by Wilbur Smith
So Shasa took pains preparing for the reunion with Tara. He studied the written advice which Abe and the other lawyers had drawn up for him, and had his tactics firmly established. He knew what to say and what to avoid. He was to make no admissions and no promises, particularly regarding the children.
For the venue he chose the pool at the foot of the Constantia Berg, hoping that Tara would associate it with the happy hours they had spent there. He had his chef prepare an exquisite picnic hamper which contained all Tara’s favourite delicacies, and he chose half a dozen bottles of his best wines from the cellar.
He took especial care with his appearance. He had his hair trimmed and picked out a new black silk eye-patch from the drawer that he kept full of them. He wore the after-shave she had given him and the cream-coloured wild silk suit which she had once remarked on favourably, with his Air Force scarf in the open neck of his blue shirt.
All the children were packed off to Rhodes Hill, into Centaine’s care for the weekend, and he sent the chauffeur in the Rolls to fetch Tara from Molly Broadhurst’s home where she was staying. The chauffeur brought her directly up to the pool and Shasa opened the door for her, and was surprised when she offered him her cheek for his kiss.
‘You look so well, my dear,’ he told her, and it was not entirely untrue. She had lost a lot of weight, her waist was once again wasped in and her bosom was magnificent. Despite the gravity of the moment Shasa felt his loins stir as he looked down that cleavage.
‘Down, boy!’ he admonished himself silently and looked away, concentrating on her face. Her skin had cleared, the rings below her eyes were barely discernible and her hair had been washed and set. Obviously she had taken the same pains with her appearance as he had.
‘Where are the children?’ she demanded immediately.
‘Mater has them – so we could talk without interruption.’
‘How are they, Shasa?’
‘They are all just fine. Couldn’t be better.’ He wanted there to be no special pleading on that score.
‘I do miss them terribly,’ she said. The remark was ominous, and he did not reply. Instead he led her to the summerhouse and settled her on the couch facing the waterfall.
‘It’s so beautiful here.’ She looked around her. ‘It is my favourite spot on all of Weltevreden.’ She took the wineglass he handed her.
‘Better days!’ He gave her the toast. They clinked glasses and drank.
Then she set her glass down on the marble table-top and Shasa steeled himself to receive the opening shot of the engagement.
‘I want to come back home,’ she said, and he spilled white wine down the front of his silk suit, and then dabbed at it with the handkerchief from his breast pocket to give himself time to recover his balance.
In a perverse way he had been looking forward to the bargaining. He was a businessman, supremely confident in his ability to get the best trade. Furthermore, he had already adjusted to the idea of becoming a bachelor once more, and was beginning to look forward to the delights of that state, even if it cost him a million pounds. He felt the prickle of disappointment.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said carefully.
‘I miss the children. I want to be with them – and yet I don’t want to take them away from you. They need a father as much as a mother.’
It was too easy. There had to be more than that, Shasa’s bargaining instincts were sure.
‘I have tried living alone,’ she went on. ‘And I don’t like it. I want to come back.’
‘So we just pick it up again where we dropped it?’ he asked carefully, but she shook her head.
‘That’s impossible, we both know that.’ She prevented further questions with a raised hand. ‘Let me tell you what I want. I want to have all the benefits of my old life, access to my children, the prestige that goes with the name Courtney and the money not to have to stint—’
‘You were always scornful of the position and the money before.’ He could not prevent the jibe, but she took no offence.
‘I had never had to do without it before,’ she said simply. ‘However, I want to be able to go away for a while when it becomes too much for me here – but I will not embarrass you politically or in any other way.’ She paused. ‘That’s all of it.’
‘And what do I get in return?’ he asked.
‘A mother for your children, and a public wife. I will preside at your dinner-parties, and make myself agreeable to your associates, I will even help you with your political electioneering, I used to be very good at that.’
‘I thought that my politics disgusted you.’
‘They do – but I will never let it show.’
‘What about my conjugal rights, as they are delicately referred to by the lawyers?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That will only complicate our relationship.’ She thought of Moses. She could never be unfaithful to him, even if he had ordered it. ‘No, but I have no objection to you going elsewhere. You have always been reasonably discreet. I know you will continue to be.’
He looked at her bosom and felt a twinge of regret, but the bargain she was offering amazed him. He had everything he wanted, and had saved himself a million pounds into the bargain.
‘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’ani Mine of a million pounds worth of diamonds, and how Blaine, her own father, and Centaine, before she was Blaine’s wife, had pursued him into the desert and afte
r 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 at her mother-in-law, but she gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, before she said sweetly, ‘Well then, Mater, both Shasa and I will be looking forward to Friday night. Half-past seven for eight, and naturally the men will be wearing black tie.’
‘Naturally,’ said Centaine.
It had been a surprisingly mellow evening, when the explosive elements seated around the same table were considered, but it was a strict rule of Shasa’s that shop party politics were never discussed in Weltevreden’s palatial dining-room. The men’s conversation ranged from the projected All Blacks rugby tour to the recent angling capture of a six hundred pound blue-fin tunny in False Bay, the first of its kind. Manfred De La Rey and Blaine were both keen anglers and were excited by the prospect of such a magnificent prize.
Centaine was unusually quiet during the meal. Tara had placed her beside Manfred, but she listened attentively to everything that he said, and when they went through to the blue drawing-room at the end of the meal she stayed close to Manfred, and the two of them were soon oblivious of everyone else, lost in rapt but low-voiced discussion.
Manfred’s statuesque blonde 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 often 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 from Moses, and even the joy of holding baby Benjamin paled beside that of those written words.
The letter had been written in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia. Moses was there to address a meeting of the heads of the black African states at the express invitation of the Emperor Haile Selassie, and he described to her the warm welcome that he had been given, and the offers of support, moral, financial and military, that had been pledged to the struggle in Anzania – that was the new name for South Africa. It was the first time she had heard it, and when she repeated it aloud, the sound of it stirred a deep patriotic response in her that she had never felt before. She read the rest of Moses’ letter.
From here I will travel on to Algeria, where I will meet with Colonel Boumédienne, who is at this moment struggling against French imperialism, and who
se great valour will surely bring freedom and happiness to his tragically oppressed land.
After that I will fly to New York, and it seems certain that I will be allowed to put our case to the General Assembly of the United Nations. All this is exciting, but I have even better news that affects you and our baby Benjamin.
If you continue the important work you are doing for the cause, our powerful friends are determined to give you a special reward. Some day the three of us – you and me and Benjamin – will be together in London. I cannot tell you how greatly I look forward to holding my son and to greeting you again.
I 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 particular 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 your 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 Transvaler, those stalwarts of the Nationalist cause, hailed him as a farseeing 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.