Follow Thy Desire Read online

  Helen swung round in his arms then, staring up at him mutinously. ‘Stop teasing me, Morgan. All right, so I haven’t—slept around. That doesn’t make any difference to us.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’ He let her go, pushing her firmly away from him. ‘Pour the tea. I need it.’

  Helen pressed her lips together, but she moved obediently to the teapot, lifting it with careful precision. Already she was regretting her eagerness to confess, and asking herself what he would have said if she had denied it.

  ‘Hmm, that’s good.’ Morgan cradled his cup between his hands, his features revealing his tiredness. ‘It was one hell of a night. The woman was having a screaming fit when I arrived, and half the village had gathered round her hut. Even the local witch doctor was there, and he and I have never seen eye to eye. Fortunately, the woman’s husband cared more about his wife than he did about old Elopi.’

  Helen listened in silence, her face mirroring her earlier indignation, and presently he lay back in his chair and regarded her broodingly.

  ‘Stop it!’ he ordered sharply. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It wouldn’t work, and you know it.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it?’ She didn’t waste time pretending she didn’t understand him, and he sighed.

  ‘Because I can’t marry you.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Oh, you do?’

  She flushed. ‘You’ve said it before.’

  ‘So I have. Okay, so what are you saying? That you want to be my mistress?’

  Helen bent her head. ‘Yes.’

  ‘God Almighty!’ He thrust back his chair and got to his feet. ‘You know what you deserve, don’t you?’

  Helen forced herself to look up at him. ‘No.’

  ‘Then you should.’ He shook his head. ‘Did no one ever give you a good hiding when you were a child?’ He spoke roughly, but she sensed he was curious rather than angry. Then he sighed. ‘Helen! Helen! You’re only making things impossible—for both of us.’

  ‘Why?’ She got to her feet, unafraid now. ‘I know what I want.’

  ‘Do you want to be sent back to England?’

  Her eyes clouded. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I know what I want,’ he muttered, turning away, but when she took a step after him, he looked over his shoulder and added: ‘Sleep, Helen. Sleep! Only sleep.’

  When he had gone, she sank down weakly into a chair. It was useless, she thought despairingly. Whenever she felt she was getting close to him, he put her aside, showed her that whatever it was he felt for her it was not the all-consuming emotion she felt for him. So why couldn’t she accept that, and be thankful he was not like any other man, who might have taken her love carelessly, and tossed it aside when the affair was over without a second thought. The truth was that deep inside her she didn’t believe him when he said he wouldn’t marry her—couldn’t marry her. She always had the feeling there was something else, something he was holding back, some reason that made him step beyond her reach. But what could it be? Her mind went over all the stories she had read—the mythical reasons why one or other set of lovers could not be joined in matrimony. All she could think of was the stigma of some terrible disease, an inherited thread of insanity, or some incestuous relationship unknown to one of the partners. Yet none of these things seemed to apply to them. So far as she knew, there was no insanity in Morgan’s family. His father was one of the sanest people she knew, and Andrea had no hysterical tendencies, just a highly-strung nervous system. And as far as incest was concerned…Well, it was ridiculous to think about it.

  She sighed. Obviously she was wrong. Somehow she would have to accept that, or her life wasn’t going to be worth living.

  Even so, when she was sure Morgan would be asleep, she left the kitchen and made her way along the corridor to his door. It was barely six-thirty, and not even Kori was up yet. The handle squeaked as she turned it, and her breath faltered in her throat. But she need not have been concerned. Morgan was sound asleep, sprawled carelessly across his bed. He had not even bothered to take off his clothes.

  Irresistibly, Helen moved nearer to the bed, looking down at him emotionally. He looked younger asleep, as many people did, the lines relaxed around his nose and mouth. The short stubby lashes were tipped with gold, bleached by the sun like his hair, and she thought how strange it was that ultra-violet light could lighten hair and tan flesh with equal intensity. Morgan was very tanned, and remembering Barry’s pale flesh, Helen couldn’t help but compare the two.

  She extended her fingers almost involuntarily towards him, and then withdrew the gesture. She couldn’t disturb him, no matter how much she might want to. He needed the rest, and at least this weekend she would have plenty of time to talk to him. To persuade him? Somehow she doubted she would be able to do that.

  She was emerging into the corridor again when Andrea’s door opened. It was so early, and Andrea was usually such a late riser, that Helen had never expected to encounter the girl in such ambiguous circumstances, and it was with frustration she felt the betraying colour deepening in her cheeks. All of a sudden, her wrapper was scarcely decent, and the conclusions the girl must be jumping to were only too obvious.

  ‘Andrea!’ she forced herself to say with assumed assurance. ‘You’re an early riser!’

  The girl tied the knot of her dressing gown tighter, and then said, almost offhandedly: ‘I guess I was excited because we’re going away.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Helen’s smile was strained. ‘And of course, it’s your birthday! Many happy returns!’

  ‘Thank you.’ Andrea moved her shoulders awkwardly. ‘Did—er—did Daddy get back safely?’

  Suddenly Helen realised she didn’t know what the girl was thinking at all. ‘I—why, yes. About half an hour ago.’

  ‘I know.’ Andrea cleared her throat. ‘I heard the station wagon.’

  ‘Oh!’ Helen breathed more freely. Then she gestured to the door she had just closed behind her. ‘I—er—I was just making sure your father was resting. He—well, he needs the sleep.’

  Andrea nodded, and when Helen made a reluctant move towards her room, she joined her. ‘Are you looking forward to going to Charlottesville?’ she said, her tone as casual as ever. ‘You’ll like the bungalow. Oh, Daddy calls it a shack, but it’s really just a single-storied cabin. It’s right on the beach, and the water is really beautiful.’

  Helen listened with some relief. Obviously Andrea was prepared to believe her visit to Morgan’s room had been as innocent as she had said. If she had heard the station wagon, she must also have heard her father come to bed—alone. Yet Helen couldn’t help wondering what her attitude would be if she ever discovered the depths of their relationship. She wasn’t possessive, not really, and she had befriended Helen when she thought an injustice had been done, but contemplating a more permanent relationship was something else.

  ‘Come in,’ she invited, when they reached her bedroom door. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘For me?’ Andrea was clearly surprised. ‘What?’

  ‘A birthday present,’ declared Helen, firmly putting all thoughts of Morgan aside and concentrating on his daughter. ‘There you are. What do you think?’

  Andrea was touched by the gift of the necklace. ‘But it’s yours!’ she kept saying, as she fastened it round her neck. ‘I couldn’t take it!’ as she preened herself in front of Helen’s dressing-table mirror.

  ‘It’s yours now,’ insisted Helen, smiling. ‘It suits you. It’s a young pendant, especially for someone of your age.’

  ‘Well, if you really mean it…’ Andrea obviously wanted to keep it. ‘And what’s this?’

  This was the parcel of cloth Helen had bought for her in Nrubi. She had added a length of hand-embroidered braid and some silver buttons, and while Andrea admired the material, she explained what she had in mind.

  ‘But I don’t sew at all,’ exclaimed Andrea anxiously. ‘I mean, I can mend hems and put on buttons, but that’s about all.’

&n
bsp; ‘That’s all right,’ replied Helen easily. ‘I can do it. All I need are your measurements. I’ve got the cotton.’

  ‘There’s an old sewing machine somewhere,’ mused Andrea, frowning, and Helen exclaimed delightedly.

  ‘We’ll get Kori to turn it out, then,’ she declared. ‘Just as soon as we get back from Charlottesville.’

  Andrea nodded, then a look of regret came over her face. ‘I wish…’ she began, and then broke off, folding the poplin back into its wrapper.

  ‘You wish what?’ Helen had heard that wistful plea. ‘Andrea! What do you wish?’

  Andrea smiled. ‘Are you my fairy godmother?’ she teased. ‘Oh, it wasn’t important. I’d better go and get dressed. I still have some packing to do.’

  ‘No, wait!’ Helen wouldn’t let her go like that. ‘Perhaps I am your fairy godmother, who knows? Tell me what you wish, and I’ll tell you if I can grant it.’

  ‘You can’t,’ declared Andrea, shaking her head. ‘I was just wishing the suit was already made, so that I could wear it this weekend.’

  ‘I see.’ Helen felt a resurgence of excitement. ‘You mean you’d like something pretty to wear?’

  Andrea hunched her shoulders. ‘I’m not a pretty person.’

  ‘No.’ Helen was honest, and Andrea looked up at her half defiantly, pushing the spectacles up her nose. ‘But you could be very attractive,’ she added firmly. ‘If you’d let someone give you some advice.’

  Andrea bit her lip. ‘You.’

  ‘If you’d let me.’

  ‘What could you do?’ There was a trace of woodenness in Andrea’s tone, and Helen guessed she was half regretting her decision to confide.

  ‘Well…’ Helen studied her thoughtfully. ‘You don’t make the best of yourself. I mean,’ she hastened on, before Andrea could object, ‘being tall is an advantage, not a disadvantage. And being slim these days is a most desirable state. You can’t go bra-less with big…well…’ as she saw Andrea was beginning to smile, ‘we won’t go into that.’ She paused. ‘What you really need are pants suits and soft, feminine dresses. Not those awful cottons, like the African women wear. And wearing your hair in a braid is childish. If it’s too hot to wear loose all the time, have it cut, to shoulder-length. You’d be amazed how different you’d look with short hair.’

  Andrea expelled her breath on a sigh. ‘You really think so?’

  ‘I know so.’

  ‘Daddy’s never sugested I have it cut.’

  ‘Daddy doesn’t have to put up with it.’

  Andrea giggled. ‘You know, you have a point.’

  ‘There you are, then.’ Helen hesitated. ‘Do you have a swimsuit?’

  Andrea shrugged. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s it like? Bathing belles of 1949?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, is it a two-piece suit? A bikini?’

  ‘Heavens, no! Daddy wouldn’t like me in a bikini.’

  ‘I think he would, if it suited you. And believe me, Andrea, you’d look good in a bikini.’

  ‘Would I?’ Andrea was doubtful. ‘I have such long legs.’

  ‘At least they have some shape. Be brave, Andrea. Take my word for it. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I didn’t think was for your well-being.’

  Andrea nodded. ‘I believe you.’ She scuffed her toe against the rug beside Helen’s bed. ‘I like you, Helen, I really do. I didn’t at first—you know! When we met. But that was because—’

  Again she broke off, and although Helen wanted her to go on, she didn’t feel she had the right in this case to force her. Instead she said lightly: ‘I guess, as there was just you and your father, you were suspicious of another woman, hmm?’

  ‘Yes. That is—’ Andrea moved her shoulders in a helpless gesture, ‘I—I guess I was afraid you’d be—you’d be like my mother!’

  ‘Like your mother?’ Helen repeated the words blankly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t—understand—’

  ‘Daddy didn’t tell you, then?’

  ‘Tell me? Tell me what?’

  ‘Oh, no, I can see he didn’t.’ Andrea bent her head. ‘I expect he thought he was protecting me.’ She flicked absently at the bedspread. ‘It’s the sort of thing he would do.’

  ‘He loves you, Andrea.’

  ‘I know that.’ The girl nodded. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without him.’ She paused, as if considering what she was about to say, and then she burst out: ‘She took me with her, you know! My mother. When she went away with Rolf Havastad. Not because she really cared about me, just because she wanted to hurt Daddy.’

  ‘Oh.’ Helen absorbed this cautiously. Then she said: ‘Andrea, do you think you should—’

  ‘Yes.’ Andrea lifted her head. ‘Yes, I think you should know. I know you like Daddy—I’ve seen the way you look at him. I think you should know what happened.’

  ‘All right.’ Helen couldn’t deny her curiosity. ‘But who is Rolf Havastad?’

  ‘He’s an engineer. He came from South Africa, to work for the Osweban government. Uncle James introduced them, actually.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I don’t think he ever forgave himself afterwards, although, as it’s turned out, I think it was for the best.’

  ‘And—your mother took you to South Africa?’

  ‘Yes.’ Now Andrea’s face assumed a solemn expression. ‘We left one morning after Daddy had gone out to answer a call. My mother left him a note, telling him she was running away with Rolf. I had no choice in the matter.’

  ‘And how long ago was this?’

  ‘Oh, about eighteen months, I suppose. My parents hadn’t been happy for a long time before that. I can remember my mother meeting some man in Charlottesville when I was about nine or ten, and I expect there were others when I got older and she didn’t have to bother taking me with her. She never wanted me along. I wore glasses, and I don’t think she liked admitting that I was her daughter. She was quite beautiful, you see.’

  This little speech was delivered so dispassionately, Helen felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her. But comfort would not restore Andrea’s confidence. Only time and encouragement would do that.

  ‘So—but she took you when she left your father?’

  ‘Yes. Like I said, I think she only did it to hurt Daddy. Rolf didn’t want me around. He never liked me, and I hated him.’

  Helen could imagine her feelings. At thirteen, Andrea would have been old enough to understand exactly what was going on. It was the most vulnerable age for a girl, and if this boy-friend of her mother’s, this Rolf, had ridiculed her, it might well have done irreparable damage.

  ‘But your father brought you back,’ she ventured now, and Andrea inclined her head.

  ‘Yes. He tried to bring me back straight away. As soon as he found out what had happened, he flew to Cape Town to see my mother. But she refused to let him take me, and the laws being what they are, she succeeded in hanging on to me despite all his efforts.’

  Helen shook her head. It was a story she had heard and read time and time again. But never so poignantly as Andrea was telling it now.

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘Well, I fell ill. You see, I was so unhappy, I—sort of forgot to eat, and eventually I couldn’t eat. There’s some disease—I don’t know what it’s called…’

  ‘Anorexia nervosa,’ put in Helen gently, and Andrea nodded.

  ‘That’s right. Have you heard of it? Well, nobody really knew that was what I had until I caught this chill. My mother and Rolf were out a lot of the time, and I was left with this old black woman called Naomi. But she used to spend her days drinking Kaffir-beer, and half the time she didn’t know where I was.’ She sighed, her eyes clouding with remembered pain. ‘Anyway, as I say, I caught a chill. I Used to go down to the beach on my own and one evening there was a terrible storm. I got soaked, and when I got home, Rolf was so mad because I’d ruined his dinner party that he made me sleep in the hut outside.’

  ‘Andrea!’

  ‘It’s
true.’ She half turned away, and Helen sensed that it still upset her to talk about it. ‘I—I was frozen in the morning—Cape nights can be so cold. I had a high fever, I think. Anyway, my mother was forced to call a doctor, and he diagnosed pneumonia.’

  Helen’s hands were clenched listening to this appalling tale. No wonder Morgan had been glad to be free of his wife! He must have felt like murdering her for what she had done to his daughter.

  ‘So…’ Andrea’s voice was a little shaky now. ‘Daddy was sent for. One of the doctors in the hospital had worked with him in London, you see, and when he saw the state I was in, he cabled Daddy.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know everything that happened. I know there was a terrible row. But the authorities were more prepared to listen to Daddy with the evidence of my illness behind him. Also—also my mother and Rolf were having arguments over me, and I think she realised that if she wanted to keep him, she would have to let me go.’

  ‘And are they married now?’ asked Helen.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t care. I never want to see her again!’ And finally Andrea’s voice broke.

  ‘Oh, darling, don’t say that!’ Helen had to defend the woman, even though she had noticed that throughout her narrative Andrea had never once called her ‘Mummy’. Always ‘my mother’. So cold, so formal. ‘She is the woman who bore you, you know. That must mean something.’

  ‘Not to me,’ said Andrea in a muffled voice, rubbing her eyes childishly with the backs of her hands. ‘Not to me.’

  Helen said no more after that. It was enough that the girl had felt able to confide in her, and somehow she guessed she was the only person Andrea had told, apart from her father. No wonder the child hadn’t wanted to go to England, no wonder Morgan was so concerned for her future. She was so incredibly vulnerable.