The dawn was opal, spreading hazy shadows over the silent bushveld. There had been rain in the night and the earth was heady with the smell of the clear soft water that had penetrated its thirsty depths.
Dawn stood at her window, waiting for the full glory of the sunrise, but her mind was deeply troubled. She had acted precipitously and as a result was suffering pangs of embarrassment and regret.
She could have asked him for money, Ralf had told her on her arrival, and when this simple method of solving her financial problem was pointed out it amazed her that she had not thought of it herself. Her letter had not reached Ralf until his return from a visit to friends in Pretoria; the cable awaited him at the same time. He had dutifully met her at the airport, but one look at his face made Dawn feel like turning right around and going back the way she had come. He had looked so angry, and just as arrogant as she had remembered him, on that first meeting, in the lawyer's office. He had suggested she accept an allowance and return immediately to England, and she had promised him she would do so. But on arrival at the lovely white homestead, something quite alien to her nature had entered into her. She was piqued that he was living so well while she had been suffering hardships. She was penniless, and yet this property which Ralf was enjoying was half hers. True, he had not known of her circumstances, but even if he had, Dawn doubted whether he would have concerned himself about them.
'I'd like to stay for a holiday,' she had ventured after taking one look at the house. She was angry that he should act as if he owned the entire property. It would seem that he considered possession to be nine points of the law.
'You've just promised to accept an allowance and return to England.' Ralf was frowning heavily; she knew that her presence was both an inconvenience and an irritation to him.
'Yes, but—' Dawn spread a hand, indicating the spectacular well-kept gardens, basking in the sunshine. She had left snow behind in England, even though it was April, and the idea of sunny weather for a few weeks was so tempting that Dawn could not even think of going home immediately. 'It's all so beautiful. I feel I'd like to get to know it, just for a little while.' She glanced up at him apologetically. 'I did make you a promise, but I hadn't seen the property then. I can stay, can't I?'
'It's not convenient,' he had snapped. 'There isn't any room for you.'
His attitude made her bristle, but she had no intention of losing her temper. No room—in a house of this size?
'There appears to be plenty of room,' she said gently. 'There must be four bedrooms at least.' She glanced at the building again, admiring its stately elegance. A long, low, white-gabled colonial mansion, it had a patrician quality about its simple, perfectly proportioned lines. They had approached it through a pair of high wrought-iron gates which had led to a long drive lined with trees, royal palms that waved their spearlike foliage in the soft breeze drifting in from the mountains, 'I shall need only a small room,' she added persuasively, fluttering Ralf a smile that invited reciprocation. But he seemed almost to scowl, and an unpleasant silence ensued before he said, obviously with a trace of reluctance, 'I haven't told my family that I'm married, Dawn. It wasn't necessary; I think you will agree?'
She nodded, accepting that there was no need for his family to know he was married. His family… How little she knew about him, she thought, yet the next moment admitting that there was no necessity for her to know anything about him.
'If you don't want me to say anything, then I won't,' she promised. And then, as the thought occurred to her, 'Do some of your family live here, with you?'
'That's just it; they all live here. That's why there's no room for you. They're away at present, on holiday in Durban, and I'd like you to be gone by the time they return.' He was getting a key from his jacket pocket, but at that moment the front door was opened by an ebony girl who was introduced to Dawn as Letsie; she stood to one side as Ralf and Dawn entered the hall. Dawn glanced around, admiring the two high arches around which flourished exotic plants of decorative foliage. The floor was darkly polished and partly covered with two identical handmade Chinese rugs, large and fringed and worked in the most delicate colours imaginable. The furniture was in teak—all but a wagon chest, which was of oak that had turned black with age. Dawn, who loved old wood, wanted to touch it, to sense the patina by tactile contact, but she refrained, sure that her husband would regard it as a liberty.
She said, not looking at him, 'The furniture… is it yours, or was it in the house?'
'Some of it was in the house,' he answered curtly, and added, causing her to frown in protest, 'A comprehensive inventory was made before I moved in. You'll get your share of everything; you need have no fear of that.'
Unhappily she shook her head, vaguely aware that he was giving an order to Letsie to fetch someone called Paulo who would take Miss Sutton's luggage out of the car and up to the room which had been prepared.
Miss Sutton….
Well, it didn't matter, really, as she had never used her married name, nor did she ever intend doing so. It would not be too long before she and Ralf were having the divorce they both desired.
A step on the stoep below her bedroom window brought Dawn's mind back from that first day, and she glanced down to see Ralf striding from the stoep towards a small, attractive wooden building which he used as the estate office. He was always up early; this she had learned in the five days she had been here. She turned, her pensive gaze swinging round the tiny room that had been given to her. It had been a storeroom, the information having come from Letsie after Dawn had questioned her.
'All the other rooms are in use,' Letsie had said. 'And so Mr. Deverell told me and the houseboy to make the storeroom comfortable. It is nice for you, yes?'
Dawn had said yes, it was very nice. She continued to examine it now, as she stood there, close to the window. A single bed with snow-white sheets and pillowcases and a pretty spread which matched the curtains at the small high window. A narrow wardrobe, a dressing table and a chair. Nothing more. Very nice…? Passable, but she would not have hurt the housegirl's feelings by appearing to be dissatisfied. Yes, it was passable, but not the room which her benefactor would have expected her to be given, surely?
The sky was alive now with all the gold-spangled glory of the full sunrise. The trees and bushes in the garden were bathed in a warm orange glow and the summits of the long line of kopjes to the south stole light from the myriad tints of orange and crimson and magenta that were shooting out in long, brilliant skeins from the eastern sky. Over the bush was a rosy glow, which turned golden even as Dawn watched. She sighed, wishing she could make up her mind what to do. The picture of what her life at home would be was by no means a happy one. She was thoroughly tired, suffering both from physical and mental fatigue, and the task of setting herself up in a home seemed to take on such gargantuan proportions that the very idea daunted her. She wanted someone to lean on, but there was no one in the whole world to whom she could turn. If she stayed on here, at Dombeya Lodge, life would be simple and uncomplicated… if it weren't for the attitude of the man who was her husband. She felt he was unreasonable in not making her welcome, in not offering her a home until she could sort herself out. She had told him what had happened and he had extended sympathy, but that was all. He stressed the fact that they were strangers; he seemed to think that money would solve everything. If he gave her a generous allowance out of her share of the property, then what was to stop her getting a nice little place of her own and furnishing it? She could get a job if she wanted to, he had said, but had gone on to assure her that there would be no real need for her to work. His manner had been casual, but she sensed a quality of anxiety about him… anxiety in case she should not be intending to take his repeated advice, and go home.
His relatives were due to arrive in another nine days; he was most anxious to have her away before then, and she strongly suspected that he would have the storeroom immediately put back to its former use and no one would even know she had been here. There were the servants of course, two houseboys and Letsie, but Dawn had no doubts about his ordering them to maintain a silence regarding her visit. Yes, she was sure he had it well worked out.
But he could not arrange her travel until she gave him her firm promise that she would leave.
She had not made the promise, being gripped by an apathy she was unable to shake off.
Breakfast was ready; she dreaded the inevitable tension born of Ralf's impatience with her tardiness. He could not understand her feelings, her sense of aloneness, her desperate urge sometimes to reach out and grasp something to which she could hold onto firmly. Why were men so insensible to a woman's emotions? Nature had slipped up somewhere, drastically. She had tried to analyse her action in coming here and believed she had done so. After Greta's sudden death, and on top of it the knowledge that she, Dawn, had neither home nor money, she had been like some small animal wandering in a fog, unsure and half-afraid, and then suddenly Ralf—who was her husband—and the home that was half hers, had combined to form a strong support for her to take advantage of in her distress. And so without any thought to the consequences, she had made her swift decision, had wasted no time at all in carrying out her plan.
It had never occurred to her that Ralf would have the house full of his relations; she had never given a thought to the possibility of his not wanting her.
Well, it was her own fault, and now she was faced with the problem of whether to leave, meekly and in obedience to Ralf's wishes, or to insist on staying and accept the consequences, whatever they might be.
Letsie had told her about Ralf's mother; watching her closely, Dawn had noticed the smile vanish from her lips. Letsie had mentioned Ralf's two sisters, one married and separated from her husband, and the other, aged twenty, whose fiancé was killed last year in an air crash.
'Miss Avice never gets over it,' Letsie said sadly. 'She cry all the time when she's alone, in her room. I know because I hear her through the door.'
There was one more relation, again a woman. It was Esther, second cousin to Ralf, who had come as companion to his mother. Letsie's face was impassive when she spoke of Esther, and it was impossible to make a guess as to whether the African girl liked her or not.
All these females living with Ralf. Dawn wondered how he got on with them. He seemed more of a man's man than one who would be happy among a houseful of females.
He was already in the breakfast room when she entered. She apologised for keeping him waiting, but he assured her she was not late.
'Well,' he said without preamble as they sat down to the table, 'have you made up your mind? Have you decided to leave?'
She shook her head, wishing she did not have this inferiority complex when in his company, that her defences were a little more sound.
'No, I haven't, Ralf. I want to stay for a while, to enjoy the sun and this beautiful home, before I let it go forever.'
'You act as if you regret promising to sell your share to me. You'd never have been able to live here, you know.'
'Yes, I do know. I'd have had to sell out to someone.' She ventured a smile but, as always, received no response. 'I don't regret my promise,' she denied quietly. 'I think I'd rather you have it than the house have gone to strangers.'
He looked sharply at her and she coloured up. He was reminding her even yet again that he and she were strangers.
'Is your mind definitely made up?' His lignite-brown eyes settled on her pallid face with a look of deep displeasure. 'You're determined to stay?'
'If you don't mind.' Moisture was suddenly blurring her vision, the result of stretched nerves and the knowledge of being totally unwanted here, in this beautiful house that was half hers. Recalling her solicitor's dislike of the whole arrangement, she now knew she ought to have listened to his advice and had him send the letter reminding Ralf that as his client was co-owner of Dombeya Lodge, he must recognise her claim to accommodation if at any time she should decide to make her home on the estate. But as at that time Dawn saw not the remotest possibility of her ever wanting to go out to Africa, she had flatly refused to let her solicitor send the letter.
'I have already made it quite clear that I do mind.' Curt the tones and edged with fury. 'This house is full to overflowing already.'
She looked at him, trifling with her grapefruit.
'Can't your two sisters share a bedroom?' she suggested reasonably. 'You seem to have forgotten that I have more right here than they have.' Brave words, but she knew she must gather courage if she was not to be completely browbeaten by this man whose personality was one of intense power and dominance. Those piercing brown eyes below straight dark brows, the clear deep bronze of his skin that seemed in some intangible way to accentuate the austerity of his angular, sun-bitten features, the way his proud head was set on broad, powerful shoulders… all these combined to place him high above her, like a god upon a pedestal, untouchable to a mere mortal like herself. She allowed her eyes to wander to his thick brown hair, bleached at the front and sprinkled with grey. Thirty-one…. His age and his nationality were just about the limit of her knowledge of Ralf on the day she had become his wife.
'My sisters don't get on well enough to share a bedroom,' Ralf was saying, a grim note running through his voice. 'No, that would be impossible,' he decided inexorably. Then he said, his voice carrying a mixture of persuasion and asperity, 'It would be much simpler for all concerned if you accepted the allowance and returned to England. Think about it—' An imperative flip of his hand silenced Dawn's interruption even before it was voiced. 'Don't be so hasty,' he snapped. 'Give the matter more thought. You have several days to reach a decision.'
Several days…. Of everything he had said, this provoked her intensely, hammering at her brain in angry repetition. So he would allow her several days in which to make up her mind, would he? Suddenly her chin lifted and a glint of defiance lit her eyes.
'It sounds like an ultimatum,' she accused, marvelling at her temerity in making this stand.
'Call it what you like,' he returned shortly. 'I'm merely asking that you use your common sense.'
Her violet eyes met his unflinchingly.
'In my present circumstances,' she said levelly, 'it makes more sense for me to stay here for a time, just until I recover from what has happened during the past couple of years.' She paused, thinking he might evince a little sympathy but, instead, there was about him an attitude of recrimination that riled her. But she did not intend to be put at a disadvantage if she could possibly help it. 'I am co-owner of this estate,' she reminded him defensively, 'and as such I feel entitled to have a prolonged holiday here if I wish. After all, were the positions reversed, I should never deny you access to the house.' She stopped somewhat abruptly, conscious of his steady, disconcerting gaze, the uplift of those arrogant eyebrows which told her quite categorically that the positions never could have been reversed, simply because he'd not have agreed to an arrangement which put him in the inferior position. So like a man, she thought, and especially one of Ralf's calibre whose demeanour was always that of a man accustomed to command.
'I'm still asking you to think about it.' There was an aura of self-control about Ralf now which made his voice sound almost expressionless. 'Give me your answer in a few days' time—and not before!' he added peremptorily as Dawn opened her mouth to inform him that she had already made up her mind, that she intended to stay at Dombeya Lodge for a little while at least.
***
Each succeeding day passed with a speed that astounded Dawn, and she supposed it was because she was finding so much of interest in her new surroundings. As a young child she had learned to ride a horse, and when she saw a quiet little mare in one of the paddocks she asked Ralf if she could ride her. That the request did not please him was evident, but at the same time it was plain that he was reluctant to refuse—whether it was because he had no wish to antagonise her further or whether he was admitting that she had every right to use the horse, she could not have said, nor did she care much. Her decision was made and the time limit he had given her rarely came to mind. She was enjoying her days, her senses becoming more and more sharpened to the pull of her surroundings as she continued to explore them. She was finding pastimes that were pleasant and which she meant to follow for as long as she remained at Dombeya Lodge. The mare, called Marylou, took to Dawn immediately, so much so that whenever Dawn passed by the paddock she would come trotting up, whinnying as if she and Dawn had been acquainted for months instead of days. Then there was Shaitan, the ridgeback, who from the first had realised that the newcomer was an animal lover and in consequence he followed her everywhere, trotting alongside her when she was out with Marylou. Kimani, the houseboy, and Letsie had been no trouble to get on with, and now Dawn was gradually getting to know the men who worked in the fields, especially George, the foreman, whose wife, Theresa, came daily to help in the house. Life was quiet and uneventful, the freedom from worry enabling her to make a gradual, but noticeable recovery. The several shocks she had sustained, the disappointment of losing Paul so soon after she had found him… There was so much from which she had to recover that it was bound to take time, but life was fast falling into a quiet but interesting routine which in itself was balm to Dawn's system, and with every day that passed she was feeling better, more cheerful, more ready to cope with her husband's family. Very soon now, they would all return from their vacation, descending on the restful tranquillity of the mellowed old house and its occupants, for Dawn and Ralf had seemed—on the surface at any rate—to get along fairly amicably together since the day he had told her to wait a few days before she made up her mind.
The weather was warm and dry, and already an attractive honey-tan was replacing the pallor which had been so noticeable by Paul, arousing his anger. Some mornings she would wander for a long way on Marylou, traversing rutted dusty lanes, all of which appeared to be within the vast periphery of the Dombeya estate. There were fields of cotton and maize, vast acres of cowpeas and soya beans, but it was the citrus orchards that captured Dawn's interest for they stretched away in long neat rows of fruit trees as far as the eye could see in one direction, and right up to the line of kopjes in another, sheltered along the entire length by windbreaks of bamboo and eucalyptus trees. From what she had seen since coming to Dombeya Lodge, Dawn was in no doubt about the prosperity of the estate, and surmised that its value was far greater than she had ever visualised. She found herself generously giving Ralf the credit for most of it, since there was no doubt at all that he was putting a great deal into it, improving it all the time. From George she had gained the information that large acres of bush had been cleared by Ralf and planted with citrus trees. He had worked hard and she could well understand his wanting to buy her out.
One morning she was standing in a wild part of the homestead grounds, the warm sun on her face, admiring the flowers—lovely blue blossoms like verbenas, African violets, wild lilies and mauve bougainvillaea—when her attention was arrested by Ralf on horseback, cantering over some rough bushveld that had not yet been cleared for cultivation. Dawn stood motionless, watching his approach, her hand lifted to shade her eyes from the sun. What symmetry—with noble man and horse moving as one in perfect rhythm and balance. Dawn caught her breath, a strange, impalpable fluttering in the region of her heart. It was a totally new sensation, as fleeting as it was disturbing. She tried to analyse it as she strolled along, into the more formal part of the grounds where two gardeners were busy in the borders and sprinklers were working on the well-manicured lawns. From there she went to the back of the house, across the yard, and was on her way to take a stroll along the river bank when she saw Ralf again, this time heading for the homestead. As he rode, she noticed the rippling muscles beneath his shirt; he was a superlative specimen of male physique, exemplifying power and strength and latent virility. She slowed her steps, again aware of flutterings within her, new emotions… an indefinable yearning for something out of reach….
Ralf dismounted in the yard, handing the bridle to one of the boys who came running in a way that plainly suggested he was obeying a tacit order, and a familiar one. Dawn had stopped and was standing there, watching the majestic approach of six-plus feet of perfectly formed muscle and bone clad in dark blue denims, an open-necked white shirt and a slouch hat tilted to the back of his head.
She noticed his inquiring look and said without hesitation, 'Will it be possible for me to borrow a vehicle of some kind, Ralf? I'd like to run into town this afternoon.' A quick, unconscious dart of her eyes to the low-slung white sports car standing there caused Ralf's glance to follow their direction.
'That happens to be mine,' he informed her smoothly, 'and, therefore, is not part of the property·'
Colouring at the raw implication, Dawn glanced away, saying quietly, 'I didn't expect to borrow that. I wondered if there was a spare Land-Rover—or something,' she added vaguely.
'That station wagon came with the property.' He thumbed towards a tired-looking contraption standing over by the dairy. Dawn looked at it. Her expression was closed, her voice fully under control as she asked if it was safe.
'It's safe enough,' she was assured at once, but Ralf was frowning his displeasure at the idea of her going into town. 'You want something special?' he inquired. 'I could perhaps get it for you?'
'No, there's nothing I really want at all,' she admitted, 'it's just that I'd like to take a look around the town.' She had already asked Letsie about the little town of Hortsburg and learned that it had a church and small school, a bank and library, several good shops, a beauty salon and barber shop and the usual administrative offices necessary in every town, however small. Last but not least there was the Jacaranda Club where, according to Letsie, everything of importance happened—dances, all kinds of celebrations and functions, and every Saturday evening there was a dinner dance when many of the far-flung neighbours—farmers and others—would meet in the flower-bedecked lounge for drinks and gossip before dinner was served and they all proceeded to their respective tables which had been booked in advance.
'I'd rather you didn't go into town,' Ralf said frankly. 'Ours is a small community and people are naturally curious about a new face—'
'Oh, I'd not do or say anything to embarrass you, Ralf,' she swiftly assured him. 'If anyone asks me who I am, I'll merely say I'm a friend of yours who's staying for a while.' Her eyes lifted to his bronzed, austere countenance, and even before he spoke she saw that her answer was unsatisfactory.
'I haven't mentioned anything about expecting a visitor.' His voice was hard, implacable, as he added, before she could speak, 'No, it won't do at all. You mustn't go into town.'
Anger lit sparks in her eyes, infected her voice with a rough quality that grated even on her own ears.
'Am I to regard myself as a prisoner, then?'
'Don't be absurd,' he snapped, chilling contempt in his gaze. 'There's no question of your being a prisoner.'
'But if I'm not supposed to go into town, what else is it than imprisonment?'
The brown eyes glinted almost dangerously.
'I'm merely asking that you consider my position. No one here knows of my marriage—'
'Nor will they know,' broke in Dawn, fighting down her anger with difficulty. 'But if I'm to stay here, then I shall have to go into town sometime, shan't I?' There, it was out without his asking her decision, and she waited, wondering how he would react. His voice was surprisingly quiet when, after a prolonged silence, he eventually spoke.
'So you're determined to stay here—indefinitely?'
'Not indefinitely, but for a while.'
There was a tense silence, the atmosphere fraught with hostility. Dawn half-turned from him, and for a few seconds her attention was more happily concentrated on the lovely butterflies flitting about in the grenadilla hedge which enclosed part of the garden. Behind, in the far distance, beyond the grassy plains of the Dombeya estate and beyond the vast stretch of bushveld, rose the mountain backcloth, its summits starkly outlined against the brilliant blue of an African sky.
'Is that your last word?' gritted Ralf at last, and Dawn nodded her head, opened her mouth to speak and then found herself wordless, uneasy and to her surprise and vexation, as undecided as she had been in the beginning: almost intimidated by her husband's formidable personality, his autocratic, overbearing manner, his innate ability to dictate and command.
But by some miracle strength seeped into her, the strength to hold her own, and she managed to say, 'Yes, Ralf, that's my last word. I do want to stay for a while, and enjoy what I've inherited.' A momentary pause and then, her lovely eyes lifted to his, 'I've agreed to say nothing about our marriage, or that I own an equal share in this house and estate. In continuing to keep these things secret I shall consider I am doing my part….' Her voice trailed.
Her challenge was quite open, but he deliberately ignored it, saying harshly, 'Have you thought about your position when my people arrive back here?'
'We shall have to discuss that before they come. I feel sure you'll be able to make something up to explain my presence here?' She looked at him questioningly, saw the dark fury in his eyes, the tensed line of his jaw, the tight compression of his mouth. Dejection flowed over her because she had neither expected nor steeled herself for a situation quite like this. True, she had felt a little apprehensive as to how her husband would receive her but, ignorant of the fact that he had all his relatives living with him, she had never envisaged these complications. 'I do fully understand that if I left it would simplify matters,' she went on when he maintained a wrathful silence, 'but on the other hand, I'm entitled to stay here and this I want to do—' She broke off and then said levelly, 'This I intend to do, Ralf, so you might as well resign yourself and begin thinking of some way of accounting for my presence here.'
He looked down at her from his superior height, chilling dislike in the depth of his eyes. A hostile silence dragged as he and Dawn stared at one another before, turning on his heels, he strode away in the direction of the house.
