Authors: Hilary Wilde
Again she quickly glanced at him. His profile was almost more handsome than his full face, with that square chin, the rather large nose and the arrogant lift to his head. He was whistling softly. She seemed to know the tune, but could not name it.
Was he resenting her? she wondered. Was she
wasting his precious time? Yet why had he to show her round? Surely Mike Crisp could have done it? Or was Uncle Joe's influence on Cary Jefferson so strong?
Later she was to realise that she had been so wrapped up in self-pity and resentment that she hardly noticed the beauty of the house they reached, a long L-shaped white house with the usual wide stoep. She could see the river below, much closer than at the rondavel where she had slept, or rather tried to sleep! There was a sloping lawn down to the water, shaded by tall red-flowered flamboyant trees, and she could see sandbanks on the side of the still dark brown water. Something on one of them moved!
' Are there crocodiles there?' she asked as Cary Jefferson stopped the car before the house.
He turned and looked at her, his eyes amused. Of course there are. Scared?'
Of course not,' she said indignantly.
Well, I am. Scared of people taking foolish risks.' He opened the door of the Land Rover. ' I've got to fetch some keys. Won't be a moment,' he said, and left her.
She looked round curiously. This was obviously his home, where he lived, apparently, with his mother. Now she could see it was a beautifully-designed house with large windows shaded against the hot glare of the sun by venetian blinds. Several Africans were working in the garden, and glanced at her without interest.
Cary Jefferson joined her and started the engine, driving round the tall weeping willow that grew in
the centre of the circular parking space.
Know what the croc does to his victim?' Cary said cheerfully as they left the garden and were back on the main road, trees and bushes growing closely on either side. He did not wait for her answer. They drag him under water to a shelf at the side of the river they've prepared, then leave the body there until it, rots before they eat it.'
Before she could control it, a shiver passed through Rayanne.
' Oh no ! ' she said.
Cary Jefferson chuckled. Oh yes. I'm surprised you didn't know that ! ' His voice changed suddenly. Just what interest have you in nature conservation?' he asked sternly.
Rayanne was startled. Well, I . . . I was
always interested in wild life, biology, conservation . . . and when Uncle Joe told me of the wonderful job you were doing out here, he suggested . .
It was his suggestion, not yours?' Cary Jefferson asked curtly.
Oh yes. You see . . . you see I didn't know what I . . . well . . Rayanne stumbled over the words, trying not to sound too stupid, wishing she had never left the shores of England.
Again he startled her, for he smiled. ' I see. You were just at that stage we all go through when we've gone so far and can't be sure whereto go on. I went through it. Can you imagine it? I was a stockbroker originally.'
You weren't?' Rayanne turned to stare at him, at his dark suntanned skin, his safari suit with open collar and short sleeves. I can't see you in an
office ! '
He laughed. You're so right. That's how I felt. Then as a kid, I'd always been interested in the fast diminishing wild life of this country and used to spend all my money going to the game reserves. At one time, I wanted to be a game warden, but my father was ill and I didn't want to leave home. Then he died,. so I told my mother I wanted to start my own wild life reserve and finally persuaded her I had to do it or be a crazy, mixed-up kid for the whole of my life: So we came up here, built the house, and slowly everything else.'
Ahead of them was a tall narrow building. That's Jefferson Hall,' Cary Jefferson told her. ' That's where we lecture.'
He drove past it and she saw three square two-storied houses in a row, joined by glassed-in corridors. He stopped the Land Rover and she slid out so that she was ready when he came to her side.
This middle house is where they eat, have games and study. On the left is the hostel for boys, on the far right the hostel for girls. Actually we get a surprising number of girls interested in conservation. I've often wondered why.'
And why shouldn't they be interested?' Rayanne asked quickly.
She saw the smile playing round his mouth as he stared down at her. And why should they?'
' Oh! She tried to control her quick anger, but the Irish blood in her was coming out. Why must you men always differentiate between men and women? Why shouldn't a woman be interested in wild life?'
' Two simple reasons, my dear child.' Rayanne's hand ached as she kept it from smacking his smug face.
Name them,' she challenged.
Well, first men and women are physically different. Man is much stronger . .
That's absolute tripe! We're as strong as you. How many men could have six children and run a house without breaking down? I wonder how many men would have the second child. Once would be enough!'
He was obviously trying not to laugh. It might be the answer to the problem of the world's fast-growing population. My second reason is that it's a lonely life, hard work, and not very well rewarded financially.'
You think women work only for money?' Rayanne was having a hard fight with her temper, but she tried to steady her voice.
Cary threw back his head and laughed. My, my, Ray, you do bite the bait! I was only teasing you. In any case, let's be honest, don't you think women require financial security more than men?'
She wasn't sure whether to be angry with him or share in his laughter. Why hadn't she recognised the signs? He had only been teasing her—just as her brothers did. And just as she did with them, she had risen to the bait!
' I don't know. I've never been very poor,' she said thoughtfully. I think if I had children, I would want financial security.'
You want children?'
Startled, R
a
yanne looked at him. Of course I
do. I'd like four, but I'll be content with two. One of each.'
' Are you engaged—or in love?'
She stiffened, because it was none of his business. She glared at him. No, I'm not engaged . . .' she began angrily, and then hesitated. Staring at him, his face seemed to blur for a moment and then came back, each item on his face brilliantly outlined. Her hand ached again, but this time to touch his face gently, to trace those thick dark eyebrows, the prominent nose, the square chin, his ears with their slightly big lobes but that lay flat against his head. No,' she said unsteadily, ' I'm not in love . . . at least . .
Good, so you won't be getting long phone calls from your beloved,' Cary said, taking her arm. ' We'll go to the Clinic first.'
Stumbling a little, for though it was absurd, Rayanne knew, her legs felt weak and she longed for a cup of tea or even something stronger. Perhaps it was the altitude, the different climate. It was so humid, so still the air!
The Clinic consisted of a small room with a couch, a waiting room that was much bigger, and the Sister's office and locked cupboard of drugs,
etc.
A tall slim girl with dark hair came to meet them. ' Cary, how nice to see you,' she said eagerly. ' I've got a quiet morning for a change.' Then she stopped, staring at Rayanne, her eyes narrowing. This is...?'
Yes, I want to introduce Rayanne Briscoe. I told you Mother's close friend, Sir Joe Letherington, wrote and asked if Miss Briscoe might come here to
study our work for her thesis,' Cary Jefferson's voice was friendly yet impersonal. Mind if I show her round?'
Of course not. Glad to meet you, Miss Briscoe,' Sister Daphne Macintyre said in her husky attractive voice, but Rayanne knew that the Sister was not in the least bit glad to see her! She could see Sister Macintyre's eyes noting the drab jeans and dark shirt, and for a moment Rayanne knew hatred of Cary Jefferson. The Sister was beautiful, elegantly dressed in a pale pink nylon overall, and Rayanne felt horribly plain.
She followed Cary Jefferson round the Clinic, listening to his description of the sort of casualties they had.
More often it's the boys who come to study. They're so keen to prove their strength, they'll do the craziest things and turn up with broken legs or arms.'
Do you get many injuries from . . . from the animals?' Rayanne asked.
Cary Jefferson looked amused. ' Very few, and those we do are the patients' own fault. Occasionally we get a snake bite, of course.'
Next he took her to what he called the Lab '.
' I think you'll like Christine Horlock,' he said as he led the way. She's beautiful, but plenty of brains She isn't suffering from the inferiority complex that Sister Daphne is.'
Startled, Rayanne almost gasped. Why should she have an inferiority complex? She's beautiful, and . .
And uneducated. Oh, I'm not saying she isn't
educated, but she's the only one of the staff who didn't go to a university, and this smarts. She hates us all.'
' That's absurd! I thought she was very nice,' Rayanne said quickly, as usual leaping to the defence of anyone attacked.
Cary Jefferson chuckled. ' You're a bad liar, Ray,' he said, and pushed open two swinging doors. ' Here we are. Christine!' he called. ' We've come to see you!'
It was a very modern, efficient-looking laboratory, Rayanne saw instantly, and the girl who came to meet them was the same—tall and blonde, with blue eyes and a friendly smile as she held out her hand.
Welcome, Miss . . . Miss Briscoe. Is that right?' she said, and turned to Cary. Not often we see you at this hour, Cary.'
' I'm just showing Ray Briscoe round,' he told her with a smile.
Rayanne stood silently. They seemed to have forgotten her as they stared at one another, both smiling. It was almost as if they were talking, as if through their eyes a message could pass.
Then Cary Jefferson turned to Rayanne. ' Well, we mustn't waste any of our precious time or that of Christine's . . . I won't be a moment, Ray.'
It was odd—and yet strangely nice—that he called her Ray. It was a name no one had ever called her before, Rayanne was thinking as she waited while Cary Jefferson and Christine Horlock looked through a microscope and earnestly discussed something.
What a mixture of different people he was, Rayanne thought. A real Jekyll and Hyde, only instead
of being two people he was about a dozen. She was never sure which one he was going to be; one moment, so relaxed and friendly, then accusing, then understanding, and the next almost condemning her. She felt horribly drab and plain in her clothes. Miss Horlock was wearing a sleeveless white overall and still managed to make it look as if it came from Paris.
Back in the Land Rover again, Cary explained something of the problems.
' Nature conservation isn't only a case of keeping wild animals alive, but it is an applied scence,' he began, sounding rather pompous, Rayanne thought as she sat meekly, hands folded, as the Land Rover bounced about the bad earth roads. ' We're continually engaged in observation and research. We leave the academic type to research institutes. Soil conservation means the soil must be protected against exposure as well as erosion and must be chemically treated or it may become impoverished. Dead trees and other vegetation should be allowed to rot rather than be burnt. Water, of course, is another problem. The depth and stability . . .' he went on gravely.
Rayanne listened. At least, she tried to, but she found her thoughts going constantly back to the way Christine Horlock and Cary Jefferson had looked at one another. Were they in love? Perhaps they were without knowing it? Christine Horlock was very beautiful, she also had brains and obviously a deep interest in conservation, so she would make Cary Jefferson a good wife.
They paused as they came to a big double gate
that divided the eight-foot-tall wire fence and the African came running to open it, lift his hand in greeting and give a big white-toothed smile as Cary Jefferson spoke to him.
Why don't you like women visitors?' Rayanne asked as they drove through. She was as startled as he, because she had not meant to ask the question. She felt her cheeks go red. I . . . I couldn't help hearing you in the next room.'
Cary laughed. Sorry if I sounded inhospitable, but it's happened so often in the past.'
What's happened?'
He chuckled. ' Well, females can be a headache, because they complain about the heat, the dust, the water. They also talk of their own home with nostalgic reverence, saying what a beautiful place it is, what a fine social life they lead, how very different from this life: this boring, lonely life.'
' It must be boring and lonely for the wife.' Once again, Rayanne leapt to the defence of Samantha Crisp.
I agree—that's why wardens should be careful before they marry—or cease to be wardens. The trouble is, it's a kind of bug. Getting involved, I mean. You may have heard of a poet called Landor. I don't know if he's well-known, but I always remember a poem I learned at school . . . " I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of life. It sinks and I am ready to depart ".' He laughed. You must think I'm mad, but that's how I feel about Nature. It's so amazingly wonderful, so fascinating to study. Do