Read Online The Horns of the Buffalo by John Wilcox - Free Book Online

‘But I do love you,’ he said desperately.
    She gently thrust him away. ‘You see,’ she said. ‘They’ve done it.’
    â€˜Who’s done what?’
    â€˜Our parents. They’ve schemed all this.’
    â€˜I don’t think so. I am not even sure that my mother approves of you these days.’
    Alice threw back her head and laughed heartily, so that her breath rose in the air like a cloud of steam. ‘I am not surprised to hear it and I think it’s good news anyway.’ Companionably, she sought Simon’s arm under his cloak and began to steer him back to the house. ‘We must get back,’ she said. ‘It’s not that I don’t like being here with you, nor am I worried about gossip. I don’t care a fig about what people say, you know.’ The old earnest look came back for a moment. ‘But it is my party and I must put myself about a little. I know you will understand.’
    Glumly, Simon nodded and they stepped carefully through the slushy snow back to the house.
    The rest of the evening passed miserably for him as his new-found desire twisted into jealousy as Alice carried out her dance commitments with a succession of eligible and, it seemed to Simon, ever taller young men. His mother, too, fulfilled a full dance programme, elegantly sweeping around the floor with a mixture of old and young partners. Major Fonthill spent most of the evening sitting talking to old friends and comrades from the regiment, increasingly content with his cigars and brandies. Only once did he pass a comment to Simon, as the latter smiled gloomily on his way to replenish his glass: ‘Don’t worry, my boy,’ he said kindly, ‘you won’t be away all that long.’
    Simon was allowed one more dance with Alice, which he managed to ruin by holding her too tightly and, twice, stepping on her foot. They exchanged hardly a word this time and Simon thought that Alice smiled too often at every couple as they swirled by. When the time came to say goodbye in the early hours, she did not kiss him, merely letting her hand rest in his perhaps a moment too long for propriety as he bowed over it.
    â€˜Will you write?’ he hissed.
    â€˜Of course. I always have. Don’t worry. Good night, Simon.’
    The Major and his wife were noticeably mellow as they sat back in the coach, much warmer now as the indulgences of the evening combined with the milder air of the thaw. The Major’s eyes positively twinkled as, his arm entwined with that of his wife, he addressed his son opposite. ‘Jolly good evening I think, my boy. Wouldn’t you agree?’
    â€˜Yes, Father. Quite pleasant.’
    â€˜You didn’t dance much, dear,’ said Mrs Fonthill. ‘And you are not very good at it. Honestly, Simon, sometimes I despair of you. You can’t ride and you can’t dance. What can you do?’
    â€˜Ah, Mother,’ sighed Simon. ‘I wish I knew.’
    The next morning Simon had just time to pen a quick message to Alice before Owen came to take him to the railway station.
    Â 
    My dear Alice,
    You may think me no end of a fool but I do love you, whether or not our parents have manoeuvred me (at least) into this position - and I am convinced that they have not. However, I quite understand your feelings and I do not consider either of us, of course, to be engaged.
    Nevertheless, I see no reason why we cannot remain good friends, as you wish, with me continuing to love you.
    The thought of you will sustain me in Africa.
    Yours most sincerely.
    Â 
    He read it through anxiously, decided that it sounded far too stilted, but sealed and dispatched it anyway. Time was running out and there were the goodbyes to be said.

Chapter 3
    The cab rattled over the cobblestones of Southampton through dismal rain to the deep-water dockside, where Simon caught his first glimpse of the vessel that was to be his universe for the next few weeks. The SS