The Angels Weep Read Online Free Page B

they might be right after all – the puppy might just
possibly be a millionaire already.’ And his pride was
tinged with envy. Zouga himself had worked and dreamed from long
before Ralph was born, had made sacrifices and had suffered
hardships that still made him shudder when he thought about them,
all for much lesser reward. Apart from this new reef, all he had
to show for a lifetime of striving was King’s Lynn and
Louise – and then he smiled. With those two possessions, he
was richer than Mr Rhodes would ever be.
    Zouga sighed and tilted his hat forward over his eyes, and
with Louise’s beloved face held firmly in the eye of his
mind he drifted into sleep, while across the fire Ralph still
talked quietly, for himself more than for his father, and
conjured up new visions of wealth and power.
    I t was two full
days’ ride back to the wagons, but they were still half a
mile from the camp when they were spotted, and a joyous tide of
servants and children and dogs and wives came clamouring out to
greet them.
    Ralph spurred forward and leaned low from the saddle to sweep
Cathy up onto the pommel so violently that her hair tumbled into
her face and she shrieked breathlessly until he silenced her with
a kiss full on the mouth, and he held the kiss unashamedly while
little Jonathan danced impatiently around the horse shouting,
‘Me too! Lift me up, too, Papa!’
    When at last he broke the kiss, Ralph held her close still,
and his stiff dark moustache tickled her ear as he whispered,
‘The minute I get you into the tent, Katie my love, we will
give that new mattress of yours a stiff test.’
    She flushed a richer tone of pink and tried to slap his cheek,
but the blow was light and loving. Ralph chuckled, then reached
down and picked Jonathan up by one arm and dropped him into the
gelding’s croup behind the saddle.
    The boy wrapped his arms around Ralph’s waist and
demanded in a high piping voice: ‘Did you find gold,
Papa?’
    ‘A ton.’
    ‘Did you shoot any lions?’
    ‘A hundred.’
    ‘Did you kill any Matabele?’
    ‘The season’s closed,’ Ralph laughed, and
ruffled his son’s dark thick curls, but Cathy scolded
quickly.
    ‘That’s a wicked thing to ask your father, you
bloodthirsty little pagan.’
    Louise followed the younger woman and the child at a more
sedate pace, stepping lightly and lithely in the thick dust of
the wagon road. Her hair was drawn back from her broad forehead
and hung down her back to the level of her waist in a thick
braid. It emphasized the high arches of her cheekbones.
    Her eyes had changed colour again. It always fascinated Zouga
to see the shifts of her mood reflected in those huge slanted
eyes. Now they were a lighter softer blue, the colour of
happiness. She stopped at the horse’s head and Zouga
stepped down from the stirrup and lifted the hat from his head,
studying her gravely for a moment before he spoke.
    ‘Even in such a short time I had forgotten how truly
beautiful you are,’ he said.
    ‘It was not a short time,’ she contradicted him.
‘Every hour I am away from you is an eternity.’
    It was an elaborate camp, for this was Cathy and Ralph’s
home. They owned no other, but like gypsies moved to where the
pickings were richest. There were four wagons outspanned under
the tall arched wild fig trees on the bank of the river above the
ford. The tents were of new snowy canvas, one of which, set a
little apart, served for ablution. This contained a galvanized
iron bath in which one could stretch out full length. There was a
servant whose sole duty was to tend the forty-gallon drum on the
fire behind the tent and to deliver unlimited quantities of hot
water, day and night. Another smaller tent beyond held a commode
whose seat Cathy had hand-painted with cupids and bouquets of
roses, and beside the commode she had placed the ultimate luxury,
scented sheets of soft coloured paper in a sandalwood box.
    There were