He was halfway into the city, racing the Jaguar down the the highway between the university and Groote Schuur, before he re covered from his affront at Michael's disloyalty, for that is how Shas saw his son's decision. Now suddenly he began to think about news papers again. Publicly he had always disparaged the strange suicida impulse that gripped so manysuccessful men in their middle years t, own their own newspaper. It was notoriously difficult to milk a reason able profit from a newspaper, but in secret Shasa had felt th sneaking temptation to indulge in the same rich man's folly.
'Not much profit,' he mused aloud, 'but the power! To be able t, influence the minds of people!" In South Africa the English press was hysterically anti-government, while the Afrikaans press was fawningly and abjectly the slav of the National Party. A thinking man could trust neither.
'What about an English-language paper that was aimed at th, business community and politically uncommitted,' he wondered, a he had before. 'What if I were to buy one of the smaller weake papers and build it up? After the Silver River Mine's next dividend i declared, we are going to be sitting on a pile of money." Then he grinned. 'I must be getting senile, but at least I'll be able to guarantee a job for my drop-out journalist son!" And the idea of Michael as editor of a large influential newspaper had an increasing appeal, the longer he thought about it. Still, I wish the little blighter would get himself a decent education first,' he grumbled, but he had almost forgiven him for his treachery by the time he parked the Jaguar in the parking area reserved for cabinet ministers. 'Of course, I'll keep him on a decent allowance,' he decided. 'That threat was just a little bluff." A sense of excited expectation gripped the House as Shasa went up the stairs to the front entrance. The lobby was crowded with senators and members of parliament. The knots of dark-suited men formed and dissolved and re-formed, in the intricate play of political cross-currents that fascinated Shasa. As an insider he could read the significance of who was talking to whom and why.
It took him almost twenty minutes to reach the foot of the staircase for as one of the prime actors he was drawn inexorably into the subtle theatre of power and favour. At last he escaped and with only minutes to spare hurried up the stairs and down the passage to his suite.
Tricia was hovering anxiously. 'Oh, Mr Courtney, everybody is looking for you. Lord Littleton telephoned and the prime minister's secretary left a message." She was reading from her pad as she followed him into the inner office.
'Try to get the PM's secretary first, then Lord Littleton." Shasa sat at his desk, and frowned as he noticed some chalky white specks on his blotter. He brushed them away irritably, and would have given Tricia an order to speak to the cleaners, but she was still reading from her pad and he had less than an hour to tackle the main items on her list before the joint sitting began.
He dealt with the queries that Verwoerd's secretary had for him.
The answers were in his head and he did not have to refer to anybody in his department - and then Littleton was on the line. He wanted to discuss an addition to the agenda for their meeting that afternoon, and once they had agreed that, Shasa asked tactfully, 'Have you found out anything about the speeches this morning?" 'Afraid not, old man. I'm as much in the dark as you are." As Shasa reached across the desk to replace the receiver, he noticed another white speck of chalk on his blotter that had not been there a minute before; he was about to brush that away also, when he paused and looked up to see where it had come from. This time he scowled as he saw the small hole in his ceiling and the hair-line cracks around it. He pressed the switch on his intercom.
'Tricia, please come in here a moment." When she stood in the doorway, he pointed at the ceiling. 'What do you make of that?" Tricia looked mystified and came to stand beside his chair. They both peered at the damage.
'Oh, I know,' Tricia looked relieved, 'but I'm not supposed to tell you." 'Spit it out, woman!" Shasa ordered.
'Your wife, Mrs Courtney, said she was planning some renovations to your office as a surprise. I suppose she has asked Maintenance to do the work for her." 'Damn!" Shasa didn't like surprises which interfered with the comfortable tenor of his existence. He liked his office the way it was and he didn't want anybody, particularly anyone of Tara's avant garde taste, interfering with something that worked extremely well as it was.
'I think she is planning to change the curtains also,' Tricia added innocently. She didn't like Tara Courtney. She considered her shallow, insincere and scheming. She didn't approve of her disrespectful attitude to Shasa, and she wasn't above sowing a few seeds of dissension. If Shasa were free, there was just a chance, a very small and remote chance that he might see her clearly and realize just how much she, Tricia, felt for him, 'And she was talking about altering the light fittings,' she added.
Shasa jumped up from his desk and went to touch his curtains. He and Centaine had studied at least a hundred samples of fabric before choosing this one. Protectively he rearranged the drapes, and then he noticed the second hole in the ceiling and the thin insulated wire that protruded from it. He had difficulty controlling his fury in front of his secretary.
'You get on to Maintenance,' he instructed. 'Talk to Odendaal himself, not one of his workmen, and you tell him I want to know exactly what is going on. Tell him whatever it is, it's damned shoddy workmanship and that there is plaster all over my desk." Tll do that this morning,' Tricia promised, and then, placatingly, 'It's ten minutes to, Mr Courtney - you don't want to be late." Manfred De La Rey was just leaving his own office as Shasa came down'the passage, and they fell in side by side.
'Have you found out anything?" 'No - have you?" Manfred shook his head. 'It's too late anyway- nothing we can do now." Shasa saw Blaine Malcomess at the door of the dining-room and went to greet him. They filed into the panelled dining-room together.
'How is Mater?" 'Centaine is fine - looking forward to seeing you for dinner tomorrow evening." Centaine was holding a dinner party in Littleton's honour out at Rhodes Hill. 'I left her giving the chef a nervous breakdown." They laughed together and then found their seats in the front row of chairs. As minister and deputy leader of the opposition, they both warranted reserved seats.
Shasa swivelled in his seat and looked to the back of the large hall where the press cameras had been set up. He picked out Kitty Godolphin, looking tiny and girlish beside her camera crew, and she winked at him mischievously. Then the two prime ministers were taking their places at the top table and Shasa leaned across to Manfred De La Rey and murmured, 'I hope this isn't all a boo-ha over nothing - and that Supermac has really got something of interest to tell us." Manfred shrugged. 'Let's hope it isn't too exciting either,' he said.
'Sometimes it's safer to be bored --' but he broke off as the Speaker of the House called for silence and rose to introduce the prime minister of Great Britain and the packed room, filled with the most powerful men in the land, settled into attentive and expectant silence.
Even when Macmillan, tall and urbane and strangely benign in expression, rose to his feet, Shasa had no sense of being at the anvil while history was being forged and he crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his chin in the attitude of listening and concentration in which he followed all debate and argument.
Macmillan spoke in an unemotional voice, but with weight and lucidity, and his text had all the indications of having been carefully prepared, meticulously polished and rehearsed.