golden day of Cape spring with the pedigree bitch squatting beside her, and the sunlight sparkled on her hair. Her hair was one of her finer points, dense and thick and curling still, cut into a short cap, the colour of gun-metal touched with bright inlays of pure platinum. She held her chin high and the set of her head alert.
I The years had not eroded her beauty but had transformed it into a dignified serenity. Time may have withered that flawless skin, but had been unable to affect the strong line of her jaw, the proud cheekbones and the high intelligent forehead. Nor had it dimmed those dark eyes; eyes that could one moment reflect the ferocity of a cruel predator and the next moment shine with humour and wisdom.
One hell of a lady, Shasa thought. just look at her, as hungry to win as she was fifty years ago.
One of the judges blew a single sharp blast on his whistle, and Bunty Charles's shoulders slumped with disappointment. Amber joy had failed and was being recalled. Bunty Charles reinforced the recall with a blast on his own whistle and a brusque hand-signal. Amber joy came in obediently to the bank and lunged up out of the water. He shook himself, throwing a crystal curtain of water droplets into the sunlight, and then to the horror of his owner and the amusement of the spectators lifted one leg and gave the nearest clump of reeds a contemptuous squirt, succinct expression of Amber joy's opinion of the duck, the dam and the judges.
Such an unbridled display while under judges' orders was considered very poor form, and would certainly attract penalty points. However, Amber joy was the picture of nonchalance as he trotted back to his owner, lolling his tongue and wagging his sodden tail.
By this stage, Dandy Lass was in a turmoil of eagerness. She was shivering wildly, rolling her eyes like a berserker. She knew she would be called next, and the effort of keeping her backside pressed to the ground and maintaining her seat was destroying her from within.
Without looking down at her, Centaine exerted all her powers of telepathic communication to hold the bitch under control. The judges were sadistically relishing the delay, making a pretence of consulting each other and writing up their notes, but in reality testing Dandy Lass to the outside limit of her endurance. If she broke now, she would be instantly eliminated; a whine or a bark would penalize her cruelly.
Bastards! Centaine thought bitterly. I hate every last man-jack of you. Let my darling go. Let her go!
A faint choking whine escaped through Dandy's lips, a sound as though a bullfrog was being attacked by a swarm of bees under a blanket, and without seeming to move Centaine extended her forefinger down the side-seam of her Chanel slacks and Dandy suppressed her next utterance.
The senior judge looked up from his notebook.
'Thank you, Number Three,' he called across the water, and Centaine said sharply: 'Fetch!' And Dandy Lass went away like a golden javelin launched from the sling.
As she came to the water, she folded her forelegs under her chest and went out from the bank in a stylish leap, like a thorough-bred steeplechaser, and hit the water three paces out, clear of the weeds. She came up swimming, and Centaine's chest swelled with pride - only a true champiox committed to water with such dash.
Dandy Lass swam like an otter, snaking through the water, leaving a broad V of ripples across the surface. Then the swelling in Centaine's chest turned to a cold weight of dread as she realized that Dandy was making the same mistake as Amber joy. Perhaps the long delay had unsighted her, but she was veering slightly across the wind and the current, up into the blind spot where the scent would be carried away from her.
For an instant, Centaine considered forfeiting points by redirecting her bitch. If Dandy found, even with assistance, she would still have wiped Amber joy's eye, but they needed every single point if they were to win, and Centaine could already taste the sweetness of victory on the back of her tongue. She stood motionless, her whistle dangling on the loop around her neck.
Dandy Lass judged the length of the retrieve to within feet, and she circled once on the edge of the far reed-bank, but she was too high by three yards. Where Amber joy had ploughed on, getting ever further from the bird, Dandy Lass stopped and, treading water, looked back to where Centaine stood on the far bank.
Deliberately Centaine thrust her left hand into the hip pocket of her slacks. Not even the strictest judge with the eyes of an eagle could have construed that tiny movement as a signal, but Shasa picked it up.
'The old girl hasn't changed.' He shook his head, grinning. 'Anything to win, any weapon in the arsenal, and the only sin is being caught out.' In the water Dandy Lass immediately turned left, downcurrent, paddling hard, and two seconds later her nose went up as she acknowledged scent. She made one more circle, with the scent of blood rich and hot in her nostrils, as she placed the fallen mallard, then she ducked her head into the cold brown water.
A roar of approval went up from the bank as she lifted her head again, streaming water, ears flat against her skull, but the carcass of the mallard held in her jaws.
She left an arrow-head of ripples behind her as she headed back to the bank, the bird held neatly, wings' folded, keeping it high to avoid drag through the water. As her feet touched bottom, Dandy Lass flew up the bank.
She did not even pause to shake herself. Not wasting a second, she went in to make her delivery.
As she dropped to sit in front of her mistress, Shasa felt a choke in his throat and his vision misted over. It was beautiful, he thought, to see that kind of rapport between a woman and a dog. Centaine took the carcass from Dandy's mouth, and the iridescent patches in the wings burnt like sapphires in the sunlight.
She handed it to the judge, and he examined it carefully, parting the feathers to check for teeth-marks, for any sign of 'hard mouthing, and Centaine held her breath until the judge looked up again and nodded.
'Thank you, Number Three.' Not only had Centaine Courtney-Malcomess provided the venue for the trials, but she was in addition the hostess for the prize- giving ceremony.
I The candy-striped marquee tent, able to accommodate five hundred guests, was set up on the main polo-field of the estate, and from Weltevreden's kitchens had come the gargantuan array of fine foods. The rock lobster had been caught by the fishing boats of Courtney Fishing and Canning Company at Lambert's Bay; the turkey had been raised on Weltevreden; the succulent Karoo lamb came from Dragon's Fountain, the Courtney sheep station on the Camdeboo plains of the Karoo; and the wines were from the vineyards that began at the edge of the polo-field outside the marquee tent.
The prime minister, John Vorster, had agreed to present the prizes. This was the fruit of Centaine's machinations over the years, a less than subtle hint to the world that the Courtneys were no longer a spent political force, that the days of their eclipse were ending.
Shasa Courtney had been a member of the faction within the Verwoerd cabinet that had opposed John Vorster's elevation to the premiership and in consequence he had been sent into political exile. But over the years that he had been in London Centaine had laboured with all her finesse and skill within the party to seek her son's rehabilitation. Of course, the fact that Shasa's term in London had been such an unequivocal triumph had reinforced her efforts. However, much of the credit for the Armscor appointment redounded directly to Centaine's tireless lobbying, her refusal to accept defeat and the blatant wielding of all her political and financial influence in her son's favour.
She would see to it that John Vorster's presence on the Weltevreden estate heralded a new golden era for the Courtneys. His round red face was the rising sun of their hopes and aspirations, Centaine thought comfortably as she looked around the crowded marquee. They were all gathered here at Weltevreden once again, all the power-brokers and the power-wielders. Although none of them had ever been so foolish or so reckless as to give Centaine Courtney-Malcomess direct offence or to write her off completely, there had been a period of cooling off while Shasa had been serving his term in London. Some had been cooler than others, Centaine reflected with a steely glint in her eye as she picked them out amongst the crowd, and she would remember them.
'Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer,' she thought with deep satisfaction, and almost as if to echo her sentiment the chairman of the South African Kennel Union rose to his feet and called for silence from the dais at the far endof the marquee. After welcoming the prime minister and spending a few minutes discussing the field-trial scene in general, the chairman began calling the prize-winners to the stand, and the line of glistening silver trophies dwindled until only one remained in the centre of the green baize-covered table, but it was the tallest and most ornate of them all with a statuette of a gun-dog on point surmounting the pinnacle.
'We come at last to the champion dog of trial.' The chairman beamed round the tent until he picked out Centaine standing at the back of the tent surrounded by her family. 'And it gives me much pleasure to call to the champion's berth for the first time a lady who in the few short years since she has taken to our sport has brought to it so much energy and enthusiasm that her contribution equals and in many cases surpasses those who have spent a lifetime working with gun-dogs. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to welcome Mrs. Centaine Courtney-Malcomess and Dandy Lass of Weltevreden.' Isabella had been waiting outside the tent with Dandy Lass on leash and now she came in with her, and while the crowd applauded Isabella handed the dog over to her grandmother.
Dandy Lass wore a fitted blanket in
