was unloading their suitcases from the back of the station wagon. Caroline supposed she should be helping him. After all, that was why she was here, wasn’t it? To help! But right now, she felt as though she was the one who needed to be helped, and there was no one to do it. For the first time since leaving England she thought rather nostalgically about the comfortable relationship she had shared with Jeremy Brent, and wondered whether he would accept the severance of their engagement as she had insisted he should.
Then Charles turned from his family and gave her a warm, comforting smile. ‘Good to see you again, Caroline,’ he said. ‘Glad you made it.’ Then he turned to Gareth: ‘I’m in your debt, Morgan. Come along inside and we’ll all have a drink to celebrate.’
Gareth made a deprecating gesture. ‘Thanks, but I can’t stop,’ he demurred. ‘I’ve got to get back to Nyshasa.’
‘Oh, must you?’ That was Elizabeth, and even the children echoed her disappointment. Only Caroline said nothing, made no effort to detain him.
Gareth shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. But I have been away since early this morning. Some other time, perhaps.’
‘Oh, yes, you must come and have dinner with us one evening while we’re here, mustn’t he, Charles?’ exclaimed Elizabeth.
‘Of course, of course,’ Charles smiled. ‘I’ll be in touch, Morgan.’
‘You do that.’
Gareth nodded pleasantly and walked round the station wagon to get into the driving seat again. He had to pass Caroline to do so and for a brief moment hard blue eyes bored into hers. Deliberately she assumed a defiant stance, returning his gaze challengingly, refusing to let him see that he could in any way disconcert her, and then he was past and climbing into the vehicle, raising his hand in farewell to the others. The engine fired, he let in his clutch, put the car into gear and it moved smoothly away. Only then did Caroline realise that she had been holding her breath for fully one minute.
‘Come along, Caroline.’ Charles ushered his family across the stretch of dried grass that formed a sort of garden at the front of the bungalow. ‘Thomas has a meal all ready for you.’
Thomas turned out to be Charles’s houseboy. He had a permanently smiling face, and the children took to him at once. Also, Charles explained, it made it very difficult for one to chastise him. It was impossible to remain angry for long with someone who looked so cheerfully innocent.
Before sitting down to their meal, Charles suggested that they might like to familiarise themselves with the layout of the bungalow, and as the children were keen, Elizabeth agreed. The building was divided into two halves by a long, narrow hall that ran from front to back. On one side was the large lounge-cum-dining area, with a small bedroom at the back where Caroline was to sleep; and on the other were the two larger bedrooms where Charles and Elizabeth, and the children were to sleep. The bathroom, like the kitchen, was annexed to the back of the bungalow, and comprised of a chipped wash basin and rather primitive toilet, with a shower that could only be used if an overhead tank had first been manually filled.
The children found this tour of inspection fascinating, and Miranda had cast away the slightly dejected air she had worn during the latter stages of their journey. The sight of the mosquito nets draped above their beds made the prospect of sleeping so much more exciting, and David asserted that he was going to take a shower the very next day.
But Caroline could see Elizabeth’s face changing as she began to appreciate the lack of facilities. The bungalow bore no resemblance to the comfort of the hotel in Ashenghi, and perhaps it was a pity that they had had to spend a night there. The contrast would not have been so much in evidence if they had driven on to La Vache last night. The furniture, for instance, was starkly practical, and because there had been no feminine hand in the design there was not even a brightly patterned cushion to add colour to the dull browns and beiges that made up most of the curtains and upholstery.
However, the meal that Thomas had prepared was waiting for them and it fortunately precluded any immediate discussion of their surroundings. Introducing a new topic to divert Elizabeth’s attention, Caroline asked what education was provided for the African children.
‘It’s quite good, actually,’ replied Charles, obviously enjoying the somewhat stringy beef that Thomas had served together with beans and sweet potatoes. ‘There’s a mission only a mile away at Katwe Fork, and the padre’s wife, Helen, teaches the younger children. The padre teaches the older children himself, and if by the time they reach eleven or twelve they show potential, he arranges for them to be transferred to the school at Luanga.’
Miranda choked then, and had to be thumped vigorously on the back by her brother before she could dislodge the piece of meat from her throat. Her eyes were streaming with tears by the time she coughed it up, as much with the hardness of David’s pounding as with the shock of choking. But before Caroline could say anything to comfort her, Elizabeth turned on her husband:
‘My God, Charles,’ she exclaimed tremulously, ‘I hope you’re satisfied! Bringing us out to this dreadful place and expecting us to stay for weeks! Why, the food’s not even edible, and you don’t care that we might all die of dysentery or worse in these appalling conditions!’ She flung her napkin down on the table and rose to her feet, ignoring Miranda’s wail of: ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ and marched to the door. ‘I’m going to bed, and don’t you dare to try and stop me!’
Apart from Miranda snuffling unhappily into her napkin there was complete silence for several minutes after Elizabeth had left the room. Charles looked absolutely staggered, and Caroline felt terribly sorry for him. Obviously, in the excitement of their arrival he had not noticed Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm, and her outburst had been completely unexpected so far as he was concerned.
At last it was David who broke the silence by saying: ‘What’s the matter with Mummy? What was she talking about? We’re not going to die, are we, Daddy?’
Charles’s mouth worked nervously. ‘No—no, of course you’re not going to die, son!’ He put a slightly unsteady hand on David’s head. ‘I—er—I expect it’s all the travelling. Mummy’s tired, that’s all, like she said. She’ll feel better in the morning. Won’t she, Caroline?’
As he looked across the table at her, Caroline realised that he was looking for reassurance, too, just as David had been. Poor Charles, he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to deal with someone like Elizabeth. The trouble was he had always been too soft with her, too gentle and considerate. Living apart for most of the year as they did he was inclined to indulge her in everything when he came home, and Elizabeth had never known what it was to be thwarted. What she needed was a firmer hand, a less understanding nature; someone who would mete out to her the kind of treatment she usually allotted to other people. But whether Charles had it in him to adopt that kind of attitude towards his wife, Caroline had her doubts.
Now she said: ‘I think we’re all tired, Charles. And I shouldn’t let what Elizabeth says bother you. It’s all so different, you see. It takes time to get used to.’
Charles pushed his plate aside, his appetite obviously deserting him. ‘I haven’t noticed you making too much fuss,’ he remarked, swallowing a mouthful of the lager which Thomas had provided to have with their meal.
Caroline smiled wryly. ‘I don’t have anyone to fuss at,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Now, David, Miranda—who’s going to try this blancmange that Thomas has made for us?’
Charles fidgeted his way through the sweet course which even Caroline had to admit was not very
