War Cry. Wilbur Smith

got a landscape by a chap called Alfred Sisley that was painted on the estate where she was born, and a Van Gogh picture of a wheat field,’ Shasa boasted.

      Centaine flashed him a frown of disapproval and then turned to her guests, ‘Now I’m sure you’d like to freshen up and change before …’

      ‘Actually,’ Saffron interrupted her, earning a cross look from her father in turn, ‘I would like to play polo with Shasa. If he doesn’t mind playing with a girl.’

      ‘Oh, all right,’ he grouched.

      ‘Well you can’t play in that dress,’ Centaine pointed out. ‘You can borrow some of my riding breeches and a pair of my boots. I can’t promise that they’ll fit but it’s better than nothing.’ She signalled to one of the maids. ‘Could you please show Miss Courtney where my riding gear is kept?’

      ‘Yes, Ma’am. Come this way please, Miss.’

      ‘I’ll get changed too and meet you back here in a few minutes, then,’ said Shasa, and dashed up the stairs to his room.

      ‘Saffy’s mad keen to be up and doing. But I must say I would appreciate the chance of a bath, a shave, a fresh change of clothes and, if you have it, a nice glass of whisky,’ Leon said, when he and Centaine were alone.

      ‘Of course,’ Centaine said. She glanced at an antique grandfather clock whose gentle ticking could be heard now that their children had disappeared. ‘It’s quarter to six now, so by the time you’ve freshened up the sun will be – what is it you English say? – over the yardarm.’

      ‘That’s the one.’

      ‘Then it will certainly be time for a drink.’

      Leon Courtney sank into the welcome embrace of a leather armchair that could have come straight from a gentleman’s club in Pall Mall, gratefully took the heavy crystal glass of single malt Scotch that the footman had presented to him on a silver tray and looked at Centaine. She had changed into a crystal-beaded evening dress and was cradling a freshly shaken martini.

      ‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me about that smile. It’s hardly left your face since we arrived here, and I don’t believe it’s entirely due to the pleasure of our company.’

      ‘Not entirely, no,’ Centaine agreed, ‘though it is very nice indeed to see you here.’

      ‘I’ll be honest: I was expecting to find you on your uppers. The word on the family grapevine was you’d called in the chaps from Sotheby’s and everything was up for grabs. But I never in my life saw anyone less on their uppers than you have looked today.’

      ‘The stories were true,’ Centaine said. She took a sip from her cocktail glass and placed it on a table beside her. ‘I was in real trouble. Who isn’t these days?’

      ‘Who indeed …’

      ‘But I had a stroke of good fortune on the stock market. I happened to be holding a great many shares in mining companies when the government took South Africa off the gold standard.’

      ‘Ah, I see,’ said Leon thoughtfully. ‘Clever you.’

      For years, many of the world’s major currencies had been pegged to the gold standard, meaning that their worth had in theory been backed by gold. This had kept the price of currencies artificially high, so they were hugely overvalued when the Crash of 1929 was followed by economic depression across the western world. As countries came off the gold standard, their currencies were able to drop in value, making their exports much cheaper to foreign buyers and thus boosting their economies. South Africa had been one of the very last countries to remain tied to gold, sending the exchange rate of the South African pound far above that of British sterling and thus making South African gold, diamonds and wool so expensive that no one bought them any more. The decision to come off the gold standard and let the South African pound find its true value had been made only a matter of days earlier. The immediate effect had been to transform the country’s trading position. Shares in mining companies suddenly rocketed. Anyone who had bought at the bottom of the market stood to make an enormous profit.

      ‘I won’t ask how you pulled off your coup,’ Leon went on, though every commercial instinct he had told him she must have had inside information about the government’s decision. ‘I shall simply congratulate you on becoming a true Courtney. We’ve always found ways to make a killing. The first Courtneys got rich by looting Spanish treasure ships in the service of our King.’

      ‘Looting other people’s treasure – that’s the basis for the whole British Empire,’ Centaine said, with a wry smile.

      ‘That … and defeating the French.’

      ‘Touché!’ she laughed.

      Just then the doors to the drawing room in which they were sitting were flung open and two hot, flushed adolescents, with dust-covered clothes and hair matted by sweat, burst into the room.

      ‘So, how did it go?’

      ‘I showed him!’ Saffron cried triumphantly. ‘I made him back off.’

      ‘Only because I let you,’ Shasa retorted.

      ‘Calm down, Shasa, and tell me what happened,’ Centaine commanded.

      ‘Well, Mater, we went down to the stables and I told her that I had two ponies, and one of them was Plum Pudding, who’s really steady and experienced, and the other one was Tiger Shark, who’s quicker and stronger, but wild and really hard to control. And I said she could choose which one she wanted to ride, and I thought she was bound to pick Plum Pudding …’

      ‘But I chose Tiger Shark!’ said Saffron.

      ‘Of course you did,’ said Leon, who had seen that one coming the moment he heard Shasa’s descriptions of the two beasts.

      ‘And we played for a bit, just knocking up and it was fun and Shasa was quite good …’

      ‘I’m better than “quite good”!’ Shasa protested, indignantly but also accurately.

      ‘And then the ball was in the middle of the field and we both went for it,’ Saffron said.

      ‘We went “down the throat”,’ Shasa said. ‘Just like I did with Max Theunissen in the final, do you remember, Mater?’

      Centaine’s face suddenly whitened. ‘Going down the throat’ was the polo expression for a full frontal charge between two players, riding directly at one another, head-on, and Shasa had pulled off the very same trick to win his polo tournament. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of Centaine’s life, seeing a berserker madness seize her son as he’d hurled Tiger Shark at the Theunissen boy and his pony. If the two horses had collided at full gallop they would certainly have had to be put down and both their riders could have been seriously injured or even killed. At the very last instant, Theunissen’s nerve had cracked, he had pulled away and Shasa had smashed the ball past him and into the goal.

      The idea that he had even considered pulling off the same trick on a guest, and, what’s more, a guest who was a relative, a girl and younger than him, appalled her.

      ‘You did what?’ Centaine gasped. The question was rhetorical. Before her son could answer she got to her feet, looked Shasa in the eye and rasped, ‘How dare you? How dare you? That is unforgivably bad-mannered, stupid, irresponsible, and dangerous behaviour. You’re lucky both of you aren’t on your way to hospital. Go to your room right now. Right now!’

      Shasa looked mortified. He bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back his tears. Then Saffron piped up, ‘Excuse me, Cousin Centaine, but it wasn’t Shasa’s fault. I was the one who charged at him. And he got out of the way … And I know you weren’t being a scaredy-cat, Shasa, even though I said you were. You just didn’t want to hurt me.’

      Silence fell upon the room. Leon hesitated for a moment, not wanting to take charge in someone else’s house, and