by Wilbur Smith
After that, a full seat in the cabinet, and beyond that? She let the idea of it send little thrills up her spine, but did not allow herself to dwell on it in case the thought brought illfortune on the actuality. Still it was possible. Her son was well favoured, even the eye-patch added to his individuality, he spoke amusingly and articulately, and he had the trick of making people listen and like him. He was rich and ambitious and clever, and he had herself and Tara behind him. It was possible and more than possible.
By some remarkable dialectic contortion Tara Malcomess Courtney had retained her social conscience intact while taking up the management of the Weltevreden household as though to the manner born.
it was typical that she retained her maiden name, and that she could rush from the elegant surroundings of Weltevreden to the slum clinics and feeding centres for the poor out on the Cape flats without missing a step, taking with her larger charitable donations than Shasa really liked to part with.
She threw herself into the duties of motherhood with equal abandon. Her first three efforts were all male, healthy and rumbustious. In order of seniority they were Sean, Garrick and Michael. With her fourth visit to the childbed she produced, with little effort and time wasted in labour, her masterpiece. This one Tara named after her own mother, Isabella and from the moment he first picked her up and she puked a little sour clotted milk on his shoulder, Shasa was totally besotted with her.
Up to this time it was Tara's spirit and intriguing individuality that had kept Shasa from growing bored and responding to the subtle and less than subtle invitations that were showered on him by circling female predators.
Centaine, fully aware that Shasa's veins were charged with hot de Thiry blood, agonized that Tara seemed oblivious of the danger and dismissed her veiled warnings with an offhand, Oh, Mater, Shasa isn't like that. Centaine knew that was exactly the way he was. Mon Dieu, he started at fourteen. But she relaxed after the other woman finally entered his life in the shape of Isabella de Thiry Malcomess Courtney. It would have been so easy for a fatal slip to spoil it all, to dash the sweet cup from her lips just as she was able to savour it to the full, but now at last Centaine was secure.
She sat under the oaks beside the polo practice grounds of Weltevreden, a guest on the estate she had built up and cherished, but an honoured guest and well content. The coloured nannies had charge of the babies, Michael just a year and a bit and Isabella still at the breast.
Sean was out in the middle of the field. He sat on the pommel of Shasa's saddle, shrieking with excitement and delight, as his father ran the pony at a full gallop down between the far goal posts, brought him up short in a swirl of dust, pivoted and came back in a crescendo of hoof beats.
Meanwhile Sean, secure in the circle of Shasa's left arm, urged him Faster! Faster, Papa! Go faster! On Centaine's knee Garrick bounced impatiently, Me! he yelled. Now me! Shasa. brought the pony in still at full gallop, then reined him down to a dead stop. He lifted Sean off the pommel against his best effort to stick like a bush tick. Garrick slipped off Centaine's lap and toddled to his father.
The, Daddy, my turn! Shasa leaned out of the saddle, swung the child up in front of him and they were off again at a gallop. It was a game of which they never tired; they had already exhausted two ponies since lunchtime.
There was the sound of a motor vehicle coming down from the chateau, and Centaine sprang to her feet involuntarily as she recognized the distinctive beat of the Bentley's engine.
Then she composed herself and went to meet Blaine with a little more dignity than her eagerness dictated, but as he stepped out of the vehicle she saw his expression and she quickened her step.
What is it, Blaine? she demanded as he kissed her cheek.
Is something wrong? No, of course not, he assured her. The Nationalists have announced their candidates for the Cape constituencies, that's all., Who have they put up against you? She was all attention now. Old Van Schoor again? No, my dear, new blood. Someone you have probably never heard of, Dawid Van Niekerk. 'Who have they nominated for Hottentots Holland? When he hesitated, she was immediately insistent. Who is it, Blaine? He took her arm and began to walk her slowly back to join the family at the tea-table under the oaks.
Life is a strange thing, he said.
Blaine Malcomess, I asked you for an answer, not a few gems of homespun philosophy. Who is it? I'm sorry my dear, he murmured regretfully. They have nominated Manfred De La Rey as their official party candidate. Centaine stopped dead, and she felt the blood drain from her face. Blaine tightened his grip on her arm to steady her as she swayed on her feet. Since the beginning of the war Centaine had heard or seen nothing of her second, unacknowledged, son.
Shasa began his campaign with an open meeting in the Boy Scouts hall of Somerset West.
He and Tara drove out the thirty miles from Cape Town to this beautiful little village which nestled at the foot of Sir Lowry's Pass beneath the rugged barrier of the Hottentots Holland mountains. Tara insisted that they take her old Packard. She never felt comfortable in Shasa's new Rolls.
How can you bear to drive around on four wheels that cost enough to clothe, educate and feed a hundred black children from the cradle to the grave? For once Shasa saw the practical wisdom of not flaunting his wealth in front of his constituents. Tara was really tremendous value for money, Shasa reflected. An aspiring politician could not ask for a better running mate, a mother of four lovely children, outspoken, holding strong opinions and possessing a natural shrewdness that anticipated the prejudices and fickle enthusiasm of the herd. She was also strikingly beautiful with all that smouldering auburn hair and a smile that could light up a dreary meeting, and despite four childbirths in almost as many years, her figure was still marvelous, small waist, good hips, only her bosom had burgeoned.
I'd back her in a showdown with Jane Russell, tit for tat she'd win by a length going away. Shasa chuckled aloud, and she looked across at him.
That's your dirty laugh, she accused. Don't tell me what you are thinking. Let me hear your speech instead. He rehearsed it for her, with appropriate gestures and she made an occasional suggestion on content and delivery. I would pause longer there, I and, look fierce and determined, or, I wouldn't make too much of that bit about the Empire.
Not really in fashion any more. Tara still drove furiously and the journey was soon over.
There were larger-than-life posters of Shasa pasted at the entrance and the hall was gratifyingly full. All the seats ken and there were even a dozen or so younger men were ta standing at the back - they looked like students, Shasa doubted they were old enough to vote.
The local United Party organizer, a Party rosette on his lapel, introduced Shasa as a man who needed no introduction and extolled the fine work he had done for the constituency during his previous short term of office.
Then Shasa rose, tall and debonair in a dark blue suit that was not too new or fashionably cut, but with a crisp white shirt, only spivs wore coloured shirts, and an airforce tie to remind them of his war record. The eye-patch further emphasized what he had sacrificed for his country and his smile was charming and sincere.
My friends he began, and got no further. He was drowned out by a pandemonium of stamping and chanting and jeering. Shasa tried to make a joke of it, pretending to conduct the orchestrated abuse, but his smile became steadily less sincere as the uproar showed no signs of abating, instead becoming louder and more vindictive as the minutes passed. Finally he began to deliver his address, bellowing it out to be heard above the din.
There were about three hundred of them, taking up the entire back half of the hall, and they made clear their allegiance to the Nationalist Party and its candidate, waving Party banners that depicted the powder horn insignia and holding up posters of Manfred De La Rey's gravely handsome portrait.
After the first fcw minutes a number of the elderly and middle-aged voters in the front of the hall, sensing the violence that was coming, helped their wives from their seats and scuttl
ed out of the side entrance to a renewed outburst of jeers.
Suddenly Tara Courtney leapt to her feet beside Shasa.
Flushed with anger, her grey eyes hard and glittering as bayonets, she yelled at them, What kind of men are you?
Is this fair? You call yourselves Christians? Where is your Christian charity? Give the man a chance! Her voice carried, and her furious beauty checked them.
Their inherent sense of chivalry began to take effect, one or two of them sat down and grinned sheepishly, the noise began to abate, but a big dark-haired man leapt up from the audience and rallied them.
Kom kerels, come on, boys, let's see the Soutie back to England where he belongs., Shasa knew the man, he was one of the local Party organizers. He had been on the Olympic team back in 1936 and had spent most of the war in an internment camp. He was a senior lecturer in Law at Stellenbosch University and Shasa challenged him in Afrikaans: Does Meneer Roelf Stander believe in the rule of law and the right of free speech? Before he could finish, the first missile was thrown. it came sailing in a high parabola from the back of the hall and burst on the table in front of Tara, a brown paper bag filled with dog turds, and immediately there was a bombardment of soft fruit and toilet rolls, dead chickens and rotten fish.
From the front of the hall the United Party supporters stood up and shouted for order, but Roelf Stander waved his men forward and joyously they surged up to give battle.
Seats were overturned, and women screamed, men were shouting and swearing and wrestling and falling over one another.
Keep close behind me, Shasa told Tara. Hold onto my coat! He fought his way towards the door, punching any man who stood in his way.
One of them went down before Shasa's right hook, and protested plaintively from the floor, Hey, man, I'm on your side, but Shasa dragged Tara out of the side door and they ran to the Packard.
Neither of them spoke until Tara had them back on the main road, headlights pointing towards the dark bulk of Table Mountain. Then she asked, How many of them did you get? Three of theirs, one of ours, and they burst into nervously relieved laughter.
It looks as though this is going to be a lot of fun. The election of 1948 was fought with increasing acrimony as across the land a realization began to dawn that the nation had reached some fateful crossroads.
The Smuts men were flabbergasted by the depth of feeling the Nationalists had managed to engender amongst the Afrikaner people, and they were totally unprepared for the almost military mobilization of all the forces at the command of the Nationalist Party.
There were few black voters and of all white South Africans the Afrikaners formed a small majority. Smuts had relied for his support upon the English-speaking electorate together with the moderate Afrikaner faction. As polling day drew closer, this moderate support was slowly seduced by the wave of Nationalistic hysteria, and the gloom in the United Party deepened.
Three days before polling day, Centaine was in her new garden, supervising the marking out and planting of a hundred additional yellow rose bushes when her secretary came hurrying down from the house.
Mr Duggan is here, ma'am. Andrew Duggan was the editor of the Cape Argus, the English-language newspaper with the largest readership in the Cape. He was a good friend of Centaine's, a regular house guest, but still it was most inconsiderate of him to call unannounced. Centaine's hair was a bushy fright, despite her headscarf, and she was flushed and sweaty and without make-up.
Tell him I'm not at home, she ordered.
Mr Duggan sends his apologies, but it's a matter of extreme urgency. He used the term "life and death", ma'am. Oh, very well. Go tell him I will be with him in five minutes. She changed from slacks and sweater into a morning dress and made a few perfunctory dabs with a powder puff, then she swept into the front room where Andrew Duggan stood by the french doors looking out over the Atlantic. Her welcome to him was less than effusive, and she did not offer her cheek for him to kiss, a small token of her displeasure.
Andrew was apologetic.
I know how you feel, Centaine, this is damned cheeky of me barging in here, but I simply had to speak to you and I couldn't use the telephone. Tell me I am forgiven, please., She softened and smiled. You are forgiven and I'll give you a cup of tea to prove it. She poured the orange pekoe tea, brought the paper-thin Royal Doulton cup to him and sat beside him on the sofa.
Life and death? she asked.
More correctly, life and birth. You intrigue me. Please go on, Andy. Centaine, I have received the most extraordinary allegations, supported by documents which appear on the surface to be genuine. If they are, then I shall be obliged to print the story. The allegation concerns you and your family, but especially you and Shasa. They are most damaging allegations, he trailed off and looked at her for permission to continue.
Go on, please, Centaine said with a calm she did not feel.
Not to put too fine a point on it, Centaine, we have been told that your marriage to Blaine was your first and only marriage, Centaine felt the leaden weight of dismay crush down upon her which, of course, means that Shasa is illegitimate. She held up her hand to stop him. Answer me one question. Your informant is the Nationalist Party candidate in the Hottentots Holland constituency or one of his agents. is my guess correct! He bowed his head slightly in assent but said, We do not reveal our sources. It's not the policy of our newspaper. They were silent for a long while and Andrew Duggan studied her face. What an extraordinary woman she was, indomitable even in the face of catastrophe. It saddened him to think that he must be the one who would destroy her dream. He had guessed at her ambitions and empathized with them. Shasa Courtney had much of value to give the nation.
You have the documents, of course? Centaine asked, and he shook his head.
,MY informant is holding them against my firm undertaking to print the story before polling day. Which you will give him? If I cannot have something from you to refute the allegations, then I must print. It is material and in the public interest. Give me until tomorrow morning, she asked, and he hesitated. As a personal favour, please Andy. Very well, he agreed. I owe you that at least. He stood up. 'I'm sorry, Centaine, I have taken too much of your time already. Immediately Andrew Duggan had left, Centaine went upstairs and bathed and changed. Within half an hour she was in the Daimler and heading for the town of Stellenbosch.
It was long after five when she parked in front of the law offices of Van Schoor and De La Rey, but the front door opened to her touch and she found one of the partners working late.
Meneer De La Rey left a little early today. He took a brief home to work undisturbed. My business is most urgent. Can you give me his home address? It was a pleasant modest gabled house on an acre of ground on the banks of the river, adjoining the spreading Lanzerac estate. Somebody had taken a great deal of care with the garden and it was filled with flowers even this late in the year, with the first snows of winter on the mountains.
A woman opened the door to Centaine, a big blond woman with a heavily handsome head and a high full bosom. Her Smile was reserved and she opened the door only halfway.
I would like to speak to Meneer De La Rey, Centaine told her in Afrikaans. Will you tell him Mrs Malcomess is here. My husband is working. I do not like to disturb him but come in, I will see if he will speak to you. She left Centaine in the front room with its flocked wallpaper of dark red, velvet curtains and heavy Teutonic furniture. Centaine was too keyed up to sit down, She stood in the centre of the floor and looked at the paintings on the fireplace wall without really seeing them, until she became aware of being observed herself.
She turned quickly and a child stood in the doorway, studying her with unblinking frankness. He was a lovely boy, probably seven or eight years old, with a head of blond curls but with incongruously dark eyes under dark brows.
The eyes were her own, she recognized them immediately.
This was her grandchild, she knew it instinctively, and the shock of it made her tremble. They stared at each other
.
Then she gathered herself and approached him slowly. She held out her hand and smiled.
Hello, she said. What is your name? I am Lothar De La Rey, he answered importantly. And I am nearly eight years old. Lothar! she thought, and the name brought all the memories and heartaches back to swamp her emotions. Still she managed to hold the smile.
What a big fine boy, she began, and she had almost touched his cheek when the woman appeared in the door behind him.
What are you doing here, Lothie? she scolded. You have not finished your dinner. Back to the table this instant, do you hear? The child bolted from the room and the woman smiled at Centaine.
I'm sorry. He is at the inquisitive age, she apologized.
My husband will see you, Mevrou. Please come with me. Still shaken from her brief encounter with her grandchild Centaine was unprepared for the additional shock of meeting her son face to face. He stood behind a desk that was strewn with documents and he glared at her with that disconcerting yellow gaze.
I cannot tell you that you are welcome in this house, Mrs Malcomess. He spoke in English. You are a blood enemy of my family, and of mine. That is not true. Centaine found her voice was breathless, and she tried desperately to regain control.
Manfred made a dismissive gesture. You robbed and cheated my father, you crippled him, and through you he has spent half his life in prison. If you could see him now, an old man broken and discarded, you would not come here seeking favours from me. Are you certain I came for a favour? she asked, and he laughed bitterly.
For what other reason? You have hounded me, from the day I first saw you in the courtroom at my father's trial. I have seen you watching me, following me, stalking me, like a hungry lioness. I know you seek to destroy me as you destroyed my father. No! She shook her head vehemently, but he went on remorselessly.
Now you dare to come and beg my favour. I know what you want. He pulled open the drawer of his desk and lifted out a file. He opened it and let the papers it contained spill upon the desktop. Amongst them she recognized French birth certificates and old newspaper clippings.