'three hundred thousand!' she sat up startled.
'yes. could you?'
'good lord, manfred, that's a small fortune.'
she truly saw nothing unusual in her choice of adjective. 'you know it's all in the trust fund, well, most of it. there is the farm and the no, i couldn't find half of that without pops knowing.'
'pity murmured manfred.
'manfred, you aren't in difficulties?'
'no. good lord, no. it was just a thought. forget that i asked. good night, theresa, i hope you sleep well.' involuntarily she lifted her hands towards him in invitation.
'good night, manfred.' he turned and left the room, she let her hands fall to her sides. for theresa steyner the long night had begun.
ladies and gentlemen, it is customary for the general manager to introduce the distinguished guest who presents our special service a ' wards. last week, in tragic circumstances, our general manager, mr.
frank lemmer, was killed in the company's service, a loss which we all bitterly regret, and i am sure you all join me in sincere condolence -to mrs. eileen lemmer.' rod paused for the acknowledging murmur from his audience. there were 200 of them packed into the mine club hall.
'it falls upon me, therefore, as acting general manager, to introduce to you doctor manfred steyner who is a senior director of central rand consolidated, our parent company. he is also head of the departments of finance and planning.' sitting beside her husband, theresa steyner had noticed manfred's irritation at rod's mention of frank lemmer. it was company policy not to draw public attention to accidental death or injury inflicted on employees by the company's operation. she liked rod the better for his small tribute to frank lemmer.
theresa was wearing sunglasses, for her eyes were swollen and red.
in the dawning, after a sleepless night, she had succumbed suddenly to a fit of bitter weeping. the tears were without cause, or reason, and had left her feeling strangely lighthearted and with a brittle sense of well-being.
however, her enormous eyes always showed up badly for hours after she had wept.
she sat with her legs demurely crossed, immaculate in a suit of cream shantung, a black silk scarf catching her hair and then letting it fall in a dark glossy brown cascade onto her shoulders. she leaned forward in polite attention to the speaker, one elbow on her knee, her chin cupped in her palm, one long tapered finger against her cheek. a lady with diamonds on her fingers and pearls at her throat, smiling an acknowledgement at rod's reference to 'the lovely granddaughter of our chairman'.
except for the slight incongruity of the sunglasses, she was the perfect image of the young matron. polished, poised, cosseted, secure in her unassailable virtue and duty.
however, the thoughts that were running through theresa steyner's head, and the flutterings and sensations that were prickling and tickling her, had they been known, would have broken up the assembly in disorder. all the formless fantasy and emotional disturbance of the previous night were now directed at one target rodney ironsides.
suddenly, with a start of amusement and alarm, she was aware of a phenomenon that she had last experienced many years ago. she moved quickly, shifting her seat, for the cream shantung marked so easily with any moisture.
'terry steyner!' she thought, deliciously shocked at herself, and found with relief that rod had finished speaking and manfred was standing up to reply. she joined in the applause enthusiastically to distract her errant fancy.
manfred briefly mentioned the six gentlemen sitting in the front row of seats whose courage and devotion to duty they had come to honour, he then went on into an exploration of the prospects of an increase in the price of gold. in measured, carefully considered terms, he set out the advantages and benefits that would accrue to the industry, the nation and the world at large. it was an erudite and convincing dissertation, and there was a large contingent of newspaper men to record it. the press had been alerted by the public relations department of crc to the text of doctor steyner's speech and all the leading dailies, weeklies, financial gazettes and journals were represented.
at intervals a photographer would come to crouch below the platform and pop a flash bulb up at doctor steyner. on the eve of the gold price talks with france this would make good copy, for steyner was the boy genius in the south african team.
the six heroes sat uncomfortably, forlorn in their best suits, scrubbed like schoolboys at a prize-giving ceremony, staring up at the speaker, not understanding a single word of the foreign language, but maintaining expressions of grave dignity.
rod caught big king's eye and winked at him. solemnly ' big king's right eyelid -drooped and rose in reply, and quickly rod averted his gaze to prevent himself laughing out loud.
he looked straight into theresa steyner's face, taking her completely off her guard. not even the dark glasses could conceal her thoughts, they were as clear as if she had spoken them aloud. before she could drop her eyes to examine the hem of her skirt, rod knew with a stomach swoop of excitement how it could be if he chose.
with a new awareness he examined her from the corner of his eye, seeing her for the first time as an accessible woman, a highly desirable woman, but nevertheless still the granddaughter of hurry hirschfeld and the wife of manfred steyner. this made her as dangerous as a force ten pressure burst, he knew, but the desire and temptation were hard to deny, inflamed perhaps rather than dampened by the danger.
he saw that she was blushing now, her fingers picking nervously at the hem of her skirt. she was as agitated as a schoolgirl, she knew he was watching her. rod ironsides, who until five minutes before had been thinking of nothing but his speech, now found himself impelled into a completely new and exciting dimension.
after the awards had been made, tea had been drunk, biscuits consumed and the crowd had dispersed, rod escorted the steyners down across the vivid green lawns of kikuyu grass to where the chauffeur was holding the daimler.
'what a magnificent physique that shangaan has, what was his name king?' terry was walking between the two men.
'king nkulu. big king, we call him.' rod found his speech unsteady, he had stuttered slightly.
this thing between the two of them was suddenly overpowering, it hummed like a turbine, making the space between them crackle with tension.
unless he was deaf, manfred steyner must be aware of it.
'he is pretty special. there is nothing he can't do, and do it far and away better than his nearest rival. my god, you should see him dance.'
'dance?' enquired terry with interest.
tribal dancing, you know.'
'of course.' terry hoped the relief in her voice was not obvious; she had been racking her badly flustered brain for an excuse to visit the sander ditch again or have rod ironsides come to johannesburg. 'i have a friend who is absolutely mad keen on seeing the dances. she pesters me every time i see her.' quickly she selected a name from her list of friends, she must have one ready should manfred ask.
'they dance every saturday afternoon, bring her out any time.' rod fielded the ball neatly.
'what about this saturday?' terry turned to her husband, 'would that be all right, manfred?'
'what's that?' manfred looked at her vaguely, he had not been following the conversation. manfred steyner was a worried man, he was pondering his obligation to gain control of the management of the sander ditch within two days.
'may we come out here on saturday afternoon to watch the tribal dancing?' terry repeated her question.
'have you forgotten that i fly to paris on saturday morning, theresa?'
'oh, dear.' terry bit her lip thoughtfully. 'it had slipped my mind.
what a pity, i would have enjoyed it.' manfred frowned slightly, irritated.
'my dear theresa, there is no reason why you shouldn't come out to the sander ditch without me. i am sure you will be safe enough in mr.
ironsides' hands.' his choice of words brought the colour to terry's cheeks again.
after the award ceremony, big king's first stop was the recruiting agency office at the entrance to the no.1 shaft hostel. there were men clustered about the counter, but they stood aside for big king and he acknowledged the courtesy by slapping their backs indiscriminately and greeting them with: 'kunjane, madoda. how is it, men?' the clerk behind the counter hurried to serve him. up at the mine club big king might be a little out of his depth, but here he was treated like a reigning monarch.
in two neat bundles big king placed the award money on the counter.
twenty-five rand you will send to my senior wife.' he instructed the clerk. 'and twenty-five rand you will put to my book.' big king was scrupulously fair. half of all his earnings was remitted to the senior of his four wives, and half was added to the substantial sum already credited in his savings bank passbook.
the agency was the procurer of labour for the insatiably man-hungry gold mines of the witwatersrand and orange free state. its representatives operated across the southern half of the continent.
from the
