The best investment I have made since gold went off She broke off; they had never mentioned that again.
I have never asked you to do anything for me, have I? he asked, and she considered that carefully.
No, you haven't, ever. Well, I'm asking you now. Sell your shares in German armarnents. She looked puzzled. Why, Blaine? 'Because it is like investing in the propagation of cancer, or like financing Genghis Khan's campaigns. She did not reply, but her expression went blank and her eyes went out of focus, crossing into a slightly myopic squint. The first time he had seen that happen he had been alarmed; it had taken him some time to realize that when she squinted like that she was involved in mental arithmetic, and it had fascinated him to see how quickly she made her calculations.
Her eyes flicked back into focus and she smiled agreement.
On yesterday's prices, I'll show a profit of a hundred and twenty-six thousand pounds. It was time to sell anyway. I'll cable my London broker as soon as the post office opens. Thank you, my love. Blaine shook his head sorrowfully.
But I do wish you'd made your profit somewhere else. You may be misjudging the situation, cheri, she suggested tactfully. Hitler may not be as bad as you think he is. He doesn't have to be as bad as I think he is, Centaine.
He only has to be as bad as he says he is in Mein Kampf to qualify for the chamber of horrors. Blaine took a mouthful of his kipper and closed his eyes with mild ecstasy. She watched him with a pleasure almost equal to his own. He swallowed, opened his eyes, and declared the subject closed with a wave of his fork.
Enough horrors for such a splendid morning. He smiled at her. 'Read me the sports pages, woman! Centaine rustled the pages portentously and then composed herself to read aloud, but suddenly the colour drained from her face and she swayed in her seat.
Blaine dropped his knife and fork with a clatter and jumped up to steady her. What is it, darling? He was desperately alarmed and almost as pale as she was. She shrugged his hands away and stared at the open newspaper which trembled in her grip.
Blaine moved quickly behind her, and scanned the page over her shoulder. There was an article on the previous weekend's racing at Kenilworth. Centaine's entry, a good stallion named Bonheur, had lost the feature race by a short head, but that could not have occasioned her distress.
Then he saw that she was looking at the foot of the page and he followed her gaze to a quarter-column photograph of a boxer, in shorts and vest, facing the camera in a formal pose, bare fists raised and a grim expression on his handsome features. Centaine had never evinced the slightest interest in boxing, and Blaine was puzzled. He read the heading of the article which accompanied the photograph: FEAST OF FISTICUFFS CLASSY FIELD FOR INTERvARSITY CHAMPIONS, which did nothing to alleviate his puzzlement. He glanced at the footnote beneath the photograph: The Lion of the Kalahari, Manfred De La Rey, the Challenger for the InterVarsity Light Heavyweight Belt. Hard pounding ahead., Manfred De La Rey. Blaine said the name softly, trying to remember where last he had heard it. Then his expression cleared and he squeezed Centaine's shoulders.
Manfred De La Rey! The boy you were looking for in Windhoek. Is this him?
Centaine did not look round, but she nodded jerkily.
What is he to you, Centaine? She was shaken into an emotional turmoil; otherwise she might have answered different But now it was out before she could bite down on the words. He's my son. My bastard son. Blaine's hands dropped from her shoulders and she heard the sharp hissing intake of his breath.
I must be mad! Her reaction was immediate, and she thought, I should never have told him. Blaine will never understand. He'll never forgive me. She dared not look round at the shock and accusation she knew she would find on his face. She dropped her head and cupped her hands over her eyes.
I've lost him, she thought. Blaine is too upright, too virtuous to accept it. Then his hands touched her again, and they lifted her to her feet and turned her gently to face him.
I love you, he said simply, and her tears choked her and she flung herself against his chest and held him with all her strength.
Oh Blaine, you are so good to me. If you want to tell me about it, I'm here to help you. If you'd rather not talk, then I understand.
There is just one thing, whatever it was, whatever you did, makes no difference to me and my feelings for you.
I want to tell you. She fought back her tears of relief and looked up at him. I've never wanted to keep secrets from you. I've wanted to tell you for years now, but I am a coward. You are many things, my love, but never a coward. He seated her again and drew his own chair close so that he could hold her hand while she talked.
Now tell me,he commanded.
It's such a long story, Blaine, and you have a cabinet meeting at nine. Affairs of state can wait, he said. Your happiness is the Most important thing in the world. So she told him, from the time that Lothar De La Rey had rescued her to the discovery of the H'ani diamond mine and the birth of Manfred in the desert.
She held nothing back: her love for Lothar, the love of a lonely forsaken girl for her rescuer. She explained how it had changed to bitter hatred when she discovered that Lothar had murdered the old Bushman woman who was her foster mother, and how that hatred had focused on Lothar's child that she was carrying in her womb, and how she had refused even to look upon the newborn infant but had made the father take it from the childbed still wet from the act of birth.
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
