Текст книги "Power of the Sword"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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Tall and austere in appearance, he cut a formidable figure as he strode into the library of Weltevreden which Centaine had placed indefinitely at their disposal, and Jan Smuts rose from his seat at the long green-baize-covered table and came to meet him.

So! Hertzog snorted as he shook hands. We may not have as much time for discussion and manoeuvre as we had hoped. General Smuts glanced down the table at Blaine Malcomess and Deneys Reitz, his confidants and two of his nominees for the new cabinet, but none of them spoke while Hertzog and Nicolaas Havenga, the Nationalist minister of finance, settled themselves on the opposite side of the long table. At seventeen years of age Havenga had ridden with Hertzog on commando against the British, acting as his secretary, and since then they had been inseparable. Havenga had held his present cabinet rank since Hertzog's Nationalists had come to power in 1924.

Are we safe here? he asked now, glancing suspiciously at the double brass-bound mahogany doors at the far end of the library and then sweeping his gaze around the shelves which rose to the ornately plastered ceiling and were filled with Centaine's collection of books, all bound in Morocco leather and embossed with gold leaf.

Quite safe, Smuts assured him. We may speak openly without the least fear of being overheard. I give you my personal assurance. Havenga looked at his master for further assurance and when the prime minister nodded he spoke with apparent reluctance.

Tielman Roos has resigned from the Appellate Division, he announced, and sat back in his seat. It was unnecessary for him to elaborate. Tielman Roos was one of the country's best known and most colourful characters. The Lion of the North was his nickname and he had been one of Hertzog's most loyal supporters. When the Nationalists came to power, he had been minister of justice and deputy premier.

It had seemed that he was destined to be Hertzog's successor, the heir apparent, but then failing health and disagreement over the issue of South Africa's adherence to the gold standard had intervened. He had retired from politics and accepted an appointment to the Appellate Division of the Supreme Court.

Health? Jan Smuts asked.

No, the gold standard, Havenga said gravely. He intends

coming out against our remaining upon the standard.

His influence is enormous, Blaine exclaimed.

We cannot let him throw doubt upon our policies, Hertzog agreed. 'A declaration from Roos now could be disastrous. It must be our first priority to agree upon our joint policy on gold. We must be in a position either to oppose or pre-empt his position. It is vitally important that we offer a united front. He looked directly at Smuts.

I agree, Smuts answered. We must not allow our new coalition to be discredited before we have even come into existence. This is a crisis, Havenga interjected. We must handle it as such. May we have your views, Ou Baas? You know my views, Smuts told them. You will recall that I urged you to follow Great Britain's example when she went off the gold standard. I don't wish to throw that in your faces now, but I haven't altered my views since then. Please go over your reasons again, Ou Baas. At the time I predicted that there would be a flight from the South African gold pound into sterling. Bad money always drives out good money, and I was right. That happened, Smuts stated simply, and the men opposite looked uncomfortable. The resulting loss of capital has crippled our industry and sent tens of thousands of our workers to swell the ranks of the unemployed. There are millions of unemployed in Britain herself, Havenga pointed out irritably.

Our refusal to go off gold aggravated unemployment. It has endangered our gold-mining industry. It has sent prices for our diamonds and wool crashing. It has deepened the depression to this tragic level where we now find ourselves. if we go off the gold standard at this late stage, what will be the benefits to the country? 'First and by far the most important, it will rejuvenate our gold-mining industry. If the South African pound falls to parity with sterling, and that is what should happen immediately, it will mean that the mines will receive seven pounds for an ounce of gold instead of the present four. Almost double. The mines that have closed down will re-open. The others will expand. New mines will open providing work for tens of thousands, whites and blacks, and capital will flow back into this country. It will be the turning point. We will be back on the road to prosperity. The arguments for and against were thrown back and forth, Blaine and Reitz supporting the old general, and gradually the two men opposite retreated before their logic until a little after noon Barry Hertzog said suddenly: The timing. There will be pandemonium in the stock exchange. There are only three trading days before Christmas. We must delay any announcement until then, do it only when the exchange is closed. The atmosphere in the library seemed palpable.

With Hertzog's statement, Blaine realized that Smuts had finally carried the argument. South Africa would be off gold before the stock exchange re-opened in the new year. He felt a marvelous sense of elation, of achievement. The first act of this new coalition was to set a term to the country's protracted economic agony, a promise of return to prosperity and hope.

I still have sufficient influence with Tielman to prevail upon him to delay his announcement until after the markets close. Hertzog was still speaking, but it was only the details that remained to be agreed upon and that evening, as Blaine shook hands with the others in front of the white gables of Weltevreden and went to where his Ford was parked beneath the oaks, he was filled with a sense of destiny.

it was this that had attracted him into the political arena, this knowledge that he could help to change the world. For Blaine this was the ultimate use of power, to wield it like a bright sword against the demons that plagued his people and his land.

I have become a part of history, he thought, and the elation stayed with him as he drove out through the magnificent Anreith gates of Weltevreden, the last in the small convoy of vehicles.

Deliberately he let the prime minister's car, followed by the Plymouth that Deneys Reitz was driving, pull even further ahead and then disappear into the bends that snaked up Wynberg Hill. Only then he pulled off onto the verge and sat for a few minutes with the engine idling, watching the rearview mirror to make certain that he was not observed.

Then he put the Ford in gear again and swung a U-turn across the road. He turned off the main road before he reached the Anreith gates, into a lane that skirted the boundary of Weltevreden, and within minutes he was once more on Centaine's land, coming in through one of the back lanes, hidden from the chateau and the main buildings by a plantation of pines.

He parked the Ford amongst the trees and set off along the path, breaking into a run as he saw the whitewashed walls of the cottage ahead of him gleaming in the golden rays of the setting sun. It was exactly as she had described to him.

He paused in the doorway. Centaine had not heard him.

She was kneeling before the open hearth, blowing on the smoky flames that were rising from the pile of pinecones she had set as kindling for the fire. For a while he watched her from the doorway, delighted to be able to observe her while she was still unaware of him.

She had removed her shoes and the soles of her bare feet were pink and smooth, her ankles slim, her calves firm and strong from riding and walking, the backs of her knees dimpled. He had never noticed that before and the dimples touched him. He was moved by the deep tenderness that until now he had felt only for his own daughters, and he made a small sound in his throat.

Centaine turned, springing to her feet the instant she saw him. 'I thought you weren't coming. She rushed to him, holding up her face to him, her eyes shining, and then after a long time she broke off the kiss and still in his arms studied his face.

You are tired, she said.

it has been a long day. Come. Holding his hand she led him to the chair beside the hearth. Before he sat, she slipped the jacket off his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to loosen his necktie.

I've always wanted to do that for you, she murmured, and hung his jacket in the small yellow-wood cupboard before she went to the centre table and poured whisky into a tumbler, squirted soda onto it from the siphon and brought it to him.

Is that right? she asked anxiously, and he sipped and nodded.

Perfect. He looked around the cottage, taking in the bunches of cut flowers in the vases, the gleam of new wax on the floors and simple solid furniture.

Very nice, he said.

I worked all day to have it ready for you. Centaine looked up from the cheroot that she was preparing. Anna used to live here, until she married Sir Garry. Nobody else has used it since then. Nobody comes here. It's our place now, Blaine. She brought the cheroot to him, lit a taper in the fire and held it for him until it was burning evenly. Then she placed one of the leather cushions at his feet and settled upon it, leaning her folded arms on his knee and watching his face in the light of the flames.

How long can you stay? Well, he looked thoughtful. How long do you want me? An hour? Two? Longer? and Centaine squirmed with pleasure and clasped his knees tightly.

The whole night, she gloated. The whole glorious night! She had brought down a basket from the kitchen at Weltevreden. They dined on cold roast beef and turkey and drank the wines from her own vineyards. Afterwards she peeled the big yellow Hanepoort grapes and popped them into his mouth one at a time, kissing his lips lightly between each morsel.

The grapes are sweet, he smiled, but I prefer the kisses. 'Fortunately, sir, there is no shortage of either. Centaine brewed coffee on the open hearth and they drank it sprawled together on the rug in front of the fire, watching the flames, neither of them speaking, but Blaine stroked the fine dark hairs at her temples and at the nape of her neck with his fingertips until slowly the tranquil mood hardened and he ran his fingers down her spine and she trembled and rose to her feet.

Where are you going? he demanded.

Finish your cheroot, she told him. Then come and find out. When he followed her into the small bedroom she was sitting in the centre of the low bed.

He had never seen her in a nightdress before. It was of pale lemon satin and the lace at the neck and cuffs was the colour of old ivory that glowed in the candlelight.

You are beautiful, he said.

You make me feel beautiful, she said gravely, and held out both hands to him.

Tonight their loving, in contrast to the other urgent wildly driven nights, was measured and slow, almost stately. She had not realized that he had learned so much about her body and its special needs. Calmly and skilfully he ministered to them and her trust in him was complete; gently he swept away her last reservations and bore her beyond the sense of self, his body deep in hers and she enfolding him and blendmg with him so that their very blood seemed to mingle and his pulse beat in time to her heart. it was his breath that filled her lungs, his thoughts that gleamed and glimmered through her brain, and she heard her own words echo in his eardrums: I love you, my darling, oh God, how I love you. And his voice replied, crying through the cavern of her own throat, his voice upon her lips, I love you. I love you. And they were one.

He woke before her and the suribirds were twittering in the bright orange-coloured blooms of the tacoma shrubs outside the cottage window.

A beam of sunlight had found a chink in the curtains and it cut through the air above his head like the blade of a golden rapier.

Slowly, very slowly, so as not to disturb her, he turned his head and studied her face. She had thrown aside her pillow and her cheek was pressed to the mattress, her lips almost touching his shoulder, one arm thrown out over his chest.

Her eyes were closed, and there was a delicate pattern of blue veins beneath the soft translucent skin of the lids. Her breathing was so gentle that for a moment he was alarmed, then she frowned softly in her sleep and his alarm gave way to concern as he saw the tiny arrowheads of strain and worry that had been chiselled at the corners of her eyes and mouth during these last months.

My poor darling. His lips formed the words without sound, and slowly the splendid mood of the previous night washed away like sand before the incoming tide of harsh reality.

My poor brave darling. He had not known grief like this since he stood beside his father's open grave. if only there was something I could do to help you, now in this time of your need. And as he sai it the thought occurred to him, and he started so violently that Centaine felt it and rolled away from him in her sleep, frowning again, the corner of her eyelid twitching, and muttered something that he could not understand and then was still.

Blaine lay rigid beside her, every muscle in his body under stress, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaws biting down hard, appalled at himself, angry and frightened that he had even been capable of thinking that thought. His eyes were wide open now. He stared at the bright coin of sunlight on the opposite wall but did not see it, for he was a man on the torturer's rack, the rack of a terrible temptation.

Honour, the words blazed in his mind, honour and duty. He groaned silently as on the other side of his brain another word burned as fiercely: love'.

The woman who lay beside him had set no price upon her love. She had made no terms, no bargains, but had simply given without asking in return. Rather than demanding she had given him quittance; it was she who had insisted that no other person should be hurt by their happiness. Freely she had heaped upon him all the sweets of her love without asking the smallest price, not the gold band and vows of marriage, not even promises or assurances, and he had offered nothing. Until this moment there had been nothing for him to give her in repayment.

on the other hand he had been singled out by a great and good man who had placed unquestioning trust in him.

Honour and duty on one hand, love on the other. This time there was no escape from the lash of his conscience. VVho would he betray, the man he revered or the woman he loved?

He could not lie still another moment and stealthily he lifted the sheet. Centaine's eyelids fluttered; she made a little mewling sound and then settled deeper into sleep.

The previous evening she had laid out a new razor and toothbrush on the washstand in the bathroom for him, and this little thoughtfulness goaded him further. The agony of indecision scourged him as he shaved and dressed.

He tiptoed back into the bedroom and stood beside the bed.

I could walk away, he thought. She will never know of my treachery. And then he wondered at his choice of word.

Was it treachery to keep intact his honour, to cleave to his duty?

He forced the thought aside and made his decision.

He reached down and touched her eyelids. They fluttered open. She looked up at him, her pupils very black and big and unfocused. Then they contracted and she smiled, a comfortable sleepy contented smile.

Darling, she murmured, what time is it? Centaine, are you awake? She sat up quickly, and exclaimed with dismay. Oh Blaine. You are dressed, so soon! Listen to me, Centaine. This is very important. Are you listening? She nodded, blinking the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, and stared at him solemnly.

Centaine, we are going off gold, he said, and his voice was harsh, rough with self-contempt and guilt. They made the decision yesterday, Ou Baas and Barry Hertzog. We'll be off gold by the time the markets re-open in the New Year. She stared at him blankly for a full five seconds and then suddenly it struck her and her eyes flared wide open, but then slowly the fire in them faded again.

Oh God, my darling, what it must have cost you to tell me that, she said, and her voice shook with compassion, for she understood his sense of honour and knew the depths of his duty. You do love me, Blaine. You do truly love me.

I believe it now. Yet he was glaring at her. She had never seen such an expression on his face before. It was almost as though he hated her for what he had done. She couldn't bear that look, and she scrambled onto her knees in the centre of the rumpled bed and held out her arms in appeal.

Blaine, I won't use it. I won't use what you have told me and he snarled at her, his face contorted with guilt: That way you would let me make this sacrifice for nought. Don't hate me for it, Blaine, she pleaded, and the anger faded from his face.

Hate you? he asked sadly. No, Centaine, that I could never do. He turned and strode from the room.

She wanted to run after him, to try and comfort him, but she knew that it was beyond even the power of her great love. She sensed that, like a wounded lion, he had to be alone, and she listened to his heavy footfalls receding down the path through the plantation outside her window.

Centaine sat at her desk at Weltevreden. She was alone, and in the centre of her desk stood the ivory and brass telephone.

She was afraid. What she was about to do would place her far beyond the laws of society and the courts. She was at the begiming of a journey into uncharted territory, a lonely dangerous journey which could end for her in disgrace and imprisonment.

The telephone rang and she started, and stared at the instrument fearfully. It rang again and she drew a deep breath and lifted the handset.

Your call to Rabkin and Swales, Mrs Courtney, her secretary told her. I have Mr Swales on the line. Thank you, Nigel. She heard the hollow tone of her voice and cleared her throat.

Mrs Courtney, She recognized Swales voice. He was the senior partner in the firm of stockbrokers and she had dealt with him before. 'May I wish you the compliments of the festive season. Thank you, Mr Swales. Her voice was crisp and businesslike. I have a buying order for you, Mr Swales. I'd like it filled before the market closes today. Of course, Swales assured her. We will complete it immediately. Please buy at best five hundred thousand East Rand Proprietary Mines, she said, and there was an echoing silence in the earphones.

Five hundred thousand, Mrs Courtney, Swales repeated at last. 'ERP.M. are standing at twenty-two and six. That is almost six hundred thousand pounds. Exactly, Centaine agreed.

Mrs Courtney, Swales stopped.

Is there some problem, Mr Swales? No, of course not. None at all. You caught me by surprise, that's all. just the size of the order. I will get onto it right away., I will post you my cheque in full settlement just as soon as I receive your contract note for the purchase. She paused, and then went on icily, Unless, of course, you require me to send you a deposit immediately. She held her breath.

Nowbere could she raise even the deposit that Swales was entitled to ask for.

Oh dear, Mrs Courtney! I hope you didn't think, I must sincerely apologize for having led you to think that I might question your ability to pay. There is absolutely no hurry.

We will post you the contract note in the usual way. Your credit with Rabkin and Swales is always good. I hope to confirm the purchase for you by tomorrow morning at the very latest. As you are no doubt aware, tomorrow is the final trading day before the Christmas recess. Her hands were shaking so violently that she had trouble setting the handset of the telephone on its hook.

What have I done? she whispered, and she knew the answer. She had committed a criminal act of fraud, the maximum penalty for which was ten years imprisonment.

She had just contracted a debt which she had no reasonable expectation of honouring. She was bankrupt, she knew she was bankrupt, and she had just taken on another half million pounds obligation. She was taken with a fit of remorse and she reached for the telephone to cancel the order, but it rang before she touched it.

Mrs Courtney, I have Mr Anderson of Hawkes and Giles on the line. Put him on, please Nigel, she ordered, and she was amazed that there was no tremor in her voice as she said, casually, Mr Anderson, I have a purchase order for you, please. By noon she had telephoned seven separate firms of stockbrokers in Johannesburg and placed orders for the purchase of gold-mining shares to the value of five and a half million pounds. Then at last her nerve failed her.

Nigel, cancel the other two calls, please, she said calmly, and ran to her private bathroom at the end of the passage with her hands over her mouth.

just in time she fell to her knees in front of the white porcelain toilet bowl and vomited into it a hard projectile stream, bringing up her terror and shame and guilt, heaving and retching until her stomach was empty and the muscles of her chest ached and her throat burned as though it had been scalded raw with acid.

Christmas Day had always been one of their very special days since Shasa was a child, but she awoke this morning in a sombre mood.

Still in their night clothes and dressing-gowns, she and

Shasa exchanged their presents in her suite. He had hand painted a special card for her, and decorated it with pressed wild flowers. His present to her was Francois Mauriac's new no!el Noeud de Vip&res and he had inscribed on the flyleaf: No matter what, we still have each other Shasa.

Her present to him was a leather flying helmet with goggles and he looked at her with amazement. She had made her opposition to flying very plain.

Yes, cheri, if you want to learn to fly, I'll not stop you. Can we afford it, Mater? I mean, you know– You let me worry about that. 'No, Mater. He shook his head firmly. I'm not a child any more. From now on I am going to help you. I don't want anything that will make it more difficult for you, for us. She ran to him and embraced him quickly, pressing her cheek to his so that he could not see the shine of tears in her eyes.

We are desert creatures. We will survive, my darling. But her moods swung wildly all the rest of that day as Centaine played the grande dame, the chatelaine of Weltevreden, welcoming the many callers at the estate, serving sherry and biscuits and exchanging gifts with them, laughing and charming, and then on the pretext of seeing to the servants hurrying away to lock herself in the mirrored study with the drawn curtains while she fought off the black moods, the doubts and the terrible crippling forebodings.

Shasa seemed to understand, standing in her place when she fell out, suddenly mature and responsible, rallying to her aid as he had never been called upon to do before.

just before noon one of their callers brought tidings which genuinely allowed Centaine to forget for a short time her own forebodings. The Rev. Canon Birt was the headmaster of Bishops and he took Centaine and Shasa aside for a few moments.

Mrs Courtney, you know what a name young Shasa has made for himself at Bishops. Unfortunately next year will be his last with us. We shall miss him. However, I am sure it will come as no surprise to you to hear that I have selected him to be head of school in the new term, or that the board of governors have endorsed my choice. Not in front of the Head, Mater, Shasa whispered, in an agony of embarrassment when Centaine embraced him joyously, but she deliberately kissed both his cheeks in the manner he designated French and pretended to disparage.

That is not all, Mrs Courtney. Canon Birt beamed on this display of maternal pride. I have been asked by the board of governors to invite you to join them. You will be the first woman, ah, the first lady, ever to sit on the board. Centaine was on the point of accepting immediately, but then like the shadow of the executioner's axe the premonition of impending financial catastrophe dulled her vision and she hesitated.

I know you are a very busy person, he was about to urge her.

am honoured, Headmaster, she told him. But there are personal considerations. May I give you my reply in the new year?

Just as long as that is not an outright refusal No, I give you my assurance. If I can, I will. When the last caller had been packed off, Centaine could lead the family, including Sir Garry and Anna and the very closest family friends, down to the polo field for the next act in their traditional Weltevreden Christmas festival.

The entire coloured staff was assembled there, with their children and aged parents and the estate pensioners too old to work, and all the others who Centaine supported. Every one of them was dressed in their Sunday best, a marvelous assortment of styles and cuts and colours, the little girls with ribbons in their hair and the small boys for once with shoes on their feet.

The estate band, fiddles and concertinas and banjoes, welcomed Centaine, and the singing, the very voice of Africa, was melodious and beautiful. She had a gift for each of them, which she handed over with an envelope containing their Christmas bonus. Some of the older women, emboldened by their long service and sense of occasion, embraced her, and so precarious was Centaine's mood that these spontaneous gestures of affection made her weep again, which set the other women off.

It was swiftly becoming an orgy of sentiment and Shasa hastily signalled the band to strike up something lively.

They chose Alabama', the old Cape Malay song that commemorated the cruise of the confederate raider to Cape waters when she captured the Sea Bride in Table Bay on 5

August, 1863.

There comes the Alabama Daar kom die Alabama Then Shasa supervised the drawing of the bung from the first keg of sweet estate wine, and almost immediately the tears dried and the mood became festive and gay.

once the whole sheep on the spits were sizzling and dripping rich fat onto the coals, the second keg of wine had been broached, the dancing was losing all restraint and the younger couples were sneaking away into the vineyards, Centaine gathered the party from the big house and left them to it.

As they passed the Huguenot vineyard, they heard the giggling and scuffling amongst the vines behind the stone wall and Sir Garry remarked complacently: Shouldn't think Weltevreden is going to run short of labour in the foreseeable future. Sounds like a good crop being planted. You are as shameless as they are, Anna buffed, and then giggled herself just as breathlessly as the young girls in the vineyard as he squeezed her thick waist and whispered something in her ear.

That little intimacy lanced Centaine with a blade of loneliness, and she thought of Blaine and wanted to weep again.

But Shasa seemed to sense her pain and took her hand and made her laugh with one of his silly jokes.

The family dinner was part of the tradition. Before they ate Shasa read aloud to them from the New Testament as he had every Christmas Day since his sixth birthday. Then he and Centaine distributed the pile of presents from under the tree, and the salon was filled with the rustle of paper and the ooh's and aah's of delight.

The dinner was roast turkey and a baron of beef followed by a rich black Christmas pudding. Shasa found the lucky gold sovereign in his portion, as he did every year without suspecting that it had been carefully salted there by Centaine during the serving; and when at the end they all tottered away, satiated and heavy-eyed, to their separate bedrooms, Centaine slipped out of the french windows of her study and ran all the way down through the plantation and burst into the cottage.

Blaine was waiting for her and she ran to him. We should be together at Christmas and every other day. He stopped her from going on by kissing her, and she reviled herself for her silliness. When she pulled back in his arms, she was smiling brightly. I couldn't wrap your Christmas present. The shape is all wrong and the ribbon wouldn't stay on. You'll have to take it all natural. Where is it? Follow me, sir, and it shall be delivered unto you. Now that, he said a little later, is by far the nicest present that anybody ever gave me, and so very useful too! There were no newspapers on New Year's Day, but Centaine listened to the news every hour on the radio. There was no mention of the gold standard or any other political issue on these bulletins. Blaine was away, occupied all day with meetings and discussions concerning his candidature for the coming parliamentary by-election at the Gardens. Shasa had gone as house guest to one of the neighbouring estates. She was alone with her fears and doubts.

She read until after midnight and then lay in the darkness, sleeping only fitfully and plagued by nightmares, starting awake and then drifting back into uneasy sleep.

Long before dawn she gave up the attempt to find rest and dressed in jodhpurs and riding-boots and her sheepskin coat.

She saddled her favourite stallion and rode down in the darkness five miles to the railway station at Claremont to meet the early train from Cape Town.

She was waiting on the platform when the bundles of newspapers were thrown out of the goods van onto the concrete quay, and the small coloured newsboys swarmed over them, chattering and laughing as they divided up the bundles for delivery. Centaine tossed one of them a silver shilling and he hooted with glee when she waved away the change and eagerly unfolded the newspaper.

The headlines took up fully half the front page, and they rocked her on her feet.

SOUTH AFRICA ABANDONS GOLD STANDARD HUGE BOOST FOR GOLD MINES She scanned the columns below, barely able to take in any more, and then, still in a daze, rode back up the valley to Weltevreden. Only when she reached the Anreith gates did the full impact of it all dawn upon her. Weltevreden was still hers, it would always be hers, and she rose in the stirrups and shouted with joy, then urged her horse into a flying gallop, lifting him over the stone wall and racing down between the rows of vines.