The Fire of Life (6 page)

Rayanne went back to her own bedroom and hunted out a notebook and pencil, also her camera. She put on her blue jeans and dark shirt, remembering what Cary had said about publicity ' attracting the monkeys. What was she going to look for? she wondered. Where should she go?

Kwido was standing by the Land Rover. He lifted his hand in greeting and she lifted hers.

' You wish to drive, madam?' he asked politely.

Rayanne shook her head quickly. She had never dared to try to learn how to drive a car. What a gorgeous source for teasing that would have made! She could just hear her brothers joking about it, and if, by sheer bad luck, she had scraped the car or had an accident, they would never have let her forget it!

' I can't drive,' she said simply.

Kwido opened the door of the Land Rover on her side. Waited while she got in, took his rifle from the back of the truck and put it by his side in front. He smiled, his white teeth bright in his dark face.

We will not need it,' he said, and it sounded like a promise. Shall I just take you everywhere? Or is it one kind you want?'

Everywhere, please, Kwido.' She moistened her dry mouth. If only she knew what she was look-

ing for! Coming out here, though it seemed a bright idea at the time when Uncle Joe had suggested it, had not helped. ' I just want to look around.'

Kwido seemed to understand. He drove carefully and took her to the different water dams and parked' the Land Rover behind huge shrubs so that they could watch the animals unseen. He showed her chameleons. Kwido seemed to know a lot. He told her how when the chameleon grows old and grey it climbs on to a green twig and is young again.

It is sad we cannot do that,' Kwido said politely, but with a smile.

Rayanne had to laugh. She made a note of what he had said. Then he showed her how the chameleon moves slowly, about an inch at a time. Its long sticky tongue shoots out to take its prey and of course it changes colour according to where it is.

There were many amusing little things Kwido told her to add to her notes. That the lioness is very vicious when she has a cub. Rayanne saw large herds of buffaloes who, Kwido told her, prefer to graze in large herds, but he also showed her how the blue wildebeest and zebra can mix with impalas as well and also baboons quite happily.

Baboons fascinated her. She made a note to ask Kwido another time to find her some place where she could watch them, for he had already told her they have their own beauty saloons, As in big cities,' Kwido had said, where they clean their young.'

Kwido took her back in good time for lunch. It had been a hot close morning with small insects flying in her face, and about two pages of notes ! Rayanne showered and changed into a white cotton

frock. Uncle Joe had warned her it could be very hot, so she had made several very thin frocks, finding it impossible to buy really thin ones in wintry England.

' Well, my dear, learned a lot?' Mrs Jefferson greeted her happily. Cary is coming to lunch. He wants to know how you got on.'

Rayanne knew dismay instantly. Suppose he asked to see her notes? Somehow or other she must decide what she was going to write about. Perhaps his suggestion of gestation and parenthood was the best. If he realised she had no real idea what she wanted to study, he might imagine she was here to chase him!

She was welcomed warmly by Mrs Jefferson, who insisted that they sat on the stoep and had a refreshingly cold drink before they ate.

' Well, my dear?' she asked eagerly. ' How did you get on?'

Rayanne stretched herself luxuriously on the long low chair. It was most interesting.'

' And Kwido?'

' Very helpful. It was most amusing about the chameleon . . Rayanne told her hostess what Kwido had said. They both laughed.

' My dear child, how delectable! The perfect joke for a dinner party. I must remember it. Did you know your Uncle Joe well? I mean, do you? What is he like now? Of course he's much older . . .' Mrs Jefferson's voice was wistful.

' He's very handsome still,' Rayanne could say, and saw the beam on Mrs Jefferson's face. ' He mentioned you.'

He did?' The old lady leaned forward, her eyes bright. He really did?'

Rayanne was glad she could tell the truth, for Cary had told her she was a bad liar. ' I remember he said that Cary's mother had been the most beautiful girl he had ever known.'

He really said that?' Mrs Jefferson's day was certainly made. She leaned back in her chair, waving a little fan before her flushed face. ' He was a darling. His wife?' Her voice changed. I gather she is an invalid.'

I'm afraid so. She never leaves her house. They live in Gloucester, but he often comes down to see Dad.'

' You like him? Uncle Joe, I mean?' Mrs Jefferson asked.

Rayanne hesitated. Yes, I've always liked him very much, but . . . well, it isn't awfully easy to talk to him. He's reserved.'

Shy! He always was, poor darling.'

Also I always saw him with Dad and my brothers, and that . . Rayanne paused, remembering Cary's accusation that she was being ultra-sensitive about her brothers. But he was wrong and she was right, she was sure of that! They always teased me, called me Little Girl, and wondered what had happened to my brains as they said I had none.'

Mrs Jefferson, to Rayanne's surprise, burst into laughter, dropping her fan, clapping her hands excitedly.

My dear, he hasn't changed at all. That's exactly what he used to say to me, and I would get very angry and then I'd see the twinkle in his eyes

and I'd know he was teasing me.'

You mean he said you had no brains?' Rayanne said slowly.

My dear child, men are all the same. They have to boost their own unsteady egos and they do that by teasing us. You must never let them see you mind That's fatal, because it'll get worse and worse.'

' It has,' said Rayanne, her voice sad.

Mrs Jefferson leant forward. Then don't let it,

dear child. Remember that as women we are far superior to men, bless their dear hearts, and they know it and resent it. If they tease you, smile sarcastically and say something like : " Look who's talking! " or even more corny, " People in glasshouses . . ." and then laugh and walk away as if no longer interested in them.'

And it forks?'

Certainly it works. Or it did over fifty years ago. Don't let them see you mind, whatever happens.'

I lose my temper.'

Mrs Jefferson laughed. I used to, but in the end I felt sorry for them. I knew I was superior really; if it made them happier to think they were, well, why not? I lost nothing and they gained a lot.'

I'll try . . Rayanne said slowly, leaning forward to watch something move on the sand banks that lined the turgid brown river. You don't mind having crocodiles at the bottom of your garden?'

Mrs Jefferson chuckled. Of course I don't. They're hideously frightening things, but I never go close to the water. It isn't their fault they look like

that, is it? So I can't see that it's really fair to hate them, because they can't help acting that way. Besides, it's a lovely conversation-starter. People just stare at me as if I'm mad.'

' It's a beautiful garden . .

Yes, I love it.'

A shadow crossed them. Rayanne looked up. It was Cary.

Gossiping as usual,' he said, sitting down. You sound like a couple of mynah birds.'

We were talk . . Rayanne began indignantly, caught Mrs Jefferson's eyes, and smiled. Is that a compliment or an insult, Cary?'

He looked startled. Was it because this was the first time she had called him Cary? she wondered. Or because she had smiled when he teased her?

A compliment, of course. I brought Cary up to be polite to young, ladies,' said Mrs Jefferson. She looked at her son. Cary, I told you I wanted the hedge between us and Jefferson Hall tidied up. You've done nothing about it, and it looks awful.'

You're right, it does. I'm afraid I forgot,' Cary said meekly. I'm sorry. I'll arrange it this afternoon. How did you get on this morning, Ray?'

Fine, just fine.'

She found it most interesting,' Mrs Jefferson joined in eagerly. She liked Kwido, too, found him very helpful.'

Yes, he's good. I'm thinking of sending him over to the U.S.A. to do a course on conservation of soil and water. They're doing some interesting experiments there that might help us.'

, He seems to know an awful lot already,' Ray-

anne began, and stopped abruptly, for Cary was smiling.

' How right you are, Ray, but there's much more for him to learn. Later I hope to start another reserve of a different nature, and one day Kwido might be head warden. I believe in training men to take responsible positions. That's a sign of genius, you know.'

His mother chuckled. Inherited from me, of

course. Isn't lunch ready?'

At that moment a bell tinkled

' Lunching with us, Cary?' Mrs Jefferson asked. He smiled. But of course. Uncle Joe's goddaughter must be given V.I.P. treatment.'

Rayanne felt the anger surge up inside her. Had he got to be so beastly? She clutched the back of the chair and fought her anger, finally smiling.

' How lucky I am that Uncle Joe is my godfather,' she said sweetly.

Life was certainly different for Rayanne now she was living with Mrs Jefferson. It wasn't only the large, beautifully-furnished bedroom with the pale pink silk curtains and bedspread to match, the polished floor with large soft white rugs; nor was it the clean water in which she could shower or bathe several times a day; nor the excellent food; not even the beautiful garden where they so often sat watching the hideous crocodiles slowly submerge in the muddy water or move with their slow crawl—a frightening, almost relentless crawl—across the mud. No, it was Mrs Jefferson. She was the one who made all the difference.

When Rayanne came home, driven by Kwido after trying to make notes, to work out what she wanted to write, there would be the 'plump, white-haired little woman, waiting eagerly. It was a warm, delighted welcome; such a welcome as Rayanne had never known before. Mrs Jefferson liked her . . . no, even more than that, she loved her. And Rayanne was beginning to love the talkative little woman who was always laying down the law to her big son and bullying him—literally bullying him into doing what she wanted done. And there was Cary, standing so quietly, saying meekly that his mother was quite right and he shouldn't have forgotten what she had asked him to do. A different Cary, an inconsistent Cary in many ways.

It was pleasant, Rayanne found, to have someone

interested in what you had been doing; someone who would ask questions eagerly and listen to your answers, someone who fussed over you, made sure you had the kind of food you liked, that you were not too tired.

One day Rayanne found herself alone in the garden with Cary. Mrs Jefferson had murmured something and gone indoors. The amused smirk on Cary's face annoyed Rayanne

' Your mother is a darling,' she said, and wished she hadn't, because it sounded so childishly defiant. ' I'm aware of that,' he said coolly.

Then why don't you do what she asks you to do?' Rayanne sat up in her chair and glared at him. ' It's four days she's been asking you to have that high hedge cut and . .

Asking me?' Cary sounded amused. You mean ordering me to have it done.'

Is that why you haven't? Because you can't take orders?' Rayanne felt her control of her anger slipping away. It was such a stupid thing to get angry about, but she 'hated that smug, supercilious smile he was giving. You meekly tell her you'll do a thing, but you've no intention of doing it, have you?'

None at all,' he agreed, and offered her a cigarette which she refused, then lit one for himself. Why should I?'

She is your mother.'

' That wasn't my fault . .

Rayanne slid along the seat as she tensed with fury. How dare you say such a horrible thing! If you knew how lucky you are to have such a

wonderful mother. Why do you meekly say you'll do it when you have no intention of doing what she wants done?'

He smiled. She knows very well I have no intention of doing what I—to quote you—meekly agree to doing. She doesn't expect me to do it.'

' Then why does she?'

He lifted his hand to silence her. It's a game

we play.' His voice changed, losing its amusement, becoming grave. I think the saddest thing about you, my little Ray, is the fact that you have no conception whatsoever of a true parent-and-child relationship. Mother and I understand one another. You see, my father was a strong authoritative man who laid down the law. Mother was always meek and biddable; she knew Dad wasn't well and mustn't be upset, so she gave way about everything, even against, as she often said, her principles. When he died and we lived together, we came to an undiscussed arrangement. We didn't need words. We understood one another. For the first time in years, Mother could throw her weight around, could boss me, order me about. So she did it, knowing full well that I would do what I thought best and certainly wouldn't do what she said if I didn't agree with her—but I always pretend to agree meekly and she knows I'm pretending, so she can say the most outrageous things . . . you haven't heard anything yet! . . . and we understand perfectly what we're both doing. Do you see?'