Rage - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн без сокращений .TXT) 📗
He finished his criticism at last and she said softly, 'I'll return your deposit and we can tear up the contract." 'You signed the contract and accepted the deposit, Mrs Carmichael. Now I want you to deliver. I want something beautiful and startling and right. I want something that only you can give me." She had no answer, and his manner changed, he became peculiarly gentle and solicitous.
'I didn't mean to insult you. I think at the least you are the very best, and I want you to prove me right - please." She turned away from him and went to her drawing-board at the end of the room, slipped out of her jacket and tossed it over the desk and picked up one of her pencils.
With the pencil poised over the blank sheet, she said, 'It seems that I've got a lot of lost ground to make up. Here we go --' and she drew the first bold decisive line across the sheet. 'At least we know now what we don't want. Let's find out what we do want. Let's start with the shopping centre." He came to stand behind her and watched in silence for almost twenty minutes before she glanced back at him with the violet eye glinting through the veil of shining blond hair. She didn't have to ask the question.
'Yes,' he nodded.
'Don't go away,' she said. 'When you are near I can feel your mood and judge your response." He took off his jacket and threw it beside hers over the desk top, and he stood beside her in his shirtsleeves with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets and his shoulders hunched. He remained absolutely still, his concentration monumental, and yet his presence seemed to inspire her to tap the mystical springs of her talent. At lz she saw in her mind how it should have been and she began to roagh it out, her pencil flying and flicking over the sheet.
When the day faded, he went to close the curtains and switch on the overhead lights. It was after eight when she at last threw down her pencil and turned to him. 'That's the feeling I want to give it.
You were right - the first attempt wasn't worthy." 'Yes, I was right in one other respect. You are the very best." He picked up his jacket and shrugged it over his massive shoulders, and she felt a tingle of dismay. She didn't want him to go yet, she knew when he did she would feel exhausted and spent. The effort of creation had drained her resources.
'You can't send me home to begin cooking at this hour,' she said.
'That would be the sadistic act of a truly cruel taskmaster." Suddenly all his confidence evaporated, and he blushed and mumbled something inaudible. She knew she would have to take charge from here.
'The least you can do is feed the slave. How about offering me dinner, Mr Courtney?" She created her usual stir of masculine interest as she preceded Garry into the restaurant, and she was glad he had noticed. She was surprised by the aplomb with which he discussed the wine list with the ma?tre until she remembered that Weltevreden was one of the leading wineries of the Cape of Good Hope.
During dinner their conversation was serious, and she was relieved not to have to endure the usual banalities of a first date. They discussed the Sharpeville crisis and its implications, social and economic, and she' was amazed at the depth of his political insight until she remembered that his father was a minister in Verwoerd's cabinet. He had a ringside seat.
'If it wasn't for that Prince of Wales check suit and those ghastly steel-framed spectacles,' she thought, 'and the crest of hair that makes him look like Woody Woodpecker--' When he asked her to dance she had misgivings. They were the only couple on the tiny circular floor, and there were a dozen people in the room she knew. However, the moment he put his arm around her waist she relaxed. Despite his bulk he was agile and light on his feet with an excellent sense of timing, and she began to enjoy herself, until abruptly his dancing style changed and he held her differently. For a while she was puzzled. She attempted to maintain the close contact of hips which had enabled her to anticipate his moves, and only then she became aware of his arousal. She was at first amused and then despite herself intrigued. Like the rest of him it was massive and hard. She played a little game of brushing lightly against him and withdrawing, all the while chatting casually and feigning total ignorance of his predicament.
Afterwards he drove her in the MG to where her own car was parked.
She hadn't ridden in an open sports car since her varsity days and the wind in her hair gave her a nostalgic thrill.
He insisted on following her Mercedes back to Bantry Bay to see her safely home and they said goodnight on the pavement outside her apartment block. She considered inviting him up for coffee, but her sure instinct warned her to protect the shining image of her that he so obviously had conceived.
Instead she told him, 'I,11 have some more drawings for you to look at by the end of next week." This time she put everything of her talent into the preliminary sketches, and she knew they were good. He came to her office again and they worked over them until late and then dined together. It was Thursday night and the restaurant was half empty. They had the dance floor to themselves and this time she worked her hips lightly and cunningly against him as they moved.
When she said goodnight outside her apartment block, she asked, 'I suppose you will be at the Met on Saturday?" The Metropolitan Handicap was the premier race on the Cape turf calendar.
'I don't race,' Garry replied reluctantly. 'We are polo people, and Nana, my grandmother, doesn't approve of me --' he stopped himself as he realized how callow that sounded, and he ended, 'well, somehow I've just never got around to racing." 'Well, it's about time you did,' she said firmly. 'And I need a partner for Saturday - that's if you don't object." Garry sang all the way home to Weltevreden, bellowing happily into the rushing night air as he drove the MG through the curves and dips of the mountain road.
It took Garry a while to understand that the actual racing was not the main attraction of the meeting. It was secondary to the fashion show and the complicated social interaction of the racegoers.
Amongst the bizarre and outrageous creations that some of the women wore, Holly's floating blue silk and the wide-brimmed hat with a single real pink rose on the brim were elegant and understated, but drew envious glances from the other women. Garry discovered that he knew nearly everybody in the members' enclosure; many of them were friends of his family, and Holly introduced him to those he did not know. They all reacted to the Courtney name, and Holly was subtly attentive, drawing him into conversation with these strangers until he felt at ease.
They made a remarkable couple, 'Beauty and the Beast', as one of the unkind wags suggested, and a buzz of gossip followed them around the ring: 'Holly has been out cradle-snatching', and 'Centaine will have her burned at the stake'.
Garry was totally oblivious to the stir they were creating, and once the horses were brought into the ring for the first race, he was in his element. Horses were part of the life at Weltevreden. Shasa had carried him on the saddle before he could walk, and he had a natural eye for horseflesh.
The first race was a maiden handicap, and the betting was wide open as none of these two-year-olds had raced before. Garry singled out a black colt in the parade. 'I like his chest and legs,' he told Holly and she checked his number on the card.
'Rhapsody,' she said. 'There has never been a good horse with an ugly name - and he's trained by Miller and ridden by Tiger Wright." 'I don't know about that, but I do ,know that he is in peak condition and he wants to work,' Garry told her. 'Just look at him sweating already." 'Let's have a bet on him,' Holly suggested, and Garry looked dubious. The family strictures against gambling echoed in his ears, but he didn't want to offend Holly or appear childish in her eyes.
