A Moment in Time Page 8

  'What makes you think that?'

  'It's just a feeling,' Dennis shrugged. 'He hasn't perhaps said anything to you, has he?'

  'Not a word,' she assured him, her glance darting briefly to where Lyle sat smoking a cigarette with his back propped against the stem of a syringa tree. 'My relationship with Professor Venniker doesn't exactly include the exchange of confidences,' she added with a wry laugh.

  'So I've noticed.'

  His teasing remark veered towards the personal, and she hastily changed the conversation back to the subject they had been discussing. 'Do you have any idea what he could be looking for?'

  'No,' Dennis frowned, 'but I think it's something with which he hopes to substantiate his theory that this territory once belonged to Indlovukazi, the legendary tribal queen.'

  'I thought we had uncovered enough evidence these past weeks to substantiate his theory.'

  'I thought so, too, but I have a feeling the professor won't be satisfied until he finds whatever it is he's looking for.' Dennis lowered his voice as he spoke, and he leaned towards Christie in a conspiratorial manner. 'Have you seen how the professor examines every fragment when the sifting is taking place?'

  'I have noticed, yes,' she answered thoughtfully, taking his discussion seriously for the first time. 'What he's looking for must be small, I gather.'

  'Or it could be fragments of something which was not so small in its original form,' Dennis added logically.

  'Why don't you ask him what he's looking for?' she queried, wrapping her arms about her raised legs and resting her chin on her knees.

  'I have asked him,' Dennis smiled ruefully, 'but it didn't really get me anywhere.'

  'What did he say?'

  'He laughed and told me I had an over-active imagination.'

  Christie considered this for a moment, then a teasing smile lifted the corners of her mouth. 'Perhaps you have.'

  Dennis flicked her arm with his finger in playful punishment, and their conversation ended there when Alan lifted his guitar on to his knee and strummed it softly.

  Christie was pulled to her feet to join the group around the fire, and for one brief second her eyes met Lyle's, but that one look was sufficient to leave her feeling disturbed and chastened for the rest of the evening. Lyle had been furious, and his fury had been directed at her, but she could not imagine why.

  A few days later Christie's brush and trowel uncovered a small jar in the wall of the donga. At other times she had left the removal of items in the skilled hands of the students, but on this occasion she felt an odd, driving need to do so on her own. She worked slowly, knowing that one careless move could break the jar, and it seemed to take agonising hours in the hot sun before the small jar came away from its resting place. Her hands were trembling with an excitement she could not understand, and when she turned the jar over between her fingers she heard the dull sound of objects rattling inside it. She tried to lift the lid, but nature had sealed it well to preserve its contents.

  'You'll need a penknife and a brush to break the seal,' Dennis advised, running his finger lightly along the narrow slit between the lid and the rim of the jar.

  Christie felt dubious about undertaking such a delicate task on her own, but at the same time she was almost jealous at the thought of someone else taking over. 'Do you think I could do it?'

  'You found the jar,' Dennis smiled, lending her his own penknife. 'I would say the privilege to open it is yours.'

  It sounded like a challenge; it was a challenge, and she climbed out of the donga with the small jar held protectively against her body. She darted a glance at Lyle, but he was involved in a discussion with a handful of students and, spreading a small sheet of canvas beneath a shady tree, Christie began the nerve-racking task of breaking the jar's seal without damaging it.

  Once again she worked slowly, using the knife and the brush alternately. If she forced the lid of the clay jar it could be marred, so she took her time, even though her insides were quivering with a feverish haste. She felt again that strange excitement rippling through her. It tingled along her spine and spread along her arms into her fingertips, making her all the more determined to discover what was hidden in that small black jar.

  It seemed to take an eternity of scraping and brushing to succeed in her objective. She worked the knife deeper and deeper into that groove between the lid and the mouth of the jar, and she was close to relinquishing her efforts when the lid moved a fraction. Christie's heart leapt into her throat, and her hand was shaking when she put down the knife and picked up the brush to dust away the soil she had loosened. To make sure that she had not imagined it, she slid the point of the knife once again in a circular motion around the lid, and she was rewarded by a crunching, gritty sound as the lid shifted its position.

  Her heart was pounding against her ribs as she cast a searching glance around the digging site. It was almost time to return to the camp for lunch. The students were packing away their tools, and Lyle was still examining the tiny particles of clay and stone which had remained in the sieve. She would have to hurry, there was little time left. Time for what? she wondered absently, but she did not wait to find the answer. Using the sharp point of the knife, she carefully lifted off the lid, then she tilted the jar and emptied its contents out on to the small sheet of canvas.

  For one dreadful moment it felt as if all the air had been squeezed out of Christie's lungs, and a strange iciness took possession of her as she stared at the objects spread out on the green sheet of canvas. Surrounded by four lion fangs and a small iron spearhead, was an ivory disc of about five centimetres in diameter, and it was an exact replica of the disc Christie had in her possession, except for the figure of a woman carved in the centre. This was the disc which Indlovukazi had given to her lover as a token of her love, and this, Christie realised, was what Lyle had been searching for.

  She fingered the disc almost reverently. It was yellowed with age, but it was beautifully preserved, and she felt again that tingling excitement racing through her when she picked it up at last and held it between her trembling fingers.

  'It's time to go,' Lyle's voice rang out clearly and, acting on a crazy impulse, Christie slipped the disc into the pocket of her denim shorts.

  She felt guilty, but no one had seen her, she was certain of that, and she hastily scraped together the remaining objects. She returned them to the jar and carefully replaced the lid before gathering up the rest of her things.

  Lyle stood some distance from her, and he appeared to be frowning into the distance. He was obviously lost in thought, but the sound of her step behind him made him turn at once, and his glance seemed to be drawn like a magnet to the jar resting in the palm of her hand.

  'Where did you find that?'

  'In the donga,' she explained with a new kind of anxiety knotting her nerve ends. 'I've marked the spot and numbered it.'

  He took the jar from her and examined it; when he looked up, his eyes were narrowed slits of anger. 'Who gave you permission to break the seal?'

  'I did,' Dennis answered, coming up behind Christie. 'And I don't think any of us could have made a better job of it,' he added, glancing at the lid which was still in perfect condition.

  Lyle's mouth tightened, but he left the matter there, and directed his sharp gaze at Christie. 'Did you examine the contents?'

  'Yes, I did,' she confessed, and Lyle gestured towards the sheet of canvas in her hands, indicating that she should spread it out on the ground.

  'The owner of this jar appears to have been a sentimentalist,' Lyle observed drily when he studied the objects lying spread out on the canvas. 'I'm inclined to think he kept the fangs of the first lion he killed, and also the spearhead with which he accomplished it.' He sat back on his heels, turning the objects repeatedly between his fingers, then he looked up sharply and captured Christie's nervous gaze. 'Was this all you found in the jar?'

  It felt as if the ivory disc was burning a hole in her pocket. Her rational mind told her to h
and over what did not belong to her, but for some obscure reason she decided against it.

  'That was all,' she lied.

  Lyle's dark glance held hers, and she had a horrible feeling that guilt was written all over her hot face. She had never been a good liar, nor was it in her nature not to tell the truth, and she was subconsciously horrified at what she was doing.

  'How odd,' Lyle broke the tense little silence. 'To my knowledge the people of a thousand years ago seldom placed anything in a jar with a lid unless they wished to conceal something, but I can't imagine why the owner of this jar would have wanted to conceal the evidence of his bravery.'

  He knew! She was positive that he knew! She had time to rectify the matter, but still she hesitated.

  'Perhaps he was a modest man,' Dennis suggested helpfully.

  'Primitive man was never modest,' Lyle contradicted cynically. 'It was important to make his strength and bravery known if he wanted to be acknowledged as an adult male in the community.'

  'In that case, Professor,' Dennis shrugged characteristically, 'the man must have been a sentimentalist as you suggested.'

  'He must have been,' Lyle agreed with a faint smile as he gathered up the objects and rose to his full, imposing height. 'Let's get back to the camp.'

  They did not speak on the way down. Christie went into her tent to wash her face and hands before lunch, and afterwards she dipped her fingers into the pocket of her shorts to reassure herself that the ivory disc was still there.

  What on earth had possessed her to slip it into her pocket? And why had she remained silent about its existence?

  Christie stood motionless, her fingers touching the disc in her pocket, and it was then that she knew the incredulous truth. Deep down inside she was nursing the impossible hope that fate would be kind, and that she would be given the opportunity to hand this disc to Lyle as a token of her love for him. Her legs felt weak, and her insides were shaking when she joined the others for lunch. It was idiotic to hope that she would ever be given such an opportunity, and it was crazy to think that she could re-enact Indlovukazi's actions of a thousand years ago. Lyle did not love her and, unless she was certain of his feelings, she would never let him know exactly how she felt about him. The two discs belonged together, and they belonged with two people who loved each other. Did she hope that the tribal queen's powers would somehow reach across the ages into the twentieth century, and that her possession of the two discs would bring Lyle back to her?

  That was ridiculous! Her logical mind answered that query, but from the illogical recesses of her mind she knew that this was exactly what she did hope for. It was madness, but, loving him as much as she did, she was willing to cling to every fragile hope… or belief.

  She dipped her fingers into her pocket while she ate her lunch, and touched the ivory disc. She would have to think of a safe place to keep it, but at the moment there was no safer place than on her person.

  The last two days were hectic and, when they gathered around the camp fire for the last time, their sadness at having to leave was evident in the melancholy words of the songs they chose. Alan fumbled for the chords on the guitar in his customary manner, and Christie saw a look of irritation flash across Lyle's lean face where he stood leaning against a tree with a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Their eyes met across the camp fire, and something in the way he looked at her sent a warning flashing through her mind, but she was still unprepared for what followed.

  'I would like to make a suggestion,' Lyle addressed Alan. 'Lend your guitar to Christie, and let her sing for a change.'

  Christie was startled by this unexpected exposure. She felt a numbness surging through her during the ensuing silence, and her nerves knotted at the pit of her stomach when fifteen pairs of eyes were suddenly focused on her. Damn Lyle for doing this to her! She assumed that he found a sadistic pleasure in revealing her secret, and hurt mingled with anger as she glared at him. She started to rise to escape all the attention, but the guitar was placed in her hands, and she sat down helplessly with the instrument cradled in her lap.

  'I knew it!' Erica shattered the silence with her shrill, excited voice. 'I had a feeling you were the folk singer my brother was so crazy about, but the photographs on your albums never did you justice, and your short hair had me confused.'

  'Stop chattering, Erica, and let Christie sing,' someone admonished her laughingly.

  The group fell silent once again, and Christie stared down at the instrument in her hands with an uncommon nervousness. 'I really don't think I can—'

  'Come on, Christie, it's our last night together,' Erica interrupted her vaguely formulated protest. 'Sing one of your favourite songs.' Lyle's dark gaze issued a challenge which she could not ignore, and she responded with a challenge of her own. She chose a song which she had composed shortly after meeting Lyle. It was of special significance to both of them, and it had, at that time, summed up their feelings most aptly.

  The silence was expectant when Christie's practised fingers coaxed the opening bars of the song from the guitar, and the tightening of Lyle's mouth told her that he had recognised it at once. The melody was haunting and, injecting a husky intimacy into her usually warm, vibrant voice, she sang:

  The first time we touched I knew

  There could never be anyone but you.

  Your eyes met mine

  And I had to believe

  This was not just a moment in time.

  I'd never known love before,

  But you promised all that, and more.

  I felt your touch,

  Your kiss was like wine,

  And I knew that this moment was mine.

  Near or far apart

  You will always have my heart.

  I spend the hours

  Hoping you will find

  It was not just a moment in time.

  Christie knew that she had the complete, almost stunned attention of her small audience as she took the song through to its emotional end. There was a mesmerised silence when her voice faded dramatically on the last note, then the silence erupted with cries of, 'More! More!'

  She was surprised to find that her eyes were misty with emotion, and when she searched for Lyle he was no longer there. Christie had no idea when he had left, but his absence told her, in no uncertain terms, that he no longer cared.

  'One more, Christie! Just one more song!' her small audience pleaded, but Christie was too choked to speak, let alone sing.

  'No!' Dennis stepped into the breach when he became aware of her distress and, taking the guitar from her, he handed it back to Alan. 'I think we'll end the evening on that beautiful note,' Dennis added. 'We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow, and we all have to get up early.'

  The group around the fire dispersed reluctantly, and Dennis accompanied Christie to her tent. Her glance searched the camp area for Lyle, but he was nowhere in sight, and that lump in her throat became an aching obstruction.

  'That song,' Dennis began, breaking the silence between them when they paused at the entrance to her tent. 'You wrote it for someone special, didn't you?'

  'Yes,' Christie forced the word past the lump in her throat while her eyes still probed the shadows for Lyle's familiar figure.

  'Am I wrong in thinking that you wrote it for someone like the professor?'

  Christie's body went rigid, and Dennis had her complete attention for the first time 'What are you trying to say?' she asked warily.

  He had been studying her intently, but she sensed his sudden embarrassment when he looked away and kicked at an imaginary stone. 'I walked past the professor's tent that afternoon after we had discovered the relics in the donga,' he explained, 'and I heard him mention to you that he had given you something five years ago which you hadn't shown much interest in.'

  The ivory disc. Her hand went automatically to the pocket of her slacks, but the carved disc was no longer there. She had hidden it away safely among her personal toiletries, and it would remain there until she c
ould reunite it with its replica.

  'So, now you know that Professor Venniker and I didn't meet each other for the first time on the university campus four weeks ago,' Christie remarked with forced casualness.

  'But it's more than that, isn't it,' Dennis summed up the situation between Lyle and herself and, when she stood there speechless with surprise and indecision, he touched her arm lightly. 'I'm sorry, Christie, but when I discovered that you and the professor had known each other before, I couldn't help recalling how antagonistic you were towards each other from the start of this trip. Since then I've been watching you closely, and I've seen the way you look at him.'

  'Dear heaven!' she groaned inwardly, wondering if her behaviour had been as transparent to everyone else.

  'When you sang that song,' Dennis continued, 'and when I saw how the professor reacted, I knew that your relationship had been more than simply a casual acquaintance.'

  'How did he react?' she could not help asking.

  'He looked furious, as if someone had carelessly dropped a priceless relic, and just before the end of your song he stalked off in the direction of the river.' The crickets chirped lustily in the undergrowth when Dennis added persuasively, 'Care to tell me about it?'

  Tiredness washed over her like a weighted blanket, and she sighed heavily. 'It's a long story, Dennis, and… some other time, perhaps.'

  'Does that mean you will let me see you when we're back in Johannesburg?'

  'You've been a good friend these past weeks,' she replied, not wanting to commit herself, then she touched his cheek lightly with her fingers. 'Good night, Dennis.'

  She left him there, and pushed aside the flap of her tent to go inside, but it was some hours before she eventually stopped tossing and went to sleep for the last time in her bush veld tent.