begin to take an active interest in South African politics.' 'My father is a self-contained man. He does not need me.' 'You are wrong, Red Rose. Your father is a very lonely and a basically unhappy man. He is incapable of a lasting relationship with any woman, except your grandmother, his mother, Centaine Courtney-Malcomess, and with you, his daughter. He needs that relationship very deeply - and you will give it to him.' I 'You want me to use my own father?' she whispered, horror blending with fresh horror in her eyes.
'For the survival of your son,' Cicero agreed softly. 'No harm will come to your father, but your son stands full in harm's way unless you co-operate.' Isabella took a handkerchief from her handbag and blew 1ee her nose. Her voice was soggy. 'You want me to inveigle myself into my father's confidence to gain information on the national armaments programme and pass it on to you?' 'You learn quickly, Red Rose. However, that is not all. You will use your father's political contact within the South African Nationalist regime to foster your own political career within the party.' She shook her head. 'I am not a political creature.' 'You are now,' Cicero contradicted her. 'You have a doctorate in political theory. Your father will introduce you to the corridors of power.' Again she denied it. 'My father is in political eclipse. He backed the wrong horse when John Vorster came to power in South Africa. That was why he was shunted into the ambassadorial post here, into political oblivion.' 'Your father has exonerated himself by the way he performed his duties here in London. His appointment to such a responsible position as head of Armscor is indication of that. We anticipate that soon he will be totally reinstated within the party. We deem it highly probable that within two years he will be once more a member of the Cabinet. You, Red Rose, will ride upon his back. In twenty years from now you yourself could be a minister of the Government.' 'Twenty years!' Isabella echoed in disbelief. 'Is that how long I must be your slave?' 'You still don't understand?' Cicero asked, shaking his head. 'Let me explain it to you. You belong to us, Red Rose, you, your lover Ramsey Machado, and your son, for ever.' For many minutes Isabella stared sightlessly at the blank screen, contemplating the enormity of the vision that he had conjured up for her.
Joe Cicero broke the silence. His voice was almost gentle. 'You will be taken back now. They will leave you where they found you, on the Embankment. Follow your orders, Red Rose, and in the long run it will work out well for you and your son.' ze7 The women attendants helped Isabella to her feet and led her to the door.
When she had gone, the side- door to the lecture-theatre opened and Ramsey Machado stepped through. 'You were watching?' Joe Cicero asked, and Ramsey nodded. J congratulate you,' Joe murmured reluctantly. 'It has been well run. We may reap much of value from this operation. How is the child?' 'He suffered no ill-effects. He and his nurse have arrived in Havana.' Joe Cicero lit another cigarette and coughed and sat down heavily in one of the plastic chairs.
Perhaps... he thought, just perhaps I will be able to leave the department in capable hands.
Amber joy was about to 'fail to find'. They could all see it. A palpable air of tension and expectation hung over the entire field of the trial.
The South African retriever championship trial was being conducted over the foothills of the Kabonkel Berg along the western end of the Weltevreden estate. The terrain was testing, an dover the two days of the trials the field of dogs had been whittled down to these four still in the hunt.
The birds were mallard ducks, pen-reared on Weltevreden and placed in the field under the supervision of the judges prior to each retrieve. This would probably be the last occasion on which they would be allowed to use mallards, Shasa Courtney reflected. The conservationists were kicking up such a terrible stink about unshot mallards escaping into the wild. There these exotic birds were highly attractive to the indigenous yellow-billed ducks. Avian Don Juans, he smiled.
The progeny of these illicit unions were hybrids, and the Department of Nature Conservation had proclaimed a ban on the release of mallards which would become effective at the end of the month. Thereafter they would be forced to use ring-necked doves or guinea-fowl, which was a pity, they all agreed. These terrestrial birds did not float well on the water-retrieves.
Shasa Courtney switched his full attention back to the retrieve in progress. Amber joy was the main competition to Weltevreden's hopes of carrying off the cup for the first time. Amber joy was a splendid yellow Labrador. His sire had been American field-trial champion for three years in a row. Up until now every single retrieve that he had made during the last two days had been SOB, straight out and back. This time fortune had turned against him. The mallard had risen from its cage and flashed away along the edge of the dam. Garry Courtney and Shasa were the field-guns, chosen for the task because both of them were renowned shots. The mallard was flying left, Garry's side, and he had let it go to fifty yards before killing it so cleanly that it folded its wings and went in head-first like a kamikaze. It fell close in to the reed-beds, amongst the lily-pads and 'water blommetjies', the flowering aquatics that infested most dams in the Cape of Good Hope. The mallard's plunge drove it deep, and it had not re-emerged. Probably it was entangled with the plant stems below the surface-of the muddy brown water.
The judge had called Amber joy's number, and Bunty Charles, his owner and handler, had sent him away. While the spectators crowded the dam wall to watch, the dog had taken to the water and swum out towards the spot where the mallard had disappeared. However, he had deviated from the true line as he ' swam, going up above the bird where any blood would drift away from him on the faint current set up by the in-flowing river and the gusty southeaster which was sweeping across the open water.
Now Amber joy was paddling around amongst the reeds in erratic circles, occasionally ducking his head below the surface but each time coming up with empty jaws, and a little further from the spot where the duck had plunged.
His efforts were causing consternation on the bank.
Bunty Charles was dancing from one leg to the other in frustration. If he whistled and redirected Amber joy on to the fall of the bird he would lose points. There was still no guarantee that Amber joy would find even with this assistance. On the other hand, time was running out. The three judges were already consulting their stop-watches. Amber joy had been in the water for over three minutes.
Bunty Charles flashed an anxious glance at the next handler and dog in the line. Centaine Courtney-Malcomess and Dandy Lass of Weltevreden were his most bitter rivals. Up to now he and Amber joy had managed to hold them off, but only by ten points. If they failed to find, they would certainly forfeit their hard-won lead.
Centaine Courtney was also under intense strain. She did not have Bunty's thirty years of field-trial experience. She had taken to the sport only recently. Yet she had brought all her immense energy and powers of concentration to it. Dandy Lass was the progeny of champions, a leggy golden retriever. She was bred for speed as a working gun-dog, strong and wiry, unlike the heavier show-dogs with their classical points of breed but with their working instincts bred out of them. Dandy Lass had the heart and instinct to enter the heaviest cover or coldest water and work through it like a heroine. She had a fine nose to pick up the faintest scent of feather on the air, and her intelligence was uncanny. She and Centaine had developed an almost telepathic rapport.
Although she stood erect and utterly still, with her face calm and imperturbable, inwardly Centaine was seething with agitation, and Dandy Lass picked it up from her. The judges would notice any word or gesture of restraint between them and mark them down immediately. However, Dandy Lass was sitting on the live coals of her eagerness. Her fluffy golden bottom barely came in contact with the ground, and she switched from haunch to haunch with tiny excited movements, not quite sufficient to incur the judges' wrath and penalty points. Whining or barking were grounds for instant elimination. With huge effort, Dandy prevented herself from giving tongue as she watched Amber joy's frenzied efforts to find the bird. Yet her entire body shivered with eagerness, and the suppressed cries of excitement rumbled in her throat as she awaited her turn. Every few, seconds she glanced up at Centaine with imploring eyes, begging for the command to go.
Shasa Courtney watched his mother from his place in the gun-line. As always she evoked in him the most profound sense of admiration. Centaine Courtney-Malcomess had turned seventy years old last New Year's Day. She had been named for her birth on the first day of the twentieth century, and yet she was as slim and straight as a teenage boy. The outline of her legs and buttocks under fine woollen cloth was aristocratic and elegant.
Who else would wear Chanel slacks to a field-trial? he smiled, and her boots were of ostrich skin, hand-made by Herm~s of Paris.
Single-handed, she had raised Shasa from infancy when Shasa's father had been killed in action in France before his birth. Alone in the desert, she had discovered the first diamond that led to the establishment of the fabulous H'ani mine. For thirty years she had run the mine and built up the sprawling financial empire that was to become Courtney Enterprises. Even though the chairmanship had passed to Shasa and then to her grandson Garry Courtney, Centaine still regularly took her seat on the board. Every word she uttered from that seat, every thought she expressed was received with the utmost attention and respect. Every member of the family, from Shasa himself to Garry's brood of her great-grandchildren aged between four years and a few months stood in total awe of Centaine Courtney. She was the only one who could give orders to Bella Courtney and have them obeyed without argument or question.
She stood bare-headed in the bright sunshine of a
