Rage - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн без сокращений .TXT) 📗
Her features had sagged almost to obscure the bone structure whicl: had been one of her most striking assets, and through i her eyes were still large and bright the skin around them had creased and bagged.
At last she released Michael, and turned to Isabella.
'My darling little girl, I would hardly have recognized you. What a lovely young woman you have become." They embraced. Isabella recalled how her mother had smelled, it was one of her pleasant childhood memories, but this woman smelled of some cheap and flowery perfume, of cigarette smoke and boiled cabbage, and - Isabella could barely credit her own senses - of underclothing that had been worn too long without changing.
She broke off the embrace, but Tara kept hold of her arm, and with Michael on the other side of her led them into the Lord Kitchener Hotel. The receptionist was a black lad, and Isabella recognized his voice as the one who had answered her phone call.
'Phineas is from Cape Town also,' Tara introduced them. 'He is one of our other runaways. He left after the troubles in sixty-one and, like the rest of us, he won't be going home yet. Now let me show you around the Lardy --' she laughed. 'That's what my permanent guests call it, the Lardy. I thought of changing the name, it's so colonial and Empire --' Tara chattered on happily, as she led them around the hotel. The carpets in the passages were threadbare, and the rooms had washbasins, but shared the toilet and bathroom at the end of each passage.
Tara introduced them to any of her guests they met in the corridors or public rooms. 'These are my son and daughter from Cape Town,' and they shook hands with German and French tourists who spoke no English, Pakistanis and Chinese, black Kenyans and coloured South Africans.
'Where are you staying?" Tara wanted to know.
'At the Dorchester." 'Of course." Tara rolled her eyes. 'Fifty guineas a day, paid for by the sweat of the workers in the Courtney mines. That is what your father would have chosen. Why don't you and Mickey move in here?
I have two nice rooms on the top floor free at the moment. You would meet so many interesing people, and we'd see so much more of each other." Isabella shuddered at the thought of sharing the toilet at the end of the passage and jumped in before Michael could agree.
'Daddy would be furious, he has prepaid for us - and now we know our way, it's only a short taxi ride." 'Taxis,' Tara sniffed. 'Why not take the bus or the underground like any ordinary person?" Isabella stared at her speechlessly. Didn't she understand that they weren't ordinary people? They were Courtheys. She was about to say so, when Michael sensed her intention and intervened smoothly.
'Of course you are quite right. You'll have to tell us what number bus to take and where to get off, Mater." 'Mickey darling, please don't call me Mater any longer. It's so terribly bourgeois. Call me either Mummy or Tara, but not that." 'All right. It will be a little bit strange at first, but okay. I'll call you Tara." 'It's almost lunch time,' Tara announced blithely. 'I asked cook to make a bread and butter pudding, I know it's one of your favourites, Mickey." 'I'm not awfully hungry, Mater -- Tara,' Isabella announced. 'And it must be jet-lag or something, but --' Michael pinched her sharply. 'That's lovely, Tara. We'd love to stay for lunch." 'I just have to look into the kitchen - make sure it's all under control - come along." As they entered the kitchen a child came running to Tara. He must have been helping the Irish cook, for his hands were white with flour to the elbows. Tara hugged him, happily heedless of the flour that rubbed off on her sweater.
A mat of short woolly curls covered his pate, and his skin was a clear light toffee colour. His eyes were huge and dark, and he had appealing gamine features. He reminded Isabella of any one of the dozens of children of the estate workers on Weltevreden. She smiled at him, and he gave back a cocky but friendly grin.
'This is Benjamin,' Tara said. 'And these, Benjamin, are your
! ',!!i brother and sister - Mickey and Isabella." Isabella stared at the child. She had tried to discount and for all that Lothar had told her, and in some measure she had succeede But now it all came rushing back, the words roaring in her ears ll flood waters.
'Your half brother is an attractive coffee colour,' Lothar had to her and she wanted to scream, 'How could you, Mater, how cou you do this to us?" But Michael had recovered from his obvious su prise, and now he held out his hand towards the child and said, 'Hi there, Ben. It's fine that we are brothers - but how about yc and me being friends also?" 'Hey, man - I like that,' Benjamin agreed instantly. To add Isabella's dismay and confusion, he spoke in a broad south Londc accent.
Isabella spoke barely a dozen words during lunch. The pea sou was thickened with flour that had not cooked through and it stuc to the roof of her mouth. The boiled silverside lay limply in its ov watery gravy, and the cabbage was cooked pink.
They sat at the table with Phineas, the receptionist, and five oth of Tara's guests, all black South African expatriates, and the boisteJ ous conversation was almost entirely conducted in left-wing jargo The government of which Isabella's beloved father was a minist was always referred to as the 'racist regime' and Michael joine cheerfully in the discussion about the redistribution of wealth an the return of the land to those who worked it after the revolutioz had succeeded and the People's Democratic Republic of Azania ha.
been established. Isabella wanted to scream at him, 'Damn you Mickey, they are talking about Weltevreden and the Silver Rive Mine. These are terrorists and revolutionaries - and their sole purpose is to destroy us and our world." When the bread-and-butter pudding was served, she could take i no longer.
'I'm sorry, Tara,' she whispered. 'I have a splitting headache, an I simply have to get back to the Dorchester and lie down." She wa so pale and discomforted that Tara made only a token protest and genuine noises of concern. Isabella refused to let Michael escort her 'I won't spoil your fun. You haven't seen Mater - Tara - in ages. I'l just grab a taxi." Perhaps it really was fatigue that had weakened her, but in the cal: she found herself weeping with chagrin and shame and fury.
'Damn her! Damn her to hell,' she whispered. 'She has disgraced and dishonoured all of us, Daddy and Nana and me and all the family." As soon as she reached her room she locked her door, threw herself on the bed and reached for the telephone.
'Exchange, I want to put a call through to Johannesburg in South Africa--' She read the number out of her address book.
The delay was less than half an hour and then a marvellously homey Afrikaans accent said, 'This is police headquarters, bureau for state security." 'I want to speak to Colonel Lothar De La Rey." 'De La Rey." Despite the thousands of miles that separated them, his voice was crisp and clear, and in her imagination she saw him again naked on the beach in the dawn, like a statue of a Greek athlete but with those glowing golden eyes, and she whispered, 'Oh God Lothie, I've missed you. I want to come home. I hate it here." He spoke quietly, reassuring and consoling her, and when she had calmed he ordered her, 'Tell me about it." 'You were right. Everything you said was true - even to her little brown bastard, and the people are all revolutionaries and terrorists.
What do you want me to do, Lothie? I'll do anything you tell me." 'I want you to stay there, and stick it out for the full two weeks.
You can telephone me every day, but you must stay on. Promise me, Bella." 'All right - but, God, I miss you and home." 'Listen, Bella. I want you to go to South Africa House the first opportunity you have. Don't let anybody know, not even your brother Michael. Ask for Colonel Van Vuuren, the military attach.
