Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) by Caroline Greyling Read Free Book Online Page B

Jake, give Nan a quick
kiss on the cheek and wheel my two heavy suitcases inside. The porcelain tiled
entrance, filled only with a carved mahogany entrance table and umbrella stand,
leads into a hallway which splits the house dead-centre. At the front of the mansion,
leading off both sides of the entrance hall, are two living rooms, both
formally decorated in Victorian style with a touch of Dutch Delft influence.
Huge glass windows overlook the front porch and sloping, landscaped gardens.
    Down the hallway, in the right wing, are
Nan’s apartments and to the left, a vacant visitors suite – at least I think it’s still vacant - judging by
what I can see, nothing has changed since I left. I know if I walk all the way
down the hallway, I will reach the kitchen, with its cottage-pane windows
overlooking the forest behind and an attached formal dining room, complete with
long hardwood dining table.  
    On the left of the entrance hall is
the wooden staircase that leads up to the floor my parents and I had occupied.
I grab hold of both my suitcases and wheel them behind me, one stair at a time
to the landing at the top. There, I step across the passageway into the first
room.
    What had once been my nursery,
overlooking the front of the house and lush forest stretching toward the Severn
River, is now a cosy bedroom with an uncanny resemblance to my bedroom at home.
    In the middle of the room is a queen
size, mahogany bed, flanked on either side by a bedside table. At the opposite end
of the room is a matching wardrobe and desk. There is a door off to one side of
the bed, through which I can see a pristine white bathroom and in the parallel
corner, a leather wing-back chair.
    The furnishings are elegant, but it is
the thoughtful touches of home that makes me draw in an appreciative breath. Beside
the window, is a large tree-like potted plant I cannot name and on each of the
bedside tables, two small pots of colorful chrysanthemums.
    A gentle breeze stirs the chiffon
curtains at the bay window. I glide across the room, sink onto the quaint
window seat and run my fingers along the suede white upholstery, while I let my
eyes take in the exquisite view.
    Stretching toward the horizon in every
direction is the forest and rolling countryside, magnificent in the glory of
springtime, dense in some areas, and in others just empty meadows and farmland.
A line of dark green bushes separates Nan’s property from her only neighbors
and just in front of the porch, a fountain flows into a large pond which
trickles in three levels toward the street.
    Outside the window, close enough to touch
is a large oak tree that throws its afternoon shadow halfway across the room.
The tree makes me think of another one, somewhere deep within the surrounding
forest, whose bark I used to run my fingers over and whose branches I used to
fall asleep beneath.
    The contrast to my city home is
striking in many ways but none more so than the incredible silence. In Joburg,
even on the quietest days, there is always the drone of traffic in the distance
or the bark of a neighborhood dog to break the stillness. I close my eyes and
try to listen but there is only the sound of my own breathing, the gentle
cadence of the fountain below and the rise and fall of Nan and Jake’s voices.
    I glance down to the driveway where
they stand talking and pause, thoughtfully. Jake and Nan are not touching, but
there is something intimate in their bodies, angled toward each other and the
slight shortage of distance between them. There is a comfort between them that
could only be borne from years of deep friendship – or something more…  
    The thought of my grandmother in a
relationship is difficult for me to reconcile. She is too independent to need a
man, although I know that at one time, she was married. I never knew my
grandfather, since he died when my mother was very young, but I remember how
Nan always kept his tobacco pipe on her bedside table. It’s seems like