Текст книги "Power of the Sword"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 51 страниц)

Anna will help me pack for school. Centaine threw up her hands. 'if I die of boredom, Abe, let it be on your conscience for as long as you live! She had at first planned to wear her full suite of diamonds, but decided against it at the last moment. After all, it's only a little provincial reception, with fat farmers wives and petty civil servants. Besides, I don't want to blind the poor old dear. So she settled for a yellow silk evening dress by Coco Chanel. She had worn it before, but in Cape Town, so it was unlikely anybody here had seen it.

It was expensive enough to bear two wairings, she consoled herself. Too good for them, anyway. She settled on a pair of solitaire diamond ear studs, not too large to be ostentatious, but around her neck she wore the huge yellow diamond the colour of champagne on a platinum chain. It drew attention to her small pointed breasts; she liked the effect.

Her hair was a worry, as always. It was full of electricity from the dry desert air. She wished Anna was here, for she was the only one who could manage that lustrous unruly bush. In despair she tried to make a virtue of its disorder, deliberately fluffing it out into a halo and holding it up with a velvet band around her forehead.

That's enough fuss. She didn't feel like a party at all.

Shasa had left on the mail train as Abe had planned and already she was missing him keenly. on top of that she was anxious to get back to Weltevreden herself and resented having to stay over.

Abe called for her an hour after the time stipulated on the invitation card that was embossed with the administrator's coat of arms. During the drive Rachel, Abe's wife, regaled them with an account of her recent domestic triumphs and tragedies, including a detailed report of her youngest offsprings 'bowel movements.

The administrative building, the Ink Palace, had been designed by the German colonial administration in heavy Gothic imperial style; when Centaine swept a glance around the ballroom, she saw that the company was no better than she had expected. It comprised mainly senior civil servants, heads and deputy heads of departments with their wives, the officers of the local garrison and police force, together with all the town's prominent businessmen and the big landowners who lived close enough to Windhoek to respond to the invitation.

Amongst them were a number of Centaine's own people, all the managers and under-managers of the Courtney Finance and Mining Company.

Abe had provided her with an up-to-date bulletin so that as each came forward diffidently to present their spouses, Centaine was able to make some gracious personal comment which had them glowing and grinning with gratification. Abe stood by to make sure that none of them imposed upon her, and after the appropriate interval gave her the excuse to escape.

I think we should pay our respects to the new administrator, Mrs Courtney. He took her arm and led her towards the reception line.

I have been able to get a few facts about him. He is a Lieutenant-Colonel Blaine Malcomess and commanded a battalion of the Natal Mounted Rifles. He had a good war and ended with a bar to his Military Cross. In private life he is a lawyer, and– The police band was belting out a Strauss waltz with zeal and gusto and the dance floor was already crowded. As they came up to the tail of the reception line, Centaine saw with satisfaction that they would be the last to be presented.

Centaine was paying little attention to their host at the head of the line as she moved along on Abe's arm, leaning across him to listen to Rachel on his other arm who was giving her a family recipe for chicken soup but at the same time Centaine was trying to decide just how early she could make her escape.

Abruptly she realized that they had reached the head of the line, the very last to do so, and that the administrator's A.D.C. was announcing them to their host.

Mr and Mrs Abraham Abrahams and Mrs Centaine de Thiry Courtney. She looked up at the man who stood before her and involuntarily she dug her fingernails into the soft inside of Abraham Abrahams elbow with such force that he winced. She did not notice it, for she was staring at Colonel Blaine Malcomess.

He was tall and lean, and he stood well over six feet. His bearing was relaxed without any military stiffness and yet he seemed to be balanced on the balls of his feet as though he could explode into movement at any moment.

Mrs Courtney, he offered her his hand, I am delighted you were able to come. You were the one person I particularly wanted to meet. His voice was a clear tenor, with a faint lilt to it that might have been Welsh. An educated and cultivated voice, with modulations which lifted a little electric rash of pleasure on her forearms and at the nape of her neck.

She took his hand. The skin was dry and warm, and she could feel the restrained strength of his fingers as they pressed hers gently. 'He could crush my hand like an eggshell, she thought, and the idea gave her a delicious little chill of apprehension. She studied his face.

His features were large, the bones of his jaw and cheek and forehead seemed weighty and massive as stone. His nose was big with a Roman bridge to it, his brow was beetling and his mouth was big and mobile. He reminded her strongly of a younger more handsome Abraham Lincoln. He isn't yet forty, she estimated, so young for the rank and

the job.

Then she realized with a start that she was still holding his hand, and that she had not replied to his greeting. He was leaning over her, studying her as openly and intently as she was him, and Abe and Rachel were looking from one to the other of them with interest and amusement. Centaine had to shake her hand lightly to free it from his grip, and to her horror she felt the hot rush of blood up her throat into her cheeks.

I'm blushing! It was something she had not done in years.

I have been fortunate enough to be associated with your family before this, Blaine Malcomess told her, His teeth also were large and square and very white. His mouth was wide, even wider when he smiled. A little shakily she smiled back.

Have you? She realized that it wasn't the most sparkling conversational gambit, but her wits seemed to have deserted her. She was standing there like a school-girl, blushing and gawking at him. His eyes were a most startling shade of green. They distracted her.

I served under General Sean Courtney in France, he told her, still smiling. Somebody had cut his hair too short at the temples, it made his large ears stick out. That irritated her, and yet the sticking-out ears made him endearing and appealing.

He was a fine gentleman, Blaine Malcomess went on.

Yes, he was, she replied and upbraided herself, Say something witty, something intelligent, he'll think you a clod. He was wearing dress uniform, dark blue and gold with a double row of medal ribbons. Since girlhood uniforms had always affected her.

I heard that you were at General Courtney's headquarters in Arras for a few weeks in 1917. I was still in the line then; I didn't go on his staff until the end of that year. She took a deep breath to steady herself and at last managed to get control again. What turbulent days those were, with the universe crashing in ruins about us, she said, her voice low and husky, her French accent emphasized a little, and she thought, What is this? What's happening to you, Centaine? This is not the way it is supposed to be.

Remember Michael and Shasa. Give this man a friendly nod and pass on. It seems that I have performed my duties for the moment, Blaine Malcomess glanced at his A.D.C. for confirmation and then turned back to Centaine. May I have the honour of this waltz, Mrs Courtney? He offered his arm, and without a moment's hesitation she laid her fingers lightly in the crook of his elbow.

The other dancers veered away, leaving them an open space as they walked out side by side onto the floor. She turned to face Blaine and stepped into the circle of his arm.

He didn't have to move, merely the way he held her told her that he would be a marvelous dancer. Immediately she felt light and dainty and fleet of foot, and she arched her back and leaned out against the circle of his arm while his lower body seemed to meld with hers.

He took her on one spinning whirling circuit of the floor, and when she matched his every move feather light and swift, he began a complicated series of dips and counter-turns, and she followed him without conscious effort, seeming to skim the ground, yet totally under his control, responding to his every whim.

When at last the music ended with a crashing chord and the musicians fell back in their seats sweating and panting, Centaine felt unreasonable resentment towards them. They had not played long enough.

Blaine Malcomess was still holding her in the middle of the floor and they were laughing delightedly at each other while the other dancers formed a ring around them and applauded.

Unfortunately that seems to be it for the moment, he said, still making no effort to release her, and his words roused her. There was no longer any excuse for physical contact and she stepped back from him reluctantly and acknowledged the applause with a small curtsey.

. I do think we have earned a glass of champagne. Blaine signalled one of the white-jacketed waiters and they stood at the edge of the dance floor and sipped the wine and watched each other's eyes avidly as they talked. The exertion had raised a light sheen of sweat on his broad forehead and she could smell it on his body.

They were alone in the centre of the crowded room. With a subtle inclination of her shoulders and head Centaine dissuaded the one or two bolder souls who approached as if to join them, and after that the others stayed back.

The band, refreshed and eager, took their seats on the bandstand once more and this time launched into a foxtrot.

Blaine Malcomess did not have to ask. Centaine set her almost untouched champagne on the silver tray that the waiter proffered and lifted her arms as Blaine faced her.

The more sedate rhythm of the foxtrot enabled them to continue talking, and there was so much to talk about. He had known Sean Courtney well, and held him in affection and admiration. Centaine had loved him almost as much as she had loved her own father. They discussed the dreadful circumstances in which Sean Courtney and his wife had been murdered, and their mutual horror and outrage at the deed seemed to draw them still closer together.

Blaine knew the beloved northern provinces around Arras in her native France, and his battalion had held a section of the line near Mort Homme, her home village. He remembered the burnt-out ruins of her family's chateau.

We used it as an artillery observation post, he told her.

I spent many hours perched up in the north wing. His description induced a pleasant nostalgia, a fine sadness to heighten her emotions.

He loved horses as she did, and was a twelve-goal polo player.

Twelve goals! she exclaimed. My son will be most impressed. He has just been rated a four-goal man. How old is your son? 'Fourteen. Very good for a youngster of that age. I'd like to see him in action. That would be fun, she agreed, and suddenly she wanted to tell him all about Shasa, but again the music ended and cut her short, and this time he frowned also.

They are playing very short pieces, aren't they? Then she felt him start and he released her waist. Though she kept her hand on his arm, the strange elated mood which had gripped them both shattered, and something dark and intrusive passed like a shadow between them. She was not sure what it was.

Ah, he said sombrely. I see she has returned. She really wasn't at all well this evening but she always was a plucky one. To whom are you referring? Centaine asked. His tone had filled her with foreboding and she should have been warned by it, but still the shock of it made her flinch when he said softly: MY wife. Centaine felt quite giddy for a moment, and she only kept her balance with an effort when she let her hand fall from his arm.

I would like you to meet my wife, he said. May I introduce you to her? She nodded, unwilling to trust her voice, and when he offered his arm again she hesitated before she took it, and this time laid her fingertips only lightly upon it.

He led her across the floor towards the group at the foot of the main staircase, and as they approached Centaine searched the faces of the women, trying to guess which one it would be. Only two of them were young and none was beautiful, none could compete with her in looks or strength or poise or talent or wealth. She felt a surge of confidence and anticipation replace the momentary confusion and despondency that had thrown her off balance. Without thinking about it she knew she was going into a desperate contest, and she was buoyed up with battle lust and the enormity of the prize at stake. She was eager to identify and assess her adversary and she lifted her chin and set her shoulders as they stopped before the group.

The ranks of men and women opened respectfully, and there she was, looking up at Centaine with lovely tragic eyes. She was younger than Centaine and possessed of a rare and exquisite beauty. She wore her gentle nature and goodness like a shining cloak for all to see, but her sadness was in the smile she gave Centaine as Blaine Malcomess introduced them.

Mrs Courtney, may I present my wife Isabella? You dance exquisitely, Mrs Courtney. I have been watching you and Blaine with great pleasure, she said. He does so love dancing. Thank you, Mrs Malcomess, Centaine whispered huskily, while inside she raged. Oh, you little bitch. It's not fair.

You aren't fighting fair. How can I ever win now? Oh God, how I hate you. Isabella Malcomess sat in a wheelchair with her nurse behind her. The ankles of her thin paralysed legs showed under the hem of her evening dress. They were pale and skeletal and her feet seemed fragile and vulnerable in their sequined dancing pumps.

He'll never leave you. Centaine felt herself choke on her grief.

He's that kind of man, he'll never desert a crippled wife. Centaine awoke an hour before dawn and lay for a moment wondering at the strange sense of well being that possessed her. Then she remembered and threw back the sheets, eager for the day to begin. With both bare feet upon the floor she paused, and her eyes instinctively went to the framed photograph of Michael Courtney on the bedside table.

Michael, I'm sorry, she whispered. I love you. I still love you, I always will, but I can't help this other thing. I didn't want it. I didn't look for it. Please forgive me, my darling.

It's been so long and so lonely. I want him, Michael. I want to marry him and have him for myself. She took up the frame and for a moment held it to her bosom. Then she opened the drawer, laid the photograph face down upon her folded lace underwear, and closed the drawer again.

She jumped to her feet and reached for the yellow Chinese silk dressing-gown with the bird of paradise embroidered down the back. Belting it she hurried through to the saloon of the coach and seated herself at her desk to compose the telegraph to Sir Garry in their private code, for the message would be transmitted over the public fines.

Please urgently forward all intelligence on Lieutenant-Colonel Blaine Malcomess, newly appointed administrator of South West Africa. Reply in code. Love Juno.

She rang for her secretary and chafed while she waited for him. He came through in a flannel dressing-gown, owl-eyed and unshaven.

Get that off right away. She handed him the flimsy. Then get me Abraham Abrahams on the telephone. Centaine, it's six o'clock in the morning, Abe protested, land we didn't get to bed until three o'clock. ,Three hours is enough sleep for any good lawyer. Abe, I want you to invite Colonel Malcomess and his wife to dine with me in my coach this evening. There was a long weighty silence, and the static hissed on the line.

You and Rachel are invited, of course. She filled the silence.

It's much too short notice, he said carefully, obviously choosing his words with precision. The administrator is a busy man. He won't come. Get the invitation to him personally. Centaine ignored the protest. Send your messenger round to his office and see he gets it. Under no circumstances let his wife receive the invitation first. He won't come, Abe repeated stubbornly. At least I hope to God he won't come. What do you mean by that, she snapped.

You are playing with fire, Centaine. Not just a little candle flame, but a great raging bush fire. She pursed her lips. Mind your own business, and I'll mind mine, she started, and he broke in on her.

Kiss your own sweetheart, and I'll kiss mine, he finished the childhood law for her, and she giggled. He had never heard Centaine Courtney giggle before; it took him by surprise.

How appropriate, dear Abe. She giggled again, and his voice was truly agitated when he told her, You pay me an enormous retainer to mind your business for you. Centaine, you set a hundred tongues wagging last night, the whole town will be agog this morning. You are a marked woman, everybody watches you. You just cannot afford to carry on like this. Abe, you and I both know that I can afford to do any damned thing I choose. Send that invitation, please! She rested that afternoon. It had been a late night and she was determined to look her best for the evening. Her secretary woke her a little after four o'clock in the afternoon.

Abe had received a reply to the invitation. The administrator and his lady would be pleased to dine with her that evening.

She smiled triumphantly, then turned to decode the telegram from Sir Garry which had also arrived while she was asleep.

For Juno stop. Subject's full names Blaine Marsden Malcomess born Johannesburg 28 July 189W So he is nearly thirty-nine years old, she exclaimed, and he is a Leo. My big growly lion! She returned eagerly to the cable: Second son of James Marsden Malcomess lawyer and mining entrepreneur, chairman Consolidated Goldfields and director numerous associated companies, deceased 1922. Subject was educated St John's College Johannesburg and Oriel College Oxford. Academic honours include Rhodes scholarship and Oriel scholarship. Sporting honours include full blue cricket and half blues athletics and polo. Graduated MA (Hons) Oxon 1912. Called to the Bar 1913. Commissioned 2nd-Lieutenant Natal Mounted Rifles 1914. Service in South West Africa Campaign. Mentioned in despatches twice. Promoted Captain 1915.

France with BEF 1915. Military Cross August 1915. Promoted Major and Bar to MC 1916. Promoted Lieutenant-Colonel O.C. 3rd Battalion 1917. Staff of General Officer Commanding 6th Division 1918. Versailles Armistice negotiations on staff of General Smuts. Partner in law firm Stirling & Malcomess from 1919. Member Parliament for Gardens 1924. Deputy Minister justice 1926-9. Appointed Administrator South West Africa I May 1932. Married Isabella Tara n6e Harrison 1918. Two daughters Tara Isabella and Mathilda Janine.

That came as a further shock to Centaine. She had not thought about children.

At least she hasn't given him a son. The thought was so cruel that she assuaged the prickle of guilt by calculating the age of his daughters. I expect that they look like their mother. Horrible little angels that he dotes on, she decided bitterly, and read the few comments with which Sir Garry had ended the long cable.

Enquiries addressed to Ou Baas indicate that subject is considered a rising force in law and politics. Cabinet rank a strong probability when SA Party returns to power. Centaine smiled fondly at the mention of General Jan Christian Smuts and then read on: Wife thrown from horse 1927. Extensive spinal damage.

Prognosis unfavorable. Stop. Father James Marsden left estate probated E655,000 in equal shares to two sons. Stop.

Subject's present financial circumstances not ascertained, but estimated as substantial. Stop. Presently rated 12 goals polo. Captained SA team versus Argentine 1929. Stop.

Hope and expect your query businesslike. If not implore you exercise restraint and caution as consequences highly prejudicial all parties. Stop. Shasa safely ensconced Bishops. Stop. Anna joins me in sending all love. Ends. Ovid.

She had selected Sir Garry's code name out of affection and respect for his craft, but now she threw the telegraph flimsy down on her desk angrily.

Why does everybody know what's best for me, except me? she asked aloud. And why isn't Anna here to help me with my hair? I look an absolute fright. She looked in the mirror over the mantel for confirmation that it was not true.

Then she dragged her hair back from her face with both hands while she studied her skin for blemish or wrinkles.

She found only the faintest hairlines at the corners of her eyes yet they made her discontent extreme.

Why is it that all the most attractive men are already married? And why, oh why couldn't that silly little nambypamby have stuck in the saddle instead of falling on her pretty little backside.

Centaine had contrived to make a great deal of fuss over

Isabella? "Malcomess reception and the transfer of her wheelchair from the platform to the balcony of the coach. She had four of the coach attendants and her secretaries standing by to assist.

Blaine Malcomess waved them away irritably, then he stooped over his wife. She slipped both her arms around his neck and he lifted her as though she were as light as a little girl. with their faces almost touching he smiled at her tenderly and then went up the steps onto the balcony as though he were unburdened. Isabella's legs dangled pathetically from under her skirts. They were wasted and lifeless and Centaine experienced an unexpected and unwelcome rush of sympathy for her.

I don't want to pity her, she thought fiercely as she followed them into the saloon.

Blaine set her down, without asking Centaine's permission in the chair that subtly dominated the saloon and was naturally the focus of all attention, the chair that was always and exclusively reserved for Centaine herself. Blaine went down on one knee before his wife and gently arranged her feet, setting them neatly side by side on the silk carpet.

Then he smoothed her skirt over her knees. It was obvious that he had done all this countless times before.

Isabella touched his cheek lightly with her fingertips, and smiled down on his head with such trust and adoration that Centaine felt entirely superfluous. Despair overwhelmed her. She could not intervene between these two. Sir Garry and Abe were both right. She had to relinquish him without a struggle, and she felt an almost saintly sense of righteousness.

Then Isabella looked up at Centaine over the head of her kneeling husband. Against the fashion she wore her hair long and straight. It was so fine and silky that it formed a thick sheet, lustrous as watered satin, that flowed down over her bare shoulders. Her hair was the colour of roasted chestnuts, but it flickered with glowing red stars and highlights each time she moved her head. Her face was round as a medieval madonna's, and lit with serenity. Her eyes were brown and starred with rods of gold that fanned out from the luminous black pupils.

Isabella looked at Centaine across the full length of the saloon, then she smiled, a slow complacent possessive smile, and the light in her brown and gold eyes changed.

She stared into Centaine's dark wild honey eyes and she challenged her. It was as clear to Centaine as if she had stripped off one of her elbow-length gloves with its embroidered seed pearls and struck Centaine in the mouth with it.

You silly little thing, you shouldn't have done that. All Centaine's noble resolutions crumbled before that gaze. I was ready to let you keep him, I truly was. But if you want to fight for him, well then, so do U And she stared back at Isabella and silently took up her challenge.

The dinner was a resounding success. Centaine had carefully vetted the menu but had not trusted her chef with either the dressing for the rock lobster or the sauce for the roast sirloin and had prepared both of these with her own hands. They drank champagne with the lobster and a marvelous velvety Richebourg with the sirloin.

Abe and Blaine were relieved and delighted that Isabella and Centaine were being so utterly charming and considerate to each other. It was obvious that they would become close friends. Centaine included the crippled girl in almost every remark she made, and was solicitous of Isabella's comfort, herself arranging cushions at her back or feet.

Centaine's stories were self-mocking and entertaining as she made light of how she had survived the dreadful crossing of the dune lands, widowed and pregnant, with only wild Bushmen as companions.

How brave of you. Isabella Malcomess got the point of the story.

I am sure there are very few women who would have had your resourcefulness and strength. Colonel Malcomess, can I prevail on you to carve the roast. Sometimes being a woman alone does have its drawbacks. There are things that only a man does well, wouldn't you agree, Mrs Malcomess? Rachel Abrahams sat quietly and apprehensively. She was the only one apart from the two principals who understood what was happening, and her sympathy was all with Isabella Malcomess, for she could imagine her own little nest and nestlings being threatened by a circling predator.

You have two daughters, Mrs Malcomess? Centaine asked sweetlv. 'Tara and Mathilda Janine, such pretty names. She let her rival know that she had done her researches thoroughly. But you must find it difficult to cope, girls being always much more of a handful than boys? Rachel Abrahams, at the end of the table, winced. With a single light flick oi the blade Centaine had pointed up Isabellas disability and her failure to provide a son and heir for her husband.

Oh, I have plenty of time to devote to my domestic duties, Isabella assured her, not being in trade, as it Were.

And the girls are such darlings, they are devoted to their father, of course.

Isabella

was a skilled duellist. Trade was a word that made Centaine's aristocratic blood seethe behind her concerned smile, and it was a master stroke to link the girls so securely to Blaine. Centaine had seen his doting expression at mention of them. She turned to him and changed the subject to Politics.

Recently General Smuts was a guest at Weltevreden, my Cape home. He is deeply concerned by the growth of secret militant societies amongst the lower classes of Afrikaner-dom. In particular the so-called Ossewa-Brantlwag and the Afrikaner Broederbond, the best translation of which would be the "Nightguard of the Wagon Train" and the "Afrikaner

Brotherhoods. I also feel they are highly dangerous and prejudicial to the nation's best interests. Do you share this concern, Colonel Malcomess? Indeed, Mrs Courtney, I have made a special study of these phenomena. But I do not think that you are correct in saying these secret societies include the lower classes of Afrikanerdom. quite the opposite. The membership is restricted to pure-blooded Afrikaners in positions of potential or actual influence in politics, government, religion and education. However, I agree with your conclusions. They are dangerous, more dangerous than most people realize, for their ultimate aim is to gain control of every facet of our lives, from the minds of the young to the machinery of justice and government, and to prefer their members above all consideration of merit or worth. In many ways this movement is the counterpart of the rising wave of National Socialism in Germany under Herr Hitler. Centaine leaned across the table to enjoy every nuance and inflection of his voice, encouraging him with question or shrewd sharp comment. With that voice, she thought, he could sway me and a million voters. Then she realized that the two of them were behaving as if they were the only ones at the table and she returned quickly to Isabella.

Would you agree with your husband on that, Mrs Malcomess," and Blaine laughed indulgently and answered for her.

I'm afraid my wife finds politics a total bore, don't you, my dear And I'm not sure that she isn't very perceptive in that belief. He drew a gold watch from the fob pocket of his dinner jacket.

it is after midnight. I have enjoyed myself so hugely that we have overstayed our welcome, I'm sure. You are right, darling. Isabella was relieved and eager to end it. Tara has been sickly. She complained of a stomach ache before we left. Tara, the little vixen, always complains of a stomach ache when she knows we are going out, he chuckled, but they all rose.

I won't let you go without the solace of a brandy and a cigar, Centaine demurred. Although I refuse to accept the barbaric custom of leaving the men to those pleasures alone while we poor females gather to giggle and talk babies so we will all go through to the saloon together. However, as she led them through, her secretary was hovering nervously.

Yes, what is it? She was annoyed until she saw that he was holding a telegraph flimsy like a warrant for his own execution.

From Dr TWentyman-Jones, ma'am, and it's urgent. She accepted the flimsy but did not unfold it until she had made sure that her guests had coffee and liqueurs and that both Blaine and Abe were each armed with a Havana.

Then she excused herself and slipped through to her bedroom.

For Juno. Strike committee headed by Gerhard Fourie has called out all white employees. Stop. Plant and pit under picket lines and shipment of goods embargoed. Stop.

Strikers demanding reinstatement of all retrenched white employees and guaranteed job security for all. Stop.

Request your instructions. Ends. Vingt.

Centaine sat down on her bed. The paper in her hand fluttered. She had never been more angry in her life. It was treachery, a gross and unforgivable betrayal. It was her mine, they were her diamonds. She paid their wages, and hers was the absolute right to hire and fire.