by Wilbur Smith
The twisted barley sugar chimney-pots huddled in uneasy alliance with crenellated buttresses and towers of stonework. Beyond it, stretching to the horizon, were waving fields of green sugar cane that moved in the light wind like the surface of a summer sea.
And over there is Lion Kop. Garry turned to point to the west, where the escarpment made a stately sweep, forming a heavily forested amphitheatre around the town of Ladyburg. That's Sean's land, all of it from my boundary. There!
Right as far as you can see. Between us, we own the whole escarpment. That's the homestead of Lion Kop, you can just make out the roof through the trees."It's so beautiful, Centaine breathed. Oh look, there are mountains beyond, with snow on the peaksrThe Drakensberg Mountains, a hundred miles away."And that? Centaine pointed over the roofs of the town, over the complex of sugar refinery and lumber mills, to an elegant white mansion on the slope of the valley. is that Courtney land also? Yes. Garry's expression changed. Dirk Courtney, Sean's son. I didn't know that General Courtney had a son."Sometimes he wishes he did not, Garry murmured, and then briskly, before she could pursue it, Come along everybody, it's almost lunchtime, and if we are in luck and the postman has delivered my cable, the servants will be expecting us. How many gardeners do you keep, Mijnheer? Anna asked, as the Fiat puttered up Theuniskraal's long twisting driveway, and Anna surveyed the confusion of vegetation with a disapproving frown. Four, I think, or maybe five. Well, Mijnheer, you are not getting your money's worth, Anna told him severely, and Centaine smiled at the certainty that from now on the unsuspecting bevy of gardeners would be earning every sou. of their wages. Then her attention was diverted.
Oh, look! She stood up impulsively and gripped the front seat, holding on to her hat with the other hand. On the far side of the white-painted fence that ran beside the driveway, a troop of yearlings took mock alarm at the clattering Fiat and fled across the lush green kikuyu grass paddock, manes streaming, hooves flying and glossy hides flashing in the sunlight.
One of your duties, my dear, will be to see that the horses are kept in exercise. Garry twisted round in the driver's seat to smile at her. And we will have to pick out a pony for young Michel here."He is not yet two years old, Anna intervened. Never too young, Mevrou. Garry transferred the smile to her, and it changed to a lascivious leer. Or too old! Although her frown stayed firmly in place, Anna could not prevent the softening of her eyes before she turned her face away from him. Ah, good! The servants are expecting us after alP Garry exclaimed, and braked the Fiat to a halt before the double teak front doors. The servants stepped forward in order of seniority to be introduced, beginning with the Zulu chef in his tall white hat and ending with the grooms and the gardeners and stable boys, all of them clapping their hands respectfully and beaming with white teeth so that Shasa leaped in Centaine's arms and let out an excited shout. Ah, Bayete, the chef laughed, as he gave Shasa the royal salute, all hail, little chieftain, and may you grow as strong and straight as your father! They went into Theuniskraal, and Garry led them proudly through the cavernous rooms in their genteel disarray. Though Anna ran her finger over every object that came in range and scowled at the dust that came off on it, yet from the long baronial dinning-room with hunting trophies decorating the walls to the library with more expensive but dusty volumes stacked on the desk and the floor than on the shelves, the homestead of Theuniskraal possessed a benign and friendly atmosphere.
Centaine felt at home almost immediately. Oh, it will be so good to have young people here again, and pretty girls, and a small boy. Garry put it into words, The old place so needs livening up."And a little cleaning up won't hurt it either, growled Anna, but Garry was dashing up the central stair case, sprightly as a lad with excitement.
Come along, let me show you your rooms The room Garry had selected for Anna was beside his own suite, and although the significance of this was lost on Centaine, Anna lowered her eyes and looked like a demure bulldog as she noticed that a discreet door connected with Garry's dressing-room. This will be your room, my dear. Garry led Centaine along the upper gallery and ushered her into a huge sunny room with french doors opening on to a wide terrace that overlooked the gardens. It's lovely. Centaine clapped her hands with delight and ran out on to the terrace. Of course it needs redecorating, but you must choose your own colours and carpets and curtains, now, come alon, let's look at young Michel's room.
As Garry opened the door across the gallery facing Centaine's room, his mood changed dramatically, and as she stepped into the room, Centaine realized the reason.
Michael's presence was everywhere. From the framed photographs on the walls he smiled down at her; Michael in rugby football togs standing arms folded across his chest with fourteen other grinning young men, Michael in white cricket flannels with bat in hand, Michael with a shotgun and a brace of pheasant, and the shock drained the blood from Centaine's face. I thought it would be appropriate for Michel to have his father's room, Garry murmured apologetically. Of course, my dear, if you don't agree, there are fifteen other rooms to choose from. Slowly Centaine looked around her at the shotguns in their racks, and the fishing-rods and cricket-bats standing in the corner, at the books on the shelves above the writing-desk, at the oilskins and tweed jackets hanging from their pegs.
yes, she nodded. This will be Shasa's room, and we'll keep it just as it is.
Oh, good! Garry nodded happily. I'm so glad you agree.
And he bustled out into the gallery, shouting orders at the servants in Zulu.
Centaine moved slowly around the room, touching the bed on which Michael had slept, stopping to press a fold of the rough tweed jacket against her cheek and imagining she could smell that special clean odour of his body upon the cloth, moving on to his desk and tracing with her fingertips his initials MC carved in the oaken top, lifting down a copy of Jock of the Bushveld from the shelf and opening it at the fly leaf: This book was stolen from Michael Courtney. She closed the book and turned back to the door.
There was a mild commotion in the passageway, and bustled back directing two of the Zulu servants Garry who were staggering under the weight of a child's cot. Its high sliding sides and massive mahogany construction would have caged a full-grown lion.
This was Michael's, I think it should hold his son, what do you think, my dear? Before Centaine could answer, the telephone rang demandingly in the hall downstairs.
Show them where to put it, my dear, Garry called as he dashed out again. He was gone for almost half an hour, and Centaine heard the telephone jangling at irregular intervals. When Garry came rushing in again, he was bubbling over.
Damned telephone just won't stop. Everybody wants to meet you, my dear. You are a very famous lady.
Another ruddy journalist wants to interview you-'I hope you told them "no", Papa. It seemed that in the last two months every journalist in the Union had requested an interview. The story of the lost girl rescued from the African wilds with her infant had, for the moment, captivated the fickle interest of every newspaper editor from Johannesburg and Sydney to London and New York.
I sent him packing, Garry assured her. But there is someone else very eager to see you again. Who is it? My brother, General Courtney, he and his wife have come up from their home in Durban to their other home in Lion Kop. They want us to go across to have luncheon and spend the day with them tomorrow. I accepted on your behalf. I hope I did the right thing? Oh, yes, oh, indeed yes!
Anna refused to accompany them to the luncheon at Lion Kop.
There is too much that needs doing here! she declared.
The servants of Theuniskraal had already given her the name Checha'- Hurry Up! the first word of the Zulu language Anna had learned, and all of them had conceived for her a wary and growing respect.
So Garry and Centaine drove up the escarpment with Shasa on the seat between them and as they pulled up before the sprawling homestead of Lion Kop with its lovely thatched roof, the familiar burly, bearded figure came limping swiftly down the front stairs to t
ake both of Centaine's hands in his.
It's like having you back from the dead, Sean Courtney said softly. Words cannot express what I feel. Then he turned to take Shasa from Garry's arms. So this is Michael's son! Shasa crowed with delight, grabbed a double handful of the general's beard and attempted to pull it out by the roots.
Ruth Courtney, Sean's wife, in that period of her life beyond forty years of age and below fifty when a magnificent woman reaches the zenith of her beauty and elegance, kissed Centaine's cheek and told her gently, Michael was a very special person to us, and you will take his place in our hearts. Waiting behind her was a young woman, and Centaine recognized her immediately from the framed photograph that the general had kept with him in France. Storm Courtney was even more beautiful than her photograph, with a skin like a rose petal and her mother's glowing Jewish eyes, but there was a pout to her lovely mouth and the petulant expression of a child indulged to the highest degree of discontent. She greeted Centaine in French.
Comment vas-tu, cherie? Her accent was atrocious.
They looked into each other's eyes and their dislike was strong, mutual and clearly acknowledged by both of them.
Beside Storm was a tall, slim young man with a serious mien and gentle eyes. Mark Anders was the general's private secretary, and Centaine liked him as instinctively as she had disliked the girl.
General Sean Courtney took Centaine on one arm and his wife on the other and led them into the homestead of Lion Kop.
Though the two houses were separated by only a few miles, they could have been worlds apart. The yellow wood floor of Lion Kop gleamed with wax, the paintings were in light cheerful colours, Centaine recognized a whimsical Tahitian scene by Paul Gauguin, and everywhere there were great bowls of fresh flowers.
If you'll excuse Garry and myself for a few minutes, ladies, we'll leave young Mark here to entertain you.
Sean led his brother away to his study while his secretary poured each of the ladies a cordial.
I was in France with the general, Mark told Centaine, as he brought her glass to her, and I know your village of Mort Homme quite well. We were billeted there while waiting to go up the line. Oh, how wonderful to have a memory of my home! Centaine cried, and impulsively touched his arm, and from across the drawing-room Storm Courtney, who was curled with an elaborately languid air on the silk-covered sofa, shot Centaine a look of such undiluted venom as to make her exult silently.
Alors, cherie! So that is the way it is! And she turned back to Mark Anders and looked up into his eyes and exaggerated her throaty French accent.
Do you perhaps recall the chAteau, beyond the church to the north of the village? she asked, making the question sound like an invitation to forbidden delights, but Ruth Courtney intuitively caught the whiff of gunpowder in the air and intervened smoothly.
Now, Centaine, come and sit by me, she ordered. I want to hear all about your incredible adventures. So Centaine repeated, for the fiftieth time since her rescue, her carefully edited version of the torpedoing and her subsequent wanderings in the desert.
Extraordinary! Mark Anders interjected at one stage. I have often admired the Bushman paintings in the caves of the Drakensberg; Mountains, some of them are really quite beautiful, but I did not realize that there were still wild Bushmen in existence. They were hunted out of these mountains sixty years ago, dangerous and treacherous little blighters by all accounts, and I understood that they had all been exterminated. on the silk sofa Storm Courtney shuddered theatrically. I just can't think how you could bear to let one of those little yellow monsters touch you, cherie. I know I would have simply expired! Bien ser, cherie, and you would not have enjoyed eating live lizards and locusts either? Centaine asked sweetly, and Storm paled.
Sean Courtney stumped back into the drawing-room and interrupted them. Well, now, it's good to see how already you are one of the family, Centaine. I know that you and Storm are going to be great chums, what? Indubitably, Pater, Storm murmured and Centaine laughed.
She is so sweet, your Storm, I love her already. Centaine chose.
unerringly the one adjective sweet that brought forth a blooming of furious roses in Storm's perfect cheeks.
Good! Good! Is the lunch ready, my love? and Ruth rose to take Sean's arm and lead them all out on to the patio where the table was set under a canopy of jacaranda.
The very air seemed coloured purple and green by the sunlight through the blossom-laden boughs, and they might have been in an underwater grotto.
The Zulu servants, who had been hovering expectantly, at a nod from Sean bore Shasa away like a prince to the kitchens. His pleasure in their smiling black faces was as obvious as their delight in him.
They'll spoil him, if you let them, Ruth warned Centaine. Only one thing a Zulu loves better than his cattle, and that's a boy child. Now, will you sit next to the general, my dear? During the luncheon Sean made Centaine the complete centre of attention, while Storm tried to look aloof and bored at the end of the table.
Now, my dear, I want to hear all about it. Oh God, Pater, we've just been over it all. Storm rolled her eyes.
Language, girl, Sean warned her, and then to Centaine, Begin on the last day I saw you, and don't leave anything out, do you hear? Not a single thing! Throughout the meal Garry was withdrawn and silent, in contrast to his ebullient mood of the last weeks, and after the coffee he stood up quickly when Sean said, Well, everybody, you must excuse us for a few minutes. Garry and I are taking Centaine off for a little chat. The general's study was panelled in mahogany, the books on the shelves were bound in maroon calf, while the chairs were upholstered in buttoned brown leather.
There were oriental carpets on the floor and an exquisite little bronze by Anton Van Wouw on the corner of his desk, ironically a sculpture of a Bushman hunter with his bow in his hand, peering out across the desert plains from under his other hand. It reminded Centaine so vividly of O'wa that she drew breath sharply.
With his cigar Sean waved her into the wingback chair facing his desk, and it seemed to dwarf her. Garry took another chair to the side.
I've spoken to Garry, Sean opened, without preliminaries. I've told him the circumstances of Michael's death, before the wedding. He sat down behind his desk and turned his own gold wedding ring on his finger thoughtfully.
We all of us here know that in every sense but the legal one, Michael was your husband, and the natural father of Michel. However, technically Michel is, he hesitated, Michel is illegitimate. In the eyes of the law, he is a bastard. The word shocked Centaine. She stared at Sean through the rising wreaths of cigar smoke while the silence drew out.
We can't have that, Garry broke it. He's my grandson.
We can't have that.
No, Sean agreed. We can't have that. With your consent, my dear, Garry's voice was almost a whisper, I should like to adopt the lad. Centaine turned her head towards him slowly, and he hurried on, It would only be a formality, a legal device to ensure his status in the world. It could be done most discreetly, and it would in no way affect the relationship between you. You would still be his mother and have custody of him, while I would be honoured to become his guardian and do for him all the things that his father cannot. Centaine winced, and Garry blurted, Forgive me, my dear, but we have to talk about it. As Sean has said, we all accept that you are Michael's widow, we would want you to use the family name and we would all treat you as though the ceremony had taken place that day, he broke off, and coughed throatily. Nobody would ever know, except the three of us in this room, and Anna. Would you give your consent, for the child's sake? Centaine stood up and crossed to where Garry sat.
She sank on to her knees before him and placed her head in his lap.
Thank you, she whispered. You are the kindest man I know. You have truly taken the place of my own father now.
The months that followed were the most contented that Centaine had ever known, secure and sunny and rewarding, filled with the sound of Shasa's laughter, and with the benig
n if diffident presence of Garry Courtney always in the background and the more substantial figure of Anna in the foreground.
Centaine rode every morning before breakfast and again in the cool of the evening, and often Garry accompanied her, regaling her with tales of Michael's childhood or relating the family history as they climbed the forested tracks along the escarpment or paused to water the horses at the pool below the falls of the river where the spray and white water fell a hundred feet over wet black rock.
The rest of the day was spent in choosing curtaining and wallpaper, and supervising the artisans who were redecorating the house, consulting with Anna on the restructuring of Theuniskraal's domestic arrangements, romping with Shasa and trying to prevent the Zulu servants from spoiling him utterly, taking instruction from Garry Courtney in the subtle art of steering and driving the big Fiat tourer, in pondering the printed invitations that arrived with every day's mail, and generally taking over the management and running of Theuniskraal as she had that of the chateau at Mort Homme.
Every afternoon she and Shasa took tea with Garry in the library where he had been ensconced for most of the day, and with his gold-rimmed spectacles on the end of his nose he would read aloud to her his day's writings.
Oh, it must be wonderful to have such a gift! she exclaimed, and he lowered the sheaf of manuscript. You admire those of us that write2 he asked. You are a breed apart. Nonsense, my dear, we are very ordinary people except that we are vain enough to believe that other people might want to read what we have to say. I wish I could write. You can, your penmanship is excellent."I mean really Write."You can. Help yourself to paper and get on with it. If that's what you want. But, she stared at him aghast, what could I write about? Write about what happened to you out there in the desert. That would do very well for a beginning, I should say. it took three days for her to accustom herself to the idea, and brace herself to the effort. Then she had the servants move a table into the gazebo at the end of the lawns and sat down at it with a pencil in her hand, a pile of Garry's blank paper in front of her and terror in her heart. She experienced that same terror each day thereafter when she drew the first blank sheet of paper towards her, but it passed swiftly as the ranks of words began to march down across the emptiness.