"carte." soundlessly he mouthed the word, and now his hand was a fist, the knuckles whitened, the tension was so fierce that his fist trembled. yet, still his face was neutral.
the banker flipped his card.
"sept!" the croupier's mouth formed the number. he faced manfred's card, then he swept manfred's stake away.
manfred's hand flopped open and lay soft and hairless as a dead fish on the green baize.
"let us leave him to his pleasures," suggested the host and drew the curtains across the window. they returned to their chairs, and they were strangely subdued.
"jesus," muttered one of the guests. "that was ugly. i felt like a peeping tom, like watching someone, you know, pulling his pudding."
the host glanced at him quickly, surprised at his perception.
"in effect, that is exactly what you were watching," he told him.
"you will excuse me playing the role of lecturer, but i know a little about this man. it cost me nearly four hundred rand for an analytic report on him by one of our leading psychiatrists." the -host pause , assuring himself of their complete attention.
"the reasons are obscure, probably arising from an event or series of events during the period in which doctor steyner was an orphan wandering through the smoking ruins- of war-torn europe." the host coughed, deprecating his own flight of oratory. "be that as it may. the results are there for all to see. doctor manfred kurt steyner's intelligence quotient is a genius rating of 158. he neither smokes nor drinks. he has no hobbies, plays no sport, has never made so much as an improper remark to any woman other than his wife, and there is some doubt as to just how often or to what extent she is favoured by his attentions." the host sipped his drink conscious of their intense interest. "mechanically, if that is the correct term, doctor steyner is neither impotent nor deficient in his manhood. however, he finds all bodily contact, and especially the secretions that may arise from such contact, to be utterly loathsome. for arousal he relies on the baccarat cards, for release he might endure a brief contact with a member of the opposite sex, but more likely he would oh, what was" the expression you used, robert?" they absorbed this in silence.
"he is, to be precise, a compulsive gambler. he is also a compulsive loser." they stirred with disbelief.
"you mean he triv to lose?" demanded robert incredulously.
"no." the host shook his head. "not on the conscious level. he believes he is trying to win, but he lays bets against odds that, with his magnificent brain, he must realize are suicidal. it is a deep-seated subconscious need to lose, to be humiliated. a form of masochism." the host opened a black leather notebook and checked its contents.
"during the period from 1958 to 1963 doctor steyner lost the total sum of r227,000 at this table. in 1964 he was able to arrive at an arrangement with his sole creditor to discharge the debt plus the accumulated interest." you could see the faces change as they rapidly searched their memories for a set of circumstances which would fit the dates and principals. robert reached the correct deduction first. in 1964 their host had sold his majority holdings in the north maun copper co. to crc at a price that could only be considered advantageous. just prior to this doctor steyner had been made head of finance and planning at crc.
"north maun copper," said robert with admiration.
that is how he had done it, the cunning old fox! he had forced steyner to buy well above market value.
the host smiled softly, deferentially, neither confirming nor denying.
"since 1964 to the present doctor steyner has continued to patronize this establishment. his gambling losses for this further period amount to-"
he consulted his notebook again, pretending surprise at the figure, "to a touch over r300,000." they sighed and moved restlessly.
even to these men it was a very large sum of money.
"i think we can rely on him." the host closed his notebook with a snap, and smiled around at them.
theresa lay in the dark. the night was warm, the stillness spoiled only by the kroaking of a frog down at the fishpond. the moonlight came in through the window, playing shadow pictures through the branches of the pride of india tree onto the wall of her bedroom.
she threw back the single sheet, and swung her legs off the bed.
she could not sleep, it was too warm, her nightdress kept binding under her armpits. she stood up and on a sudden reckless impulse she drew the nightdress off over her head and tossed it through the open door of her dressing-room, then, naked, she walked out onto the wide veranda.
into the moonlight, with the cool stone flags under her bare feet, and the warm night air moving like the touch of fairy hands on her skin.
she felt suddenly devilish and daring, she wanted to run down across the lawns and to have someone catch her doing it. she giggled, uncertain of this mood. it was so far removed from manfred's conception of a good german hausfrau's behaviour.
"he'd be furious," she whispered with wicked delight, and then she heard the motor of the car.
she froze with horror, the headlights flicked through the trees as the car came up the driveway and she darted back into her room; in panic she dropped to her knees and searched for her nightgown, found it and ran to the bed as she dragged it on over her head.
she lay in the darkness and listened to the car door slam. there was silence-until she heard him pass her door.
his heels cracked on the yellow wood floor, he was almost running.
theresa knew the symptoms, the late night return, the suppressed urgency, and she lay rigid in her bed, waiting.
the minutes passed slowly, and then the inter leading door from manfred's suite swung open silently.
"manfred, is that you?" she sat up and reached for the switch of the bedside lamp.
"don't put the light on." his voice was breathless, slurred as though he had been drinking but there was no trace of liquor on his breath as he stooped over her and kissed her.
his lips were dry and tightly closed, as he slipped off his dressing-gown.
two and a half minutes later he stood up from the bed turning his back to theresa as he quickly shrugged into the silk dressing-gown.
"excuse me a minute, theresa." the breathlessness was gone from his voice. he went through the door of his own suite, and seconds later she heard the hiss of the shower and the tinkling splash of water.
she lay on her back and her fingernails cut into the palms of her hands. her body was trembling with a mixture of revulsion and desire, it had been so fleeting a contact enough to stir her, but so swift as to leave her with a feeling of having been used and sullied. she knew that the rest of the night would pass infinitely slowly, with restless burning tension, remorse and self-pity alternating with wild elation and half-crazed erotic fantasy.
"damn him," she screamed silently within her skull.
"damn him! damn him!" she heard the shower stop, and then manfred returned to her room. he smelt of 4711 eau de cologne, and he sat down carefully on the end of the bed.
"you may turn on the light, theresa." it required a conscious effort for her to unclench her hand and reach out for the lamp switch.
manfred blinked behind his spectacles at the flood of light. his hair was damp and freshly combed, his cheeks shone like ripe apples.
"i hope you had an enjoyable day?" he asked, and listened seriously to her reply. despite her tension, theresa found herself falling under the almost hypnotic influence he wielded over her. his voice precise, almost monotonous.
the glitter of his spectacles, the reptilian stillness of his body and features.
as she had so many times before, she thought of herself as a warm fluffy rabbit sitting tense and fascinated before the cobra.
"it is late," he said at last and he stood up.
looking down at her as she lay cuddled into the white silk sheets, he asked with as little emphasis as if he were requesting her to pass the sugar. "theresa, could you raise three hundred thousand rand without your grandfather knowing?"
"three hu
ndred thousand!" she sat up startled.
"yes. could you?"
"good lord, manfred, that's a small fortune."
she truly saw nothing unusual in her choice of adjective. "you know it's all in the trust fund, well, most of it. there is the farm and the no, i couldn't find half of that without pops knowing."
"pity murmured manfred.
"manfred, you aren't in difficulties?"
"no. good lord, no. it was just a thought. forget that i asked. good night, theresa, i hope you sleep well." involuntarily she lifted her hands towards him in invitation.
"good night, manfred." he turned and left the room, she let her hands fall to her sides. for theresa steyner the long night had begun.
ladies and gentlemen, it is customary for the general manager to introduce the distinguished guest who presents our special service a " wards. last week, in tragic circumstances, our general manager, mr.
frank lemmer, was killed in the company's service, a loss which we all bitterly regret, and i am sure you all join me in sincere condolence -to mrs. eileen lemmer." rod paused for the acknowledging murmur from his audience. there were 200 of them packed into the mine club hall.
"it falls upon me, therefore, as acting general manager, to introduce to you doctor manfred steyner who is a senior director of central rand consolidated, our parent company. he is also head of the departments of finance and planning." sitting beside her husband, theresa steyner had noticed manfred's irritation at rod's mention of frank lemmer. it was company policy not to draw public attention to accidental death or injury inflicted on employees by the company's operation. she liked rod the better for his small tribute to frank lemmer.
theresa was wearing sunglasses, for her eyes were swollen and red.
in the dawning, after a sleepless night, she had succumbed suddenly to a fit of bitter weeping. the tears were without cause, or reason, and had left her feeling strangely lighthearted and with a brittle sense of well-being.
however, her enormous eyes always showed up badly for hours after she had wept.
she sat with her legs demurely crossed, immaculate in a suit of cream shantung, a black silk scarf catching her hair and then letting it fall in a dark glossy brown cascade onto her shoulders. she leaned forward in polite attention to the speaker, one elbow on her knee, her chin cupped in her palm, one long tapered finger against her cheek. a lady with diamonds on her fingers and pearls at her throat, smiling an acknowledgement at rod's reference to "the lovely granddaughter of our chairman'.
except for the slight incongruity of the sunglasses, she was the perfect image of the young matron. polished, poised, cosseted, secure in her unassailable virtue and duty.
however, the thoughts that were running through theresa steyner's head, and the flutterings and sensations that were prickling and tickling her, had they been known, would have broken up the assembly in disorder. all the formless fantasy and emotional disturbance of the previous night were now directed at one target rodney ironsides.
suddenly, with a start of amusement and alarm, she was aware of a phenomenon that she had last experienced many years ago. she moved quickly, shifting her seat, for the cream shantung marked so easily with any moisture.
"terry steyner!" she thought, deliciously shocked at herself, and found with relief that rod had finished speaking and manfred was standing up to reply. she joined in the applause enthusiastically to distract her errant fancy.
manfred briefly mentioned the six gentlemen sitting in the front row of seats whose courage and devotion to duty they had come to honour, he then went on into an exploration of the prospects of an increase in the price of gold. in measured, carefully considered terms, he set out the advantages and benefits that would accrue to the industry, the nation and the world at large. it was an erudite and convincing dissertation, and there was a large contingent of newspaper men to record it. the press had been alerted by the public relations department of crc to the text of doctor steyner's speech and all the leading dailies, weeklies, financial gazettes and journals were represented.
at intervals a photographer would come to crouch below the platform and pop a flash bulb up at doctor steyner. on the eve of the gold price talks with france this would make good copy, for steyner was the boy genius in the south african team.
the six heroes sat uncomfortably, forlorn in their best suits, scrubbed like schoolboys at a prize-giving ceremony, staring up at the speaker, not understanding a single word of the foreign language, but maintaining expressions of grave dignity.
rod caught big king's eye and winked at him. solemnly " big king's right eyelid -drooped and rose in reply, and quickly rod averted his gaze to prevent himself laughing out loud.
he looked straight into theresa steyner's face, taking her completely off her guard. not even the dark glasses could conceal her thoughts, they were as clear as if she had spoken them aloud. before she could drop her eyes to examine the hem of her skirt, rod knew with a stomach swoop of excitement how it could be if he chose.
with a new awareness he examined her from the corner of his eye, seeing her for the first time as an accessible woman, a highly desirable woman, but nevertheless still the granddaughter of hurry hirschfeld and the wife of manfred steyner. this made her as dangerous as a force ten pressure burst, he knew, but the desire and temptation were hard to deny, inflamed perhaps rather than dampened by the danger.
he saw that she was blushing now, her fingers picking nervously at the hem of her skirt. she was as agitated as a schoolgirl, she knew he was watching her. rod ironsides, who until five minutes before had been thinking of nothing but his speech, now found himself impelled into a completely new and exciting dimension.
after the awards had been made, tea had been drunk, biscuits consumed and the crowd had dispersed, rod escorted the steyners down across the vivid green lawns of kikuyu grass to where the chauffeur was holding the daimler.
"what a magnificent physique that shangaan has, what was his name king?" terry was walking between the two men.
"king nkulu. big king, we call him." rod found his speech unsteady, he had stuttered slightly.
this thing between the two of them was suddenly overpowering, it hummed like a turbine, making the space between them crackle with tension.
unless he was deaf, manfred steyner must be aware of it.
"he is pretty special. there is nothing he can't do, and do it far and away better than his nearest rival. my god, you should see him dance."
"dance?" enquired terry with interest.
tribal dancing, you know."
"of course." terry hoped the relief in her voice was not obvious; she had been racking her badly flustered brain for an excuse to visit the sander ditch again or have rod ironsides come to johannesburg. "i have a friend who is absolutely mad keen on seeing the dances. she pesters me every time i see her." quickly she selected a name from her list of friends, she must have one ready should manfred ask.
"they dance every saturday afternoon, bring her out any time." rod fielded the ball neatly.
"what about this saturday?" terry turned to her husband, "would that be all right, manfred?"
"what's that?" manfred looked at her vaguely, he had not been following the conversation. manfred steyner was a worried man, he was pondering his obligation to gain control of the management of the sander ditch within two days.
"may we come out here on saturday afternoon to watch the tribal dancing?" terry repeated her question.
"have you forgotten that i fly to paris on saturday morning, theresa?"
"oh, dear." terry bit her lip thoughtfully. "it had slipped my mind.
what a pity, i would have enjoyed it." manfred frowned slightly, irritated.
"my dear theresa, there is no reason why you shouldn't come out to the sander ditch without me. i am sure you will be safe enough in mr.
ironsides" hands." his choice of words brought the colour to terry's cheeks again.
after the award ceremony, big king's first st
op was the recruiting agency office at the entrance to the no.1 shaft hostel. there were men clustered about the counter, but they stood aside for big king and he acknowledged the courtesy by slapping their backs indiscriminately and greeting them with: "kunjane, madoda. how is it, men?" the clerk behind the counter hurried to serve him. up at the mine club big king might be a little out of his depth, but here he was treated like a reigning monarch.
in two neat bundles big king placed the award money on the counter.
twenty-five rand you will send to my senior wife." he instructed the clerk. "and twenty-five rand you will put to my book." big king was scrupulously fair. half of all his earnings was remitted to the senior of his four wives, and half was added to the substantial sum already credited in his savings bank passbook.
Wilbur Smith - Gold Mine Page 8