When the Lion Feeds (31 page)

But I suppose I must accommodate you. They walked down to the refreshment pavilion. Candy was quiet awhile, then she said, An enemy like Mr Hradsky is a luxury that even you two gods can't afford.

Why don't you leave him alone? It's a hobby of Duff's, explained Sean as they found seats at one of the tables. Waiter, bring us a bottle of poi Roger. Before the big race they went down to the paddock. A steward opened the wicket gate for them and they passed into the ring of circling horses. A gnome in silk of maroon and gold came to meet them and touched his cap then stood awkwardly, fingering his whip. He looks good this morning, sir. The little man nodded at trade Wind. There was a dark patch of sweat on the horse's shoulder and he mouthed the snaffle, lifting his feet delicately. Once he snorted and rolled his eyes in mock terror. He's got an edge on him, sir, eager kind of, if you follow me.

I want you to win, Harry, said Duff. So do I, sir, I'll do my best.

There's a thousand guineas for you if you do. A thousand the jockey repeated on an outgoing breath.

Duff looked across to where Hradsky and Max were standing talking to their trainer. He caught Hradsky's eye glanced significantly at hradsky's honey-coloured filly and shook his head sympathetically.

Win for me, Harry, he said softly.

That I will, sir!

The groom led the big stallion across to them and Sean flicked the jockey up into the saddle. Good luck. Harry settled his cap and gathered up the reins; he winked at Sean, his hobgoblin face wrinkling in a grin. There's no better luck than a thousand guineas, sir, if you follow me. Come on. Duff caught Candy's arm. Let's get a place at the rail. They hustled her out of the paddock and across the members enclosure. The rail was crowded but a place opened for them respectfully and no one jostled them. I can't understand you two, Candy laughed breathlessly. You make an extravagant bet, then you fix it so you can get nothing even if you win Money's not the problem, Duff assured her. He won that much from me at Klabejas last night, Sean commented. If trade Wind beats the filly his prize will be the look on hradsky's face, the loss of a thousand guineas will hurt him like a kick between the legs. The horses came parading past, stepping high next to the grooms who held them, then they turned free and cantered back, dancing sideways, throwing their heads, shining in the sunlight like the bright silk upon their backs. They moved away round the curve of the track.

The crowd rustled with excitement, a bookmaker's voice carried over the buzz. Twenty-to-one bar two. Sun Dancer at fives. trade Wind even money. Duff showed his teeth as he smiled. That's right, you tell the people. Candy twisted her gloves nervously and looked up at Sean. You there in the grandstand, can you see what they're doing? They're in line now, moving up together, it looks as though they'll get away first time, Sean told her without taking his binoculars from his eyes. Yes, there they go they're away! Tell me, tell me, commanded Candy, pounding sean's shoulder.

qiarryls showing in front already, can you see the filly, Duff VI saw a flash of green in the pack, yes, there she is lying sixth or seventh.

What horse is that next to trade Wind? That's Hamilton's gelding, don't worry about him, he won't last to the turn. The frieze of horses, their heads going like hammers and the dust lifting pale and thin behind them, were framed by the guide rail and the white mine dumps beyond them. Like a string of dark beads they moved up the back stretch and then bunched in the straight. trade Wind's still there, I think he's making ground the gelding's finished and no sign of the filly yet. Yes! There she is, Duff, wide on the outside. She's moving up. Come on, my darling-'Duff half whispered. Let's see you foot it now. She's clear of the pack, she's coming up, Duff, she's coming up fast, Sean warned.

Come on, trade Wind, hold her off, Duff pleaded. Keep her there, boy.

The pounding of the hooves reached them now, a sound like distant surf, but rising sharply. The colours showed, emerald green above a honey skin and maroon and gold leading on the bay.

trade Wind, come on trade Wind, shrieked Candy.

Her hat flopped over her eyes as she hopped; she ripped it off impatiently and her hair tumbled to her shoulders. She's catching him, Duff! Give him the whip, Harry, for Christ's sake, the whip, man. The hoof beats crescendoed, thundered up to them, then passed. The filly's nose was at Harry's boot, creeping steadily forward, now level with trade Wind's heaving shoulder. The whip, God damn you, screamed Duff, give him the whip. Harry's right arm moved, fast as a mamba, crack, crack; they heard the whip above the howling crowd, above the drumming of hooves and the bay jumped at its sting. Like a pair in harness the two horses swept over the finishing line.

Who won? Candy asked as though she were in pain.

I couldn't see, damn it Duff answered. Nor could I - Sean took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. That didn't do my heart any good as Francois would say. Have a cigar, Duff. Thanks, I need one.

Everyone in the crowd was turned to face the board above the judges box and an uneasy silence held them. Why do they take such a long time to make up their minds? complained Candy. I'm so upset that I can only last a minute before I visit the Ladies Room.

The numbers are going up, shouted Sean. Who is it? Candy jumped to try and see over the heads of the crowd then stopped hurriedly with an expression of alarm on her face. Number Sixteen, bellowed Duff and Sean together, it's trade Wind! Sean punched Duff in the chest and Duff leaned over and snapped Sean's cigar in half. Then they caught Candy between them and hugged her. She let out a careful shriek and fought her way out of their arms. Excuse me, she said and fled. Let me buy you a drink. Sean lit the mutilated stump of his cigar. No, it's my honour, I insist. Duff took his arm and they walked with big satisfied grins towards the pavilion.

Hradsky was sitting at one of the tables with Max. Duff walked up behind him, lifted his top hat off his head with one hand and with the other ruffled Hradsky's few remaining hairs. Never mind, Norman, you can't win all the time. Hradsky turned slowly. He retrieved his hat and smoothed back his hair, his eyes glittered yellow.

He's going to talk, whispered Duff excitedly.

agree with you, Mr Charleywood, you can't win all the time, said Norman hradsky. It came out quite clearly with only a small catch on the Vs', they were always difficult letters for him. He stood up, put his hat back on his head and walked away. I will have a cheque delivered to your office early on Monday morning, Max told them quietly without taking his eyes off the table. Then he stood up and followed Hradsky.

Sean came through from the bathroom, his beard in wild disorder and a bath-towel round his waist. The famous Duke of York He had ten thousand men He marched them up to the top of the hill And he marched them down again. He sang as he poured bay nirn from a cut-glass bottle into his cupped hands and rubbed it into his hair. Duff sat in one of the gilt chairs watching him. Sean combed his hair carefully then smiled at himself in the mirror.

You magnificent creature, Sean told his reflection.

You're getting fat Duff granted.

Sean looked hurt. It's muscle. You've got a backside on you like a hippopotamus Sean removed his towel and turned his back to the mirror;

he surveyed it over his shoulder.

I need a heavy hammer to drive a long nail, he protested. Oh, no, groaned Duff. Your wit at this time of the morning is like pork for breakfast, heavy on the stomach Sean took a silk shirt out of his drawer, held it like a toreador's cape, made two passes and swirled it onto his back with a half veronica. Ole! applauded Duff wryly. Sean pulled on his trousers and sat to fit his boots.

You're in a nice mood this morning, he told Duff. I've just come through an emotional hurricane! What's the trouble? Candy wants a church wedding. Is that bad? Well, it's not good. Why? Is your memory so short? oh, you mean your other wife. That's right, my other wife. Have you told Candy about her? Good God, no. Duff looked horrified.

Yes, I see your problem, what about Candy's husband?

Doesn't that even the score between you? No, he has gone to his reward.

Well, that's convenient. Does anyone else know you're married already?

Duff shook his head.

What about Francois? No, I never told him. Well, what's your problem go down to church and marry her.

Duff looked uncomfortable.

I don't mind marrying a second time in a magistrate's court, it would only be a couple of old Dutchmen I'd be cheating, but to go into a church -'Duff shook his head.

I'd be the only one who'd know, said Sean. You and the headman. Duff!

Sean beamed at him. Duff, my boy, you have scruples, this is amazing!

Duff squirmed a little in his chair.

Let me think. Sean held his forehead dramatically. Yes, yes, it's coming to me, that's it. Come on, tell me.

Duff sat on the edge of his chair. Go to Candy and tell her it's all fixed, not only are you prepared to marry her in a church but you're even going to build your own church. That's wonderful, Duff murmured sarcastically, that's the way out of my difficulties all right. Let me finish. Sean started filling his silver cigar case. You also tell her that you want a civil ceremony as well believe that's what royalty do.

Tell her that! it should win her over. I still don't follow you. Then you build your own chapel up at Xanadu, we can find a distinguished-looking character, dress him up in a dog collar and teach him the right words. That keeps Candy happy. Immediately after the service the priest takes the coach for Capetown. You take Candy down to the magistrate's office and that keeps you happy Duff looked stunned then slowly his face broke into a great happy smile. Genius, pure inspired genius Sean buttoned his waistcoat. Think nothing of it. And now if you'll excuse me I'll go and do some work, one of us has to make sufficient to allow you to indulge these strange fancies of yours. Sean shrugged on his coat, picked up his cane and swung it. The gold head gave it a balance like a handmade shotgun.

The silk next to his skin and the halo of bay rum round his head made him feel good.

He went down the stairs. Mbejane had the carriage waiting for him in the Hotel yard. The body tilted slightly at Sean's weight and the leather upholstery welcomed him with a yeilding softness. He lit his first cigar of the day and Mbejane smiled at him. I see you, Nkosi. I see you also, Mbejane, what is that lump on the side of your head?

Nkosi, I was a little drunk, otherwise that ape of a Basuto would never have touched me with his fighting stick Mbejane rolled the carriage smoothly out of the yard and into the street.

What were you fighting aboutV Mbejane shrugged. Must a man have a reason to fight? It is usual. It is in my memory that there was a woman, said Mbejane.

That is also usual, who won this fight? The man bled a little, his friends took him away. The woman, when I left, was smiling in her sleep. Sean laughed, then ran his eyes over the undulating plain of mbejane's bare back. It was definitely not in keeping. He hoped his secretary had remembered to speak to the tailor. They pulled up in front of his offices. One of his clerks hurried down off the veranda and opened the door of the carriage. Good morning, Mr Courtney. Sean went up the stairs with his clerk running ahead of him like a hunting dog. Good morning Mr Courtney, another polite chorus from the row of desks in the main office. Sean waved his cane at them and went through into his own office. His portrait leered at him from above the fireplace and he winked at it. What have we this morning, Johnson?

These requisitions, sir, and the pay cheques, sir, and development reports from the engineers, sir, and. . . Johnson was a greasy-haired little man in a greasylooking alpaca coat; with each sir he made a greasy little bow. He was efficient so Sean hired him, but that didn't mean he liked him. You got a stomach ache, Johnson? No, sir. Well, for God's sake, stand up straight, man.

Johnson shot to attention. Now let's have them one at a time. Sean dropped into his chair. At this time of the day came the grind. He hated the paper work and so he tackled it with grim concentration, making random checks on the long rows of figures, trying to associate names with faces and querying requisitions that appeared exorbitant until finally he wrote his signature between the last of Johnson's carefully pencilled crosses and threw his pen onto the desk. What else is there? Meeting with Mr Maxwell from the Bank at twelvethirty, sirAnd then?

The agent for Brooke Bros. at one, and immediately after that Mr macDougal, sir, then you're expected up at the Candy Deep mine. Thank you, Johnson, I'll be at the Exchange as usual this morning if anything out of the ordinary comes up. Very good, Mr Courtney. just one other thing.

Johnson pointed at the brown paper parcel on the couch across the room.

From your tailor. Ah! Sean smiled. Send my servant in here. He walked across and opened the parcel. Within a few minutes Mbejane filled the doorway. Nkosi? Mbejane, your new uniform. Sean pointed at the clothes laid out on the couch. Mbejane's eyes switched to the gold and maroon finery, his expression suddenly dead. Put it on, come on, let's see how you look.

Mbejane crossed to the couch and picked up the jacket. These are for me? Yes, come on, put it on. Sean laughed.

Mbejane hesitated, then slowly he loosened his loin cloth and let it drop. Sean watched him impatiently as he buttoned on the jacket and pantaloons, then he walked in a critical circle around the Zulu. Not bad, he muttered, and then in Zulu, Is it not beautiful? Mbejane wriggled his shoulders against the unfamiliar feel of the cloth and said nothing. Well, Mbejane, do you like it? When I was a child I went with my father to trade cattle at Port Natal. There was a man who went about the town with a monkey on a chair, the monkey danced and the people laughed and threw money to it. That monkey had such a suit as this.