The Burning Shore - Smith Wilbur (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации .txt) 📗
So Garry and Centaine drove up the escarpment with Shasa on the seat between them and as they pulled up before the sprawling homestead of Lion Kop with its lovely thatched roof, the familiar burly, bearded figure came limping swiftly down the front stairs to take both of Centaine's hands in his.
It's like having you back from the dead, Sean Courtney said softly. Words cannot express what I feel. Then he turned to take Shasa from Garry's arms. So this is Michael's son! Shasa crowed with delight, grabbed a double handful of the general's beard and attempted to pull it out by the roots.
Ruth Courtney, Sean's wife, in that period of her life beyond forty years of age and below fifty when a magnificent woman reaches the zenith of her beauty and elegance, kissed Centaine's cheek and told her gently, Michael was a very special person to us, and you will take his place in our hearts. Waiting behind her was a young woman, and Centaine recognized her immediately from the framed photograph that the general had kept with him in France. Storm Courtney was even more beautiful than her photograph, with a skin like a rose petal and her mother's glowing Jewish eyes, but there was a pout to her lovely mouth and the petulant expression of a child indulged to the highest degree of discontent. She greeted Centaine in French.
Comment vas-tu, cherie? Her accent was atrocious.
They looked into each other's eyes and their dislike was strong, mutual and clearly acknowledged by both of them.
Beside Storm was a tall, slim young man with a serious mien and gentle eyes. Mark Anders was the general's private secretary, and Centaine liked him as instinctively as she had disliked the girl.
General Sean Courtney took Centaine on one arm and his wife on the other and led them into the homestead of Lion Kop.
Though the two houses were separated by only a few miles, they could have been worlds apart. The yellow wood floor of Lion Kop gleamed with wax, the paintings were in light cheerful colours, Centaine recognized a whimsical Tahitian scene by Paul Gauguin, and everywhere there were great bowls of fresh flowers.
If you'll excuse Garry and myself for a few minutes, ladies, we'll leave young Mark here to entertain you.
Sean led his brother away to his study while his secretary poured each of the ladies a cordial.
I was in France with the general, Mark told Centaine, as he brought her glass to her, and I know your village of Mort Homme quite well. We were billeted there while waiting to go up the line. Oh, how wonderful to have a memory of my home! Centaine cried, and impulsively touched his arm, and from across the drawing-room Storm Courtney, who was curled with an elaborately languid air on the silk-covered sofa, shot Centaine a look of such undiluted venom as to make her exult silently.
Alors, cherie! So that is the way it is! And she turned back to Mark Anders and looked up into his eyes and exaggerated her throaty French accent.
Do you perhaps recall the chAteau, beyond the church to the north of the village? she asked, making the question sound like an invitation to forbidden delights, but Ruth Courtney intuitively caught the whiff of gunpowder in the air and intervened smoothly.
Now, Centaine, come and sit by me, she ordered. I want to hear all about your incredible adventures. So Centaine repeated, for the fiftieth time since her rescue, her carefully edited version of the torpedoing and her subsequent wanderings in the desert.
Extraordinary! Mark Anders interjected at one stage. I have often admired the Bushman paintings in the caves of the Drakensberg; Mountains, some of them are really quite beautiful, but I did not realize that there were still wild Bushmen in existence. They were hunted out of these mountains sixty years ago, dangerous and treacherous little blighters by all accounts, and I understood that they had all been exterminated. on the silk sofa Storm Courtney shuddered theatrically. I just can't think how you could bear to let one of those little yellow monsters touch you, cherie. I know I would have simply expired! Bien ser, cherie, and you would not have enjoyed eating live lizards and locusts either? Centaine asked sweetly, and Storm paled.
Sean Courtney stumped back into the drawing-room and interrupted them. Well, now, it's good to see how already you are one of the family, Centaine. I know that you and Storm are going to be great chums, what? Indubitably, Pater, Storm murmured and Centaine laughed.
She is so sweet, your Storm, I love her already. Centaine chose.
unerringly the one adjective sweet that brought forth a blooming of furious roses in Storm's perfect cheeks.
Good! Good! Is the lunch ready, my love? and Ruth rose to take Sean's arm and lead them all out on to the patio where the table was set under a canopy of jacaranda.
The very air seemed coloured purple and green by the sunlight through the blossom-laden boughs, and they might have been in an underwater grotto.
The Zulu servants, who had been hovering expectantly, at a nod from Sean bore Shasa away like a prince to the kitchens. His pleasure in their smiling black faces was as obvious as their delight in him.
They'll spoil him, if you let them, Ruth warned Centaine. Only one thing a Zulu loves better than his cattle, and that's a boy child. Now, will you sit next to the general, my dear? During the luncheon Sean made Centaine the complete centre of attention, while Storm tried to look aloof and bored at the end of the table.
Now, my dear, I want to hear all about it. Oh God, Pater, we've just been over it all. Storm rolled her eyes.
Language, girl, Sean warned her, and then to Centaine, Begin on the last day I saw you, and don't leave anything out, do you hear? Not a single thing! Throughout the meal Garry was withdrawn and silent, in contrast to his ebullient mood of the last weeks, and after the coffee he stood up quickly when Sean said, Well, everybody, you must excuse us for a few minutes. Garry and I are taking Centaine off for a little chat. The general's study was panelled in mahogany, the books on the shelves were bound in maroon calf, while the chairs were upholstered in buttoned brown leather.
There were oriental carpets on the floor and an exquisite little bronze by Anton Van Wouw on the corner of his desk, ironically a sculpture of a Bushman hunter with his bow in his hand, peering out across the desert plains from under his other hand. It reminded Centaine so vividly of O'wa that she drew breath sharply.
With his cigar Sean waved her into the wingback chair facing his desk, and it seemed to dwarf her. Garry took another chair to the side.
I've spoken to Garry, Sean opened, without preliminaries. I've told him the circumstances of Michael's death, before the wedding. He sat down behind his desk and turned his own gold wedding ring on his finger thoughtfully.
We all of us here know that in every sense but the legal one, Michael was your husband, and the natural father of Michel. However, technically Michel is, he hesitated, Michel is illegitimate. In the eyes of the law, he is a bastard. The word shocked Centaine. She stared at Sean through the rising wreaths of cigar smoke while the silence drew out.
We can't have that, Garry broke it. He's my grandson.
We can't have that.
No, Sean agreed. We can't have that. With your consent, my dear, Garry's voice was almost a whisper, I should like to adopt the lad. Centaine turned her head towards him slowly, and he hurried on, It would only be a formality, a legal device to ensure his status in the world. It could be done most discreetly, and it would in no way affect the relationship between you. You would still be his mother and have custody of him, while I would be honoured to become his guardian and do for him all the things that his father cannot. Centaine winced, and Garry blurted, Forgive me, my dear, but we have to talk about it. As Sean has said, we all accept that you are Michael's widow, we would want you to use the family name and we would all treat you as though the ceremony had taken place that day, he broke off, and coughed throatily. Nobody would ever know, except the three of us in this room, and Anna. Would you give your consent, for the child's sake? Centaine stood up and crossed to where Garry sat.
