Power Of The Sword Part 27

My line! he yelled at Max Theunissen as they swept towards each other.

d.a.m.n you, Courtney! Max yelled back defiantly. He had regained his courage, and he glared at Shasa over his pony's head; Shasa saw in his eyes that he was going to force the collision and he shifted slightly in the saddle. Tiger Shark felt it and flinched. They were going to give way, and then without warning Shasa was overwhelmed by the berserker's deadly pa.s.sion.

Even from the stand Blaine Malcomess sensed it. He recognized that what had seized Shasa was not ordinary courage, rather it was a type of madness, the same madness that had once driven Blaine himself out into no man's land, alone with only a grenade in his hand, straight into the winking red eyes of the German Maxim guns.

He saw Shasa check Tiger Shark's turn and instead force him the opposite way, heading him directly at the black stallion, moving across the line of the ball in a deliberate challenge. it seemed that time slowed for Shasa. His vision was suddenly concentrated to brilliant clarity; he could see the wet pink mucous membrane deep in the flared nostrils of the great stallion in front of him; he could define each minute bubble in the froth that foamed from the corners of his mouth around the snaffle irons, each stiff black bristle in the charcoal velvet of his muzzle, each blood vessel in the lacework that covered the bloodshot corners of the stalhon's eyes and each individual lash that surrounded them.

Shasa looked over the black stallion's head into Max's face. It was contorted with fury. He saw the tiny blisters of sweat on Max's chin, and the gap between his square white incisors as his lips were drawn back in a rictus of determination, and he looked into Max's brown eyes and held their gaze.

It was too late, Shasa judged; they had left it too late to avoid the collision, and as he thought it he saw the sudden shock in Max's face, saw his lips crumple and the flesh of his cheeks frost over with terror and watched him jerk back in the saddle and drag Nemesis head around, pulling him off the line, breaking away right, only just in time.

Shasa swept past him, brushing him aside almost contemptuously, and with the pa.s.sion still upon him he rose in the stirrups and struck the ball hard and true, driving it between the centre of the posts.

Blaine was still on his feet in the stand as the teams came in, and Shasa was flushed with triumph looking up at him for approbation, and though Blaine gave him only an airy wave and friendly smile, he was almost as exultant as Shasa.

By G.o.d, the lad has the makings, he told himself. He really has got it. And he sat down again beside Isabella. She saw his expression; she knew him so well. She knew how desperately he had wanted a son, and the reason for his interest in the boy. It made her feel inadequate and useless and angry.

That child is reckless and irresponsible. She could not help herself, even though she knew that her censure would have the opposite effect on Blaine. He doesn't give a fig for anybody else, but then the Courtneys have always been like that. Some people call it guts, Blaine murmured.

An ugly word for an ugly trait. She knew she was being shrewish; she knew there was a limit to his forbearance, but she could not help this self-destructive urge to try and hurt him. He is like his mother - and she saw the anger snap in Blaine's eyes as he rose to his feet, cutting her off.

I'll see if I can get you some lunch, my dear. He strode away, and she wanted to cry after him: I'm sorry, it was only because I love you so!

Isabella ate no red meat, for it seemed to aggravate her condition, so Blaine was contemplating the display of prawns and crayfish, clams and mussels and fish which formed the centrepiece of the buffet, a pyramid taller than his head, such a veritable work of art that it seemed sacrilegious to make the first inroad upon it. He was not alone in his reluctance; the display was surrounded by an admiring cl.u.s.ter of guests exclaiming with delight and admiration so that Blaine was not aware of Centaine's approach until she spoke just behind his shoulder.

Whatever did you say to my son, Colonel, that turned him into a savage? And he turned quickly, trying to cover the guilty delight that he felt at her closeness. Oh yes, I saw you talking to him before the last chukka, she went on.

Man talk, I'm afraid, not for tender ears. She laughed softly. 'Whatever it was, it worked. Thank you, Blaine. No need for that, the lad did it himself. That last goal was as plucky an effort as I've seen in a long time. He is going to be good, very good indeed. Do you know what I thought as I watched it? she asked softly, and he shook his head, leaning closer for her reply.

I thought Berlin, she told him softly, and he was perplexed for a moment. Then it dawned upon him.

Berlin 1936. The Olympic Games, and he laughed. She must be joking. From junior league to the seniors was the distance to the moon and the stars. Then he saw her expression and he stopped laughing.

You really are serious! He stared at her.

Of course, I won't be able to afford to keep his ponies.

But his grandfather loves to watch him play. He will help, and if he had the advice and encouragement of a really top man, She gave a graceful little shrug, and it was a moment before he could recover from his astonishment sufficiently to reply.

You never fail to amaze me. Is there nothing you won't reach for? Then he saw the sudden, sly, lascivious gleam in her eye, and he went on hurriedly, I withdraw the question, madam. For a moment they looked at each other with the veil stripped aside, their eyes and their love naked for anyone to see. Then Centaine broke the contact.

General s.m.u.ts has been asking for you. She changed direction again in that disconcerting mercurial fashion of hers. We are sitting under the oaks behind the stand. Why don't you and your wife join us there? She turned away from him and the throng of her guests opened before her.

Blaine wheeled Isabella slowly across the smooth carpet of mown Kikuyu gra.s.s towards the group under the oaks.

The weather had blessed Centaine's tournament; the sky was heron's-egg blue with a silver burst of cloud hanging stationary over the peak of Muizenberg and another thick mattress laid over the ma.s.sif of Table Mountain that standing cloud known as the table cloth'.

It was windy, of course. It was always windy in December, but Weltevreden was tucked into a protected corner of the Constantia valley; pa.s.sing overhead, the southeaster froufroued the top leaves of the oaks, barely flickering at the women's skirts, but alleviating what would have been oppressive heat, and sweetening the air to earn its nickname the Cape doctor'.

When she saw Blaine coming, Centaine waved the white jacketed waiter aside and poured champagne with her own hand and brought the gla.s.s to Isabella.

Thank, you, no, Isabella rebuffed her sweetly, and for a moment Centaine was at a loss, standing before the wheelchair with the scorned crystal gla.s.s in her hand.

Then Blaine rescued her. If it's going begging, Mrs Courtney. He took the gla.s.s from her, and she smiled quick grat.i.tude, while the others made room for the wheelchair in the circle and the chairman of the Standard Bank, sitting beside Centaine, took up his monologue where it had been interrupted.

That fellow Hoover and his d.a.m.ned policy of interventionism, he didn't only destroy the economy of the United States but ruined us all in the process. If he had left it alone we'd all be out of this depression by now, but what do we have instead, over five thousand American banks bust this year, unemployment up to twenty-eight millions, trade with Europe at a standstill, the currency of the world in the process of debas.e.m.e.nt. He has forced one country after another off the gold standard, even Britain has succ.u.mbed. We are one of the very few countries that have been able to maintain the gold standard, and believe me it's beginning to hurt. It makes the South African pound expensive, makes our exports expensive, it makes our gold expensive to bring to the surface and G.o.d alone knows how long we can hold out. He glanced across the circle at General s.m.u.ts. What do you think, Ou Baas, how long can we stay on gold? And the Ou Baas chuckled until his white goatee waggled and his blue eyes sparkled. My dear Alfred, you mustn't ask me. I'm a botanist not an economist. His laughter was infectious, for they all knew that his was one of the most brilliant minds in any field, that this tumultuous twentieth century had so far spewed forth; that he had urged Hertzog to follow Britain's example when she left the gold standard; that he had dined with John Maynard Keynes, the economist of the age, on his last visit to Oxford; and that the two of them corresponded regularly.

Then you must look at my roses, Ou Baas, rather than the gold question, Centaine ordered. She had judged the mood of her guests and sensed that such heavy discussion was making them uncomfortable. Day to day they had to live with the unpleasant reality of a world tottering on the financial brink and they escaped from it now with relief.

The conversation became light and trivial, but with a superficial sparkle like that of the champagne in the longstemmed tulip gla.s.ses. Centaine led the banter and laughter, but beneath it was that empty feeling of impending disaster, the insistent aching knowledge that all this was ending, that it was unreal as a dream, that this was the last echo of the past as she was carried forward into a future full of menace and uncertainty, a future over which she would no longer have control.

Blaine looked over her shoulder and clapped lightly, and her other guests joined in a splatter of condescending adult applause.

Hail the conquering hero, somebody laughed, and Centaine turned in her seat. Shasa was standing behind her, dressed in flannels and blazer, his hair wet from the shower and the marks left by the comb still sharply furrowed through it. He was smiling with just the right degree of modesty.

Oh cheri, I'm so proud of you., Centaine jumped up and kissed him impulsively and now he blushed with real embarra.s.sment.

I say, Mater, let's not go all French now, he remonstrated, and he was so beautiful that she wanted to hug him. But she restrained herself and signalled the waiter to bring Shasa a gla.s.s of champagne. He glanced at her quizzically; he was usually restricted to lager, and not more than a pint of that either.

Special occasion. She squeezed his arm, and Blaine raised his gla.s.s.

Gentlemen, I give you the famous victory of the Weltevreden juniors. Oh, I say, Shasa protested. We had nine goals start. But they all drank, and Sir Garry made a place for Shasa beside him.

Come and sit here, my boy, and tell us how it feels to be champions. Please excuse me, Grandpater, but I have to be with the chaps. We are planning a surprise for later. A surprise? Centaine sat up. She had lived through some of Shasa's surprise turns. The amateur fireworks show during which the old barn had gone up in a most spectacular but unintended display together with the five acres of plantation behind it was only one of his more memorable efforts. What surprise, cheri? If I tell you, it won't be a surprise, Mater. But we are going to clear the field just before the prize-giving, I thought I'd let you know. He gulped the last of the champagne.

Have to run, Mater. See you later. She held out a hand to restrain him, but he was already on his way back towards the grandstand where the other members of the victorious Weltevreden Invitation team were eagerly waiting for him.

They piled into Shasa's old Ford and went roaring up the long driveway towards the chateau. She watched them with trepidation until they were out of sight, and when she looked back Blaine and General s.m.u.ts had also left the circle and were strolling away amongst the oaks, their heads inclined towards each other talking earnestly. She watched them surrept.i.tiously. They made an interesting and ill-a.s.sorted couple, the spry little white-bearded statesman and the tall handsome warrior and lawyer. Their conversation was obviously engrossing, and they were oblivious to all else as they promenaded slowly back and forth, just out of earshot from where Centaine sat.

When are you returning to Windhoek, Blaine? My wife sails for Southampton in two weeks time. I will return immediately the mail boat leaves. Can you stay over? General s.m.u.ts asked. Say until the New Year? I am expecting developments. May I have an inkling what they are? Blaine asked.

I want you back in the House. s.m.u.ts evaded the direct question for the moment. I know it will involve sacrifice, Blaine. You are doing an excellent job in Windhoek and building up personal prestige and bargaining power. I am asking you to sacrifice that by resigning the administratorship and contesting the Gardens by-election for the South Africa Party. Blaine did not reply. The sacrifice that the Ou Baas was asking for was onerous.

The Gardens was a marginal seat. There was a real risk of losing it to the Hertzog party and even with a victory he would gain only a seat on the opposition benches, a heavy price to pay for the loss of the administratorship.

We are in opposition, Ou Baas, he said simply, and General s.m.u.ts struck at the Kikuyu gra.s.s with his cane as he pondered his reply.

Blaine. This is for you only. I must have your word on that. 'Of course. If you trust me now, you will have a ministry within six months. Blaine looked incredulous and s.m.u.ts stopped in front of him. 'I see I will have to tell you more. He drew a breath. Coalition, Blaine. Hertzog and I are working out a Coalition cabinet. It looks certain and we will announce it in March next year, three months away. I will be taking justice and it looks as though I will be able to appoint four of my own ministers. You are on my list. I see. Blaine tried to take it in. The news was stupendous.

s.m.u.ts was offering him what he had always wanted, a place in the cabinet.

I don't understand, Ou Baas. Why should Hertzog be prepared to negotiate with us now? He knows that he has lost the confidence of the nation and that his own party is becoming unmanageable. His cabinet has become arrogant, if not downright lawless. It is engaging in discretionary rule. Yes, yes, Ou Baas. But surely this is our opportunity!

Look to this last month alone, look to the by-election at Germiston and the results of the Transvaal provincial elections. We won both decisively. If we can force a general election now, we will win. We don't have to form a coalition with the Nationalists. We could win as the South Africa Party on our own terms. The old general was silent for a few moments, his grey beard sunk into his chest and his expression grave. You may be right, Blaine. We might win now, but not on our own showing. The vote would go against Hertzog, not for us. A party victory now would be barren and sterile. We could not justify forcing a general election for the national welfare. It would be party political profiteering and I want no part of that. Blaine could not reply. Suddenly he felt humbled to be in the confidence of such a man. A man so truly great and good that he would unhesitatingly turn his back on the opportunity to profit from his country's agony.

These are desperate times, Blaine. s.m.u.ts was speaking softly. 'Storm clouds are gathering all around us. We need a united people. We need a strong coalition cabinet, not a parliament split by party differences. Our economy is tottering on the brink, the gold-mining industry is in jeopardy.

At present costs, many of the older mines are already closing down. others will follow, and when they do it will mean the end of the South Africa that we know and love. In addition to that, the prices of wool and diamonds, our other major exports, have crashed. Blaine nodded soberly. All these factors were the basis of nationwide concern.

I don't have to emphasize the findings of the Wage Commission, s.m.u.ts went on. One fifth of our white population has been plunged by drought and primitive farming methods into abject poverty, twenty percent of our productive lands have been ruined by erosion and abuse, probably permanently., The poor whites, Blaine murmured, a great ma.s.s of itinerant beggars and starvelings, unemployed and untrained, without skills, without hope. Then we have our blacks, split by twenty tribal divisions, flocking in from the rural districts in search of the good life, die lekkerlewe, and swelling the ranks of the unemployed, finding instead of the good life, crime and illicit liquor and prost.i.tution, building up a pervading discontent, conceiving a fine contempt for our laws and discovering for the first time the sweet attractions of political power. That is a problem we haven't even begun to address or attempt to understand, Blaine agreed. Let us pray our children and our grandchildren do not curse us for our neglect. Let us pray, indeed, s.m.u.ts echoed. And while we do so, let us look beyond our own borders for a moment, to the chaos which engulfs the rest of the world. He stabbed at the earth with his cane to mark each point as he made it.

In America the system of credit has collapsed and trade with Europe and the rest of the world has come to a standstill. Armies of the poor and dispossessed roam aimlessly across the continent. He stabbed the point of the cane into the turf. In Germany the Weimar Republic is collapsing after ruining the economy. One hundred and fifty billion Weimar marks to one of the old gold marks, wiping out the nation's savings. Now from the ashes has risen a new dictatorship, founded in blood and violence, which has upon it the stench of immense evil. He struck the earth again, angrily. In Russia a ravening monster is murdering millions of his own countrymen. j.a.pan is in the throes of anarchy.

The military have run riot cutting down the nation's elected rulers, seizing Manchuria and slaughtering the unfortunate inhabitants by the hundreds of thousands, threatening to walk out of the League of Nations when the rest of the world protests. Once again the cane hissed as he slashed at the lush Kikuyu gra.s.s. There has been a run on the Bank of England, Great Britain forced off the Gold Standard, and from the vault of history the ancient curse of anti-Semitism has escaped once more and stalks the civilized world. s.m.u.ts stopped and faced Blaine squarely. Everywhere we turn there is disaster and mortal danger. I will not attempt to profit from it and in so doing divide this suffering land. No, Blaine, coalition and cooperation, not conflict. How did it all go wrong so swiftly, Ou Baas? Blaine asked softly. It seems just yesterday that we were prosperous and happy. In South Africa a man can be filled with hope at dawn and sick with despair by noon. s.m.u.ts was silent for a moment, and then he roused himself.

I need you, Blaine. Do you want time to think about it? Blaine shook his head. No need. You can count on me, Ou Baas. I knew I could. Blaine looked beyond him to where Centaine sat under the oaks and tried to hide his jubilation and to suppress the sense of shame that underlaid it, shame that unlike this saintly little man before him he was to profit from the agony of his country and the civilized world, shame that only now, out of despair and hardship, he would achieve his cherished ambition of cabinet rank. Added to that he would be returning to the Cape, coming in from the desert lands to this lush and beautiful place, coming in to where Centaine Courtney was.

Then his gaze flicked to the thin pale woman in the wheelchair, her beauty fading under the onslaught of pain and drugs, and his guilt and shame balanced almost perfectly his jubilation.

But s.m.u.ts was speaking again.

I will be staying on here as a guest at Weltevreden for the JT; next four days, Blaine. Sir Garry has bullied me into agreeing to allow him to write my biography and I will be working with him on the first draft. At the same time I will be conducting a series of secret meetings with Barry Hertzog It to agree the final details of the coalition. This is an ideal place for us to talk and I would be obliged if you could keep, yourself available. I will almost certainly be calling upon you!

of course. With an effort Blaine set his own emotions aside. I will be here as long as you need me. Do you want me to submit my resignation to the administrator's office? Draft the letter, s.m.u.ts agreed. I will explain your reasons to Hertzog and you can hand it to him in person. Blaine glanced at his watch and the old general said quickly, Yes, you will have to prepare for your match. This frivolity in the midst of such dire events is rather like fiddling while Rome burns, but one must keep up appearances.

I have even agreed to present the prizes. Centaine Courtney is a persuasive lady. So I hope we will meet later, at the prize-giving when I hand you the cup. It was a close thing, but the Cape A! team, led by Blaine Malcomess, held off the most determined efforts of the Transvaal A! in the final match of the tournament to win by three goals. Immediately afterwards all the teams gathered at the foot of the grandstand where the array of silver cups was set out on the prize table but there was an awkward pause in the proceedings. One team was missing: the junior champions.

Where is Shasa? Centaine demanded in a low but furious voice of Cyril Slaine, who was the tournament organizer.

He flapped his hands and looked helpless. He promised me he would be here. If this is his surprise, With an effort Centaine hid her anger behind a gracious smile for the benefit of her interested guests. Well, that is it. We begin without them. She took her place on the front tier of the stand beside the general and held up both hands for attention.

General s.m.u.ts, ladies and gentlemen, honoured guests and dear friends. She faltered and looked around uncertainly, her voice overlaid by the drone in the air, a sound that rose steadily in volume, becoming a roar, and every face in the crowd was lifted to the sky, searching, some puzzled, others amused or uneasy. Then suddenly over the oaks at the far end of the polo field flashed the wings of a low-flying aircraft.

Centaine recognized it as a Puss-Moth, a small single-engined machine. It banked steeply towards the grandstand and came straight at them, no more than head high as it raced across the field. Then, when it seemed it would fly straight into the crowded stand, the nose lifted sharply and it roared over their heads as half the spectators ducked instinctively and a woman screamed.

In the moment that it flashed over her, Centaine saw Shasa's laughing face in the side window of the aircraft's cabin, and the flicker of his hand as he waved, and instantly she was transported back over the years, through time and s.p.a.ce.

The face was no longer Shasa's but that of Michael Courtney, his father. In her mind the machine was no longer blue and streamlined but had a.s.sumed the gaunt old-fashioned lines, the double deck of wings and wire riggings and the open c.o.c.kpit and daubed yellow paintwork of a wartime scoutplane.

It banked around in a wide circle, appearing once more over the tops of the oaks, and she stood rigid with shock and her soul was riven by a silent scream of anguish as she watched again the shot-riddled yellow scoutplane trying to clear the great beech trees below the chateau of Mort Homme, its engine stuttering and missing.

Michael! She screamed his name in her head and it was like a blinding flash of agony as once again she watched his mortally wounded machine hit the top branches of the tall copper beech and cartwheel, wing over wing as it fell out of the air and struck the earth to collapse in a welter of broken struts and canvas. Again she saw the flames bloom like beautiful poisonous flowers and leap high from the shattered machine, and the dark smoke roll across the lawns towards her, and the body of the man in the open c.o.c.kpit twist and writhe and blacken as the orange flames sucked upwards and the heat danced in gla.s.sy mirage and greasy black smoke and filled her ears with drumming thunder.

Michael! Her jaws were locked closed, her teeth aching at the pressure, and her lips were rimmed with the ice of horror so that the name could not escape from between them.

Then miraculously the image faded, and she saw instead the small blue machine settle sedately onto the green turf of the polo field, its tail dropping onto the skid, the engine beat dwindling to a polite burbling murmur as it swung around at the far end of the field and then taxied back towards the stand, the wings rocking slightly. It stopped below them and the engine cut out with a final hiccough of blue smoke from the exhausts.

The doors on each side of the cabin were flung open and out tumbled Shasa Courtney and his three grinning teammates. It amazed her that they had all crammed into that tiny c.o.c.kpit.

,surprise, everybody! they howled. Surprise! Surprise! And there was laughter and applause and whistles and catcalls from the stand. An aircraft was still a marvelous novelty, able to attract the attention of even such a sophisticated gathering as this. Probably not more than one in five of them had ever flown in one, and this unexpected and noisy arrival had created an excited laughing mood so that the applause and comment was loud and raucous as Shasa led his team up to the prize table to accept the silver cup from General s.m.u.ts.

The pilot of the blue aircraft climbed out of the left-hand door, a stocky bald-headed figure, and Centaine glared at him venomously. She had not known that Jock Murphy included flying among his a.s.sorted accomplishments, but she determined that he would rue this prank. She had always done all she could to discourage Shasals interest in aircraft and flying, but it had been difficult. Shasa kept a photograph of his father in flying gear beside his bed and a replica of the SE5a fighter plane hung from the ceiling of his bedroom; over the last few years his questions about flying and his father's military feats had become more insistent and purposeful. She should have been warned by this, of course, but she had been so preoccupied, and it had never occurred to her that he might take to flying without consulting her.

Looking back, she realized that she had been deliberately ignoring the possibility, deliberately avoiding thinking about it, and now the shock was all the more unpleasant.

With the silver cup in his hands Shasa ended his short acceptance speech with the specific a.s.surance: Finally, ladies and gentlemen, you might have thought that Jock Murphy was flying the Puss-Moth. He was not!

He wasn't even touching the controls, were you? He looked across at the bald-headed instructor, who shook his head in collaboration, 'There you are! Shasa gloated. You see, I have decided that I am going to be a flyer, just like my dad., Centaine did not join in the clapping and laughter.

As suddenly as they had arrived and transformed the life of Weltevreden the hundreds of guests had gone, leaving only the ruined turf of the polo ground, the litter and the mountains of empty champagne bottles and piles Of dirty linen in the laundry. Centaine was left also with a feeling of anticlimax. Her last flourish had been made, the last shot in her a.r.s.enal fired, and on the Sat.u.r.day the mail ship docked in Table Bay and brought them an invited but unwelcome visitor.

d.a.m.n fellow reminds me of an undertaker standing in for a tax collector, Sir Garry buffed and took General s.m.u.ts off to the gunroom which he always used as a study when he visited Weltevreden. The two of them were immersed in the initial consultations for the biography and did not appear again until lunchtime.

The visitor came down to breakfast just as Centaine and Shasa arrived back from their early morning gallop, rosycheeked and starving.

He was examining the hallmarks on the silver cutlery as they entered the dining-room arm in arm through the double doors, laughing at one of Shasa's sallies. However, the mood was instantly shattered, and Centaine bit her lip and sobered when she saw him.

May I introduce my son, Michael Shasa Courtney. Shasa, this is Mr Davenport from London. How do you do, sir. Welcome to Weltevreden. Davenport looked at Shasa with the same appraising stare with which he had been examining the silver.

It means "well satisfied", Shasa explained. From the Dutch, you know, Weltevreden. Mr Davenport is from Sotheby's, Shasa. Centaine filled the awkward pause. He has come to advise me on some of our paintings and furniture. Oh, jolly good, Shasa enthused. 'Have you seen this, sir? Shasa pointed out the landscape in soft oils above the side board. It's my mother's favourite. Painted on the estate where she was born. Mort Homme near Arras. Davenport adjusted his steel-framed spectacles and leaned over the sideboard for a closer view so that his considerable stomach drooped into the salver of fried eggs and left a greasy splotch on his waistcoat.

Signed 1875, he said sombrely. His best period. It's by a chap called Sisley, Shasa volunteered helpfully, Alfred Sisley. He is quite a well-known artist, isn't he, Mater? Cheri, I think Mr Davenport knows who Alfred Sisley is. But Davenport wasn't listening.

We could get five hundred pounds, he muttered, and pulled a notebook from his inner pocket to make an entry.

A fine dusting of dandruff descended from his lank locks at the movement and sprinkled the shoulders of his dark suit.

Five hundred? Centaine demanded unhappily. I paid considerably more than that for it. She poured a cup of coffee, she had never taken to these huge English breakfasts, and carried it to the head of the table.

That is as maybe, Mrs Courtney. We had a better example of his work on auction only last month, "It Ecluded Marly", and it didn't reach the very modest reserve we placed on it.

Buyer's market, I'm afraid, very much a buyer's market. Oh don't worry, sir. Shasa piled eggs onto his plate and crowned them with a wreath of crispy bacon. It's not for sale. My mother would never sell it, would you, Mater? Davenport ignored him and carried his own plate to the vacant seat beside Centaine.

Now, the Van Gogh in the front salon is another matter, he told her as he launched into the smoked kippers with more enthusiasm than he had shown for anything since his arrival. With his mouth full he read from his notebook.

Green and violet wheatfield; furrows lead the eye to golden haloes around the huge orb of the rising sun high in the picture. He closed the book. There is quite a vogue for Van Gogh in America, even in this soft market. Can't tell whether it will last, of course, can't stand him myself, but I will have the picture photographed and send copies to a dozen of our most important clients in the United States. I think we can bank on four to five thousand pounds. Shasa had laid down his knife and fork and was staring from Davenport to his mother with a puzzled and troubled expression.

I think we should talk about this later, Mr Davenport, Centaine intervened hurriedly. I have set aside the rest of the day for you. But let us enjoy our breakfast now., The rest of the meal pa.s.sed in silence, but when Shasa pushed his plate away, half finished, Centaine rose with him. Where are you going, cheri? The stables. The blacksmith is reshoeing two of my ponies. I'll walk down with you. They took the path along the bottom wall of the Huguenot vineyard, where Centaine's best wine grapes were grown, and around the back of the old slave quarters. Both of them were silent, Shasa waiting for her to speak, and Centaine trying to find the words to tell him. Of course, there was no gentle way of saying it and she had delayed too long already.

Her procrastination had only made it more difficult for her now.

At the gate of the stable yard she took his arm and turned him into the plantation. That man, she began, and then broke off and started again. Sotheby's is the foremost firm of auctioneers in the world. They specialize in works of art. I know, he smiled condescendingly. I'm not a complete ignoramus, Mater. She drew him down onto the oak bench that stood at the edge of the spring. Sweet crystal water burbled out of a tiny rocky grotto and splashed down amongst ferns and green moss-covered boulders into the brick-lined pool at their feet.

The trout in the pool, as long and as thick as Shasa's forearm, came nosing up to their feet, swirling hopefully for their feed.

Shasa, cheri. He has come here to sell Weltevreden for us. She said it clearly and loudly, and immediately the enormity of it came down upon her with the brutal force of a falling oak tree, and she sat numb and broken beside him, feeling herself shrinking and shrivelling, giving in at last to despair.

You mean the paintings? Shasa asked carefully.

Not just the paintings, the furniture, the carpets and the silver. She had to stop to draw breath and control the trembring of her lips. The chateau, the estate, your ponies, everything. He was staring at her, unable to comprehend it. He had lived at Weltevreden since he was four years old, as far back as he could remember.

Shasa, we have lost it all. I have tried since the robbery to hold it together. I was not able to do it. It's gone, Shasa.

We are selling Weltevreden to pay off our debts. There will be nothing left after that. Her voice was cracking again, and she touched her lips to still them before she went on. We aren't rich any more, Shasa. It's all gone. We are ruined, completely ruined. She stared at him, waiting for him to revile her, waiting for him to break as she was about to break, but instead he reached for her and after a moment the stiffness went out of her shoulders and she sagged against him and clung to him for comfort.

We are poor, Shasa, and she sensed him struggling to take it all in, trying to find words to express his confused feelings.

You know, Mater, he said at last, I know some poor people. Some of the boys at school, their parents are pretty hard-up, and they don't seem to mind too much. Most of them are jolly good chaps. It might not be too bad, once we get used to being poor., I'll never get used to it, she whispered fiercely. I will hate it, every moment of it.