Magic of the Baobab Read online

  Magic of the Baobab

  by

  YVONNE WHITTAL

  Her peace of mind was wholly shattered.

  Olivia Logan had used an unexpected legacy from her aunt to set up a book and stationery store in the bushveld country of northern Transvaal -- something she'd long looked forward to.

  She was leaving behind the bustle and loneliness of Johannesburg. She hoped that her life in the small town of Louisville would be quieter and more friendly.

  And so it was -- until she found herself involved with the overwhelming Bernard King.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A trickle of perspiration made its way down the hollow of Olivia’s back as she locked the entrance to the small shop and stepped back to admire the painted sign above the door. Logan’s Bookshop & Stationers. It looked good, she decided, gently massaging the back of her aching neck and grimacing at the dampness of her skin. She had worked long hours during the past week in order to open up for business on the first day of September, and D-Day was at hand.

  This was bushveld country in the northern Transvaal, where

  the winters were warm, and the summers wiltingly hot. The shop, as well as the small flat above, was air-conditioned, and Olivia knew that, in the height of the summer, she would not regret the money spent on having it installed. The previous owner had moved further south to a cooler climate when his hardware business had failed to prosper, and lack of sufficient funds had prevented him from having the very necessary air-condidoning installed, so Oom Hennie and Tante Maria Delport from the general dealers next door had informed Olivia soon after her arrival.

  ‘He was alone, and getting on in years,’ Oom Hennie Delport had explained. ‘When one is younger one can take the heat, but it eats away at your stamina when you’re older like Tante Maria and myself.’

  Olivia could well believe this, for the late afternoon sun on that last day in August seemed to scorch her through the thin cotton blouse, stinging her bare arms and legs as she walked towards the entrance of the shop beside her own in search of the coolness its interior had to offer.

  Oom Hennie Delport’s thin, bony frame straightened behind the counter as Olivia stepped across the threshold. ‘So you’re ready to open up for business tomorrow?’

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ Olivia sighed, the corners of her soft mouth lifting as she lowered herself on to the high stool and rested her elbows on the counter. ‘My flat is still in a mess, but I’ll just have to sort that out in my spare time.’

  Tante Maria, grey-haired, plump and motherly, came in from the small storeroom adjoining their shop and took one look at Olivia’s tired, shiny face before she exclaimed, ‘What you need, my girl, is a strong cup of tea after the way you’ve been slaving away all day.’

  ‘Tante Maria, you spoil me,’ Olivia protested, finding no difficulty in using the courtesy titles of uncle and aunt, which is a custom among the Afrikaans-speaking people.

  ‘You need spoiling,’ the older woman insisted, her keen glance raking Olivia’s small, slender frame from head to foot. ‘You look as though a breeze could knock you over. ’ She disappeared into the small kitchen at the back without another word, and Olivia turned to face a smiling Oom Hennie as he said: ‘You’re in danger of being fattened up, kindjie. Where she has failed with me,’ he gestured, drawing Olivia’s attention to his own thin body, ‘she is determined to succeed with you.’

  A quick smile flashed across her elfin-shaped face. ‘You’ve both been very good to me since my arrival two weeks ago, and I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated it.’

  Hennie Delport shook his grey head. ‘Except for the odd one here and there, you’ll find the residents of Louisville are all very friendly and helpful.’

  ‘You have a large farming community, I believe,’ Olivia remarked with interest. ‘Are they all cattle ranchers?’

  ‘This is cattle country, kindjie, ’ Oom Hennie reminded her. ‘If you really want to see some splendid Afrikaner stud cattle, then you should go out to Mountain View some time.’

  ‘Mountain View?’

  ‘It’s the biggest cattle ranch in the district,’ Tante Maria chipped in, placing the tray of tea on the counter and busying herself with the pouring as she spoke. ‘Mountain View belongs to Bernard King, and he is appropriately called the Cattle King in these parts.’

  ‘He is the wealthiest farmer in the district,’ Oom Hennie added as their tea was placed in front of them, and a plate of homemade biscuits handed round. ‘His sister is married to one of our local doctors, Dr. O’Brien, and you can be sure you’ll meet her some time in the future. We have our annual Show in January, and Vivien O’Brien is one of the organisers. Everybody has to become involved. ’

  They discussed the coming Show at great length before Olivia returned to her flat above the shop and stood for a moment staring about her tiredly. Except for several crates which stood about waiting to be unpacked, and the kitchen curtains which still had to be hung, the place was almost habitable, but it would have to wait a little longer, for she had promised herself an early night after the final hectic preparations in the shop.

  In the bathroom she stripped quickly and stepped under the shower, welcoming the coolness of the water on her skin as she washed her short auburn hair and soaped her body. She hummed softly to herself, excited about this new venture, and silently thanking her Aunt Georgina for the unexpected legacy which had made it all possible.

  Wrapping a thin robe about her body a few minutes later, she went through to the kitchen to prepare herself something to eat, but she paused a moment in front of the window, staring down into her small, cemented courtyard where a flamboyant tree stood in the one corner, spreading out its branches like an umbrella offering shade. It was only just beginning to sprout new young leaves, and soon the garden bench and table beneath it would be shaded completely from the penetrating rays of the Transvaal sun.

  Beyond the high wall lay Oom Hennie and Tante Maria’s large back garden with its fruit trees and vegetable patches. Their shop was on a corner stand, and their home directly behind it for the sake of convenience. Their flower garden was a pleasurable sight, Olivia had found when she had paid them a visit over the week-end, and Tante Maria had insisted that Olivia should come round whenever she wished to pick fresh flowers to place on the counter in her bookshop. Olivia had accepted her generous offer rather hesitantly but, knowing them a little better now, she knew that they would feel deeply hurt if she did not make use of their offer.

  A gentle smile curved her lips as she turned away from the window. There was still plenty to do before she could call herself settled in, but she was determined to enjoy every moment of this new life she had made for herself.

  As Oom Hennie had predicted, Vivien O’Brien arrived at the shop during the first week to introduce herself, and Olivia found her an unpretenuous woman in her early thirties, with dark hair combed back and twisted into a chignon of sorts in the nape of her neck. Elegantly dressed - in an expensive floral silk creation, she surveyed Olivia in her pale blue, serviceable cotton frock and smiled, the dark eyes beneath the curved brows displaying a warm sincerity that banished Olivia’s initial nervousness at meeting the sister of the obviously much revered Cattle King.

  ‘It’s about time someone opened up a bookshop and

  stationers in Louisville, and I can’t tell you how thrilled I am about it, Olivia,’ she remarked with an easy familiarity.

  ‘I’m glad you think so, Mrs O’Brien.’

  ‘Vivien,’ she corrected firmly. ‘Here in Louisville we’re all like one big family. ’

  ‘I must say I’ve found everyone extremely generous and helpful,’ Olivia acknowledged.

  ‘I wonder if you could help me, Ol
ivia,’ Vivien smiled, fingering the arrangement of anemones on the counter. ‘I would like to purchase a book on flower arrangements.’

  ‘Did you have anything specific in mind?’

  ‘Not really,’ Vivien laughed with some embarrassment. ‘But I would prefer something which isn’t too difficult to follow.’

  ‘I think I have exactly what you require,’ Olivia informed her as she went across to the shelves and returned with an impressive-looking book. ‘It explains the art of flower arranging step by step from the elementary right through to the advanced stages. ’ Vivien, relying entirely on Olivia’s judgment, said instantly, ‘I’ll take it. ’

  ‘But you haven’t even looked at it,’ Olivia protested, slightly taken aback.

  ‘I don’t have to,’ came the prompt reply. ‘Judging from this arrangement,’ she gestured towards the anemones, ‘you obviously know what you’re talking about.’

  Olivia coloured slightly and looked away. ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vivien nodded, glancing about her. ‘I would like to buy a book for my niece who’s at boarding school here in town. She has a passion for adventure stories and I thought I could take it along for her. ’

  ‘You’ll know her preferences better than I do, so would you like to select one yourself?’

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Olivia assured her, directing her to the shelf where the children’s books were on display.

  When Vivien had finally made her choice, Olivia wrapped the two books separately while Vivien glanced about her appreciatively once more.

  ‘Frances will simply love your shop,’ she told Olivia quite frankly. ‘Being an only child she spends hours reading whatever she can lay her hands on, poor darling.’

  ‘Being an only child can be a very lonely existence,’ Olivia agreed quietly, recalling her own childhood spent with her spinster aunt.

  Vivien O’Brien glanced at her curiously, but Olivia, reluctant to discuss her personal life with a comparative stranger, remained silent, and Vivien did not pursue the subject.

  ‘You must come and have tea with me one Saturday afternoon when you’re free,’ she offered pleasantly.

  Olivia thanked her politely for the invitation, but as she watched Vivien leave she shrank from the idea. ‘Know your place and don’t venture beyond it,’ her Aunt Georgina had always said, and Olivia, shy and withdrawn, had never found any difficulty in obeying that command. Now, at the age of twenty-six, with her shyness overcome to a certain extent, she was still inclined to be withdrawn, preferring to retire in the evenings with a favourite book instead of mixing with her friends and their families. Granted, her circle of friends had never been large and once they were all married she found, to her dismay, that they had nothing in common any longer. The result was that, after her aunt’s death, she had found herself completely alone, and it was then that she had realised how wrong it had been of her to shrink away from close relationships. Opening up this shop in Louisville was part of the personal therapy. She had to meet people and learn to mix, but Vivien O’Brien was something quite different, and the invitation could only have been uttered out of politeness, Olivia told herself.

  Later that afternoon as she walked towards the door to close up the shop for the night, a red sports car drew up against the kerb and a young man jumped from the front seat without bothering to open the door.

  ‘Am I too late?’ he asked anxiously, and Olivia stepped back, indicating that he should enter.

  ‘A few seconds longer wouldn’t matter.’

  He hastily selected a few notebooks and pencils, returning swiftly to the counter in order to pay for them. ‘I’m Gerald Thatcher,’ he introduced himself. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Olivia Logan,’ she replied, glancing at him with interest. ‘Are you also a farmer?’

  ‘Good heavens, no,’ he laughed humorously. ‘I’m the vice principal of the local school. Do I look like a farmer?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted reflectively, her glance taking in his lean, tanned fairness and the impeccable grey suit. ‘I’m finding it rather difficult to judge by appearances. I have always thought of farmers as people with sunburnt features, but here in Louisville that description applies to almost everyone.’

  ‘In this climate you acquire a tan even while you’re in the shade,’ he informed her gravely as they stepped out on to the pavement. ‘Could I offer you a lift home?’

  She suppressed a smile with difficulty. ‘You wouldn’t have far to go, because I live above the shop.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, sounding a little perturbed as he glanced up at the flat before meeting her direct gaze once more. ‘Will I be seeing you again?’

  ‘If the service in my shop was to your satisfaction, Mr. Thatcher, then I certainly hope we shall see each other again,’ she prevaricated, misunderstanding him deliberately.

  ‘My name is Gerald,’ he persisted with a display of determination, ‘and I meant would you allow me to take you out somewhere one evening.’

  ‘I—’ She hesitated, biting back the natural instinct to refuse. ‘We don’t know each other at all, Gerald, but if your offer is a genuine one, then I think I would like to go out with you one evening.’

  ‘I’ll telephone you,’ he promised, his green eyes smiling into hers before he jumped into his car and started the engine. ‘Tot siens, Olivia.’

  ‘Gerald Thatcher,’ Olivia began hesitantly the following morning when Tante Maria arrived with freshly baked scones for her tea. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘He’s a very nice boy,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘He’s only been here since the beginning of the year, but he has already become such a valued part of the community that it feels as though he’s been here much longer.’ Tante Maria’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Do you fancy him?’

  ‘Well, I only met him very briefly yesterday,’ Olivia admitted blushingly.

  ‘And you’re going to see him again?’ she guessed shrewdly.

  ‘Well ... yes,’ Olivia admitted reluctantly, lowering her glance to the pencil she twisted so mercilessly between her agitated fingers.

  ‘I’m glad,’ Tante Maria announced. ‘It’s time you stopped hiding yourself away in that flat of yours. A young, attractive girl like yourself should have plenty of young men queueing up for dates.’

  Young and attractive, Tante Maria had called her, Olivia thought as she stared at herself in the mirror that evening. Young, yes ... but attractive? No! Her large grey eyes were set too wide apart, her nose was too small, and her mouth too wide. There was nothing one could call attractive about her features, she decided critically, but she was totally unaware of the captivating length of her thick, dark lashes which so often veiled her expressive eyes, and the tender curve of lips suggesting a vulnerability that would no doubt awaken the protective instincts in the opposite sex. Small and slender, with her silky auburn hair cut short to curl softly about her face, she looked much younger than her twenty-six years, and it was no wonder that Oom Hennie, as well as several other people in Louisville, called her kindjie. Child.

  Since coming to Louisville she had felt more like a child than ever before; a trusting and innocent child trying to make a living for herself in the world of adults.

  Sighing heavily, she climbed into bed and tried to read, but her thoughts interfered with the words on the printed page until she finally gave up the effort and switched off the light.

  Olivia received an unexpected visitor one afternoon during the following week. An extremely pretty child, with her dark hair braided into two neat plaits that hung down her back, entered the shop, and Olivia allowed her to browse about, but she finally looked up from the tapestry she was struggling with when she

  became aware of dark eyes studying her intently from across the counter.

  ‘Are you Olivia Logan?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Olivia smiled, lowering her tapestry to study the small, perfect features. She was not one of the children who called re
gularly at the shop, and Olivia felt certain that she would have remembered her had she seen her before.

  ‘My Aunty Viv told me about you. ’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’m Frances King,’ the child enlightened her almost accusingly.

  ‘Oh,’ Olivia repeated foolishly, realising at last that this was Bernard King’s daughter, and the niece Vivien O’Brien had spoken of. ‘If I remember correctly, then your Aunty Vivien told me you were at boarding school. Are you allowed out of the hostel grounds whenever you wish?’

  ‘Of course not!’ the child said indignantly. ‘Our study period isn’t for another hour yet, so I thought I’d slip away to have a look at your bookshop.’

  ‘Do you enjoy reading, Frances?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Very much,’ came the enthusiastic reply.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Ten,’ Frances replied, her manner much older than her years as she settled herself on the high stool and leaned with her elbows on the counter. ‘How old are you??

  ‘I’m twenty-six,’ Olivia replied without hesitation, and with equal honesty.

  ‘You don’t look that old,’ Frances remarked after a thoughtful pause, her dark eyes observing Olivia closely. ‘Why did you come here to Louisville?’

  ‘I travelled through here once and liked what I saw,’ said Olivia, somewhat startled by her direct question.

  ‘My daddy says that people who come to a small place like this, after living in the city most of their lives, are usually running, away from something they can’t face.’

  Olivia smiled inwardly. ‘Your father obviously has strong ideas on the subject.’

  ‘ Were you running away from something?’

  ‘You could say, I suppose, that I was running away from the loneliness,’ Olivia replied slowly as she met the child’s direct gaze. ‘One can become very lonely in a city like Johannesburg where everyone rushes about in their own private little world with no time to stop and say “Hello”.’

  ‘Were you lonely?’ Frances wanted to know with some urgency. ‘Were you really lonely?’

  ‘Yes, I was,’ Olivia admitted, realising for the first time with startling clarity just how lonely she had been after her aunt had died, and it was with the money Aunt Georgina had left her that she had bought this small bookshop in an effort to escape that loneliness. She became aware of a flicker of sympathy in the dark eyes appraising her, and asked, ‘Are you lonely sometimes?’