by Wilbur Smith
During this period there were small changes in Mark's own circumstances. One night, long after midnight, Sean Courtney had entered his dressing-room, to find the lights were still on in the bedroom and Ruth propped on her pillows and reading. You shouldn't have waited up for me, he told her severely. I could have slept on the couch, I prefer you here. She closed the book.
What are you reading? She showed him the title. D. H. Lawrence's new novel, Women in Love. Sean grinned as he unbuttoned his shirt. Did he teach you anything? Not yet, but I'm still hoping. She smiled at him, and he thought how young and lovely she looked in her lace nightdress. And you? Did you finish your speech? Yes. He sat to remove his boots. It's a masterpiece I'm going to tear the bastards to pieces. I heard Mark's motorcycle leaving a few minutes ago.
You kept him here until midnightHe was helping me look up some figures and searching Hansard for me. It's awfully late. He's young, grunted Sean. And dan-ined well paid for it. He picked up his boots and stumped through into the dressing-room, the limp more noticeable now that he was in his stockinged feet. And I haven't heard him complain yet. He came back in his night-shirt and slipped into bed beside her. If you are going to keep the poor boy to these hours, it's not fair to send him back to town every nightWhat do you suggest? he asked, as he wound his gold hunter and then placed it on the bedside table.
I could turn the gate-keeper's cottage into a flat for him.
It wouldn't need much, even though it's been deserted for years. Good idea, Sean agreed casually. Keep him onthepremises so I can really get some work out of him. You're a hard man, General Courtney. He rolled over and kissed her lingeringly, then whispered in her ear. I am glad you noticed. She giggled like a bride and whispered back, I didn't mean that. Let's see if we can teach you something that Mr Lawrence could not, he suggested.
The cottage, once it was repainted and furnished with discards from the big house, was by Mark's standards palatial, and marvellously free of vermin and cockroaches.
It was less than half a mile from the main house, and his hours became as irregular as those of his master, his position became more trusted and naturally integrated into the household. His duties came to cover the entire spectrum from speech-wTiting and researching, answering all correspondence that was not important enough for the General's own hand, operating the household accounts, to merely sitting quietly sometimes when Sean Courtney needed somebody to talk to, and acting as a sounding board for arguments and ideas.
Yet there was still time for his old love of reading. There were thousands of volumes that made up the library at Emoyeni and Mark took an armful of them down to the cottage each evening and readuntil the earlyhours, devouring with omnivorous appetite history, biography, satire, political treatise, Zone Grey, Kipling and Rider Haggard.
Then suddenly there was a new spirit of excitement and upheaval in Emoyeni as the next session of Parliament approached. This meant that the household must uproot itself, and move almost a thousand miles to Cape Town.
Lightly Ruth Courtney referred to this annual political migration as the Great Trek, but the description was justified, for it meant moving the family, fifteen of the senior servants, three automobiles, a dozen horses, all the clothing, silver, glassware, papers, books and other incidentals that would be necessary to sustain in the correct style a busy social and political season of many months, while General Courtney and his peers conducted the affairs of the nation. It meant also closing Emoyeni and opening the house in Newlands, below the squat bulk of Table Mountain.
In the middle of all this frantic activity, Storm Courtney arrived home from the grand tour of the British Isles and the Continent on which she and Irene Leuchars had been chaperoned by Irene's mother. In her last letter to Ruth Courtney, Mrs Leuchars had admitted herself to be both physically and mentally exhausted. You will never know, y dear, the terrible weight of responsibility I have been under. We have been followed across half the world by droves of eager young men, Americans, Italians, Frenchmen, Counts, Barons, sons of industrialists, and even the son of the dictator of a South American Republic. The strain was such that at one period I could bear it no longer and locked both girls in their room. It was only later that I discovered they had escaped by means of a fire escape and danced until the following morning at some disreputable bofte de nuit in Montparnasse. With the tact of a loving wife, Ruth refrained from showing the letter to Sean Courtney and so he prepared to welcome his daughter with all the enthusiasm of a doting father, unclouded by awareness of her recent escapades.
mark was for once left out of the family preparations and he watched from the library window when Sean handed his wife into the Rolls. He was dressed like a suitor in crisply starched fly-away collar, a gay silk cravat, dark blue suit with white carnation in the button-hole and a beaver tilted jauntily over one eye; his beard was trimmed and shamed and there was a merry anticipatory sparkle in his eyes, and he twirled his cane lightly as he went round to his own seat.
The Rolls purred away, almost two hours ahead of the time when the mailship was scheduled to berth at No. 1 wharf. It was followed at a respectful distance by the second Rolls which would be needed for the conveyance of Storm Courtney's baggage.
Mark lunched alone in the study and then worked on, but his concentration was broken by the imminent arrival of the returning cavalcade, and when it came, he hurried to the windows.
He caught only a glimpse of Storm as she left the car and danced up the front steps hand in hand with her mother.
They were followed immediately by the General, his cane snapping a staccato beat off the marble as he hurried to match their swiftness; on his face he wore an expression that tried to remain severe and stern but kept breaking into a wide beaming grin.
Mark heard the laughter and the excited murmur of the servants assembled to greet her in the entrance hall, and Storm's voice giving a new sweet tilt to the cadence of the Zulu language as she went to each of them in turn.
Mark returned to his open books, but did not look down at them. Instead he was savouring that one glimpse he had of Storm.
She had grown somehow lovelier, he had not believed it possible, but it had happened. It was as though the divine essence of young womanhood had been distilled in her, all the gaiety and grace, all the warmth and smoothness, the texture of skin and silken hair, the perfect moulding of limb and the delicate sculpturing of feature, the musical lilt of her voice, clear as the ring of crystal, the dancing grace of her movements, the very carriage of the small perfect head on bare brown shoulders.
Mark sat bemused, acutely aware of the way in which the whole huge house had changed its mood since she entered it, had become charged with her spirit, as though it had been waiting for this moment.
Mark had excused himself from dinner that evening, not wanting to intrude on the family's first evening together.
He intended going down to the drill-hall for the weekly muster, and afterwards he would dine with some of the other young bachelor officers. At four o'clock, he left the house through a side entrance and went down to the cottage to bath and change into his uniform.
He was thundering out of the gates of Emoyeni on the Ariel Square Four when he remembered that the General had asked for the Railway report to be left on his desk. In the distraction of Storm's arrival, he had forgotten it, and now he swung the heavy machine into a tight turn and tore back up the driveway.
In the paved kitchen yard he pulled the motorcycle up on its stand, and went in through the back door.
He was standing at the library table with the report in his hands, glancing through it quickly to check his own notations, when suddenly the latch on the door clicked.
He laid aside the report and turned just as the door swung open.
This close, Storm Courtney was lovelier still. She was three quick light paces into the room before she realized she was not alone, and she paused, startled, poised with the grace of a gazelle on the point of flight.
One hand flew to her mou
th, and her fingers were delicately tapered with long nails that gleamed like pink mother of pearl. She touched her lips with the tip of one finger; the lip trembled slightly, wet and smooth and glistening, and her eyes were huge and a dark fearful blue. She looked like a little girl, frightened and alone.
. Mark wanted to reassure her, to protect her from her own distress, to say something to comfort her, but he found he could not move or speak.
He need not have worried, her distress lasted only a fleeting beat of time, just long enough for her to realize that the source of her alarm was a tall young man, dashing in the dress uniform he wore, a uniform that set off the slim graceful body, a uniform emblazoned with badges of courage and of responsibility.
Subtly, with barely a shadow of movement, her whole poise changed. The finger on her lip now touched one cheek with an arch gesture, and the trembling lip stilled and parted slightly into a thoughtful pout. The huge eyes, no longer fearful, almost disappeared behind drooping lids, and then examined Mark critically, lifting her chin to look up into his face.
Her stance changed also, one hip thrusting forward an inch, the twin mounds of her breasts lifting and pressing boldly against the gossamer silk of her bodice. The tender taunting line of her lips was enough to make Mark's breath catch in his throat. Hello, she said. Her voice, although low and throaty, bounced the word off Mark's heart, drawing it out into two syllables that seemed to hang in the air seconds later. Good evening, Miss Courtney, he answered her, surprised that his voice came out level and assured. It was the voice that triggered her memory, and the blue eyes flew wide as she stared at him. Slowly her surprise turned to angry outrage. The eyes snapped sparks and two bright scarlet blotches of crimson burned suddenly on the smooth, almost waxy perfection of her cheeks. You? she asked incredulously. Here? I'm afraid so, he agreed, and her consternation was so comical that he grinned at her, his own misgivings evaporating. Suddenly he felt relaxed and at his ease. What are you doing in this house? She drew herself up to her full height, and her manner became frostily dignified. The full effect was spoiled by the fact that she had to look up at him, and that her cheeks still burned with agitation. I am your father's personal assistant now, and he smiled again. However, I am sure you will soon become reconciled to my presence. We will see about that, she snapped. I shall speak to my father. Oh, I was led to understand that you and the General had already discussed my employment, or rather my unemployment. I, said Storm, and then closed her mouth firmly, the colour spreading from her cheeks down her throat as she remembered with sudden acute discomfort the whole episode. The humiliation was still so intense that she felt herself wilting like a rose on a summer's day, and a small choke of self-pity constricted the back of her throat. it was enough that it had happened, that instead of her father's unquestioning support, something she had been accustomed to since her first childhood memories, he had told her angrily that she had acted like a spoiled child, that she had shamed him by misusing his power and influence, and that the shame had been made more intense by the way she had used it without his knowledge, by sneaking behind his back, as he put it.
She had been frightened, as she always was by his anger, but not seriously disturbed. It was almost ten years since he had last lifted a hand to her. A true lady shows consideration to all around her, no matter what their colour or creed or station. She had heard it often before, and now her fear was turning to irritation. Oh, la-di-da, Pater! I'm not a child any more! she flounced. He was insolent, and anyone who is insolent to me will damned well pay for it. You have made two statements there, the General noted with deceptive calm, and both of them need correction. If you are insolent, then you will get back insolence and you are a child still. He rose from his chair behind the desk, and he was huge, like a forest oak, like a mountain. One other little thing, ladies do not swear, and you are going to be a lady when you grow up. Even if I have to beat it into you. As he took her wrist, she suddenly realized with a sense of incredulous dismay what was about to happen. It had not happened since she was fourteen years of age, and she had believed it would never happen again.
She tried to pull away, but his strength was enormous, and as he lifted her easily under one arm and carried her to the leather couch, she let out her first squeal of fear and outrage. It changed swiftly to real anguished howls as he positioned her carefully across his lap and swept her skirts up over her head. Her pantaloons were of blue crdpe de Chine with little pink roses decorating the target area, and his palm, horny and hard, snapped over the tight double bulge of her buttocks with a sharp rubbery crack. He kept it up until the howling and kicking subsided into heartracking sobs, and then he lowered her skirts and told her quietly, If I knew where to find him, I'd send you to apologize to that young man. Storm remembered that threat, and felt a moment of panic. She knew her father was still quite capable of making her apologize even now, and she nearly turned and rushed out of the library. It required a supreme effort once more to draw herself up and lIfft her chin defiantly. You are right, she said coldly. The hiring and firing of my father's servants is not a subject with which I should concern myself. Now, if you would kindly stand aside, Of course, forgive me. Still smiling, Mark bowed extravagantly and made way for her to pass.
She tossed her head and swished her skirts as she passed him and, in her agitation, went to the wrong shelves. it was some little time before she realized that she was studying intently a row of bound copies of ten-year-old parliamentary white papers, but she would not admit her mistake and humiliate herself further.
Furiously she pondered her next sally, picking and discarding half a dozen disparaging remarks before settling on, I would be obliged if in future you would address me only when it is absolutely necessary, and right at this moment I should like to be alone. She spoke without interrupting her perusal of the white papers.
There was no reply, and she turned haughtily. Did you hear what I said? Then she paused.
She was alone, he had gone silently and she had not even heard the click of the latch.
He had not waited to be dismissed, and Storm felt quite dizzy with anger. Now a whole parade of brilliant and biting insults came readily to her lips, and frustration spiced her anger.
She had to do something to vent it, and she looked around for something to break, and then remembered, just in time, that it was Sean Courtney's library, and everything in it was treasured. So instead, she racked her brain for its foulest oath. Bloody Hell! She stamped her foot, and it was entirely inadequate. Suddenly she remembered her father's favourite. The bastard, she added, rolling it thunderously around her tongue as Sean did, and immediately she felt better.
She said it again and her anger subsided, leaving an extraordinary new sensation.
There was a disturbing heat in that mysterious area between navel and knees. Flustered and alarmed, she hurried out into the garden. The short glowing tropical dusk gave the familiar lawns and trees an unreal stagelike appearance, and she found herself almost running over the spungy turf, as though to escape from her own sensations.
She stopped beside the lake, and her breathing was quick and shallow, not entirely from her exertions. She leaned on the railing of the bridge and in the rosy light of sunset her reflection was perfectly mirrored in the still pearly waters.
Now that the disturbing new sensation had passed, she found herself regretting that she had fled from it. Something like that was what she had hoped for when She found herself thinking again of that awkward and embarrassing episode in Monte Carlo; goaded on by Irene Leuchars, teased and tempted, she had been made to feel inadequate because she lacked the experience of men that Irene boasted of. Chiefly to spite Irene, and to defend herself against her jibes, she had slipped away from the Casino with the young Italian Count and made no protest when he parked the Bugatti among the pine trees on the highlevel road above Cap Ferrat.
She had hoped for something wild and beautiful, something to bring the moon crashing out of the sky and to make choirs of angels sin
g.
It had been quick, painful and messy, and neither she nor the Count had spoken to each other on the winding road down to Nice, except to mutter goodbye on the pavement outside the Negresco Hotel. She had not seen him again.
Why she thought of this now she could not understand, and she thrust the memory aside without effort. It was replaced almost instantly with a picture of a tall young man in a handsome uniform, of a cool mocking smile and calm penetrating gaze. Immediately she was aware of the warmth and glow in her lower belly again, and this time she did not attempt to fly from it, but continued leaning on the bridge, smiling at her darkening image in the water. You look like a smug old pussy cat, she whispered, and chuckled softly.
Sean Courtney rode like a Boer, with long stirrups, sitting well back in the saddle with legs thrust out straight in front of him and the reins held loosely in his left hand, the black quirt of hippo-hide dangling from its thong on his wrist so that the point touched the ground. His favourite mount was a big rawboned stallion of almost eighteen hands with a white blaze and an ugly unpredictable nature that only the General could fathom; but even he had to use an occasional light cut with the quirt to remind the beast of his social obligations.
Mark had an English seat, or, as the General put it, rode like a monkey on a broomstick, and he added darkly, After only a hundred miles or so perched up like that, your backside will be so hot you could cook your dinner on it.
We rode a thousand miles in two weeks when we were chasing General Leroux. They rode almost daily together, when even the huge rooms of Emoyeni became confining, and the General started to fret at the caging of his big body; then he would shout for the horses.
There were thousands of acres of open ground still backing the big urban estates, and then beyond that there were hundreds of miles of red dirt roads crisscrossing the sugarcane fields.