Sunset at Sheba (26 page)

He heard the gasp as she caught her breath, and he threw away his cigarette. ‘There’s only one thing now, Polly,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all day. We’ve got to cut a horse out from the horse lines - two for safety - and place ‘em where he can find them easily. Then I’ve got to get up there to warn him.’

‘He’ll shoot, Mr Winter.’

‘That’s a risk I’ve got to take. I wish I could be certain the Kaffirs would leave the horses exactly where I want them.’

Polly’s head came up. ‘Let me do it, Mr Winter,’ she said at once. ‘I can do it better than any Kaffir.’

He smiled in the darkness. ‘Bless you, Polly, I thought you might. You’ve only to get them to the mimosa thorn near the stream and stay with them until he comes. Then get back here as quickly as you can.’

‘I can do that, Mr Winter.’

‘Won’t you be frightened? You’ll be out there on your own.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not frightened, Mr Winter. Only about what’ll happen to me if they find out. I’m not a man and I can’t fight against people like you can. They’ve chased me out of Plummerton once already.’

‘Polly’ - Winter spoke impulsively - ‘don’t let that worry you. Stay with me. We’ll get away from here. We’ll go to the Cape. We’ll go together - we’ll get a train as soon as we’ve got Sammy away from here.’

She looked at him strangely, her eyes soft, her lips trembling, her expression a mixture of gratitude and joy. ‘You mean that, Mr Winter?’

Winter nodded. ‘Yes, Poll, I do,’ he said.

Her eyes had a distant look in them. ‘I always wanted to go to the Cape, Mr Winter,’ she said.

They waited until the camp was quiet, holding on to their patience until they could move into the naked veld that lay cold and eerie under the empty stars. Polly was tremulous in her excitement, her face lit with bright new hope. All the time, as they crouched together just beyond the firelight, she talked of Sammy and what he could do when he reached Bechuanaland, and how she would find a job in the Cape until the war was over and he could come back to her.

She even established herself in Winter’s house, as some sort of housekeeper, prepared out of sheer gratitude to work for him without pay and for as long as he wished her to stay.

‘There’s lots of things I can do, Mr Winter,’ she said eagerly. ‘I’m not as stupid as I look and I can clean up and do anything you ask.’

He could feel her trembling with pleasure alongside him, at the thought that she might save Sammy yet, unable to halt her whispered chattering or the dizzy plans she was making, staggered by the prospect of security and some sort of rooted existence at last.

She required no encouragement when the time came to move, and was on her feet before he was, the blanket over her shoulders against the flying dust.

Digging a couple of saddles from the pile of equipment among the rocks, they carried them with a sack of oats and biltong and flour, and containers of coffee and salt they had bribed from the Kaffir cooks and hid them carefully away from the light.

‘We’ll have to be careful,’ Winter said. ‘I don’t know quite how we’re going to do this but we can only try.’

Polly was straining her eyes in the darkness. ‘There won’t be lions out there, will there, Mr Winter?’

‘There aren’t any lions round here, Polly,’ he reassured her. ‘Nothing that’ll worry you.’

‘How’ll he know which way to go?’

‘Sammy’ll know. He’ll know the stars.’

She became curiously quiet.

‘It’ll be lonely,’ she commented in a whisper.

‘Sammy’s used to being alone,’ Winter said.

‘I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that the veld’s such a big place and there’ll be no one he can turn to. Not one single solitary person on his side.’

‘You’ll
be on his side, Polly. I know you will.’

‘I wouldn’t be much help in Cape Town. What if something happens to him?’

‘Sammy’s too smart for that.’

‘I dunno. There were times when even Sammy was glad of a helping hand. On the way here, for instance.’

‘Polly’ - Winter touched her hand - ‘it’ll be different this time. There’ll be no one on his heels.’

She didn’t reply and he was aware of a sudden difference in her demeanour, as though the excitement had gone from her and left her doubtful and uneasy about what they were doing.

As they drew nearer the horse lines, Winter stopped and emptied his pockets of all the money he had on him.

‘Here, Polly,’ he said. ‘Take this. Give it to Sammy. He’ll need it.’

She looked startled as he pressed it into her hand.

‘Mr Winter, Sammy’s not short of cash. He’s got all you gave him before we left Plummerton.’

‘For all we know, Polly, that might not be enough. He may need all he can get. Give him that and tell him he’s welcome to it.’

‘But Mr Winter-’

Winter closed her hand over the money, feeling that it helped in some small measure to soothe his sense of guilt that the disastrous affair at Sheba had all sprung originally from his own half-sarcastic suggestion to Plummer.

‘Don’t ask questions, Polly. I’d rather he had it.’

‘I don’t like taking money - ‘

He smiled. ‘All right, Polly,’ he said, humouring her. ‘You can pay me back then, if you like. You’ve been working it out all evening.’

She paused, still oddly subdued. Then she pushed the money back at him quickly. ‘You’d better keep it, Mr Winter,’ she said abruptly in a firm voice. ‘I shan’t be coming back. I’d like to go with you to the Cape - you know that. It’s what I’ve always wanted and it was nice of you to ask me. But it’s no good, I’ve
got
to go with Sammy.’ Her eyes were steady, begging him not to be angry. ‘It’s better that way, Mr Winter,’ she ended. ‘It’s the only way really.’

He said nothing for a second, feeling disappointed and grieved. He had begun to feel he had something to look forward to at last. There were oaks and magnolias and hydrangeas at the Cape, and rich flowering proteas, away from this bleak land of tumbledown houses and bleached dorps where the ground was sour with sunshine. Down at the Cape, away from the fierce pride that ran like summer lightning among the empty plains and flat-topped hills of the Orange River, life had more dignity, and with Polly’s rich character nearby to give it purpose, there had seemed some point at last in getting away and starting all over again. All his ties with Offy Plummer had fallen away from him and left him in a void of indecision from which Polly’s sturdy mind offered a strange spiritual security missing from a life too cynical to be quite real.

Instinctively he attempted to dissuade her, not wishing to be alone again. ‘It’ll be hard going, Poll,’ he said.

‘No harder than it was before we came to Sheba,’ she said laconically.

Winter paused, faint stirrings of jealousy in him, wondering what it was in a man that could produce such loyalty in a woman, then he nodded, accepting the situation.

‘It’ll be better for us all, Mr Winter,’ she explained quietly. ‘Him and me’s the same sort. We’re common folk. We understand each other. I love him whatever he is and whatever he does and I’ve got to be with him. I know that now. I belong to him, see, and he belongs to me and no other. Till death do us part, everlasting, amen. Dead or livin’, that’s the way it is. I ought to have known it all along, but I didn’t. When he comes, I’ll stand and look at him and the tears’ll run down my face, never stopping, and no word’ll be said. But
he’ll
understand. He’ll know all right. It’s always been this way, Mr Winter, but I’ve been too soppy to realise.’

He nodded again, and patted her hand. ‘I understand, Polly,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Don’t worry.’

As they drew near the horse lines, Polly became silent and he put it down at first to a sense of guilt at letting him down, but as they crept closer she grew even more withdrawn and remote, as though she weren’t even aware of his presence.

When they could catch the acrid stable scent of the horses and hear the soft footfall of the man on duty, Winter put a hand on her arm, doubtful of his strength and full of indecision.

‘The sentry’s awake,’ he said, and Polly stopped dead in her tracks.

‘Mr Winter,’ she whispered.

‘What is it, Polly?’

‘Can I kiss you good-bye?’

‘What, now, Polly?’

‘If you will. There might not be time later.’ Her voice seemed to be trembling. ‘I might never see you again and you’ve been real good to me and Sammy. Better than you realise.’

He felt touched.

‘I know you and me’s kissed more’n once,’ she went on, ‘but not that way. I’d like to kiss you proper. You’re a toff, Mr Winter. A real sport.’

Her lips were cold on his and somehow, behind the feeling of loneliness the gesture brought to him, he had the sensation of some vast emotional disturbance inside her, something that made sense of the incredible tranquillity that had suddenly come over her, smothering her excitement.

As he released her, she turned away and he saw her face was strained and pale in the dim light of the stars, and she was standing very erect.

‘God knows how we’re going to go about this,’ he said, glancing towards the spot in the darkness where he could hear the soft snorting of horses and the chink of iron on stones.

She was standing a little in front of him and as he moved forward again, she turned round to face him, her eyes hard and calm.

‘You stay here,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve thought of that, Mr Winter. It shouldn’t present no difficulty.’

‘What do you mean?’

She was picking nervously at the rough stitching with which she had repaired the torn neck of her dress and he saw the whiteness of her skin in the starlight and the shadowed hollow between her breasts.

‘Polly, what are you up to?’

‘It’s that Le Roux what’s on sentry go at the horse lines, Mr Winter.’ She spoke in a flat numb voice. ‘The one who’s been doing all the shouting. It shouldn’t take long for me to shift him.’

‘Polly, what are you contemplating?’ Winter felt shamed by the calm dignity on her face.

‘It’s no hardship, Mr Winter,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s no sacrifice to me. I’m giving away nothing that I haven’t given away already. There’ve been plenty of times when I’ve done this for people when I’d rather spit in their eye, so I can do it for Sammy now. I’ll meet you here.’

Winter was at a loss for something to say. For a moment, he tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Dumbly he laid his hand on her arm and nodded, and turned away quickly.

Polly remained where she was, straight and slim, her figure casting the slightest of shadows under the stars. She was still fiddling with her dress as she called out.

‘Le Roux! Fricki Le Roux!’

A burly shape appeared from the direction of the horse lines.

‘Wie da?
What do you want?’

‘You been shouting the odds all day,’ Polly said. ‘You’re good at that, when a girl’s alone in front of everybody. You ask me, though, I don’t think you’re man enough when it comes to the pitch. I reckon it was all wind.’

Le Roux was staring at her, his arms slack by his side, his rifle hanging from one big bony hand, then he grinned and, whipping his hat from his head, he sent it skimming away and swept her to him in the darkness.

It was only a few minutes’ job to cut out a couple of horses from the horse lines and lead them off silently, the soft flapping sound of their feet in the dust hidden by the stamp of iron-shod hooves and the whinnies of half-fed animals. From the fire by the rocks of Babylon, there was laughter and some singing and no one took any notice as Winter saddled the animals.

After a while Polly appeared. Her face was expressionless and there was something in her eyes that made Winter hate himself. She said nothing as she emerged from the shadows beside him, pushing a strand of hair into place.

‘I’m ready, Mr Winter,’ she said quietly.

‘Polly -’

‘Better not say anything, Mr Winter. It’s done and there’s nothing we can do to undo it.’

‘Polly -’

‘Damn it,’ she said, her voice suddenly harsh and irritated. ‘I don’t want any mealy-mouthed apologies. What do you think I am? It’s nothing new to me. I’m no bloomin’ angel. Give me a leg up.’

His mouth dry with salty distaste, Winter bit back the vague apologies he felt were demanded of him, humiliated by the frigid impassivity of her features. Pushing her on to one of the horses, he attached the other by its reins to the iron ring behind her saddle.

‘You know the spot, Polly?’ he asked, speaking briskly, trying hard to forget what she had just put behind her. ‘See that star up there? - the bright one - keep it right in front of you. Don’t lose sight of it and you’ll run straight to the stream. Turn to your right along the bank and you’ll reach the mimosas. It should take you about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. No more. Wait there for Sammy coming.’ He looked up at her calm stony face. ‘You aren’t afraid, are you, Polly?’

She shook her head, still staring in front of her. ‘There isn’t anything in the world left to be afraid of now,’ she said slowly. ‘Nothing. Not ever.’

She paused, gazing down at him, then without looking back, kicked the horse into movement and moved away from him into the darkness.

For a long time he stared after her, his mind confused and reeling, then he managed to get control of himself and, turning away, still trembling, walked rapidly to the base of Sheba.

The rocks where the troopers had hidden all day were empty now, faintly outlined by the starlight. Winter stopped and stared upwards towards the black loom of the kopje, ragged and ugly against the indigo night sky, wondering what other ancient forlorn rearguards had fought there. Somewhere up among the rocks in the stark silence was young Schuter, sharp-eyed, clear-headed, that deadly rifle of his close by.

He crouched for a while behind the rocks, conscious of his heart beating furiously in the terrifying absence of sound. His pockets were stuffed with as much food as he had been able to cram into them, jammed hard on to the top of what Mauser cartridges he had been able to find. Soldiers were notoriously slovenly about their bullets and never troubled to pick up what they dropped, feeling there were always plenty more, and it had not been difficult to find a couple of pocketfuls.