damp stains on it. She felt her legs begin to tremble. She looked up and saw the stains on the bed, grey on the white sheets.
She felt giddy, her cheeks burned; she only just managed to reach her own bed.
She knew there was no mistake. Sean had taken that woman in such a casually blatant manner, in their own bedroom, almost before her eyes, that his rejection of her could hardly have been more final if he had slapped her face and thrown her into the street. Weakened by fever, depressed by the loss of her child and the phase of her cycle, she had not the resilience to fight against it. She had loved him but she had proved insufficient for him.
She could not stay with him: the stubborn pride of her race would not allow it. There was only one alternative.
Timidly she bent over him and as she kissed him she smelt the warm man-smell of his body and felt his beard brush her cheek. Her determination wavered; she wanted to throw herself across his chest, lock her arms around his neck and plead with him. She wanted to ask for another chance. If he could tell her how she had failed him she could try to change, if only he could show her what she had done wrong. Perhaps if they went back into the bush again, She dragged herself away from his bed. She pressed her knuckles hard against her lips. It was no use. He had decided and even if she begged him to take her back there would always be this thing between them. She had lived in a castle and she would not change it now for a mud hut. Driven by the trek whip of her pride she moved quickly across to the wardrobe. She put on a coat and buttoned it, it reached to her ankles and covered her nightdress; she spread the green shawl over her head, winding the loose end around her throat. once more she looked across at Sean. He slept with his big body sprawled and the frown still on his face.
In the sitting-room. she stopped beside the writing desk. -Her Bible lay where she had left it. She opened the front cover, dipped the pen and wrote. She closed the book and went to the door. There she hesitated once more and looked back at Dirk's bedroom. She could not trust herself to see him again. She lifted an end of the shawl to cover her mouth, then she went out into the passage and closed the door softly behind her.
Sean was surprised to find himself fully dressed and lying on top of his bed when he woke next morning. It was still half dark outside the hotel windows and the room was cold. He propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed at his eyes with the back of a clenched fist. Then he remembered and he swung his legs off the bed and looked at Katrina's bed. The blankets were thrown back and it was empty. Sean's first feeling was relief, she had recovered enough to get up on her own. He went through to the bathroom, stumbling a little from the stiffness of uneasy sleep. He tapped on the closed door.
Katrina? he questioned and then again louder. Katrina, are you in there? The handle turned when he tried it and the door swung open without resistance. He blinked at the empty room, white tiles reflecting the uncertain light, a towel thrown across a chair where he had left it. He felt the first twinge of alarm. Dirk's room, the door was still locked, the key on the outside. He flung it open. Dirk sat up in bed, his face flushed, his curls standing up like the leaves of a sisal bush. Sean ran out into the passage, along it and looked down into the lobby. There was a light burning behind the reception desk. The clerk slept with his head on his arms, sitting forward on his chair snoring Sean went down the stairs three at a time. He shook the clerk. Has anybody been out through here during the night?
Sean demanded. I... I don't know. Is that door locked? Sean pointed at the front door. No, sir, there's a night latch on it. You can get out but not in. Sean ran out onto the pavement. Which way, which way to search for her? Which way had she gone? Back to Pretoria to the wagons? Sean thought not. She would need transport and she had no money to hire it. Why should she leave without waking him, leave Dirk, leave her clothing and disappear into the night. She must have been unbalanced by the drugs the doctor had given her. Perhaps there was something in his theory that she had suffered a shock, perhaps she was wandering in her nightdress through the streets with no memory, perhaps, Sean stood in the cold grey Transvaal morning, the city starting to murmur into wakefulness around him, the questions crowding into his head and finding there no answers with which to mate.
He turned and ran back through the hotel, out of the rear door into the stable yard. Mbejane, he shouted, Mbejane, where the hell are you? Mbejane appeared quickly from the stall where he was currying one of the hired horses. Nkosi? Have you seen the Nkosikazi?
Mbejane's face creased into a puzzled frown. Yesterday, - No, man, shouted Sean. Today, last night... have you seen her?
Mbejane's expression was sufficient reply.
Sean brushed impatiently past him and ran into the stable. He snatched a saddle off the rack and threw it onto the back of the nearest horse. While he clinched the girth and forced a bit between its teeth he spoke to Mbejane. The Nkosikazi is sick. She has left during the night. It is possible that she walks as one who still sleeps. Go quickly among your friends and tell them to search for her, tell them that there's ten pounds in gold for the one who finds her. Then come back here and care for Dirk until I return. Sean led the horse from the stable and Mbejane hurried off to spread the word. Sean knew that within minutes half the Zulus in Johannesburg would be looking for Katrina, tribal loyalty and ten pounds in gold were strong incentives. He swung up onto the horse and galloped out of the yard. He tried the Pretoria road first. Three miles out of town a native herd boy grazing sheep beside the road convinced him that Katrina did not passed that way.
He turned back. He paid a visit to the police station at Marshal Square. The Kommandant remembered him from the old days; Sean could rely on his cooperation.
Sean left him and rode fast through the streets that were starting to fill with the bustle of a working day. He hitched his horse outside the hotel and took the front steps three at a time. The clerk had no news for him. He ran up the stairs and along the passage to his suite. Mbejane was feeding Dirk his breakfast. Dirk beamed at Sean through a faceful of egg and spread his arms to be picked up but Sean had no time for him. Has she come back?
Mbejane shook his head. They will find her, Nkosi.
Fifty men are searching for her now. Stay with the child, said Sean and went down to his horse. He stood beside it ready to mount but not knowing which way to go. Where the hell has she got to? he demanded aloud. In her night clothes with no money, where the hell had she gone?
He mounted and rode with aimless urgency through the streets, searching the faces of the people along the sidewalks, turning down the sanitary lanes and peering into backyards and vacant plots. By midday he had tired his horse and worked himself into a ferment of worry and bad temper. He had searched every street in Johannesburg, made a nuisance of himself at the police station and sworn at the hotel clerk, but there was still no sign of Katrina. He was riding down Jeppe Street for the fifth time when the imposing double-storey of Candy's Hotel registered through his preoccupation. Candy, he whispered. She can help. He found her in her office among Persian rugs and Ot furniture, walls covered with pink and blue patterned wallpaper, a mirrored ceiling hung with six crystal waterfalls of chandeliers and a desk with an Indian mosaic top.
Sean pushed aside the little man in the black alpaca coat who tried to stop him entering and burst into the room.
Candy looked up and her small frown of -annoyance smoothed as she saw who it was. Sean... oh, how nice to see you She came round from behind the desk, the bell tent of her skirts covering the movement of her legs so she seemed to float. Her skin was smooth white and her eyes were happy blue. She held out her hand to him, but hesitated as she saw his face. What is it, Sean? He told her in a rush and she listened and when he had finished she rang the bell on her desk. There's brandy in the cabinet by the fireplace, she said, I expect you are in need of one. The little man in the alpaca coat came quickly to the bell. Sean poured himself a large brandy and listened to Candy giving orders. Check the railway station. Telegraph the coach stages on each of the main roads. Send someone up to the hospital. Check the registers of every hotel and boarding-house in town. Very well, madame. The little man bobbed his head as he acknowledged each instruction and then he was gone.
Candy turned back to Sean. You can pour a drink for me also and then sit down and simmer down. You're behaving just the way she wanted you to What do you mean? demanded Sean. You are being given a little bit of wifely discipline, my dear. Surely you have been married long enough to recognize thatV Sean carried the glass across to her and Candy patted the sofa next to her. Sit down, she said. We'll find your little Cinderella for youWhat do you mean wifely discipline? he demanded again. Punishment for bad behaviour. You may have eaten with your mouth open, answered back, taken more than your share of the blankets, not said good morning with the right inflection or committed one of the other mortal sins of matrimony, but -- Candy sipped her drink and gasped slightly, I see that time has not given you a lighter hand with the brandy bottle. One Courtney tot always did equal an imperial gallon... but, as I was saying, my guess is that little Katy is having an acute attack of jealousy.
Probably her first, seeing that the two of you have spent your whole married life out in the deep sticks and she has never had an opportunity of watching the Courtney charm work on any other female before. Nonsense, said Sean. Who's she got to be jealous of? Me, said Candy. Every time she looked at me the other night I felt as though I'd been hit in the chest with an axe Candy touched her magnificent bosom with her fingertips, skilfully drawing Sean's attention to it. Sean looked at it. It was deeply cleft
