The Blue Mountains of Kabuta by Hilary Wilde Page A

capable of love.
    Despite the dogs’ reproachful looks, she turned back and slowly walked up the track towards the house. Suppose, just suppose, Alex was in love with her mother?
    How, Jon asked herself, how could she endure it? Dancing at their wedding? Perhaps even sharing a home with them?
    No . . . no . . . no . . . !
    She found herself running, the dogs, all save old Jock, were having a whale of a time, jumping round her, barking with glee. But Jon was not running for
glee
—she was trying to escape from the horror of the thought she’d had. The intolerable, unbearable horror— living under the same roof as Alex, loving him and knowing he saw her as a stepchild!
    If that happened, Jon told herself, she would sell the farm. But not to Alex, because she knew that she could never forget Uncle Ned’s letter and his last wish. If she was unhappy, she could sell the farm—but never to Alex.
    Soon after breakfast Madeleine phoned.
    â€˜Are you all right, Jon?’ she asked considerately. ‘It was a nasty storm last night. I hope your mother wasn’t too scared? I know how she hates storms.’
    â€˜She didn’t seem to mind,’ Jon said simply. Did Madeleine know that Alex had spent the night in the guest room? Had he told her?
    â€˜Did you have much damage done?’
    â€˜The garden looks rather pathetic,’ Jon admitted. ‘You are coming tonight, aren’t you?’ Madeleine asked.
    Jon hesitated, for she had not seen her mother to ask her, but Alex had said she’d seemed pleased.
    â€˜Yes, thanks,’ Jon said, and wondered how she could end the conversation.
    After a seemingly endless period of time during which Jon waited expectantly for Madeleine to tease her about being scared of storms and needing a man’s shoulder to lean on, it came to an end and at last, sighing with relief, Jon could hang up.
    Almost immediately the phone bell rang again. This time it was her mother.
    â€˜Darling, the river is going down, but they don’t think it’s going to be all right until much later, so don’t expect me home until after tea. What time are we supposed to be at the Foxes’?’
    â€˜About seven, I think.’
    â€˜That’s fine. It’ll give me time to have a bath and change. We dress formally, I would imagine. I gather they’re very wealthy people?’
    Jon laughed, ‘I honestly don’t know, Mum, but I’ll find out.’
    â€˜Good, darling. See you later. You are all right? It was quite a storm. I thought of you all alone in that isolated little house.’
    Jon’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘I had the dogs, Mum.’
    â€˜I know, dear, but the lightning . . . Anyhow, see you later.’
    Jon went and stood on the stoep. How quiet it was, she thought. The long day stretched ahead. After this rain, there would be no ploughing, that was for sure. She could hear distant chatter and laughter from the workers in the pineapple fields. She sat down. There was nothing to stop her from thinking . . . of Alex, of course. Who else?
    She could hear the trees’ leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and the chatter of the tiny brightly-coloured birds who hovered over each flower, thrusting deep long beaks in as they searched for pollen. It was amusing to hear the birds chattering. It was almost as if they were squabbling about their rights, perhaps accusing one bird of jumping the queue, and they were such lovely colours, gold, palest pink, some even green.
    How could she have been so daft, she asked herself, as to fall in love with a man like Alex? How could she go on living here, seeing Alex every day, knowing she was a nuisance, that everyone was watching her, almost hungrily, to see how long she could last? Why did they want her to fail? Why did . . .
    She sat up suddenly. She had forgotten about the advertisement she had put in the local newspaper. It would be published on Friday and . . .
    Sudden hope