The stoep floor was patterned in Victorian tiles that created tumbling cubes. ‘My mother hated this floor,’ said Sarah. ‘She said it made her nauseated eating out here.’
‘It’s quite Escher-like, isn’t it?’ said Hannah, liking the optical illusion playing out on the floor.
‘It’s exactly like his drawings,’ said Sarah, looking at Hannah in surprise. ‘My father loved it and wouldn’t let Mum touch it. Like many Free State farms, this cottage was the original dwelling. My grandfather bought the land and then built this cottage in 1910. He and my grandmother lived here until the family could afford a more substantial house. He told me that when he built this cottage, he scavenged all the flooring and roof beams from dump sites.’
Hannah ran the dates in her mind. ‘So this wasn’t a farm during the war?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Sarah. ‘I know he bought the land cheaply from the government who wanted to get rid of it. I always assumed this was the first dwelling to be built here, but the worker housing is also very old.’
Hannah studied the antique tiling. ‘I suppose so many houses were destroyed in the war, there must have been building materials around that could be reclaimed.’
Sarah followed her gaze and said, ‘That never occurred to me… I’m sure you’re right. Like I said before, when you grow up in a place, things disappear in your consciousness though you see them every day.’
She led Hannah into the house. The passage had wide wooden floorboards. They had been sanded and sealed, and glowed golden brown.
‘We’ve done quite a bit of remodelling. Made the bedrooms en suite and opened up the kitchen. The original house was rather dark.’ The cottage was immaculate. Antique furniture complemented homemade quilts on the beds, but it was unfussy and simple, which made it altogether charming.
The kitchen was clearly Sarah’s favourite room. An original anthracite stove dominated the room. ‘We had the stove reconditioned when we moved back in here – it’s such a joy to cook with now.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ said Hannah, laughing.
‘It looks intimidating, but cooks like a dream when you get the hang of judging temperatures,’ said Sarah, busying herself with filling a silver tea pot. ‘Would you prefer muesli or buttermilk?’ She pointed to two large jars of rusks on the counter.
‘Muesli definitely,’ said Hannah.
‘Neil calls them horse rusks because of all the bran and fruit in them.’ She shook her head but her smile softened the disdain.
They sat at the veranda table, Hannah facing the garden. She sipped her tea and thought how easy it was to be with this quiet, gentle woman. It put her relationship with her own mother into stark contrast. Maud Harrison constantly seemed to be measuring Hannah, assessing whether she was performing. Conversation was never just easy talking but invariably became intense, a debate that was won or lost. Being with her mother was exhausting.
‘Do your parents still live in Cape Town, Hannah?’ said Sarah, as if reading Hannah’s thoughts.
‘Yes, they both lecture at UCT, though they’re on sabbatical at the moment in England. Seeing a bit of my brother, who lives in Cambridge.’
‘Is he studying there?’
Hannah concentrated on setting her cup back in the saucer without spilling. ‘No, he has a fellowship at the university. He’s a rising star in the archaeology department. A golden boy.’ She said this without sarcasm, but didn’t look at Sarah.
‘Neil said you were interested in South African War history in this area.’
Hannah looked up, relieved Sarah had turned the conversation away from her family. ‘Yes. Though I don’t know very much – I’m only just beginning to read about it.’
‘Did something specific spark your interest?’
‘I found something in the shop which references a camp called Goshen. I can’t find any other record of it, though, so I seem to be at a dead end.’ Hannah dipped her rusk in her tea, leaning over her plate as she bit into the biscuit to avoid messing on Sarah’s pristine cloth.
‘You know,’ Sarah said after a few moments, ‘the old farm workers had stories. I always dismissed them as ghost stories to frighten children… but perhaps there might be something to them. There is an elderly man on the farm called Kobie. He and his mother before him were both born on the farm. If anyone knows anything, it will be him.’
Hannah helped herself to more tea from the pot, projecting a casualness she didn’t feel. ‘Could I talk with him sometime?’
‘Of course,’ said Sarah. ‘I saw Kobie in the yard this morning. I can take you up there to find him.’
They walked around the side of the house and up the drive past the bigger farm house. ‘If you go up to the sheds, you’ll find Kobie there. And then maybe you should find Alistair at the house and ask him to take you around the farm.’
Hannah didn’t want to tell Sarah how disastrous her previous encounter with Alistair had been. ‘Um, okay. But if he’s busy, I can come back another time. Maybe Neil could show me…’
‘Alistair’s not doing anything that can’t wait an hour. Besides, it’ll be good for him to get away from his desk. He’s been tied to it the past few days.’
‘I don’t want to be a bother.’
‘Nonsense. You go chat to Kobie.’
Sarah watched Hannah cross the yard and disappear into the shed, before she turned towards the main house. Manipulation was not normally something she practised, and now she hoped the consequences of throwing Hannah into Alistair’s path would not be disastrous for them both. Perhaps Neil was right and she should stay out of it. But she liked this girl, and hoped Hannah might be able to shake Alistair out of his blundering pain.
‘Alistair?’ She knocked on the back door. ‘Are you home?’
‘No, I’m out,’ came the reply.
Sarah muttered under her breath and made her way down the passage to his study. She stood in the doorway, watching him work. He didn’t look up from his computer screen.
‘Alistair.’
He lifted a finger to signal to her to wait, then carried on typing numbers into columns. Sarah sighed and crossed her arms across her chest.
Eventually, he sat back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in the crest which signified a desk-bound morning. ‘What is it, Mum?’
‘I want you to hear me out before you fly off the handle.’
‘That sounds ominous.’ He picked up a pencil and began to tap it on the mouse pad in front of him.
‘I want you to take Hannah up to the plateau.’ He carried on tapping the pencil, staring at her. After a moment or two, she blurted, ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
‘I’m waiting to hear you out before I fly off the handle.’
Sarah huffed in irritation. ‘Alistair Barlow, sometimes I do not know where you came from. And yes,’ she added, seeing his smirk, ‘I already know everything and more about the birds and the bees.’
‘Wow, everything and more?’ Alistair’s smirk stretched into a grin.
‘Oh, you!’ was all Sarah could manage as a blush crept up her neck.
‘Why do you want me to take her up to the plateau?’ The fun in his eyes drained away again, and Sarah wished she could hang on to it, even at her own expense. ‘Are you encouraging her in this crazy idea that there was a camp here? Really?’
‘What’s the harm, Alistair?’ Sarah said.
‘The harm? The harm is that I don’t want this farm to become a laughing stock in the community because of some ludicrous stories. I don’t want strangers walking all over the farm looking for so-called ghosts.’
‘Could it be that you don’t want to meet someone new, Alistair? That you keep your fear of another relationship like barbed wire around you?’ She backtracked when she saw pain widen his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, that was unfair.’