him,
'Garry. Poor Garry!'
'Open that champagne-send for another case. We're in solidly-all of
us!' exulted Bob Sampson. 'So let's drink to the Union of South
Africa!'
'Not even this once. Out of so many times, so many thing snot even
this once.' Already Garry Courtney was drunk. He lay deep in his
chair with a tumbler held in both hands, stirring the brown liquid with
a circular movement so a few drops slopped over the rim and stained the
cloth of his trousers.
'No,' agreed Anna. 'Not even this once.' She stood with her back to
him, staring out of the window of their suite into the ga slit street
below, for she did not want him to see her face. But she could not
control the harsh, gloating quality of her voice.
'Now you can go back to writing your little books. You've made your
point-you've proved to yourself and the rest of the world how effective
you are. ' Moving her hands slowly, she began to massage her own upper
arms with sensual pleasure. A tiny shudder thrilled her so she moved
restlessly and her skirts rustled like leaves in the wind.
God, how close it had been-and she had been afraid.
'You're a loser, Garry Courtney. You have always bee nand you will
always be. ' Again she shuddered with the memory of her fear. He had
so nearly escaped. She had seen it begin from the moment the first
result was announced, every minute it had grown stronger. Even his
voice had changed, deeper with the first hint of confidence in it. He
had looked at her strangely, without submission, with the beginning of
his contempt. Then the flare of rebellion when he had spoken to Sean
Courtney. She had been truly afraid then.
'You are a loser,' she repeated, and heard the sound he made-half-gulp,
half-sigh. She waited and when she heard the soft gurgle of brandy
poured from bottle to glass she hugged herself tighter and now she
smiled as she remembered the announcement of the recount.
The way he had shrunk, the way he had crumpled and turned to her with
all of it gone-the confidence and contempt wiped away. Gone!
Gone for ever. Sean Courtney would never have him. She had made that
oath-and now it would be kept.
As so many times before, she played over in her mind the details of
that night. The night she had made the oath.
It was raining. She was standing on the wide stoep of Theuniskraal,
and Sean was leading his horse up across the lawns of Theuniskraal. The
damp linen of his shirt clung to his shoulders and chest, the rain had
made his beard break out in tiny curls so he looked like a mischievous
pirate,
'Where's Garry? ' Her own voice, and his voice answering.
'Don't worry. He's gone into town to see Ada. He'll be back by
supper-time. ' Then he was coming up the steps towards her, standing
tall above her, and his hand on her arm was cold from the rain.
'You must take better care of your-self now. You can't stand in the
cold any more. 'And he led her through the french doors.
