Kitty Godolphin had flown back from New York to cover the elections and to up-date her famous ‘Focus on Africa’ series that had won her another Emmy and had made her one of the highest paid of the new generation of young, pretty and waspish television commentators.
Shasa’s political defection was the headline story when she landed at Jan Smuts Airport, and she telephoned him from the airport on his private line and got him in his office just as the board meeting he had been chairing broke up and he was about to leave Centaine House to fly up to the H’ani Mine for his monthly inspection.
‘Hi!’ she said gaily. ‘It’s me.’
‘You bitch.’ He recognized her voice instantly. ‘After what you did to me, I should kick your bottom, wearing hobnailed boots and taking a full swing, at that.’
‘Oh, did you see it? Wasn’t it good? I thought I captured you perfectly.’
‘Yes, I saw it last month on BBC while I was in London. You made me look like a cross between Captain Bligh and Simon Legree, although more pompous than either and a lot less loveable.’
‘That’s what I said – I got you perfectly.’
‘I don’t know why I am talking to you,’ he chuckled despite himself.
‘Because you are lusting after my miraculously beautiful body,’ she suggested.
‘I’d be wiser to make advances to a nest of hornets.’
‘We aren’t talking wisdom here, buddy boy, we are talking lust. The two are not compatible.’ And Shasa had a poignant vision of her slim body and her perfect little breasts, and he felt slightly breathless.
‘Where are your he asked.
‘Johannesburg airport.’
‘What are you doing this evening?’ He made a quick calculation. He could postpone the H’ani Mine inspection, and it was four hours’ flying time to Johannesburg in the Mosquito.
‘I’m open to suggestions,’ she told him, ‘as long as the suggestions include an exclusive interview for NABS on your change of political status and your view of the upcoming elections and what they mean to the ordinary people of this country.’
‘I should know better,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be there in five hours. Don’t go away.’
Shasa placed the receiver back on its cradle and stood for a moment wondering at himself. His change of plans would throw the entire company into consternation, for he had a tight schedule laid out for the weeks ahead, including the opening of his election campaign, but the woman had woven some sort of spell around him. Like a malignant sprite her memory had danced at the edge of his mind all these months, and now the thought of being with her filled him with that quivering expectation he had not known since he was a lad embarking on his very first sexual explorations.
The Mosquito was fuelled and parked on the hardstand ready for the flight to H’ani Mine. It took him ten minutes to calculate his new flight plan and file it with air traffic control and then he climbed up into the cockpit and, grinning like a schoolboy playing hookey, he cranked the Rolls-Royce Merlin engines.
It was dusk when he landed, but a company car was waiting for him and he drove directly to the Carlton Hotel in the centre of Johannesburg. Kitty was in the lobby as he came in through the revolving doors. She was fresh-faced as a teenager, long-legged and narrow-hipped in blue jeans, and she came to him with childlike enthusiasm and wrapped both arms around his neck to kiss him. Strangers in the lobby must have imagined Shasa was a father greeting his school-girl daughter, and they smiled indulgently.
‘They let us into your suite,’ she told him as she led him towards the elevator, skipping beside him to keep pace and hugging his arm in a pantomime of adoration. ‘Hank had got his camera and lights set up already.’
‘You aren’t even giving me time to visit the heads,’ Shasa protested, and she pulled a wry face.
‘Let’s get it over and done. Then we’ll have more time for whatever you want to do afterwards.’ She gave him a devilish grin, and he wagged his head in reluctant acquiescence.
It was deliberate, of course. Kitty was too professional to give him time to pull himself together and concentrate his mind. It was part of her technique to get her subject off-balance, while on the other hand she had been carefully preparing her own notes and questions during the five hours since they had spoken on the telephone.
She had rearranged the furniture in his suite, making one corner into an intimate nook and Hank had lit it and was standing by with his Arriflex. Shasa shook hands with him and exchanged a friendly greeting while Kitty poured him a massive whisky from the liquor cabinet.
‘Take your jacket off,’ she instructed as she handed it to him. ‘I want you relaxed and casual.’ She led him to the two facing chairs and while he sipped his whisky she lulled him with an amusing account of the flight out which had been delayed by bad weather in London for eight hours. Then Hank gave her the signal and she said sweetly:
‘Shasa Courtney, since the turn of this century your family has been a traditional ally of General Smuts. He was a personal friend of your grandfather, and your mother. He was a frequent guest in your house, and sponsored your own entry into the political arena. Now you have turned your back on the United Party which he led, and have deserted the fundamental principles of decency and fair play towards the coloured citizens of this country which were so much a part of General Smuts’ philosophy. You have been called a deserter and a turncoat – and worse. Do you think that is a fair description, and if not, why not?’
The attack was so swift and savage that for a moment it checked him, but he had known what to expect, and he grinned. He knew he was going to enjoy this.
‘General Smuts was a great man, but not quite as saintly towards the natives as you suppose. In all the time he was in power, their political status remained unchanged, and when they stepped out of line, he did not hesitate before sending in the troops and giving them a whiff of grape. Have you ever heard of the Bondelswart rebellion and the Bulhoek massacre?’
‘You are suggesting that Smuts also oppressed the native people of this country?’
‘No more than a strict headmaster oppresses his children. In the main, he never seriously addressed himself to the coloured question. He left that for a future generation to settle. We are that future generation.’
‘All right, so what are you going to do about the black people of this country who outnumber you nearly four to one and have no political rights whatsoever in the land of their birth?’
‘Firstly, we will try to avoid the trap of simplistic thinking.’
‘Can you explain that?’ Kitty frowned. She didn’t want him to wriggle out of her grip by using vague terminology. ‘Give us a concrete example of simplistic thinking.’
He nodded. ‘You glibly use the terms black people and white people, dividing this population into two separate, if unequal, portions. That is dangerous. It might work in America. If all the American blacks were given white faces they would be simply Americans and think of themselves as that—’
‘You are suggesting that this is not the case in Africa?’
‘I am indeed,’ Shasa agreed. ‘If all the blacks in this country were given white faces, they would still think of themselves as Zulus and Xhosas and Vendas, and we would still be English and Afrikaners – very little would have altered.’
Kitty didn’t like that, it was not what she wanted to tell her audiences.
‘So, of course, you are ruling out the idea of a democracy in this country. You will never accept the policy of one man one vote, but will always aspire to white domination—’
Shasa cut in on her quickly. ‘One man one vote would lead not to the black government you seem to foresee, but to a Zulu government, for the Zulus outnumber any other group. We would have a Zulu dictator, like good old King Chaka, and that would be a thrilling experience.’
‘So what is your solution?’ she demanded, hiding her irritation behind that little-girl smile. ‘Is it white baasskap, white domination and savage oppression backed by an all-white
army and police force—?’
‘I don’t know the solution,’ he cut her off. ‘It’s something we have to work towards, but I expect it will be a system in which every tribal group, whether it be black, brown or white, can maintain its identity and its territorial integrity.’
‘What a noble concept,’ she agreed. ‘But tell me when, in the history of mankind, any group who enjoyed supreme political power over all others ever gave up that power without an armed struggle. Do you truly believe the white South Africans will be the first?’
‘We’ll have to make our own history,’ Shasa matched her honeyed smile. ‘But in the meantime the material existence of the black people in this country is five or six times better than any other on the African continent. More is spent on black education, black hospitals and black housing, per capita, than in any other African country.’
‘How does the expenditure per capita on black education compare with expenditure on white educationr Kitty shot back at him. ‘My information is that five times more is spent on the education of a white child, than on a black.’
‘We will strive to correct that imbalance, as we build up the wealth of our nation, as the black peasant becomes more productive and makes more of a contribution to the taxation that pays for that education. At the moment the white section of the population pays ninety-five per cent of the taxes—’
That wasn’t the way the interview was meant to go and Kitty headed him off smoothly.
‘And just how and when will the black people be consulted in these changes? Is it fair to say that nearly all blacks, and certainly all the educated and skilled blacks who are the natural leaders, totally reject the present political system which allows one-sixth of the population to decide the fate of the rest?’
They were still sparring when Hank lifted his head from the camera lens, and rolled his eyes.
‘Out of film, Kitty, you told me twenty minutes tops. We have forty-five minutes in the can.’
‘OK, Hank. My fault. I didn’t realize we had such a garrulous bigot on the show.’ She smiled at Shasa acidly. ‘You can wrap it up, Hank, and I’ll see you in the morning. Nine o’clock at the studio.’ She turned back to Shasa and they didn’t even look up as Hank left the suite. ‘So what did we decider she asked Shasa.
‘That the problem is more complex than anybody, perhaps even we in government, realize.’
‘Insoluble?’ Kitty asked.
‘Certainly – without delicacy and the utmost good will of everybody in the country, and our friends abroad.’
‘Russia?’ she teased him, and he shuddered.
‘Britain,’ he said.
‘What about America?’
‘No. Britain understands. America is too wrapped up in her own racial problems. They aren’t interested in the dissolution of the British Empire. However, we have always stood by Britain – and now Britain will stand by us.’
‘Your confidence in the gratitude of great nations is refreshing. However, I think you will find that in the next decade there will be an enormous rip-tide of concern over human rights emanating from the United States. At least I hope so – and North American Broadcasting Studios will be doing all in its power to build it up into a tidal wave.’
‘Your job is to report reality, not to attempt to restructure it,’ Shasa told her. ‘You are a reporter, not the God of Judgement.’
‘If you believe that, you are naïve,’ she smiled. ‘We make and destroy kings.’
Shasa stared at her, as though he were seeing her for the first time. ‘My God, you are in the power game, just like everybody else.’
‘It’s the only game in town, buddy boy.’
‘You are amoral.’
‘No more than you are.’
‘Oh, yes you are. We are prepared to make our decisions and live with the consequences. You wreak your destruction, then like a child with a broken toy, throw it aside and go on without a moment’s remorse to some new cause that will sell more advertising time.’
He had made her angry. Her eyes slanted and narrowed into bright arrowheads and the freckles on her nose and cheeks glowed like specks of gold leaf. It roused him to see her come out from behind the screen, as hard and formidable as any adversary he had ever faced. He wanted to goad her further, to make her give way completely.
‘You have made yourself the guru of Southern Africa on US television for one reason only. Not for concern over the fate of the black masses, but quite simply because you smell blood and violence in the air. You have sensed that this is where the action will be next and you want to be the one who captures it on film—’
‘You bastard,’ she hissed at him. ‘I want peace and justice.’
‘Peace and justice don’t make good footage, Kitty my love. You are here to record the killing and the screaming – and if it doesn’t happen soon enough, well that is easily fixed – you’ll give it a little shove.’
She was out of her chair now, facing him, and her lips were frosty with rage.
‘For the last hour you have been spouting the most vicious racial poison, and now you accuse me of injustice. You call me an agent provocateur for the violence that is coming.’
He raised an eyebrow, giving her the taunting supercilious smile which had enraged his opponents across the floor of the House, and it was too much for her to bear. She sprang at him, white-lipped and shaking with fury, and she clawed for his single mocking eye with both hands.
Shasa caught her wrists, and lifted her feet clear of the floor. She was shocked by his strength, but she lifted her knee sharply, driving for his groin. He turned slightly and caught the knee on the hard muscle of his thigh.
‘Where did a nice girl learn a trick like that?’ he asked, and twisted her arms behind her, took both her wrists in his left hand and then bowed over her. She pressed her lips together, and tried to turn her face away, but he found her mouth and while he kissed her, he opened her blouse and with his free hand took out her small breasts. Her nipples were standing out like ripe mulberries, she was as aroused as he was, but kicking and spitting with fury.
He swung her round and threw her face down over the thick padded arm of the buttoned leather chair, pinning her with a hand between her shoulder blades, and her bottom in the air. That’s how they had administered the cane at Shasa’s school, and now while she screamed and kicked he jerked the leather belt out of the loops of her jeans, and pulled her trousers and panties down as far as her ankles and stepped in close behind her. Her buttocks were white and round and they maddened him.
Though she fought and struggled without let-up, at the same time she lifted her hips slightly and arched her back to make it easier for him, and only when it happened did she stop fighting and push back hard against him, sobbing with the effort of keeping pace with him.
It was over very quickly for both of them, and she rolled over and pulled him down onto the chair and whispered raggedly into his mouth, ‘Well, that’s one hell of a way to settle an argument, I’ll give you that much.’
Shasa ordered dinner served in the suite, grilled crayfish with a sauce Mornay, followed by a Chateaubriand, baked baby potatoes and fresh young asparagus. He sent the waiter away and served it himself for Kitty was clad only in one of the hotel’s long towelling dressing gowns.
As he drew the cork on the bottle of Chambertin, he told her, ‘I’ve put four days aside for us. In the last few weeks I have been fortunate enough to get my hands on fifty thousand acres of land across the Sabi River from the Kruger National Park. I’ve been after it for fifteen years. It belonged to the widow of one of the old Randlords and I had to wait for the old biddy to cross the great divide before it came on the market. It’s marvellous unspoilt bush country, teeming with wild game, perfect place for a lost weekend, we’ll fly down after breakfast tomorrow – nobody will know where we are.’
She laughed at him. ‘You are out of your little mind, lover. I’m a working girl. At eleven o’clock tomorrow I’ve got an interview with the Leader of
the Opposition, De Villiers Graaff, and I’m certainly not breezing off into the boondocks with you to stare at lions and tigers.’
‘No tigers in Africa – you are the African expert, you should know that.’ He was angry again. ‘It’s a case of false pretences. You got me all the way up here for nothing,’ he accused.
‘Nothing?’ she chuckled again. ‘You call that nothing?’
‘I expected four days of it.’
‘You overestimate the going price for an interview. All you get is the rest of the night, and then tomorrow it’s back to work – for both of us.’
She was getting under his guard too often, Shasa realized. Last time he had proposed marriage to her, and the idea still had its appeal. She had moved him the way no woman had since he had first met Tara. It was partly her unattainability that made her so desirable. Shasa was accustomed to getting what he wanted, even if it was a hard and heartless little vixen with a childlike face and body.
He watched her eat the rare steak with the same sensual gusto as she made love. She was sitting cross-legged on the front edge of her chair and the hem of her dressing-gown had ridden up high on her thighs. She saw the direction of his gaze but made no effort to cover herself.
‘Eat up,’ she grinned at him. ‘One thing at a time, lover.’
Shasa was chary of Tara’s offer to assist his election campaign, and for the first two meetings left her at Weltevreden and drove out alone over Sir Lowry’s Pass and the mountains.
South Boland, his new constituency, was an area of rich land, between the mountains and the sea, on the Cape’s eastern littoral. The voters were almost entirely of Afrikaner extraction, and their families had held the land for three hundred years. They were wealthy farmers of wheat and sheep, Calvinist and conservative, but not as rabidly republican and anti-English as their cousins of the interior, the Free Staters and the Transvalers.
They received Shasa’s first speeches with caution, and applauded him politely at the end. His opponent, the United Party candidate, was a blood Smuts man, like Blaine, who had been the incumbent until 1948 when he lost it to the Nationalists. Yet he still had a base of support in the district amongst the men who had known Smuts and had gone ‘up north’ to fight the Axis.