Smuts off to the gunroom which he always used as a study when he visited Weltevreden. The two of them were immersed in the initial consultations for the biography and did not appear again until lunchtime.
The visitor came down to breakfast just as Centaine and Shasa arrived back from their early morning gallop, rosycheeked and starving.
He was examining the hallmarks on the silver cutlery as they entered the dining-room arm in arm through the double doors, laughing at one of Shasa's sallies. However, the mood was instantly shattered, and Centaine bit her lip and sobered when she saw him.
May I introduce my son, Michael Shasa Courtney. Shasa, this is Mr Davenport from London. How do you do, sir. Welcome to Weltevreden. Davenport looked at Shasa with the same appraising stare with which he had been examining the silver.
It means 'well satisfied', Shasa explained. From the Dutch, you know, Weltevreden. Mr Davenport is from Sotheby's, Shasa. Centaine filled the awkward pause. He has come to advise me on some of our paintings and furniture. Oh, jolly good, Shasa enthused. 'Have you seen this, sir? Shasa pointed out the landscape in soft oils above the side board. It's my mother's favourite. Painted on the estate where she was born. Mort Homme near Arras. Davenport adjusted his steel-framed spectacles and leaned over the sideboard for a closer view so that his considerable stomach drooped into the salver of fried eggs and left a greasy splotch on his waistcoat.
Signed 1875, he said sombrely. His best period. It's by a chap called Sisley, Shasa volunteered helpfully, Alfred Sisley. He is quite a well-known artist, isn't he, Mater? Cheri, I think Mr Davenport knows who Alfred Sisley is. But Davenport wasn't listening.
We could get five hundred pounds, he muttered, and pulled a notebook from his inner pocket to make an entry.
A fine dusting of dandruff descended from his lank locks at the movement and sprinkled the shoulders of his dark suit.
Five hundred? Centaine demanded unhappily. I paid considerably more than that for it. She poured a cup of coffee, she had never taken to these huge English breakfasts, and carried it to the head of the table.
That is as maybe, Mrs Courtney. We had a better example of his work on auction only last month, 'It Ecluded Marly', and it didn't reach the very modest reserve we placed on it.
Buyer's market, I'm afraid, very much a buyer's market. Oh don't worry, sir. Shasa piled eggs onto his plate and crowned them with a wreath of crispy bacon. It's not for sale. My mother would never sell it, would you, Mater? Davenport ignored him and carried his own plate to the vacant seat beside Centaine.
Now, the Van Gogh in the front salon is another matter, he told her as he launched into the smoked kippers with more enthusiasm than he had shown for anything since his arrival. With his mouth full he read from his notebook.
Green and violet wheatfield; furrows lead the eye to golden haloes around the huge orb of the rising sun high in the picture. He closed the book. There is quite a vogue for Van Gogh in America, even in this soft market. Can't tell whether it will last, of course, can't stand him myself, but I will have the picture photographed and send copies to a dozen of our most important clients in the United States. I think we can bank on four to five thousand pounds. Shasa had laid down his knife and fork and was staring from Davenport to his mother with a puzzled and troubled expression.
I think we should talk about this later, Mr Davenport, Centaine intervened hurriedly. I have set aside the rest of the day for you. But let us enjoy our breakfast now., The rest of the meal passed in silence, but when Shasa pushed his plate away, half finished, Centaine rose with him. Where are you going, cheri? The stables. The blacksmith is reshoeing two of my ponies. I'll walk down with you. They took the path along the bottom wall of the Huguenot vineyard, where Centaine's best wine grapes were grown, and around the back of the old slave quarters. Both of them were silent, Shasa waiting for her to speak, and Centaine trying to find the words to tell him. Of course, there was no gentle way of saying it and she had delayed too long already.
Her procrastination had only made it more difficult for her now.
At the gate of the stable yard she took his arm and turned him into the plantation. That man, she began, and then broke off and started again. Sotheby's is the foremost firm of auctioneers in the world. They specialize in works of art. I know, he smiled condescendingly. I'm not a complete ignoramus, Mater. She drew him down onto the oak bench that stood at the edge of the spring. Sweet crystal water burbled out of a tiny rocky grotto and splashed down amongst ferns and green moss-covered boulders into the brick-lined pool at their feet.
The trout in the pool, as long and as thick as Shasa's forearm, came nosing up to their feet, swirling hopefully for their feed.
Shasa, cheri. He has come here to sell Weltevreden for us. She said it clearly and loudly, and immediately the enormity of it came down upon her with the brutal force of a falling oak tree, and she sat numb and broken beside him, feeling herself shrinking and shrivelling, giving in at last to despair.
You mean the paintings? Shasa asked carefully.
Not just the paintings, the furniture, the carpets and the silver. She had to stop to draw breath and control the trembring of her lips. The chateau, the estate, your ponies, everything. He was staring at her, unable to comprehend it. He had lived at Weltevreden since he was four years old, as far back as he could remember.
Shasa, we have lost it all. I have tried since the robbery to hold it together. I was not able to do it. It's gone, Shasa.
We are selling Weltevreden to pay off our debts. There will be nothing left after that. Her voice was cracking again, and she touched her lips to still them before she went on. We aren't rich any more, Shasa. It's all gone. We are ruined, completely ruined. She stared at him, waiting for him to revile her, waiting for him to break as she was about to break, but instead he reached for her and after a moment the stiffness went out of her shoulders and she sagged against him and clung to him for comfort.
We are poor, Shasa, and she sensed him struggling to take it all in, trying to find words to express his confused feelings.
You know, Mater, he said at last, I know some poor people. Some of the boys at school, their parents are pretty hard-up, and they don't seem to mind too much. Most of them are jolly good chaps. It might not be too bad, once we get used to being poor., I'll never get used to it, she whispered fiercely. I will hate it, every moment of it.
And so will I, he said as fiercely. If only I were old enough, if only I could help you., She left Shasa at the
