General Smuts has given me the Interior Ministry in the new cabinet. One of the reasons he chose me was that I have already chaired the commission of enquiry into the Ossewa Brandwag and the other subversive organizations.
It will be one of my major concerns to suppress their efforts to disrupt our preparations for war. The Ou Baas himself has taken the Ministry of Defence, and he has already promised Britain an army of fifty thousand volunteers ready to fight anywhere in Africa. They took the coffee tray through to the sitting-room and as Centaine poured, the telephone rang, shrill and shocking in the silent cottage. She started and spilled steaming coffee over the tray.
What time is it, Blaine? Ten minutes to one. I won't answer it, let it ring, Centaine shook her head, staring at the insistent instrument, but he stood up.
Only Doris knows I'm here, he said. I had to let her know in case, He didn't have to explain further. Doris was his secretary, the only one in their confidence, and of course she had to know where to find him. Centaine picked up the telephone.
Mrs Courtney speaking. She listened for a moment. Yes, Doris, he is here. She handed the telephone to Blaine and turned away. He listened for a few moments, then said quietly, Thank you, Doris, I'll be there in twenty minutes. He hung up and looked up at Centaine.
I'm sorry, Centaine. I'll fetch your coat. She held it for him and he slipped his arms into the sleeves and turned to face her, buttoning it as he said, It's Isabella. He saw her surprise and went on, The doctor is with her.
They need me. Doris wouldn't say more, but it sounds serious. After Blaine had gone, she took the coffee pot and cups through to the kitchen, and rinsed them in the sink. Seldom had she felt so lonely. The cottage was silent and cold and she knew she could not sleep. She went back into the lounge and put a gramophone record on the turntable.
it was an aria from Verdi's Aida, always one of her favourites, and as she sat and listened to it the memories it aroused came stealing back out of the past, Michael and Mort Homme and the other long-ago war, and her melancholy swamped her.
She slept at last, sitting in the armchair with her legs curled up under her, and the telephone woke her with a start. She reached for it before she was properly awake.
Blaine! She recognized his voice instantly. What time is it? 'It's four o'clock, a few minutes after. Is something wrong, Blame? She came fully awake.
,Isabella, he said. She is asking for you. For me? Centaine was confused.
She wants you to come here. I can't, Blaine. That's not possible, you know that. She's dying, Centaine. The doctor says she won't last out the day. Oh God, Blaine, I'm so sorry. And with wonder at herself, she realized she truly was. Poor Isabella Will you come? Do you want me to, Blaine? It is her last request. If we refuse it, our guilt will be so much harder to bear. I'll come, she said and hung up.
She took only a few minutes to bathe her face and change and put on light make-up. She drove through the almost deserted streets, and Blaine's big gabled home was the only one in Newlands Avenue with lights burning.
He met her at the mahogany double front doors and he did not embrace her, but said simply, Thank you, Centaine. Only then she saw his daughter standing in the hall behind him.
Hello, Tara, she greeted her. The girl had been weeping.
Her big grey eyes were puffy and swollen and rimmed with red, and her face was so pale that her dark auburn hair seemed to burn like a bush fire. I'm so sorry to hear about your mother."
No, you aren't. Tara stared at her with a flat hostile expression which suddenly wavered and cracked. She sobbed and ran down the passageway. A door slammed in the back of the house.
She's very upset, Blaine said. I apologize for her., I understand, Centaine answered. I deserve at least part of that. He shook his head to deny it, but said simply, Please come with me. They climbed the circular staircase side by side and Centaine asked softly, 'What is it, Blaine? ,A degeneration of the spine and nervous system, a process that has been going on slowly over the years. Now there is pneumonia, and she can no longer resist. Pain? Centaine asked.
Yes, he replied. She has always had pain, more than the average person could bear. They went down the wide carpeted passageway and Blaine tapped on the door at the end and then opened it.
Come in, please. The room was large and furnished in cool restful greens and blues. The curtains were closed and a night lamp burned on the bedside table. The man standing beside the bed was clearly a doctor. Blaine led Centaine to the four-poster bed and though she had tried to prepare herself, still she started when she saw the figure that lay upon the banked pillows.
She remembered Isabella Malcomess serene and gentle beauty. Now a death's head stared at her from sunken eye-sockets, and the fixed grin of yellowish teeth, the rictus of shrunken lips, was somehow obscene. The effect was heightened by the contrast of thick auburn hair which formed a cloud about the ravaged head.
It was kind of you to come. Centaine had to lean closer to the bed to hear the thin voice.
I came as soon as I heard you wanted me., The doctor intervened quietly. You may stay only a few minutes, Mrs Malcomess must rest. But Isabella fluttered her hand impatiently, and Centaine saw that it was a bird's claw of fragile bones covered with skin the colour of tallow and a ropy network of blue veins.
I wish to speak in private, she whispered. Please leave us, Doctor. Blaine leaned over her to adjust the pillows under her head.
Please don't tire yourself, dear, he said, and his gentleness towards the dying woman gave Centaine a jealous pang she could not suppress.
Blaine and the doctor left quietly, and closed the door with a click of the latch. They were alone together for the first time. Centaine was overcome by a sense of unreality. For so many years this woman had bulked large in her life, her very existence had meant that Centaine had to suffer all the vile emotions from guilt to jealousy, from anger to hatred.
But now that she stood beside her deathbed, they had all evaporated. All she felt was a vast sense of pity.
Come nearer, Centaine, Isabella whispered, beckoning her with another feeble flutter of her wasted hand. Talking is such an effort. Impulsively Centaine went down on her knees beside the bed so that their eyes were only inches apart. She felt a terrible need to repent for all the unhappiness she had caused and to ask for Isabella's forgiveness, but Isabella spoke first.
I told Blaine that I wanted to make my peace with you, Centaine. I told him I understood that the two of you had not been able to help falling in love, and that I realized you had tried to spare me as much as possible. I told him I knew that you were never vindictive, that although you could have taken him away, you never inflicted that final humiliation upon me, that although I was no longer a woman, you allowed me to retain the last shreds of my dignity. Centaine felt the pity flood her soul and fill her eyes. She wanted to take this frail dying creature in her arms and hold her, but something in Isabella's eyes prevented her, it was a fierce proud light and Centaine simply bowed her head and remained silent.
I told Blaine that you had filled his life with the happiness I could not give him, but despite that and because of your generosity, I was still able to keep part of him for myself., Oh, Isabella, I don't know how to tell you, I Centaine's voice choked and Isabella gestured her to silence.
She seemed to be gathering herself for some enormous effort. A faint flush of colour came back into her cheeks and the fierce light in her eyes flared up. Her breath quickened and when she spoke again her voice was stronger, harsher.
I told him all these things to persuade him to bring you here. If he had guessed what I truly intended, he would not have allowed you to come. She raised her head from the pillow and her voice became a serpent's hiss.
Now I can tell you how deeply I have hated you every waking hour of every long year, how my hatred kept me alive this long so that I could prevent you from having him as your husband, and now that I am dying that hatred is magnified a hundred times, She broke off and panted for breath, as Centaine recoiled before her glare. She realized that Isabella was a woman driven to madness by the agony she had endured, by the long corrosion of hatred and jealousy.