Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

  He put his arm round her waist. ‘Who knows? There may soon be a new baby to keep you busy.’

  A twinge of guilt made her shift away. Belle didn’t want a new baby to keep her busy. She’d learned Whisky’s simple trick. To avoid pregnancy, avoid sex. On the occasions when Eddie persuaded her, she used a thin sponge soaked in quinine as a contraceptive.

  The art teacher duly arrived, having been lured away from a Sydney girls’ school by Edward’s deep pockets and the promise of a talented student. Miss Emily Durant was a woman of indeterminate age, neither old nor young, who boasted French heritage. She moved into the ivy-covered guesthouse nestled in a corner of the garden.

  Everything about Emily fascinated Belle. Her self-assurance and flaming red hair. The fact she’d travelled the world on her own. ‘Men have no right to rule our lives,’ she said when Belle asked why she’d never married. Her wonderful collection of books and magazines, especially those featuring modern art. When Emily showed her a colour plate of Arthur Streeton’s Still glides the stream, and shall for ever glide, Belle had burst into tears. She wanted her own brush to embrace the sun, sky, water and hills that way. She wanted to celebrate Tasmania’s diverse landscape with a rainbow palette.

  Emily, however, had other ideas. She made Belle sketch vases and coffeepots in black and white, saying, ‘Still-life drawing is the best school, the very best exercise for artists.’ When Belle complained, Emily wagged a finger. ‘This is how to learn light and perspective. It gives you the tools to paint everything else.’

  One morning, Belle was sitting in her teacher’s little parlour. Emily had taken down the curtains and converted it to a makeshift studio. Autumn light streamed in, casting the room in shades of soft gold. Belle wished she could swap homes. The cottage was a far more cheerful place than the main house. Belle studied her half-completed sketch of a fruit bowl and frowned. Drawing bananas wasn’t her idea of art.

  Emily looked up from her own work. ‘Let me try to convince you once more about the importance of practising object drawing.’ Emily took a book from the shelf, bookmarked a few pages and handed it over.

  Belle studied the three prints by William Harnett: Secretary’s Table, A Study Table, The Banker’s Table. Tabletops crammed with eclectic collections of objects. And suddenly she understood what Emily meant. Harnett was less painter than illusionist, the coins and quills and books so real she wanted to pluck them from the page.

  Emily smiled as comprehension dawned on Belle’s face. ‘Streeton, Tom Roberts, McCubbin – all these modern impressionists you admire so much? To master the art of impressionism, first you must master realism.’

  Belle tackled her sketch with renewed enthusiasm.

  Everything was so much better, so much happier now. Belle had become consumed with her art. Emily wasn’t only an inspiring teacher, but also an excellent companion. Eddie was touchingly happy to have pleased her. He threw himself into planning her studio, his designs growing grander by the day. Belle wasn’t impatient. She was free to escape to the sunny cottage whenever she wanted.

  Even her relationship with Robbie was improving. Her baffling little boy was seven years old now. Simple children’s games like skittles and hopscotch confused him, yet he could name the elements of the periodic table and recite generations of ram pedigrees. He also had a fascination with art. At last, Belle had a way to connect with her son.

  Mornings saw Robbie trotting down to the cottage, as often as going to work with his father. Emily would set him up with paper and pencils, or sometimes an easel and palette of paints. He had a talent for detailed depictions of buildings.

  ‘You’re stealing my boy away from me, Miss Durant,’ Edward said over dinner one evening. ‘I might get jealous.’

  Eddie’s eyes smiled, but there was a toughness behind his joking tone. When his mouth took on that hard twist, Belle was glad he was on her side.

  Emily’s teaching moved on apace, and she seemed pleased with her student’s aptitude and commitment. She introduced the new topic of portraits by referring Belle to a beautiful set of da Vinci reproduction notebooks.

  ‘Although renowned for his portrait painting, I admire some of these informal sketches more than his popular pieces.’

  ‘These are in my father’s library,’ said Belle as she turned the pages. ‘When we were children, he’d have us copy the animal sketches. My favourites were the horses.’

  ‘Leonardo had a great love of horses,’ said Emily. ‘Even his rough sketches possess an almost magical, lifelike quality.’ She glanced up from the book. ‘You said we. Aren’t you an only child?’

  ‘I meant Luke and me.’ Emily’s eyebrows asked the question. ‘He was my . . . my best friend.’ Belle knew how odd that sounded. Little girls didn’t have boys as best friends. ‘He died.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Emily tilted her head, pushing her glasses up her nose. For a moment it looked like she might pursue the subject. ‘Da Vinci believed artists must not only know the rules of perspective, but also the laws of nature. He dissected corpses to understand the structure of the body. He made thousands of notes and drawings.’ Emily turned to a marked page with a gloriously detailed sketch of a girl in profile. ‘Da Vinci grouped facial features into three major types: those that lie flat along a baseline, those that rise, and those that fall from the baseline. He urged his students to study these variations until they could confidently paint a portrait from life, or even from memory.’

  ‘From memory?’ Belle had never heard of such a thing.

  ‘I confess it’s beyond me,’ said Emily. ‘But I know of those who can. It requires great skill, and depends on how well the artist can recall a particular face.’

  An image exploded inside Belle’s mind, an image recorded years ago in exquisite, heartbreaking detail. One she’d struggled to forget. Luke’s face, bronzed by wind and sun. Lips, warm and sweet. Dark eyes, kind eyes, filled with a wild sensuality that stirred her blood. A portrait of intelligence and strength. How many times had she longed for a photograph of that dear face? Belle’s cheeks flamed, her mind alive with possibilities.

  Emily gave her a curious look. ‘You seem quite taken by the concept. However, let’s leave advanced portraiture until later, shall we?’

  Belle pushed back her chair, and started gathering up her art materials.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Emily. ‘We’ve barely begun.’

  ‘I’m checking on the new studio.’ Belle could hardly contain her excitement. ‘Eddie said it might be finished today.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Emily. ‘We shall we move our lessons there, and I can reclaim my parlour.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Belle headed for the door. ‘The studio is mine.’

  CHAPTER 47

  Luke returned from his time in Kimberley, head spinning with information and eager to apply what he’d learned.

  ‘How did you fare while I was away?’

  Tau took a leather pouch from his belt and poured out a quantity of diamonds. ‘These are our best.’

  Luke examined them in the light of his new knowledge. Nothing special, the biggest barely a carat. All of them marked and off-colour. Weight was important, but transparency and flawlessness defined a stone’s value. ‘What’s the yield?’

  Tau grinned at him. ‘At least you sound like you know what you’re talking about.’

  Luke playfully punched his arm. ‘Well?’

  ‘Not even a quarter of a carat.’

  Luke frowned. The yield was calculated from the number of carats found in sixteen cubic feet of broken blue ground. The average yield at the Kimberley mine was more than two carats. Stones weighing seventeen carats and more were common.

  ‘We’ve had problems. Reef cave-ins,’ said Tau. ‘And when we dig down forty feet or so, the pits fill with water.’

  ‘What happens then?’

  Tau shrugged. ‘We dig somewhere else. That’s what Baas Smit did.’

  Madness. Digging a series of shallow forty-foot holes was a
waste of time. True diamond-bearing breccia was found at more than twice that depth. They’d need pumps to drain the water.

  The cave-ins on the open cut couldn’t be so easily fixed. Some mine owners excavated the reef in stepped terraces, but that was only delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later there’d be an avalanche of weathered, unstable ground threatening worker safety and halting production. The only permanent solution was to take the mine underground.

  Luke was so deep in thought, he didn’t notice someone coming out of the house with a tray. Only when the drinks were on the table did he look up. This young woman must be Sizani’s replacement. Wild hair. No maid’s uniform or colourful kanga. Instead, she wore men’s trousers and a bush shirt that pulled tight across her breasts.

  ‘Meet my sister,’ said Tau. ‘Nandi.’

  Her oval face and chiselled cheekbones framed large eyes, flecked with gold. She was tall and lean with narrow hips and long, long legs. She moved with the grace of a cheetah. Luke sucked in a quick breath. Tau’s sister was strikingly beautiful.

  Nandi didn’t smile, as most maids would. She didn’t curtsey or say, ‘Pleased to meet you, baas.’ Instead she regarded him with a cool, haughty expression. Then, with head held high, she swept from the porch without a word.

  Tau was watching Luke. ‘She’s a pretty girl, eh?’

  ‘Why yes.’ Luke still felt a little mesmerised ‘Very pretty. But I don’t think she likes me.’

  ‘Nandi doesn’t like any man.’ Tau swigged his beer. ‘Except for me, of course.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Shouting and clattering came from the kitchen. Then a scream. Sizani came running out holding a wooden spoon. ‘Lions, baas. There’s lions.’

  Surely not. But Luke snatched his rifle, which was never far away.

  Tau raised his hand. ‘No, Luke. It’s all right.’

  ‘All right?’ cried Sizani. ‘How is lions in the kitchen all right? They’re eating your sister.’

  Luke rushed inside, where an astonishing scene awaited him: Nandi, with a lion attached to each leg.

  ‘Umfazi, Baby,’ she said, ‘get down.’

  A third lion emerged from behind the door, and grabbed the seat of her pants.

  The lions tore at the cotton, shaking their heads and growling. Nandi’s legs and shapely rear emerged progressively through the rips.

  Luke lowered his rifle. He knew lions. These were just cubs, though well-grown, and this was play, not aggression. He guessed they were between four and five months old. Their coats retained the dark rosettes of youth, and the tufts on their tails were only just starting to grow. Still, each cub must have weighed fifty pounds. Nandi had sunk to the floor beneath their weight. Where on earth had these gorgeous lions come from?

  Luke and Tau went to Nandi’s aid, wrestling the cubs off her, though she seemed curiously calm and largely unharmed. Her assailants directed their mischief elsewhere, standing on hind legs to swat things from the benchtops. One of them made off with a loaf of bread. A chopping board went flying, followed by a decorative soup tureen. It smashed into a thousand pieces, splashing its contents all over the floor. The youngsters greedily lapped up the spill.

  Sizani, standing in the doorway, yelled her displeasure. She seized a broom and advanced on the cubs, keeping up a nonstop tirade of abuse. The youngsters yowled in protest as she beat them over their heads. Luke fought off a painful pang of remembrance – Mrs Scott laying into Bear, driving him from the bed as Luke lay recovering from the mine accident that killed Angus.

  Nandi jumped to her feet and snatched the broom from Sizani. ‘Leave them alone. You’re hurting them.’

  Tau roared with laughter as the cubs escaped out the back door. ‘Come, sister. Time to explain your children to the Colonel.’

  Encouraged by her brother, and several cups of Cape wine, Nandi told her story.

  ‘Tau and I grew up on a mission. When I was very little, I believed Father Mackenzie was my real father. When I was older I learned this was not true, and that the Boers and British had stolen our country. I felt betrayed. Then I met a man. He was very handsome.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘Khosan said he loved me. I wanted a man to love me very much.’

  Luke noticed a pulse starting in Tau’s throat. ‘I tried to warn you . . .’

  Nandi silenced him with a look. ‘Yes, brother, you did, yet I chose not to listen. I thought Khosan was a hero, fighting to reclaim our country. In truth, he was no better than a bandit, using the cause of freedom to excuse his thuggery. He slaughtered our wildlife, selling trophies and skins to the very men he professed to hate. He misused our own people. When I tried to leave, he threatened me. When my son was stillborn, he called me cursed.’

  Luke was struck by the fundamental unfairness women faced regarding sex and children. Taking the blame for bearing dead babies. Forced into loveless marriages. The fear of rape. Becky, Nandi, even his beloved Belle had all suffered from a standard that left women wholly burdened and men burdened with nothing at all.

  Tau moved to stand behind Nandi’s chair and wrapped his strong arms about her.

  ‘After my baby died, Khosan brought me three newborn lion cubs: Baby, Umfazi and Girl. I raised them with goat’s milk; I loved them like my children. He said a man would come and buy them for a zoo. We waited and waited, but the man did not come. Khosan grew impatient. He said they were growing too big and eating too much meat. One night he said he would kill them, so we ran away.’

  ‘Where have you come from?’ asked Luke.

  ‘The bush, outside Isanti.’

  ‘Isanti? That’s a hundred miles away. How did you bring the cubs through the towns?’

  ‘I didn’t. Someone would have shot them or stolen them.’

  Luke stared at her in disbelief and open admiration. ‘You came cross-country in mid-summer?’ It was a miracle any of them had survived. ‘One day you must tell me of your adventure.’

  Another crash came from the kitchen, followed by Sizani’s scream. Nandi rushed out.

  Luke turned to Tau. ‘Ask Lwazi to butcher a goat for the cubs. And, Tau, Nandi will not do as Sizani’s replacement. She’s entirely unsuitable. You must engage somebody else.’

  Tau’s nostrils flared. ‘Nandi is my sister. She needs a job, somewhere safe to stay. If she goes, I go.’

  ‘Oh, I have a position in mind for her,’ said Luke. ‘Just not the position of maid. A woman like that is wasted serving drinks.’

  ‘Nandi is no fucking loskind.’ Tau’s face was a storm cloud. ‘You will respect her.’

  ‘Calm down, big brother. Your sister’s honour is safe enough. I want Nandi to work with me to establish the game reserve. I want her for my head ranger.’

  Tau’s mouth fell open. ‘Head ranger? But she is a woman.’

  ‘Now who isn’t respecting Nandi?’ Tau looked confused. ‘Your little sister made it across a hundred miles of savannah in high summer, on foot and by herself. Risked her life to save three lion cubs. Can you imagine anyone more qualified to protect Themba’s animals?’

  A slow smile of understanding spread across Tau’s face. ‘You are right, Luke. Nandi is strong, like a man.’

  ‘And braver than most. Can she handle a rifle?’

  ‘As well as me,’ said Tau.

  ‘It’s settled then. Go tell her the good news.’

  To say that Nandi was thrilled with her new job would have been a serious understatement. She threw herself into her duties with such pride and enthusiasm, Luke could barely keep up. Her understanding of local wildlife proved a bonus.

  ‘We will teach your cubs to hunt, and release them right here at Themba.’

  ‘Are there not lions here already? Yes? Then we cannot release them,’ she said. ‘Lionesses in a pride are all related and outside females will not be tolerated.’

  ‘I don’t intend for your cubs to join the plains pride. Two families of lions once lived at Themba. One pride was killed by poachers. I want your cubs to take their place.’


  Nandi frowned. ‘Most prides contain at least five females, their cubs, and one or two males. Three lions is not enough. It’s too dangerous. I won’t allow it.’

  Luke’s brows lifted in amusement. ‘I guess we should find you some more cubs then, and quickly, while your babies are young enough to accept them. Will you allow that?’ Nandi’s frown slipped. ‘It will be your job to care for all of them, Nandi. Help teach them about the wild.’

  Her expression changed to one of pure joy, stirring something in Luke’s breast, a feeling he’d thought long dead. An excitement about the future, and about sharing it with someone. Luke returned her smile, almost shyly. Nandi was exactly what Themba needed.

  The new lions duly arrived. A pair of sisters, Honey and Sal, purchased from a private game park, where they were destined for canned hunting. A pair of brothers, Cain and Abel, orphaned after their man-eater mother was shot – all younger than Nandi’s cubs.

  Luke had converted two of the rondavels into lion dens, complete with spacious runs. Baby, Umfazi and Girl already occupied one enclosure. The new cubs moved into the run next door.

  Nandi wasn’t the only one devoted to the lions. Luke couldn’t stay away. He hired more staff. A housekeeper, house boy and cook. Men to build paddocks and enclosures. Men to patrol the park borders, freeing up time for him to spend with Nandi and her young charges. Although conscious of the expense, he had little choice. Themba was growing fast, acquiring not only new people, but new animals as well.

  Luke planned to restock the savannah with species that had been hunted out locally. He was especially interested in predators – cheetahs, caracals and Cape wild dogs. But he also hoped to re-establish herbivores. Eland and kudu were missing at Themba. Rhinos, too. They had presented easy targets for poachers.

  Luke put out the call, and the wildlife trickled in. He only paid for rare animals that would otherwise be killed for their hides and horns. Yet he was determined to accept any creatures who could rightfully claim a home on South Africa’s plains. Baboons who had grown too big and dangerous to keep as pets. An orphaned litter of aardwolves. A mangy, half-starved buffalo calf. All were welcome at Themba.