Rage - Smith Wilbur - Страница 16
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Her arousal was so abrupt that she was unprepared. She had never considered herself a sensual person. Shasa was the only man she had ever known and it took all his skill and patience to quicken her body, but now at a touch her bones well soft with desire and her loins melted like wax in the flame and she could not breathe, so strong was her need of this man.
'The door,' she blurted. 'Lock the door." Then she saw that he had already barred the door, and she was grateful for it, for she felt that she could not have brooked the delay.
He picked her up quickly and carried her to the bed. The sheet that covered it was spotless and so crisply starched that it crackled softly under her weight.
He was so huge that he terrified her, and though she had borne four children, she felt as though she was being split asunder as his blackness filled her, and then the terror passed to be replaced by a strange sense of sanctity. She was the sacrificial lamb, with this act she was redeeming all the sins of her own race, all the trespasses that they had committed against his ]people down the centuries; she was wiping away the guilt that had been her stigmata since as far back as she could remember.
When at the end he lay heavy upon her with his breathing roaring in her ears and the last wild convulsions racking hisgreat black muscles, she clung to him with a joyous gratitude. For he had, at one and the same time, set her free from guilt and made her his slave for ever.
Subdued by the sadness of after love, and by the certain knowledge that her world was for ever altered, Tara was silent on the drive back to Molly's home. She parked a block before she reached it, and keeping the engine running she turned to examine his face in the reflection of the street lights.
'When will I see you again?" she asked the question that countless women in her position had asked before her. Do you wish to see me again?" 'More than anything else in my life." She did not at that moment even ttiink of her children. He was the only thing in her existence.
'It will be dangerous." 'I know." 'The penalties if we are discovered - disgrace, ostracism, imprisonment. Your life would be destroyed." 'My life was a sham,' she said softly. 'Its destruction would be no great loss." He studied her features carefully, searching for insincerity. At last he was satisfied.
'I will send for you, when it is safe." 'I will come immediately, whenever you call." 'I must leave you now. Take me back." She parked at the side of Molly's house, in the shadow where they could not be observed from the road.
'Now the subterfuge and dissembling begins,' she thought calmly.
'I was right. It will never be the same again." He made no attempt to embrace her, it was not the African way.
He stared at her, the whites of his eyes gleaming like ivory in the half dark.
'You realize that when you choose me you choose the struggle?" he asked.
'Yes, I know that." 'You have become a warrior and you and your wants, even your life, are of no consequence. If you have to die for the struggle, I will not lift my hand to save you." She nodded. 'Yes, I know that." The nobility of the concept filled her chest and made it difficult for her to breathe so her voice was laboured as she whispered, 'Greater love hath no man - I will make any sacrifice you ask of me." Moses went to the guest bedroom which Molly had allocated to him, and as he washed his face in the basin Marcus Archer slipped into the room without knocking, closed the door and leaned against it, watching Moses in the mirror.
'Well?" he asked at last, as though he was reluctant to hear the answer.
'Just as we planned it." Moses dried his face on a clean towel.
'I hate the silly little bitch,' Marcus said softly.
'We agreed it was necessary." Moses selected a fresh shirt from the valise on his bed.
'I know we agreed,' Marcus said. 'It was my suggestion, if you remember, but-I do not have to like her for it." 'She is an instrument.
It is folly to let your personal feelings intrude." Marcus Archer nodded. In the end he hoped he could act like a true revolutionary, one of the steely hard men which the struggle needed, but his feelings for this man, Moses Gama, were stronger than all his political convictions.
He knew that it was completely one-sided. Over the years Moses Gama had used him as cynically and as calculatingly as he now planned to use the Courtney woman. His vast sexual appeal was to Moses Gama merely another weapon in his arsenal, another means of manipulating people. He could use it on men or women, young or old, no matter how attractive or unappealing, and Marcus admired him for the ability, and at the same time was devastated by it.
'We leave for the Witwatersrand tomorrow,' he said, as he pushed himself away from the door, for the moment controlling his jealousy.
'I have made the arrangements." 'So soon?" Moses asked.
'I have made the arrangements. We will travel by car." It was one of the problems which dogged their work. It was difficult for a black man to travel about the huge sub-continent, liable as he was at any time to demands to show his dompas and to interrogation when the authority realized that he was far from the domicile shown on the pass without apparent reason, or that the pass had not been stamped by an employer.
Moses' association with Marcus and the nominal employment he provided with the Chamber of Mines gave him valuable cover when it was necessary to travel, but they always needed couriers. That was one of the functions that Tara Courtney would perform. In addition she was by birth and by marriage highly placed, and the information she could provide would be of the greatest value in the planning.
Later, after she had proved herself, there would be other, more dangerous work.
In the end, Shasa Courtney realized, it was his mother's advice which would tip the fine balance and decide whether he accepted or rejected the offer that had been made to him during the springbok hunt on the open plains of the Orange Free State.
Shasa would have been the first to despise any other man of his age who was still firmly enmeshed in the maternal apron strings, but he never considered that this applied to him. The fact that Centaine Courtney-Malcomess was his mother was merely incidental. What influenced him was that she was the shrewdest financial and political brain he had access to; she was also his business partner and his only true confidante. To make such an important decision without consulting her never even occurred to him.
He waited a week after his return to Cape Town to let his own feelings distil out, and for an opportunity to have Centaine alone, for he was in no doubt as to what his stepfather's reaction would be to the proposal. Blaine Malcomess was the opposition representative on the parliamentary sub-committee examining the proposed establishment of an oil-from-coal project, part of the government's long-term plan to reduce the country's reliance on imported crude oil. The committee was going to take evidence on site, and for once Centaine was not accompanying her husband. That was the opportunity Shasa needed.
It was less than half an hour's drive from Weltevreden, across the Constantia Nek pass and down the other side of the mountains to the Atlantic seaboard where the home that Centaine had made for Blaine stood on five hundred acres of wild protea-covered mountainside that dropped steeply down to rocky headlands and white beaches. The original house, Rhodes Hill, had been built during Queen Victoria's reign by one of the old mining magnates from the Rand, but Centaine had stripped the interior and refurbished it completely.
She was waiting for Shasa on the verandah when he parked the Jaguar, and ran up the steps to embrace her.
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