He crossed to the mirror and while he reshaped the knot of his tie and adjusted his black eye-patch, he pondered the additional enigma of Tara's new chauffeur. Tricia's remark had reminded him of it. He still hadn't taken the man to task for his unauthorized private use of the Chev. 'Damn - where have I seen him before?' he wondered, and with one last glance at the ceiling, he left the office. He was still thinking about the driver as he went down the corridor. Manfred De La Rey was waiting for him at the head of the stairs. He was smiling and quietly triumphant, and Shasa realized that he had not spoken to him in private since, the shock of Macmillan's speech.
'So,' Manfred greeted him, 'Britannia has cut the apron strings, my friend.' 'Do you remember how once you called me Soutpiel?' Shasa asked.
'Ja.' Manfred chuckled. ''Salt Prick' - with one foot in Cape Town and the other in London and the best part of you dangling in the Atlantic Ocean. Ja, I remember.' 'Well, from now on I will have both feet in Cape Town,' Shasa told him. It was not until that moment, when the fact of Britain's rejection had sunk in, that Shasa realized for the first time that above all other things he was first and foremost a South African.
'Good,' Manfred nodded. 'So ,at last you understand that although we may not always like each other or agree, circumstances have made us brothers in this land. One cannot survive without the .other, and in the end we have only each other to turn to.' They went down into the chamber and took their seats on the green leather benches, side by side.
When the Assembly rose to pray, to ask God's blessing on their deliberations, Shasa looked across the floor at Blaine Malcomess and felt a familiar rush of affection for him. Silver-haired but tanned and handsome with those protruding ears and big strong nose, Blaine had been a tower in his life for as long as he cared to remember. In his new mood of patriotism - and, yes, of defiance of Britain's rejection - he was glad of the knowledge that this would draw them still closer together. It would narrow the political differences between them, just as it had brought Afrikaner and Englishman closer.
As the prayer ended, he sat down and turned his attention to Dr Hendrik Frensch Verwoerd as he rose to make his address. Verwoerd was a strong articulate speaker and a brilliant debater. His address was sure to be long and carefully reasoned. Shasa knew they were in for fine entertainment and he crossed his arms, leaned against the padded back rest with anticipation and closed his eyes.
Then before Verwoerd could say his first word, Shasa opened his eyes and sat up straight on his bench. In that moment when he had cleared his mind of all recent worry, while he was relaxed and receptive, the ancient memory had flashed in upon him - full blown.
He remembered where and when he had last seen Tara's new chauffeur.
'Moses Gama,' he said aloud, but his words were lost in the applause that greeted the prime minister.
Tara gave the doorman at the main entrance to parliament a cheery smile, and was surprised at herself. She felt cocooned in a layer of unreality, as though she watched an actress playing her role.
She heard the muffled applause from the chamber as she swept up the stairs with Moses following her at a respectful distance in his chauffeur's uniform and burdened by an armful of parcels. They had done this so often, and Tara smiled again as they passed one of the secretaries in the corridor. She tapped on the door to Shasa's suite and without waiting for an answer swept into the outer office. Tricia rose from her desk.
'Oh, good morning, Mrs Courtney. You'll be late for the PM's address. You'd better hurry.' 'Stephen, you can just leave the parcels.' Tara stopped in front of Tricia as Moses closed the outer door.
'Oh, by the way. Somebody has been working on the ceiling of your husband's office,' Tricia came around the desk, as though to lead the way to Shasa's office. 'We wondered if you knew anything --' Moses placed the armful of parcels on a chair, and with his hands free turned to Tricia as she came level with him. He whipped one arm around her neck and with his other hand covered her mouth.
Tricia was powerless in his grip, but her eyes flew wide with shock.
'There are ropes and a gag in the top packet,' Moses spoke softly to Tara. 'Get them.' Tara stood paralysed. 'You said nothing about this,' she blurted.
'Get them.' His voice was still low, but it crackled with impatience and Tara sprang to obey.
'Tie her hands behind her,' Moses ordered, and while Tara fumbled at the knots, he stuffed a clean, white, folded cloth into the terrified girl's mouth and taped it in place.
'Stay in here,' he ordered Tara, 'in case somebody comes in,' and he bundled Tricia through into the inner office and forced her down on her stomach behind the desk. Swiftly he checked Tara's knots.
They were loose and sloppy. He retied them and then bound Tricia's ankles as securely.
'Come in here,' he called, and Tara was flustered and stammering as she rushed in.
'Moses, you haven't hurt her?' 'Stop that!' he told her. 'You have important work to do and you are behaving like a hysterical child.' She closed her eyes, clenched her fists and took a deep breath.
'I'm sorry.' She opened her eyes. 'I realize that it was necessary. I didn't think. I am all right now.' Moses had already crossed to the corner of the bookshelf and he reached up and brought down the roll of wire from behind the encyclopaedias. He paid it out across the carpet as he moved back to the desk.
'Good,' he said. 'Now go to your seat in the gallery. Wait five minutes after Verwoerd begins to speak and then come back here. Do not run, do not even hurry. Do everything calmly and deliberately.' 'I understand.' Tara crossed to the mirror and opened her handbag. Quickly she ran a comb through her hair and retouched her lipstick.
Moses had gone to the altar chest and lifted the heavy bronze Bushman statue. He placed it on the carpet and lifted the lid of the chest. Tara hesitated, watching him anxiously.
'Why are you waiting'?.' he asked. 'Go, woman, and do your duty.' 'Yes, Moses.' She hurried to the door of the outer office.
'Lock both doors behind you,' he ordered.
'Yes, Moses,' she whispered.
As Tara went down the corridor, she was searching in her handbag again, and she found her leather-bound notepad with the miniature gold-plated pencil in the spine loops. At the head of the stairs she paused, and used the banisters to steady the notepad while she scribbled hastily on a blank page.
