Power Of The Sword Part 14

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 gla.s.s 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sed 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 antic.i.p.ation 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 l.u.s.t and the enormity of the prize at stake. She was eager to identify and a.s.sess 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 b.i.t.c.h. It's not fair.

You aren't fighting fair. How can I ever win now? Oh G.o.d, 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 circ.u.mstances let his wife receive the invitation first. He won't come, Abe repeated stubbornly. At least I hope to G.o.d 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 d.a.m.ned 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 a.s.sociated 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 s.m.u.ts. 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 a.s.suaged the p.r.i.c.kle 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 s.m.u.ts 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 circ.u.mstances 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 a.s.sist.

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, l.u.s.trous 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 n.o.ble 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 princ.i.p.als 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 a.s.sured 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 s.m.u.ts was a guest at Weltevreden, my Cape home. He is deeply concerned by the growth of secret militant societies amongst the lower cla.s.ses 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 cla.s.ses 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.

The shipment of goods that Twenty-man-Jones referred to was the parcel of diamonds on which her fortune hinged. Their demands, if pandered to, would render the H'ani Mine unprofitable. Who was this Gerhard Fourie, she wondered, and then remembered he was the chief transport driver.

She went to the door and opened it. Her secretary was waiting in the corridor.

Ask Mr Abrahams to come to me. When Abe stepped through the door she handed him the telegraph flimsy.

They don't have the right to do this to me, she said fiercely, and waited impatiently while he read it through.

Unfortunately, Centaine, they do have the right. Under the Industrial Conciliation Act of 1924 Don't spout acts at me now, Abe, she cut him off. They are a bunch of bolsheviks biting the hand that feeds them!

Centaine, don't do anything hasty. If we were to Abe, get the Daimler offloaded from the truck immediately and send Dr Twenty-man-Jones a telegraph. Tell him I'm coming and he is to do nothing, make no concessions nor promises until I arrive. You'll leave in the morning, of course? I will not, she snapped. I will leave in half an hour from now, just as soon as my guests have gone and you have the Daimler detrained. litis one in the morning, He saw her face and abandoned that fine of protest. I'll telegraph the staff at the first staging station to expect you. Just tell them to be ready to refuel. I won't be staying over. I'm driving straight through to the mine. And she went to the door, paused to compose herself and then, smiling easily, went back into the saloon.

Is something wrong, Mrs Courtney? The smile had not deceived Blaine Malcomess, and he rose to his feet. Is there anything I can do to help you? Oh, just a small nuisance. Trouble out at the mine. I have to go back there right away. Not tonight, surely? Yes, tonight 'On your own? He was troubled, and his concern pleased her. it's a long hard journey. I prefer to travel alone. Then she added with a meaningful intensity, Or to chose my travelling companion with great care. She paused, then went on, Some of my employees have called a strike. It's unreasonable and they have no case to justify their action. I'm certain that I can smooth it over.

However, sometimes these things get out of hand. There might be violence, or vandalism!

Quickly Blaine rea.s.sured her. I can guarantee you full government cooperation. A police detachment could be sent to maintain the peace, if you so wish!

Thank you. I would appreciate that. Knowing that I can call upon you is a great relief and comfort!

I will arrange it first thing tomorrow, he said. But of course it will take a few days! Again they were behaving as though they were alone; their voices were low and filled with significance beyond what the words suggested.

Darling, we should leave Mrs Courtney to prepare for her journey. Isabella spoke from her chair and he started as though he had forgotten she were there.

Yes, of course. We will leave at once. Centaine went with them down the railway platform to where Blaine's Chevrolet tourer was parked beneath the single streetlight. She walked beside Isabella's wheelchair.

I did so enjoy meeting you, Mrs Malcomess, and I'd love to meet your girls. Won't you bring them out to Weltevreden when next you are in Cape Town? I don't know when that will be, Isabella refused politely.

My husband will be immersed in his new appointment. They reached the waiting vehicle and while the chauffeur held the rear door open, Blaine lifted Isabella from the chair and seated her on the leather seat. He closed the door carefully and turned to Centaine. His back was to his wife, and the chauffeur was loading the wheelchair into the boot. They were alone for the time being.

She is a courageous and wonderful woman, he said softly as he took Centaine's hand. I love her and can never leave her, but I wish -he broke off and his grip on her fingers was painful.

Yes, Centaine answered as softly. I also wish, and she revelled in the pain of his grip. He ended it too soon for her and went around to the opposite side of the Chevrolet, while Centaine stooped to the crippled girl at the open window.

Please do remember my invitation, she began, but Isabella thrust her face closer and the serene and beautiful mask cracked so that the terror and the hatred showed through.

He's mine, she said. And I won't let you have him. Then she leaned back in her seat and Blaine slid in beside her and took her hand.

The Chevrolet pulled away, the official pennant on the bonnet fluttering, and Centaine stood under the streetlight and stared after it until the headlights faded.

Lothar De La Rey slept with the earphones of the telegraph tap on the sheepskin roll beside his head, so that the first bleep of the transmission woke him and he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the headset and called to Swart Hendrick. Light the candle, Hennie, they are transmitting. At this time of night it must be important. Yet he was still unprepared for the import of the message when he scribbled it out in his notebook: 'Strike Committee headed by Gerhard Fourie has called out all white employees Lothar was stunned by Twenty-man-jones message.

Gerhard Fourie. What on earth is that miserable b.a.s.t.a.r.d playing at, he asked himself aloud, and then leapt up and went out of the dugout to pace agitatedly in the loose sand of the river-bed while he attempted to work it out.