The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (6 page)

She sighed again, looking at the tall trees that lined the road, the mud huts with their thatched roofs, the small children playing outside, pausing to look up as the car roared by.

After her packed days in England, her busy life, she wondered how she would fill the long empty days here, then smiled ruefully, for she had no problem. She was going to get all the books she could in order to read up about farming, particularly pineapples.

Now she half-closed her eyes, trying to remember just what Alex had told her about their electricity. At the time Alex had made it sound simple enough, pull here, press there and so on, but now, looking back, it seemed like double dutch to Jon. Perhaps it might be a good idea to go out and watch Leonard start the engine, but then she knew that was not a good idea. Leonard would tell Alex and once again Alex would have a weapon with which to bait her. She sighed. The only thing was to cross her fingers and hope Leonard would never forget to put the electricity on, for she
felt
sure she could never cope with the intricate-looking machine that Alex called ‘simplicity itself.'

They must be getting near the village—if that was what they called it out here—for they were passing gates with painted signs containing the farm names and she could vaguely see, through the trees, white buildings, many with thatched roofs. As they passed a long building, Alex told them it was the stores and the post office; later they passed a garage. At last they reached the club, going off the main road along a curving drive lined with trees and flowering shrubs. Everywhere, Jon thought, there was colour—deep crimson, bright purple, vivid yellows of the cannas and the creamy white of frangipani. The clubhouse was an attractive long building with a wide stoep facing the cricket field where white-clad figures were standing in the blazing heat.

Jon caught a glimpse of a tennis court and also the bowling green, where the bowlers, all in white with hats on, stooped to play and then walked. How could they stand the heat? Jon wondered. Maybe in time one got used to it?

The club itself was lofty and delightfully cool, the long picture window running the whole length of the building giving a wonderful view of the mountains Jon loved so much. There were groups of chairs round small tables and a big bar at one end with open windows leading to the kitchen.

They
could hear the children shrieking with delight as they jumped into the swimming pool. Most of the watchers were sitting outside on the roofed stoep. Now Alex led Jon and her mother outside and introduced them to the club members.

As usual Jon found herself asked the same questions.

‘Can you run a farm?' ‘Are you going to sell the farm?' ‘We thought you were a man—how did you get such a funny name?'

Jon tried to smile, to laugh, to hide her irritation, but it grew until a big red-faced man with white hair smiled sympathetically and said: ‘My number's in the book, so just give me a ring if you need help. Your Uncle Ned was my best friend,' and Jon knew he meant it and that perhaps she was seeing these questions in the wrong light. Maybe they were concerned for her, maybe they were worried as to what would happen to Uncle Ned's beloved farm.

When lunch was served, it was a well-organized, delectable meal. Ursula was sitting at a table of bowlers and she looked happy, so Jon went to get her own lunch and found Alex by her side.

‘We'll sit out under the trees,' he said.

Jon hesitated, looking at him, suddenly aware of the small silence around them which made her feel everyone was watching them.

‘All right,' she agreed, and followed him out into the hot air, holding his plate for him while
he
got two chairs and arranged them under a tree and near a table.

As they sat down, Alex looked at her thoughtfully.

‘You're hating all this, aren't you, Jon?'

The hot colour raced to her cheeks. She looked at him with dismay. ‘I'm . . I'm not
hating
it, but . . .'

‘Yes, you are. Now eat up or the chicken'll be cold. This kind of casserole is Mrs Kemp's speciality and she does it well. Then I'll get us some ice cream and we can talk.'

What about? she wondered unhappily, but grateful for the delay she enjoyed the delicious chicken with the mushrooms and new potatoes.

Suddenly she thought of something. ‘Shouldn't I have paid for this?'

‘You're my guests.'

‘But, Alex . . .' she began, and hesitated. ‘Thank you. Is . . . is Madeleine here?'

He looked round vaguely. ‘I don't know. Sometimes she comes, but she gets bored here. You are, too, aren't you?'

‘I'm not bored. I just feel . . . well, it's all so different . . .'

‘From your old life. You're shocked at the easy way we live with our servants and no work to do. You're even rather shocked at the way everyone is enjoying himself here, playing in the heat, watching and gossiping, or lying in the sun. What else should they do at the
weekend?
Have you any idea how hard a farmer works? Even if he has employed staff, he has to organize and check everything. As for the wives, they often help run the farm, handle the accounts or have children to look after. Jon, you have one big fault. You judge people, but never yourself.'

She was startled and hurt. ‘That's a horrid thing to say!'

He smiled. ‘But true.'

‘It isn't true! I don't judge people . . .'

‘Yes, you do. I watched you last night. What you must guard against, Jon, is getting smug. There's no one so unpleasant as a smug woman unless—' he chuckled, ‘it be a smug man.'

‘I'm not smug!' Jon could hardly speak, she was so upset. ‘I don't judge people.'

‘You do, you know. Nor have you much sense of humour. You see everything from a personal angle, but not from the other person's. For instance, you say you want your mother to marry. Right? But why? Not because you want her to be happy but so that you can be free.'

Jon's eyes widened with dismay as she stared at him. Was he right? She had often wanted to be free to work her way round the world. Was that the sole reason she wanted her mother to marry again—in order to be free?

‘I don't blame you in the least,' Alex went on, his voice casual as if they were discussing
the
weather. ‘Girls of your age need to break away and see the world. The last thing they want to do is to sit at home and look after Mummy—especially when Mummy is so young and attractive.'

Jon's mouth was dry, but she let him go on. He was right, in a way, though she had never realized it before. In England she had often resented her mother's dependence on her and her fussing if Jon came home late. After all, as Jon knew she had often thought, surely at twenty-three years of age, you were capable of looking after yourself?

‘Another thing, why do you get so upset when you're teased?' Alex went on, putting his empty plate on the table and leaning forward.

All round them there was laughter and voices, but to Jon, it was as if she and Alex were in a small world of their own from which she wanted to escape but knew he would not let her.

‘Jon,' he was saying, ‘surely you must be used to being teased about your name by now, but you still get angry. Why? Your job, too. How upset you were about that. Why? We all know how important a job a pharmacist has. After all, people's lives are in your hands. We know this, so why did you get so angry? Have you an inferiority complex?'

Jon stared at him. Suddenly she knew the truth. She had an inferiority complex. But only since she met him! Yet how could she tell
him
that? ‘I don't think so, but everything's happened so fast and . . . and I'm not used to being teased. Most of my friends know me well and . . . well . . .'

‘You don't mind when they tease you.' He stood up. ‘I'll get us ices. Like chocolate? Good. I won't be long.'

‘Alex, what about Mum?'

He smiled. ‘She's being looked after. I've seen to that, so don't worry,' he said, and walked away.

She sat very still, looking at her hands. Was he right? Was she quick to judge others? Perhaps despise them? Was she growing or had she grown smug? She wriggled uncomfortably in the chair. The way he had spoken to her was like a benevolent but exasperated father.

Catching her breath, she examined the thoughts that flooded her mind. Was that why he had spoken like that? Did he see himself as her father?

After all, he had gone out of his way to be nice to them, particularly to her mother, Jon thought as she sat alone. Could he be planning to marry her? She had already wondered, and now the way he had spoken to her . . .

Suppose one day Alex was her stepfather? she asked herself. Would she mind?

It was a strange question to answer. Did she like him? Sometimes she did. At others she hated him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he
stopped
calling her little Jon, but that was obviously how he saw her: as Uncle Ned's ‘little Jon'. Perhaps she was being oversensitive about it? Maybe she should try to see him differently, ignore his teasing and be more friendly. After all, if he was going to marry her mother . . .'

When he returned, she smiled at him. ‘Alex, why do people keep asking me if I'm going to sell the farm? That's another thing. What is the name of the farm? Mr Williams did tell me, but I've forgotten.'

He sat down, stretching out his long legs as he handed her the ice cream. ‘The name is Jabula. It means happy.'

‘Jabula. Jabula,' Jon repeated. ‘It's rather nice. Was Uncle Ned so happy?'

‘Yes, very happy, but only after he had battled with years of drought and hail and then people let him down, and then, quite suddenly, his luck changed and he managed to buy this farm on a mortgage, and he was so delighted with it that he called it Jabula.'

‘And yours?'

‘Mine was called Mukwene. That means a big mountain. Now it's known as the Wild Life Sanctuary.' He smiled. ‘Are you interested in titles? Madeleine's father's farm is named Pumula. That means peace, but anything farther removed from a peaceful atmosphere would be hard to find!'

‘Why?'

He
shook his head. ‘You'll be invited there to dinner and can see what I mean. Incidentally, our dorp is called Somahaha. That causes some laughter.'

‘Somahaha? Why?'

He smiled. ‘So-ma-ha-ha,' he said slowly.

She laughed. Some of the tension she had felt before was leaving her.

‘Our nearest town, which isn't very large, is called Qwaleni. Odd names to you, I suppose, but . . .' He paused and gave her a wry smile. ‘Dare I say you'll get used to it, or shall I have my head bitten off for saying those words?'

‘I'm sorry,' she said, embarrassed, ‘I didn't mean to. I'm a bit edgy.' She leaned forward, suddenly able to confide in him. ‘You see, I have so much to learn and sometimes I wonder if I ever will live up to Uncle Ned's trust in me. He must have believed I could run the farm or else he would have sold it and left me the money.'

‘Smoke?' Alex asked, and added, ‘No, of course you don't. Know something, Jon? Your uncle was a crafty old devil. When he made a plan and set his heart on it, he had an amazing knack of getting what he wanted done and in his own way. He obviously wanted you to have the chance to be completely independent and to learn to stand on your own feet. So he left you the farm.'

‘He didn't want to sell it?'

‘No.' Alex hesitated and Jon had the feeling
that
he was not sure whether to tell her more. However, he seemed to have made up his mind, for he leaned forward. ‘When I needed more land for my Sanctuary I offered to buy this farm. He refused to sell it. I happen to know that a number of others wanted to buy the farm, too, but he always said No.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he wanted to give it to you.' He looked round and Jon saw that the cricketers were slowly walking out to the pitch; the children, shouting and laughing, were making for the pool, followed by their mothers.

Alex stood up. Jon looked up at him. What should she do when he left her? Pretend to watch cricket? It had always bored her unless she knew the players personally, and then everything was different.

But Alex spoke to her. ‘I want to talk to you alone, Jon, so let's go to the car where we can't be disturbed.'

‘But . . .' Jon hesitated, ‘I can't just leave Mum.'

He smiled. ‘She's in good hands and we won't be long. Come.' He caught hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet, still holding her hand tightly as he led the way to the parked cars. She went with him, for everyone would have seen had she struggled to free herself. But she felt worried, for what could he have to say to her that was so private?

He drove back to the main road and then
fast
along the empty roads, finally making his way through an avenue of trees that looked so beautiful, the sun shimmering through the green leaves and throwing shadows on the red earth road.

Alex stopped by the side of a narrow stream that was tumbling down over some rocks.

‘This is the Hluti river. I'm lucky, because it runs through my land,' he said as he opened the car door for Jon.

They sat on the rocks, a little above the river. He took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her.

‘Your uncle gave me this some months before his illness got so much worse. He made me promise to give it to you
alone
.' He paused, looking at her gravely. ‘On no account, he said, must your mother see it.'

Jon looked worried. ‘But that isn't very nice.'

‘She wasn't very nice to him.'

Staring at the man by her side, Jon was furious. How dared he speak like that about her mother? And yet he was right. That was the worst part of it.

‘Open it.'

Her hands were shaking as she obeyed. Then, before she took out the letter, she stood up and moved away.