71 Love Comes West Page 7

  “Columbus understands all about how to keep secrets,” Roberta said, “so you have to be clever like him.”

  “Can we go now?” Danny asked.

  “Not until later so that nobody will notice us,” Roberta replied. “I am going downstairs now to find us something to eat, but you are to stay here until I call you.”

  She had no wish for him to see the Minister again, so she collected some food from the kitchen, heated coffee for herself and carried it all to the study where she put it on a side-table.

  Then, having closed the kitchen door, she called Danny and he and Columbus ate what she had prepared although Roberta felt herself unable to swallow a single mouthful.

  They set off finally when the shadows were long and she knew that most people in the village would be sitting down to their evening meal.

  It would have been very foolish to walk down the main street where they could be seen.

  Instead they moved through the wood at the bottom of the garden and then set off towards what Roberta knew vaguely was another highway that would eventually lead them to San Francisco.

  She would have liked to take the train, but it was obvious that if she and Danny were seen at the station it would cause comment and the plan was to disappear without anybody having the slightest idea where they had gone.

  She had the feeling that once they had vanished no one would make much effort to find them again.

  The doctor who treated the Minister would know that he had died of a heart attack and would think perhaps that it had been brought on by finding that she and Danny had run away.

  There were all sorts of things they could think, but for her the most important aim was to put as many miles as possible between themselves and Blue River before the morning.

  Roberta was used to walking as she had often preferred to walk in the desert rather than sway about on the camels.

  Sometimes her father added horses to their caravan and then she enjoyed riding more than anything else. But horses were not always available and in some places it was impossible to keep them well and strong enough to endure the long journeys they had taken.

  But she had forgotten how heavy the grip would become or that she had Danny with her, whose legs were small and it was long past his bedtime.

  However, they reached the highway in about two hours, then sat down by the roadside hoping it would be possible for them to get a lift.

  It was unlikely that anybody from Blue River would pick them up or in any way connect them later with the tragedy of the Minister’s death.

  They had sat by the roadside for nearly half-an-hour and Danny was almost asleep when a wagon came along.

  Roberta waved to the wagon, the driver stopped and she saw that he was a large man with a strong nasal accent.

  “Wanna lift, lady?” he enquired.

  “Yes, please,” Roberta answered.

  “Jump up.”

  She lifted Danny up into the wagon and Columbus sprang up on his own.

  She would have put the child between her and the driver, but he said,

  “Sit next to me so’s I can talk to you. It’s lonely drivin’ for miles alone.”

  Because he was obliging them with a lift Roberta saw no reason why she should not do as he asked.

  She therefore settled Danny on the other side of her and put her arm around him to hold him close. Columbus sat on the seat the other side looking out with bright intelligent eyes.

  The driver started his horses again, saying as he did so,

  “Where are you a-goin’?”

  “To San Francisco eventually,” Roberta replied, “but it would be kind of you if you would put us down somewhere where we can have a bed for the night.”

  “I knows just the place,” the man replied, “and they have good hamburgers too!”

  “That sounds delightful,” Roberta replied, “and thank you very much for stopping. My little boy is very tired.”

  “He’s yours?”

  “Yes,” Roberta lied, “I am a widow and I am going to San Francisco to live with my relations.”

  She thought as she spoke that it was a good thing that she had somebody she could try out her story on, so that she would have it clear in her mind in case she was later asked a lot of questions.

  They chatted and the driver told her of the long journeys he took, carrying goods from one town to another or taking chickens and turkeys from the farmers to the markets.

  “It’s a livin’,” he said, “but a tirin’ one.”

  “And you have no family of your own?”

  “Now, now,” he replied. “My wife left me with one of my friends and I’ve not set eyes on her for five years!”

  “I am sorry,” Roberta said sympathetically, “it must be very lonely for you.”

  “It be that,” the driver replied.

  The horses plodded on, obviously tired after a long day.

  The stars were now bright in the sky and there was also a rising moon which made everything seem magical and very beautiful.

  Roberta was deep in her thoughts when the driver, after a silence that had lasted nearly a quarter-of-an-hour, said,

  “I’ve bin a-thinkin’. You’re a pretty little thing and, as you say, I’m lonely and without your man you must be lonely too.”

  There was a note in his voice that had not been there before and Roberta stiffened. Then she asked,

  “How much further have we got to go?”

  “About a mile,” the driver said. “If you want to stay the night, you can stay with me. We’ll have a bite of supper together and afterwards I’ll, make up for the death of your hubby, just as you can help me to forget my Nelly – damn her eyes!”

  “I think that is something you will never do,” Roberta replied.

  “You leave it all to me,” the driver said, putting a hand for a moment on her knee. “The boy and the dog can sleep in the back of the wagon. There’s room for them there and you and me can be real cosy.”

  The way he spoke and the passion behind his words frightened Roberta.

  She was aware, as she had not been before, how completely defenceless she would be against a man as strong as the one sitting beside her and how difficult it would be to escape from him.

  She had a sudden terror that if she did not agree to what he was suggesting he might stop the wagon here and now and perhaps drag her to the side of the road.

  Once again he took his hand from the reins and, as he pressed her knee again, he said,

  “I might have known when I picked you up I was in for a bit of fun! You’re real pretty and I’ll tell you how much that means when I see you in less than you’re wearin’ at the moment.”

  He laughed as if it was a good joke and Roberta felt herself shiver.

  Then, as she saw the light of an inn just ahead of them, she prayed frantically that there would be a way of escape.

  ‘Help me, Papa, help me!’ she said in her heart. ‘I don’t know what to do, but you would know and you must tell me.’

  “Here we are!” the driver said. “Now just you and the boy go inside, find a table and sit down at it. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve put the horses in the stable and I’ll see about getting’ a room with a nice big bed for the two of us.”

  He gave her a nudge with his arm, not seeming to expect a reply.

  Danny was asleep and Roberta woke him up.

  Carrying her grip and with Columbus at their heels they went into the inn.

  There were a number of wagon drivers, big and strong men, eating at tables or at the bar, which stretched the length of the room.

  A man in shirtsleeves who appeared to be the proprietor bade them good evening and Roberta asked,

  “Could we have a table for three, please? The gentleman I am with is just putting away his wagon.”

  There was a table at the end of the room and, as the man walked ahead of them, Roberta added,

  “Perhaps first my son and I could wash?”

  The man pointed t
o a door leading off the main room and she hurriedly went through it to find herself in a passageway that seemed to lead to the back of the inn.

  She was not mistaken and a few minutes later they had left the inn and were hurrying over open ground finding their way by the light of the moon and the stars.

  “Where are we going, Aunt Roberta?” Danny asked sleepily.

  “Mama – not ‘Aunt Roberta!’”

  “Mama! Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know,” Roberta replied truthfully, “anywhere away from the inn!”

  “Why? I’m thirsty. I want something to drink.”

  “We will find something, I am sure we will find something,” Roberta said. “But for the moment we just have to get away.”

  Danny was too sleepy to ask any more questions, but she knew as he dragged on her hand and walked more and more slowly that he was very tired.

  Still she urged him on.

  “We must find somewhere because Columbus needs a drink,” she said. “He must be very thirsty.”

  “He’s very thirsty,” Danny complained. “Very very thirsty! And hungry too!”

  Seeing that he had already had a meal, Roberta thought that this need could not be very strong.

  At the same time the dust on the road had left her almost as thirsty as he was.

  They walked on and on and she was just beginning to think that she could go no further and they would have to sit down under a tree for the night, when ahead she saw a twinkling light.

  ‘If it’s a farmhouse,’ she reasoned to herself, ‘I can at least ask them if we can stay in one of their barns and I am sure they would be kind enough to give us something to drink.’

  “Look, Danny,” she said. “There is a light.”

  “A long – way,” Danny replied. “I’m tired and – Columbus is – tired too.”

  “Columbus is lucky, he has four legs,” Roberta said, “while we have only two.”

  “If he has – four legs they will – all be tired,” Danny retorted logically.

  It was then that Roberta realised that beyond the light she could see the sea.

  She had vaguely been aware from what she had seen on the map that in certain places the main road ran close to the sea.

  Now she could see the moonlight glinting on the water and, as they grew nearer still, she could hear the soft splash of the waves on the shore.

  She had a sudden fear that the light she had seen was not that of a house but perhaps of a beacon or a warning light of some sort.

  Then, as she walked on, by this time having to drag Danny and finding that she was almost exhausted by the heaviness of her grip, she saw in front of her what appeared to be a wooden shack.

  There was only one window and a door on this side of it, although she suspected that there would be a veranda facing the sea.

  She stopped for a moment trying to catch her breath and thinking out what she should say to the occupant.

  She was praying that it would be somebody kind who would give Danny something to drink and perhaps let them sleep the night on the veranda, if there was nowhere else.

  Then she walked resolutely forward pulling Danny with her and put down the grip before she reached out to knock on the door.

  Her knock did not sound very loud and, after a moment, as there was no reply, she knocked again.

  It was then unexpectedly quickly that the door opened and she saw that there was a tall man on the other side of it.

  “Good evening,” Roberta said as he did not speak. “My son and I have – lost our way. We wonder if you would be very – kind and let us stay here until it is – light. We have walked for a long time and we are very tired and thirsty.”

  Still the man did not speak and Roberta felt despairingly that perhaps she would be refused and the door would be shut in their faces.

  Then, in a voice that was quiet, but with a note of amusement in it, he said,

  “I was certainly not expecting visitors at this hour, but, of course, come in.”

  Roberta realised as he spoke that she had been holding her breath.

  Now she let it out and stepped over the threshold, seeing that the inside of the house was far larger than she might have expected.

  The light from two oil lamps seemed dazzlingly bright after the darkness and she could see that there was a sofa and two comfortable chairs arranged around a large fireplace that was burning logs.

  Most surprising of all, there was an easel set up in the centre of the room and around the walls and stacked on the floor were a number of canvases.

  Because it was so surprising and so far from what she had expected, Roberta exclaimed,

  “You are an artist!”

  As she spoke, she turned back to the man who had closed the door behind them and knew to her astonishment that she had seen him before.

  It was the American she had noticed on the train journey from New Orleans, the man who had seemed different from everybody else.

  Chapter Four

  For a moment Roberta just stared at the man and he stared at her.

  Then without thinking she said the first thing that came into her mind.

  “I saw you on the train from New Orleans!”

  He smiled and it made him look even more handsome.

  “I had been South to sell a picture, but surely you are English?”

  The way he spoke made Roberta feel that perhaps she had been indiscreet and quickly she looked away from him, moving, without realising she was doing so, towards the easel.

  Only when she was standing in front of it and she could see the canvas, which was only half-finished, she exclaimed,

  “But you are an Impressionist!”

  In a surprised voice he asked as he crossed the room to stand beside her,

  “What do you know about Impressionists?”

  “I have seen their pictures in Paris.”

  Again she was speaking without thinking and it flashed through her mind that it must seem very strange that here in the middle of nowhere was a young woman who had been to France and who knew anything at all about Impressionist painting.

  But it was too late to take back the words she had already spoken and, as she saw the surprise and puzzlement in his eyes, she said quickly,

  “Yes, I am English, but my son has been brought up in America, which is why I have come here.”

  “Suppose we introduce ourselves?” the man suggested. “My name is Adam – Adam Fawcett.”

  “And mine is Roberta Boscombe.”

  Adam held out his hand.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Boscombe, and I am delighted to be of service, although it seems mysterious that you should arrive here so late.”

  “Danny and I lost our way,” Roberta replied a little lamely.

  As if the sound of his name woke him, when he was standing just inside the door half-asleep Danny said,

  “I’m tired and I’m thirsty and so’s Columbus!”

  “As if his voice made Adam aware of him for the first time, he stopped looking at Roberta and said,

  “Then we must certainly do something about that! Come into the kitchen where I’ll find a bowl for the dog and some lemonade to quench your thirst.”

  He went to the side of the big room as he spoke and opened a door through which Roberta had a glimpse of a small kitchen.

  While Danny and Columbus followed Adam, she remained behind, looking around the room, which she realised made an excellent studio with several large windows that overlooked the sea.

  The curtains were undrawn and she could see the moonlight on the water and thought that it was a perfect place for an artist.

  Then she looked again at the canvas on the easel and became aware that he painted well and very much in the style of the Impressionists whose pictures she had seen in Paris.

  Her father had told her how controversial they were and how the critics laughed derisively at them.

  “At the same time,” the Earl had said, “I think they ha
ve something that is often lacking in the work of other artists.”

  “What is that?” Roberta had asked.

  “Light,” her father replied, “the light that makes the Impressionists see everything in a different way from any other artist in the past.”

  Because Roberta had been genuinely interested and he thought it educational for her, he had taken her to some of the exhibitions in Montmartre and other parts of Paris where the Impressionists were showing their pictures.

  Some she found incomprehensible, some were definitely very beautiful, but what they all had was a new portrayal of the play of light in nature, a light that afterwards she thought that she found in the desert.

  It made their paintings unique, quite different from the older Masters who relied on academic techniques that had long been accepted as correct.

  She could understand why the Impressionists appealed so strongly to her father, who was so rebellious against anything conventional and conservative.

  He had brought two or three of the pictures he admired and which, when they left for Africa, had been stored with their other belongings in Paris.

  Roberta knew that they now belonged to her and she thought that when she could have a house of her own she would send for them and be proud to hang them on her walls, however much other people might criticise them in a derogatory manner.

  All these ideas were flashing through her mind, when she heard Adam call from the kitchen,

  “I have some coffee for you, Mrs. Boscombe, and, as your son says he is hungry, perhaps you are hungry too.”

  As she had had nothing to eat before they left Blue River, Roberta replied,

  “I would like that. I am hungry despite being so tired.”

  “You must tell me where you have come from and why you are here,” Adam suggested.

  He pulled a chair out from the table as he spoke, and she sat down thinking that the kitchen was very bare and she was quite certain that, if he was looking after himself, he seldom troubled to cook anything.

  As if he read her thoughts, he said,

  “As I am alone here, when it grows too dark to paint, I usually walk down to the drugstore and buy myself a hamburger. Otherwise if I am hungry, I have a few slices of ham.”

  “I don’t call that a proper diet for a growing man!” Roberta remarked.