Sunset at Sheba (18 page)

Winter shook his head. His horse stood with its feet astride breathing heavily in snoring gasps and Winter heaved up the long head. ‘I want Sir Theophilus Plummer,’ he said, ‘and I want him quickly, so let me go.’

The two men glanced at each other, but Plummer’s name carried sufficient weight for them to release the bridle.

‘Goed Genoeg,’
the Boer said. ‘Fair enough.’ He stared at the horse. ‘Hi, you’ve come a long way, man.’

‘Fast too, by the look of your nag,’ the other chipped in.

‘Look, I’m in a hurry - ‘

The soldier studied him for a moment, then he hitched at his belt. ‘I’ll come with you, or you might be stopped again.’

He disappeared into the shadows and, returning with his horse plodding behind him, swung into the saddle and rode alongside Winter into the town, through the scattered groups of soldiers camped under the trees.

The bright cold starlight was glinting on the iron roofs and the flat brick facades of the new buildings, giving the dusty road an icy tint as they pulled up outside the Plummerton Hotel.

The Cockney soldier swung to the ground and reached for Winter’s bridle. ‘I’ll look after your horse,’ he said. ‘Not that he’s going to be worth much now.’

‘I’ll need another,’ Winter said as he dismounted, staggering a little from weariness. ‘I’m going back.’

The trooper stared at him. ‘Christ, what’s the hurry, mate? De Wet come out?’

He stared at Winter’s shabby clothes, and at the dust which lay in their folds and in his hair, but he nodded. ‘I’ll tell ‘em to have one ready,’ he said.

Winter pushed into the hotel, stumbling with stiffness, and saw at once there were sleeping figures on the floor of the bar, as though they were refugees from the uproar that had clearly been taking place in the streets. The Portuguese clerk rose from behind the reception desk, blinking, his face strained with tiredness.

‘Mr Plummer?’ Winter said, and the Portuguese cocked a thumb at the billiard room and disappeared out of sight again at once, yawning heavily.

They had brought a cot into the room and Plummer was stretched out on it, fully clothed, and in the shadows Winter could see Hoole lying awkwardly on the horsehair bench, his face covered by an old copy of the
Illustrated London News,
his pince-nez on a chair beside him.

They were both on their feet in an instant as the glass crashed in the door, Hoole reaching for his spectacles, Plummer’s heavy face drawn with weariness, his hair on end, as he swung his feet to the floor.

‘Frank! What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Kitto and the rest of them?’

‘They’re at Sheba.’

‘Sheba?’ Plummer ran his hands through his hair. ‘Good God in Heaven, haven’t they got any farther than that? What are they doing there?’

‘They’re trying to blast the life out of that boy there! They’ve got him pinned up on the slope, and they’re shooting.’

‘Shooting?’ Plummer looked shocked. ‘I said no violence. For God’s sake, what’s going on, Frank?’

Winter gestured wearily with a heavy hand, his back against the door. ‘Offy, that damned old fool Kitto’ll destroy you,’ he panted. ‘You’ve got to come and stop him. I can’t. They’re out to kill the boy.’

‘Kill him?’ Plummer looked ill, his plump face veined and sagging. He began to button up his waistcoat quickly, and reached for his collar. ‘Good God,’ he said, ‘that’s murder!’

‘Not quite. They’ve got their excuse all right. It’s all nice and legal. The boy fired on them first. There’s one dead already. One of the troopers. Offy, we took the wrong path in the beginning. We’ve got to get back on the right one.’

Plummer gestured helplessly. ‘What the devil was the boy doing firing on them?’ he asked. ‘He must have been mad.’

As he turned from the heavy gilt mirror, his face red with the struggle to fasten his collar over the stud, Winter swayed, dizzy with fatigue, and Plummer dragged up a chair quickly.

‘Here, sit down, man,’ he said, concern in his face. ‘You look all in. Hoole, damn you, get him a drink! If they’re asleep, knock ‘em up!’

As Hoole disappeared through the clashing glass door,

Plummer pushed the chair forward and Winter dropped into it, trying to explain what had happened.

‘Offy, I told you,’ he said. ‘He’s death with a rifle.’

Plummer sat down and grunted as he reached for his bootlaces.

‘But why did he do it, Frank? Why? It don’t make sense.’

‘I think he just grew tired of being told where he’d got to go. He just grew tired of us, Offy - me, and Kitto, and you. We made a mistake, not leaving him alone. He’d probably have kept his mouth shut anyway, if we had.’

Plummer tugged at his moustache, his pale eyes popping. ‘Good God, what have I done?’ he said.

Winter knocked the dust from his face with a clumsy hand. ‘It’s my responsibility,’ he pointed out. ‘It was my suggestion that we encourage him to get out of the town. It’s my responsibility that he’s turned round and bitten us.’

‘Couldn’t you have called ‘em off, man?’ Plummer looked agitatedly at his watch with the instinctive movement of a busy man, and shoved it back in his pocket again, his thick fingers trembling.

Winter had loosened his tie now and was wiping the dust from his eyes.

‘Kitto’s in charge,’ he said, ‘not me. I was only there to watch but it’s got beyond watching now. It wants some strong action from someone with enough authority to override Kitto.’

‘Who?’

‘You, Offy. You. And even then I’m doubtful.’

Plummer gestured. ‘Good God, man, what can
I
do? If Kitto considers it’s in the best interests of the country -’ He stopped uncertainly as the door rattled and Hoole returned with a bottle of gin and a couple of bottles of soda.

‘Hoole’ - Plummer looked around - ‘go and arrange for a meal to be brought in.’

Hoole nodded, and putting the bottles down on the edge of the billiard table, turned back to the door again. Plummer rose and poured a drink.

‘By Snuff, Frank,’ he said, ‘this is the worst thing that could happen to us. There’s been hell to play here today. I didn’t let Hoole leave for the Cape in the end. I thought it best to hang on to him. Willie’ll have to sink or swim on his own. A runner came in to say that Ackermann from Brits’ Commando had run into De Wet’s rearguard and was on his way back here for supplies. He’d had casualties.’ He clashed the bottle back to the metal tray and turned round, holding out a glass to Winter.

‘Hertzog’s been at it again in the House,’ he went on, recovering his confidence as he found himself dealing with something he understood. ‘It was in the
Cape Times
that came up yesterday. Said the rebels were being murdered. Murdered, by Ginger! After what they’ve been doing in the Free State! Fabricius organised a meeting here last night as a follow-up. He knew about Ackermann and he soon picked up Hertzog’s phrase. He even hinted pretty strongly that De Wet had got support from the British element here - meaning me, of course! He was damned careful to say nothing seditious but what he was suggesting was plain enough for his followers to smash the town up. He’s heard about Willie all right. They tell me he’s been turning the place upside down, looking for that boy.’

‘He’ll find him quickly enough if he goes to Sheba. He might even meet him coming back.’

Plummer gestured angrily. ‘He
can’t
come back,’ he said.

‘Kitto hasn’t been able to stop him yet!’

Plummer banged his fist down on the table. ‘Fabricius is going to love this,’ he said. ‘And so are a lot of other people! We’re going to be busy, Frank, you and me, shoving up the barricades. We’ve got to be ready for ‘em.’

As he moved back to the mirror, smoothing his hair into place, prepared to give battle, Winter looked round the billiard room, remembering other meetings he’d seen in there, meetings like this and the one of several days ago, with Offy and his minions standing around, a different man for every facet of his business, sometimes Hoole, sometimes others; politicians and businessmen all mixed up together, each trying to see to Offy’s tangled affairs at the same time, all of them demanding Offy’s attention. Inevitably there was always some frightened offender too, some businessman who’d opposed them, some politician who’d been threatening; and Winter, always Winter, in the background, complete with the dirty work in a notebook in his pocket, the evidence, the goods; half-ashamed of himself and trying to pretend that it didn’t matter what a man did with his life, that pride was unimportant.

Somehow now, though, it all seemed different.

‘Offy,’ he said slowly, ‘not me. Not this time. You’re on your own now.’

Plummer turned, his expression incredulous. ‘On my own?’

Winter nodded. There’ve been many things I’ve done for you, Offy,’ he went on. ‘There was Abbey and Mrs Williamson’s husband, and van der Stel, and a few others. I’ve fixed ‘em all for you, Offy, fixed ‘em so their grandchildren will burst into tears every year on the anniversaries. I dug out the dead dogs on their consciences, or buried yours according to the circumstances. But it’s over now. I’ve finished.’

Plummer was standing over him, his thick neck bulging over his collar, angry and disappointed. ‘You could manage it just this
once
more,’ he said, pleading as he always did when Winter rebelled.

But this time Winter shook his head. ‘No, Offy,’ he said. ‘I’ve knocked too many nails in the coffin of my conscience, and for once I’m crying enough.’

‘Frank-’

Winter shook his head. ‘There hasn’t been much you’ve asked me to do that I let you down with,’ he said, ‘but I’m backing out of this one now. Offy. When we can condone murder by calling it duty, I’ve finished.’

Plummer’s eyes were hurt and he looked old and lonely and deserted. ‘Don’t leave me now, Frank,’ he begged. ‘Don’t back out at this stage. I’m going to need you. I’ve always relied on you because you’ve always told me what I ought to know, not what I wanted to know. I’ve trusted you even though we haven’t always agreed, and my God, I need someone now -not some smooth legal josser like Hoole but somebody who knows what makes me tick. I want you around because there’s trouble and there’s going to be
more
trouble.’

He poured himself a drink and swallowed it quickly. ‘They’ve been selling shares on the Stock Exchange in Jo’burg,’ he said. ‘I’m losing money. They’ve heard of the riots already and they know the signs. The market’s gone down with a bang. There’s talk of an inquiry here.’

Winter didn’t reply and Plummer grabbed his arm.

‘If there
is
an inquiry - and the boy comes into it - whose side are you on, Frank?’

‘Not yours, Offy,’ Winter said soberly. ‘Perhaps mine, perhaps that boy’s, but not yours and not Kitto’s.’

‘You were in it from the start, Frank.’

‘I’ll take that risk. I’ll be prepared to tell the truth, Offy. But it won’t be
your
truth or
my
truth. It’ll be God’s blessed and unflyblown truth for once. Somewhere inside I find I’m human after all.’

Plummer sighed and poured himself another drink.

‘I’ve told you many times before, Frank,’ he said slowly, suddenly calm, ‘and you know it, that we who were here in the early days were guilty of more than one sin before we got into the saddle. We had to be. There were too many others like us. Those who weren’t went under or ended up in a coffin made of gin cases. Reputations as well as manners decayed quickly in those days. You washed in soda water because there wasn’t anything else and a punch on the nose came to be regarded in the light of a receipt stamp. And we who survived rose from the ruck and the muck with a load of the dirtiest money on earth and the memory of as many sins as are chronicled in the Newgate Calendar.’ He paused and drew a deep breath, the agitation gone at last from his face, his manner calm again. ‘But I like to think that even if my money wasn’t clean when I got it, I’ve tried to cleanse it a little by putting it to the best use I could - for the country, for my fellow men who weren’t so lucky. Not since those early days have I tried to bully anyone who wasn’t trying to bully
me,
and I don’t want to bully anyone now. I said no violence and there’ll be no violence. I’ll go, Frank. I’ll go at once.’

Winter’s expression softened. ‘Thanks, Offy,’ he said quietly.

Plummer began to collect his belongings, then he turned, and stared ahead of him, talking to himself.

‘God, this couldn’t have come at a worse time,’ he said. ‘Ackermann’ll be nearing Plummerton any time now and De Wet’s still free.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘Just another worry, Frank, on top of all the others.’

As he struggled to smile, Winter realised that sometimes he felt that his complex empire of politics and finance had grown too big even for him.

Plummer smiled wryly and, patting Winter’s shoulder, turned for the door.

‘I’ll be going now,’ he said. ‘Hoole can drive. Never managed to find time to learn meself. Get some sleep.’

Winter shook his head stubbornly and forced himself out of the chair.

‘I’m coming with you,’ he said. ‘If we hurry, we should just make it back by daylight.’

Plummer pushed him back. ‘You’re all in,’ he said. ‘I know Sheba all right. We can find it on our own.’

‘I’m still coming. As soon as I can find another horse. I’ve killed the one I had.’

Plummer looked at the grey pallor of fatigue on Winter’s face, then he shrugged. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said. ‘But get a couple of hours’ sleep first. I’ll leave a message for them to wake you. And don’t worry about horses. Take the Vauxhall. It’ll be gentler than a saddle and a lot quicker.’

He paused, his face full of compassion as his mind flew to Sheba and the drama that was being enacted there. ‘Poor old Kitto,’ he said, as he stood with the door open. ‘I always guessed he was a fool. He never did know how to do anything any other way than getting his head down and rushing at it like a bull at a gate. That’s why he collected all the medals and all the casualties in the last war. That’s why I never did anything when he complained he was being neglected. I could have helped him a lot but I always did feel he had more guts than brains. He wouldn’t even have become the legend he did if Chief Jeremiah hadn’t guessed wrong that day thirty years ago. He’d have been just a heap of powdering bones on a hill in Dhanziland. This’ll finish him. He’ll be right back to what he always should have been - the everlasting subaltern.’