bedroom door.
Prepare to receive cavalry, he said and swung it open.
Dirk's charge carried him onto the bed and Sean dived after him. When two men are evenly matched, weight will usually decide and within seconds Dirk had straddled Sean's chest, pinning him helplessly and Sean was pleading for quarter.
After breakfast Mbejane brought the carriage round to the front of the hotel. When the three of them were settled in it, Sean opened the small window behind the driver's seat and told Mbejane, To the office first. Then we have to be at the Exchange by ten o'clock Mbejane grinned at him. Yes, Nkosi, then lunch at the Big House. Mbejane had never been able to master the word Xanadu.
They went to all the old places. Sean and Mbejane laughing and reminiscing at each other through the window.
There was a panic at the Exchange, crowds on the pavement outside. The offices on Eloff Street had been refaced and a brass plate beside the front door carried the roll of the subsidiaries of Central Rand Consolidated. Mbejane stopped the carriage outside and Sean boasted to Katrina.
She sat silently and listened to him, suddenly feeling inadequate for a man who had done so much. She misinterpreted Sean's enthusiasm and thought he regretted the past and wished he were back. Mbejane, take us up to the Candy Deep, Sean called at last. Let's see what's happening there. The last five hundred yards of the road was overgrown and pitted with disuse. The administration block had been demolished and grass grew thick over the foundations. There were new buildings and headgears half a mile farther along the ridge, but here the reef had been worked out and abandoned. Mbejane pulled up the horses in the circular drive in front of where the offices had stood. He jumped down and held their heads while Sean helped Katrina out of the carriage. Sean lifted Dirk and sat him on his shoulder and they picked their way through the waist-high grass and piles of bricks and rubbish towards the Candy Deep Number Three Shaft.
The bare white concrete blocks that had held the machinery formed a neat geometrical pattern in the grass.
Beyond them reared the white mine dump; some mineral in the powdered rock had leaked out in long yellow stains down its sides. Duff had once had the mineral identified.
It was of little commercial value, used occasionally in the ceramics industry. Sean had forgotten the name of it;
it sounded like the name of a star, Uranus perhaps.
They came to the shaft. The edges of it had crumbled and the grass hung into it, the way an unkempt mustache hangs into an old man's mouth. The headgear was gone and only a rusty barbed-wire fence ringed the shaft.
Sean bent his knees: keeping his back straight for Dirk still sat on his shoulder, he picked up a lump of rock the size of a man's fist and tossed it over the fence. They stood quietly and listened to it clatter against the sides as it fell. It fell for a long time and when at last it hit the bottom the echo rang faintly up from a thousand feet below. Throw more! commanded Dirk, but Katrina stopped him. No, Sean, let's go. It's an evil place She shuddered slightly. It looks like a grave. It very nearly was, said Sean softly, remembering the darkness and the rock pressing down upon him. Let's go, she said again, and they went back to where Mbejane waited with the carriage.
Sean was gay at lunch, he drank a small bottle of wine, but Katrina was tired and more miserable than she had been since they left Louis Trichardt. She had begun to realize the type of life he had led before she met him and she was frightened that now he wanted to return to it.
She had only known the bush and the life of the Trek.
Boer, she knew she could never learn to live like this. She watched as he laughed and joked during the meal, she watched the easy assurance with which he commanded the white head waiter, the way he picked his way through the maze of cutlery that was spread out on the table before them and at last she could hold it in no longer. Let's go away, let's go back into the bush Sean stopped with a loaded fork halfway to his mouth.
What? Please, Sean, the sooner we go the sooner we'll be able to buy the farm Sean chuckled. A day or two more won't make any difference. We're starting to have fun. Tonight I'll take you dancing, we were going to be sinful, remember? Who will look after Dirk? she asked weakly.
Mbejane will! - Sean looked at her closely. You have a good sleep this afternoon and tonight we'll go out and tie the dog loose. He grinned at the memories that expression invoked.
When Katrina woke from her rest that evening she found the other part of the reason for her depression. For the first time since the baby, her periodic bleeding had started again, the tides of her body and mind were at their lowest ebb. She said nothing to Sean, but bathed and put on the yellow gown. She brushed her hair furiously, dragging the brush through it until her scalp tingled, but still it hung dull and lifeless, as dull as the eyes that looked back at her out of the yellow face in the mirror.
Sean came up behind her and leaned over her to kiss her cheek. You look, said he, like a stack of gold bars five-and-a-half feet high. But he realized that the yellow gown had been a mistake: it matched too closely the fever colour of her skin. Mbejane was waiting in the sittingroom when they went through.
We may be late before we return, Sean told him. That is of no account, Nkosi, Mbenjane's face was as impassive as ever, but Sean caught a sparkle of anticipation in his eyes and realized that Mbejane could hardly wait to get Dirk to himself.
You are not to go into his room, Sean warned. What if he cries, Nkosi? He won't... but if he does? see what he wants, give it to him then leave him to sleep.
Mbejane's face registered his protest. I'm warning you, Mbejane, if I come home at midnight and find him riding you round the room I'll have both your hides for a kaross.
, His sleep shall be unspoiled, Nkosi, lied Mbejane.
In the hotel lobby Sean spoke to the receptionist.
Where can we find the best food in this town? he asked. Two blocks down, sir, the Golden Guinea. You can't miss it. It sounds like a gin palace, Sean was dubious. I assure you, sir, that you'll have no complaint when you get there. Everyone goes there. Mr Rhodes dines there when he's in town, Mr Barnato, Mr Hradsky --Dick Turpin, Cesare Borgla, Benedict Arnold, Sean continued for him. All right, you have convinced me. I'll take a chance on having my throat cut. Sean went out through the front entrance with Katrina on his arm. The splendour of the Golden Guinea subdued even Sean a little. A waiter with a uniform like a majorgeneral's led them down a marble staircase, across the wide meadow of carpet between the group of elegant men and women to a table that even in the soft light dazzled with its bright silver and snowy linen. Chandeliers of crystal hung from the vaulted ceiling, the band was good, and the air was rich with the fragrance of perfume and expensive cigars.
Katrina stared helplessly at the menu until Sean came to her rescue and ordered the meat in a French accent that impressed her but not the waiter. The wine came and with it Sean's high spirits returned. Katrina sat quietly opposite him and listened. She tried to think of something witty to answer him with; in their wagon or alone in the veld they could talk for hours at a time but here she was dumb. Shall we dance? Sean leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. She shook her head.
Sean, I couldn't. Not with all these people watching.
I'd only make a fool of myself. Come on, I'll show you how... it's easy. No, I couldn't, truly I couldn't.
And to himself Sean had to admit that the dance floor of the Golden Guinea on a Saturday night was not the best place for a waltz lesson. The waiter brought the food, great steaming dishes of it. Sean addressed himself to it and the one-sided conversation wilted. Katrina watched him, picking at the too rich food herself, acutely conscious of the laughter and voices around them, feeling out of place and desperately miserable. Come on, Katrina, Sean smiled at her. You've hardly touched your glass. Be a devil and get a little of that in you to warm you up. Obediently she sipped the champagne. She didn't like the taste. Sean finished the last of his crayfish thermidor and leaning back in his chair glowing with wine and good food said, Man... I only pray the chef can keep the rest of the meal up to that standard. He belched softly behind his fingers and ran his eyes contentedly round the room. Duff used to say that a well-cooked crayfish was proof that, Sean stopped abruptly. He was staring at the head of the marble staircase, a party of three had appeared there.
Two men in evening dress hovering attentively on each side of a woman. The woman was Candy Rautenbach.
Candy with her blonde hair piled on top of her head.
Candy with diamonds in her ears and at her throat, her bosom overflowing her gown as white as the frothy head on a beer tankard. Candy with bright blue eyes above a red mouth, Candy poised and lovely. Laughing, she glanced towards him and her eyes met his across the room. She stared in open disbelief, the laughter frozen on her lips, then suddenly her poise was gone and she was running down the stairs towards him, holding her skirts up to her knees, her escorts cantering after her in alarm, waiters scattering out of her path and every head in the room turning to watch her. Sean pushed back his chair, stood up to meet her and Candy reached him and jumped up to throw her arms around his neck. There was a long incoherent exchange of greetings and at last Sean prised her loose from his neck and turned her to face Katrina.
Candy was flushed and panting with excitement; with every breath her bosom threatened
