Lothar came up short at the sight of him, and before he could stop himself, he said, Shasa! The boy straightened up quickly and flicked the lock of dark hair off his forehead.
How do you know my name? he asked, and despite his tone the dark blue eyes sparkled with interest as he studied Lothar with a level, almost adult self-assurance.
There were a hundred answers Lothar could have given, and they crowded to his lips: Once, many years ago, I saved you and your mother from death in the desert.. . I helped wean you, and carried you on the pommel of my saddle when you were a baby ... I loved you, almost as much as once I loved your mother ... You are Manfred's brother you are half brother to my own son. I'd recognize you anywhere, even after a t s time. But instead he said, Shasa is the Bushman word for 'Good Water', the most precious substance in the Bushman world. That's right. Shasa Courtney nodded. The man interested him. There was a restrained violence and cruelty in him, an impression of untapped strength, and his eyes were strangely light coloured, almost yellow like those of a cat. You're right. It's a Bushman name, but my Christian name is Michel. That's French. My mother is French. Where is she? Lothar demanded, and Shasa glanced at the office door.
She doesn't want to be disturbed, he warned, but Lothar De La Rey stepped past him, so closely that Shasa could smell the fish smell on his oilskins and see the small white fish scales stuck to his tanned skin.
You'd best knock, Shasa dropped his voice, but Lothar ignored him and flung the door of the office open so that it crashed back on its hinges. He stood in the open door and Shasa could see past him. His mother rose from the straight-backed chair by the window and faced the door.
She was slim as a girl, and the yellow crape-de-chine of her dress was draped over her small fashionably flattened breasts and was gathered in a narrow girdle low around her hips. Her narrow-brimmed cloche hat was pulled down, covering the dense dark bush of her hair, and her eyes were huge and almost black.
She looked very young, not much older than her son, until she raised her chin and showed the hard, determined line of her jaw and the corners of her eyes lifted also and those honey-coloured lights burned in their dark depths. Then she was formidable as any man Lothar had ever met.
They stared at each other, assessing the changes that the years had wrought since their last meeting.
How old is she? Lothar wondered, and then immediately remembered. She was born an hour after midnight on the first day of the century. She is as old as the twentieth century
that's why she was named Centaine. So she's thirty-one
years old, and she still looks nineteen, as young as the day
I found her, bleeding and dying in the desert with the
wounds of lion claws deep in her sweet young flesh.
He has aged, Centaine thought. Those silver streaks in
the blond, those lines around the mouth and eyes. He'll be over forty now, and he has suffered -- but not enough. I am glad I didn't kill him, I'm glad my bullet missed his heart. It would have been too quick. Now he is in my power and he'll begin to learn the true-
Suddenly, against her will and inclination, she remembered
the feel of his golden body over hers, naked and
smooth and hard, and her loins clenched and then dissolved
so she could feel their hot soft flooding, as hot as the blood
that mounted to her cheeks and as hot as her anger against
herself and her inability to master that animal corner of her
motions. In all other things she had trained herself like an
athlete, but always that unruly streak of sensuality was just
beyond her control.
She looked beyond the man in the doorway, and she saw ... ...
Shasa standing out in the sunlight, her beautiful child,
watching her curiously, and she was ashamed and angry to
have been caught in that naked and unguarded moment
when she was certain that her basest feelings had been on
open display.
Close the door, she ordered, and her voice was husky
and level. Come in and close the door. She turned away and
stared out of the window, bringing herself under complete
control once More before turning back to face the man she
had set herself to destroy.
The door closed and Shasa suffered an acute pang of disappointment . He sensed that something vitally important was taking place. That blond stranger with the cat-yellow eyes who knew his name and its derivation stirred something in him, something dangerous and exciting. Then his mother's reaction, that sudden high colour coming up her throat into her checks and something in her eyes that he had never seen before, not guilt, surely? Then uncertainty, which was totally uncharacteristic. She had never been uncertain of anything in the world that Shasa knew of. He wanted desperately to know what was taking place behind that closed door. The walls of the building were of corrugated galvanized iron sheeting.