However, it was only when they walked side by side down through the loose sand to the edge of the sea where the outgoing tide had left the sand hard and wet and smooth, that he began to listen to what the General was saying and it wasn't tea-party talk.
He was talking of power, and powerful men, he was talking of endeavour and reward, and though his voice was rumbling and relaxed, yet it was like the purr of an old lion who has just killed, and would kill again.
Somehow Mark sensed that what he was hearing was of great value, and he hated himself for the alcohol in his veins that slowed his mind and haltered his tongue. He fought it off actively.
They walked down along the glistening strip of wet smooth sand, that was polished yellow by the sinking glow of the late moon; the sea smelt of salt and iodine, a crisp antiseptic smelt, and the little breeze chilled him so that he shivered even in his dinner jacket. But soon his brain was keeping pace with that of the burly figure that limped beside him, and slowly a sense of excitement built up within him as he heard things said that he had only sensed deep in some secret place of his soul, ideas that he recognized but that he had believed were his alone.
His tongue lost its drag and blur and he felt suddenly bright as a blade, and light as the swallow that drinks in flight as it skims the water.
He remembered how he had at one time suspected that this man might have been responsible in some way for the loss of Andersland, and the old man's death. But now those suspicions smacked almost of blasphemy, and he thrust them aside to throw all his mind into the discussion in which he found himself so deeply involved.
He never did suspect until long afterwards how important that single night's talk would be in his life, and if he had known perhaps his tongue would have seized up solid in his mouth and his brain refused to keep pace, for he was undergoing a rigorous examination. Ideas thrown at Mark seemingly at random were for him to pick up and carry forward or toreject and leave lying. Every question raked conscience and bared his principles, and gradually, skilfully he was forced to commit himself on every subject from religion to politics, from patriotism to morals. Once or twice the General chuckled, You're a radical, did you know that? But I suppose I was at your age, we all want to change the world. Now tell me what do you think about, and the next question was not related to the one that preceded it. There are ten million black men in this country, and a million whites. How do you think they are going to be able to live together for the next thousand years? Mark gulped at the enormity of the question, and then began to talk.
The moon paled away in the coming of the dawn, and Mark walked on into an enchanted world of flaming ideas and amazing visions. Though he could not know it, his excitement was shared. Louis Botha, the old warrior and statesman, had said to Sean once, Even the best of us gets old and tired, Sean, and when that happens, a man should have somebody to whom he can pass the torch, and let him carry it on. With a suddenness that took them both by surprise, the night was passed, and the sky flamed with gold and pink.
They stood side by side, and watched the rim of the sun rise from the dark green sea and climb swiftly into the sky. I have needed an assistant for many years now. My wife hounds me, Sean chuckled at the hyperbole, and I have promised her I will find one, but I need somebody quick and bright and trustworthy. They are hard to find. Sean's cigar was long dead and horribly chewed. He took it from his mouth and examined it with mild disapproval before tossing it into the creeping wavelets at his feet. It would be a hell of a job, no regular hours, no set duties, and, God knows, I'd hate to work for me, because I am a cantankerous, unsympathetic old bastard. But on the other hand one thing I'd guarantee, whoever took the job wouldn't die of boredom, and he'd get to learn a thing or two He turned now, thrusting his head forward and staring into Mark's face. The wind had ruffled his beardand he had long ago stripped off his black tie and thrust it into a pocket. The golden rays of the rising sun caught his eyes and they were a peculiarly beautiful shade of blue.
Do you want the job? he demanded.
Yes, sir, Mark answered instantly, dazzled by the prospect of an endless association with this incredible man.
You haven't asked about the money? growled Sean. Oh, the money isn't important. Sean cocked a beetling black eyebrow over the amused blue twinkle of his eye. The money is always important. The next time Mark entered the gates of Emoyeni was to enter a new life, an existence beyond any he had ever imagined; and yet, in all the overpowering new experience, even in the whirl of having to adjust to new ideas, to the daunting procession of visitors and endless new tasks, there was one moment that Mark dreaded constantly. This was his next meeting with Miss Storm Courtney.
However, he would never know if it had not been carefully arranged by General Courtney, but Storm was not at Emoyeni on Mark's first day, nor during the days that followed, although the memory of her presence seemed every-where in the portraits and photographs in every room, especially the full-length oil in the library where Mark spent much of his time. She was dressed in a fulllength ivory-coloured dress, seated at the grand piano in the main drawing-room, and the artist had managed to capture a little of her beauty and spirit. Mark found the tantalizing scrutiny which the portrait directed at him disconcerting.
Quickly a relationship was established between Mark and the General, and during the first few days, the last of Sean's misgivings were set at rest. It was seldom that the close proximity of another human being over an extended period of time did not begin to irritate Sean, and yet with this youngster he found himself seeking his company. His first ideas had been that Mark should be taught to deal with day-to-day correspondence and all the other timeconsuming trivia, leaving Sean a little more leisure and time to devote to the important areas of business and politics.
Now he would drift through into the library at odd times to discuss an idea with Mark, enjoying seeing it through younger and fresher eyes. Or he might dismiss his chauffeur and have Mark drive the Rolls out to one of the sawmills, or to a board meeting in the city, sitting up front beside him on the journey and reminiscing about those days in France, or going further back to the time before Mark was born, enjoying Mark's engrossing interest in talks of gold-prospecting and ivory-hunting in the great wilderness beyond the Limpopo River in the north. There will be an interesting debate in the Assembly today, Mark. I am going to give that bastard Hendricks hell on the Railway budget. Drive me down, and you can listen from the visitors'gallery. Those letters can wait until tomorrow. There's been a breakdown at the Umvoti Sawmill, we'll take the shotguns and on the way back try and pick up a couple of guineafowl. Drillhall at eight o'clock tonight, Mark. If you aren't doing anything important, which was a command, no matter how delicate the phrasing, and Mark found himself sucked gently back into the ranks of the peace-time regiment. He found it different from France, for he now had powerful patronage. You are no use to me as third rank marker. You're getting to know the way I work, son, and I want you at hand even when we are playing at soldiers.
Besides, and here Sean grinned that evil, knowing grin, you need a little time for range practice. At the next turn-out, still not accustomed to the speed with which things happened in the world ruled by Sean Courtneyo Mark found himself in the full fig of Second Lieutenant, including Sam Browne cross-strap and shining single pips an his shoulders. He had expected antagonism, or at least condescension from his brother officers, but found that when he was placed in command of range drill, he was received with universal enthusiasm.
In the household Mark's standing was not at first clear.
