The Persimmon Tree Read Free Page A

characteristics. I’d grinned and given myself a mental pat on the back for refusing his invitation to dinner and thus avoiding an embarrassing evening.
    Standing in the soft lamplight was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I suppose at sixteen you’re not truly yet a woman, but Anna Van Heerden couldn’t possibly be described as a young girl. I guess since I was just short of eighteen I could still be seen as a young bloke, but the extra two years of maturity I may have gained on her were totally specious. I was the callow youth and she was… well, I didn’t know how to describe her, in my inadequate male vocabulary she was… she was a total knockout! But certainly she was a woman and not a girl.
    Had I been forced to give a more formal description of the astonishing creature that stood within the soft light of the hurricane lamp it might go something like this. Anna was of mixed blood; I suppose you’d call her Eurasian, Javanese mother and, of course, a Dutch father. She was slim and fine-boned though taller than the women of her mother’s nationality. She wore a simple, light-blue cotton dress worn off the shoulders, the sleeves slightly puffed and covering the top of her arms, which, like the rest of her skin, was the colour of honey in sunlight. Her hair fell just short of her shoulders and was jet black and framed a heart-shaped face. Her lips were full and generous and her cheekbones high — together with her arched eyebrows they seemed to emphasise her incredible eyes, only slightly almond-shaped and framed in rich dark lashes. In the prevailing lamplight they appeared to be a deep violet colour.
    She smiled and my heart skipped yet another beat. ‘I have heard much about you, Mr Nicholas Duncan.’
    ‘Nick, please call me Nick,’ I managed to say, first clearing my throat and with my voice sounding fully half an octave higher.
    ‘Nick… Nicholas,’ she said as if testing both on her tongue. ‘ Ja , for me, I think, Nicholas. I shall call you Nicholas.’
    I grinned, trying to look relaxed, again clearing my throat. ‘As a kid, I only got called Nicholas when my father was angry,’ I managed.
    She looked concerned. ‘No! It is a nice name. Nick, it is too hard… Nick, brick, stick… ’
    ‘Prick!’ I added, then realised what I’d just said and blushed violently.
    ‘No!’ she exclaimed again, before giggling until we were both laughing. I was in love, head over heels, hopelessly, helplessly in love. It was the most painful feeling I had ever experienced and I felt I was going to cry.
    ‘So, Nicholas, now you are wondering why I am here, ja ?’
    ‘Well, surprised,’ I managed to say. Later when I replayed the moment in my mind I rewrote the script to add in an Errol Flynn-like voice, complete with the required slightly quizzical look: ‘ Well, surprised, my dear. Beautiful women don’t make a habit of knocking on my door at night ’, but knew, even if I’d thought of such a reply in the first place, I would have lacked the courage to carry it off.
    A look of concern crossed her pretty face. ‘ Ja , I am sorry if I disturb you.’
    ‘“Disturb” is the right word but in the wrong context,’ I said, grinning like a chimp.
    Anna frowned. ‘Pardon?’
    I was being too clever for my own good and hastened to reassure her. ‘No, no, you are very welcome!’ I spread my hands. ‘It’s… it’s just that, well… I was surprised, that’s all.’
    ‘You said “disturb” is the right word,’ she accused, then pursed her lips and her right shoulder twitched in a barely discernible shrug. ‘Maybe you like I go now.’
    ‘No, please, Anna! Please stay,’ I protested. Then using courage I didn’t have, I pulled a forlorn face and added quickly, ‘If you go it will break my heart.’
    She laughed. ‘Okay, so now you must ask why I am come here, Nicholas.’
    I realised that we were still standing. Apart from the cot with its lumpy mattress there was a three-legged stool to