He had said all the right things, and he was an Olympic gold medallist in a land where athletic prowess was venerated. He was handsome and clever and devout, with an attractive wife and son. He still had friends in high places and the number of those friends was increasing each day.
He purchased a partnership in a prosperous Stellenbosch law firm. The senior partner was an attorney named Van Schoor, very active in politics and a luminary of the Nationalist Party. He sponsored Manfred's entry into the Party.
Manfred devoted himself to the affairs of Van Schoor and De La Rey and just as single-mindedly to those of the Cape Nationalist Party. He showed great skills as an organizer and as a fund-raiser, and by the end of 1947 he was a member of the Broederbond.
The Broederbond, or brotherhood, was another secret society of Afrikaners. It had not replaced the defunct ossewa Brandwag, but had existed concurrently, and often in competition with it. Unlike the OB it was not flamboyant and overtly militant, there were no uniforms or torchlit rallies.
It worked quietly in small groups in the homes and offices of powerful and influential men for membership was only bestowed upon the brightest and the best. It considered its members to be an elite of super-Afrikaners, whose end object was the formation of an Afrikaner Republic. Like the disbanded OB, the secrecy surrounding it was iron-clad. Unlike the OB, a member must be much more than merely a pureblooded Afrikaner. He must be a leader of men, or at the very least a potential leader, and an invitation to join the brotherhood held within it the promise of high political preference and favour in the future Republic.
Manfred's first rewards of membership came almost immediately, for when the campaign for the general election of 1948 opened, Manfred De La Rey was nominated as the official Nationalist candidate for the marginal seat of Hottentots Holland.
Two years previously, in a by-election, the seat had been won for Smuts United Party by a young war-hero from a rich English-speaking Cape family. As the incumbent, Shasa Courtney had been nominated by the United Party as their candidate to contest the general election.
Manfred De La Rey had been offered a safer seat but he had deliberately chosen Hottentots Holland. He wanted the opportunity to meet Shasa Courtney again. He recalled vividly their first meeting on the fish jetty at Walvis Bay. Since then their destinies seemed to have been inextricably bound together in a knot of Gordian complexity, and Manfred sensed that he had to face this adversary one more time and unravel that knot.
To prepare himself for the campaign as well as to satisfy his brooding enmity towards them, Manfred began an investigation of the Courtney family, in particular Shasa and his mother Mrs Centaine de Thiry Courtney. Almost immediately he found areas of mystery in the woman's past, and these grew deeper as his investigations continued. Finally he . was sufficiently encouraged to employ a Parisian firm of private investigators to examine in detail Centaine's family background and her origins.
On his regular monthly visit to his father in Pretoria Central Prison, he brought up the Courtney name and begged the frail old man to tell him everything he knew about them.
When the campaign opened, Manfred knew that his m'vestigations had given him an important advantage, and he threw himself into the rough and tumble of a South African election with gusto and determination.
Centaine de Thiry Courtney stood on the top of Table Mountain, a little apart from the rest of the party. Since Sir Garry's murder the mountain always saddened her, even when she looked at it from the windows of her study at Weltevreden.
This was the first time that she had been on the summit since that tragic day, and she was here only because she could not refuse Blaine's invitation to act as his official partner. And, of course, I am still enough of a snob to relish the idea of being introduced to the king and the queen of England! She was truthful with herself.
The Ou Baas was chatting to King George, pointing out the landmarks with his cane. He was wearing his old Panama hat and baggy slacks, and Centaine felt a pang at his resemblance to Sir Garry. She turned away.
Blaine was with the small group around the royal princesses. He was telling a story and Margaret Rose laughed delightedly. How pretty she is, Centaine thought. What a complexion, a royal English rose. The princess turned and said something to one of the other young men. Centaine had been introduced to him earlier; he was an airforce officer as Shasa was, a handsome fellow with a fine sensitive face, she thought, and then her female instincts were alerted as she caught the secret glance the couple exchanged. It was unmistakable, and Centaine felt that little lift of her spirits she always enjoyed when she saw two young people in love.
It was followed almost immediately by a return of her sombre mood.
Thinking of love and young lovers, she studied Blaine. He was unaware of her gaze, relaxed and charming, but there was silver in his hair, shining silver wings above those sticky-out ears she loved so well, and there were deep creases in his tanned face, around the eyes and at the corners of his mouth and his big aquiline nose. Still his body was hard and flat-bellied from riding and walking, but he was like the old lion, and with a further slide of her spirits she faced the fact that he was no longer in his prime. Instead he stood at the threshold of old age.
Oh, God, she thought, even I will be forty-eight years old in a few months, and she lifted her hand to touch her head. There was silver there also, but so artfully tinted that it seemed merely a bleaching of the African sun. There were other unpalatable truths that her mirror revealed to her in the privacy of her boudoir, before she hid them with the creams and powders and rouges.
How much more time is there, my darling? she asked sadly but silently. Yesterday we were young and immortal, but today I see at last that there is a term to all things. At that moment Blaine looked across at her, and she saw his quick concern as he noticed her expression. He murmured an apology to the others and came to her side.
Why so serious on such a lovely day? he smiled.
I was thinking how shameless you are, Blaine Malcomess, she answered, and his smile slipped.
What is it, Centaine? How can you blatantly parade your mistress before the crowned heads of Empire, she demanded. I have no doubt it is a capital crime, you could have your head struck off on Tower Green! He stared at her for a moment, and then the grin came back, boyish and jubilant. My dear lady, there must be some way I can escape that fate. What if I were to change your status, from scarlet mistress to demure wife? She giggled. She very seldom did that, but when she did, he found it irresistible. What an extraordinary time and place to receive a proposal of marriage, and an even more extraordinary time and place to accept one. What do you think their majesties would say if I were to kiss you here and now? He leaned towards her and she leapt back startled.
Crazy man, you just wait until I get you home, she threatened. He took her arm and they went to join the company.
Weltevreden is one of the loveliest homes in the Cape, Blaine agreed. But it doesn't belong to me, and I want to carry my bride over the threshold of my own home. We cannot live in Newlands House. Centaine did not have to say more, and for a moment Isabella's ghost passed between them like a dark shadow.
What about the cottage? He laughed to banish Isabella's memory. 'It's got a magnificent bed, what else do we need? We'll keep that, she agreed. And every now and then we will slip away to revisit it. 'Dirty weekends, good-oh! You are vulgar, do you know that? So where shall we live? We will find a place. Our own special place. It was five hundred acres of mountain, beach and rocky coastline with a profusion of protea plants and grand views across Hout Bay and out to the cold green Atlantic.