Cameron tried to deflect the black mood he saw developing on Torben’s face. ‘Coming out to the cattle this afternoon? We’ve got some new calves you might be interested in. Good stock, nice and deep in the chest.’
Torben threw down his napkin. ‘No, of course I’m not. I couldn’t be less interested in the bloody cattle. That’s what you all believe and it’s fine with me.’
‘Come on, Torben, ’ Dallas intervened. ‘This is still a family business. They’re as much yours as anybody’s.’
‘A fact you all tend to forget, ’Torben snapped.
‘Rubbish!’ Dallas had been sucked in, wondering how a simple conversation concerning jewellery and cattle could have become so complicated. ‘We can only try to make you interested. If you’re not, you’re not.’
‘I am, ’Torben said through gritted teeth, his anger rising fast. ‘But for some reason, you seem to be picking on Gerda and that I won’t stand for.’
‘Nobody is picking on her, ’ Duncan tried to calm his older brother.
‘Meggie?’ Torben asked, ignoring him.
She shook her head. ‘No. Sorry, Torben, I really can’t see how having nothing to match a dress has anything to do with criticism.’ Although it was unlike Meggie, she added a reprimand. ‘And I don’t think it’s fair that you ask me to take sides.’ She turned to her sister-in-law. ‘I have a malachite necklace which you’re more than welcome to.’
Most women would have backed down at such an offer. Gerda’s eyes lit up. ‘Really? I’d like to see it. After lunch perhaps?’
‘Darling.’ Lorna’s eyes warned Meggie against such generosity. ‘That was given to you by Frazer. He made it himself. I don’t think – ’
‘If she wishes to give it away, it’s hers to give, ’ Torben said sarcastically.
‘Yes, but I still don’t think – ’
‘Gerda would love it.’
Cameron, Duncan and Meggie glanced at each other in surprise. Torben rarely spoke to his parents in such proprietorial tones.
‘She may well, ’ Dallas said curtly. ‘However, I forbid Meggie to give away a gift from her brother, something that has great sentimental value, out of nothing more than the softness of a big heart. You should be ashamed of yourselves for assuming she would.’ His glance took in Gerda. ‘Both of you.’
Gerda went red and pouted. ‘Very well, Poppie. If that is your wish, I’ll go without.’
‘Why should she?’ Torben wasn’t to be silenced. ‘Gerda always goes without. Can’t any of you see that?’
‘Enough, ’Lorna exploded. ‘This conversation is too penny-pinching for words. In case it’s missed your attention, you two, it’s customary to wait until someone dies before fighting over the spoils. No more handouts. Your greed has just ruined things for everybody. That can’t be helped.’ She removed her napkin, dabbed a slightly moist mouth and rose. ‘Excuse me.’ Lorna strode from the room, going outside to the garden – a place where she sought refuge whenever her feathers were ruffled.
Dallas found his wife staring at the black marble headstone which marked Katie’s grave. He laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘What brought that on?’
‘Them.’
He gave a half-smile. ‘You don’t normally react quite so violently.’
She dropped her head on his chest. ‘I know. Sorry. I’m tired and cranky. It’s all just too much. Who cares if the silly little girl has no green jewellery? She can out-drip most in diamonds and sapphires. God, I hate this, Dallas. Can’t Torben see through her?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘Don’t you dare be reasonable.’
‘Who, me?’
She snuggled closer. ‘How’s the leg holding up?’
‘Come inside and I’ll show you.’
She shoved a hand against his chest and he pretended to stagger backwards. ‘I hate you.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘You’re right.’
‘Make up your mind.’
She smiled, then giggled.
‘That’s better. Now ...’ He took her hand and they walked slowly to a garden seat. Shaded from the early afternoon sun by an ancient fig tree, it afforded the best panoramic views of Morningside. ‘Something’s the matter. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were with child.’
She sat very still for a moment, then turned to him, a look of absolute horror on her face. ‘Dallas, that’s it.’
‘You’re pregnant?’ He wore the same expression.
‘No, silly. I’m forty-five in a few weeks. I’ve been wondering ...well, I’ve had some hot flushes lately and been tired. It’s the menopause, Dallas, don’t you see? That’s why I’m like a bear with a sore head.’ Lorna put the palms of her hands against her cheeks. ‘Oh, my God. I’m going through the change of life.’
‘So what’s wrong with that?’
‘I’m old. Finished. Dried up. Dallas, you won’t stop loving me, will you?’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Just how do you think I could ever do that? I love you with every bone in my body. I’ll love you till the cows come home. I – ’
‘Yes, yes, ’she said impatiently. ‘Don’t get carried away.’
‘That’s my girl.’
Reason and order restored, they returned to the house, where Lorna apologised and explained her lapse into irritability.
‘Oh, Ma, ’Gerda tinkled out a relieved laugh, her pride restored. ‘I thought you’d gone through the change ages ago. My mother did.’
The comparison with that odious woman very nearly drove Lorna over the edge again.
After lunch, the entire family made a short trip to an enclosed quarantine pen where the cows and calves bought by Duncan were being held. Mindful of Zulu tradition, Lorna, Meggie and Gerda remained outside while the men went to examine the recent arrivals. They were joined by Mister David’s eldest son, Henry, who, at eighteen, was shaping up nicely to replace his father. The acting induna had made it plain that his longer term interests lay in Durban. He was a son of Tobacco, one of Dallas’s earliest employees in his trading days; after Tobacco failed to return from the Zulu War, Dallas had semi-adopted him.
Henry had been born on the farm and loved it like his own. He had a worried look on his face. ‘That one, nkosi, “little wide head”, he is not drinking well and already grows weak.’
‘Is his mother rejecting him?’
‘No. She has walked over an inkomfe plant. We must rub her calf with ubuVimba, ’ he said, referring to a small berry-bearing shrub, the root of which, when mixed with hippopotamus fat and licked off by a cow, was said to induce milk. Dallas knew this was something normally done to foster acceptance of an orphan, but saw how the same method could be applied to the present situation.
‘It’s worth a try, ’ he agreed.
‘If this does not work, we will use bottles, ’ Henry said flatly, a dislike for anything other than traditional methods clear from his tone.
‘So we have two ways to deal with the calf. Good.’
‘When does Master Dallas return to work?’ Henry wanted to know, pointing at the cane on which Dallas leaned heavily.
‘As soon as possible.’
‘That is good.’
‘Cameron and Duncan are here, ’ Dallas reminded him.
‘Yes, this thing is true. And cattle know who is the boss man.’
‘Like the damned steer that broke my leg?’
Both laughed.
‘Your father sends this.’ Dallas handed Henry a brown paper bag. ‘And leave some for Sabani.’
Lorna’s homemade cake and biscuits had long been a favourite on the farm. Now Mister David’s creations were becoming equally popular.
‘Is it allowed?’
‘Most certainly. Though I doubt a dentist would agree.’
‘Pah! Our teeth are strong.’
Dallas didn’t doubt that for a moment. Zulus were meticulous about their teeth, keeping them clean using powdered ash and a small stick chewed at one end. All the youngsters, includi
ng his own, seemed to have an insatiable appetite for sweet things. They would even eat rock-hard sticks of raw sugar cane, extracting every last drop of juice before spitting out the fibrous residue.
Cameron was showing Torben his latest innovation – a self-regulating feed bin that allowed cattle to control their intake. The container swung on a central spindle making it easy for animals to reach the bottom. ‘You should patent this, ’Torben commented. ‘It’s a good idea.’
‘Not mine to protect, ’ Cam replied lightly. ‘Most of the farmers around here have something similar. Mine isn’t that different.’
‘Even so, you should get in first.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his head. ‘It would be resented.’
‘So what? Just because nobody else wants to make money from it?’
‘It’s more than that. We share ideas – that’s how it works. Can you imagine how many other innovations I’d miss out on by capitalising on what is basically a communal idea? The rest would clam up and we’d be excluded. No. Far better to share and keep the status quo.’
‘I’ll look into it.’ Torben would not be put off. His commercial mind had leapt ahead, grasping the profit aspect and completely ignoring practicalities.
Cameron wasn’t bothered. He knew that in a few days his brother’s scheming would focus on something else, self-regulating feed bins forgotten.
Erich Gil got away with murder. When the police finally arrived – a Boer sergeant who spoke no English and two African constables – most of the evidence had disappeared. The lions were gone too, leaving Africa’s ever efficient clean-up service – hyenas, jackals, vultures and ants, among others– to tidy up any loose ends.
Everybody knew that a pride of lions lived in the area. Young Danny Reese should have been more careful. Surprising, though, that he didn’t see the attack coming. A boy from the land should have been more aware. Perhaps he provoked them. Perhaps he’d had a fall, twisted an ankle. Nobody would ever know. Whatever the cause, it had cost him his life.
One constable suggested that they hunt down the lions.
‘What’s the point?’ his sergeant said. ‘These boys and girls have given us no trouble.’
So the pride was left in peace. Man was not a favourite meal. Lingering smells – tobacco in particular – the taste of soap and a diet other than grass, their strange hairless bodies; all made the mighty carnivores uneasy. But the knowledge remained that their only predator was undoubtedly edible.
FIVE
An outer door banged and four sets of eyes swivelled, waiting. The man who stepped into the inner sanctum instantly grabbed and held everyone’s attention. Outside that room he was almost unheard of. His stature certainly did nothing to indicate any glimmer of potential in terms of the role he would play in the turbulent future of South Africa.
Born Paul Jooste, died Paul Jooste. The years between would always seem quite unremarkable. He was a pharmacist – a skilled professional well known only to the specialised chemist fraternity – and this was the one thing that set him apart. No-one seemed to know anything about him. The true value of his significant fortune was a closely guarded secret. He did not dress, speak or act like a wealthy man. No fancy carriages – Jooste travelled in a plain pony trap. No smart attire – he wore the seams out of his clothes before being coerced into anything new. The man’s rough appearance and accent never failed to shock those to whom status and social standing mattered. His wife, a plain, well-rounded woman who sweated profusely, ate copiously and hankered after the high life with as much enthusiasm, or lack of it, as her husband, was perfectly suited to Paul Jooste’s simplistic view of life. To Paul, she represented stability – meals on time, well-behaved children, house in order. He never once had any desire to stray from her side, despite the occasional invitation from those young and beautiful women who, despite his every precaution, whiffed the scent of money and imagined how it would look translated into fine clothes, houses, carriages and jewellery.
No-one had a clue about the fires that threatened to engulf the man. Not one person, not even his wife, had any idea of the lengths he might go in order to achieve his lifelong ambition. Jooste ached for order. He could see the way things were going in South Africa and knew that his people had to have policies in place which could control those changes when the time came. To Paul, he lived in the land of milk and honey. Anything thwarting his country’s potential was a threat which had to be dealt with. Not harshly, for that was not his way. But by stealth. Paul Jooste was a forewarning of things to come. Secretive he had to be, fully aware that his ideas were well ahead of their time. If he wished to establish the foundations for a safe South Africa, heaven on earth for his volk, he had to move carefully.
To this end, Jooste floated his proposals past some of the most high-profile men in his adopted country. They listened, liked what they heard, and in turn passed them on to their own colleagues.And so was born the first spark of what was to become the most powerful organisation ever to exist in South Africa – the Broederbond. The Brotherhood, as it became known in English, would ultimately embrace twelve thousand members. White, influential, male, protestant Afrikaners, men who would come to dominate and direct the lives of millions. Through infiltration, commitment and secrecy, the Broederbond would, come its day, secure absolute control of South African society – military, media, church, education, police and government, prime ministers, state presidents and members of cabinet joining the select group until it stood supreme, virtually untouchable.
‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ Jooste’s raspy voice hung in the smoke-filled air. He looked into the faces of each man seated around the table and scowled. ‘Where’s Venter?’
‘Sends regrets. His son is unwell. Again.’
Jooste frowned. ‘His son should not take precedence over his country.’
An uneasy stirring greeted the comment. Jooste was fanatical in his convictions: patriotism at the cost of all else. However, each of the four others knew that Venter, the absentee, doted on his only child, with nothing being more important to him than the sickly little boy who’d had the misfortune to be born with a rare skin disorder known as Quincke’s disease. Venter had spent a fortune on various treatments. But as nothing seemed to work he compensated by staying close to his son’s bedside whenever the lad became afflicted by another symptomatic outbreak of giant hives.
Colonel Schuyler van Deventer scowled at the criticism. ‘Do not speak ill of the man behind his back, Jooste. Venter’s loyalty to his son is to be admired.’ Van Deventer was the only one in the room who would dare express censure. He held a position of authority, was generally acknowledged as being privy to secrets unknown to the others and had earned respect as a significant power in the land. ‘Without family where are we?’ the colonel growled.
Paul Jooste held up both hands in surrender. ‘Agreed. Sorry, gentlemen, a man gets carried away.’ What passed for a smile crossed his craggy features. Where many a younger man’s lack of good looks were enhanced by firmer features later in life, Jooste had missed out. He had simply become uglier, with moles and lumps emphasising a decade or so of acne and blackheads, the scars still visible on his nose and forehead. The man’s lips looked bloodless – another area that the Almighty had ignored. Thin brown hair, badly dyed, remained his one vanity, scraped back in tortured straight lines. Little or nothing could be done about his eyebrows. Despite liberal applications of wax they sprouted at all angles. The eyes themselves were Jooste’s only redeeming feature, large and square-shaped, rimmed by long dark lashes, each iris, nearly black, a fathomless depth in which burned the fierce fire of patriotism. There was something fanatically intense about them which gave an indication that beyond the poker-faced exterior lay life.
Jooste entered the room, carefully closing the door behind him. He did everything slowly, methodically, much as a larger man might. Paul Jooste was only five feet ten inches tall and the care with which he moved was odd, almost as though he were trying to avoid att
ention.
Aware of the effect he had on his audience, he hesitated, enjoying the moment. Fame he may have avoided, but power was in his veins and he thrived on being able to jerk the lives of others more influential than himself, bending them to his will. Money, he knew, was the key. These men needed his and more, now that the ideas put forward had been accepted.
‘That incident on the Reese farm. Anyone hear what happened?’
Three heads shook. Colonel van Deventer nodded. ‘His son got taken by lions.’
‘So they say.’ Jooste drew up a chair and joined the seated men. ‘I’ve heard it different.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Murder, man.’
‘Serves him right, whichever it was.Engelsmen have no place in the Free State. All they do is cause trouble.’
‘Agreed. Anyway, the matter has been taken care of. Seems like a neighbour’s boy found young Reese on their land and shot him.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I make it my business to know.’
Van Deventer nodded again. Paul Jooste left nothing to chance and was often the bearer of what, at least on first hearing, appeared to be useless information. ‘Does this affect us in any way?’
‘Not directly, though we might make use of it later.’
It happened. Remember. Don’t write it down. Only use it if needs be. Van Deventer nodded a third time then stopped, suddenly feeling self-conscious. ‘Reliable?’he asked.
‘As can be. The killer’s father is a friend of mine.’
‘Then may I suggest you refrain from using the word “killer”.’
‘The investigating officer is also a comrade.’
Van Deventer threw back his head and roared with laughter – a raucous and infectious sound with which the others quickly joined in.
‘To business, gentlemen, ’Jooste said finally, wiping his eyes. ‘A dop, Schuyler, if you please.’ He waited while the colonel poured a generous glass of brandy and pushed it across the table. ‘We must decide tonight on certain policies which, if adopted, will form the backbone of our organisation. I cannot stress the importance of this too strongly. We want a peaceful yet powerful Brotherhood which will unite us all. There can be no contentious issues left to chance. I have six points to make and we will examine each individually. Now, gentlemen, let us begin.’
Footprints of Lion Page 7
