Call Of The Veld Part 7

'It's difficult to say. I just know we're different.'

'Tell me,' invited Carl's mother when the maid had left the room, 'if you had had that accident, would you have reacted in the same way?'

Suddenly Sara was remembering her resolve not to tell this woman anything about herself that could be in any way helpful to her in a.n.a.lysing her character. Already, thought Sara ruefully, Carl's mother had managed very easily to draw information from her guest, but, as yet, nothing of any real importance.

'That again is difficult to say,' answered Sara, shaking her head. 'I expect, though, that I wouldn't be feeling like producing a smile whenever someone came in to see me.'

'So your sister's feeling very sorry for herself?'

'No, I wouldn't care to put it like that, Mrs van der Linden. She's unhappy, but wouldn't you be if at her age you had no hope of ever walking again?'

'I'd be unhappy, yes-but I don't believe I should want people around me to know the full extent of my unhappiness, especially those who were trying to help me, to make my lot easier.'

Sara was frowning by the time this little speech came to an end.

'You seem to have gained the impression that Irma complains a good deal,' she said in some distress. 'I can't think how I've come to give you wrong ideas about Irma. She's grateful for what we do...' She tailed off, recalling what Ray had said about Irma never showing grat.i.tude. Ray had been right-but on the other hand Sara had no wish for a show of grat.i.tude on her sister's part. To be saying thank you all the time was humiliating for the one uttering the words and embarra.s.sing for the recipient.

'She is?' Mrs van der Linden was smiling as she poured the tea. 'Well, it's nice to know-that your sister fully appreciates all you and her husband do for her.'

A small sigh of relief escaped Sara; she had had the unpleasant conviction that, unintentionally, she had put Irma in a bad light, but obviously this was not so.

Two days went by peacefully and most pleasantly. Sara and Carl's mother were getting along together so smoothly that they might have known one another for months. They went to the beach each morning, had a swim and a sunbathe, then returned to the house for lunch. Mrs van der Linden would then take a short rest while Sara lay on the lawn reading a book and at the same time acquiring the tan which she had hoped to get; but until now she had not had the opportunity even of taking an hour a day off for anything so unproductive as lying half-naked on the lawn.

On the third day Mrs van der Linden said they would be dining out that evening, at an hotel.

'Carl probably told you that I like to dine out sometimes,' went on Mrs van der Linden. 'I feel I mustn't get stale, or lose touch altogether with the kind of occasion which necessitates my dressing up.'

The idea of wearing an evening dress brought to Sara's mind Carl's unflattering remark and in consequence her cheeks took on an added colour. Mrs van der Linden asked if anything was wrong.

'Well-not really.' She hesitated, but as she saw the inquiring expression on Mrs van der Linden's face, she said, 'Carl told me I'd look like a scarecrow if I wore a frilly blouse.'

'Did he now? Hmm...' Mrs van der Linden's eyes opened very wide indeed. 'Either my son likes you, Sara, or he dislikes you intensely.'

'No,' protested Sara, not at all put out by the second part of the sentence. 'He's indifferent, I can be certain of that.'

The older woman was slanting Sara an odd glance, appearing to be making a thorough appraisal of her looks.

'My dear,' she said presently, 'a man who's indifferent to a woman doesn't trouble to tell her what she'll look like in this or that. In fact, he never even notices her, much less takes the trouble of trying to picture what will suit her.' There was a moment's pause and then, 'Don't you see the logic of what I've just said?'

'Well...' Sara was not convinced, though she did have to admit, now that it was pointed out to her, that it was rather odd that Carl should have made so disparaging a comment. 'I can only think that he dislikes me, then.'

'But he a.s.sured me that you were charming, if you remember?'

'I believe that was said merely for your rea.s.surance, Mrs van der Linden. After all, you must have asked him what I was like?' 'Yes, of course I did.'

'Then naturally he'd say something flattering about me.' Sara paused, then added on a note of humour, 'He could scarcely say something like, "Well, I personally don't care for her, but I daresay you'll find her tolerably pleasant," could he?'

Mrs van der Linden burst out laughing. 'You have a sense of humour, child, which I like. Also, even though you're convinced that my son doesn't like you, you don't appear to harbour a grudge on account of it.'

She shrugged her shoulders.

'Harbouring grudges is so unprofitable; don't you agree? It causes a sort of canker which eventually you can't control.'

'How very true. You have a maturity that surprises me. How old are you, Sara?'

'Twenty-three,' she replied, accepting the tea being offered to her across the small rattan table that had been placed between them by Rima.

'Twenty-three..." A faint sigh escaped Carl's mother. 'A delightful age to be. Make the most of it, Sara-and of the opportunity it offers.' 'Opportunity?' Sara queried.

'You're a very attractive girl, and you're twenty-three years of age-a perfect combination, my dear. I was pretty, and just your age, when I had my first proposal of marriage. I turned it down, of course, because I'd already fixed my eye on Carl's father-a tall and handsome man whose son resembles him, a circ.u.mstance for which I've always been grateful. It's every mother's wish to have a tall and handsome son.'

The pride in her voice was wonderful to hear and it brought an instant and understanding smile to Sara's lips.

'Have you any more children?' she inquired after a pause.

'Two daughters, both of whom are miles away! Margaret's in South America, married to a Brazilian, and Sophie's in Paris, married to a Frenchman. I see them about once in every two or three years and I don't know whether it's a good thing or a bad one. The wrench is grim when they leave again.'

'Yes, I expect it is.' Sara's eyes had shaded with compa.s.sion and her mouth trembled slightly. 'I don't think either my sister or I would have come out here if our parents had been living.'

'You have no parents, then?'

'No, they've been dead some years.'

'But had they been living you wouldn't have left them?'

'No, I don't think we would.'

'You can speak for your sister too?'

'I suppose I shouldn't,' said Sara with a deprecating little smile. 'Perhaps Irma would have come, because Ray wanted her to. A woman must go where her husband wants her to go, mustn't she?'

The older's woman's eyes flickered for a moment, as if she were deep in thought.

'If you were married, then, you'd put your husband's wishes before your own?'

'I expect so, yes.'

'Because you loved him?'

'Of course. I wouldn't marry without love.' Her big eyes looked straightly into the grey ones... and suddenly she realised that, during the past few minutes, she had revealed a great deal about herself without even being aware of it, so clever and subtle was this woman who, at times, had not even had to put a question to her.

What an idiot she was! decided Sara. Yet did it matter? Again she told herself that she had given away nothing of any real importance. However, she firmly made up her mind to change the subject, and this she did, abruptly, as she asked about the girl who was coming to see Carl.

'Ray says she was his ward at one time,' added Sara. 'I can't imagine your son with a ward.'

'I don't blame you,' laughed her companion. 'She wasn't his ward exactly. Her father considered her to be a gadabout and left his fortune in trust for her. Carl was to look after it for her until she was twenty-one. It seems that her father had an idea he wouldn't last that long and so he drew up his will in this way. Carl wasn't at all pleased with the idea of being the girl's trustee, but he wouldn't have s.h.i.+rked the job once it had been given to him. Marie fell in love with him, of course-what ward didn't have notions of marrying her guardian? Silly child! I believe Carl gave her a couple of spankings in the end, just to cure her of her infatuation. Wouldn't stand any nonsense of that kind, not Carl!'

Sara had to smile. Poor Marie! Still, she should have had more sense than to fall in love with a man like Carl, who was quite plainly not interested in women.

Mrs van der Linden was speaking again, saying that her son had not been at all pleased when he heard that Marie was intending to visit him.

'He'd have put her off,' she continued, 'but she was cute enough not to offer him the chance of doing so. She's all there as regards Carl, and knew he wouldn't want to have her. So she simply left him no alternative. He'll give her a stern dressing-down, but she won't take too much notice of him. She knows his bark's much worse than his bite.'

'It is?' Sara looked curiously at her, noticing the sudden quirk of amus.e.m.e.nt that lifted the corner of her lip.

'You don't think so, obviously. Tell me, child, just what is your relations.h.i.+p with my son like?'

'I'm afraid,' answered Sara with all honesty, 'that we haven't much time for one another.'

'No friendliness?'

Sara shook her head.

'None that you'd notice,' she returned-and although she had meant to accompany that with a laugh, it was a little sigh that issued from her lips.

'Apparently you don't mind?'

'No, I don't mind.' But did she mind? Sara asked herself.

A strange pause ensued before the older woman spoke.

'Most young ladies aspire to attracting my son's interest to themselves.' The tone was also strange, as if there was a subtle undercurrent somewhere. 'Perhaps,' added Mrs van der Linden slowly, 'you're already in love...?' So artful, but Sara with her quick intelligence realised at once that Carl had told his mother that she was in love with Ray. She would have liked to deny it, strongly, and to adopt an air of indignation, but how could she, when no mention had been made of her brother-in-law? In any case, she was incurably honest, and it was owing to this that a tide of colour swept up into her cheeks. 'I see you are,' murmured Mrs van der Linden in the same slow manner.

'I'd rather not talk about it,' said Sara, and now her tone was sharp because she felt sure that unless she discouraged her hostess there would be some questions forthcoming which could bring her considerable discomfort. There was no doubt about it, Mrs van der Linden had a way of extracting information, and yet again Sara made the vow to be on her guard.

'I'm sorry, dear.' Carl's mother lifted her cup to her lips and for a few moments there was silence in the room. This was broken eventually by the entrance of the maid, after she had knocked quietly on the door panel. 'Yes, Rima?' said her employer with a smile.

'The telephone, Mrs van der Linden. It's Master Carl.'

'Ah.' The grey eyes lighted up as their owner rose instantly and, with a word of apology to her guest, she left the room.

On her return five minutes later she looked at Sara a little ruefully-but happily for all that-and said, 'Marie isn't coming to see Carl after all; she's changed her mind. So he's coming here. He'll be arriving in time for lunch tomorrow.' Mrs van der Linden sat down, but her gaze never left Sara's face. Sara swallowed hard, a frown gathering between her eyes. Carl here... She would feel out of place, in the way.

'I ought to go,' she murmured, almost to herself. 'He won't want me around; I'm very sure of that.'

'Nonsense, dear. You've come for a rest and that you shall have.'

'I came instead of Carl-Mr van der Linden.'

'I wouldn't keep giving him his full t.i.tle, Sara. Carl will do very well.'

'About my stay,' said Sara, bypa.s.sing with impatience the comment which she felt was quite irrelevant. 'As I've said, your son won't want me around all the time.'

It was Mrs van der Linden's turn to show impatience.

'My dear child, he knows you're here, and he wants to come. Surely that's enough to put your mind at rest?'

'Well...' There was certainly logic in what Carl's mother had said. 'I don't know...' A sigh escaped her; she knew that one part of her would welcome his presence here. 'You see, we have nothing in common,' she added rather quickly, noticing that Mrs van der Linden was staring interrogatingly at her.

'How do you know you have nothing in common?'

Taken aback by a question she soon realised was difficult to answer, Sara could only say, rather selfconsciously, 'Instinct, I suppose.'

'Instinct?' with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow that was so reminiscent of her son. 'Rubbish, my child! How can you know if you've anything in common if you haven't been with one another, chatting together?'

Sara said nothing; she was thinking again that they did have one thing in common, and that was her sister's welfare. Also, she recalled that, when she was at his house, they had in fact chatted together, not intimately, of course, perhaps not even in a way one would call friendly, but certainly they had managed to converse amicably.

Mrs van der Linden was speaking again, saying that if Carl and Sara had a few days together on holiday here, then they'd soon know whether or not they had anything in common.

'Yes,' nodded Sara automatically, 'I suppose you're right.'

'Certainly I'm right. Now don't you worry any more about it. I have a feeling you'll both have a most pleasant holiday, and be very good friends by the time it's all over.'

CHAPTER SEVEN.

True to his word, Carl was at his mother's house in time for lunch. Sara, who had spent part of the morning on the beach and the other part on the most pleasant task of cutting flowers from the garden and arranging them decoratively in the lovely cut-gla.s.s and silver vases provided by Mrs van der Linden, happened to be on her own in the sitting-room when he entered. He stood for a moment, just inside the door, watching her as she placed the last sprig of foliage among a bowl of blue verbenas. She turned, her colour rising a little, and spoke quickly, embarra.s.sed by his lazy manner as he stood there, apparently interested in what she was doing.

'Your mother's just gone up to wash and change. She'll not be long.'

Carl advanced slowly into the centre of the room.

'How are you enjoying your visit?' he inquired, his amber eyes taking in her flushed face, her quivering mouth. 'I hope my mother didn't disappoint you?'

'No-she's all you said she was,' replied Sara, wis.h.i.+ng she had seen him arrive, so that she could have made her escape before he entered the room.

'You're obviously getting along all right, then? But I had no fears that you wouldn't. Everyone gets along with Mother.'

'Did you see Irma before you left?' she asked, and Carl nodded.

'She's quite cheerful.' There was an odd inflection in his voice which seemed to match in some way the slight narrowing of his eyes. 'You have no need to worry about her; Ray's managing very well indeed.'

'I'm glad,' returned Sara automatically.

'You are?'

She stared up into his face unflinchingly.

'Certainly I am. Is there any special reason why you should think otherwise?' Her words were a challenge which Carl chose to ignore as he said in a casual tone of voice, 'Why should there be?' and he diverted his attention to the flowers she had been arranging. 'Very nice. Mother's going to have some compet.i.tion, it would appear.'

'I don't think so. Your mother has that special kind of artistry with which no one could compete.'

He nodded his head.