into a smile of such charisma, of such infectious and conspiratorial glee, that Mark had to smile back at him.
Anders, he said. Anders and MacDonald. Martin?
Michael? No, Mark Anders! And he clenched his fist and struck his own thigh. Old, is it? Girl, who said old?
Pater, you are a marvel. She rolled her eyes, but Sean Courtney was advancing on Mark, seizing his hand in a grip that made the bones creak until he recovered himself and squeezed back, matching the big man's grip. It was the eyes, laughed Sean. You've changed so much from that day, that night - and the laughter dried, as he remembered the boy in the stretcher, pale and moribund, smeared with mud and thick drying blood, and heard again his own voice, He's dead! He drove back the image. How are you now, my boy? I'm fine, sir. I didn't think you were going to pull through. Sean peered closely at him. I'll grant you seem to have made it with all colours flying. How many did you collect, and where? Two, sir, high in the back. Honourable scars, my boy, we'll compare notes one day. And then he scowled again, horrendously. You got the gong, didn't you? Yes, sir. Good, you never know in this man's army. I wrote the citation that night, but you never know. What did they give you? Sean smiled his relief. The M. M sir. I got it at the hospital in England. Excellent. That's good! he nodded, and he let go of Mark's hand, turning to the girl again. Darling, this gentleman was with me in France. How nice. She touched the design on the radiator of the car with one finger, as she drifted past it, not glancing back at them. Do you think we might have a drive now, Pater? Mark hurried to the back door to hold it open. I'll drive, she said, and waited for him to jump to the driver's door.
The starter button is here, he explained. Thank you, I know. Sit in the back, please. She drove like a man very fast but skilfully, picking a tight line into the corners and using the gearbox to brake, double declutching with dancing feet on the pedals, and hitting the shift with a quick sure hand, Beside her the General sat with the set to his shoulders of a younger man. You drive too fast, he growled, the ferocious tone given the complete lie by the fond smile he turned on her. And you're an old fusspot, Daddy, she laughed again; the thrill of it sang in Mark's ears as she hurled the big powerful machine into the next bend. I didn't beat you enough when you were young. Well, it's too late now. She touched his cheek with her free hand. Don't bank on that, young lady, don't ever take bets on that. Shaking his head in mock despair, but with the adoration still glowing in his eyes, the General heaved himself around in the seat and subjected Mark to another dark penetrating scrutiny. You don't turn out at the weekly parades. No, sir. It's an hour on Friday evenings, half an hour square-bashing and then a lecture. Yes, sir? Good fun, really. Tremendous spirit, even though we have combined with the other peace-time regiments now. Yes, sir. I'm the Colonel-in-Chief, Sean chuckled. They couldn't get rid of me that easily. No, sir. We have a monthly shoot, good prizes, and a barbecue all terwards. is that so, sir? We are sending a team to shoot for the Africa Cup this year, all expenses paid. Marvellous opportunity for the lucky lads who get chosen. I'm sure, General. Sean waited for more, but Mark was silent. He could not meet the big man's fierce, unrelenting gaze, and he shifted his eyes, catching as he did so the girl's face reflected in the rear-view mirror.
She was watching him intently, with an unfathomable expression, contempt perhaps, dry amusement, maybe, or something else, something much more intriguing or dangerous. For the split part of an instant, their eyes met, and then her head turned away on the tall graceful column of her neck. The dark shining hair was brushed away from the nape, and there at the juncture with pale skin, the hair was fine and silky, a tiny whorl of it like a question mark at the back of her small sculptured ear.
Mark had an almost insane desire to lean forward and press his lips to it. The thought struck like a physical blow in his groin, and he felt the nerves along his spine racked out cruelly. He realized suddenly then, with a shock that made his senses tilt again, that he was in love with her. I want to win that cup, said the General softly, watching him. The regiment has never won it before. I've rather had enough of uniform and war, General. Mark forced his eyes back to meet the General's. But I do wish you good luck. The chauffeur held the rear door of the Rolls Silver Wraith open, and Sean Courtney lowered himself into the seat beside his daughter. He lifted his right hand in a brief, almost military, salute at the young man on the pavement and the car pulled smoothly away.
The instant they were alone, his daughter let out a girlish squeal of delight and threw both arms around his neck, ruffling his beard and his heart with her kisses.
, oh, Daddy, darling, you spoil me! Yes, I do, don't I?
Irene will turn bright green and curl up like an anchovy.
I love you, my kind and beautiful Daddy. Her father has never bought her a Cadillac! I like that lad, he's one of the bright ones. The sales person? I hadn't really noticed. She released her grip and and sat back in the seat. He sgot heart. He was silent for a moment then, remembering the snow falling silently across a shell-ravaged hill in France. He's got the guts and brightness for better things than selling motor cars. Then he grinned mischievously, looking young enough to be her brother. And I'd love to see Hamilton's face when we take the Africa Cup away from him. Beside him Storm Courtney was silent, her hand still in the crook of her father's arm while she wondered what had disturbed her about Mark Anders. She decided it was his eyes, those serene yellow eyes, calm but watchful, floating like golden moons.
involuntarily, Mark braked the big car almost to a standstill before the white gates. They were tall twin columns, plastered and white-washed with the Zulu name in raised letters on each: EMOYENI, it was a lovely haunting name, the place of the wind, and on the crest of the hills above Durban town, it would indeed receive the cool blessing of the sea breezes during the sweltering summer months.
The swinging portion of the gate was two racks of heavy cast-iron spears, but they stood open now, and Mark crossed the iron grid which would prevent hooved animals entering or escaping and started up the gentle curve of the driveway, butter yellow flint pebbles carefully raked and freshly watered, set on each side with deep beds of cannas which were now in full bloom. They had been arranged in banks of solid colour, scarlet and yellow and white, dazzling in the bright sunshine, and beyond them were lush lawns of deep tropical green, mown carpet- smooth but studded with clumps of indigenous trees which had obviously been spared for their size or beauty or unusual shape.
They were festooned with garlands of lianas the ubiquitous monkey rope plants of Natal, and even as Mark watched, a small blue-grey vervet monkey dropped lithely down one of the living ropes, and, with its back arched like a cat and its long tail held high in mock alarm, bounded across an open stretch of lawn until it reached the next clump of trees where it shot to the highest branches and chattered insolently at the slowly passing car.
Mark knew from his investigation that this was merely the Courtney town house, the main family home was at Ladyburg, and he had not expected anything like this splendour. And yet why not, he grinned wryly, the man had everything in the world, this was a mere pied-A-terre.
He twisted his head to look back. The gates were out of sight behind him now, and there was still no sign of the house ahead. He was surrounded by a fantasy landscape, half wild and yet lovingly groomed and tended, and now he saw the reason for the animal grid at the main gates.
Small herds of semi-domesticated game cropped at the short grass of the lawn or stood and watched the passing car with mild curiosity. He saw graceful golden brown impala with snowy bellies and spindly back-curved horns, a dainty blue duiker as big as a fox terrier with pricked-up ears and bright button eyes; an eland bull with hanging dewlap, thick twisted horns arming the short heavy head, and a barrel body heavy as a pedigree Afrikander bull.
