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  THE GOLDEN VALLEY HILARY WILDE

  Sally Hardwick was thrilled when her old school friend Kay White and her father invited her to join them on an anthropological expedition to Africa, to; write a book about the Xhosa tribe. She was fascinated, too, with the curious Golden Valley in which the tribe lived and where the expedition was based. But as time went on, Sally began to wonder. Hardly any progress was being made on the book, and she had so little to do that she wondered what was the reason for her having been asked along at all. Did Malcolm White have some other reason for exploring the Golden Valley and its secrets? What had she involved herself in now? Books you will enjoy by HILARY WILDE

  A TIME FOR DANCING When Pru won her first dancing "First Prize". It was Jonathan Chandler who made the presentation. She never guessed that the day would come when it would be more important tor her to win Jonathan himself a man whose world was far removed from that of professional dancing.

  RED AS A ROSE On board ship for Australia, Elinor and Valerie Johnson met Kit Anderson, a prosperous sheep-farmer. Elinor found herself falling in love with him, but she thought herself plain and colourless beside her gay, attractive sister and the glamorous, demanding Alison Poole.

  PARADISE ISLAND Lauren did not foresee all the difficulties that would arise when she agreed to masquerade as Nick Natal's wife and professional dancing partner because Natalie was too ill to accompany him to tropical Paradise Island. And how she hated deceiving Roland Harvey, the owner of the Island Hotel.

  THE ROMANTIC SAFARI It seemed faintly absurd to Roger Tyndale two Englishwomen driving comfortably through the bush and calling it safari. But he agreed to go with them, and that was the start of dramatic adventures for all three. THE GOEDEN VALLEY BY HILARY WILDE MILLS & BOON LIMITED 50 GRAFTON WAY, FITZROY SQUARE LONDON, W.I

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  CHAPTER I

  SALLY realised suddenly that she was lost. The road, instead of climbing the mountainside, as she had been told it would, was now burrowing even deeper into the hot, humid valley. She drove the Land Rover off the rutted track and stopped. A tall, slender girl, she got out, taking the green scarf off her head and shaking the dust out of it, looking ruefully at her once-white blouse and crumpled green jeans. The sun blazed down out of a cloudless sky and she felt cross and frustrated. Had she been wise to take this job? she wondered. She was six thousand miles away from London and what little family she had, and so far, everything had been a disappointment. Her mouth was gritty with dust arfcl her eyes, behind their dark sun-glasses, smarted. She had been thrilled when Malcolm White, the father of one of her school friends, had engaged her to help him write a book on the Xhosas, but since they arrived a week before at M'Lita (the house they had rented from Piet McSeveney), Sally had been acting as housekeeper, and trying to make the Xhosa servants understand her miming, for they spoke no English. Even today. Sally thought unhappily, when she had planned to draw up a skeleton synopsis of the book and prepare her files, Malcolm White had asked her to drive to the nearest town, Ubito, to do the shopping, for he and Piet McSeveney were meeting friends, and Kay White, Malcolm's daughter, had a headache and was resting. But how. Sally asked herself, had she managed to get lost? She thought back, annoyed, trying to make out where she could have gone wrong, for she had been g THE GOLDEN VALLEY careful to slow up at the signpost to make certain she was on the road to Ubito. She stood still, looking round her. Suddenly, as it at a signal, the chatter of the small monkeys as they swung from tree to tree, or gazed down at her with warm brown eyes stopped. So did the shrill song of the birds. There was a strange eerie silence as if everything was waiting, patiently, knowingly, tor what was to follow. Sally crossed the rutted track, looking up at the tall, sun-hungry trees that grew straight up towards the sky that she could hardly see. The trees were covered by a creeper that smothered every branch and bush it could find lacing them together into an impenetrable fence. The sun was shut out and the heat shut in, and Sally s blouse stuck damply to her back and she felt the beads of perspiration sliding down her face. If this was winter she thought, what would it be like in midsummer? Would they still be here? she wondered. Mr. White had said something vaguely about six months' lease of the house, but it could be renewed. How long would it take Sally asked herself, to collect and collate the necessary information about the Xhosas? The actual book itself could be written in England. There was a small plateau where she could stand, it was made of a bluish kind of stone and jutted out over the pathetic river that wove crazily through the valley but that would, their landlord, Piet McSeveney, had said, be a roaring torrent when the rains came. Sally thought she knew why the valley was called the Golden Valley There was no rain during the winter months and the tall grass was dry and golden. The flowers on the possessive hungry creeper were golden. Even the clouds of dust that the Land Rover caused, or that drifted from a group of cattle strolling along, minded by a small piccaniny, were golden. In the THE GOLDEN VALLEY summer months when there were days and even weeks of rain, it would look very different. The stillness began to be oppressive. She felt completely alone in a strange world. There was a sudden strange sound. Like the crack of a whip, and then an even stranger "ping!" Sally looked round her. The other side of the river was just as overgrown and entangled and she could see no one. There was another crack and even as she heard the second ping and saw that something had hit the rock near her and ricocheted off. Sally knew what was happening. Someone was shooting at her. Blindly, she turned and ran for the Land Rover just as she heard the third shot. She tripped and fell face downwards in the dust. Sally lay very still, only conscious of the wild thumping of her heart. The silence seemed to stretch for ever. Was the man who had tried to shoot her waiting waiting for her to rise so that he could shoot her again? Gingerly she moved and realised that nothing was broken, there was no wound. Her head throbbed and she put her hand to her forehead, gazing in dismay at the blood on her fingers. "I did not hit you you fell and cut yourself," a woman's voice said contemptuously. A harsh, hostile voice. Sally sat up and turned. Too quickly, for the world spun round her and she had to put out her hands and lean on the ground until everything steadied again. She saw a small, plump woman standing near her, a shotgun in her hand. An angry woman with a face that was deeply lined, an aggressive beak of a nose, dark eyes flashing, white hair plaited round her head like a coronet. "Why do you trespass?" she demanded as Sally, with some unsteadiness, stood up. THE GOLDEN VALLEY "I'm on my way to Ubito . . ." Sally began. The angry little woman gave her no chance to speak. Her free hand was jerking restlessly at her black dress. It was a relic from another generation, reaching the ground, the bodice embroidered with jet beads, a gold chain with a heavy heart-shaped locket dangling round her neck. "A likely story," she was saying. "This is my land and I have the right . . ." Sally had got back her breath and her courage. "You have no right to shoot anyone," she said. "I was doing no harm." "You are trespassing," the old woman said triumphantly. "This is a private road." "The signpost said this was the way to Ubito," Sally interrupted her. "The other road was private." "Save your breath," the little woman said contemptuously. "I know a liar when I see one. I told my son when he insisted on letting M'Lita that I would not tolerate outsiders on my land . . ." Sally tried to speak, but the old woman waved an imperative hand. So she was Piet McSeveney's mother? Sally was thinking. But why had he said nothing? "Next time you trespass," Piet's mother was saying angrily, "I shall shoot to wound, not to scare you. And the third time I shall shoot to kill!" She looked so fiery and defiant, so determined to protect her land and privacy that Sally knew a moment of sympathy. "What sort of person are you anyhow?" Pie
t's mother went on to ask, her voice sarcastic. "A woman in man's clothing?" Sally was startled by the unexpected turn of the conversation and glanced down at herself. She was so used to wearing jeans that she had forgotten that there were still people in the world who disapproved. THE GOLDEN VALLEY "It's more convenient . . ." Sally began, almost apologetically, when a man's voice joined in. "It's all right, Ouma, I'll cope with this." It was a strangely familiar voice. Startled, Sally swung round. Once again she had moved too quickly, for the world spun round her and she put out her hands instinctively. The next moment, a strong arm was round her and a firm hand was pushing her head down towards her knees. "You'll be all right in a moment," the familiar voice said reassuringly. "I've got you. Just relax." Sally waited until the dizziness vanished and the world was still, then she straightened and looked up at the man who was holding her firmly. It was him, she saw with a shock. Yet how . . . why . . . "Not you again!" she said involuntarily. He was just as she had remembered. A tall man with broad shoulders and very short, very fair hair. His eyes looked almost dramatically blue against his deeplytanned skin. Today, just as he had done in London, he reminded her of a Viking. She could see him standing on the prow of a ship defying the elements, sure of himself, knowing no fear, allowing no weakness in anyone. A powerful, arrogant man, she had thought before, and still did ruthless, perhaps, when necessary. Yet with a charming, disarming and, for that very reason, irritating smile. He was smiling now. His strong face relaxed, crinkles of amusement showing at the side of his blue eyes. "We seem fated," he said, "to meet under peculiar circumstances." "You know her?" Ouma, as he had called her, screamed. "Jonathan, you . . ." "It's all right," 'Jonathan' told her, letting go of Sally THE GOLDEN VALLEY and smiling at the old lady. "We've never met socially. Now, Ouma," his voice changed, became gentle yet firm, -you'know the doctor said you mustn't get over-excited. Oh, and by the way," he added with a smile, "please stop waving that shotgun about. It might go off and then you'd be upset." He laughed, an affectionate yet indulgent laugh. "You've made your point, Ouma, that trespassers will not be tolerated, so why not run along home? Let me handle it, there's a darling." Ouma hesitated and then her face changed completely, the anger and tension vanishing as a thousand little laughter wrinkles appeared. "I'll leave it in your capable hands, Jonathan, she said meekly, turning away, and vanishing almost at once into the group of dense trees, turning deftly sideways to go along a narrow pathway that Sally could now see. There was a silence as Sally gazed up at the man towering beside her. There was an amused look in his eyes as he watched her touch her head gingerly and then gaze at the blood on her hand. "I'm still bleeding," Sally said as if shocked. Jonathan chuckled. "Merely a superficial cut, he said his voice tolerant and indulgent as it had been when he spoke to Ouma. "Nothing to worry about. You may have a headache for a few days ..." He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket, folded it into a pad, took out another handkerchief and tied the pad in place, standing back to survey his work critically. T i_ .1 "Not a bad job," he said. "Good thing I had two clean hankies with me for once." Sally did not feel like smiling. She felt suddenly shaky, longing to sit down. "Thanks . . ." she began, her voice unsteady. "Take off your glasses," he said abruptly. THE GOLDEN VALLEY Startled, Sally obeyed, and then wondered at her prompt reaction. "Why?" she asked. He narrowed his eyes as he gazed down at her. "Green," he said. "I was always warned that girls with green eyes must never be trusted." He took her arm. "Come, sit down. We have a lot to talk about," he said. "Have we?" She let him lead her to a broad smooth boulder and was glad to sit down. She clasped her hands together, was horrified to see that they were trembling. The next moment, Jonathan was holding her hands in both of his, tightly. The warmth of his firm fingers seemed to go through her body and was amazingly comforting. He was wearing very well-cut khaki shorts and jacket, fawn-coloured socks and expensive brown brogues. Now as he looked at her, his face was gentle. "How rude you must think me," he began. "We keep meeting in the most absurd places and yet don't know each other's names. I'm Jonathan Nesfield. I'm thirty years old. I've a comfortable income, a pleasant job that takes me all over the world, and I'm allergic to greeneyed girls with red-gold hair." He smiled as he spoke, and unwillingly, she smiled back. "I'm Sally Hardwick, I'm nineteen and I work for Malcolm White and I'm allergic to arrogant men who order me around!" Jonathan put back his head and laughed. "Touche first round to you! When have I ordered you around, seriously?" "Just now. Telling me to take off my glasses." "I wish you hadn't put them back," he said. "You have such beautiful eyes." She looked at him, startled, and then saw the smile that was tugging at the corner of his mouth, and so she could laugh and relax. THE GOLDEN VALLEY "Having got over the preliminaries," he went on, "let's skip formalities and be Jonathan and Sally to one another. Okay?" "Okay," Sally agreed. Already she felt better and more relaxed. He was still holding her hands tightly and somehow, she liked it. She no longer felt so alone and vulnerable. "Remember our first meeting?" he asked. "What made you walk off the pavement in Sloane Square of all places?" Sally leaned back against the boulder behind them. "I was dreaming," she confessed, remembering that exciting, wonderful morning and that but for Jonathan's prompt action, she might have been killed. "You see," she said to the silent man sitting by her side, "Kay had phoned me the day before. Kay and I were at school together. We've not met since, but we exchange Christmas and birthday cards, so she knew I was living with my aunt in East Croydon. She rang to ask me if I'd be interested in working for her father. Interested!" Sally's eyes were shining as she remembered her excite ment. "You see," she went on, "my father was an anthropologist and I used to work with him, and help him write his books. Kay told me her father was writing a book about the Xhosas in East Griqualand, that they were coming out here, and would I like to join them? Would I!" She drew a long deep breath. "What job were you in?" Jonathan asked quietly. "I'd been working for a year for a lawyer in Carey Street, but I hated the job." "You don't like that sort of work?" Sally shook her head vigorously, her red-gold pony-tail swinging. "I most certainly do not. I loathe being boxed in it was a small dusty office and there was always such a noise and it was awfully boring and I'm " she THE GOLDEN VALLEY laughed "I don't think I'm a career woman. Leastways, not that sort of career." "And you lived with . . .?" "My aunt and uncle and their four children. They're darlings, but . . . well, it wasn't the same. I missed Dad terribly and our wonderful life." "He died a year ago?" "Yes. Quite suddenly. No one expected it." "You couldn't have worked for him long. I mean, you were only eighteen when he died." "I know," Sally sighed. "But .it was wonderful while it lasted. I was just sixteen when I made Dad let me leave school. Mum died when I was quite small and Dad and I were very close. To please him, I learned shorthand and typing and then we wrote two books." She smiled. "It was wonderful fun. Anthropology is positively fascinating, you know. Much more fun than legal drafts and things." "And so when Kay White phoned you, it. seemed a wonderful chance," Jonathan said thoughtfully. "It was. Out of this world," sa.id Sally. "I was thrilled. I was so eager that I was much too' early, so I walked along Sloane Square, thinking about the tokoloshe ..." Jonathan's hands holding hers stiffened. Startled, she glanced up at him and his face looked as if it was chiselled out of stone. He let go her hands and folded his arms, looking forbidding, stem and thoroughly arrogant. "And what, precisely, do you know about the tokoloshe?" he asked, his voice cold as ice-cubes. Sally was startled. "Only what I read about him," she said. "I'd been to the library, looking up East Griqualand. It mentioned the tokoloshe a funny little creature I imagined it was rather like a leprechaun, but I hadn't time to read much. It said it was half-hairy, half-naked ..." THE GOLDEN VALLEY "Also allergic to women," Jonathan said with a smile. "He's sometimes called a thikoloshe." He paused. Sally watched his face lose its smile and grow stern again as he obviously thought about something. She had a feeling that what he was going to say was important although Jonathan kept his voice casual. "Did Mr. White ever mention the tokoloshe to you?" "Oh
no. He knows little or nothing about the Xhosas yet." Jonathan smiled. "I see. He's not the eager-beaver type you are." Sally blushed. "I was interested," she said, quickly on the defensive. His hand touched hers lightly. "I envy you your youthful enthusiasm. Sally. So you were thinking about the tokoloshe as you stepped off the pavement, straight in front of a bus . . ." "And you grabbed me and saved my life." said Sally. "I don't know if I thanked you properly. I was rather shaken ..." .,-j ,, -,.' "And the bus driver spared you nothing, did he? Jonathan said with a grin. "What with honking the hooter and swearing at you ..." r i" "I don't blame him, he must have had an awful fright. "So had I," Jonathan said frankly. Sally laughed. "You know, talking about it makes it all sound so silly, and yet ..." "At the time, it wasn't very funny, was it? The next time we met " . "The next time," Sally repeated, "I was walking slowly outside the block of flats where the Whites live, for I didn't want to be too early. My aunt always says that it's not a good idea to seem too keen on getting a job, I mean. And then you came hurtling down those stone steps, slap bang into me." "And I grabbed you just in time," Jonathan added. THE GOLDEN VALLEY "I nearly knocked you for six, didn't I? I'm no lightweight." Sally began to laugh again. "It you've ever been knocked down by an elephant . . .!" "I'd just been arguing with Malcolm White and I could hardly speak," he confessed. "And you accused me of following you," she pointed out. He looked shocked. "Did I? Yes! I remember now. How could I have been such an idiot? I asked you if you felt all right, and where you were going . . ." "And I told you I was going after a job that would take me to East Griqualand. Remember?" Jonathan nodded, his blue eyes momentarily clouded. "I remember. You said it was a most wonderful job." "You must have known I was coming out here, then," Sally said, the desire to laugh leaving her. Why hadn't he said he lived here? she wondered. "Yes, I did." Jonathan hunted in his pocket and produced a small gold case. "Smoke?" he asked, offering her a cigarette. She was about to refuse, for she didn't care for smoking, but then she felt it would help her. Everything still seemed unreal this could not be happening to her, it must be a dream, she felt. Perhaps holding a cigarette would bring her back to the present. "I'd been to see Malcolm White to try to persuade him not to rent M'Lita," Jonathan said. "He refused flatly to even consider it. I'd not met him before and when I saw him, I didn't like what I saw and the thought of him here in this quiet beautiful valley well, frankly, it made me mad." "Why do you hate him?" "I don't hate him I just dislike and distrust him. He's what I call a phoney. A fake. His daughter's no better." THE GOLDEN VALLEY "Kay's a very pretty girl," Sally began indignantly. "Of course she is. If you admire that type of artificial beauty." Jonathan suddenly put his hand under Sally's chin and tilted back her head. "Now, you're natural. The colour of your hair is the same as when you were born, you wear a minimum of make-up and your eyelashes are your own." He smiled and let go of her chin. "Miss White's most definitely are not they were falling off when I saw her." "But it she likes to make up and look different . . ." Sally began again. Jonathan smiled. "I know. It's her affair. But I'm glad you don't." There was a short silence before Jonathan spoke again. "Has Malcolm White ever written a book before?" Startled, Sally looked at him. He was stubbing out his cigarette on the rock, but, once again, his face had that closed look. "No, this is the first time," she said, wondering why she was instantly on the defensive for Malcolm White. "There always has to be a first time, of course," Jonathan said dryly, looking at her with amused eyes. Sally was annoyed with herself as she felt her cheeks grow hot. Jonathan had taken the very words from her mouth, and had known it and was amused. There were times, she thought with shocked surprise, when she almost hated him. "And what is your job?" Jonathan went on, his voice still slightly sceptical. "I organised everything, bringing cameras, films, books for us to study. I'm supposed to keep track of the legends here, to study the tribal rites, the way of life. It's fascinating." "So you said before," Jonathan interrupted, and Sally coloured again at the implication that she was boring THE GOLDEN VALLEY him. "You've been here a week, now," Jonathan continued. "How is the book going?" The stupidity of the question helped Sally relax. "Books are not written in a week," she said with a laugh. "It will take us six months or more to collect all the information we ..." "How much have you collected so far?" ^ Sally stared at him. "None at all," she said honestly. "Actually," she confessed, "I'm in rather a bad mood. I'm being paid a generous salary, yet all I've done so far is act like a housekeeper." She sighed. "It isn't easy when you don't speak the local language." "The servants speak English." Sally smiled ruefully. "Not to me, they don't. They're like stubborn children. You say do this and they do that." She tried to laugh. "It's most frustrating. I say, 'Haven't we any tea?' and they say, 'Yes,' but they mean, Yes, we haven't any tea!' I'm afraid they don't like me." Jonathan looked at her. "It's not you they dislike." "Then who is it?" She turned sideways on the rock to look at him. "Jonathan, they can't dislike Mr. White already!" Jonathan smiled. "They dislike the intrusion of strangers especially those who make them scrub floors and clean windows. Tell me, what did you think of M'Lita when you first saw it?" Sally hesitated. "You can be frank," Jonathan told her with a smile. "I'm under no illusions about Cotisin Piet." "Is he your cousin?" Sally asked, startled, trying to see a resemblance in his good-looking, strong, arrogant face to Piet McSeveney's weak chin, fat jowls and red-rimmed eyes. Jonathan chuckled. "Thanks for the compliment. Poor unhappy Piet is no beauty, I know. We're several lg THE GOLDEN VALLEY times removed, of course. Ouma, whom you met just now, is Piet's mother she is my great-aunt, my grand father's sister, if that's not too complicated." 'You live with Ouma?" "When I'm here, which isn't as often as I would like, he told her. "Usually I'm in New York, Las Vegas, Rome, London, anywhere in the world. But we were talking about M'Lita." "The photograph Mr. White showed me in London made it look beautiful a really gracious Colonial type of house." , i-1,1 " "It was like that originally. And now it s a shambles. "Not quite," Sally said hastily. "But the servants were lazy and . . well, it all looked scruffy, if you know what I mean ..." .,11. "! , "Too well I do," Jonathan said with a laugh. 1 m afraid Piet only sees what suits him. So long as there is good food and plenty of it, the beer he loves and a comfortable bed, that's all he asks of life. I wondered what you city folk would think. How come Kay doesn t handle the domestic side of it?" Sally laughed ruefully. "Kay hasn't a clue and has no intention of learning how to do it. She thought she was eoine to be bored stiff out here, so she was glad when I joined them." She smiled. "Kay was always like this, even at school. She loves lots of friends, tennis, bright lights and soft music, and has spent most of this week at the Club in Ubito. Fortunately we have Douglas. "Douglas?" Jonathan asked, offering her another cigarette This time Sallv refused, for her hands were steady and the need to have something to hang on to ^Wrmet him on the plane as we flew out. Somehow or other, he, or Kay, talked Mr. White into giving him a job," Sally explained. "Actually, I can't see we need him." THE GOLDEN VALLEY "Why was he engaged, then?" Jonathan asked. Sally shrugged. "Frankly, I think Mr. White did it to keep Kay happy. We'd never get any serious work done if she's miserable and moping round the place." "He must be a very indulgent father," said Jonathan, his voice slightly sarcastic. Sally didn't answer, for she was too busy thinking. Malcolm White was certainly not an indulgent father nor a loving one. He and Kay were always quarrelling. What puzzled Sally, she was admitting- to herself, was Malcolm's insistence on creating a good impression on the local busybodies. Douglas had a title, he was an "honourable", if such could be called a title, and he had a smooth polished international sort of good looks. Why was it so important in Malcolm's eyes. Sally wondered, that they should look like a happy family, eager to be on friendly terms with everyone? Writing a book required concentration and hours of hard work, certainly not masses of parties. Jonathan was watching her. "You like him?" he asked abruptly. "Douglas, I mean." Sally smiled. "Very much. He's a honey. One of those courteous protective sort of types. Always making sure you have a drink or a comf
ortable chair, if you know what I mean." Jonathan grimaced. "The smarmy type." "He is not!" Sally said quickly. "He's . . ." She stopped, for Jonathan was openly laughing. "All right," she went on, "but tell me something, Jonathan. What have you against Malcolm White?" Jonathan glanced at her. "You are a loyal little employee, aren't you?" he said, smiling. "What is there to like about him? Do you like him?" Sally was startled by the question. "I hardly know him." "Neither do I, but . . ." Jonathan shrugged. "Just one THE GOLDEN VALLEY of those things. Don't you ever get them? A feeling that someone isn't to be trusted?" "But . . . but why have you got to trust him?" Sally asked earnestly. "I mean, I can understand in a way why Ouma doesn't want people intruding, but we won't, honestly, Jonathan. We'll only be studying local tribal life and I know that we must respect their taboos and traditions." Jonathan's face was stern. "D'you know why this is called the Golden Valley?" His habit of abruptly changing the subject annoyed Sally, but there was nothing she could do about it. For some unknown reason he had taken a dislike to Malcolm White and nothing she could do or say seemed to help. "I thought it might be because at this time in winter," Sally sa.id, waving her hand towards the dense vegetation, "everything is yellow the grass, flowers, even the dust . . ." "What a fantastic imagination you must have, he remarked, his voice amused. "There are several legends about it, but I think the most likely one is that many years ago, when Ouma's parents settled here, a prospector found his way into the valley and found some alluvial gold ... if you know what that means." "Of course . . . gold washed out of the sand by the river." "Good." His very praise sounded to Sally like an insult to her intelligence. "Well, he wanted to prospect, but Ouma's parents refused to allow it or to take up their own mineral rights." 'You mean . . ." Sally struggled to find the right words. "Are you suggesting that that's why Malcolm White is here? To look for gold? I told you, he's going to write Jonathan's eyes were cold as he looked at her. "Is he?" He stood up. "You're feeling better?" he asked curtly. "No longer trembling? I've some questions to ask." THE GOLDEN VALLEY Sally stood up at once. "Much better, thank you," she said, her voice equally formal. "What do you want to know?" So his kindness had been merely a trap, to get her relaxed so that he could question her more easily, she realised. The friendliness had been a guise to deceive her. His face was as cold as it had been when she mentioned the word "tokoloshe." "I want the truth, please. What exactly were you doing on this road? Was it White's idea that you should get to know Ouma and so find a way to get into her side of the valley?" Sally linked her hands behind her back and looked up at him. "I told you the truth. I was on mv wav to Ubito." "Then why take a private road?" "The other road was private. I stopped by the signpost to make sure." 'Yet ten minutes afterwards I passed that signpost and it definitely said that this road was private." "Someone must have changed it," said Sally, and saw the amusement in his eyes. Childishly but she had done it before she could stop herself she stamped her foot. "It's the truth. Are you calling me a liar?" she demanded. He frowned, his thick fair brows almost meeting. "I'd like to believe you. Sally, didn't Mr. White tell you that Ouma had refused to allow any of you on her land?" Sally shook her head. "He said nothing at all. I gathered that we had a neighbour who wasn't very friendly, but . . . but that was all." Suddenly it was overwhelmingly important that he should believe her. "Please, Jonathan, I am telling the truth," she said earnestly. "Why should I want to trespass? If Ouma likes to live alone and have no visitors, that's her affair, THE GOLDEN VALLEY not mine." She remembered something. "Jonathan, when you rushed down the steps and nearly knocked me over in London, why didn't you tell me that you knew where I was going to work? If you don't think Malcolm White is ... is a trustworthy man, wouldn't it have been kinder of you to warn me?" She looked up at him searchingly and saw an odd expression cross his face. "It was none of my business," he said curtly. "Besides, you wouldn't have believed me." "I might have," she said very slowly. The truth was, though she would never admit it to Jonathan, she had not liked Malcolm White very much when she met him. He was just a little bit too smooth, too suave, too polished, perhaps. His black hair shone, his teeth were extra white, he was very elegantly dressed. He had been charming to her and she had so longed to get back into the work she loved that probably Jonathan was right, and she would not have believed him. She turned away and walked towards the Land Rover. "I can promise you that I will never trespass again, accidentally or intentionally," she said coldly. Jonathan followed, catching her arm. "Where are you going?" "Ubito." He did not loosen his hold. "You most certainly are not," he said crisply. "You're going home, and if you've any sense, you'll take a couple of aspirin and spend the rest of the day in bed. You've had a nasty shock." She tried to free herself, but his fingers closed tighter, sinking into her soft flesh. "I'm perfectly all right," she said coldly. "And I must go shopping." He gave a sudden boyish grin. "You're too late, anyhow," he told her, glancing at his watch. "By the time THE GOLDEN VALLEY you get there, the shops will be closed. It's early closing day in Ubito." She caught her breath with annoyance. "Then I'll go home." He released her arm. "Maybe I should drive you." "Of course not," she snapped. "I'm perfectly well." Even as she spoke, she stumbled as she turned to walk towards the Land Rover and instantly Jonathan's hand was under her elbow, giving her just the little support she wished she did not need. The monkeys had come back to life, she saw, as she glanced up at the trees, and watched them swinging from branch to branch. Suddenly she was vividly aware of the heat, of the strange scent from the yellow flowers, the high shrill chatter of the birds. She could see Jonathan's car a huge blue Mercedes parked behind the Land Rover. "Did you hear the shots?" she asked abruptly. "Yes. I was driving and I guessed it was Ouma scaring away unwanted intruders, so I stepped on the gas and got here quickly. It's just as well. My car is here." "Is it? Why?" Sally asked, wishing her legs were not quite so wobbly. "Because we can settle our little argument once and for all. I'll drive behind you to the signpost and then we can see which of us is lying," he said coldly. She looked up at him. "I've never been called a liar before," she said slowly. He gave a fleeting smile. "I've never had occasion to call a girl a liar before." He stood back as she climbed into the Land Rover. Sally found her fingers were all thumbs as she fumbled with the ignition key and started the engine. It was not a very wide road, but there was adequate room for turning and she was accustomed to driving a Land Rover, but for once, everything went wrong. Maybe it was the THE GOLDEN VALLEY strain of doing it under Jonathan's critical and, she felt, hostile gaze, but the engine kept stalling and, quite absurdly, for it was utterly unimportant, she wanted to cry. As the Rover jerked to a fourth halt, Jonathan was by her side. He leaned into the Land Rover, scooped her up in his arms and lifted her out. For a moment he gazed down at her as she lay in his arms and she could see her own reflection in his blue eyes. He did not smile as he stood her at the side of the road. She sat down on a boulder and watched him deftly turn the Land Rover with the minimum of movements and, before he could get out of it, she was standing by his side, ready to take over. His eyes searched her face. "Sure you feel all right?" "Quite all right," she said curtly. Whatever happened, he mustn't know the truth that she longed for the security of h.is arm round her, the feeling of safety it had given her. She drove fairly fast along the rutted road, the Land Rover jerking and jolting her about. She slowed up as she approached the signpost. She was parked by its side, gazing incredulously at it, when the big blue car drove up alongside and Jonathan leaned out of the window. "I was right, wasn't I?" he said. She turned to look at him, her face white with shock. "But I'm sure it said ..." Jonathan was giving an odd smile. Suddenly, Sally wanted to hit him, to shout at him, to make him know she was telling the truth. "Someone must have turned it round," she said stub bornly, letting in the clutch so that the Land Rover shot jerkily forward. She drove on, thankful it was a straight road, for her glasses were blurred with the tears she would not shed.