The Angels Weep - Smith Wilbur - Страница 48
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"Number SixV he cried, and Robyn froze and stared at him.
"Number Six, "Thou shalt not kill"." "God was not speaking of Cecil Rhodes," Robyn said, but her eyes wavered.
"If the Almighty was allowing open season on specified targets, I'm sure He would have put in a footnote." Ralph pursued his advantage, and Robyn sighed and turned back to the leather cartridge bag on its hook.
"Now what are you doing? "Ralph demanded suspiciously. "Changing back to birdshot," Robyn muttered. "God didn't say anything about flesh wounds." But Ralph seized the stock of the shotgun and with only a token of resistance Robyn relinquished it.
"O Ralph she whispered. "The effrontery of that man. I wish I was allowed to swear." "God will understand," Ralph encouraged her.
"Damn him to bloody hell!" she said.
"Better?" "Not much." "Here," he said, and slipped the silver flask from his back pocket.
She took a swallow, and blinked at the tears of anger that stung her eyes.
"Better?" "A little," she admitted. "What must I do, Ralph?"
"Conduct yourself with frosty dignity." "Right." She lifted her chin determinedly and marched back onto the veranda.
Under the spathodea trees, Jordan had donned a crisp white apron and tall chef's cap, and was serving champagne and huge golden Cornish pasties to whoever wanted them. The veranda, which had been crowded with guests before the arrival of the mule coach, was now deserted, and there was a jovial throng around Mr. Rhodes.
"We will start cooking the sausage," Robyn told Juba. "Get your girls busy." "They aren't even married yet, Nomusa," Juba protested.
"The wedding is not until five o'clock-" "Feed them," Robyn ordered.
"I'll back my sausage against Jordan Ballantyne's pasties to bring "em back." "And I'll put my money on Mr. Rhodes" champagne to keep "em there," Ralph told her. "Can you match it?" "I haven't a drop, Ralph," Robyn admitted. "I have beer and brandy, but not champagne." With a single glance, Ralph caught the eye of one of the younger guests on the lawn. He was the manager of Ralph's General Dealer's shop in Bulawayo.
He read Ralph's expression, and hurried up the steps to his side, listened intently to his instructions for a few seconds, and then ran to his horse.
"Where did you send him?" Robyn demanded.
"A convoy of my wagons arrived today. They will not have unloaded yet. We'll have a wagon full of bubbly out here within a few hours."
"I'll never be able to repay you for this, Ralph." For a moment Robyn considered him, and then for the first time ever she stood on tiptoe and gave him a light dry kiss on the lips, before hurrying back to her kitchen.
Ralph's wagon hove over the hill at a dramatic moment. Jordan was down to his last bottle of champagne, the empty green bottles formed an untidy hillock behind his stall, and the crowd had already begun to drift across to the barbecue pits on which Robyn's celebrated spiced beef sausage was sizzling in clouds of aromatic steam.
Isazi brought the wagon to a halt below the veranda, and, like a conjuror, drew back the canvas hood to reveal the contents. The crowd flocked away to leave Mr. Rhodes sitting alone beside his fancy coach.
Within minutes Jordan sidled up beside his brother. "Ralph, Mr. Rhodes would like to purchase a few cases of your best champagne." "I'm not selling in job lots. Tell him it's a full wagon or nothing. "Ralph smiled genially. "At twenty pounds a bottle." "That's piracy, "Jordan gasped.
"It's also the only available champagne in Matabeleland." "Mr. Rhodes will not be pleased." "I'll be pleased enough for both of us," Ralph assured him. "Tell him it's cash, in advance." While Jordan went with the bad news to his master, Ralph sauntered across to the bridegroom and put one arm around his shoulder.
"Be grateful to me, Harry my boy. Your wedding is going to be a hundred-year legend, but have you told the lovely Victoria about her honeymoon yet?" "Not yet," Harry Mellow admitted.
"Wise decision, laddie. Wankie's country does not have the appeal of the bridal suite at the Mount Nelson Hotel in Cape Town." "She will understand," Harry said with more force than belief.
"Of course she will," Ralph agreed, and turned to meet Jordan who returned brandishing the cheque which Mr. Rhodes had scribbled on a tattered champagne label.
"How charjningly appropriate," Ralph murmured, and tucked it into his top pocket. "I'll send Isazi back to fetch the next wagon." The rumour of wagon loads of free champagne for all at Khami Mission turned Bulawayo into a ghost town. Unable to compete with these prices, the barman of the Grand Hotel closed down his deserted premises and joined the exodus southwards. As soon as the news reached them, the umpires called "stumps" on the cricket match being played on the police parade ground, and the twenty-two players still in their flannels formed a guard of honour for Isazi's wagon, while behind them followed what remained of the town's population on horse, cycle or foot.
The little Mission church could hold only a fraction of the invited and uninvited, the rest of them overflowed into the grounds, though the heaviest concentrations were always to be found around the two widely separated champ pagne wagons. Copious draughts of warm champagne had made the men sentimentally boisterous and many of the women loudly weepy, so a thunderous acclaim greeted the bride when she at last made her appearance on the Mission veranda.
On her brother-in-law's arm, and attended by her sisters, Victoria made her way down the alley that opened for her across the lawn.
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