Mark Anders carried the General's heavy crocodile-skin brief case down the steps to the Rolls and placed it on the seat beside the chauffeur while he gave him his instructions. To Groote Schuur first, and then to the City Club for lunch. He stood back as the General came out of the house and paused on the top step to kiss his wife as though he were about to leave on a crusade to far places. He smothered her in a vast bear-hug and when he released her, he whispered something in her ear that made her bridle and slap his shoulder. Off with you, sir, she told him primly, and Sean Courtney came down the steps looking mightily pleased with himself, and grinned at Mark. The Prime Minister is making a statement to the House today, Mark. I'll want to see you directly afterwards Very well, sir, Mark returned the grin. I'll look for you in the visitors gallery as soon as he's finished, and give you the nod. Then we'll meet inthe lobby and I'll see you up to my office. Mark helped him into the back seat of the Rolls while he was speaking. He was always clumsy and awkward when moving sideways on to the bad le& nevertheless he resented the helping hand fiercely, hating any weakness in himself even more than he disliked it in others, and he shrugged Mark's hand away the moment he was comfortably seated.
Mark ignored the gesture and went on levelly, Your notes for the Cabinet meeting are in the first folder, he indicated the crocodile bag on the front seat beside the chauffeur, and you are lunching at the Club with Sir Herbert. The House sits at 215 and you have three questions from Opposition members, even Hertzog himself has one for you. Sean growled like an old lion hated by the pack. That bastard! I have your replies clipped to your Order Paper. I checked with Erasmus and then I added a few little touches of my own, so please have a look at them before you stand up, you may not approve. I hope you stuck it to them hard! Of course, Mark smiled again. rWith both barrels. Good boy, Sean nodded. Tell him to drive on. Mark watched the Rolls go down the driveway, check at the gates and then swing out into Rhodes Avenue, before he turned back into the house.
Instead of going down the passageway to his own office, Mark paused in the hall and glanced guiltily about him.
Ruth Courtney had gone back into the domestic depths of the kitchen area and there were no servants in sight.
Mark took the stairs three at a time, swung through the gallery and down to the solid teak door at the end.
He did not knock but turned the handle and went in, closing the door behind him quietly.
The stench of turpentine was a solid shock that made his eyes water for a few seconds until they adjusted.
Mark knew that he was quite safe. Storm Courtney never emerged before midmorning from that sacrosanct area beyond the double doors that were painted with gold cherubim and flying doves. Since arriving in Cape Town, Storm Courtney had kept such hours that even her father had grumbled and huffed.
Mark found himself lying awake at night, just as he was sure the General did, listening for the crunch of wheels on the gravel drive, straining his ears for the faint sounds of gay voices and mentally judging the length and passion of each farewell, troubled by feelings to which he could not place a name.
His relations with Storm had retrogressed drastically. In Natal there had been the beginnings of a relaxed acceptance and undertones of warmth. It had begun with a smile and a friendly word from Storm, then he had escorted her on the daily ride, driven with her to South Beach to swim in the warm surf and sat in the sun arguing religion with her instead. Storm was going through a fashionable period of spiritualism and Mark had felt it his duty to dissuade her.
From religion, the next step had been when Storm had announced, I need a partner to practise a new dance with. Mark had wound the gramophone, changed the needles and danced to Storm's instruction. You really are quite good, you know, she had told him magnanimously, smiling up at him, light and graceful in his arms as they spun around the empty ballroom of Emoyeni. You would make a crippled blacksmith look good job la! she laughed. You are the gallant, Mr Anders! This had all changed abruptly. Since they had arrived in Cape Town she had neither smiled nor spoken directly to him, and Irene Leuchars, who was to have been a house guest of Storm's for four months, stayed only one night, and then caught the next mail ship.
Her name had not been mentioned again, and Storm's hostility to Mark had been so intense that she could hardly bear to be in the same room with him.
Now Mark felt like a thief in her studio, but he had not been able to resist the temptation to steal a glimpse of the progress she had made on her latest canvas.
Full-length windows had been put into the north wall for the light, and they looked out on the mountain. Storm's easel stood in the centre of the bare uncarpeted floor, and the only other items of furniture were the artist's stool, a carpenter's table cluttered with paint pots and a chair on the raised model's dais.
Framed canvases in all sizes and shapes were stacked against the walls, most of them still blank. At one stage, during the period of friendliness, she had even asked Mark to help with the timber framework. He felt a pang when he remembered; she was a ruthless supervisor, checking every lo. mt and tack with a perfectionist's meticulous care.
The canvas was almost completed, and he wondered when she had found time to do so much work in the last few days, and realized that he had misjudged her. She had been working in the mornings when he had believed she was lying abed, but now he became absorbed by the picture.
He stood before it with his hands thrust into his pockets and felt a glow of pleasure spread slowly through his body.
It was a picture of trees, a forest glade with sunlight playing on earth and rock and two figures, a woman in a white dress, stooping to gather wild flowers, while a man sat aside, sprawled against a tree trunk and watching her.
Mark was aware that it was a great advance on anything she had painted before, for although it was a simple picture, it evoked in him an emotion so strong that he felt it choke in his throat. He was awed by the peculiar talent which could have produced this work.
He marvelled at how she had taken reality and refined it, captured its essence and made of it an important occasion.
Mark thought how it was possible for an untrained eye to pick out special talent in any field, just as a person who had never watched epee used before would recognize a great swordsman after the first exchange; now Mark, who knew nothing of painting, was moved by the discovery of real beauty.
The latch clicked behind him, and he spun to face it.
She was well into the studio before she saw him. She stopped abruptly and her expression changed, Her whole body stiffened and her breathing sounded stifled. What are you doing here? He had no answer for her, but the mood
