'Supposing someone heard me,' she said chokingly, and Ralf merely flicked his hand and, walking over to the outer door, he quietly closed it.
Dawn had calmed down by the time she reappeared after undressing. She managed a smile as Ralf opened his arms to her.
'You're a silly girl,' he said in some amusement. 'They've been in bed for half an hour or more.'
'But might not be asleep.'
'Forget them,' he recommended, and the next moment she was in his arms, her slender frame crushed to his hard body, her breasts flattened against his chest. His lips, moist and sensuous, possessed hers in a long and sense-stirring kiss which sent darts of rapture into Dawn's veins, brought her eager arms curving about his neck, her body straining against him, seeking for the pleasure of knowledge… knowledge of her husband's need of her. She felt him against the low swell of her stomach, sensed his growing eagerness and the increase in his heartbeats as his strength grew and his mouth became fiercely and hungrily demanding and dominant. She parted her lips at the insistence of his, thrilled to the sensual experience of intimacy as he teased her tongue with the moist roughness of his. The drapes had been left wide open and moonlight, soft and romantic, flowed into the room, highlighting her beauty, while at the same time melding their two bodies to form a single silhouette against the backcloth of the bedroom wall.
'You're delightfully tempting….' Ralf's voice was throaty, almost guttural, as passion engulfed him. 'Kiss me,' he commanded and she obeyed, giving her lips, parting them for his pleasure and his sensuality. She felt small and weak, a slave to his demands, the suppliant before the conqueror. Her soft young arms were still curved around his neck, her pliant fingers finding sensitive places before plunging into the thick mass of his hair. Ralf's hands were slipping the thin straps of her nightgown from her shoulders; she coloured as he looked down with a kind of satirical amusement at her nakedness, at the breasts, high and firm, and the nipples not yet teased to hard buds of desire. His mouth caressed their softness, his tongue teased and then his fingers closed in masterful possession and insistence until a little moan that was a mingling of pain and pleasure escaped from her lips, and the fierce turbulence of her own increasing passion thrust her body so close that she felt that already they were one. She knew the heady sensation of near drunkenness as shock waves of all-consuming ecstasy shuddered through her, like uncontrollable convulsions that left her trembling and spent even before Ralf, with a little triumphant laugh, swept her up into his arms and, stepping over the dainty garment which dropped to the floor, he laid her on the bed. She knew a sudden overwhelming embarrassment when both his hands spread themselves over her breasts, then moved with slow deliberation downwards, over her stomach to find the fiery heat between her thighs.
His dressing gown was soon discarded and he was down beside her on the cool coverlet, and the argent moonglow affording just sufficient light to supply the sense of sight with all that was needed to ignite other senses, spurring the desire for further tactile pleasure, for the taste of each other's lips, the scent of his body mingling with that of hers.
Passion, tempestuous and primordial, possessed them both as volcanic heat spread through their veins and their pulses and their very cells themselves, encompassing everything within them as the paroxysm of fulfilment finally carried them to the door of paradise, and beyond.
The ferment was stilled at last and they lay naked and close, arms about each other, lips warm and moist and tingling. Dawn felt her husband wrap his legs about her, find a place for his head between the softness of her breasts and soon she was hearing even breathing and a smile of tenderness hovered on her lips as she fell into a long and peaceful sleep.
***
The blushing pink of an African dawn had given way to the golden glow of the sun rising over the low hills when Dawn awakened to find her husband still asleep. Her heart gave a lurch as she saw the time—a quarter past seven.
She had planned to leave Ralf's room before six, just to be on the safe side, but now…
Gently she shook him, heard his contented little grunt before he said, 'I'm going to make love to you again.'
'No! Ralf, it's quite late and—'
'What do you call late?' He managed to ease up on one elbow to look at the clock. 'Late?' he said with a lift of his brows.
'I've to get back to my room….' She went swiftly into the bathroom and emerged within minutes, fully dressed.
'Don't panic, Dawn. No one will be about yet.'
She went to the door, opened it slowly and peered out along the corridor.
'I'm going.'
She was treading cautiously and her thoughts were bitter. They were destined to be even more bitter when, just as she reached Mrs. Deverell's door, it opened and she found herself confronted with the very last person she wanted to see.
'Good morning, Dawn.' The voice was harsh and clipped and tinged with contempt to match the expression in the eyes that wandered over her and then came to rest on the toilet bag she carried. Dawn had left her nightgown and negligé behind, but felt she needed the bag; she now cursed herself for not leaving that behind too. However, as it happened it made no difference, for she heard Mrs. Deverell say, 'Did you sleep well? I saw you going along to my son's room last night… when you thought we'd all gone to bed.'
Dawn's mouth went dry. She just looked at the woman through a haze and went on, to her own room. But once there she found herself trembling from head to foot, and part of it was caused through anger, anger against her husband. She left her room again and entered his, to stand just inside the door as she realised he was in the bathroom. Then without more ado she went forward. He was showering behind a curtain, and she saw his frame outlined.
'Your mother knows,' she said in a loud voice, and to her dismay this brought him out. Colour flooded her cheeks, but he merely smiled at her discomfiture.
'What did you say?'
'Your mother saw me come here last night, and so she was waiting for me to pass her door this morning.'
The dark eyes narrowed. 'What did she say?'
'She asked me if I'd slept well!'
'Just like her!'
'Don't you care?' she asked.
'Of course I care, but what's done is done—'
'I don't believe you do care!' she broke in quiveringly. 'I've nothing to be ashamed of and yet I am ashamed—and humiliated!' She turned and ran from the room, tears blinding her vision.
To go in to breakfast was unthinkable. In fact she felt she could not face those women at all. But of course she would have to, sometime.
For the present though, she evaded the issue and, saddling Marylou, she went off into the solitude of the veld, Shaitan trotting along beside the horse.
Somehow she eventually found herself close to Avice's secret place and, tethering Marylou to a tree where beneath it there was some grass for her to crop, Dawn went on and sat down on a boulder by the waterfall, her thoughts chaotic as, one moment she was telling herself that she had only to agree to stay married and all would be resolved, since Ralf would then tell his mother that he and Dawn were man and wife. But against this was the impossibility—to Dawn's mind—of the success of a marriage where there was love on one side only. Ralf had been so casual when he said he was not the type to fall in love. He did not seem to want anything deeper from marriage than the physical satisfaction and pleasure.
No, decided Dawn, she would not stay married to a man like that; it was courting trouble in plenty, whereas if she went home now she must eventually get over the heartache. Avice was getting over her hurt, she recalled.
It was almost lunchtime when Dawn glanced up to see Avice standing there, staring at her with a mingling of surprise and resentment.
'I saw Marylou,' she murmured. 'How did you find this place?'
'By accident, as I expect you did.' Dawn rose to her feet with an expression of apology on her face. 'I knew it was your place,' she admitted. 'I found a handkerchief of yours—'
'Mine? How could you know it was mine?' Avice came forward, towards the sparkling cascade that was splashing down into the rocky pool.
'It had the initial A on it.' Dawn wondered if it was her imagination or if Avice was regarding her with a hint of contempt and she was impelled to ask, 'Has your mother said anything about me this morning?'
Avice shook her head, looking surprised. 'No. What do you mean?'
Dawn stared, quite unable to believe that Mrs. Deverell had kept her knowledge to herself. Yet apparently she had not said anything to her younger daughter, whatever she might have said to Myra and Esther. But perhaps she would not tell Esther.
'Nothing,' she said when Avice moved impatiently, waiting for her to speak. 'It doesn't matter. Er—where is Ralf?'
'He was in his room when I came out. He had previously asked me where you were and I said I saw you going off on Marylou.' Avice paused, and it was understandable that she seemed rather puzzled. 'Something's going on, isn't it, Dawn?'
'Going on?' with feigned incomprehension. 'In what way?'
'All right,' impatiently and with a further few steps to bring Avice closer to the waterfall. 'You're secretive and I accept it. We've become friends, in a way, but we haven't established any real strength to our friendship simply because it's so new.' She moved again, a slender, graceful girl with sadness in her eyes, a quiver to her mouth. 'I'd like to know you forever, Dawn, but that's not possible because you'll be going back to your own home soon. Write to me, won't you?' she begged. 'You've done wonders for me in a very short space of time,' she added and, bending, she put her nose to a flower of delicate blue that was blooming among the wide variety of ferns bending over the side of the pool. Above, the sky was blue, brittle as only an African sky could be, with just a trace of cirrus clouds to add movement and diversion of colour.
'I'll write to you as soon as I get back home….' But Dawn rather thought she would make a complete break with Dombeya and all those who had made their home in its luxurious walls.
'I think you'd better go back,' advised Avice after a silence had ensued. 'Ralf seemed almost ready to come out to look for you.'
'He did?' in some surprise. 'But he must know I am quite safe.'
'He seemed concerned,' was all Avice could find to say, except that when Dawn asked where her mother was she informed her that the three women had gone off in the station wagon to town. 'They'll be gone all the afternoon,' she ended, eyeing Dawn curiously as if expecting some reaction.
Dawn managed to assume a casual mien, saying she would get back to the homestead.
***
'Where have you been?' demanded Ralf when at last Dawn, having knocked on the door of his room, was invited to enter. He was at his desk, but rose at her entry. 'You've been gone for hours.'
Her chin lifted and a sparkle of wrath kindled in her eyes. 'I believe I can please myself what I do,' she said acidly.
He looked at her through narrowed eyes. 'There was no need for you to go off like that.' Plainly he was controlling some profound emotion. 'You were upset, which was understandable—'
'Many thanks for your understanding!' she flashed at him.
'I asked where you had been.' Ralf's voice was low but dangerous. 'Answer me, at once!'
Her eyes widened.
'You have some preconceived ideas?' she challenged.
'There was no need for you to go off like that,' he said again.
'I wanted to get away, before your mother told them all about seeing me come from your room.'
'She didn't tell anyone except me.'
'You?' she echoed. 'So she tackled you about it?'
'Yes.' The dark eyes glinted like tempered steel. 'She was disgusted—'
'Of course she was! What did you expect!'
'So I told her we were married,' continued her husband calmly, bypassing the angry interruption, 'I—'
'You told her…?' Dawn stared at him in dismay. 'But I'm not staying married to you,' she told him. 'You said I must take time in making a decision, so I can't imagine why you should tell your mother we're married. I do not intend staying married to you, Ralf, so you've only made things more awkward for yourself than they were before.' Was it imagination, wondered Dawn, or was he really amazed by her statement?
'You don't want to stay married? Are you serious?'
'Certainly I'm serious! What kind of a marriage could it be without love? No, let us keep to the original arrangement and have a divorce when the three years are up.'
'That's your final word?' His voice seemed a little hoarse, and a frown touched his brow.
'Yes,' she said, even while for some inexplicable reason she felt she ought not to be saying anything of the kind, 'it is my last word.'
'I see….' By his expression it seemed to Dawn that he didn't see at all. 'So when do you want to leave?'
'As soon as possible.' She felt a chill along her spine, and the weight of dejection on her heart and mind was something she desperately wanted to weep over. Yes, tears would bring momentary relief, but what of the years ahead, long, endless years of memories, of yearnings, of unprofitable visions of what might have been?
Might…. How could one overcome the hardness of a personality like that of her husband? He had admitted that he was not the kind of man to fall in love, had suggested so casually that he might as well stay married to her—if that was what she wanted, of course.
Well, it was not what she wanted!
'I'll try to arrange it for next weekend, then,' she heard him say in a tone devoid of emotion. And then he added before she could speak, 'We must discuss your financial situation, though. You must have a home and an income and the comforts to which you are entitled.'
She looked at him through a sudden mist of unshed tears and was driven—almost against her will—to say. 'It's certainly taken you long enough to honour your commitments.'
He nodded, much to her surprise, for she had fully expected a swift and angry retort.
'I didn't know you then,' he said, and his voice was almost tender. 'You were a stranger, a complete stranger, and so I didn't feel in any way obligated to divert from the arrangement we had made. It was purely a business deal and, therefore, as far as I was concerned there was nothing personal in it, nor did there seem to be any need for anything personal.'
'But now?' Dawn found herself swallowing convulsively to dislodge the hurtful little lump that was blocking her throat.
He merely shrugged his shoulders and said without emotion, 'Now things do happen to be a little different. We've met and we know each other. I've learned of your problems; I am now realising that I owe you something. So whatever you want, Dawn, in the way of money, you have only to let me know and I shall see that you have it.'
'So I am never to want again….' She spoke to herself, unable to understand why she wasn't feeling at least a little comforted by his reassuring words, for after all, this was what she had wanted for some time—to have some of her share so that she could make herself comfortable.
'No, you will never want again,' he said and he sat down at his desk, 'I'm rather busy,' he said after a small pause. 'And so I must ask you to leave—'
'Ralf…'
'Yes?' He glanced up from the paper he had pulled towards him over the tooled leather surface of the desk.
'Nothing,' she murmured, for his face was set in rigid lines of austerity and the eyes that swept over her were hard as granite. 'I'll—leave you th-then, to get on with your w-work.' Tears blinded her as she found the door handle and turned it. She felt crucified by what had happened. She felt she herself was mainly responsible, and that didn't help at all. Something seemed wrong, out of place, and she had allowed its manoeuvreability to escape her.
Strange thoughts and impressions drove her mind into ravels which she found impossible to unwind. She had the sensation of being driven by forces she ought to have been able to control but could not. There had been something about her husband's manner that baffled her, and now that she was away from him she chided herself for not attempting to understand him. Yet what was there to understand?
Impatient and desperately unhappy, Dawn decided that the only sensible course would be to get away just as soon as she could, and so at the first opportunity she tackled Ralf and asked if he could arrange a flight for her before next weekend.
'Why the sudden haste?' His voice was harsh and daunting and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes.
'I thought that as long as I'd made up my mind then there didn't seem any sense in dallying.'
The hard eyes swept over her and a long, uncomfortable silence reigned. At last he said curtly, 'I'll do what I can.' And he turned on his heels and left her, standing there by the paddock, Marylou close by, ready to nuzzle just as if she understood and was as unhappy as the girl who had come to love her.
***
Restless, she went off again, this time to ride slowly along the riverbank, misery overwhelming her at the knowledge that this would probably be the last time she would come along this now-familiar path, stopping to admire flowers or listen to the murmurings of insects among the bright green foliage. Clouds were gathering overhead, but she was only perfunctorily aware that a storm was brewing. She would turn back soon, she decided, and take a last look at Avice's place. Marylou was slow, almost as if she too were conscious of something sad about her rider. Horses and dogs were so sensitive; they were profoundly susceptible to the moods—and the idiosyncrasies—of their owners, and even Shaitan's manner was lethargic as he came along beside the horse with a gait that seemed to be too much trouble for him.
Dawn drew in and tethered Marylou to a tree, staying a moment to fondle her neck. Shaitan barked as if he too desired attention, and with unwanted tightness in her throat Dawn stooped to give him a pat.
Then she wandered on along the bank, her thoughts flitting backwards and forwards until she found herself living through the mists of time from her earliest recollections of a happy family life before the deaths of her parents; she recalled happy times brought about by her closeness to her brother. When he announced his engagement Dawn was thrilled, and always she tried to become close to the girl she dearly wanted to regard as a sister, the sister she had never had. Then the death of her brother and Greta's sinking into the moroseness of sheer greed for money. The mistake of giving up all to live at the café; the endless grumbles and complaints of Greta; the monotony and soul-destruction of those long months of kitchen work, of waiting on in the café, of eating food that should have been thrown away.
Dawn wandered on and on, so absorbed in her thoughts that she forgot all else, and even the growing dimness did not register. Now and then she would stop, though, to break her mind-wanderings by the appreciation of something that had caught her eye or her nostrils. She saw a wild duck rise from the reeds and the bulrushes, a black-and-yellow butterfly on a bottlebrush tree and another fluttering its iridescent wings above lovely pendulous flowers of bluish lilac. And assailing her nostrils the scent of bog myrtle and pines flourishing on a rise among the glorious dome palms whose fronds, Dawn noticed, were waving rather quickly.
With her painful train of thought returning, she strolled on again, not even noticing that the scenery was now unfamiliar. She automatically trod the narrow path which, ridden with surface roots, was by no means as pleasant a thoroughfare as the soft, mossy path she had left behind… far behind.
She was now reliving the good-bye with Paul, the decision to come to Africa—an impulsive, unwise decision as it had turned out to be—the arrival and the realisation that she was unwanted—no, not only that! She had been regarded as an intruder, a nuisance, by the man who was her husband. But his acceptance had come and he had found some sort of an explanation to give his mother for her presence here.
When it came to the intimacy of her marriage, Dawn resolutely dragged her thoughts into other channels and she was determinedly turning to the future, when, with all memory of her husband so dim that its recurrence would be unimportant, she had made a new and decent life for herself, using the rightful inheritance which was hers owing to that incredible will made by a man she had never even met.
The distant rumble of thunder was the first nerve shock which jerked Dawn right back to the present and to where she was. She swung around, unable to believe she had been so fully absorbed as to have missed the fact that a grey gloom was encompassing everything around her, including the distant kopjes and the infinity of the bushveld. Apart from Shaitan, she seemed to be the only moving thing for miles around. And then suddenly the wind had risen again to stir the trees. Lightning sizzled across the sky and the clap of thunder caused Shaitan to begin barking loudly. Dawn turned around again, fully expecting to see Ralf's extensive orchards—a dark nebulous mass, yes, but there all the same. Nothing! Nothing even remotely familiar to her eyes except the long line of kopjes, and even these had taken on totally indefinable shapes that were more than ever reminiscent of mutant animals of prehistory. Another flash of lightning was the prelude to deafening cracks of thunder as the electric, tropical storm strengthened in preparation for its gathering momentum.
What a fool she was to have come this far! How far had she come? She had just begun to retrace her steps when the first huge drop of rain fell on her head. She thought guiltily of Marylou, tethered to that tree—a prisoner probably terrified because she could not break free.
Dawn began to run, with Shaitan barking continually as he went on ahead of her racing figure. The wind was rising to full force, moving the trees erratically, branches protesting and leaves swirling in eddies to mingle with flower petals helplessly being torn from the stems that had held them. Dawn had not experienced a tropical storm before, and although both Ralf and Avice had mentioned what it was like, Dawn realised one had to experience one of these wild, destructive turbulences in order to appreciate fully just what it was like. Torrential rain was falling now and she was drenched right to the skin within seconds; mud was forming between the roots dangerously intertwining all along the path, and the trees were swaying so low that it seemed their trunks must inevitably snap. Overhead the blackening mass was increasing in size as the tempest raged. Lightning continued to streak and zigzag across the angry sky, followed by rolling thunder, and all the time the wind was lashing itself into a fury. Dawn, running and then slowing down, was becoming exhausted, with the breath drawn from her lungs by the merciless velocity of the wind. All was dark when suddenly the lightning flashed; a tree trunk cracked like a rifle shot and fell across her path some distance ahead. She was terrified now, mainly of the lightning, and her thoughts were with Marylou; and it was thinking of her that made Dawn begin to cry. How far had she come? she asked herself again, for although she seemed to have run a mile or more she had still not come upon anything familiar. But visibility was so bad that she could scarcely see where she was going, and so she hopefully plodded on, sure she was not very far from the homestead. Yet after another quarter of an hour or more she had not come upon Marylou, and with a lurch of her heart she suspected that she had diverted somewhere and was not now on the path she had come along in the first place.
'Shaitan,' she murmured, a sob in her throat caused as much through exhaustion as despair and fear, 'why was I so stupid?'
He barked and came to her. He looked so bedraggled but not too unhappy, under the circumstances, she thought, bending to stroke his saturated fur.
She looked around, unsure of whether or not to carry on and hope she had kept to the right path…. But she could not have for surely she would have reached the river by now. How she had come to leave it she did not know, because she had intended to carry on along the bank for a little way and then turn back and go to Avice's place. She had no idea of the time, as she had left her watch in her room after having taken it off to wash her hands.
'I'm hopelessly lost!' she cried, and because she felt so spent both physically and mentally she sank down on a boulder and thought it best to await the end of the storm.
But after it had continued to rage for an interminable length of time, she decided to go on again. But she had not taken above a dozen steps when disaster overtook her. She caught her foot in a twisted root which sent her plunging forward into the mud. She managed to scramble to her feet, sobs rising in her throat and a terrible weakness taking possession of her. Steps flagged; she was fighting for breath and conscious of Shaitan whining beside her, his big eyes looking upwards into her face. Another root sent her exhausted body down again and this time she hit the stump of a dead tree. Her head seemed to spin with the pain, and stars shot from her vision into space. The next moment a terrible blackness descended. She remembered giving a little moan, and then she was drifting into the realm of oblivion.
***
She woke to the sound of voices and stared up at the ceiling. Where… what…?
'At last she's coming round.' Ralf's voice… and it did sound strained and deeply troubled, mused Dawn through the tangled skeins of a mind endeavouring to produce clarity of thought.
'It's a nasty wound but not serious.' A cool hand was on her forehead and another holding her wrist. 'How are you feeling, young lady?'
She looked at the lined face above her and heard herself say, 'You're a doctor? Did they find Marylou—and is she all right?'
'We found her and she's all right.'
Dawn glanced beyond the face above her to the drawn and dark countenance of her husband.
'You found her?' she asked, wishing she could moisten her throat; it felt so dry and rough.
'Yes, I found her.'
'And me?'
'I asked how you are feeling.' The doctor broke in, and it was very plain that he was impatient to be off.
'Not too bad—er—I hit my head on something.'
'And received a nasty wound which might give you some pain now and then, but other than that you've been very fortunate. If it hadn't been for this faithful animal down here, you could have died because you were right off the known track. Why—?'
'It doesn't matter, Tom,' broke in Ralf. 'All's well that ends well,' he quoted. Then he added, 'You'll come in tomorrow?'
'Of course, to dress the wound.' He paused a moment, staring down into Dawn's pallid face. 'I'll leave you some tablets. Stay in bed for today. I'll probably let you get up after I've seen you tomorrow.'
'What time is it?' she thought to ask, and was told it was late afternoon. She glanced towards the window, to see slanting rays of sunshine which brought a little disbelieving gasp from her lips. 'The storm's over, then?'
'Storms rage but they don't linger.' The doctor moved away from the bed. 'Till tomorrow, then, Ralf.' He went to the door and Ralf went through it with him. Avice came in and stood by the bed.
'You gave us a terrible fright,' she said in an admonishing tone. 'Ralf was almost out of his mind when Shaitan came in, whining and obviously wanting someone to follow him. Ralf took two of the boys and went off. One of them brought Marylou back after Ralf had found her tied to a tree. Then they began to search for you.'
'I've caused a lot of trouble. I'm sorry.'
'I've never seen my brother so upset in the whole of my life.'
'He brought me in—I mean, how did they carry me?'
'Ralf carried you all the way. I undressed you and got you into bed. The others decided to stay the night in town because of the storm, but also because something seemed to be wrong with the station wagon.'
'So they're not here now?'
'No, they don't know about all this.'
'I'm glad.'
'You don't like any of them, do you?'
'They don't like me,' was all Dawn said in answer to that, and before Avice could say anything else Ralf was standing at the door and asking her in a quiet voice to leave.
'I'll make a drink,' smiled Avice and was gone.
A silence reigned for a space after Ralf had closed the door on his sister. Dawn broke it, saying huskily, 'I'm sorry for all the trouble, Ralf. I didn't intend going so far—you must know I didn't or I'd not have left Marylou behind. Somehow I wandered on and on—'
'But you must have seen that a storm was coming.'
'It didn't register,' she offered lamely. 'I was—thinking.' She had no idea just how forlorn she sounded, or that the quivering of her lips was almost more than her husband could bear. 'Thank you for—for looking for me—'
'It was natural I'd look for you,' he broke in roughly. 'It was obvious when Shaitan came home in that state—he was covered with mud—that something was very wrong. We discovered that you'd taken the horse, and I thought at first that you must have had a fall from the horse, but when I found Marylou on her own—' He broke off and she saw with a little shock of surprise that there were tiny beads of perspiration gathering rapidly on his forehead. 'How are you feeling?' he inquired brusquely. 'Any pain?'
'No pain. I guess I shall have, though, eventually. But I feel okay.' She paused a moment. 'This has—has upset our plans, hasn't it, Ralf?'
'What plans?' came his taut inquiry.
She licked her parched lips. 'My going away—'
'You're not going away,' he cut in and his voice was suddenly like a whiplash. 'You're my wife and you'll stay here, with me!'
'But—'
'No argument, Dawn! You chose to come. It was your decision. And now it's my turn to decide. You will stay here, as my wife, for good!' He was in a blazing temper, regarding her with a thunderous expression. 'Do you suppose you can come over here to Dombeya, demand to stay, remind me that I'm your husband and then calmly decide to leave? What kind of a man do you think you're dealing with?' he demanded hostilely. 'Or perhaps you don't regard me as a man at all, but a spineless jellyfish who'll let you do as you like. If so, then you're in for a disappointment. You've met your match,' he went on grittingly, 'and the sooner you resign yourself the happier you will be.' He stopped at last, and Dawn put a quivering hand to her head. She was recalling Avice's disclosure that she had never before seen her brother so upset in the whole of her life. It would almost seem that Ralf cared for her… if it wasn't for the horrid way he was treating her now, wrathfully declaring that she had to stay with him, and glowering at her with this thunderous look in his dark and narrowed eyes, his whole manner that of one who was at daggers drawn and not in the least troubled that she was feeling shaken by her experience and unhappy in the bargain. Self-pity rose like a deluge; she tried valiantly to stem the tears, because she was very sure her husband was in no mood to sympathise, and because she didn't want to let him see her weakness anyway. But her efforts were futile; she was far too overwrought, her nerves strung up and her spirits so low that she felt as if all the troubles of the world were pressing down on her. The tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks, but all Ralf did was to stand and stare at her through those hard eyes, his mouth compressed and his jaw outthrust and rigid. Never had Dawn seen him looking so formidable, and the result was that her tears flowed even more freely and, her mind becoming totally infused with pity for herself, she burst out into a tirade of censure before saying something she certainly would never have said had she been able to think clearly.
'…Hateful and cruel and—and I d-don't know how I could have—have fallen in—in love with anyone so detestable and domineering and ruthless and self-opinionated and—'
'Hold on a moment! Did you say… something about loving me?'
'No, I didn't!' she flashed on suddenly realising her slip. 'Love anyone like you—!'
'My God, Dawn, if you weren't lying there with that damned dressing on your head and—' He stopped to draw a breath. 'I'd shake the living daylights out of you! If you love me, then what the devil is this all about?'
'I don't love you,' she began, then broke off because it did seem for one fearful moment that he would do her an injury in spite of the dressing on her head. 'You don't love me!' She shot at him without quite knowing why.
He stood for a long, silent moment staring down into her tear-stained face, a smile curving lips that only seconds ago had been drawn tight in anger.
'You little fool,' he murmured with a small sigh. 'I gave you credit for intelligence, but—' He shook his head. 'Obviously you don't possess one iota of that woman's intuition which is so often talked about.'
'Intuition?' she blinked, then closed her eyes as he began to dab them with his handkerchief. 'Ralf…'
'Remind me to explain it to you when you're feeling better.'
'Ralf—'
'And don't interrupt your husband when he's chastising you!' He bent then, and kissed her hard on the mouth. 'Dawn, my dear love, why didn't you tell me you loved me?' So gentle the tone and the touch of his fingers on her cheek.
'I can ask you the same,' she just had to say.
'I only really admitted it when you were missing,' he said. 'Whereas you appear to have been in love with me for some time.'
'How could I tell you, though,' she inquired reasonably, 'when I had no idea that you might come to feel the same way about me?'
'All right, sweetheart, I concede the point. Oh, my love, how I want to hold you, but I daren't. Be quick, darling, and get well.'
A lovely smile lit Dawn's eyes and her voice was husky with emotion as she replied, 'I will, Ralf, I promise.'
***
They moved together through the darkness, the sound of native drums beautiful from the distance—the slow, mysterious rhythm, the falling cadence which faded finally into the night so there was only silence over the timeless bushveld, inexorably hushed and primitive. Dawn's small hand was clasped tightly within her husband's strong and slender fingers, and a sigh of infinite contentment issued from her lips. She looked up at him, a smile lingering in her lovely eyes.
'It's like a miracle,' she said, and her voice was husky with tender emotion. She was vitally aware of him as a man, drawn by his magnetism, her love for him filling every part of her.
'Thank you for coming,' he responded, and stopped to kiss her. 'Do you realise, my love, that we wasted a year and a half?'
She laughed and then lifted her face to invite another, longer and more passionate kiss. He obliged, and for a timeless interlude their bodies and lips united.
'I meant it when I said that all are leaving except Avice.'
'I feel awful—in a way.'
'They have no real right at Dombeya, and now that my wife is here to stay they have to leave.'
'You didn't say where they were going.'
'Esther's father left her a house in Pretoria. She's had it rented out, but I understand that it is vacant at this time. I advised her to take up residence and she agreed. Mother and Myra are to live with her for the time being.'
'I suppose they will visit us sometimes—your mother and Myra, that is.'
'I doubt it,' was Ralf's casual rejoinder. 'Let us not pretend that any of the three have taken kindly to the fact of our marriage and to the knowledge that you own half of the estate. It was a blow and I feel to blame.' He stopped, and Dawn prudently did not interrupt his thoughts. She felt sure that he had meant it for the best when he gave the women a home; he had not for one moment contemplated the appearance of his wife on the scene. Now all was changed and the three women had to readjust their lives. Dawn felt glad that they had a nice home to go to.
She said after a while, 'Do you suppose that Avice will accept Jack as a very dear friend?'
'It's more than likely.'
'I'm waiting for Saturday and the dance, just to see what happens.'
She was eager, and it was something of a blow when her husband said with a hint of mastery, 'There'll be no dancing for you on Saturday. You're very lucky to be out now, seeing that it's little more than twenty-four hours since I brought you out of that quagmire, unconscious.' They had had a quiet, candlelit dinner on their own in Ralf's room, and now they were strolling for a few moments in the balmy air of the homestead grounds. Night had fallen gently, caressing the landscape, lulling the bushveld to slumber. Above in the star-dusted purple dome of the sky an argent moon hung like a hammock, while skeins of lazy clouds created shadows to obscure and at the same time to mystify.
'I still can't believe it's true, Ralf. Oh, but how my life has changed in a few short hours!'
'And mine, my darling—' He stopped and his lips were a tender caress upon her mouth, his hands gentle as they slid into her hair. They cupped her lovely face and she thrilled to their warmth, to the ecstatic contact of his flesh with hers. Time stood still for one vibrant and emotional interlude before Ralf said in a tender but ardent voice, 'We've walked long enough, my darling; it's time we went in.'
A deep sigh of contentment was the prelude to her reply. 'Yes, my dearest Ralf, it's time we went in.'
He took her hand in the silence and together they continued along the path to where their home shone white and welcoming in the silver glow from a million stars spangling the deep purple dome of an African sky.
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