by Wilbur Smith
‘It was wicked,’ she whispered. ‘But I was confused and afraid, afraid of the rejection of the Courtney family if I brought a bastard amongst them. Oh, Blaine, I have regretted it ten thousand times – and hated myself as much as I hated Lothar De La Rey.’
‘Do you want to go to Johannesburg to see him again?’ Blaine asked. ‘We could fly up to watch the championships.’
The idea startled Centaine. ‘We?’ she asked. ‘We, Blaine?’
‘I couldn’t let you go alone. Not to something so disturbing.’
‘But can you get away? What about Isabella?’
‘Your need is far more important now,’ he told her simply. ‘Do you want to go?’
‘Oh yes, Blaine. Oh yes please.’ She dabbed away the last tear with her lace table napkin, and he saw her mood shift. It always fascinated him how she could change moods as other women changed their hats.
Now she was crisp and quick and businesslike. ‘I am expecting Shasa back from South-West later today. I’ll ring Abe in Windhoek to find out what time they took off. If all is well, we can leave for Johannesburg tomorrow. What time, Blaine?’
‘As early as you like,’ he told her. ‘This afternoon I will clear my desk and make my peace with the Ou Baas.’
‘The weather should be fine this time of year – perhaps a few thunderstorms on the highveld.’ She took his wrist and turned it to see his Rolex watch. ‘Chéri, you can still get to the cabinet meeting if you hurry.’
She went with him to the garage to see him off, still playing the dutiful wife, and kissed him through the open window of the Bentley.
‘I’ll ring your office as soon as Shasa arrives,’ she murmured in his ear. ‘I’ll leave a message with Doris if you are still in the meeting.’ Doris was Blaine’s secretary, and one of the very few people in the world that knew about them.
As soon as he was gone, Centaine rushed back into the bedroom and picked up the phone. The line to Windhoek was noisy with crackles and hisses and Abe Abrahams sounded as though he were in Alaska.
‘They left at first light, almost five hours ago,’ he told her faintly. ‘David is with him, of course.’
‘What’s the wind, Abe?’
‘They should have a tail wind all the way. I’d say twenty or thirty miles an hour.’
‘Thank you. I’ll wait at the field for them.’
‘That might be a little awkward.’ Abe sounded hesitant. ‘There was a lot of secrecy and deliberate vagueness when they got in from the mine yesterday evening, and I wasn’t allowed to see them off from the airfield this morning. I think they might have company – if you will excuse the euphemism.’
As a reflex, Centaine frowned, though she truly could not find it in herself thoroughly to disapprove of Shasa’s philanderings. She always excused him with: ‘It’s his de Thiry blood. He can’t help himself,’ feeling a covert touch of indulgent pride in her son’s effortless successes with the opposite sex. Now she changed the subject.
‘Thank you, Abe. I’ve signed the new Namaqualand leases so you can go ahead and draw up the contract.’ They spoke business for five minutes more before Centaine hung up. She made three more calls, all business, then phoned her secretary at Weltevreden and dictated four letters and the cable to her London broker to ‘Sell all Krupp and Farben at best.’
She hung up, sent for Hadji and Miriam and gave them instructions for the running of the cottage in her absence. Then she made a quick calculation. The Dragon Rapide, a beautiful blue and silver twin-engined aircraft which Shasa had prevailed on her to buy, could cruise at 150 knots, and with a tail wind of twenty miles an hour they should be at Youngsfield before noon.
‘So we will see just how much Master Shasa’s taste in women has improved recently.’
She went out to the Daimler and drove slowly around the shoulder of the mountain, below District Six, the colourful Malay quarter, its narrow lanes reverberating to the cries of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer, the hoot of the fishsellers’ horns declaring their wares and the birdlike cries of children, and past the hospital of Groote Schuur and the university which adjoined Cecil Rhodes’ magnificent estate, his legacy to the nation.
‘It must be the most beautiful situation of any university in the world,’ she thought.
The colonnaded stone buildings were set against a backdrop of dark pines and the sheer sky-high cliff of the mountain, while on the meadows abutting them grazed small herds of plains animals, eland and wildebeest and zebra. Sight of the university set her thinking about Shasa again. He had just completed his year, with a respectable second-class.
‘I always suspect those who pass first class in everything,’ Blaine had remarked when he heard Shasa’s results. ‘Most of them are too clever for their own good or the good of those around them. I prefer those lesser mortals for whom the achievement of excellence requires considerable effort.’
‘You accuse me of spoiling him,’ she had smiled. ‘But you are always making excuses for Shasa yourself.’
‘Being your son, my love, is not the easiest of tasks for a young man,’ he had told her, making her bridle furiously.
‘You think I am not good to him.’
‘You are very good to him. As I have suggested, perhaps too good to him. It’s just that you do not leave much for him. You are so successful, so dominant. You have done it all. What can he do to prove himself?’
‘Blaine, I am not domineering.’
‘I said dominant, Centaine, not domineering. The two are different. I love you because you are dominant. I would despise you if you were domineering.’
‘Still I do not always understand this language of yours. I shall look it up in my dictionary.’
‘Ask Shasa – English was his only first.’ Blaine chuckled and then put his arm around her shoulders. ‘You must slacken the rein a little, Centaine, give him space to make his own mistakes and enjoy his own triumphs. If he wants to hunt, even though you do not approve of killing animals that you cannot eat, the Courtneys have all been big-game hunters. Old General Courtney slew elephant in their hundreds and Shasa’s father hunted; let the boy try his hand at it. That and polo are the only things you haven’t done before him.’
‘What about flying?’ she challenged.
‘I apologize – and flying.’
‘Very well, I will let him go and murder beasts. But Blaine, tell me, will he make the polo team for the Olympics?’
‘Frankly, my darling – no.’
‘But he is good enough! You said so yourself.’
‘Yes,’ Blaine agreed. ‘He is probably good enough. He has all the fire and dash, a marvellous eye and arm, but he lacks experience. If he were chosen he’d be the youngest international ever. However, I don’t think he will be. I think Clive Ramsay has to get the ride at number two.’
She stared at him, and he stared back expressionlessly. He knew what she was thinking. As Captain, Blaine was one of the national selectors.
‘David will be going to Berlin,’ she had followed up.
‘David Abrahams is the human version of a gazelle,’ Blaine had pointed out reasonably. ‘He has the fourth best time in the world for the two hundred metres and the third best for the four hundred. Young Shasa is competing against at least ten of the world’s best horsemen for a place.’
‘I would give anything in the world for Shasa to go to Berlin.’
‘Very likely you would,’ Blaine had agreed. She had built a new wing to the engineering faculty at the University of Cape Town, the Courtney Building, when it had finally been decided that Shasa would go there rather than to Oxford; yes, he knew no price was too high for her to pay.
‘I assure you, my love, that I will make very certain—’ he paused, and she perked up expectantly ‘ – that I excuse myself from the room when, and if, Shasa’s name ever comes up before the selectors.’
‘He’s so damned virtuous!’ she exclaimed aloud now and beat her clenched fist on the steering-wheel of the Daimler with frustra
tion, until a sudden vision of the ivory and gold inlaid bed stopped her and she grinned wickedly. ‘Well, perhaps virtuous is not the correct word again.’
The airfield was deserted. She parked the Daimler beside the hangar, where Shasa would not see it from the air. Then she took the travelling rug from the boot and spread it under a tree on the edge of the wide grassy strip.
It was one of those lovely summer days, bright sunlight with only patches of cloud over the mountain, a sharp breeze ruffling the stone pines and taking the edge off the heat.
She settled down on the rug with Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, a book that she had been trying to finish for the last week, occasionally glancing up from the page to scan the northern sky.
David Abrahams was almost as enchanted with flying as he was with running. That was what had brought him and Shasa together in the beginning. Though Abe Abrahams had worked for Centaine and been one of her closest personal friends for almost all of David’s lifetime, the two boys had really only noticed each other when they went up to university in the same year. Since then they had become inseparable and were founder members of the university flying club, for which Centaine had provided a Tiger Moth trainer.
David was studying law, and it was tacitly understood that when he qualified he would join his father in Windhoek, which meant naturally that he would become one of Centaine’s people. She had observed the boy carefully over the years and found no vice in him, so she approved of his friendship with Shasa.
David was taller than his father, with a lean runner’s body and an attractively ugly, humorous face, thick curly hair and a large beaky nose which he had inherited from Abe. His best features were his dark Semitic eyes and long sensitive hands, with which he was now manipulating the control column of the Dragon Rapide. He flew with an almost religious dedication, like a priest performing the ritual of some arcane religion. He treated the aircraft as though it were a beautiful living creature, whereas Shasa flew like an engineer – with understanding and great skill, but without David’s mystic passion.
David brought that same passion to running and many of the other things in his existence. This was one of the reasons that Shasa loved him so dearly. He spiced Shasa’s own life, enhanced the pleasure which Shasa derived from the things they did together. These past weeks might have been dull and anti-climactic without David.
With Centaine’s blessing, withheld strenuously for almost a year and then mysteriously given at the last moment, the two of them had taken the Rapide and flown to the H’ani Mine the day after they had written their final examinations.
At the mine Dr Twentyman-Jones had arranged for two four-ton trucks to be waiting for them, fully equipped with camping equipment, camp staff, trackers, skinners and a cook. One of the company prospectors, a man thoroughly versed in the ways of the wild, in bushcraft and hunting big dangerous game, was in charge of the expedition.
Their destination was the Caprivi Strip, that remote ribbon of wilderness, between Angola and Bechuanaland. Entry to this area was severely restricted and hunting was forbidden except in exceptional circumstances. Enviously it was referred to by other sportsmen as the private hunting preserve of the cabinet ministers of the South African government. Blaine Malcomess had arranged entry permits and hunting licences for them.
Under the grizzled old prospector’s quiet instruction and firm hand the two young men had come to a closer understanding of, and respect for, the wilderness and the fascinating spectrum of life it contained. In a few weeks he had taught them something of man’s place in the fragile balance of nature and instilled in them the principles of ethical hunting.
‘The death of each individual animal is sad but inevitable. However, the death of the forest or swamp or plain that supports the entire species is tragedy,’ he explained. ‘If the kings and noblemen of Europe had not been avid huntsmen, the stag and the boar and the bear would be extinct today. It was the huntsmen who saved the forest from the axe and the plough of the peasants.’ And they listened attentively at the camp-fire as he explained. ‘Men who hunt for love of the creatures they pursue will protect the breeding females and young from the poachers and save the forests from the goats and cattle. No, my young friends, Robin Hood was a dirty poacher. The sheriff of Nottingham was the real hero.’
So they spent enchanted days in the bush, leaving camp on foot while it was still dark and returning dog-weary after the sun had set. Each of them killed his lion, and experienced the hunter’s sadness and elation at the deed, and came out determined to preserve that wild and beautiful country from the predations of unthinking, greedy men. And Shasa, blessed by the chance of birth with the promise of great wealth and influence, came to realize in some small measure how much of that responsibility could one day be his.
The women had been superfluous, as David had warned they would be. However, Shasa had insisted on bringing them, one for himself and one for David.
Shasa’s choice was almost thirty years old. ‘The best tunes are played on an old fiddle,’ he assured David. She was also a divorcée. ‘I never break in my own polo ponies.’ She had big blue eyes, a ripe red mouth and a pneumatic figure, but was not burdened by an unnecessary amount of brain.
David nicknamed her ‘Jumbo’, ‘Because,’ he explained, ‘she’s so thick that two elephants could walk across her skull side by side.’
Shasa had prevailed upon Jumbo to bring a friend for David, and she had selected a tall dark lady, another divorcée, with trailing locks; her thin arms were loaded with bangles, her long neck with strings of beads. She affected an ivory cigarette-holder and had a smouldering intense gaze but spoke seldom – then usually to ask for another gin.
David dubbed her ‘the Camel’ for her insatiable thirst. However, the two of them turned out to be ideal, for while they delivered what was expected of them with vigour and expertise when called upon to do so, for the rest they were quite content to remain in camp all day, and in the evening demanded little attention and made no attempt to sabotage the conversation around the camp-fire by joining in.
‘That was probably the most enjoyable holiday I will ever spend.’ Shasa leaned back in the pilot’s seat of the Rapide and stared dreamily ahead, content to let David, in the co-pilot’s seat, do the flying. ‘But it isn’t over yet.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Another hour before we reach Cape Town. Keep her on course,’ he told David, and unfastened his safety-belt.
‘Where are you going?’ David demanded.
‘I will not embarrass you by replying to that question, but do not be surprised when the Camel comes up to the cockpit to join you.’
‘I really am worried about you.’ David looked grave. ‘You’re going to rupture something if you go on like this.’
‘Never felt stronger,’ Shasa assured him as he wriggled out of the seat.
‘Not you, dear boy, it’s Jumbo I’m worried about.’ David shook his head sadly, and Shasa chuckled, slapped his shoulder and ducked into the rear cabin.
The Camel looked up at him with that dark fanatical gaze and spilled a little gin and tonic down the front of her blouse, while Jumbo giggled and wriggled her fat little rump across the seat to make room for Shasa beside her.
He whispered in her ear and Jumbo looked bewildered, not an unusual expression for her.
‘The Mile High Club – what in heaven’s name is that?’
Shasa whispered again and she peered out of the side window at the earth below.
‘Goodness! I didn’t realize we were that high.’
‘You get a special brooch when you become a member,’ Shasa told her, ‘made of gold and diamonds.’ And Jumbo’s interest flared.
‘Oh goody! What kind of brooch?’
‘A flying pussy cat, with gold wings and diamond eyes.’
‘A pussy cat? Why a pussy—’ she broke off as understanding dawned in those china blue eyes. ‘Shasa Courtney, you are awful!’ She lowered her eyes and blinked demurely, and Shasa winked across the aisle at the Camel
.
‘I think Davie wants to talk to you.’
The Camel rose obediently, glass in hand, all her bangles and beads jangling as she wobbled from one side of the aisle to the other.
An hour later Shasa brought the Rapide in from the mountain side of the airstrip, and laid her down on the grass as though he were buttering hot toast. He swung her nose around before she had stopped, taxiing back towards the hangars. With a burst of the starboard engine, he brought her up onto the hard stand and cut the motors.
Only then did he notice the yellow Daimler parked in the shadow of the hangar with Centaine standing beside it.
‘Oh for the love of Allah, Mater is here. Get those beauties flat on the floor!’
‘Too late,’ David groaned. ‘Jumbo, bless her, is already waving at your mum through the porthole.’
Shasa steeled himself to his mother’s wrath as Jumbo came giggling down the boarding ladder, supporting the Camel, whose legs had finally let her down.
Centaine said nothing, but she had a taxi waiting beside the Daimler. How she had known about the girls Shasa would never ask, but she waved the taxi forward and herded the unsteady pair into the back seat with an eye like a stockwhip.
‘Get their luggage in the boot,’ she ordered Shasa tersely, and the moment it was loaded, she nodded at the taxi-driver. ‘Take them wherever they want to go.’
The Camel slumped owl-eyed in her seat, but Jumbo leaned out of the rear window waving and blowing kisses at Shasa until the taxi disappeared through the gates of the airfield, and Shasa bowed his head and waited for his mother’s icy sarcasm.
‘Did you have a good trip, darling?’ Centaine asked sweetly, holding up her face to be kissed, and the two girls were never mentioned again.