Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗
. I do think we have earned a glass of champagne. Blaine signalled one of the white-jacketed waiters and they stood at the edge of the dance floor and sipped the wine and watched each other's eyes avidly as they talked. The exertion had raised a light sheen of sweat on his broad forehead and she could smell it on his body.
They were alone in the centre of the crowded room. With a subtle inclination of her shoulders and head Centaine dissuaded the one or two bolder souls who approached as if to join them, and after that the others stayed back.
The band, refreshed and eager, took their seats on the bandstand once more and this time launched into a foxtrot.
Blaine Malcomess did not have to ask. Centaine set her almost untouched champagne on the silver tray that the waiter proffered and lifted her arms as Blaine faced her.
The more sedate rhythm of the foxtrot enabled them to continue talking, and there was so much to talk about. He had known Sean Courtney well, and held him in affection and admiration. Centaine had loved him almost as much as she had loved her own father. They discussed the dreadful circumstances in which Sean Courtney and his wife had been murdered, and their mutual horror and outrage at the deed seemed to draw them still closer together.
Blaine knew the beloved northern provinces around Arras in her native France, and his battalion had held a section of the line near Mort Homme, her home village. He remembered the burnt-out ruins of her family's chateau.
We used it as an artillery observation post, he told her.
I spent many hours perched up in the north wing. His description induced a pleasant nostalgia, a fine sadness to heighten her emotions.
He loved horses as she did, and was a twelve-goal polo player.
Twelve goals! she exclaimed. My son will be most impressed. He has just been rated a four-goal man. How old is your son? 'Fourteen. Very good for a youngster of that age. I'd like to see him in action. That would be fun, she agreed, and suddenly she wanted to tell him all about Shasa, but again the music ended and cut her short, and this time he frowned also.
They are playing very short pieces, aren't they? Then she felt him start and he released her waist. Though she kept her hand on his arm, the strange elated mood which had gripped them both shattered, and something dark and intrusive passed like a shadow between them. She was not sure what it was.
Ah, he said sombrely. I see she has returned. She really wasn't at all well this evening but she always was a plucky one. To whom are you referring? Centaine asked. His tone had filled her with foreboding and she should have been warned by it, but still the shock of it made her flinch when he said softly: MY wife. Centaine felt quite giddy for a moment, and she only kept her balance with an effort when she let her hand fall from his arm.
I would like you to meet my wife, he said. May I introduce you to her? She nodded, unwilling to trust her voice, and when he offered his arm again she hesitated before she took it, and this time laid her fingertips only lightly upon it.
He led her across the floor towards the group at the foot of the main staircase, and as they approached Centaine searched the faces of the women, trying to guess which one it would be. Only two of them were young and none was beautiful, none could compete with her in looks or strength or poise or talent or wealth. She felt a surge of confidence and anticipation replace the momentary confusion and despondency that had thrown her off balance. Without thinking about it she knew she was going into a desperate contest, and she was buoyed up with battle lust and the enormity of the prize at stake. She was eager to identify and assess her adversary and she lifted her chin and set her shoulders as they stopped before the group.
The ranks of men and women opened respectfully, and there she was, looking up at Centaine with lovely tragic eyes. She was younger than Centaine and possessed of a rare and exquisite beauty. She wore her gentle nature and goodness like a shining cloak for all to see, but her sadness was in the smile she gave Centaine as Blaine Malcomess introduced them.
Mrs Courtney, may I present my wife Isabella? You dance exquisitely, Mrs Courtney. I have been watching you and Blaine with great pleasure, she said. He does so love dancing. Thank you, Mrs Malcomess, Centaine whispered huskily, while inside she raged. Oh, you little bitch. It's not fair.
You aren't fighting fair. How can I ever win now? Oh God, how I hate you. Isabella Malcomess sat in a wheelchair with her nurse behind her. The ankles of her thin paralysed legs showed under the hem of her evening dress. They were pale and skeletal and her feet seemed fragile and vulnerable in their sequined dancing pumps.
He'll never leave you. Centaine felt herself choke on her grief.
He's that kind of man, he'll never desert a crippled wife. Centaine awoke an hour before dawn and lay for a moment wondering at the strange sense of well being that possessed her. Then she remembered and threw back the sheets, eager for the day to begin. With both bare feet upon the floor she paused, and her eyes instinctively went to the framed photograph of Michael Courtney on the bedside table.
Michael, I'm sorry, she whispered. I love you. I still love you, I always will, but I can't help this other thing. I didn't want it. I didn't look for it. Please forgive me, my darling.
It's been so long and so lonely. I want him, Michael. I want to marry him and have him for myself. She took up the frame and for a moment held it to her bosom. Then she opened the drawer, laid the photograph face down upon her folded lace underwear, and closed the drawer again.
She jumped to her feet and reached for the yellow Chinese silk dressing-gown with the bird of paradise embroidered down the back. Belting it she hurried through to the saloon of the coach and seated herself at her desk to compose the telegraph to Sir Garry in their private code, for the message would be transmitted over the public fines.
Please urgently forward all intelligence on Lieutenant-Colonel Blaine Malcomess, newly appointed administrator of South West Africa. Reply in code. Love Juno.
She rang for her secretary and chafed while she waited for him. He came through in a flannel dressing-gown, owl-eyed and unshaven.
Get that off right away. She handed him the flimsy. Then get me Abraham Abrahams on the telephone. Centaine, it's six o'clock in the morning, Abe protested, land we didn't get to bed until three o'clock. ,Three hours is enough sleep for any good lawyer. Abe, I want you to invite Colonel Malcomess and his wife to dine with me in my coach this evening. There was a long weighty silence, and the static hissed on the line.
You and Rachel are invited, of course. She filled the silence.
It's much too short notice, he said carefully, obviously choosing his words with precision. The administrator is a busy man. He won't come. Get the invitation to him personally. Centaine ignored the protest. Send your messenger round to his office and see he gets it. Under no circumstances let his wife receive the invitation first. He won't come, Abe repeated stubbornly. At least I hope to God he won't come. What do you mean by that, she snapped.
You are playing with fire, Centaine. Not just a little candle flame, but a great raging bush fire. She pursed her lips. Mind your own business, and I'll mind mine, she started, and he broke in on her.
Kiss your own sweetheart, and I'll kiss mine, he finished the childhood law for her, and she giggled. He had never heard Centaine Courtney giggle before; it took him by surprise.
How appropriate, dear Abe. She giggled again, and his voice was truly agitated when he told her, You pay me an enormous retainer to mind your business for you. Centaine, you set a hundred tongues wagging last night, the whole town will be agog this morning. You are a marked woman, everybody watches you. You just cannot afford to carry on like this. Abe, you and I both know that I can afford to do any damned thing I choose. Send that invitation, please! She rested that afternoon. It had been a late night and she was determined to look her best for the evening. Her secretary woke her a little after four o'clock in the afternoon.
