The Burning Shore - Smith Wilbur (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации .txt) 📗

You are beautiful, he breathed. She was no longer a child-woman, she was possessed of a new poise and confidence, and he felt awed by her. Do you think your uncle will like me? she asked. He will love you, any man would. The yellow suit was of a peculiar shade that seemed to gild her skin and throw golden reflections into her dark eyes. The brim of the billy cock hat was narrow on one side and full on the other, where it was pinned up to the crown with a spike of green and yellow feathers. Beneath the jacket she wore a blouse of fine creamy crepe-dechine, with a high lace collar, that emphasized the line of her throat and the dainty set of her small head above it. The boots had been replaced by elegant shoes.

He took both her hands and kissed them reverently, and then handed her into the back of the limousine.

Sangane, this woman will be my wife one day soon. The Zulu nodded in approval, judging her as he would a horse or a young thoroughbred heifer.

May she bear you many sons, he said.

When Michael translated, Centaine blushed and laughed.

Thank him, Michael, but tell him I would like at least one daughter. She looked about the luxurious cab of the Rolls. Do all the English generals have such motor-cars? My uncle brought it from Africa with him. Michael ran his hand over the fine soft leather seat. It was a gift from my aunt. Your uncle has style to go to war in such a chariot, she nodded, and your aunt has good taste. One day I hope I will be able to give you such a gift, Michel. I should like to kiss you, he said.

Never in public, she told him primly, but as much as you want when we are alone. Now tell me, how far is it? Five miles or so, but with this traffic on the road, God alone knows how long it will take us. They had turned into the main Arras-Arniens road, and it was clogged with military transport, guns and ambulances and heavy supply lorries, horse-drawn wagons and carts, the verges of the road crowded with marching men, hunch-backed beneath their heavy packs, with the steel helmets giving them a mushroom-headed uniformity.

Michael caught resentful and envious glances as Sangane threaded the big glistening Rolls through the slower traffic. The men trudging in the mud looked into the interior and saw an elegant officer with a pretty girl on the soft leather seat beside him. However, most of those sullen stares turned to grins when Centaine waved to them.

Tell me about your uncle, she demanded, turning back to Michael.

Oh, he's a very ordinary chap, not much to tell actually. He was thrown out of school for beating up his headmaster, fought in the Zulu War and killed his first man before he was eighteen, made his first million pounds before he was twenty-five and lost it in a single day. Shot a few hundred elephant while he was a professional ivory hunter, killed a leopard with his bare hands. Then, during the Boer War, he captured Leroux, the Boer general, almost unaided, made another million pounds after the war, helped negotiate the charter of Union for South Africa. He was a cabinet minister in Louis Both's government, but he resigned to come to this war. Now he commands the regiment. He stands a few inches over six feet and can lift a 200-lb sack of maize in each hand. Michel, I am afraid to meet such a man, she murmured seriously. Why on earth-'I am afraid I might fall in love with him. Michael laughed delightedly. I also am afraid. Afraid he will fall in love with you!

Regimental Headquarters was temporarily located in a deserted monastery on the outskirts of Arniens. The monastery grounds were unkempt and overgrown, for they had been abandoned by the monks during the fighting of the previous autumn, and the rhododendron bushes had turned to jungle. The buildings were of red brick, mosscovered and with wistaria climbing to the grey roof. The bricks were pocked with old shell splinters.

A young second lieutenant met them at the front entrance.

You must be Michael Courtney, I am John Pearce, the general's ADC. Oh, hello. Michael shook hands. What happened to Nick van der Heever? Nick had been at school with Michael, and he had been General Courtney's aide-de-camp ever since the regiment arrived in France.

Oh, didn't you hear? John Pearce looked grave, the familiar expression so often these days when someone asked after an acquaintance. Nick bought the farm, I'm afraid. Oh God, no! Afraid so. He was up at the front with your uncle.

Sniper got him."But the lieutenant's attention was wavering. He couldn't keep his eyes off Centaine. Obligingly, Michael introduced him and then cut short the lieutenant's pantomime of admiration.

Where is my uncle?

He asked you to wait. The young lieutenant led them through to a small enclosed garden which had probably belonged to the abbot. There were climbing roses on the stone walls and a sun-dial on a sculptured plinth in the centre of the small neat lawn.

A table had been laid for three in the corner where the sun penetrated. Uncle Sean was keeping his usual style king's pattern silver and Stuart crystal, Michael noticed.

The general will be with you as soon as he can, but he asked me to warn you that it will be a very short lunch.

The spring offensive, you know-, The lieutenant made a gesture towards the decanter on the small serving table.

In the meantime, may I offer you a sherry, or something with claws? Centaine shook her head, but Michael nodded. Claws, please, he said. Although he loved his uncle as much as he did his own father, yet e always found his imminent presence after a long absence unnerving. He needed something to soothe those nerves.

The aide-de-camp poured Michael a whisky. Will you forgive me, but I do have a few things- Michael waved him away and took Centaine's arm.

Look, the buds are beginning to form on the roses and the narcissusShe leaned against him. Everything is coming to life again. Not everything, Michael contradicted softly.

For the soldier, spring is the time of death. Oh, Michel, she began, and then broke off and looked towards the glass doors behind him with an expression that made Michael turn swiftly.

A man had stepped through them, a tall man, erect and broad-shouldered. He stopped when he saw Centaine and looked at her with penetrating appraisal. His eyes were blue and his beard was thick but neatly trimmed in the same style as the king's.

Those are Michel's eyes! Centaine thought, staring back into them, but so much fiercer, she realized.

Uncle Sean! Michael cried and released her arm. He stepped forward to shake hands, and those fierce eyes swivelled to him and softened. My boy. He loves him- Centain understood. They love each other very deeply, and she studied the general's face. His skin was sun-darkened and tanned like leather, with deep creases at the corners of his mouth and around those incredible eyes. His nose was large, like Michael's, and hooked, his forehead broad and deep, and above it was a dense dark cap of hair, shot through with silver threads, that glistened in the spring sunlight.

They were talking earnestly, still gripping each other's hands, exchanging the vital assurances, and as Centaine watched them, the full extent of their resemblance came through to her.

They are the same, she realized, differing only in age and in force. More like father and son, than- The fierce blue eyes came back to her. So this is the younglady. May I present Mademoiselle de Thiry. Centaine, this is my uncle, General Sean Courtney. Michel has told me much, a great deal- Centaine stumbled over the English.

Speak Flemish! Michael cut in quickly.

Michel has told me all about you, she obeyed, and the general grinned delightedly.

You speak Afrikaans! he answered in that language.

When he smiled, his whole person changed. That savage, almost cruel streak that she had sensed seemed illusory.