by Wilbur Smith
'Is that all?" he asked. 'Are you sure?" 'Unless you can think of anything else we should discuss." He shook his head. 'Shall we shake hands on it - and open a bottle of the Widow?" She smiled at him over the rim of her glass to conceal what she truly felt for him and his world, and She made a vow as she sipped the tingling yellow wine.
'You will pay, Shasa Courtney, you will pay for your bargain much more than you ever dreamed." For over a decade Tara had been the mistress of Weltevreden, so there was nothing difficult or alien in taking up that role again, except that now more than ever she felt that she was acting a part in a tedious and unconvincing play.
There were some differences, however. The guest list had altered subtly, and now included most of the top Nationalist politicians and party organizers, and more often than before the conversation at the dinner-table was in Afrikaans rather than English. Tara's knowledge of Afrikaans was adequate, it was after all a very simple language with a grammar so uncomplicated that the verbs were not even conjugated and much of the vocabulary was taken directly from English. However, she had some difficulty with the guttural inflections, and most of the time smiled sweetly and remained silent. She found that by doing so her presence was soon overlooked and she heard much more than she would have had she joined in the conversation.
A frequent visitor to Weltevreden now was the minister of police, Manfred De La Rey, and Tara found it ironical that she was expected to feed and entertain the one man who to her epitomized all that was evil and cruel in the oppressive regime that she hated with all her being. It was like sitting down to a meal with a man-eating leopard, even his eyes were pale and cruel as those of a great predatory cat.
Strangely, she found that despite her loathing, the man fascinated her. It surprised her to find, once she had got over the initial shock of his presence, that he had a fine brain. Of course it was common knowledge that he had been a brilliant student in the law faculty of Stellenbosch University, and before standing for parliament, he had built up a highly successful law practice in his own right. She knew also that no man who was not essentially brilliant was included in the Nationalist cabinet, yet his intelligence was sinister and ominous.
She found herself listening to the most heinous concepts expressed with such logic and eloquent conviction that she had to shake herself out of his mesmeric influence, like a bird trying to break the spell of the cobra's swaying dance.
Manfred De La Rey's relationship to the Courtney family was another enigma to her. It was part of family lore how his father had robbed the H'am Mine of a million pounds of diamonds, and how Blaine, her own father, and Centaine, before she was Blaine's wife, had pursued him into the desert and after a fierce battle captured him. Manfred's father had served fifteen years of a life sentence before being released under the amnesty that the Nationalists had granted to so many Afrikaner prisoners when they came to power in 1948.
The two families should have been bitter enemies, and indeed Tara detected definite traces of that hatred in the occasional tone of a remark and unguarded look that Manfred De La Rey and Shasa directed at each other, and there was a peculiarly brittle and artificial quality to the overtly friendly facade they showed, as though at any moment it might be stripped away and they would fly at each other's throats like fighting dogs.
On the other hand, Tara knew that Manfred was the one who had enticed Shasa into forsaking the ailing United Party and joining the Nationalists with the promise of ministerial rank, and that Shasa had made the De La Reys, father and son, major shareholders and directors in the new fish canning company at Walvis Bay, a company which looked set to turn half a million pounds of profit in its very first year of operation.
The mystery of their relationship was made even more intriguing by Centaine. On the second occasion that Shasa invited Manfred De La Rey and his wife to dine at Weltevreden, Centaine had telephoned her a few days beforehand, and asked her bluntly if she and Blaine might join the party.
Although Tara had determined to see as little of Centaine as possible, and to do all in her power to reduce Centaine's influence over the children and the general running of the estate, Tara had been so taken aback by the direct request that she had not been able to think of an excuse.
'Of course, Mater,' she had agreed with false enthusiasm. 'I would have invited you and Daddy anyway, but I thought you might have found the evening tedious, and I know Daddy cannot abide De La Rey --' 'Whatever gave you that idea, Tara?" Centaine asked tartly. 'They are on opposite sides of the house, but Blaine has a healthy respect for De La Rey, and he concedes that De La Rey certainly handled the troubles firmly enough. His police did a magnificent job in clamping down on the ringleaders and preventing serious disruptions and further loss of life." Furious words filled Tara's mouth and she wanted to hurl them her mother-in-law, but she gritted her teeth and took a deep breatl before she said sweetly, 'Well then, Mater, both Shasa and I will 1: looking forward to Friday night. Half past seven for eight, an naturally the men will be wearing black tie." 'Naturally,' said Centaine.
It had been a surprisingly mellow evening, when the explosiv elements seated around the same table were considered, but it was strict rule of Shasa's that shop party politics were never discussed i] Weltevreden's palatial dining-room. The men's conversation range from the projected All Blacks rugby tour to the recent anglin capture of a six hundred pound blue fin tunny in False Bay, the firs of its kind. Manfred De La Rey and Blaine were both keen angler and were excited by the prospect of such a magnificent prize.
Centaine was unusually quiet during the meal. Tara had placed he: beside Manfred, but she listened attentively to everything that hid said and when they went through to the blue drawing-room at th end of the meal, she stayed close to Manfred, and the two of then were soon oblivious of everyone else, lost in rapt but low-voicec discussion.
Manfred's statuesque blond German wife, Heidi, had failed to enthral Tara with a long-winded complaint about the laziness and dishonesty of her coloured servants, and Tara escaped as soon as she could and took another cognac to her father on the long blue velvet sofa, and then settled beside him.
'Centaine says that you admire De La Rey,' she said quietly, and they both looked across at the other couple on the far side of the room.
'He's a formidable piece of work,' Blaine grunted. 'Hard as iron and sharp as an axe. Do you know even his own colleagues call him "Panga Man"?" 'Why does he fascinate Centaine so much? She rang me and demanded an invitation when she knew he would be here. She seems to have some sort of obsession with him. Why is that, Daddy, do you know?" Blaine dropped his eyes and considered the firm grey ash on his cigar. What could he tell her? he wondered. He was one of probably only four people in the world who knew Manfred De La Rey was Centaine's bastard son. He remembered his own shock and horror when she had told him. Not even Shasa knew that he and Manfred were half-brothers, though Manfred knew, of course. Centaine had told him, when she used it as blackmail to prevent Manfred destroying Shasa's political career back in 1948.
It was all so complicated, and Blaine found himself disturbed as he had been so oen over the years by the echoes of Centaine's follies and indiscretions before he had met her. Then he smiled ruefully. She was still a fiery and impetuous woman, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.
'I think she is interested in anything that affects Shasa's career.
It's only natural she should be, De La Rey is Shasa's sponsor. It's as simple as that, my dear." 'Yes, De La Rey is his sponsor,' Tara agreed. 'But what do you think, Daddy, about Shasa's turn of political coats?" Despite her resolution to remain calm, she had raised her voice in agitation, and Shasa, who was in intimate conversation with the French ambassador's chic and bold-eyed young second wife, heard his name across the room and glanced up in her direction. Tara dropped her voice quickly.
'What do you think of it, Daddy? Weren't you simply appalled?" 'I was at first,' Blaine admitted. 'But then I discussed it with Centaine and Shasa came to see me. We
thrashed it out between us, and I had my say - but in the end I came to see his point of view. I don't agree with it, but I respect it. He believes that he can do the greatest good --' Tara heard her own father repeating all Shasa's trite and glib justifications and the sense of outrage overwhelmed her all over again.
She found herself trembling with suppressed passion, and she wanted to scream out at them, Shasa and Centaine and her own father, but then she thought of Moses and the struggle and with an effort she was able to retain her self-control.
'I must remember everything,' she told herself. 'Everything that they say or do. Even the smallest detail might be of inestimable value to the struggle." So, faithfully she reported it all to Molly Broadhurst. She slipped away from Weltevreden at least once a week on the pretence of visiting her dressmaker or her hairdresser. She and Molly met only after Tara had taken elaborate precautions to make sure she was not followed. Her instructions were to cut all her left-wing connections and to refrain at all times from political or socialistic comments in the presence of others. Molly was her only contact with the real world of the struggle, and she treasured every minute of their time together.
Miriam Afrika was always able to bring the baby to be with her during these interludes, and Tara held him in her arms and fed him his bottle as she made her report to Molly. Everything about little Benjamin fascinated her from the tight curls of crisp black hair that covered his scalp, through the exquisite softness and colour shading of his skin - honey and old ivory - down to the soles of his tiny feet which were the palest, clearest, coral pink.
Then on one of her visits Molly had another letter for her froJ Moses, and even the joy of holding baby Benjamin paled beside th of those written words.
The letter had been written in Addis Ababa, the capital Ethiopia. Moses was there to address a meeting of the heads of tl black African states at the express invitation of the Emperor Hail Selassie, and he described to her the warm welcome that he had bee given, and the offers of support, moral, financial and military, the had been pledged to the struggle in Anzania - that was the new nam for South Africa. It was the first time she had heard it, and when sh repeated it aloud, the sound of it stirred a deep patriotic response i: her that she had never felt before. She read the rest of Moses' lettel From here I will travel on to Algeria, where I will meet with Colone Boumedienne, who is at this moment struggling against French imperialisrr and whose great valour will surely bring freedom and happiness to hi tragically oppressed land.
After that I will fly to New York, and it seems certain that I will b allowed to put our case to the General Assembly of the United Nations. AI this is exciting, but I have even better news that affects you and our hah' Benjamin.
If you continue the important work you are doing for the cause, ou powerful friends are determined to give you a special reward. Some day th, three of us - you and me and Benjamin - will be together in London.
Z cannot tell you how greatly I look forward to holding my son and to greetinl you again.
! will write to you as soon as I have more definite news. In the meantime I entreat you to continue your valuable work for the cause, in particulal you should make every effort to see that your husband is elected to the government front benches at the elections next month. This will make youl position and value to the struggle unique.
For days after receiving this letter Tara's mood was so light and gay that both Shasa and Centaine remarked on it, and took it as a sign that she had finally accepted'her responsibilities as the mistress of Weltevreden, and was prepared to honour the agreement that she had made with Shasa.
When the prime minister announced the date of the general election, the country was immediately seized by the peculiar frenzy of excitement and intrigue which accompanies all major political activity in South Africa and the newspapers began their strident and partisan pronouncements.
Shasa's resignation from the United Party and his nomination as the Nationalist candidate for the-constituency of South Boland was one of the highlights of the campaign. The English press castigated him, branding him a coward and a traitor, while the Burger and the Transvalet, those stalwarts of the Nationalist cause, hailed him as a far-seeing man of the future and looked forward to the day when all white South Africans, albeit under the firm hand of the National Party, marched shoulder to shoulder towards the golden republic which was the dream of all true South African patriots.
Kitty Godolphin had flown back from New York to cover the elections and to up-date her famous 'Focus on Africa' series that had won her another Emmy and had made her one of the highest paid of the new generation of young, pretty and waspish television commentators.
Shasa's political defection was the headline story when she landed at Jan Smuts airport, and she telephoned him from the airport on his private line and got him in his office just as the board meeting he had been chairing broke up, and he was about to leave Centaine House to fly up to the H'am Mine for his monthly inspection. 'Hi!" she said gaily.
'It's me." 'You bitch." He recognized her voice instantly. 'After what you did to me, I should kick your bottom, wearing hobnailed boots and taking a full swing, at that." 'Oh, did you see it? Wasn't it good? I thought I captured you perfectly." 'Yes, I saw it last month on BBC while I was in London. You made me look like a cross between Captain Bligh and Simon Legree, although more pompous than either and a lot less lovable." 'That's what I said - I got you perfectly." 'I don't know why I am talking to you,' he chuckled despite himself.
'Because you are lusting after my miraculously beautiful body,' she suggested.
'I'd be wiser to make advances to a nest of hornets." 'We aren't talking wisdom here, buddy boy, we are talking lust.
The two are not compatible." And Shasa had a poignant vision of her slim body and her perfect little breasts, and he felt slightly breathless.
'Where are you?" he asked.
'Johannesburg airport." .
What are you doing this evening? He made a qmck calculation.
He could postpone the H'am Mine inspection, and it was four hours' flying time to Johannesburg in the Mosquito.
'I'm open to suggestions,' she told him, 'as long as the suggestions include an exclusive interview for NABS on yofir change of political status and your view of the up-coming elections and what they mean to the ordinary people of this country." 'I should know better,' he said. 'But I'll be there in five hours.
Don't go away." Shasa placed the receiver back on its cradle and stood for a moment wondering at himself. His change of plans would throw the entire company into consternation, for he had a tight schedule laid out for the weeks ahead, including the opening of his election campaign, but the woman had woven some sort of spell around him.
Like a malignant sprite her memory had danced at the edge of his mind all these months, and now the thought of being with her filled him with that quivering expectation he had not known since he was a lad embarking on his very first sexual explorations.
The Mosquito was fuelled and parked on the hardstand ready for the flight to H'am Mine. It took him ten minutes to calculate his new flight plan and file it with air traffic control and then he climbed up into the cockpit and, grinning like a schoolboy playing hookey, he cranked the Rolls Royce Merlin engines.
It was dusk when he landed, but a company car was waiting for him and he drove directly to the Carlton Hotel in the centre of Johannesburg. Kitty was in the lobby as he came in through the revolving doors. She was fresh-faced as a teenager, long-legged and narrow-hipped in blue jeans, and she came to him with childlike enthusiasm and wrapped both arms around his neck to kiss him. Strangers in the lobby must have imagined Shasa was a father greeting his ú schoolgirl daughter, and they smiled indulgently.
'They let us into your suite,' she told him as she led him towards the elevator, skipping beside him to keep pace and hugging his arm in a pantomime of adoration. 'Hank had got his camera and lights set up already." 'You aren't even giving me time to visit the heads,' Shasa
protested, and she pulled a wry face.
'Let's get it over and done. Tfien we'll have more time for whatever you want to do afterwards." She gave him a devilish grin, and he wagged his head in reluctant acquiescence.
It was deliberate, of course. Kitty was too professional to give him time to pull himself together and concentrate his mind. It was part of her technique to get her subject off-balance, while on the other hand, she had been carefully preparing her own notes and questions during the five hours since they had spoken on the telephone.
She had rearranged the furniture in his suite, making one corner into an intimate nook and Hank had lit it and was standing by with his A rriflex. Shasa shook hands with him and exchanged a friendly greeting while Kitty poured him a massive whisky from the liquor cabinet.
'Take your jacket off,' she instructed as she handed it to him. 'I want you relaxed and casual. 'She led him to the two facing chairs and while he sipped his whisky she lulled him with an amusing account of the flight out which had been delayed by bad weather in London for eight hours. Then Hank gave her the signal and she said sweetly: 'Shasa Courtney, since the turn of this century your family has been a traditional ally of General Smuts. He was a personal friend of your grandfather, and your mother. He was a frequent guest in your house, and sponsored your own entry into the political arena. Now you have turned your back on the United Party which he led, and have deserted the fundamental principles of decency and fair play towards the coloured citizens of this country which were so much a part of General Smuts' philosophy. You have been called a deserter and a turncoat - and worse. Do you think that is a fair description, and if not, why not?" The attack was so swift and savage that for a moment it checked him, but he had known what to expect, and he grinned. He knew he was going to enjoy this.
'General Smuts was a great man, but not quite as saintly towards the natives as you suppose. In all the time he was in power, their political status remained unchanged, and when they stepped out of line, he did not hesitate before sending in the troops and giving them a whiff of grape. Have you ever heard of the Bondelswart rebellion and the Bulhoek massacre?" 'You are suggesting that Smuts also oppressed the native people of this country?" 'No more than a strict headmaster oppresses his children. In the main, he never seriously addressed himself to the coloured question.