The Blue Mountains of Kabuta (14 page)

Her mother yawned again. ‘What a good idea, darling. It will be nice having a man about the house at night. I shall sleep much better.'

‘Mum . . .' Jon hesitated and then turned her back on her mother, curling up in front of the fire with the little cat and gazing at the flickering flames as she realized that her mother was so totally uninterested in the farm and its fate that she didn't even care if Jon had a manager or not! Worried as she had been about her mother's reaction, Jon was surprised to find that this indifference hurt her even more. She had been so sure her mother would have been
against
the idea, for earlier on, she had wanted Jon to
sell
the farm, and surely she must know that hiring a manager showed how determined Jon was to make a success of the farm and never to sell it? But she seemed to have lost all interest, either way.

There
was the sound of a car followed by the mad barking of the dogs and Jon jumped to her feet, going to open the door.

It was Tim Dean. His car was a red Mini. Now he smiled, pulling out two heavy suitcases and walking up the steps.

‘What a day,' he said cheerfully. ‘Hope I'm not too early.'

‘Of course not. Do come in. Leave your cases there and one of the girls can bring them in,' Jon said, successfully shooing the dogs back to the stoep again as she led the way indoors.

‘It's all right, thanks, I can manage,' Tim said, coming in close behind her.

Her mother was obviously stifling a yawn, but she smiled:

‘You must be our new manager.'

Tim put down the suitcase and held out his hand.

‘Are you Miss Hampton's mother?' There was just the right amount of shocked, unbelieving surprise in his voice and Jon saw, by the way her mother's eyes sparkled, that she appreciated the unspoken compliment.

‘You poor man,' she said. ‘You're wet through.'

Tim laughed. ‘I had a puncture and had to change the tyre in the rain, but I'm used to it.'

‘We can't let you have pneumonia as soon as you arrive. Jon, run the bath for . . . for . . . ?'

‘Tim Dean, but I hope you'll call me Tim,'
he
said with a smile.

Ursula stood up. ‘Of course, Tim. Run the bath, Jon, while I show Tim to his room. Afterwards we'll have some hot coffee waiting for you.'

‘It's very kind of you.'

She smiled at him. ‘Not at all, Tim.'

Jon went to the bathroom, put out towels, turned the taps, feeling immensely relieved. Tim was going to fit in all right. There had always been a little fear in her mind that her mother might not like Tim and that he might fail in some way. But instead her mother was obviously delighted.

Ursula sat down by the fire, yawning. ‘He seems a nice lad,' she said sleepily.

‘I'll get the coffee, Mum,' Jon offered.

‘Thanks, darling,' her mother said, and yawned again.

But she woke up when Tim joined them. He was wearing a red velvet smoking jacket and narrow white trews. His long hair was wet and curling on the nape of his neck.

‘This is good,' he said as he sipped the coffee.

They were laughing and talking by the fire when another car drew up. Before Jon could stand up, she heard the car door slam, the footsteps of someone on the stoep and the front door opened.

Alex stood in the doorway. He was drenched. His clothes wet and clinging to him.
‘I
came to tell you . . .' he began, then stopped as he saw Tim Dean.

Jon's mother spoke quickly: ‘I want you to meet Tim Dean, our new manager, Alex.'

Jon's heart seemed to skip a beat as Alex looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Tim Dean? I don't think we've met.'

Tim Dean had stood up. Now he smiled and held out his hand.

‘No, sir, but I've heard of you.'

Jon saw that Alex's mouth was a thin line as he turned to her.

‘I have to speak to you alone.'

‘Come into the dining-room. Excuse us . . .' she mumbled, embarrassed, her legs stiff. It had been a mistake, a terrible mistake. She knew that now, even before Alex spoke. She should have asked his advice!

He closed the door and stood leaning against it as he looked at her.

‘What's all this nonsense?'

She drew a long deep breath, lifted her head and looked up at him. ‘It isn't nonsense. I've engaged Tim Dean to manage the farm.'

Alex folded his arms, his eyebrows almost meeting as he frowned.

‘And what experience have you had in engaging farm managers?'

‘It's my farm and my money,' Jon said, grateful for the anger that was flooding her because of his arrogant manner, for it gave her courage.

‘Your
uncle told you to ask my advice. You knew that. Why didn't you tell me you wanted a farm manager? I'd have got you a good one.'

She was startled. ‘You would have?'

‘For crying out loud!' He sounded more exasperated and weary than angry now. ‘Grow up, Jon. I've been helping you all this time and I don't begrudge a moment of it, but if you'd said you'd prefer a manager, I'd have got you a good . . .'

‘You don't know Mr Dean. He may be a very good one . . .' Jon began angrily.

Alex smiled, and Jon found it far more infuriating than if he had lost his temper again. ‘Right, you've asked for it, Jon. We'll just wait and see what happens.'

He opened the door and then turned as if remembering something.

‘I came to tell you that the road to Somahaha is under water. Have you enough food for a few days? If not, let me know. I've a deep-freeze that's packed full.'

He led the way back to the lounge and Ursula Hampton said quickly: ‘Why, Alex, you're as wet as poor Tim was! How about a quick bath and we'll dry your clothes . . .'

He smiled. ‘No, thanks all the same. I just wanted to tell you the road to Somahaha is under water.' He glanced at Tim Dean. ‘How did you get through?'

‘I didn't have to. I've been staying with the Oswalds.'

Jon
saw the quick frown on Alex's face. She had only met the Oswalds once and liked them, but they were the talk of the dorp. Everyone called them ‘hippies' because they wore brightly coloured clothes and his hair was long. The wife was a brilliant artist and the husband taught at a local school.

‘You were lucky,' Alex said grimly. ‘Your car'd never have got through.'

‘What happened, sir?' Tim asked.

Alex frowned. ‘The small dam overflowed.'

‘Aren't they going to build . . .' Tim began, but Alex had turned to Jon.

‘Don't forget, little Jon, that if you need me or any food, just give me a ring.'

‘But you'll come and see us?' Ursula sounded dismayed. ‘And can't I go out at all? I mean . . .'

Alex laughed. ‘You can come and see me, the Coxes and down to the Oswalds.' His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Take your choice, Ursula.'

Tim Dean stepped forward. ‘I understood from . . . from Miss Hampton that you've been helping her with the farm, sir. I would appreciate it if you'd advise me, too, for the first few days.'

‘I thought you were an experienced farmer,' Alex said curtly.

Tim smiled. ‘I hope I am, sir, but you must admit that every farm has its own methods and I'd hate to unwittingly undo the good you've
done.'

Alex went on frowning for a moment and then smiled. ‘I see your point. I'll be here at four-thirty tomorrow.'

Jon saw the dismay on Tim's face which he promptly hid with a quick smile. ‘That's very good of you, sir.'

Alex's mouth was a thin line as Jon went outside on the stoep with him, closing the housedoor behind her. ‘I'm sorry, Alex,' she said quietly.

He turned and looked down at her, his eyes narrowed.

‘Just what are you apologizing for?' he asked coldly.

‘Well, I . . . I think perhaps I should have asked your advice first and . . .'

He shrugged. ‘It's too late now. We must just wait and see how it works out. He may be all right.' He shrugged his shoulders again and then frowned. ‘Just one thing, little Jon. Tell him to cut out the
sir
business, will you?'

‘He's only being polite.'

‘Polite my . . .' Again Alex's mouth was a thin hard line. ‘Look, anyone would think I was his grandfather. How old is he, anyhow?'

‘Twenty-seven.' Suddenly Jon wanted to laugh—so even hard, arrogant Alex was human where age was concerned!

‘That makes me eight years his senior, so let's cut out the
sir
business. Will you tell him or shall I?'

‘I
will,' she said quickly, and then looked up at the man by her side. ‘I don't want you to misunderstand me, Alex,' she said earnestly. ‘I just didn't like being a nuisance to you.'

He was not smiling as he replied: ‘I think you're more likely to be a nuisance now than you were before,' he said curtly, then ran down through the rain to his car.

She watched him reverse and drive away. Then she still stood on the stoep, her hands on the wet rail, herself unconscious of the rain that fell on her hair and shoulders, for all she could think of was how she had hurt Alex by her behaviour. Why hadn't she realized that Alex would help her find a good manager? But then again, wasn't Alex rather jumping to conclusions? How did he know Tim might not prove to be the perfect farm manager? Was it Tim's longish hair and his gay clothes?

‘Jon!' her mother called impatiently. ‘You'll get wet through!'

The door opened and Tim stood there, an odd smile on his face. ‘I'm afraid I didn't make a very good impression,' he said wistfully.

She knew a moment of deep sympathy for him. Had Alex the same effect on others as he had on her? ‘You don't need to worry. Alex's bark is worse than his bite. Only drop the
sir
business, Tim. It made him feel like an old man.'

‘Well, he must be nearly forty. I thought he'd like me to be respectful,' Tim began.

Jon
had to laugh. ‘Forty isn't old, you know, not really. My mother's forty-one,' she added softly. ‘So don't ever dare to say that or you'll break her heart.'

He smiled, ‘Don't worry, I won't. I'm not that sort of a fool.'

*          *          *

Jon slept badly that night. She had been a long time falling asleep, for she went over and over again the scene when Alex had arrived. To her, it had become enormously important that Tim Dean should make a good impression on Alex, but would he? This was what was worrying her.

She could not forget the dismayed look on Tim's face when Alex had said he'd be there at four-thirty next day! At the same time, Tim was not a child and surely he could be trusted not to let her down on this, his first day?

Yet there were some people who just could not get up early. Some who openly admitted that they were only half awake until midday. Alex now was obviously the reverse. He seemed to thrive on early rising.

Now as she woke up, she stroked Rex's ears, trying to reassure as well as comfort herself. What did it really matter if Tim
was
asleep when Alex came round? It was no business of Alex's if Tim overslept. Of course it was no business, but, she thought with a shiver despite the heat that was already coming, what a
weapon
Alex would have!

She lay still, looking out of the window at the magical colour of the sky as the sun began to rise. How lovely everything was here! Dear Uncle Ned, how right he'd been, guessing that she would love it just as much as he did.

Reluctantly, for she was trying not to start worrying again, she glanced at her watch. Four-fifteen. She sat up and Rex followed suit, looking at her expectantly and then, with an almost human sigh, he lay down again as he saw she had no intention of getting out of bed. Instead she propped herself up with pillows and watched the slow but relentless movement of the second hand of her watch.

How long would it take to dress? Was he one of those men who bath every morning? If he kept Alex waiting . . . would Alex wait? The impatient shrilling of an alarm clock reassured her. She relaxed, but the whining angry noise went on and on and she sat up again. Tim must be a heavy sleeper not to hear that noise.

She was half out of bed before she stopped herself, shocked by her impulsive movement, for she had been about to rush along the passage and bang on Tim's door. How could she do that? What on earth would he think? Probably be furious with her. Making her appear like a nagging wife . . . !

Suddenly the shrill cry of the alarm stopped and Jon sighed with relief. In a short time she heard the cranky sound of the shower in the
bathroom
and she lay down under the thin sheet that was all the cover she needed these hot nights. All would be well, she told herself, and drifted off into a deep sleep.

She awoke at her usual time and hastily pulled on jeans and a shirt and took the dogs for their morning walk before the heat of the sun was too great. Later on, the humidity would make it almost impossible, for they were going through a spell of storms with cold rain followed by days of intense heat.

How quiet the house was, she thought, as they went out of the kitchen door. No sign of Alex's car or horse, no sound of voices. So obviously everything was all right.

Despite the thick mud of the track, her spirits lifted. No longer need she worry about Alex's reactions. Tim would take over, cope with everything. He would teach her about farming so that one day she could manage alone. That was her ambition—or her determination, perhaps, was the better word. She had to prove to Alex that she was not a naïve helpless child but a woman, able to cope with any problems that could arise.

And not only must she convince Alex but all the people of the neighbourhood who were laughing at her behind her back and waiting with such cruel maliciousness for her to fail.