When the Lion Feeds (36 page)

There's a whole lot of new presents!

one's from Jock and Trevor, Sean read the card. Open quickly, please, Dufford, let's see what they've given us. Duff prised the lid off the case and Sean whistled softly, A solid gold dinner service, gasped candy. She picked up one of the plates and hugged it to her chest, Oh, I just don't know what to say. Sean examined the other boxes. Hey, Duff, this one will make you specially happy, "Best wishes, N.

Hradsky". This I must see, said Duff with the first enthusiasm he had shown in a month. He unwrapped the parcel. A dozen of them! Duff hooted gleefully. Norman, you priceless little Israelite, a whole dozen dish towels. It's the thought that counts, laughed Sean. Dear old norman, how it must have hurt him to shell out for them! I'll have him autograph them and I'll frame them and hang them in the front hall. They left Candy to arrange the presents and they went out into the garden.

Have you got this mock priest organized? asked Duff. Yes, he's at a hotel in Pretoria. He's in training now he'll be able to rattle through the service like an old hand when the time comes. You don't think that faking it is just as bad as doing it properly? asked Duff dubiously.

It's a hell. of a time to think of that now, said Sean. Yes, I suppose it is. Where are you going for the honeymoon? Sean asked. We'll coach down to Capetown and take the mail boat to London, then a month or so on the Continent. Be back here about June. You should have a good time.

Why don't you get married as well?

What for? Sean looked surprised. Well, don't you feel as though you're letting the old firm down a bit, me going into this alone? No, said sean. Anyway, who is there to marry? What about that lass you brought to the races last Saturday; she's a lovely piece of work. Sean raised an eyebrow. Did you hear her giggle? Yes, I did, admitted Duff. You couldn't very well miss itCan you imagine that giggle coming at you across the breakfast table? Sean asked.

Duff shuddered. Yes, I see your point. But as soon as we get back I'll have Candy start picking you out a suitable female. I've got a better idea, you let Candy run your life and I'll run my own. That, laddie, is what I'm very much afraid is going to happen. Hradsky reluctantly agreed that the activities of the group, the mines, the workshops, the transport companies, all of them - should be suspended on the twentieth to allow their employees to attend Duff's nuptials. This meant that half the businesses on the Witwatersrand would shut down for the day.

Consequently, most of the independent companies decided to close as well. On the eighteenth the wagons carrying the food and liquor started caravanning up the hill to Xanadu. Sean in a burst of benevolence that night invited the entire company from the Opera House to the wedding. He remembered it vaguely the next morning and went down to cancel the invitation but Blue Bessie told him that most of the girls had already gone into town to buy new dresses. The hell with it then, let them come. I just hope Candy doesn't guess who they are, that's all On the night of the nineteenth Candy gave them the use of the dining-room and all the downstairs lounges of the Hotel for Duffs bachelor party.

Francois arrived with a masterpiece made up in the mine workshops, an enormous ball and chain. This was formally locked onto Duff's leg and the party began.

Afterwards there was a school of thought that maintained that the building contractor commissioned to repair the damage to the Hotel was a bandit and that the bill for just under a thousand pounds that he presented was nothing short of robbery. However, none of them could deny that the bok-Bok game in the dining-room, played by a hundred men, had done a certam amount of damage to the furniture and fittings; nor that the chandelier had not been able to support Mr Courtney's weight and on the third swing had come adrift from the ceiling and knocked a moderately large hole through the floor.

Neither did anyone dispute the fact that after Jock Heyns had tried unsuccessfully for half an hour to shoot a glass off the top of his brother's head with champagne Forks, the resulting ankle-deep lake of wine in the one-lounge made it necessary for the floor to be relaid.

Nevertheless they felt that a thousand was a little bit steep. On one point, however, everyone agreed, it was a memorable party.

At the beginning Sean was worried that Duff's heart wasn't in it for duff stood by the bar with the metal ball under one arm listening to the lewd comment, with a lopsided grin fixed on his face. After seven or eight drinks Sean stopped worrying about him and went off to have his way with the chandelier. At midnight Duff talked Francois into releasing him from his chains and he slipped out of the room. No one, least of all Sean, noticed him go.

Sean could never remember how he got up to bed that night but next morning he was tactfully awakened by a waiter with a coffee tray and a note.

What time is it? asked Sean as he unfolded the note. Eight o'clock, baas. No need to shout, muttered Sean. His eyes focused with difficulty for the pain in his head was pushing them out of their sockets. Dear Best Man, This serves as a reminder that you and Duff have an appointment at eleven o'clock. I am relying on you to get him there, whole or in pieces. Love Candy The brandy fumes in the back of his throat tasted like chloroform, he washed them out with coffee and lit a cigar which started him coughing, and every cough nearly took the top off his head. He stubbed out the cigar and went to the bathroom.

Half an hour later he felt strong enough to wake Duff. He went across the sitting-room and pushed open Duffs door, the curtains in the room were still drawn. He pulled them open and was nearly blinded by the sunlight that poured in through them. He turned to the bed and frowned with surprise. He walked slowly across and sat on the edge of it. He must have slept in Candy's room, Sean muttered as he looked at the unused pillows and neatly tucked blankets. it took a few seconds for him to find the fault in his reasoning. Then why did she write that note? He stood up, feeling the first twinge of alarm. A picture of duff, drunk and helpless lying out in the yard or knocked over the head by one of the busy Johannesburg footpads; came very clearly to mind. He ran across the bedroom and into the sitting-room. Halfway to the door he saw the envelope propped up on the mantelpiece and he took it down.

What is this, a meeting of the authors guild? he muttered. The place is thick with letters. The paper crackled as he opened it and he recognized Duff's back sloping hand. The first the worst, the second the same. I'm not going through with it. You're the best man so make my excuses to all the nice people. I'll be back when the dust has settled a little.

Sean sat down in one of the armchairs, he read through it twice more-

Then he exploded. Damn you, Charleywood, "make my excuses". You craven bastard. Walk out and leave me to sweep up the mess. He rushed across the room with his dressing-gown flapping furiously round his legs.

You'll make your own damned excuses, even if I have to drag you back on the end of a rope. Sean ran down the back stairs. Mbejane was in the stable yard talking to three of the grooms.

Where is Nkosi Duff? Sean roared.

They stared at him blankly.

Where is he? Sean's beard bristled. The baas took a horse and went for a ride, answered one of the grooms nervously.

`When? bellowed Sean. In the night, perhaps seven, eight hours ago. He should be back soon. Sean stared at the groom, breathing heavily. Which way did he go? Baas, he did not say.

Eight hours ago, he could be fifty miles away by now.

Sean turned and went back to his room. He threw himself on the bed and poured another cup of coffee. This is going to break her up badly -'He imagined the tears and the chaos of undisciplined grief. Oh, hell, damn you to hell, Charleywood! He sipped the coffee and thought about going as well, taking a horse and getting as far away as possible. It's no mess of my making, I want no part of it. He finished the coffee and started dressing. He looked in the mirror to comb his hair and saw candy standing alone in the chapel, waiting while the silence turned to murmuring and then to laughter. Charleywood, you pig Sean scowled. I can't let her there, it'll be bad enough without that. I'll have to tell her. He picked up his watch from the dressing-table, it was past nine. Damn you, Charleywood. He went down the passage and stopped outside Candy's door. He could hear women's voices inside and he knocked before he went in. There were two of Candy's friends and the coloured girl Martha. They stared at him. Where's Candy? In the bedroom, but you mustn't go in. It's bad luck. It's the worst bloody luck in the world, agreed Sean.

He knocked on the bedroom door.

Who is it? Sean. You can't come in what do you want? Are you decent?

Yes, but you mustn't come in. He opened the door and looked in on a confusion of squealing females. Get out of here, , he said harshly, I have to speak to Candy alone. They fled and Sean closed the door behind them. Candy was in a dressing-gown. Her face was quick with anticipation; her hair was pulled back and hung shiny and soft.

She was beautiful, Sean realized. He looked at the frothy pile of her wedding-dress on the bed. Candy, bad news, I'm afraid. Can you take it! He spoke almost roughly, hating it, hating every second of it.

He saw the bloom on her face wither until her expression was dead, blank and dead as a statue. He's gone, said Sean. He's run out on you. Candy picked up a brush from her dressing-table and started stroking it listlessly through her hair. It was very quiet in the room. I'm sorry, Candy. She nodded without looking at him; instead she was looking down the lonely corridor of the future. It was worse than tears would have been, that silent acceptance.

Sean scratched the side of his nose, hating it. I'm sorry, I wish I could do something about it He turned to the door. Sean, thank you for coming and telling me There was no emotion in her voice; like her face it was dead.

That's all right Sean said gruffly.

He rode up to Xanadu. There were people clustered about the marquees on the lawn; by the quality of their laughter he could tell they were drinking already. The sun was bright and as yet not too hot, the band was playing from the wide veranda of the mansion, the women's dresses were gay against the green of the lawns. Gala dayfluttered the flags above the tents. Gala day shouted the laughter.

Sean rode up the drive, lifting his hand in brief acknowledgement of the greetings that were shouted to him. From the vantage point of his horse's back he spotted Francois and Martin Curtis, glasses in hand, standing near the house talking to two of the Opera girls. He gave his horse to one of the native grooms and strode across towards them.

Hello, boss, called Curtis. Why so glum, you're not the one getting married. They all laughed. Francois, Martin, come with me pleaseWhat's the trouble, Mr Courtney? Francois asked as he led them aside. The party's over, Sean said grimly. "There'll be no wedding.

They gaped at him. Go around and tell everybody. Tell them they'll get their presents back-, He turned to leave them.

What's happened, boss? Curtis asked.

tell them that Candy and Duff changed their minds. Do you want us to send them home?

Sean hesitated. Oh, the hell with it, let them stay let them all get sick drunk. just tell them there'll be no wedding.

He went up to the house. He found the pseudo-priest waiting nervously in the downstairs study. The man's adam's apple had been rubbed raw by the starch-stiff dog collar.

We won't need you, Sean told him.

He took out his cheque book, sat down at the desk and filled in a cheque form. That's for your trouble. Now get out of town Thank you, Mr courtney, thank you very much. The man looked mightily relieved; he started for the door. My friend, Sean stopped him. If you ever breathe a word about what we planned to do today, I'll kill you. Do I make myself clear? Sean went through to the ballroom, he slipped a small stack of sovereigns into the constable's hand. Get all these people out of here. He gestured with his head at the crowds that were wandering among the tables looking at the gifts. Then lock the doors. He found the chef in the kitchen. Take all this food outside, give it to them now. Then lock up the kitchens. He went round the house closing the doors and drawing the curtains. When he walked into the study there was a couple on the big leather couch and the man's hand was under the girl's skim; she was Oggling. This isn't a whore house, Sean shouted at them and they left hurriedly. He sank into one of the chairs. He could hear the voices and the laughter from outside on the lawn, the band was playing a Strauss waltz. It irritated him and he scowled at the marble fireplace. His head was aching again and the skin of his face felt dry and tight from the night's debauch. What a mess, what a bloody mess, he said aloud After an hour he went out and found his horse. He rode out along the Pretoria Road until he had passed the last houses, then he turned off into the veld. He cantered into the sea of grass with his hat pushed back an his head so the sun and the wind could find his face.

He sat relaxed and loose in the saddle and let his horse pick its own way.

in the late afternoon he came back to Johannesburg and left his horse with Mbejane in the stableyard. He felt better; the exercise and the fresh air had cleared his head and helped him to see things in truer perspective. He ran himself a deep hot bath, climbed into it and while he soaked the last of his anger at Duff smoothed out. He had control of himself again. He got out of the bath and towelled, then he slipped on his gown and went through to the bedroom. Candy was sitting on his bed.