Valley of the Devil Read online

  Mr Stirk concluded the ceremony with, 'Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder', then he cleared his throat and, looking embarrassed, added, 'I believe it's customary at a wedding of this private nature for the groom to kiss the bride.'

  Jo shrank inwardly from this suggestion, and she was totally unresponsive when Rafe turned her towards him and tilted her face up for a kiss. His lips brushed against hers, their touch familiar, but cool and impersonal, and somewhere deep inside her a half-forgotten pulse was throbbing back to life. No! Oh, please, God! No! She prayed silently and desperately while she responded like an automaton to her family's congratulations. Don't let me feel that way! Not after all these years!

  It was some time later, when Lavinia and Danny were seeing Mr Stirk off the premises, that Rafe pinned Jo down with his dark gaze. He smiled twistedly as he came towards her, then he gestured with the glass of champagne in his hand. 'Shall we drink to a profitable union?'

  'You mean a profitable purchase, don't you?' Her mask of serenity slipped momentarily to reveal her repugnance. 'You bought me, remember? The transaction has been signed and sealed. All that's left is for me to deliver. Not so, Rafe?'

  His mouth thinned and a muscle twitched along the side of his square jaw. She had angered him—she recognised the signs—but his overall expression remained as inscrutable as before.

  'I stand corrected.' His coldly dispassionate glance flicked over her. 'I shall drink instead to my latest and most profitable acquisition.'

  Jo felt chilled and socially degraded as she watched him lift his glass to his lips and drain it in one gulp seconds before Lavinia and Danny returned to the living-room. Her palm had itched to strike Rafe, but her conscience had warned against it. She had provoked him deliberately, and that meant that she was partly to blame if he seemed bent on piling insult upon insult.

  There was no time for Jo to change out of her dress into something more comfortable before they left. They had dallied too long over the champagne and the snacks, and she knew from experience that they would have to leave as soon as possible if they wanted to arrive at Satanslaagte before dark. Jo was disengaging herself from her mother's tearful embrace when Rafe came in out of the rain after stowing the last of her belongings in the boot of his metallic green Mercedes. Raindrops glistened on his dark hair as he lowered his head to kiss

  Lavinia's proffered cheek, but when he shook hands with Danny there was something in the look that passed between them that puzzled Jo briefly.

  Some moments later Jo was seated in the car beside Rafe and being driven down the circular driveway towards the gate. She glanced back at the house and wished herself back in the safety of her room above the portico where Lavinia and Danny stood waving. Jo waved back with a hollow feeling in her chest, then she settled back in her seat and stared straight ahead of her at the wipers swishing back and forth across the windscreen while they headed towards the dual carriageway which would link them up with the road to Beaufort West.

  The rain eased down to a fine drizzle on the N1 once they were beyond the towering peaks of the Du Toits mountain range and had driven through the lush Hex River valley where the winter cold had stripped the vines bare in the vineyards. Rafe had maintained a brooding silence in the car since they had left Cape Town, but Jo welcomed it. She was in no mood for idle conversation, and it suited her that they spoke to each other only when it was absolutely necessary.

  They stopped for a light lunch at a hotel in the small town of Touws River which had once been an important railway junction, and it was when they continued their journey an hour later that the sun finally began to emerge behind the clouds. The gleam of gold on Jo's finger captured her attention, and she found herself remembering a conversation she had had with her brother not more than a month ago.

  'How would you feel if Rafe had to walk through that door unexpectedly?' Danny had asked one evening when she had arrived home late and was warming a glass of milk for herself in the kitchen.

  'Scared,' she had answered him with an honesty born of surprise.

  'Why would you be scared?'

  'I loved him once, and I'd be scared that he might somehow stir up those old feelings only to throw them back in my face,' she had said.

  'Would you marry him again if he should ask you?' Danny had persisted.

  'Rafe would never ask me to marry him again, and I swear I shall never set foot on Andersen soil again even if Rafe should come to me on bended knees.'

  Jo had been wrong on two counts. Rafe did ask her to marry him again, and he had not needed to go down on bended knees to get her to accept. Marriage to Rafe was the condition to the loan Danny needed, and before long she would set foot on Andersen soil again. Jo dreaded the thought, and she dreaded also the cold-blooded demands Rafe would be making on her.

  'Are we going to drive all the way to the Satanslaagte without speaking to each other?' demanded Rafe as they entered Laingsburg's municipal boundary.

  'What is there to say?' she demanded in response as she turned slightly towards him and eased her legs into a more comfortable position.

  'I can think of quite a few things to say.'

  'That's odd.'

  That unaccustomed ring of sarcasm in her voice did not escape Rafe and he slanted a quick, frowning glance at her. 'What's odd about it?' he wanted to know.

  'You never used to be talkative.'

  'People change.' Rafe's hand brushed accidentally against her knee when he shifted down to a lower gear, and an electrified sensation shot up along Jo's thigh. 'I know I have changed.'

  'You can say that again,' she responded bitingly, her body still tingling with the unnerving sensation his touch had aroused when they entered Laingsburg and drove slowly past the steepled church that dated back to 1883.

  Jo laced her fingers together in her lap in an attempt to maintain her outwardly calm appearance, but the feel of that gold wedding-band on the finger of her left hand was making her heart take a frantic, suffocating leap into her throat as her mind unwillingly took stock of the situation. She had been married to Rafe before, and she had given herself to him in love. This time the ring on her finger was Rafe's seal of purchase, and he would be taking possession of her body for the sole purpose of making sure that she would, in time, fulfill her part of the bargain by producing an heir for Satanslaagte. Satanslaagte. Valley of the devil. It was there where she had been taught the meaning of defeat, and she had left hating it as passionately as Rafe loved it. If she had had a choice she would never have returned, but she supposed there was some consolation in the knowledge that Averil Andersen would not be in residence for the next two months.

  They were crossing the bridge over the dry Buffels River and leaving the town of Laingsburg behind them when Rafe resumed their conversation. 'You've changed too, Joceline.'

  'Oh, for goodness' sake, Rafe, will you stop calling me Joceline?' she exclaimed with an irritation that stemmed from the distasteful, slightly panic-stricken thoughts flitting through her mind.

  'I think Joceline suits the assertive image you've acquired. You never used to be that way before.'

  'More's the pity!' she muttered to herself, but Rafe's soft, throaty laughter made her realise that he had heard her.

  'I couldn't agree more,' he mocked her. 'That flash of assertive anger in your eyes adds an exciting and alluring spark to your beauty. It also makes you much more desirable.'

  Jo stiffened and slanted an angry glance at Rafe's stern, ruggedly handsome profile, but her acid response died a sudden death on her lips as his dark eyes met and held hers for a breathtaking instant.

  'You always were desirable, Jo.' There was something in the deep timbre of his voice that sent a flurry of tremors along her nervous system. 'That's one thing that never changed when we were married before.'

  Jo altered her position slightly and stared fixedly out of the window beside her. She wished she could refute his statement, but she couldn't. Rafe had not touched her during those final days
after he had moved out of the room they had shared, but the desire had been there in his eyes whenever she had caught him staring at her.

  She thrust aside these memories which persisted in crowding her mind and tried instead to focus her attention on the passing scenery as they travelled deeper into the heart of the Karoo. The Karoo was a vast, scrub-covered land which was dotted sparsely with clusters of pepper and acacia trees, and there was nothing to break the monotony of the journey except the occasional appearance of the flat-topped hills in the far distance. It was on this semi-desert land that farmers like Rafe grazed their wool-producing sheep and continued to fight their relentless battles against the ever-present threat of drought.

  'Does your mother know that you've married me again?' she questioned Rafe when the soft drone of the car's engine threatened to put her to sleep.

  'I sent her a cable.'

  Jo glanced at his tight-lipped profile. 'Did you explain what prompted you to marry me again?'

  'Did you tell your family that marrying me and having my child was the condition I stipulated for the loan?' he parried her query sharply.

  'No.' She lowered her gaze briefly to those powerful hands resting on the steering-wheel and swallowed at the lump that had risen unexpectedly into her throat. 'I didn't want to upset them.'

  'Exactly.

  Jo sighed inwardly with an odd feeling of relief. 'I'm glad you haven't lost the ability to care.'

  'I care about a lot of things which you wouldn't know about.'

  'Because I'm a city girl with no knowledge of the land?' she countered mockingly, and his jaw hardened with anger.

  'Where you were born and bred is of no consequence. Knowledge is something one can acquire only if the interest is there.'

  'So we're back to that, are we?' she retorted coolly, keeping a tight rein on her anger.

  'Back to what?' he demanded, casting a frowning glance in her direction.

  'I could adapt to living on a farm if I chose to apply myself.'

  His expression became shuttered and he dismissed the subject with a decisive wave of his hand. 'I have no desire to rake up old, worn-out arguments.'

  'Neither have I,' she finally confessed into a stony silence.

  It was late afternoon, and Beaufort West lay a few kilometres up ahead of them. It was the largest town in the central Karoo, and the inhabitants often called it the 'oasis town'. It couldn't have been named more aptly. After the long drive through the hot, arid Karoo the town was a veritable oasis with its streets lined with pear and jacaranda trees, its green playing-fields and pretty gardens. Jo could see the rooftops of buildings jutting out above the trees as they approached the outskirts of the town, and anxiety clutched at her throat like a vice. This was the second time in eight days that she was entering this picturesque town, where the quaint old shops with their zinc awnings and fancy wrought-iron work blended comfortably with the modern buildings which had been erected in recent years. Satanslaagte lay about thirty kilometres to the north of Beaufort West. It took a twenty-minute drive along a winding dirt road to reach the farm, and Jo sat rigidly still beside Rafe as they sped past remembered landmarks. The Mercedes held the road firmly, ploughing up a cloud of dust behind it, and all too soon Rafe was swinging the car off the road to bring it to a halt in front of that familiar pillared gateway on which the name 'Satanslaagte— R. Andersen' had been freshly painted.

  Rafe got out to open the gate, the first of several along the track leading up to the homestead. He drove through it, then he got out again and closed the gate before driving off. Never leave a gate open behind you. That was the cardinal rule on a Karoo farm. Jo had found it odd until she discovered that the breeding of sheep for their wool was an intricate business which could cause severe financial losses if animals were allowed to stray at will into neighbouring camps. Their arrival at Satanslaagte did not go unnoticed. Two black children ran barefooted like hares across the scrub-covered veld to attend to the last few gates, and Rafe pressed a couple of silver coins into their hands before the two little boys sped away again.

  The fiery sun was sinking swiftly towards the flat-topped hills in the distance when Rafe drove up to the sprawling homestead surrounded by neatly trimmed lawns and tall, shady trees. It seemed like yet another cool green oasis in the scorching semi-desert, and it was all still so familiar to Jo that the past and the present came together in an agonising rush that made her draw a painful, shuddering breath.

  'We're home,' Rafe announced, getting' out of the car and walking round the bonnet: to open the door for her.

  Home? Satanslaagte never was, and never would be home to her, she was thinking cynically when she stepped from the car.

  Jo was easing the stiffness out of her body after the long ride when a fully grown Alsatian appeared around the corner of the house. It barked once, a yelping bark, then bore down on her at a speed that made her catch her breath. She backed away nervously and collided with Rafe's solid chest. At any other time she might have leapt away to avoid the contact, but at that moment there was a feeling of safety in the steadying touch of those strong hands gripping her shoulders.

  'Fritz!' The dog halted in its tracks at the sound of that sharp, commanding voice, and Rafe released Jo with a faintly derisive smile. 'Don't tell me you're also afraid of dogs?'

  'Only when they charge at me with what appears to be vicious intent,' she defended herself with a forced calmness when that cold surge of fear finally subsided to leave her with a peculiar lameness in her limbs.

  'In this instance Fritz's exuberance may be interpreted as a welcome.' Rafe summoned the Alsatian with a wave of his hand. 'I suggest you get acquainted.'

  Jo extended her hand towards the animal. 'Hello, Fritz.'

  The Alsatian approached her cautiously. He sniffed at her fingers, then he nudged her palm with his cold, wet nose as an indication that he wanted his head stroked, and Jo obliged by running her hand over his smooth coat and scratching him gently behind the ears.

  'He likes you,' Rafe informed her.

  Jo smiled naturally for the first time that day as she stooped over the animal. 'How long have you had Fritz?'

  'Two years,' came the answer. 'He was a surprise birthday gift from Lorin.'

  Lorin. There was the bitter taste of gall in Jo's mouth, and her smile faded long before she straightened to see a black man in khaki shirt and trousers walking towards them.

  Jo recognised Stan at once. He had grown up on the farm with Rafe, and there was no one Rafe trusted more than his childhood friend.

  Stan smiled and lifted his old felt hat in greeting. 'Hello, madam.'

  'Hello, Stan.' Jo returned his smile warmly. 'How is Klara?'

  'She is well, madam,' Stan assured her, visibly pleased that Jo had remembered his wife's name. 'She's expecting our fourth child in two months' time.'

  'You may bring the suitcases inside, Stan,' Rafe intervened abruptly, passing the Mercedes keys on to Stan.

  'Yes, Master Rafe.'

  Jo had a strange feeling that Rafe had wanted to end her conversation with Stan before something was said between them which was not intended for her ears.

  Don't be silly! she reprimanded herself silently, shivering in the coolness of the late afternoon air as Rafe ushered her towards the trellised stoop that ran along two sides of the house. It was then that Jo noticed the building operations which were in progress on the east-facing side of the homestead.

  'Are you making alterations to the house?' she asked curiously.

  'I'm adding on a few extra rooms.'

  That was odd! The original homestead was big enough to house almost a dozen people comfortably. Why would Rafe need these additional rooms?

  Jo slanted a glance up at him, but there was something so forbidding about his stern profile that she decided to shelve the questions spinning through her mind as they entered the silent house and walked across the hall with its gleaming yellowwood floor.

  Nothing had changed, she was thinking as Raf
e guided her down the long, L-shaped passage which led to the bedrooms on the west side of the house. The wine-red carpet on the floor was what Averil Andersen had selected in preference to the mottled beige which Jo had believed would brighten up a passage which could be dark and dismal during certain times of the day. None of Jo's suggestions had ever met with her mother-in-law's approval, and in the end Jo had simply been too despondent to care. She was trying to banish these memories from her mind when Rafe opened the door to the master bedroom, and her heart was thudding painfully against her breastbone as he drew her inside. This was the room she had shared with Rafe. It was in this room that she had known her happiest as well as her most heartbreaking moments.

  Jo pulled herself together with an effort to cast a critical glance about the spacious room with its walk-through dressing-room and adjoining bathroom.

  It was not quite as she had remembered. The solid oak furniture had not changed, but she was pleasantly surprised to discover that the unsightly floral curtains across the sash windows had been replaced with a pale blue chintz to match the drapes on the four-poster bed. The serviceable olive-green carpet had also been removed, and in its place was a plush creamy-coloured carpet which had been laid wall to wall. Rafe was lounging against the wall beside the mirrored dressing-table. He was observing her closely as if he expected some sort of reaction, and Jo nervously stated the obvious. 'You've made a few changes.'

  'Do you like it?'

  'It's very nice,' she admitted, trying to quell the nervous flutters at the pit of her stomach as she forced herself to meet his penetrating gaze. 'Is this your room?'

  'This is our room,' he stated clearly so that there would be no misunderstanding, and something in her expression made his heavy eyebrows lift in cynical amusement. 'How else are you to provide me with an heir if we don't share the same room and the same bed?'

  A rush of angry, embarrassed heat surged into her cheeks, but her scathing response selected in preference to the mottled beige which Jo had believed would brighten up a passage which could be dark and dismal during certain times of the day. None of Jo's suggestions had ever met with her mother-in-law's approval, and in the end Jo had simply been too despondent to care.