll find
her."

She hung on to the doorframe, watching him till he had vanished

round the house. She heard him shout, probably into the kitchen
window, "Jacob, take coffee to the lounge!" And almost at once his
car shot backwards down the drive and out on to the road.

It seemed a long time before Nadine could grope her way to a chair,
but now that Damon was out on the trail she felt decidedly steadier.
The coffee arrived and she poured a cupful and helped herself to a
cigarette. She didn't want to see George, hated the idea of having to
watch him while she told him that his brother had abducted Lou. Yet
something in her, something quite alien to her usual complaisance,
felt an almost vicious satisfaction in knowing that even George
could not fail to be shaken by Val's latest piece of selfish folly. She
stubbed out her cigarette and wondered, hollowly, and impatiently,
how long George was going to be.

And then she saw him through the doorway, big, rugged and brown,
walking up one of the paths towards the front of the house. Nadine's
mouth curled. He didn't look anything like the mouse of a man she
knew him to be. He caught sight of the jeep and quickened his step;
probably in anticipation of seeing Lou.

Nadine jabbed her thumb over the smouldering cigarette in the

ashtray, flicked the ash from her fingers and went out to meet him.

Damon, meanwhile, had drawn blank at the hotel. The steward

reported that Mr. Marston had looked in late last evening to book a
room and unload luggage from his car, but had not been back since
then. No, they had no news of him at all. Damon slid back behind
the wheel and sped down the road to turn left and pull up outside the
sleepy little police station. Here he stepped into a hive of conjecture,
for Sergeant Heal was trying to sift some news brought by an
excited and breathless piccanin.

"Where did you see this? " he demanded.

"On the road, master, the road to the farm where I live. I go back to
tell my nkosi, and he lend me the bicycle and say go to the police."

Unceremoniously, Damon broke in, "Has this anything to do with a

two-seater?"

The young policeman raised his head. "Why, yes, sir, it has. Know
of one that's missing?"

"That's why I'm here. George Marston's brother and Miss Meredith
are in it." He clipped out a few sentences to the piccanin in Sidebele
and the boy nodded. Then Damon swiftly added to the sergeant, "I'll
take him with me. You'd better come as soon as you can."

He drove fast, zipped back along the main street and took the side
road indicated by the amazed and gratified native boy. And within
ten minutes he came upon the little group of African farm hands and
their white master, surrounding the buckled and overturned two-
seater.

For the next quarter of an hour Damon only spoke to bark an

occasional order. With maniacal strength and one all-embracing
oath he wrenched open the jammed door at which the men had been
prising, and shoved an arm round Val's chest to lift him. Others
helped.

"Gently, for God's sake," he said thickly. "There's a woman

underneath."
He saw her, a crumple of blue silk spattered with glass fragments,
her closed eyes as dark as the bruise on her cheek in the whiteness
of her face, the short red-gold hair fanned out over the split
leatherette of the upholstery. He reached half his body inside the car
and found her wrist. Then somehow he had an arm about her waist
while the other hand held and shielded her head as he drew her up
and out into the air. Her skin was cold and clammy.

Someone opened the back door of his tourer and shoved a rug in
position to act as a pillow. As he carefully set her down she opened
her eyes and gave him a long stare of utter blankness.

"It's Damon," he said softly. "I'm going to take you home."

Just faintly, her lips trembled. Then her lids came down again. He
stripped off his jacket and tucked it about her, flipped a coin at the
piccanin and got into the car. He didn't look at Val, didn't even
glance at the white farmer or at the newly-arrived Sergeant Heal.

The tourer departed fairly slowly in a cloud of dust. The policeman

looked uncomfortably at his companion.

"The way he acted you'd think it was our fault," he said. "I suppose
we ought to have found them earlier, but it's Sunday, and we're not
used to this kind of thing."

The other sighed. "It's a nasty business, and I suppose he feels it,
seeing that he knows them both. I don't think she's badly hurt, but
he'll have to break it to George Marston that his brother's dead."

George left Redlands that afternoon on a month's leave.

For a few days he would be staying in the district, but as soon as
various matters affecting his brother were settled, he would take a
touring holiday.

Nadine and Damon were out on the road to see him go. There were
brief handshakes, and Damon said:

"I still think it would be best if you remained here. You need plenty
to do."

"I shall be all right," George answered without emotion. "To be

honest, Damon, I'd feel horrible under the same roof with Lou, and
it wouldn't do her any good to have me about."

"Lou won't hold anything against you," Nadine put in.

He seemed to gaze through her. "No, I don't think she would."

Nadine added, staring straight at him, "George, I'm so sorry for what
I said to you this morning. I'm terribly ashamed of having behaved
like a fishwife when ..."

He interrupted, still unmoved, "You spoke the truth. I didn't know

you felt so strongly, but you had reason. Don't worry, Nadine. I'll
get over it."

"But it's so unnecessary," said Damon in a hard voice, "to insist on

being alone while you do it."

"It's sensible, for me. I'll be getting in touch with you. Good-bye."

When his car had disappeared, Nadine turned at Damon's side and
walked with him along the drive. Her usually clear brow was
pleated and she gave moody attention to the flower borders they
were passing.
"I suppose his going does eliminate one complication. Between us
we're giving you a rotten leave, Damon."

He smiled slightly. "Your own holiday hasn't been too bright. You
weren't bursting with joy before this happened."

"I was disappointed at being forgotten in London, but that's lost all
significance. Poor Lou..."

"Drop that," he said sharply. "I've told Daphne to keep away from
Lou, and if you're going to soak her with pity I'll keep you away
from her, too. Be gentle with her, but for Pete's sake don't pity her or
she'll never live down the ghastly experience. I know you feel like
hell about it I do too - but it's over, and we who are her friends
have a duty to her."

"I apologize," Nadine replied wearily. Then her tone regained some
of the old nonchalance. "I'll be myself tomorrow. I may even begin
to enjoy the unconventional situation."

"There won't be any unconventional situation. I'll sleep with the

Neales and come here to breakfast. Their house is only a couple of
miles a way."

They came to the veranda and stopped. Nadine listened, her head
tilted towards the open front door, and after a moment she lowered
herself to one of the canvas chairs. Damon leaned against a post
with his hands in his pockets.

"George may be doing the best thing in going off alone," he said.
"We were too right about Val and he's probably wincing from what
might have occurred. Last time Val killed his mother." A shrug. "I'm
afraid we can't help George."

"What will he do about Four Winds?"

"At the moment he wants never to see the place again, but he may
come round. After all, the house isn't built, and the land is as good
as it ever was. If he decides to sell out, I'll buy it."

"I wish you would, Damon. And demolish our shanty as soon as
we're gone, so that it isn't there when he comes back."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Are you going so soon?"

She nodded. "When Lou is fit to travel."

"You think that's best? I don't. If you clear out right away she'll hate
Rhodesia for the rest of her life because all she'll remember of it will
be the last appalling incident. That wouldn't be fair to her, 'or to
Rhodesia. I'm going to see that she stays for a while."

"Daphne's going."

"Is she?" He paused, his expression non-committal. "As far as she's

concerned Africa is drained dry. She's getting bored. But Lou will
need you, Nadine. We'll let it ride for a few days and then talk it
over with her."

Actually, Lou did not particularly need Nadine or anyone else

during the next two or three days. She lay in a room furnished in
golden pearwood with cherry-coloured curtains and a view between
them of clipped hibiscus bushes splashed with huge scarlet
trumpets. She was stiff and bruised, the dislocated shoulder ached
with every movement and her head was too muzzy for coherent
thinking.

Every hour or so someone came in. Nadine or a servant or Damon,

and more often than not she feigned sleep. Damon's approach, his
hands adjusting her pillow or touching her forehead meant no more
than the soft-footed entrance of Jacob with iced water. It was merely
a nuisance to be endured for a minute or two. The doctor was more
of a menace because he made her sit up and submit to questioning
and prodding.

Straight after the doctor's visit on Wednesday, Damon came into the
room. He was smiling a little.

"Don't slide back into your pillows. The old chap says you can get
up."

For nearly four days she had spoken so little that her lips were
reluctant to move. "I really don't... feel like it."

"I know, but we'll make it easy for you." He opened the built-in
wardrobe and slipped her dressing gown from a hanger. "Nadine's
doing some packing down at Four Winds so you'll have to put up
with me. Do you mind?"

"No" - slowly. "I don't mind."

"That's bad," he remarked conversationally. "A week ago you

wouldn't have let me see you in creased pyjamas - or even in slick
ones. Put your sound arm in there - I'll help this one in."

When at last the thing was about her shoulders she was breathing
heavily with the exertion and her face had tightened with the pain of
those bruised muscles. He sat on the side of the bed, holding her for
a moment.

"Come on," he said then. "I'll take your weight, but you can do with
the exercise."

He supported her, and gripped hard when she swayed, and somehow
she traversed the long distance over the thick- piled carpet to the
easy chair near the window. She sat there, looking small and wan
and tender, her hands lifeless upon the arms.
Damon took the hard chair the doctor had used, and got out
cigarettes. "Try one?" And when she had refused, "Any objection if
I do?"

Apparently it would have made no difference if she had objected,

for without awaiting an answer he lit up and took a long pull.
Perhaps he thought the masculine aroma would be of benefit, or
maybe he was merely determined to show her how very normal life
was in spite of the knocks it dealt.

"The more you move," he said, "the sooner the stiffness will wear
off. Want some slippers?"

"No, thanks."

"Not curious about anything?"

"You mean - about living here, at Redlands?"

"That'll do for a start. How do you like it?"

Speaking was still something of an effort. She said, "I haven't...

though about it. Don't you find us in the way?"

"No, but I may do as soon as you're walking around." He grinned. "I

shall stick it for a few days, though. What do you think of the
view?"

She saw now that beyond the hibiscus tall palms stretched up,
leaning with the south-e'ast wind, and between their thin, hairy
trunks gleamed hot blue slats of sky.

"The palms aren't familiar," she said.

"You know them, but they look different from this angle."
There was a silence, after which Lou asked in flat tones, "Did you
say Nadine is packing?"

He nodded and leaned forward companionably, elbows on his knees.

"A lot happened yesterday. No sooner had Daphne gone..

"Gone?" she echoed. "From Mlemba?"

"Don't you remember? She came in to say good-bye to you the night
before last. I arranged to have her driven in to Bulawayo and she'll
take a train there for the Cape."

Lou's lack-lustre eyes grew wide with the task of recollection and
she gave a hesitant half-nod. It was all coming back, painfully fast
but without clarity. So Daphne had departed, and Nadine was
packing.

"What were you saying about yesterday?"

He answered tolerantly, as if she were a child, but his glance was

knife-sharp. "Nadine had an offer from a struggling immigrant for
all the furnishings at Four Winds. He'll be collecting the stuff
tomorrow, and she has to bring the personal possessions of you both
here today. She has a boy with her to load the jeep, and I expect
she'll be back before tea."

Despite the weariness which seemed to increase every minute, she

enquired clearly, "Aren't we going to live there again?"

"No one's going to live there, Louise," he replied decisively. "Four

Winds has been long overdue for a dose of dynamite." A queer cold
look came into his eyes, a look in which watchfulness was blended
with calculation. "George isn't likely to go ahead with the house
which was marked out lower down the road," he said deliberately.
But Lou had had enough. Her vision blurred with tiredness and her
head lay back. She wanted to sleep.

Presently he tossed his cigarette from the window, straightened the

bed and got her back between the sheets. His fingers pushed away
the hair which had clung with sweat to her temples, he drew the
curtains to shut out the light, and went from the room.

Physically, Lou recovered quickly. By the following Sunday - just

one week after the accident, she was getting up for breakfast and not
going to bed till it was time for Damon to leave for his bedroom at
the Neale homestead.

Nadine had bought some lengths of linen and silk from the store in
Mlemba, and Lou spent most of the time turning them into dresses
for the two of them. Occasionally she went into the big kitchen to
bake a batch of cakes, and a few times she had staked plants or
uprooted the fast-growing weeds, for Damon's garden did not lack
water.

With Damon and Nadine she was uncommunicative. There was

nothing purposeful in her avoidance of discussion about Val; she
merely concluded that they knew pretty well as much as she knew
herself about the events of that night. The odd thing was that the
more she thought about them the cloudier they became.

There was Val, all feverish, more or less ordering her to go for a
drive with him, the mad rush in his car down towards Mlemba, and
the halt by the roadside when they had passed Four Winds.
Excitedly, furiously, the words had burst from him. She hadn't
known how to deal with him; had pleaded and soothed but been
unable to state the one thing he wanted to hear.
Quite what happened afterwards she was never able fully to explain.
The car jerked on, took a corner at blood-freezing speed, racketed
along a track and hit something which catapulted the vehicle head-
on into a tree-trunk. That was all.

Very dimly she recalled regaining consciousness more than once in

the darkness. She hadn't known Val was dead till Damon told her
twenty-four hours after he had brought her to Redlands. It hadn't
seemed to matter.

That was her prevailing state of mind; nothing mattered. She didn't
ask why she had been brought to Redlands instead of Four Winds;
she knew George had gone away but did not enquire his destination.
Nor was she interested in her own and Nadine's future.

Perhaps it was as well that her imagination had gone dormant. Lack
of it kept her very calm, and even without Damon's studiously
casual references to her own connection with George and Val she
would probably have been unafraid to look back. It was as if a
misted glass shutter had come down between herself and the past.
What she saw through it was shrouded and unreal - even to the love
she had thought she had for Damon.

He took her for a couple of drives, showed her a squad of Africans

who were dismantling the corrugated iron walls of Four Winds and
the empty hen-houses. The poultry had been transferred temporarily
to Redlands ground but James still had care of them. Four Winds
was disappearing, un- lamented.

Then one morning, when Nadine was out with a prospective buyer
for the jeep, Damon made Lou give him a game of tennis. It was
hot. She played slackly and lost badly, but he only laughed and
ordered long cool drinks in the veranda.
And it was while they were lounging side by side sipping iced fruit
juice that he said carelessly, "You know you've changed, don't you,
Lou? You don't love and hate any more. You're so listless that you
don't even hate me."

"You've done a great deal for me, Damon."

"I'd like to do more," he answered. "I shan't be satisfied till you're

full of spirit and smiling again."

"It'll come, once I'm back in England."

"I wonder?" He twisted his glass so that the ice tinkled, and looked
into the yellow liquid speculatively. "Do you want to go home?"

"I think I do."

"Why?"

"It's normal, isn't it? My father's there and I shall find a job. In time"
- in her emotionlessness she reminded him of George - "these few
months in Rhodesia will become hazy as a dream."

His tone crisped, "You consider that fair to people who've grown
fond of you?"

"You mean George?" She let out a brief sigh. "He won't be anxious
to see me again. I wish it were different, but you can't alter that kind
of thing. He'd never look at me without being reminded of Val.''

"What of it?" he said brusquely. "Both you and he are strong enough
to stand it for a while, and it would be bound to wear off. If I'd had
my way George would have stayed here in constant contact with
you. No good ever came from running away! That's why you're not
going home yet."
"No?" She was only mildly surprised. "Your decision or Nadine's?"

"Mine," he said briefly, and finished his drink.

Lou looked at the great heavy masses of purple bougainvillea which

climbed a couple of the stone posts and ran up into the thatch of the
roof. The flowers had been there ever since her first visit to
Redlands, and even now their colour was good, their pollen
attractive to the wild bees. Flame- red poppies edged the courtyard
and behind them showed the yellow suns of giant coreopsis against
a line of young, scarlet-starred poinsettias. Damon's garden was
always full of colour.

As though he had guessed her thoughts he said, "You'll have to hang

on in Rhodesia if only to see the country after it's been vitalized by
rain. The roadsides are packed with cosmos and Mexican marigolds
and whenever you pass a house you get the scent of roses; they grow
even better here than in England. The rivers fill up and all sorts of
wild tropical things grow on their banks. You see more buck, too,
and an occasional giraffe lollops across the road if you go for a drive
after dark. During my last leave we had to organize a leopard hunt
because the farmers were losing stock."

He went on talking, quietly and naturally, till Nadine drove up in the

jeep. He stood up as her slim, white-clad figure came down the path.

"Any luck?" he queried.

She nodded, turned her smile to include Lou. "He's going to pay me
what I gave for it. He'll bring the cheque and collect the jeep this
evening. I feel quite dejected about it. We've liked the little bus,
haven't we, Lou?"

"It's best to sell it while you can get the price, though. What shall we
do for transport?"
Damon was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking down at
her. "You won't need any," he said. "In a day or two I'm taking you
both to Bulawayo to stay with the Dennises. You can use their car."

"Bulawayo?" Lou echoed, and glanced at Nadine. "You know about

this?"

"Damon and I have talked it over." Nadine sank into the seat he
hooked forward and placed a hand over Lou's on the arm of the
adjacent chair. "I agree with him that it's best for us to stay on in
Rhodesia for a few weeks, and the Dennis couple seem very keen to
have us. Obviously, we can't remain at Redlands. With George
away, Damon needs to be on the spot, and we're keeping the poor
man from his bed."

"I'm ready to leave Redlands any time," said Lou.

"Just like that,' said Damon a trifle unpleasantly.

"I didn't mean to be hurtful."

"My dear child, you don't hurt you annoy. But let it pass. Have a
cooler, Nadine. Would you like another, Louise?"

"No, thank you."

Settling back into her chair, Nadine looked from one to the other of
them. In the ten days she and Lou had been at Redlands this was the
first time he had shown irascibility with Lou's queer
imperviousness. She supposed the truth of it was he couldn't wait to
get his house to himself. Well, there were only two more days, she
thought with an inward sigh. What a relief it would be to close the
Four Winds chapter in their lives.
CHAPTER X

IT was around noon when they ran in on the dusty strip road to the
big modern city of Bulawayo. After the single main street of
Mlemba with its couple of offshoots, the wide, macademized roads,
the shops, the solid office buildings had the feel of civilization.

Nadine turned from her seat beside Damon and spoke to Lou, who
shared the back with some of the small luggage and their coats. "If
Uncle Simon had bought a place on the edge of Bulawayo instead of
Mlemba we might have farmed the land on our own account. Or you
might have got fixed up in a post."

"And you could have started classes in commercial art."

"Heaven forbid!" said Damon. "The one thing I dislike in African

cities is the mixture of extreme sophistication with the purely
primitive. It's like that in the Congo, but in Malawi we're rather
inaccessible and only have mountains and Lake Malawi to offer the
tourist, so the few towns are small. I sometimes go as long as six
months without entering a town."

"How do you bear it?" exclaimed Nadine. "I could understand your
clinging to the bungalow if you were married, but it sounds a grim
sort of life for a bachelor."

"I have to travel my district and have friends among the planters
there. I've never been lonely - yet. Not many women care for the
life. In fact, the wife of my assistant ran out on him a year ago and
got a divorce."

"Couldn't you prevent it?"

"I didn't try. Once a woman has seriously considered divorce she's
no further use as a wife. He's happier without her."
Nadine looked across at him sardonically. "Yet you despise him
more than you despise her, don't you?"

He smiled, his attention on the traffic as he swung the tourer into

Selborne Avenue. "I always think," he said with sarcasm, "that the
man who can't hold on to his own woman deserves whatever she
does to him. On the other hand, only an utter fool would kid himself
that he could take a girl from England, plant her beside him in
Darkest Africa and grow roots. I've seen a good many specimens of
that kind of marriage, and in those that hang together the wife has
either grown apathetic, become a fiendish drinker or bridge player,
engaged in many flirtations or taken up charity work among the
natives. The husband has had no part at all in keeping her there."

"Damon the cynic!"

"Damon the wise," he amended with a shrug. "Nothing would

induce me to take a wife into the wilderness. It's quick death to the
finer feelings and the baser emotions grow like jungle weeds."

He was only half serious, of course, but Nadine did not take the
subject any further. Like Lou, she was looking out at the
disappearing town and taking an interest in the suburban dwellings
in their pretty sub-tropical gardens.

The Dennises' house stood back from the road in three acres of
garden. It was constructed of local granite blocks and had a steep
roof of mottled tiles, and new climbers were starting on their way up
the angular pillars which marched along each side of the straight,
sandy drive.

The small and lively Babs Dennis was in the porch to meet them.
She wore shabby breeches and a shapeless white sweater, and had to
shove aside some croquet mallets, a couple of tennis racquets and a
string bag of grass-stained balls before all of them could fit into the
hall.

"Jim's not due home for lunch till one," she said breezily. "Let's
have a drink while we exchange news.','

She was a gay and comfortable little person. Val might never have
existed, and her only allusion to George was the remark that
accidentally she had seen him on his way through Bulawayo; they
had only waved to each other, though.

The whole atmosphere of Bain's Green was light and airy. There
was much quiet laughter, friends dropping in at all times, a devotion
to sport and something arranged for every evening either in the
house or at the club. Babs lived chiefly on the surface of life but got
great delight out of it. Her husband was the more intellectual
character, but he appeared to be well satisfied with the wife he had
selected.

Damon drove back to Mlemba that same evening. Jim Dennis had
forsaken his office for the afternoon, and the -five of them had
drifted about the garden, had a swim in the small cemented pool and
drank tea under a deodar which was a dull sage green with dust.

A little later the women had changed and come to the veranda for
sundowners, to find Damon topping up the radiator of his tourer
while a boy cleaned the squashed moths and flies from the
windscreen.

Before the first drinks were finished darkness had fallen. Babs went
indoors for a dish of snacks, Nadine bent with Jim Dennis over a
book of prints which he had bought at a sale, and Lou, to her vague
astonishment, found herself walking rather briskly down the drive to
the road, with an inexorable hand behind her elbow.
Under a wide-spreading palm Damon stopped and looked down at
her. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you, little one?"

"I suppose so. I'm to have a good time and forget Four Winds."

"You needn't forget Redlands." His voice lost the noncommittal note
to which she had lately become accustomed. It lowered and took on
depth. "You've got to wake up, Louise. Val's death isn't a big thing
in your life you'll admit that?"

"Well, I..."

"It can't be a big thing," he broke in almost roughly. "It was just the
manner of it. You've got to realize that that was exactly the sort of
end for which he was destined and it was merely filthy luck that you
happened to be the woman in the case." He paused, compressed his
mouth and asked with a swift change to casualness, "Do you ever
think about that night in the car?"

"No, but if I did, I don't think it would upset me, because I can
remember so little of it."

"Had he tried to kiss you during the quarrel?"

She whitened and her hand came up to her throat. "Yes. Yes, he did.
I'd forgotten. He ... he held on to me like a drowning man."

Damon put his arm about her shaking body. His tones were still
rough, but not with vexation. "It's better to remember it now than
when you're alone. You were so unwise, so impatient of advice, and
I'm afraid you had to pay for the unwisdom and the impatience.
You'll promise not to brood over it, won't you?"

She drew away from his jacket and smiled palely. "I'll get over it.
Just now, I feel I don't want to be intimate with anyone - not even
with Nadine."
"And men are out, I suppose."

"It's natural, isn't it?"

"Could be, for a short time." The harshness was easing itself out of
his voice. "Don't make a habit of it, though. If ever a woman needed
a man . . ." He let her guess the rest, but added, "I'll write to you and
I shall expect a prompt reply. I'll see you again before I go north."

"When are you going?" . "My leave is up in about five weeks, but I
shall drive up there a few days before, so that I have a week or so
with my relief." Teasingly he asked, "Will you be sad when we
part?"

Lou's fingers twisted tightly together. "I expect so - but not too sad.
You make me like that."

"Like what?"

"You make me face facts. In this case it's the fact that people do
have to part and go their ways. I ... I almost wish we were doing it
now."

There was a silence during which the great arms of the palm
overhead rustled dryly. Then Damon said in his coolest manner, "Do
you know why you wish we weren't going to see each other again? I
make you dissatisfied with the sort of life you think you ought to
lead. If we were saying our last good-byes now , you know you
could do it unemotionally. In a week or two you'll be less sure of
sustaining your poise. I believe you are waking up a little already,
Louise." Lightly, he touched her hair. "It's not carrots or copper; in
this light it's not even red-gold. Warm honey, rather, with streaks of
moonlight and die smell of flowers."

"How curious," she said. "Damon tangling himself up with

moonlight and flowers."
"I was experimenting. If I'd spoken to you like that a month ago
you'd either have got cross, or palpitated and changed the topic." He
smiled in the darkness, and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm
tempted to experiment further."

Deliberately, he bent and kissed her mouth, kissed it hard and

unerringly. When he raised his head Lou did not move, but her eyes
looked up darkly into his.

"That's au revoir," he said a trifle brusquely. "It'll also help to

obliterate any other kisses you've tolerated. Let's go back to the
house."

Ten minutes later he drove away from Bulawayo.

The days passed much more quickly than Lou had thought they
would, chiefly because at Bain's Green there was always something
happening. Babs, being a member of various committees, was for
ever giving morning or afternoon tea parties, or organizing cake
stalls or home-produce markets in aid of this or that charity. Her
garden was the scene of a croquet tournament, her lounge
occasionally turned into a sewing room and her kitchen provided the
fudge and fruit candies which were sent to the children's ward at a
hospital every Saturday morning by a group of local women.

Withal, Babs contrived to play a good game of tennis, to swim at

least once a day and to look charming in the evenings. During the
daytime she wore a frock only if she were attending a function.

Though continually busy, she actually did very little work herself.
The five boys cooked and cleaned and looked after the large garden,
and she kept them at it easily, by threatening them with dire
punishments from the master. Jim was normally mild-mannered, but
since he had once been seen handling a mad dog he was much
respected. Upon that incident, Babs admitted, was based her whole
domestic structure.

Life in Bulawayo was so different from that in Mlemba that Lou

soon found herself looking back upon the past weeks as if they had
happened in a drawn-out dream. She and Nadine had separate
bedrooms and were seldom alone together, which perhaps was a
good thing. There were no confidences between them, and very
soon they were living as gaily and superficially as Babs herself.

Queerly, though, Lou had an objective impression of herself as

existing in a bright void between one part of her life and that which
would begin as soon as she got back to England. This wasn't real;
she wondered if it had reality for Nadine.

They both went about with Babs and helped her to entertain in the
house and garden. They danced with Jim's friends but decisively
refused to make dates. They went out with the Dennises to their
friends who owned farms in the neighbourhood, and at sunset they
watched the tiny clouds which drifted up to blur the distant view.
Steadily but very slowly those clouds would heap up and explode in
a blessed relief of storms; the long winter drought would be ended.

Already it was much hotter than Lou had known it in Africa. The
sun burned, the veld was parched and the big, sappy plants in the
borders were insatiably thirsty. The first mosquitoes came out,
cicadas increased their numbers and made the nights shrill with their
music.

One morning, at the end of the garden, Lou found a chameleon. It

was the colour of the mopani trunk to which it clung, looking like a
grotesque growth till it moved to swallow a hardback. She had been
watching it for some time when the sound of someone coming along
the stone path brought her round to face George Marston.
She gave him a small involuntary smile, and George managed a stiff
movement of his mouth in return.

"Hello," he said quietly. "You're looking quite well, Lou."

"I'm fine." She saw a tiredness in his face, but he was otherwise
unchanged. "You're not looking too bad, either. Have you been to
the house?"

"I spotted you down here first." A moment's awkwardness hung

between them. "My holiday is over. I'm on my way back to
Redlands."

She nodded, as if comprehending all he left unsaid, and walked with

him along the path to the front of the house. "You'll have plenty to
do as soon as the rain starts."

"For the next few weeks I shall be planting citrus," he said, and the
embarrassment of meeting was over.

Babs, in slacks and an old shirt, was in the hall, rebinding the handle
of her husband's polo stick. She accorded George an unsurprised
welcome. "What ho! How far did you travel?"

"I stayed in Rhodesia, fishing most of the time. Let me do that for
you."

He took over, and Babs called into the lounge, "Nadine, here's a
man you know. Pour him a drink, will you? I'll tell Cookie to make
a chop for five at lunch."

Nadine said levelly, "How are you, George? Have you travelled far
this morning?" and mixed him a whisky and soda.

"I came across country about a hundred miles. I'll get along home
after lunch."
It was all very restrained and polite. Lou didn't know that on the
morning she had been found in Val's wrecked car Nadine had told
George exactly what she thought of a man who gave his all to a
weak brother and hauled in an innocent girl as a prop besides. She
wished Nadine would be kind to him, give him a little of the
sympathy he needed.

"Couldn't you stay this afternoon, George?" she asked impulsively.

"I might, for a short while. Damon's expecting me back. He asked

me by letter to call here and find out how you were going, or I
wouldn't be here."

"That's not nice," she answered. "We may never see you again."

He didn't look at either of them, but took a pull at the drink and ran
his hand along the polo stick. "I hadn't realized you weren't going
back that way," he said, but Lou gained the impression that if he had
it would have made no difference. She wished, strongly, that there
were time to make George feel better about everything. The next
best thing was to do her utmost today.

By the time George had finished his drink and had a wash, Jim
Dennis was home to lunch, and afterwards, it being Saturday, he
insisted on driving them all out to the Matopos, that magnificent
bouldered range from which the Matabele had launched their attacks
on the English and where the father of Rhodesia lies buried.

They opened the picnic tea basket in a ferny cavern where lizards
darted, and when the cake tins and flasks had been emptied they
smoked and looked out over the extraordinary crags with thick
green growth between them and at the brilliant blue sky. One could
imagine those dark, lurking warriors, scarcely discernible in the
millions of clefts, the glinting of thrown assegais, the tumultuous
yells of victory.
Babs got up suddenly. "Who's for a climb?"

Her husband joined her, but Nadine shrugged lazily. "It was enough
for me to climb to this spot. I'll read one of those magazines you
brought."

Lou hadn't been going to climb either, but a swift glance at George
altered her mind. "Take me right up to World's View, Babs," she
said. "I'd like to see Rhodes' grave."

For a long time after the sounds of the departing three had gone with
the breeze, George lay back on his elbow, staring down at the
knobbly mountainside. Nadine sat upright, slightly behind him but
fairly close, the glossy magazine open across the skirt of her yellow
linen dress. The daffodil yellow suited her darkness and the creamy
skin; her long hand resting on the page, the nails beautifully shaped
but unpolished, looked smooth and ordinary and untalented.

Perhaps it was the sight of those hands, the nearest not more than
eighteen inches from his eyes, which made George end the silence.

"Lou seems to have got over it all right," he said.

"Not too badly," she agreed evenly. "She hasn't much life yet, but
the heat may have something to do with that."

"It was an appalling experience for a girl. You always said she was
made of sterner stuff than Val. For her sake, I'm glad."

She hesitated, as if weighing the wisdom of what she was about to

say. "It has affected her. She and I haven't talked much about it, but
she isn't the same. Before, she was either happy or unhappy. Now,
'she seems to be on an even keel all the time - neither one thing nor
the other."

"It's only four weeks; she's probably still a little numb."

Her gaze rested on the top of his head; thick brown hair with grey at
the temples. Her voice was low and firm. "You had by far the worst
of it. We were all against your plan for the two of them - Daphne,
Damon and I - and you knew it but had to struggle on. You thought
you were doing the right thing, though, and we all realize that you
couldn't possibly have foreseen the disaster."

"That wasn't what you said - that morning."

"I was mad with worry. I don't know what I said. I only know"
her tone was carefully remote - "that I've never regretted anything so
much in my life as I regret all the things I said that morning."

Another silence expanded between them. The breeze whispered

among the rock plants, stirred the mounds of springy grass to
rippling life. In all the vast natural chaos about them not a bird or
beast was visible.

Calmly she enquired, "What are you going to do with Four Winds?
Damon says he'll buy."

"I'll hang on to it for the present."

"Will you go on farming the place?"

"Do you," he paused, "want me to?"

"It's hardly my business, is it?"

"You have an opinion on most matters. I was merely asking what

you thought about it."

"Well" - she sounded a little strained and reluctant - "if I were you
I'd go right ahead, and before Damon finishes his time in Malawi I'd
build a small house on the spot you chose; it needn't be exactly as
Val planned it - he had expensive ideas. I daresay Damon will marry
some time, and you'll need a home of your own."

He plucked a fern frond and uncurled the tough, African tip. "If I
could tell you how it all came about," he said almost inaudibly, "I
would. You've never had anyone belonging to you as Val belonged
to me. There's Lou, I know, but she's only your second cousin and
she has independence and pride; Val hadn't much of either. I'd have
spoken to you about it more if I'd thought I could have made you
understand. And there was a complication - you know what I mean.
I felt you'd never take to living in Rhodesia, and I'd show up as a
pretty poor specimen in England."

"Don't talk like that!"

"It's true. I've been away too long. I was willing to use every penny
for Val's future because I knew I'd never marry. It was uncanny; the
very day I found I wanted to marry someone, I knew I never would."
He took a long breath. "When are you going home to England f"

"In two or three weeks."

"Are you sorry you came?"

"No. It hasn't been quite the fun I anticipated, but it's been ...
instructive. I do wish I hadn't brought Lou, though." They were a
foot apart and had not looked at each other since the conversation
began, yet she felt him wince. Hurriedly, she went on, "You should
have climbed with the others. I'm bound to hurt you, even though I
don't mean to."

Quite a few minutes elapsed before he muttered, "It's something that

you don't mean to hurt. In your experience, has there ever been a
woman who loved a man as well as having contempt for him?"
Nadine's reddened lip turned in between her teeth. Her hand moved
gently to his shoulder. He turned and glanced up at her, his eyes
pained, his mouth crooked.

"I think we'd better go and find the other three, don't you?" he said.

After George had left that evening the Dennises gave a party to
celebrate the birthday of one of their bachelor friends. It was a
roaring, crazy kind of party which ended at about three in the
morning, and consequently the Dennis household rose very late on
Sunday morning.

As soon as she had eaten a breakfast of grapefruit and toast, Lou

went to a Bantu mission service which had been advertised in the
press. The white people there were few, but the African
congregation must have numbered nearly a thousand. The men and
women stood in a semi-circle, devoutly dressed in their best, and the
children squatted on the grass, large-eyed, woolly-haired
youngsters, fresh as paint and happy to sing the hymns and join in
the prayers which they knew astonishingly well. As soon as a hymn
began they clapped the rhythm, hesitantly at first and then with quiet
gusto. Their little bodies swayed with the ecstasy of their
enjoyment, and Lou thought, pityingly, of bored white children in
Sunday School.

There were two addresses, one in Sindebele by a black priest - and

how black these Rhodesians could be! - and another shorter one in
English by a jolly white man who seemed to have a keen
appreciation of the African's sense of humour.

Lou walked back to Bain's Green with a smile on her lips. It was a
dusty tramp, and it was good to see Babs lying out in a long wicker
chair on the veranda with iced water and squash on the table beside
her; as usual, the tray also held several clean glasses.

Babs waved a hand. "Help yourself. What energy you have, Lou! I
couldn't stir this morning."

"I'll bet you've had a swim."

"I did laze into the water and out again, and Nadine's there now. Jim
staggered off for golf."

Lou poured grenadilla, topped it with ice and poked into it two
straws. She sat on one of the upright grass chairs with the drink in
front of her on the table, and regarded Babs' small compact figure,
relaxed upon several cushions.

"You thrive on parties," she said. "I couldn't stick it as you do."

"You're not the type, nor is Nadine. You're both too deep. Daphne
Pryce can do it - she outdid me when she was here." Babs raised
herself for a draught from her glass and sank back with her hands
behind her head. "By the way, why did Daphne shoot off so
suddenly?"

Strangely, Lou herself had never put that question. Nadine had said
that Daphne had felt she was chiefly to blame for Val's precipitate
actions that night, and that she was tired of Africa, anyway; an
explanation which Lou accepted absolutely.

"It wasn't really sudden," she said. "We'd been talking of leaving
because we'd all had enough of Mlemba."

"But when Jim and I were at Redlands, and afterwards, when

Daphne came here, I thought she was going to marry Damon. We
even talked about it one night and Damon didn't deny it. There was
a lot of verbal sparring between them. Daphne said she wouldn't live
anywhere but in England, and Damon told her that was just too bad,
because he was tied to Malawi and Rhodesia. I remember it
particularly because after that occasion Damon was moody and he
arranged to go home a day or so earlier. Jim and I decided that the
argument had been serious and he was fed up because she had
delivered a sort of ultimatum. He couldn't very well propose, after
that."

Lou pondered. She was trying to recall how Daphne and Damon had
behaved the morning they arrived back from Bulawayo, when she
herself had come in from taking the children to school for the last
time; but as happened so often lately, the scene came back only
vaguely. Lou and Damon had been enemies then.

"You may have been mistaken," she said. "If Damon loved her he
wouldn't let her go."

"He may have had no option. He can't get out of his last couple of
years in Malawi, and he couldn't keep her here against her will." She
stroked her brow musingly. "Come to think of it, Damon is different
now she's gone. Just as charming, of course, but he doesn't jest as
much as he used to."

Lou did not probe into the subject. Thinking about Damon did not
fret her as it had once, 'but for some sub-conscious reason she shied
away from it. Because the problem of Damon was large and at the
moment not too threatening, Lou ignored it.

Since he had left her here he had written twice. Both letters had
been brief and conventional and she had read them through only
once. The first she had answered politely, thanking him for all he
had done. Dropping her reply into a mail box she had thought with a
hollow mingling of gladness and fear that that was the end of
Damon; after reading it he wouldn't bother with her any more. But
three days ago his second note had arrived; a distant couple of
paragraphs and a final injunction to take care of herself. There was
nothing to answer.

When she had finished her drink Babs was dozing, so she went to
her room to change into a swim suit, and made her way across the
garden and through the opening in the thick frangipani hedge which
screened the pool.

Nadine was on the grass, drying off. She sat with her knees drawn
up and one hand idly swinging her cap while she gazed over the low
trees at a distant blue scribble of hills.

"Hello," she said. "What was the open-air church like?"

"Educational, in the best sense. Is the water warm?"

"Too warm; I like it to sting." Nadine raised a critical glance.

"You're thinner than when we left England. I don't know what your
father's going to say."

"He has Netta he won't notice. In any case, you can't expect to
fatten up in a hot country. When are we going?"

"Now that Four Winds is paid for we can go any time. Do you feel
horrible about leaving?"

Lou dropped her robe to the grass and pulled on her cap. "A little
regretful, but it hasn't been happy, has it? And somehow since ...
recently, I've felt only half alive."

Nadine said soberly, "I know. I suppose it's a kind of shock. You'll
throw it off." She pushed up from the ground and flicked grass from
her knee. "Winter will be under way when we get to England."

She went off, looking moody. Lou watched her till she vanished,
and she recalled George's expression of depression and resignation
as he got into the car the previous evening. Was Nadine still
disgusted at his having yielded everything to his brother? Or didn't
she really care for George? Somehow, Lou thought the latter, but
obviously Nadine wasn't happy. Swiftly, and much more urgently
than she had wanted anything during the past four weeks, Lou
wanted to be sure of Nadine's happiness. But how was it possible?

A sudden pulse beat in her throat; she could actually feel it without
raising a finger to touch it, and it made her frightened. Alone there
by the pool in its green fastness, Lou's whole being tensed with the
need to make Nadine happy. She was such a dear, so thoughtful and
militant for others, so silent and unapproachable about herself.

For the last ten years Nadine had depended solely on herself and
done it so successfully that she had inevitably drawn others to
depend on her. Now, she was alone. Even Daphne, with whom she
might presumably have discussed private matters, was gone. Lou,
Nadine would have considered too young to be burdened with the
hopes and fears of others; but at this moment Lou felt old and wise,
and she asked for everything to come right for Nadine.

The question was, what did Nadine Gardner most desire : domestic
joy with a man, or the sophisticated and undeniably deep pleasure of
working in her London flat for popular journals? If she returned to
England she might conceivably have both, which was surely the best
anyone could wish for Nadine.

Lou dived from the side of the pool into lukewarm, brackish water
and swam a few strokes mechanically. What could she do for
Nadine? Nothing, seemingly, because she hadn't the ghost of a
notion what Nadine really wanted from life.

Nevertheless, Lou replied to Damon's letter that afternoon. She

wrote the fewest possible number of words, and calculated that they
would reach him on Tuesday. He would write back at once; she was
sure of it.
CHAPTER XI

THE following Thursday morning Lou was alone at the pool again.
Nadine had a heavy summer cold and was reading in the lounge, and
Babs had gone riding with friends.

Overnight there had been much thunder and lightning and a little
rain. According to Jim, Bulawayo had missed the best of the storm,
but the nearby farming districts had had their christening for which
everyone should be grateful.

Lou hadn't bathed. She lay on her robe looking up at the sky and
breathing in the musky yet pungent aroma released by the rain. She
was in the shadow of a m'sasa tree which towered above the
frangipani, but the air circulated by the breeze over her skin was hot
and unrefreshing. The atmosphere was as dry and dusty as
yesterday, though the sky had lost some of its metallic heat; it was
sapphire blue washed over with milk.

Between her vision and the heavens a head appeared. Her heart gave
an astounding leap, and she sat up with a fist pressed to her side.

"Did I scare you?" said Damon. "I thought you'd have heard me."

"Well, I didn't," she exclaimed sharply. "That was a beastly thing to

do !"

His smile hardened. "A trifle touchy, aren't you? I apologize."

She was already sorry for the outburst. "I imagined myself utterly
alone. You surprised me."

"Unpleasantly, it seems." He got down on to the grass and looked

her over, openly and appraisingly. "Have you a good colour or is
that a flush of annoyance? "
She was fumbling for the sleeves of the robe, but he made no
attempt to help her. Instead he slipped a cigarette case from his
pocket, and while she struggled, still sitting, into the shoulders of
the gown, he used his lighter.

He took the cigarette from his lips and offered it. For a hesitant
second she met his eyes, then she leaned her mouth forward,
accepted the cigarette and at the same moment felt the accidental
light brush of his fingertip upon her lips. For a moment, while he lit
up for himself, she smoked furiously, after which she leaned back
on her hands.

"Better?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "I was stupid to let nerves get the better of me."

"Have they been doing it much lately?"

"This is the first time." Quickly, to gloss any implications he might

gather, she added, "Have you seen Nadine?"

"No, but I heard her. She was gargling in the bathroom and called
out that you were down here. No one else appeared to be about.''

"Jim's working, of course, and Babs is out." Ash quivered down

from her cigarette into the grass and she watched the spreading of
the grey grains. "Are you in Bulawayo on business?"

"On your business," he said, and quoted, " 'Dear Damon, Before you
return to Malawi could you possibly arrange for Nadine to spend a
few days at Redlands?' That's what you wrote, isn't it?"

"Yes, but that wouldn't have brought you all this way."

"It did, my sweet. What's it all about?"

"Will you do it?" she countered.

"I believe I have a better idea - but tell me first what made you write
that."

"You'll probably think me a fool, but... well, I'm fonder of Nadine

than I am of anyone..."

"So?"

She ignored the satirical interjection. Intent upon the grass where the
ash lay scattered, she went on, "George is in love with her, but
whether he could keep her here and make her happy is something I
can't even guess at. I'm not asking you to do anything distasteful,
Damon only to throw them together and give whatever it is that
exists between them a chance to crystallize. They hadn't long
together when George called here last Saturday, and, anyway, it was
the first time they'd met since ... since ..."

"Since when?" he demanded mercilessly.

"You know when."

"Since Val smashed himself up. Why don't you show your pluck and
say it!"

Her voice quivered. "Because it isn't necessary. Don't bring me into

this. Nadine is the important one."

His eyes narrowed. "Very well. What makes you so sure that George
is in love with her?"

"I'm not certain, but I think he is. I suspected it a long time ago - I
even told Val - but I've never been able to make up my mind about
Nadine. I still can't. That's why I'd like you to arrange somehow for
them to be together at Red- lands. You might collect a house party
I expect you do give some sort of farewell binge.''

He regarded her mockingly for several seconds. Then his hand

roved his chin speculatively. "Seeing that the house party is your
idea, who else would you suggest as guests? Your own partner, for
instance."

The flush had faded completely. She was pale now, her eyelids
lowered. "I've told you I'm not in this. I'll stay here with Babs."

"I see," he said crisply. "Selfless devotion at someone else's

expense. You have some queer notions about me, haven't you? I can
be appealed to on anyone's behalf, you can dictate how I'm to spend
my last days in Rhodesia, and for yourself you'll rely on the fact that
I'm a man who pities you for the bad hours you had one night. It's
about time you realized that I don't pity you at all. To be candid, I no
longer feel an imperative urge to do much for you, either."

She cast him a hurried glance of hurt and unbelief. His jaw was
angular, his mouth thin. She had the prickly sensation of let-down
and loss.

"Then why did you come?" she queried, low-voiced.

"You're only a couple of hours from Mlemba and I had nothing else
to do today," he returned curtly.

"But you said you had a better idea than mine as if you'd been
thinking over my letter."

"Oh, hell!" he said in anger and exasperation, and lay back flat in
the grass.

Lou looked away over the pool. Down the centre the rectangle of
water was all blue sky, and on each side billowed the foreshortened
trees. Leaves and petals floated, and a bird which knew the pool
dipped low, incorrigibly curious about that other bird which, at this
particular spot, always winged along underneath him.

Damon lying here beside her made her uneasy and afraid.

There was no real reason for him to come here; he could have
answered her by post or even have communicated direct with
Nadine. She had been so startled by his appearing with such
suddenness that she could not have said now whether she had been
pleased or sorry to see him. She only knew that life without Damon
was untroubled, and his nearness suffocating and ominous. He made
her uncertain and wary, made her aware that she was capable of
rousing in him an emotion akin to hate.

Damon far away at Redlands was the kind of friend of whom one
could demand almost anything. That was the mistake she had made.
-'

"Have you been having high times?" he asked abruptly.

"You know Babs," she replied evenly.

"Broken any hearts?"

"They grow them tough in Rhodesia."

Without turning, she knew he was impatiently jabbing his cigarette

into the earth. His brows would be drawn into a straight line, his
mouth dented hard at the corners.

"Harking back to the object of my being here," he said, "the better

idea happened to come to me before I had your letter. Care to hear
about it? "

"Yes, please," she answered meekly.

"Let me put a question first. Do you still like Africa?"

"It's a strange and wonderful country. In spite of everything, I'll

always be glad I came."

"You haven't left us yet," he told her, an ironical twist to the smile
that she could hear, but not see. "How would you like to make a tour
on your way to the coast?"

"A tour?" Her head turned. "What has this to do with..."

"I'm coming to that." He shifted to his side and leant on an elbow.

"This is my plan - and remember that it wasn't inspired by your
letter. We could leave - the four of us - next Monday or Tuesday,
and travel first to the Victoria Falls. Nadine used to say she'd hate to
go home without seeing them, and I'm sure you'd enjoy the trip -
everyone does. From there we'd drive across Rhodesia to Malawi."

"Malawi!"

His tone was aloof and sarcastic. "Didn't you think the place really
existed except on the map?"

"Don't jump on me, Damon I It's simply that I've never for a
moment thought I'd go there. You mean that George will go, too?"

"All the way. He keeps an eye on the Neales' place while they take a
holiday, and they'll do the same at Redlands for a week or so."

"But will he agree?"

"I can persuade him. If he does care for Nadine he won't need much
persuasion. We'll take about four days over the trip and it'll be pot
luck at night - a hotel if we can reach one, a bed under the stars if
we can't. There's not much risk of rain yet - not heavy rain,
anyway."
She gazed down at him, perplexed and unwillingly excited. "You're
going back to your job, but what will we others do in Malawi? "

He reached out to the hand which was spread flat on the grass to
support her weight, and deliberately crossed the middle finger over
the forefinger. "Leave it like that. If by then George and Nadine are
still willing to part, he and I will put you on the train at Blantyre for
Beira, or he can take you through by road; it's only about three hours
to the coast."

Lou, still staring at him, saw the stony mockery in his face and was
instantly conscious of the old antagonism bristling between them. In
a dry little voice she asked, "What made you think that this was a
good plan - before receiving my letter?"

"I've had enough inaction," he responded carelessly, "and I didn't

fancy the long journey alone. Does it appeal to you?"

"I don't mind - if George will be there."

"Good old George," he commented laconically. "Pity it isn't you he

wants to marry, isn't it? He'd make you a wonderfully comfortable
husband."

She let a long moment pass by before enquiring, in those same dry
tones, "If you dislike me so much, why do you do things for me?"

"I like to turn wrongs into rights. I've been trained that way. And I
don't really dislike you, Louise. If I did, I wouldn't contemplate
going to the trouble of showing you a

few sights to remember in the long years to come." Lightly, almost

on a teasing note, he added, "You're coming round nicely, my pet.
Last time I saw you you didn't care whether I liked you or not. You
didn't even feel it when I kissed you. I wonder ..." She pulled the
robe collar tight about her throat and drew away hastily, and he gave
an edged laugh. "Don't agitate yourself. I'm not in experimental
mood. This morning I'd rather beat you than kiss you." He got up
and held out a hand. "Come with me to find Nadine."

She used the hand but at once let it go. "I haven't had my swim yet."

"I've some trunks in the car. If you'll wait a bit I'll swim with you."

She shook her head. "Go in and speak to Nadine before Babs comes
back. I'll have a dip and join you."

He shrugged coolly and turned away. "So be it. Don't drown

yourself."

By the time Lou had had her bathe and changed into a dress, Babs
was home and reclining, in disreputable breeches, upon a divan in
the lounge. Perhaps the secret of her vitality was the faculty of
relaxation between bursts of energy. Apparently she had walked in
on the discussion between Damon and Nadine and they had drawn
her into it, for as Lou entered the room, Babs was saying,

"You must agree to it, Nadine. From here it's a long way to the
coast, whichever direction you choose, and you've already done the
trip up from Durban. Damon's suggestion will take you into northern
Rhodesia which is quite different from Southern - then into
Malawi and eventually through Mozambique to Beira. You can't
pass up a chance of seeing Central Africa."

Nadine was not enthusiastic. "A long-drawn farewell," she said.

"We don't want it - do we, Lou?"

"Lou's already agreed," Damon put in. "Neither of us imagined for a

second that you wouldn't." He grinned, watchfully. "Scared of being
a defenceless woman at the mercy of two big men? "
"Defenceless, nothing," she replied hardily. "If Lou is willing, I
suppose I'd better be, too. But I warn you I'm not cut out for the
road. The distances in this country are too great, and by the time we
say goodbye we'll all detest each other."

"Let's take a chance," he said. "You'll feel differently when you've

thrown off that cold."

He had a meal with them but left directly afterwards. His car had to
be greased and overhauled in readiness for the long journey, and he
had to buy some kit and canned rations. He got into the tourer and
bade them a casual goodbye.

"You can expect us to breakfast at seven on Tuesday, Babs - we'll

leave Mlemba around five. And you other two had better be
absolutely ready. Bring some aspirin and travel sickness tablets, and
pack your toilet things and pyjamas in a separate bag. We shan't be
able to unload every night."

He stepped on the accelerator, and Nadine, after following his

departure with a glance, shook her head at Lou with rueful
scepticism.

"Heaven alone knows what we've let ourselves in for. If there's

anything I loathe it's the precarious, camping type of existence, and
there are times when men can be a horrible embarrassment.''

"Not those two they're both considerate."

Lou didn't say what she was thinking - that she was beginning to
look forward to reaching the coast and boarding a ship for England.

There was plenty to do during the next four days. Even though they
had had little to spend while at Mlemba, quite a few articles had
accumulated with which they were reluctant to part. And the bed
linen and napery were as bulky as several frocks and sweaters. The
three blankets were sent to a mission; they were too thin for England
and of a cheap grade besides. Uncle Simon's books, for which
Nadine had contracted an inexplicable antipathy, were to be given to
the local library.

"I expect the old chap would be scandalized at what I've done with
his legacy," Nadine remarked broodingly. "At Four Winds I was
supposed to discover my latest genius, instead of which I lost
whatever talent I had. It just wasn't my environment."

"It might have been, in other circumstances," argued Lou. "It's odd
how one can live isolated from the crowd and not find peace. Your
uncle must have had peace within him. You should have come to
Rhodesia alone, Nadine."

She smiled sadly. "I'd have starved to death."

"There's always tinned beans, and you might have done some good
work. If you hadn't had Daphne as a model you'd have had to look
for someone else, and that alone would have lifted you out of the
groove.''

Nadine looked at her curiously. "Do you realize that you've put your
finger dead on the spot, Lou? I was in a groove, in more ways than
one. In my work I found that I could sell Daphne in furs and Daphne
in summer silks with a tweedy swain, and because I aspired to
nothing better than a cosy modern flat and a few friends I was
comparatively happy. At Four Winds there were so many
conflicting happenings that I had the deuce of a job even to finish
the commissions, and when I'd seen the last of them I hadn't the urge
to do more. What I shall do when I go home, I don't know. I
certainly shan't sketch any more Daphnes."

"You have your money, so you can look around."

After this talk, Lou felt slightly sick and dispirited. That Nadine
intended going home to England was definite; and what she had said
about a long-drawn farewell was the simple truth. The tour of the
Falls and northern Rhodesia would be cruel to three of them; yes,
three of them, because something inside her 'shrank from the
enforced intimacy with Damon, and if she were going to suffer it for
nothing...

Quite violently, she found she had no wish to see Damon again; it
was the old, recurring wish, but much stronger. Just by being near
he shook her up, compelled her to think back and back to the time
long ago when she had fancied he had everything she could ever
love in a man.

Futile reflections kept her awake at night, and when she did drift
into a restless sleep she dreamed, starkly, of tearing along in a car on
a dark rutted road, and smashing with terrible force into a tree.

During the day, while she washed or ironed or packed and fastened
a trunk, she was able objectively to analyse Nadine and Daphne; not
their emotions, of which she could know little, but their reactions to
the succession of small incidents at Four Winds. Nadine was just
and tolerant; one couldn't visualize her behaving out of character.
Even when she drooped she was still Nadine.

Daphne didn't deviate from her own set of rules, either. She was
superficial and joy-seeking, she couldn't get along without a man in
tow and she measured almost everything in terms of the pound
sterling. But in her, too, there was a streak of justice and loyalty -
towards women, at any rate. It had taken Daphne's bluntness, the
inflexible quality in her which was opposed to any woman being the
tool of a man, to show Val his own worth.
Lou thought queerly that Daphne had sent Val to his death. Handle
gently, as Lou would have done it, he would probably still be here,
pleading for his own vapid life. Poor Val.

Daphne hadn't been upset about Val's end; her remorse had been
solely for what she had done to Lou, and she was over that now. In a
letter to Nadine from Cape Town on the eve of sailing, she had
written: "I cabled Tony and got a reply. He'll meet me with the gang
at Southampton. By the time you turn up in England I may be Mrs.
Cottrell."

Lou would have liked to know whether Nadine had told Damon that
last bit. Whatever Babs might say to the contrary, Damon was
heartwhole; Lou was sure of it. But he must have weakened a little
towards Daphne. Had she got the kisses she had set out to capture?
They knew the game so well, she and Damon.

Fretting over unalterable things much more than she realized, Lou
lost most of the appetite she had regained, and the last vestige of
natural pink in her cheeks. The tan made her sallow, sleeplessness
darkened her eyes, and the effort to be jolly with the Dennises'
friends caused her a perpetual headache.

Their last night at Bain's Green was made the excuse for a midnight
party in the garden and down at the pool.

Jim had demurred. "Not a midnight party, Babs. The poor girls have
to be up at six in the morning."

But Babs had rejoined airily, "Gosh, what does it matter? They can
snooze in the car all the morning on the way north."

So a midnight party it was. Hurricane lanterns lit the path down the
garden to the pool and the gramophone was set going in the veranda.
Food trolleys seemed to be everywhere, and the racy crowd moved
back and forth, their talk and laughter loud and not particularly
attractive.

Lou's gratitude for her stay with Jim and Babs Dennis was
unbounded, but that night, willing herself to be bright in spite of a
throbbing head, she felt she had had about as much as she could
endure of Bain's Green.

Though it had not rained again, clouds were re-grouping and the air
had become humid. Everyone perspired and groused amiably about
it. Dancing brought out the sweat in a film over the whole body and
the breeze had the sticky feel of a moving blanket of wet mist.
Gone, it seemed, were the clear sparkling nights, the dry zephyr
which rattled the palms and whispered through the tall grasses.

When at last the guests had departed, Lou lay limply in her bed,
hoping for sleep. When she did lose consciousness the pink dawn
was rising, and in no time at all she was awakened by the boy with
morning coffee.

"Six o'clock, mussus," be said thickly, expressionlessly. "Bath

ready."

She swallowed some of the coffee and swayed from her bed to the
window. Over the garden the litter of last night's festivity lay strewn.
Ice cream dishes, chocolate wrappings, cups and glasses, a pile of
sandwich plates, drinking straws. In the pearly light, the scene
looked tawdry, a desecration, but already two of the boys were
clearing up, draining half- empty glasses and pouncing upon a
dropped candy or sweet biscuit.

Lou had her bath and put on black linen slacks and a thin white
blouse. She got a boy to marshal the trunks and suitcases on the
front porch and then she went into the dining room to find Nadine,
looking slightly more cheerful than of late, drinking orange juice
and ordering a poached egg on dry toast.

"Got a hangover?" asked Nadine.

"A horror. Haven't you? "

"Not too bad. I didn't exert myself last night and I took a sleeping
pill. I'm not sorry to be putting this part of Africa behind me."

Lou slackly sipped her juice. "Wouldn't it be a relief," she said, "if
we were going to hop a plane and find ourselves in England in a
couple of days?"

"If that's how you feel you needn't have agreed to chase across
Africa with those two men. There's one thing about this venture - it's
the end. So cheer up, darling, you're leaving the worst behind."

The boy brought Nadine's egg and he also placed one in front of
Lou. She eyed it with distaste and pushed it aside. A car door
slammed and she braced herself.

Damon came straight in, lithe and tall and tanned, his cool smile
resting on them both. He was in a white shirt and khaki shorts, and
his thick dark hair was ruffled with the breeze with which speed had
filled the car.

"Good morning, ladies! May I join you?"

"Sit there," said Nadine, indicating the seat to the right of the table.
"Where's your companion?"

"He'll be here soon. We stopped at a garage to get a fill- up and I got

away first."

Lou looked at him. "Have you ... did you come in two cars?"
"Did you think that all of us - and the luggage - were going to
squash into one? The only vacant spot in my car is the seat beside
me; the rest is taken up by my gear I'm moving house, remember,
and going back to work. In any case, George will need a car to get
him back to Mlemba."

"It seems an awful lot of trouble - for George, I mean."

He leaned forward, his eyes sharp and calculating.

"What's the matter with you - cold feet? You look terrible this
morning as if someone had ironed you out. And your eyes are
like holes poked into a sheet."

"When I can't get along without your opinion I'll ask for it!"

"It strikes me that you are asking for it." He tipped the edge of the
plate on which her egg was congealing. "Is this yours? Well, see that
you eat it. We're going three hundred miles and if you start out
empty, by lunch time you'll feel like death."

Nadine intervened, "Leave her alone, Damon. We had a party last

night and she didn't sleep."

Lou was saved whatever Damon was about to retort by the arrival of
George. He stood in the doorway, smiling in a rugged, guarded way.
Even in her present depleted condition, Lou swiftly watched for
Nadine's reaction, and was baffled.

George said, "Good morning, Nadine. Good morning, Lou," and

seated himself in the only vacant chair at the table.

Nadine inclined a cool, poised head. "Do you men want orange juice
or only coffee? Ah, here's the boy with your bacon and eggs."
Now that the sun was well up it was really an exquisite morning.
The warm wash of sunshine beyond the open french window was
caught up in the yellow of the small bowl of flowers on the table
and again in the dish of bananas and oranges. There was a glint of
gold, too, where a thin shaft piercing the room picked out the lights
in Lou's hair.

The men ate with infuriating heartiness and each drank two cups of
coffee. Just as they had finished Babs appeared, unashamedly
straight from her bed; her feet were bare, her wrap dragged on
anyhow and tightly girdled. Jim was up and dressed and ready for
his breakfast.

George got a boy to help him stow the luggage into his car, and
Damon said he would get away now. He shook hands with Jim,
benignly patted Babs' sleepy head and looked round for his
passenger.

"I'll go with you on the first lap," Nadine mentioned calmly. "Lou
knows more about our luggage than I do and she'll see that nothing
is left behind."

"Suits me," said Damon. "See you later, George. We'll stop at
exactly twelve for some lunch."

George nodded. "Right, we'll catch you up then."

Lou saw the tourer set off. She felt sharp longing that was pain, and
turned back to make a final unnecessary survey of her own room
and Nadine's. George's slow and purposeful stacking of the bags
rasped her. When she said that surely everything was ready now, he
smiled at her fraternally.

"These aren't English roads, you know. Beyond the Zambesi there
are some bad patches. The cases have to be wedged so that they'll
stay put if we hit a pothole at speed. I think we're about set now,
though."

She said her good-byes and thanks, and promised to write to Babs.
George said he would drop in some time for a long weekend, and
the car slid down that straight drive with the rough stone pillars on
each side, and out on to the road. Lou drew a long, unhappy sigh.
Good-bye, Bulawayo.
CHAPTER XII

THE road from Bulawayo to the Falls is for the most part extremely
good. Its chief fault lies in the monotony of savanna and bush on
either side and the few signs of civilization. For more than two
hundred miles there are no breathtaking vistas, no gurgling rivers or
craggy peaks; it is seldom, even, that a native hut relieves the barely
undulating countryside.

Lou did see notices bidding the traveller beware of elephants. She
also saw flattened young trees which probably meant that the king
of the forest had passed that way, but the only beast to enliven the
journey was a meerkat which crossed the road almost under the
wheels of the car.

Occasionally they passed another car or met an oncoming one.

There would be an isolated filling station with a native store
alongside, a solitary little tea room in the wilderness, and then
eighty or more miles to the next oasis. At one place where they
stopped for petrol a black boy was seated at an ancient treadle
sewing machine in the stoep of the store. Beside him sat another boy
wearing only a shirt; his trousers were being patched for a small fee
by the village machinist.

At Halfway House they stopped at the tiny hotel for a drink. George
ordered lager, and Lou was astonished and grateful as the mildly
bitter liquid, ice-cold, slipped past her burning throat.

It was nearly half-past twelve before they spied Damon's car pulled
up in the shade of the only group of gums in many miles. Lou got
out and stretched her cramped legs. She stood watching Damon peel
an apple and quarter it.

"Want a piece?" He put it into her hand. "We've eaten, but the big
flask leaked. Can you spare us a cup of tea?"
George opened his picnic case and got down beside it. He filled the
cup Nadine held out and dropped into the tea a spoonful of sugar.
She thanked him, sipped and looked about her impersonally.

"Did you find it hot driving?" Damon asked companionably.

George's shoulders lifted. "So-so. It'll be hotter as we go north."

Damon put the flat of his hand to Lou's back. "You're wet through.
Didn't you have the sense to wear a woollen vest?"

"No, I didn't," she said crossly. "I don't own such a thing."

"You'll be able to buy a couple in Livingstone. Can't have you

breaking out in blisters."

Lou sat down and tugged the lid from a tin of sandwiches. She
would have liked to hurl the lot straight at Damon's head. Instead,
though, she took one and pushed the tin across to George.

The men discussed the technicalities of driving in the midday sun,

filled up the radiators from bottles they had brought with them and
tested the tyres with a gauge. Heat shimmered around both vehicles,
but neither of the men appeared to mind being near them in the
scorching sunshine. Nadine, smoking a cigarette at Lou's side,
remarked that while driving the time had passed more quickly than
she had expected.

"How did you get along with George?" she wanted to know.

"Not too badly. He explains everything."

"Do you think he's recovering from that business with Val?"

"I suppose he's still hurt inside. He didn't speak about it, and he
seems to be superficially contented."
"Damon says that Val's death was the kindest thing that could have
happened to George."

"Damon would say that. He has about as much heart as that big car
of his."

"Damon's all right," said Nadine generously. "You seem to think

he's immune from the normal problems, but he has his bad
moments, like most of us."

Lou regarded his tall figure sceptically. "What can he know about
ordinary people? He's never been really unhappy in his life. All he
cares about his Redlands and the territory of which he's district
commissioner. He wouldn't let you see it, but he's probably seething
with joy at the prospect of returning to the jungle."

"As a matter of fact," remarked Nadine, "he's very much on edge

for Damon, that is. I keep wondering whether Daphne did get under
his skin, after all."

From pain, Lou said, "I hope so - and I hope it will take him a long
time to get over it."

"How grimly vindictive." Nadine gave her a sideways glance. "It's

only about an hour and a half to the Falls. Would you like to
continue with George?"

"Yes, please. You can have the whole day with him tomorrow."

But Lou's heart sank as she said it. She knew, infallibly, that her
own plan - that Nadine should spend some days at Redlands - would
have been far safer and much less harrowing than this tour of
Central Africa with the two men. For long minutes she felt she could
not go on with it; it demanded too much - the effort of surface
agreeableness, the tension and anguish underneath.
Then the men came over. "Shall we start off again?" asked Damon.
"We won't lose each other this time, and if there's a particularly
good view we'll all stop."

An hour or so later they got their first glimpse of "the smoke that
thunders". It rose in a dense white cloud from a massive bed of
greenery, and then as the road sloped the scene was lost in the
lushness of tropical vegetation.

It was early afternoon when they passed the police office and the
vast hotels and ran alongside the Rain Forest. George halted his car
behind Damon's, and the moment the engine ceased its noise Lou
heard in all its deafening impressive- ness the gigantic roar of the
largest and most beautiful falls in the world.

The vapour was unbelievable in its extent and density. It seemed to

stretch for miles behind and in front of them, and within seconds the
car windows were streaming. Damon and Nadine were outside,
enveloped in raincoats. George reached into the back of the car for
his own and Lou's waterproofs.

Lou said anxiously, "Nadine's had a cold. Do you think this kind of
wetness is harmful?"

"It could be. If we go on out of the Rain Forest we can see plenty
without getting wet."

He slipped from behind the wheel, pulling on his coat, and Lou got
out on the other side into a wonderfully cool, enveloping spray.

Damon was saying, "The best views are from the other side of the
Rain Forest. We'll have to walk over to the edge of the gorge. It's
soggy, but-worth it."

"Ought Nadine to go if she's had a cold?" put in George.

Damon appraised her critically. "Maybe not. I'll take Lou, and we'll
meet you at the Livingstone statue."

The Victoria Falls, Lou at once admitted, are one of those sights
which have to be seen to be believed. Standing close to the edge of
the Rain Forest with Damon, she gazed upon the stupendous
magnificence of vista after vista of cascading white waters and
wondered how Livingstone had felt when he had first witnessed that
spilling of the great Zambesi into those incredibly deep fissures. It
was the same today as it had been a thousand years ago - a thousand
years!

Dozens of green islands swept by turbulent waters, a mile or more

of incredible chasms, millions of tons of water pouring over those
rocky ledges every minute.

Damon emitted a masterpiece of understatement. "Not bad, is it?"

For some reason her throat was as raw as if she had swallowed rock
salt. "Oh, Damon," was all she said with a shaky laugh, and he
laughed back and tucked her closer to his side.

They walked along the rim of the gorge, rain pelting on them from
the trees and palms, and presently they came out into dazzling
sunshine, Damon's arm dropped from her shoulder and the magic
diminished.

There were other falls to visit and baboons to feed; the four of them
had tea at the Boat-House, and took a long walk among the date and
Mulala palms.

"The Mulalas grow a nut which is used as vegetable ivory," Damon

said. "They make the mementoes you buy at the curio shops from it.
Do you girls want any native oddments?"
"Need we buy them today? Are we going straight on in the
morning?" queried Nadine.

"Not necessarily. If you like we can take the launch up to Kandahar

Island. I think we'll book a couple of rest huts for tonight. If we stay
at the hotel it will mean getting out suits and your frocks, and I'm
sure you're too weary to go to that trouble. Agreed? "

The rest huts had it. Damon chose two square white ones with
thatched roofs and a thick tropical acacia between them. He bribed a
boy to bring a tin tub and can of hot water to each hut, and when
darkness had fallen the same boy built a fire outside and cooked half
a dozen steaks and a panful of roughly-chopped potatoes which
tasted extraordinarily good.

That night, among the trees and with the inescapable roar of the
Falls about them, was one of the loveliest and bitterest Lou had ever
known. After the day of travelling and walking, of heat and
strangeness, the two women were too tired to do more than lounge,
wordless, in' canvas chairs, while the men talked desultorily of their
plans for the next couple of days.

And Lou thought, "This will never happen to me again, this night
full of peace, in Africa, with Damon."

At ten o'clock he looked at his watch. "Bedtime, children," he said.

"Be sure to put out the lamp and draw the mosquito nets before you
sleep."

The two women went into their one-roomed hut with its twin beds
and the strip of coco-matting on the floor. And as they lay in the
darkness they heard the men exchange a little more conversation
before moving off to their own sleeping quarters. Then came only
the ceaseless falling of tremendous waters.
Lou slept well that night, and when she awakened, around six-thirty,
it seemed that the roar of the Falls had changed to a queer kind of
music. She gazed through the single, wire-screened window and saw
the bright little birds which trilled in the acacia, weavers
constructing their upside- down nests and holding shrill converse
while they did so.

She washed in lukewarm water, put on the black slacks and a fresh,
pale green blouse and combed her hair. Nadine was stretching and
dragging back her mosquito net.

"Hello, Lou. D'you suppose we get early coffee?"

"I'll go and see. I believe it's marvellous outside."

Lou turned the key and stepped out into the morning sun. Boys were
stirring, going round with cans of hot water and lighting the fires.
Lou stood back and looked up at those ingenious nests of woven
grass in the heavily green acacia.

"Did they waken you?" asked Damon at her back.

She turned swiftly, and because it was morning and this was
Damon, clean-shaven and tolerantly smiling, she was all youth and
eagerness.

"Aren't the birds pretty !" she exclaimed.

"Not only the birds," he said. "No need to ask if you slept well."

She looked at him properly then, saw that though the smile was
amused there was no amusement in his eyes.

"Damon..."

"Yes?"
"Will you . . can't we ..." Hot colour came into her cheeks and she
stopped.

"I expect I will, and I daresay we can," he said very steadily. "What
is it?"

Lou wasn't sure what she had been going to say. She was only aware
that this was a heavenly morning and that she wanted terribly not to
be enemies with Damon for the last two or three days she would
spend in Africa.

But George came out of the next hut and wished her good morning,
and Damon got down on his haunches by the brick fireplace and
made the flames leap. So there was nothing for it but to get on with
unfolding the table and preparing it for breakfast.

George made the coffee and Lou poured it and took a cup to Nadine.
The boy brought slices of fish which were set to sizzle, and Damon
got some fruit from the car.

This morning, Nadine's shirt was scarlet and her hair, because it had
not had its usual overnight attention, waved more softly back from
her brow. She looked languid but rather sweet, Lou thought, and she
was not surprised when Nadine voted for a quiet morning here in the
shade.

"I had enough tramping round waterfalls yesterday," she said. "You
three take the launch trip and leave me here. I'll read a bit, and
wander over to the curio vendors. What time are we starting away?"

"Not later than one-thirty," Damon said. "We'll sleep at Lusaka

tonight."

"I'll get the boy to fix a lunch at twelve-fifteen. Will you be back by
then?"
"Easily, but I think one of us ought to stay with you."

George took his pipe from his pocket, looked into the bowl and
decided to have a cigarette. "I'm staying," he observed. "The vent-
window of the car stuck yesterday and I want to see what's wrong
with it."

Disappointed, Lou said, "And you've done the islands, Damon.

You're not really keen to go."

"I believe I am, though," he answered. "Last time I went up the

Zambesi it was in a canoe with native paddlers. I'll see it again, with
the delighted surprise of a little girl. Let's get moving, Baby Lou."

"I won't go at all, if you call me that!"

"Oh, yes, you will. You know very well you feel far safer when I
treat you as a child."

George gave a brief laugh, and Nadine smiled. "Give in to him, Lou.
This time next week we'll have parted from these overlords for
ever."

There was a short silence. Then Damon went into the hut for his
binoculars and strode over to where the cars were parked under the
trees. He saw Lou seated beside him, started up and backed out on
to the rough path.

There was nothing for Nadine to do. The boy washed the breakfast
things and stripped the beds, he swept out the huts and gratefully
accepted the remains of a cake they had bought at the tea house,
then plodded away to do other duties. At this riffle of the year the
visitors to the Falls were few. It was grillingly hot and the rains
were imminent. Nadine could imagine how unpleasant it would be
here among the tropical trees in torrential rain.
She sat with her hands crossed behind her head on the wooden bar
of the canvas chair, and watched George unscrewing the knob which
worked the vent window near the driving wheel of his car. His
fingers were big, but not clumsy, and he was very careful to place
the washers, or whatever they were, where he would quickly find
them again. He extracted a duster from the glove box, pushed a
pencil into a wad of it and cleaned out the groove into which the
window fitted. A small oil can came into use, the window was
pushed in and out a few times and the screws and washers put back
where they belonged.

He came over, rubbing the grease from his hands with the duster,
and smiled down at Nadine. "You look beautifully relaxed. Would
you like a cool drink?"

"Would I! Where's the ice coming from?"

"Leave it to me. Give me a minute to scrub my hands and I'll get it

for you."

She waited, with her eyes closed. She remembered hearing that
people who lived in a hot country always have to go back, and
sitting there, with the trees soughing in the hot breeze and the noise
of the Falls narcotic in its insistence, Nadine could believe it. It was
hard to leave this part of Africa, impossible to do so cheerfully.

George was only gone a short while, and he returned carrying on a

tin tray the ingredients of several refreshing drinks.

"Don't move," he bade her. "I'll fix them."

He placed the tray on one stool and pulled near another, to sit on.

"The sun's on your head," said Nadine.

"I'm accustomed to it. It doesn't bother me."

"It bothers me to see it. Come this way a foot and you'll be in the
shade."

He complied, and gave her a glass. Her hand shrank deliciously

from its coldness and she drank thirstily.

"Will it be hot up the river?" she asked.

"Fairly. They don't go fast. It won't be unbearable, though, and

Damon will see that Lou doesn't overdo it. He may be too masterful
in his methods, but he gets results."

She hesitated, and enquired bluntly, "What's wrong with Damon?"

"Wrong?" George looked at the slender arcs of her black eyebrows

drawn into a frown. "Nothing at all, as far as I know. There's always
a vaguely unsettling feeling at the end of a long leave, and possibly
it makes him irritable sometimes. I used to get fed up with the last
couple of weeks of freedom myself."

"No, it's something else." She stirred thoughtfully with a straw at the
remnants of ice in her glass. "When we drove up from Bulawayo
yesterday he hardly talked at all. He drove like a demon and seemed
to be all wires."

"That doesn't mean a thing," George reassured her. "He just doesn't
happen to be the prosaic type. I can moon along at fifty and enjoy it,
but Damon always has to get anywhere as fast as possible."

"Haven't you seen any difference in him lately?"

"Yes, I have." He paused and added slowly, "I'm afraid Val ruined
his leave - as he wrecked your stay at Four Winds."

"It can't be undone," she said quickly. "Forget it."

George was sitting lower than she, and half facing her, but he turned
slightly away from her as he answered, "Some things have to be
said, Nadine. I may be a pretty dull chap compared with those you
knew in London, but I'm not by any means insensitive. Something
did start growing between us before I offered to buy Four Winds for
Val, and as far as I'm concerned, it's still there."

Her voice when she replied was so low that only anyone who was
close and unwilling to hear anything else could have distinguished
the words. "It doesn't do any good to live it all over again. You
gladly let everything go so that Val should have what he wanted.
You so impoverished yourself that you had nothing to ... offer
anyone. I can't see that Val's death makes any fundamental
difference."

"That's the way I thought when I saw you in Bulawayo on my way

back from the month's leave. During that month I believe I sank as
low in my own esteem as any man can sink."

"Please, George! I'd rather not hear it."

He said doggedly, "You're going to hear it. You can't put yourself in
my place because you've never had a younger brother or sister
depending on you for cash and courage, but you're big-hearted
enough to try. The one thing I couldn't give Val was character - that
was where I slipped up in thinking that a wife and a farm of his
own would develop one. He'd relied on me since boyhood, and his
mother thought him perfect. He'd have gone to pieces after she died
if I hadn't brought him out here. And then, once I'd made him cut
himself adrift from the life he knew, I had no option but to go on
with it."

"You should have forced him to stand alone."

Meeting her eyes he asked, "Would you have forced Lou to stand
alone after the smash?"

"It isn't the same."

"Quite. It isn't the same, because Lou has strength and spirit, and
none of it was her fault; she'd nothing to reproach herself with.
Through negligent driving, Val killed his mother, and he was loaded
down with self-blame."

Nadine quelled a pitying sigh. "I do realize you were in a spot and
Val had to come first. But you'd have found another way if... well, if
you'd valued your friends."

"You were anything but encouraging, and I hadn't known anyone

like you before." He leaned forward, his hand on the narrow wooden
arm of her chair. "We seldom met without your mentioning that you
couldn't settle in Rhodesia. There was also the ingrained antipathy,
through that fellow you knew before, to marriage." He broke off,
took the glass from her and held her hand, cold in the palm and hot
at the back, in both of his. "Yes, marriage, Nadine. We'll have to
face it. Not yet, perhaps, but we can't leave it long."

"Oh, shut up," she said vexedly, and dragged away her hand. "I've
had enough for one morning. I'm going to the shop."

He gave his brief laugh, but the tone of it was lighter. "All right. I'll
go with you."

They bought a few oddments: a carved crocodile, ivory cocktail

sticks, a tiny string of elephants, and a mvule wood tobacco bowl
for George. And because it would be a pity to leave this mysterious
heart of Africa without one last reflection upon its stupendous
beauty, they strolled round to get a good view of the Eastern
Cataract in golden sunshine, with all those other teeming ledges in
the background.
Back at the rest huts they found the boy preparing an unappetizing
mess of tinned corn and sausages.

"Heavens," said Nadine. "I'm not that hungry. Are you?"

"The lad's doing his best, but I think we'd better go over to the hotel
for lunch."

"It's a quarter to one. Lou and Damon are late."

"It won't be a catastrophe if we don't get as far as Lusaka tonight."

"Is there any reason why they should be as late as this?"

"Maybe they're walking round for a last feast, as we did. Ah, you
can stop worrying. Here they are."

The tourer slid into its former position, Damon got out and so did
Lou. As they came across the grass, Nadine's smiling rebuke was
checked before she could utter it.

Damon's expression was set, his mouth thin. Lou was untidy, and a
rent showed at the shoulder of the green blouse. Her cheeks were
scarlet and the grey eyes were bright with an acute unhappiness.

Whether George noticed anything Nadine could not tell. Apparently

having forgotten his suggestion that they eat at the hotel, he spoke in
his ordinary, comradely way. "Don't look at this stuff in the pan. I'll
go over and get some new rolls and tomatoes, and open a tin of
cheese. It'll be ready by the time you two have cleaned up."

Nadine, who loathed tinkering with a fire of any sort, found herself
abetting him. "I'll make some tea. Go. on, Lou freshen up. You
can tell us your adventures later."
As she put the kettle to boil Nadine sighed. Men, she thought
witheringly. George, trying to make her stay in Africa. Damon, hurt
over Daphne and taking it out on Lou. Bless you, Uncle Simon; you
ought to be made to clear up this hash!

Lou was much paler and entirely composed when she reappeared.
She had changed the shirt, brushed her hair and carefully made up
her face. To Nadine's enquiries, while they were all at the table,
Damon returned a terse explanation.

"The jaunt up to Kandahar went according to schedule. As we were

walking back to the car we were besieged by monkeys. It was
towards the North Bank but near the vapour, and close to a sharp
slope into one of the gorges. A monkey jumped on Lou and she
stepped back. I grabbed her. That's all."

Nadine took a shrewd guess at what the bald details covered. Lou
laughing at the friendly monkeys, as everyone did. Damon
impatiently telling her to come away from the things; it was getting
late. The importunate little animal springing so swiftly to her
shoulder that instinctively and without thought she backed, to be
gripped and yanked forward with considerable force, and cursed in
the way Damon doubtless could curse when he was furious. The
outing completely spoiled.

"Thank the stars it was nothing more serious," she stated in her most
casual manner. "There seem to be numerous danger spots, and when
you didn't turn up I began to be anxious. I'm glad I didn't stay here
alone. I'd have been frantic."

She raised her head and caught George's glance, which told her,
half-humorously, that he also was glad she hadn't stayed here alone.
And though she let him see that she understood what he conveyed,
she thought again, crossly, "These men I"
They finished off lunch with slices of papaw sprinkled with lemon
juice and sugar, after which their goods were packed back into the
cars, the hut keys were surrendered and the four of them took their
places for the journey.

There seemed to be no question about who should accompany

whom. Lou slipped in beside George; Nadine, in Damon's car,
waved as they went off first.

George said, "Well, there goes the comet. We shan't see them again
before Lusaka."

Lou only nodded, but she could have uttered a shaky but heartfelt,
"Thank heaven!"
CHAPTER XIII

THE following day was one of endless, wearisome travelling.

Having spent a sleepless night, Lou tried, in her corner seat made
comfortable with Dunlop cushions, to lose herself in
unconsciousness. But the road, now they had left Lusaka far to the
south-west, was primitive in patches, and even the excellent springs
of the car could not mitigate all the bumps.

She was with Damon. In the translucent dawn as they were

preparing to leave the hotel, he had been alone with her for a
moment.

"I was led to believe," he said, hawk-eyed and sardonic, "that this
journey across Africa had the sole object of bringing Brother
George into close daily contact with the woman of his heart. So far
you've done your best to keep them apart, but today, I think, must be
theirs. You'll have to travel with me, child, but you needn't talk." '

She hadn't replied, of course. How could one respond to frigid

sarcasm and keep one's dignity? When it was time to start she had
got in beside him; as usual his car had slid away first, and since
looking back to see George pull out from the kerb she .had had no
glimpse at all of the other car.

The speed Damon kept up was terrific, but for all that the road went
on unfolding in front of them, for the most part straight and deserted
with dense bush on either side and an occasional few miles of
savanna which allowed a view of distant mountains that were
strangely misted over their grape-coloured summits."

"I don't like that mist," Damon said once. "These roads are fiendish
in the rain."

For Lou's part, she hardly imagined that rain could make much
difference. It would certainly have its work cut out to worsen
Damon's mood. So she pretended to be asleep and made no
response.

Just before Nyimba he stopped, made her take a short brisk walk in
the shade of the msuku trees and drink some black coffee. She didn't
want black coffee, but after he had forced her to take it she admitted
his wisdom. She felt more alive and less sorry for herself. Drenched
in sweat and with the muzzy head engendered by the heat, it was too
easy to pity oneself.

When they were on their way again he gave her a slanting glance.
"Aren't you curious as to where we are?"

"Of course. I didn't think you cared to talk about it."

"In less than four hours we'll be crossing the Malawi border."

"I suppose to you that means you're nearly home."

"Not really. My district is four hundred miles from Blantyre. In any

case, my home is Redlands."

She allowed a few seconds to elapse before saying, "We're being

awfully polite, aren't we?"

He shrugged non-committally. "Isn't that the way you want it? After
all, here in the dark middle of Africa you're very much at my mercy,
and I'm not so easy to handle as George. You made me very angry
yesterday, and I don't think even you would be unwise enough to
repeat the performance so soon."

In a rather small voice she said, "You're still angry. It wasn't my

fault the horrid monkeys crowded round us."

"I'd told you before not to touch the babies. It's dangerous to play
with the young of any type of animal if the parents are around - you
know that. It's typical of you that you did it on the edge of a
waterfall!"

"Perhaps," she said, in the same remote little tones, "it's as well we
shall be parting in a day or two. I'm sure you'd never let me forget
it."

"Are we parting so soon?" he asked evenly. "I hadn't heard."

"Isn't George escorting us to the coast from Blantyre?"

"It was mentioned - but you haven't taken into consideration the
possibility that Nadine will stay on in Africa. If she does, you'll
probably remain with her."

She stared at him, fearfully. "I can't stay! I won't. I'll go home
alone."

"Really?" he said coolly. "I was under the impression you'd do

anything for Nadine."

Lou was suddenly sickened and trembling. Ever since leaving

Bulawayo she had fought away from the aching emptiness into
which she would be plunged once she had said good-bye to Damon.
Last night she had lain in a bath of sweat inside the mosquito net
and told herself that Damon could have this filthy climate. She
would be glad to get away from it, and from him. Glad, glad.

And then she had met him this morning in the hotel vestibule. He
had looked as if he hadn't rested too well himself, and her heart had
turned with the anxiety which is every woman's when the man she
loves appears unwontedly tired. But his enquiry about the sort of
night she'd had was no less mocking than she would normally have
expected, and her worry had gradually fallen away. Damon wasn't
tired; he was merely taciturn.
Now, though, she was frightened by the immensity and depth of her
own feelings, appalled by the hopelessness of them. And because
worry and fear had crowded upon her together, she swallowed on
the mound in her throat and turned to look through the window at
the eternal trees.

Damon did not pursue the subject. For a long while he drove in
silence, and presently he was able, without being trite, to comment
upon the weather. For they were running straight into a thin
mountain mizzle which reduced visibility to a few yards.

At a quarter to one he pulled in at the side of the road and leaned

over the back of the seat for the picnic case.

"We'll have a couple of sandwiches and go straight on," he said.

"We may get through this spot of wet before it rains heavily."

"What about the others?"

"George won't stop for long, either."

"Didn't you and he arrange to meet somewhere?"

"No. He'd naturally stop if he saw this car parked along the road.
That's all that's necessary." He put an egg sandwich into her hand.
"Come on, now. I know you feel like hell, but eat it."

"How do you know I... feel like hell?"

"Because you look it," he said curtly, "and I feel like hell myself."

She found some courage, or perhaps it was because everything

outside herself and Damon mattered so little now they were nearing
the end, that she was able to say, "What is it about me that
exasperates you, Damon - apart from the foolish habit of playing
with baby animals, I mean?"
"Do you want the truth?" he asked, his ghost of a smile very grim.

"Yes."

"Well, in the first place I dislike your youthfulness - the girlishness

which made you want to rescue Val Marston and run the
schoolchildren backwards and forwards in the jeep. Also, you're
physically brave but a moral coward where men are concerned.
Thirdly, you've set me the only insoluble problem I've ever
encountered in my life. And don't ask me to elucidate; it would take
too long." He put his head out of the window. "I think we'll push on,
and you'll have to eat as we go."

Presently they ran out of the rain, but the sky, which had been
benignly blue before they had run into the mist, was now darkly
overcast, the clouds queerly outlined in bright copper. The trees
were etched blackly against it, and the blue roller birds which
hurried into the branches were raven- dark, their low cries ominous.

The tourer was the only car to go through the customs at Fort
Manning, and Damon's papers ensured him polite and brief
attention. The smart African official handed back Lou's passport and
bowed low to Damon.

"The bwana will please come into the office. We have a letter
received by runner this morning from Mr. Thorpe."

Damon frowned. "Here? I was expecting one in Blantyre, but hardly

thought they'd send it to the border."

He went into the building and came out slitting an envelope. He

stood outside the car, reading the letter, and Lou saw the envelope
was marked "Urgent and Confidential". Quite clearly, though it
came softly, she heard him say, "Damn !" and follow up with
something rather stronger.
He 'stuffed the letter into his pocket, got in behind the wheel and let
in the clutch. Lou saw his lip go between his teeth, and wondered
despairingly, "What now?" But she didn't have to ask, nor was she
prepared for what came.

"Before I left Redlands," he explained. "I naturally wrote to

headquarters telling them when I expected to reach Blantyre. I'm not
due in my own district for over a week, but apparently something
has cropped up which requires inv mediate attention and my relief is
sick. This letter instructs me to go north. The case is to start the day
after tomorrow, and I have to make myself familiar with all the
details."

"What case?"

"It doesn't matter," he answered irritably. "It's simply that I can't

take you south to Blantyre. About eighty miles from here I have to
branch north. You must go on with George and Nadine."

Lou couldn't take it in. Her head seemed to have gone completely
hollow and her heart felt as if it were beating all over her body. She
looked at his lean, strong hands resting on the wheel of the car, at
his profile, arrogant, angry and slightly Romanesque. Time, she had
once heard someone say, means nothing where love is concerned;
yet all she could think of was that in an hour, or maybe two, she
would be saying good-bye to Damon. And she would never see him
again. It was like ... dying.

She became conscious that her mouth was parted, and parched with
the effort of taking air into her depleted lungs. She tried to pull her
shattered thoughts together.

A gigantic wind tore through the growth. Lightning rent the black
canopy overhead, a furious spurt of flame which licked straight
down into the trees. Thunder crashed along the sky, another violet-
hued zigzag of lightning and the sudden, frightful hammering upon
the car of hailstones as big as walnuts.

The onslaught was so tremendous that Damon had to stop. "Don't

be frightened," he said. "Hail never lasts long."

She wasn't frightened. She wasn't anything. This particular hailstorm

went on for about five minutes. She lay back damply in her corner,
and at last her chaotic thoughts formed into the single bleak
reflection that she had known all along what it was that was ruining
these days with Damon; the sense of approaching climax, the
foreknowledge of doom.

But it is one thing to know that the end must come some time, and
quite another to be confronted with it swiftly and inexorably. She
felt battered and torn, as if her mind had been exposed to elements
like those raging out there.

The cessation of the hailstones was the signal for the continuation of
thunder and lightning. Damon drove on in a deluge, the windows
steamed up inside and cascading on the outside. Windscreen wipers
were useless; never for a second could he see the tumultuous red
river of the road, and when a tree by the roadside was uprooted, the
car, negotiating the branches which sprawled across the road, rocked
perilously to one side.

His teeth were set, his jaw taut. His lips almost unmoving, he said,
"This is only an appetizer for the real rains. How would you like to
live through six months of them?"

Mechanically, her heart so constricted that it was a concentrated

physical pain, she answered, "It's the first genuine rain I've seen in
Africa. If we weren't driving through it I'd like it."

He gave a short, hard laugh. "We shan't be driving through it much

longer. Some way up here to the right there's an old resthouse. If I
don't overshoot it we'll stop there till this gives over. I don't mind
sloshing through rivers, but I do prefer to see them."

The car was slithering, hitting great rocks which had been washed
into the road. With the tumult of rain and peal after peal of thunder
came the heavily-liquid swishing of the car wheels through axle-
deep water.

They crawled on. Damon wound down his window, letting in a

windswept torrent, and in a minute or two he stopped.

"I believe this is it. The path to the hut is badly overgrown, but I
recognize the aloes at the entrance to it. Just in case I'm mistaken
you'd better wait while I take a look."

"But you'll get drenched in a few seconds! Couldn't we sit in the car
till the rain stops?" She looked at him with the curious detachment
of grief. "If you were alone you'd drive on, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not alone," he said abruptly, as he pulled on a raincoat. "I'd

never have brought you if I'd thought we'd hit anything like this. It's
at least a month earlier than usual." He pushed the buttons of his
coat into their holes. "We probably have this road to ourselves, but I
can't take a chance on it. May I remind you once more that you're in
Africa now, and everything here is man-size, particularly the storms.
Sit tight, I'm going to open the door."

He did, and Lou saw the rust-coloured, swirling water into which his
feet and ankles disappeared, after which the door slammed and she
caught only his vague outline in the torrent before that, too,
vanished.

She slumped back, exhausted and oddly cold. She ought to have
longed to cry, to abandon herself to the stark tragedy of loving
where love was not wanted. She ought to have wrung her hands or
buried her face. But, curiously, she knew no urge to do any of these
things. It was as though her heart, once the hysterical pounding had
diminished, had become encased in ice which numbed it.

She looked out at the grey curtain of rains, listened to the ceaseless
battering on the roof of the car and felt the cool moistness of the
atmosphere even though the windows were closed. And she thought
how very strange it was that she, Lou Meredith, should be here in
Central Africa with Damon Thorpe, who, in a moment of truth, had
admitted that he would have to be a lunatic to marry her.

He was back, swinging open the door and almost hurling himself
into his seat. His head and face streamed, the raincoat was black and
dripping and his feet and stockinged legs were saturated.

"The hut's there, all right," he said. "It's leaking at one end but is
mainly dry, and there's a bed of sorts and a couple of stools. We'll
wait there till George and Nadine turn up."

Lethargically she said, "Isn't it better to drive a car than to leave it

standing in a torrent?"

"It can't be helped. When I've got you into the hut I'll get out a
groundsheet and cover the bonnet. And I'll leave the tail lights on so
that George can't miss it. You'd better wrap yourself in this other
waterproof of mine. Put it right over your head.... and let me button
it."

The violence of the storm, when she floundered into it, was ten
times greater than Lou had imagined. In spite of her face being
nearly covered, great lumps of rain hit her cheeks with the force of
pebbles, and before she had moved three yards she was wet to the
knees.

Damon hauled her close to him, compelled her to move at his speed
along a swampy footpath converted into a tunnel by overhanging
bush. With ferocious strength he shoved aside a sapling, and when
the path opened into the tiny clearing he swept her across the lake of
it, and through an opening into the thatched hut.

Without giving her time to regain her breath he dragged off the
waterproof which had enveloped her and made her sit on the end of
the bed while he pulled off her shoes.

"Good thing you're wearing shorts today," he said. "Feel . wet

anywhere else?"

"No, but you're soaked. Please don't go out there again, Damon."

"I must. I can't risk having the car waterlogged, and we may as well
eat some of that food we neglected. Don't walk about with bare feet
till I get back. There may be scorpions."

He was gone, and Lou sat there at the foot of the low iron bed like a
forlorn child. There was no blanket on the bed, and the mattress
cover had rotted in places to disclose the coconut fibre stuffing. It
smelled of mildew.

The hut was a dim little room with a single glassless window, over
which a strip-bamboo screen had been nailed askew. The log door
hung on leather hinges and quivered and creaked incessantly in the
wind. At some time the walls had been whitewashed. Now, the
whitewash stood out in huge flakes on the ends of fungus growths,
and runnels of mud showed where the rain was finding its way
through the vermin-bitten thatch and down the walls. There was no
ceiling; merely the tented roof of closely-woven reeds resting on
thin log beams which were festooned with cobwebs.

In her white shirt and blue shorts Lou shivered. She supposed it was
better than sitting in the car, and the rain did seem to have set in for
a while.
Damon came in, looking enormous and grotesque. From inside his
coat he produced cushions, a big towel, the picnic box, a pair of
brogues and several other oddments. He took off the coat and she
saw that his shirt clung with sweat and rain from shoulder to waist.

"Did you bring in a dry shirt?" she involuntarily demanded.

He nodded matter-of-factly. "Take the cushions, lie back and find

something of absorbing interest in the roof. I won't be long."

She obeyed him, and as she lay gazing at a bat which hung upside
down in the apex of the roof, she let her thoughts wander along
acid-sweet paths of intimacy. U.N. workers did have wives who
travelled round with them and spent nights with them in isolated
resthouses, and presumably they were happy. Damon wouldn't
admit that, of course. According to him, it wasn't the husband who
kept a wife happy in the jungle; she kept her sanity by following
some sort of craze.

All in all, he didn't know an awful lot about women. At his age he
must have had affairs, and the fact that he could turn on the charm
when it suited him was proof that he was by no means ignorant of
an important aspect of womanhood. But what could he know about
simple women - the sort who really would suffer pests and heat to
be with the man they loved?

"Do you often have to stay in places like this?" she asked,
apparently of the bat.

"Good lord, no. The government resthouses are very good, and
when it's dry, I camp." He took time off to struggle into or out of
something. "This hut was put up some years ago by a man who was
in charge of bridge building lower down the road. When he left it a
native chief took it over on the understanding that if he saw it was
kept clean he could charge so much a night to any traveller who
might like to use it. By the look of the place it's hardly a paying
proposition." He began a vigorous rubbing. "All clear. You can sit
up again."

He was drying his hair, and slicking it back, dark and damp, with a
comb he had taken from the pocket of his shorts. In the strange light
he looked fresh and bronzed, and there seemed to be a smile about
his lips, a sharp, slightly cynical smile.

"I brought you a pair of my khaki stockings," he said. "They'll keep

off the mosquitoes." He got down on one knee and indicated the
other. "Put your foot there."

"I don't want those things on my legs. They'll make me look

hideous."

"Is that important? I'm the only one who'll see you."

"George is sure to get here soon."

"And George" - sarcastically - "must only see you at your best." He

took her ankle firmly and fitted the big khaki sock over her foot.
Thoughtfully, as if the matter had an almost academic interest for
him, he added, "I wonder if there's something of Val in George,
something that makes a little woman like you very anxious that he
should have all the things likely to make him happy. You'd do a lot
for George, wouldn't you?"

"I happen to like him."

"As much as you like Val?"

"More. Val used to scare me, but George doesn't."

"Steadfast George," he said with the same sharp mockery. He

smoothed the stocking professionally up her leg and turned down a
big chunk of it just below her knee. "You're quite sure," he asked,
with studied ordinariness, "that Val is out of your system, aren't
you? Do you ever think about him?"

"I've dreamt about him once or twice."

"Have you?" The second stocking was half on, and he paused,
looking into her face. "Grisly dreams?"

"Not very nice. I can never remember clearly afterwards, but in the
dream I seem to be in the car, rushing into blackness. And I can hear
Val saying ..." She stopped, and bent to pull up the stocking and turn
the top to match the other.

"Go on," said Damon peremptorily. "What does he say?"

"It's silly, because he didn't really say it at all. I'm sure of that."

"But what is it!"

"Don't shout." She moistened her lips which had gone queerly dry.
"In the dream he said, 'If I can't have you I'll make sure that no one
else will.' You know how utterly stupid dreams are."

"He was capable of saying it - and thinking it too." Damon leaned

over and held fast on to her elbow. His expression was earnest, even
a little tender. "Don't let that sort of nonsense spoil your sleep.
Someone else will have you, all right. You were made to be loved.
Why," he ended teasingly, standing up suddenly and dusting off his
knee, "I wouldn't find it hard to make love to you myself." But his
tone held a note of finality which forbade further speculation on that
particular topic.

He searched over the floor, ground out one or two crawlies with his
heel and spread the picnic sandwiches and fruit over the larger of
the two stools. It was growing dark. The thin pencils of light
through the bamboo screen at the window went swiftly greyer and
then black, and there was no hope of even the smallest radiance
from so thunderous a night. The rain beat mercilessly about them,
rivulets seeped under the door and the pool below the window
spread right across the room and under the bed. Lou managed one
sandwich and a banana. She heard a scuttering behind her, and
Damon switched on the flashlight.

"What was it? " she whispered.

"A rat. Shall I leave the torch on?"

"Not if you don't want to waste the battery. I'm not really afraid."

Oddly enough, that was true. Tropical rats, she was aware, were
often huge, but had she felt one 'scampering over her unshod foot
she would not have screamed. What was a rat, or even one of the
jungle beasts which doubtless prowled these forests on fine nights,
compared with the knowledge that when the rain ceased Damon
would travel on and out of her life?

"What's the time?" she queried, presently.

"A quarter to eight. Feels like midnight, doesn't it?"

"Do you think George and Nadine will come?"

"I'm beginning to doubt it. George wouldn't travel in the rain in

darkness."

"Supposing he came along before it was dark and didn't see the car."

"He'd see it, all right, because of those rear lights. Even in rain such
as this they're pretty powerful."

"Mightn't he be down there, near it, wondering where we are?"

"Stop fretting. George knows this place better than I do. He was an
irrigation officer in this district. The bridge was built while he was
here."

A silence followed. The rat scratched again, and Damon gathered up

the remains of their food and threw it into a corner. Lou heard him
easing his big frame on the stool, and then he got out cigarettes and
they smoked, without speaking. He was walking around the
confined space, standing silhouetted by lightning for a moment near
the crude window. His cigarette would glow in the darkness,
showing where he stood, and once she heard him let out a breath of
exasperation. This was torture to both of them, she thought dully. A
different type of torture for him, though. He was chafing to get
going, to branch north and cover the three or four hundred miles to
his bungalow.

"Is Shimwe your district or just the place where; you live?" she
asked.

He gave a brief, surprised laugh. "How did you know I was thinking
about Shimwe? Who told you the name, anyway?"

"George, a long time ago. What is it like there?"

"Very pleasant in the dry season. There are thick forests, some
wonderful trees that arch over the road for miles and miles. In a
short distance you climb three thousand feet to a highland where
there's plenty of game and some very beautiful birds. You'd love the
flowers there. On the edge of my district we have one of the smaller
lakes and in its way it's just as lovely as Lake Malawi; I like it better
because it doesn't attract tourists."

"Is it really terrible in the rains?"

"Yes," he answered crisply, "it is. When the rain stops the place is
like a hothouse, humid, sultry and breathless, and you get the feeling
that everything about you is growing with an evil intensity. Tempers
get frayed, and you only eat because if you didn't you'd die. The
boys are sullen and lazy and there's more crime in the villages." He
paused. "Funny I should be telling you this in the eleventh hour. I
suppose it's because you've never permitted yourself to show any
interest before."

She didn't counter this statement. She had drawn her feet up on to
the bed, and thinking of him, serene in that bungalow in the midst of
rain and decay, her fingers tightened round her ankles.

"Would you rather be alone there?" she said.

"Than be married? I'm not crazy, neither do I chase disaster. Daphne

used to call me a woman-hater when I said I wouldn't take a wife to
my job, but I always told her it was because I had no wish to be a
woman-hater that I wouldn't consider marriage while I'm bound to
Malawi."

Lou turned her head towards the corner where she knew him to be
standing. "Had you heard," she discovered herself enquiring quite
steadily, "that Daphne is planning to marry an old admirer of hers?"

"Is she?" He sounded careless, but Damon could sound whatever he

liked. "I did write to her in Cape Town, but she didn't answer at
least, not before I came away. I guess she was still hipped."

Lou gripped her ankles still more tightly. "Was she annoyed with
you about something?"

"I suppose she had reason. I got so hot about one thing and another
the day we found you doubled up in Val's car that no one was safe.
Daphne came to me and apologized for her straight talking to Val
the night before, but it was too late - the damage was done. I'm
afraid I let her have it. After she'd gone and you were better I
penned her a few words, but they couldn't have been contrite
enough."

"Do you mean that. .. you more or less sent her away?"

"Hardly that. She was pining for England, if you remember. All I
did was tell her that Cape Town was a far more lively spot in which
to wait for a boat."

"You can be very cruel." To still the shaking which had seized her
body she pressed her bony little chin hard upon 'her knee. Then she
said quietly, "Both Nadine and I thought you were piqued because
Daphne had walked out on you. In fact, you've been in such a bad
mood most of the journey that we rather gathered it might be more
than ... pique."

"Did you?" His voice was totally without expression. "What

splendid times you women have together."

He went silent. Nothing unpleasant about it; it was merely a natural

end to a fruitless conversation. Lou became conscious of the
increasing roar of the rain. The lightning was more frequent now,
rending the heavens with an audible crack followed by crescendoes
of ear-splitting thunder. She had never before lived through such a
storm yet she was not frightened, only horribly exhausted and
mentally bruised. Her nerves were strung on tight wires, and the
silent minutes dragged unbearably.

She had to speak. "I suppose we shall have to travel through the
night?"

"We can't go on tonight. Even if the rain stopped, there's been so

much of it that it would be asking for trouble if we started out in the
dark. In any case, I can't leave you till George shows up."

"Do we sleep... here?"

"It's grim, I grant you, but this is the first rain, so the bed will be dry,
even if it is a bit dusty."

"What about you?"

"I'll manage something with the stools." He moved and snapped on

the torch. "Let's get you fixed up. You must be worn out."

Lou shrank from the approaching beam of light and stood up

quickly. He illumined the bed, flicked it with a handkerchief and
rearranged the two cushions so that her head and shoulders would
rest on them. He turned to her, and she saw his face, dark,
unreadable, the light shining queerly across his cheekbones.

Her own face was white, and startled, her eyes shadowed with a
groping unhappiness which he must have seen. The light vanished,
his hand went to her waist and she trembled.

"Oh, God," he said savagely. "It can't be as bad as that."

She had no idea what he meant, was given no time to find out. The
hand closed hard over the soft flesh of her side, his other arm went
round her, a steel band over which he bent her back, ruthlessly, till
their mouths met. He kissed the curve of her neck and the hollow of
her throat, finding them unerringly in the darkness, and the pressure
of his lips was a pain and a bliss she knew not how to support.

Something of the limpness of her surrender got through to him. He

let her go, abruptly. His voice was thick with curbed violence.

"That's what you've been expecting, isn't it? You've been sitting
there shivering, remembering all the things you'd heard about men
and women thrown together in the jungle, no man is to be trusted in
circumstances like these! Well, you've had your thrill and there's no
more to it - not a thing. Now get some sleep !"
Lou sank down into the cushions. She felt drained and empty, and
tiredness settled upon her like a mantle. Some time later she heard
the sharp crack of a match and caught the drift of cigarette smoke,
but she did not open her eyes. She felt it wouldn't matter if she never
opened them again.
CHAPTER XIV

THE rain-washed dawn seeped through the bamboo screen at the

window and crept over the muddy floor from under the log door. A
lizard clung static to the wall, and not far above it, in a crevice, sat a
huge, somnolent spider, its black furry legs hanging there like large
wisps left behind by a feather duster.

Lou awakened suddenly and completely. Almost at once she was

gripped by a formless dread, but some sixth sense kept her supine
while her ears strained to take in what was going on about her.

There was nothing to hear but the shrill chirping of crickets and
cicadas. The rain had stopped, the air was still, and with every
minute light grew in the room, a milky light, as if the sun were
already drawing up yesterday's moisture.

Cautiously, Lou turned her head. She saw the two stools placed
neatly against the wall and across them her own pink linen dress and
some clean white underwear. On the floor stood a pair of her own
shoes.

She sat up quickly; she had the hut to herself. There was a big
paraffin tin full of water, a towel and some soap. As women will,
even in moments of the utmost stress, she thought how ghastly she
must look. She stood out on the floor, bent and stripped the khaki
stockings from her legs and, without allowing herself to think, she
washed as thoroughly as possible and got into clean garments. She
took a comb from her handbag and tidied her hair, had turned back
to the bed in order to fold the soiled clothes when there came a rap
at the door, and it opened.

"Good morning," said Nadine. "You certainly look more yourself

now than you did half an hour ago, but the rain seems to have
washed you white, my dear."
It was then that Lou looked round the hut and realized why the place
appeared so bare. Damon's things had gone, all of them but the two
cushions and the pair of socks. She went oddly weak at the knees
but contrived a faint smile.

"I knew you'd be somewhere about. Thanks for getting out my

dress." Then, with a scarcely-disguised catch in her voice, "Where's
Damon?"

"He's left us. You knew he had to go north?"

"He might have said good-bye."

"To be candid, darling, I think he was keen to be away before you

woke up. He was out on the road packing his goods in the tourer
when we arrived. He told George you were to have an injection right
away and to take paludrine every day just in case of the mosquitoes
that were about in the night happened to be malarial. Five minutes
after that he churned off through the mud."

Lou went to the doorway and breathed in some of the hot mist.
Offhandedly she said, "Well, that's the end of Damon."

"Not quite. He'll be back this way in about a week. Today, we're
supposed to book in at a hotel on Lake Malawi, and George
promised we'd stay there till Damon comes. I don't see why we
shouldn't."

Lou stared out at the tall, delicate tracery of tropical ferns, at the
grey trunks of palms, and at the close-growing trees beyond. The
path she and Damon had fought their way along yesterday was thick
pink mud with long grasses and rubbery weeds trampled into it, and
on each side valiant jungle flowers were opening, pale mauve
trumpets against the dark, succulent foliage. Odd to think that this
was what the rain had been beating into last night.
She looked at Nadine. "You're bandbox-fresh. What did you do
during the storm?"

"We stayed at a mission from four o'clock yesterday afternoon till

four this morning. George knew the old chap from years ago and
had decided to drop in on him some time before it rained. While we
were there it started to thunder, so we decided to accept the
missionary's hospitality." Nadine laughed affectionately. "It was
certainly much more conventional than the way you spent the
night." She nodded down the path. "Here's George, now."

What with the injection, the clearing of the hut and the fitting of Lou
into the crowded back seat of George's car, something like normality
began to descend upon her. The roaring blackness, with Damon
nearby, furious and contemptuous and completely mistaken about
her reactions, was away in the past. The fact that he had kissed her
with angry passion was not even very real except when she touched
her side where he had bunched the flesh in his grip. He would have
kissed any woman with whom he might have found himself alone in
the teeming African darkness. He had as good as admitted it.

So much seemed to have happened since she last saw Nadine that
this morning's travelling, though necessarily slow, was helped along
by descriptions of the mission and the natives there, the exceeding
plainness of the food, and the cheerful courage of the missionary
who lived without white companionship in an area where there were
thirty thousand Africans.

They had a late breakfast at Lilongwe and drove straight on to the

Lake. Blantyre, George thought, could wait a day or two. They had
earned a lakeside holiday. Nadine agreed, and Lou hardly cared
where she went.

The hotel in which he installed them was large and luxurious for
Central Africa and, the season being over, he had no difficulty in
obtaining three large rooms overlooking the Lake. The service, as in
most hotels staffed mainly by Africans, was superb, and though the
weather, after those initial rains, settled into a steaming heat which
brought out every conceivable type of pest in myriads, it was
seldom that a breeze did not blow across those blue and beautiful
waters.

The peace of the great inland sea, edged with a density of growth
which for miles was impenetrable, soothed Lou into a mood of dull
resignation. The few other hotel guests were all men, and
uncomplainingly she spent the evenings pretending to be awed or
amused or astonished by their big- game hunting exploits." George,
who had only shot buck for food, was considered rather a poor fish
by these men who had bought licences to kill a certain number of
big beasts. He, of course, was not a bit put out. He loved wild
things, so he wouldn't have derived much pleasure from shooting
them.

He took the two women yachting on the Lake, showed them, from
the deck, some of the dainty falls which drained into it and picked
wild bananas from the tall, ragged plants which leaned over, like the
proverbially vain palms, to admire their reflections.

For the fun of it, he took them ashore on the eastern bank and told
them they were now illegal immigrants in Mozambique. That night,
after she had left the other two, Lou went out to her balcony and
gazed towards Mozambique, thirty miles away across the Lake. She
could hear natives talking down below, and the beach was a calm
white strip lapped by little waves. Once the heat of the day was past,
this place was a paradise.

It was on her second evening, after an hour or two with the he-man
group in the hotel lounge, that Lou leant over her balcony wall to
trace the subtle flower scent that wafted upwards.
And as she bent she saw George and Nadine walking down the path
towards the beach. Impossible to catch even the cadence of their
voices, but there was no mistaking their intimacy. Nadine had put
her hand in the crook of his arm and George pulled it further in,
patting it as he did so. He said something which made Nadine slow
down and raise her head. For a moment she appeared to disagree
flatly with him, a moment which ended with his putting his hand
along her face and kissing her. The entire naturalness of the kiss, its
lack of passion, told Lou they had kissed before, undoubtedly with
more warmth.

She retreated into her bedroom and mechanically began to untie the
cord which held back the mosquito net. She was in bed, and the light
out, when Nadine came up to her adjoining room.

The very next day, when the two women sat beneath a gay umbrella
above the beach, Nadine told Lou that she and George were going to
be married. She gave a self-deprecating little laugh, as though she
found herself both astounding and comical, but her dark eyes held
an unwonted softness.

"I'll make a rotten wife, of course, but George is fully reconciled to

that. I believe he's going to enjoy watching me make a mess of
housekeeping, but I may surprise him. After all, one must do
something, and if I give up my work my energies will have to find
an outlet elsewhere. I may even become a passable cook."

"I'm awfully glad," Lou said sincerely. "You two will be

wonderfully happy I'm sure of it. And you can still draw and
paint; think what marvellous subjects there are in Africa! The
Africans and their villages, the animals, the mountains. I'm so happy
for you, Nadine, and for George."

"I knew you would be." With seeming irrelevance, Nadine added, "I
wish you could be happy for yourself as well."
"When are you going to be married?" Lou asked.

"We haven't settled any details. I expect George will build at Four
Winds. Strange, isn't it? Wouldn't Uncle Simon chuckle if he could
see me being led back, a bride, to Four Winds!"

"Judging by his poetry he was very human. I think it would have

pleased him to know you'd live there as a wife; he did want you to
do something worthwhile!" She smiled shakily. "I'm going to miss
you, though!"

Nadine tattooed with her fingernails on the iron table, then rested
her elbows on the table top and looked earnestly at the young face
opposite. "Why don't you make your home with us, Lou? Your
father doesn't need you now - I don't intend anything hurtful by that,
but he has got Netta. We could have great times together. You never
have blamed George for Val's instability - not even as much as I did
- and I'm sure you and he would make first-rate cousins."

Live next door to Redlands! Nadine didn't realize what she was
suggesting. "I have to earn a living." Lou answered, "and we've
already discovered I can't do it in Mlemba. I'd rather go home. The
hotel manager tells me there's a private bus from here going through
to Beira with several empty seats. He thought there would be plenty
of room on the boat, too, at this time of the year."

"But the bus leaves the day after tomorrow!"

Lou nodded, her eyes averted. "I'd like to wait and see you and
George married" - would she, though, with Damon the suave best
man and herself the wistful bridesmaid? "but you know how it is.
I just haven't the cash to go on kicking around Africa."

"My dear, you must hang on till Damon comes."

"For the fond good-bye?" Lou observed bitterly. "He loathes them,
and so do I. It's no use, Nadine. This is where I slide out."

Nadine sighed. Damon again; she wished she'd forced herself to talk
to Lou about this, but it was too late now. "Look here," she stated
firmly, "if you're going to England I'll go with you. I've told George
I won't let you make the voyage home alone."

"Don't be absurd I'm nearly twenty-one. Your place now is with

him."

"Not yet. I'll come back to him. He'll understand."

"You can't do that. He deserves some happiness not to have you

tear yourself away the minute he's found it. You couldn't wound him
like that."

Obstinately for her, Nadine said, "There must be some easier course.
Remember how you used to talk about getting a job in Bulawayo
and coming to Four Winds at weekends?"

"Everything is different now. I've left Rhodesia and it wouldn't do

me any good to go back there."

On the point of further remonstrance, Nadine stopped. She looked

up at the terrace of the hotel and saw George wave his hand. With a
resigned shrug she got up. "I'll see you later, Lou. Don't brood,
there's a pet."

For the rest of that day and most of the next Lou kept out of the way
of the other two. She saw them at meal-times, congratulated and
teased George, daring him, by her brittle brightness, to put in his
word against her departure.

It was not difficult to avoid them because one of the younger hotel
guests was a keen fisherman and eager to teach her the absorbing
mysteries of fly-fishing. She didn't like fishing, and the thrashing
silvery bodies in the bucket of water that stood in the bottom of the
small boat filled her with pity and disgust, but her companion did
help, in his abstracted fashion, to keep her emotions well battened
down.

Romance for him was in the sleek beauty of a water- dweller, and
for adventure he desired nothing more spectacular than the weeks
just before his holiday, when he prepared his rods and nylon,
lovingly bought flies and oiled his rod support. Next year he hoped
to do some whale fishing on the south coast.

They came in from the lake that second day at about five. George
and Nadine were in the entrance lounge of the hotel, both of serious
mien till Lou joined them.

"How many did you land?" George wanted to know.

"He got about a dozen, all sizes and colours. I believe they've put
me off eating fish for the rest of my life. Am I too late for some
tea?"

"It's never too late for tea, and you can depend on Nadine to drink a
cup with you." He signalled a boy and gave the order. "It's a little
early for a sundowner, but I think I'll have one as soon as your tea
comes."

Lou dropped into a basket chair and pushed back the hair which had
blown into stringy curls about her forehead. She looked down
pensively at the knees of her creased slacks. "I suppose it isn't really
worth getting any ironing done here. They may as well do the lot on
the boat. By the way, I booked a place on the bus but haven't been
given a ticket. Have you heard anything about it? "
"Yes." George slapped the sides of his jacket. "One of the
messengers gave it to me. I was wearing my tweed coat and must
have left it in the pocket. I'll get it for you when I go upstairs."

No pleading, not even a polite regret that she would not wait till
George could drive her to the coast. They had given in; her decision
had been accepted as final.

She had a cup of tea and left Nadine pouring a second cup while
George drank a whisky and soda. She had a bath and brushed her
hair, belted the thin silk dressing-gown about her and went out to sit
in the balcony of her bedroom. She couldn't see the sunset; only its
reflections of gilt ridges across the Lake, a dusting of gold over the
approaching velvet of night. She had not been there ten minutes
before it was quite dark.

To one aspect of Nadine's marriage she had so far given no thought.

But it came to her now, with the sureness of a knife-thrust. Nadine
would write to her in England. Month by month she would hear of
the happenings at Four Winds . .. and at Redlands. Lou would never
be able to cut herself free from Rhodesia unless she told Nadine,
unequivocally, that she wanted to hear nothing more from her.

Lou's eyes smarted and her teeth went together. It was unfair and
abominable, the way things had turned out. Only a few months ago
she, Nadine and Daphne had driven up to Four Winds, anticipating a
glorious, unusual holiday in warm, hospitable Rhodesia. The
shabbiness of the shanty and their own comparative poverty were
merely a challenge, and those first uneventful weeks had been the
happiest Lou had ever known. Nadine had settled in with her usual
calm acceptance of the inevitable, and even Daphne had derived a
degree of pleasure from the total change from England.

Then things had happened with the inescapable swiftness and

inexorability of a landslide, and here was the result. Daphne had
blithely sailed home into the arms of a man who had loved her even
while she was infatuated with someone else, and Nadine had found
a good, solid husband.

But Lou had been left out, and into the bargain she had to lose
Nadine, who was the only woman with whom she had ever been
close friends.

Lou got up out of the rattan chair and shook herself. How many
times had she told herself lately that self-pity could only exaggerate
her unhappiness! She did wish, though, that she were going home by
air. Those endless days and nights on the ship were going to be
intolerable.

Glasses were clinking on the terrace below. She ought to get into a
frock and go down. Anything would be better than sitting up here
alone in the dark.

There came a hard tap at the door. Thinking that George had sent
her a cocktail, she called, "Come in," and went to the bedside table
to switch on the lamp. The light flowered. Lou straightened and
stared; the use went out of her limbs.

"Damon," she breathed.

"Yes, Damon," he said, and closed the door. His glance ran over her.
"I thought you'd be dressed. Nadine said they were expecting you
below for dinner."

"It... won't take me long."

He came across to her slowly, looked down at her with eyes that
smouldered and yet were very weary. From his pocket he took a slip
of paper which he smoothed and held out for her to read. It said:
"Lou determined to sail at once. What shall I do. George."
"That reached me at an out-station at ten o'clock this morning," he
said unemotionally.

Her nerves were settling. She pushed a hand into her pocket and
looked away, made a weak attempt at flippancy. "So one can send a
telegram in this country. Did you come all this way to wish me bon
voyage?"

"No, I came to tell you you're not going. As soon as I can get my
release I'm going to marry you."

She didn't even try to believe it. It was too fantastic. But her voice
shook uncontrollably. "Isn't that going to drastic lengths to keep me
in the country?"

"You don't realize how drastic. Nothing else would have made me
resign."

"You're ... resigning?" The grey eyes were wide now, filled with
dawning hope, unbelief and a kind of horror.

"Damon, you can't. Please ... if you mean what you said..."

He did not touch her, but his tones were thick and unfamiliar; they
seemed to reach out and pluck at her heartstrings. "Since the day I
knew I loved you every damn thing has gone wrong. George bought
Four Winds, and there was Val all feverish and above himself. I
could see that you were in a sticky spot, and if it had been any other
two men than George and Val I'd have had you out of it in no time."
He broke off and tightened his jaw to stop the muscle working.
"You're not listening!"

She managed a choked little sentence. "It ... it wasn't hate when you
kissed me the other night - at the hut?"
Sparks leapt in his eyes. "It was need. I'd held off too long." He took
her shoulders, looked devouringly at her brilliant, half-frightened
face. "I seem to be in the deuce of a fix, but if you love me it will
work out. I'm sure of that. Do you love me, Louise?"

"Of course." Her lips trembled into a smile which was near to tears.
"That's my shoulder you're ... breaking."

He took her tightly into his arms and spoke a little roughly against
her cheek. "We've had the darnedest luck, you and I. We couldn't
get close and my leave was slipping away. Then, after the crash with
Val, I was afraid you hadn't even the remotest feeling for me. I
know it was shock that made you like that, but it might have lasted
much longer than it did. Those days at Redlands, while you were in
Bulawayo and George was away, were a continuous nightmare. That
was when I thought up the trip to the Falls." His lips turned and
found the corner of her mouth. "Kiss me, Lou," he whispered
urgently. "I don't feel I can discuss anything sanely till you've kissed
me as though you love me."

It was at least ten minutes later that he yielded to the pressure of her
hands against his chest and released her.

She was breathless, dusky-eyed and melting. "My darling," she said
with a break in her tones, "what a beast you've been. If only you'd
told me before."

"What was the good? If you'd known you were falling in love with
me you'd have taken my advice about Val; but you didn't. A few
times I felt you were beginning to care, but there was nothing really
tangible."

"Damon, how long have you loved me?"

He shook his head impatiently. "I don't know. I remember thinking,

the first time you came to Redlands, that I'd met you a couple of
years too soon." He stared down at her, unsmiling. "I used to tell
myself that I'd have to get over it, and when I became fairly sure that
I never would get over it, I became angry with myself."

"And with me?" She took his hand shyly. "Come and sit in the
balcony. You look tired."

He allowed her to lead him out there, but he made her take one of
the chairs while he leant on the wall, facing her. "I've had a filthy
week," he said, "bush travelling and palavering; and the devil of it
is, I have to get back tomorrow and finish off the project. These
African chiefs love arguing and if they realize you're trying to hurry
them they spin it out even longer. In these times we have to be very
patient with them."

"Is the man who relieved you still sick?"

"He's better, but not fit to travel. I'll have a week's freedom as soon
as the case is ended, though." He leaned forward, searching the pale
oval of her face. "You're very precious to me, Lou - so precious that
I had to keep hurting you into an awareness of me. I wanted so
much to tell you I loved you before I went north; that was why I
cleared out before you woke up that last morning."

"And you left me thinking you were sick to death of me. You might
have given me something to hope for!"

"My darling girl, I had to be able to offer you a husband some time
soon. I've written to headquarters asking for my release, but I'm
almost bound to have to put in six months. I know it sounds a
lifetime, but it's not like two years."

"You mean... we've got to part for six months?"

"I wish to God," he said quietly, furiously, "that there were some
other way."
Lou said, a little woodenly, hesitantly, "There is another way, of
course, but you won't consider it. You don't want to give up these
two years in Malawi, do you?"

"If I could do it honourably, I'd walk out tomorrow," he told her

decisively.

"Let me put it another way. If you could have the two years and we
could be married as well..."

"It's out of the question. I've told you a hundred times I wouldn't
take a wife to my district. We're just a handful of white people and
you'd be bored and lonely. It isn't only the climate; you're young
enough to stand up to that and we all take preventive medicines. But
I'm away half the time, and I'd worry myself sick over you."

"I'd travel with you, Damon," she pleaded.

He let out an angry sigh. "That would be just as dangerous for you -
and probably just as boring. It's no way to start a marriage. I've seen
too many couples hit the rocks to risk it myself." His hand moved
caressingly over her silk- clad arm, tightened a little as he added,
"George and Nadine will be getting married very soon, and they'll
be staying at Redlands till their house is built. I want you to live
with them, Lou, just for six months. Then we'll get married and have
a honeymoon, and Redlands will be yours and mine." Not very
distinctly he ended, "Please don't argue. It's the most difficult
decision I've ever had to make."

Lou didn't say anything. She took the hand from her shoulder and
laid her cheek to it. And because her happiness was pierced by the
corroding pain of postponed fulfilment, a few tears brimmed over,
and one of them ran down his fingers. He made a small exclamation
and drew her swiftly to her feet.
His teeth snapped. "You're not to make it harder - do you hear me!
Do you think I don't want us to marry at once? Do you think I'm
superhuman - that I don't get all the usual fears and despondency at
the thought of our being parted for so long? We could be married in
a few days - it wouldn't be hard to fix up - but if we did I couldn't let
you go."

Desperately, she locked her arms about his neck. "Marriage doesn't
make all that difference. You can't let me go anyway," she cried. "If
you won't promise to take me with you tomorrow, I'll... I'll get on
that bus to Beira!"

"They'd turn you back at the border," he said with a curt laugh.
"Haven't you found out that your passport is missing from your
bag?"

"No!"

"I took it as an additional precaution when I left you with George

and Nadine at the resthouse. You see, t meant to have you."

"Then take me, Damon," she begged, her words hurrying. "Cancel
that letter of resignation and let me go where- ever you go. You say
that marriages either come to grief or go stale in the tropics, that I'd
be bored and lonely. I could never be bored and lonely with you,
and, darling, I ... I love you too much ..."

He dragged down her arms, not very gently. "You'll do what I feel is
best," he said harshly, gripping her wrists together. "Get into a dress
and come downstairs. I wouldn't have come up here if I'd thought it
would be like this."

"I believe in this one thing you're a coward, Damon."

"You can't get at me with that kind of accusation. I'm thinking for
both of us - for our future." Resolutely, he compelled her back into
the room, and he spoke coolly, dispassionately. "You were going off
tomorrow, leaving me for good - which is something I couldn't
possibly do to you. So don't try to persuade me that you can't live
without me. You see, I've realized all along that I love you much
more than you're capable of loving me. Don't protest. It's been too
evident. It won't always be like that, though." He paused, but her
mouth was too dry, her heart too constricted to permit a reply. "So
now you can understand why I have to insist on your living with
George and Nadine for a while," he went on, flat-toned. "I'm not
doubting that you love me as much as you can. It's merely that your
kind of love isn't strong enough to stand up to the heat and
monotony of being a U.N. official's wife. Perhaps no woman can
really love that way. I'm not blaming you. You're you, and it doesn't
alter what I feel for you. We'll grow together, eventually." He put
his hands into his pockets and took a pace towards the door.

"You're bitter," she said in astonishment and hurt.

A muscle contracted in his throat but he answered very calmly, "I

suppose I am, a little. When you've waited as long as I have to fall in
love you expect something special. Maybe you're just not old
enough yet to give me all I want. I'll get over it, and you may grow
up a bit during the next six months." Without a pause he added, "I'll
wait for you down on the terrace," and then he walked out.

Lou reached out for a chair and sank down into it. Damon was
disappointed in her; he loved her, but his happiness in finding that
she loved him, too, was tinged with acid, because he couldn't
believe her love was deep enough. Didn't he realize that she hadn't
yet had a chance to prove what she felt for him? Couldn't he be
made to believe that there was nothing she would not do for his
happiness?

She remembered the way they had fought through the flood to the
resthouse, his anxiety that she should not be plagued with dreams of
Val; and she thought back further, to his infinite tenderness when
she had been bruised and shaken from the crash, the sternness with
which he had insisted that the episode with Val was merely a spell
of bad luck. He had got her over it all with astonishing speed, and
then, unreasonably, become embittered because she had not at once
turned to him.

Didn't he see how difficult things were, for a woman? Was it fair to
make them both suffer because she had been pardonably afraid to
show her feelings? If only there were longer before they need come
to a decision! Presumably, George would be returning to Rhodesia
tomorrow, and Damon would expect her to go with him. When the
case ended Damon would fly down for a few days, but once she was
back there it would be more difficult than ever to persuade him that
her place was here in Malawi, with him.

He hated having to resign, and the pity of it was there was no real
need for it. What were heat and boredom, the dangers of travel in
wild places, compared with the long arid parting, and the knowledge
that she would wrench him away from the work he most wanted to
do?

A little wearily she put on a figured blue frock and high- heeled
sandals. The grey eyes which stared back from the mirror as she
automatically applied lipstick and powder were dark and
bewildered. Futilely, she wished she had known more of what was
in Damon's mind during the past two weeks. She wished they hadn't
talked tonight merely been close and wordless, savouring the
beauty and adventure of being in love. Hadn't he felt when they
kissed that her need was as great as his; hadn't she conveyed to him
her desperate longing to give and give, no matter what he asked?

Sighing faintly, Lou went out of the room, along the corridor and
down the wide, highly-polished stairs into the vestibule. In the porch
she hesitated and looked along the terrace.
There he was, alone, near one of the discreet lamps which hung at
intervals above the terrace wall. He was gazing out at the night,
thinking, no doubt, that life was something of a fraud.

For a moment Lou felt unequal to facing him again. How could she
ever hope to prove to him that she was big enough to be loved by
him; how to tell him that her bones melted at his approach, her heart
ached with the longing to be everything he desired in a woman,
always?

She saw now that she had given to Val some of the tenderness
which belonged to Damon; and she knew, deep inside, that to
Daphne, Damon had given nothing, not even the kiss for which the
blonde beauty had angled. Daphne Pryce had been no more
important to him than a butterfly winging through his garden.

Possibly he had hit on the truth. She, Lou, might be too young to
comprehend his ruthless, one-track kind of love. But she couldn't
suffer like this without becoming wise about him, and parting would
be even worse suffering.

Everyone else seemed to have gone in to dinner. Lou moved quietly

along the terrace towards him. He saw her, turned to meet her in the
dusk between two lamps. Her uplifted face mirrored the poignant
entreaty of her thoughts, her eyes were misted with the sweetness of
love, her lips had parted yet were silent, as if she knew the utter
uselessness of words.

Looking down at her he drew a sharp breath. An arm contracted

about her while the other hand closed protectively over the back of
her head and pressed her face to him.

His breath warm in her hair, he said with a brief, unsteady laugh, "I
ought to have proposed by letter. You're right - I can't let you go."