spreading swiftly along the network of South African banking
channels.
Sean Courtney would find it difficult to borrow the price of a meal.
'All right then, Sean. As a special concession you can have a month. '
Then all the laughter was gone and he leaned forward in his chair.
'You've got exactly thirty days. Then, by Christ, I am going to sell
out under you.
After they were gone Sean sat alone on the wide veranda. The sunlight
on the hills was bright and hot, but in the shade it was cool.
He heard Ada's girls chattering somewhere in the house, then one of
them giggled shrilly. The sound irritated Sean, his frown deepened and
he drew a rumpled envelope from his jacket pocket and smoothed it out
on the arm of his chair. Awhile he sat in thought nibbling the stub of
a pencil.
Then he wrote: 'Jackson. Natal Wattle. ' And again, Standard Bank. '
Then
'Ben Goldberg. ' He paused and considered this last name on his list.
Then he grunted aloud and scratched it out with two hard strokes of the
pencil. Not from the Goldbergs. Leave them out of this.
He wrote quickly, scrawling a single word-'Candy' and below it 'Tim
Curtis.'
That was all. John Acheson was in England. It would take two months
to receive a reply from him.
That was all. He sighed softly and folded the envelope into his
pocket. Then he lit a cheroot, sank down in the chair and placed his
feet on the low veranda wall in front of him. I'll leave on tomorrow
morning's train, he thought.
The windows behind him were open. Lying beyond them in the bedroom
Michael Courtney had heard every word of their conversation.
Now he stood up painfully from the bed and began to dress. He went out
the back way and nobody saw him leave.
His horse was in the stables, and on a borrowed saddle he rode back to
Theuniskraal.
Anna saw him coming and ran out into the yard to meet him.
'Michael! Oh, Michael. Thank God you are safe. We heard Then she saw
his face and the raw, swollen burn on it and she from. Michael
dismounted slowly and one of the grooms led his horse away.
'Michael, darling. Your poor face.' And she embraced him quickly.
'It's nothing, Mother.'
'Nothing!' She pulled away from him, lips drawn into a tight, hard
line. 'You run away in the middle of the night to that ... that Then
you come home days later with your face and your hands in a terrible
mess-is that nothing!
'I'm sorry, Mother. Gran'a looked after me.
'You knew I'd be half-dead with worry, sitting here imagining all sorts
of things. You didn't send word to me, you just let me, ... 'You could
have come to Lion Kop, ' he said softly.
'To the home of that monster? Never! ' And Michael looked away from
her.
