Fire Across the Veldt (23 page)

He frowned. ‘I am sorry, Alice. You have caught me at a bad moment. I have a story to file.’ He grinned. ‘Just a filler really, not as interesting as yours, I bet. But I ought to get it on the wire tonight, so do excuse me if I don’t stay. Although,’ he took a step towards her and held out his arms, ‘I must say you look ravishing. I have missed you, you know.’

Alice smiled and indicated a chair. ‘And I you. But do take a chair for just a moment or two.’

‘Yes, of course. You said you had something urgent to say to me.’

‘Yes. Are you sure you won’t have some tea? It’s freshly made.’

‘No, thank you. But perhaps I could come back when I have filed my story …?’

The implication was clear and she marvelled again at how warm were his eyes and how sparklingly white were his teeth. This time, though, there was no tightening of the buttocks or slight lurch of the stomach on her part. ‘I fear not, James,’ she said with a smile.

With a slight frown on his face, Fulton sat opposite her, leaning forward slightly. ‘Very well. Now what was so important?’

‘Well,’ Alice leant back in her chair. ‘It’s important to me, although perhaps not so important to you. You see, my dear, my husband has returned from the Orange Free State, where he has been wounded in the arm and kicked in the spine by a Boer’s horse. He is, of course, right in the thick of the fighting and I have realised that I love him very much.’

She saw the muscles on Fulton’s jaw tighten. She went on, ‘I also realise that it was despicable of me to be unfaithful to him with you.’

‘Oh, come on now, Alice.’ Fulton’s face was now set quite hard and she realised how malevolent he could appear when he was annoyed. ‘You enjoyed the fucking even more than I did, I would say. Don’t be such a hypocrite.’ He flicked a non-existent piece of dust from one immaculate trouser leg.

Alice kept the faint smile fixed on her face. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that because I couldn’t possibly compare our two feelings. But I have asked you here today to make it quite clear that our
affair
, whatever you call it, is over and I would be grateful if you would make no further approaches to me. I hope, though, that we can remain good friends.’

Fulton rose and made no reply but made for the door. There he turned for a moment and glared at her. ‘I want you to know, Alice,’ he said, ‘that you weren’t that good. I’ve had far better in the lanes
behind Fleet Street.’ Then he turned and slammed the door behind him.

Alice sat for a moment and then put her head into her hands. How could she possibly ever have considered this man to have been better than her dear husband? His reaction and his language revealed him to be a complete cad. Then she smiled. I wonder what tomorrow will bring, she mused, for James Fulton?

In fact, tomorrow was quite uneventful for Alice and, as far as she knew, for the
Daily Mail
’s correspondent in Pretoria. The following day, however, provided a denouement.

In the street outside her hotel, she bumped into Bennet Burleigh of the
Daily Telegraph
. ‘Alice,’ he said, ‘we’ve missed you recently. Where have you been? We all get the shivers when you disappear. Not another exclusive, please. We can’t bear it.’

She smiled and glowed inwardly at the praise, for she respected him. ‘No, Ben. Just a round-up of the concentration camps. They’re better now, by the look of it. What’s happening in the compound?’

‘Ah.’ He looked smug. ‘Don’t say you haven’t heard the news?’

‘What news?’

‘That young pup, Fulton of the
Mail,
has been sent home.’

‘Good gracious. Do tell me more.’

‘It seems he either got hold of a bundle of false information or he fabricated a ridiculous story. He cabled that he had learnt that Kitchener was about to hand in his resignation and leave the army because he was said to be “under stress” at his failure to pin down the Boer commandos. Can you imagine K being under stress – or, if he was, admitting it?’

‘Quite. What rubbish. So what happened?’

‘Well the
Mail,
in its gutter press ignorance, published it and the roof immediately blew up. The War Office cabled K, of course, and he vehemently denied it and demanded an immediate retraction. Fulton couldn’t substantiate his story, so the
Mail
had to climb down and publish an apology. Fulton has been sacked, of course, and has already set off for the Cape and London, tail between his legs, where, if rumour is to be believed, it will have company.’

Alice inwardly winced at the crude reference but also felt an inward shaft of sympathy for the young man, whose professional future was now ruined. It was accompanied by an equally sharp stab of guilt. Then both faded quickly as she recalled how, two days before, the concern in Fulton’s face for her had been replaced in a flash by an expression of fierce malice as she had expressed her desire to end their affair.

‘What a stupid young man,’ she said. And meant it. Then she asked the question that had always concerned her. ‘But how did he get such rubbish past the censor?’

‘Well, the story is that he didn’t. He bribed some young clerk to put the story on the official cable. Cheating to the end, you see.’

‘Thank you, Ben. Whatever next? Now please forgive me. I am on my way to meet my husband.’

‘Ah. Do give him my regards. I do wish he would give me the sort of exclusives that he gives to you.’

She pulled a face. ‘Ah, you could never meet the price I have to pay. Good morning, Ben.’

Alice, of course, told Simon nothing about the departure of Fulton. It was now an episode in her life that she was anxious to forget and certainly not one the details of which she wished to share with her husband. So she met him off the train from Johannesburg with a happy smile, particularly as she noted that his wounded arm seemed now to have completely recovered as he handed her into a cab for the journey to Nandi’s house.

‘Where’s 352?’ she asked. ‘I thought he was coming with us.’

Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Haven’t seen much of him these last few days in camp, in fact. With the staff away, there’s not much for us to do.’

They arrived in the tree-lined suburb on the edge of the town and Simon looked with approval at the little two-storied wooden building, fringed with eucalyptus trees. Nandi, in a pretty flowered dress and
with her hair pulled back, thrusting her high cheekbones into relief, rushed out onto the
stoep
to meet them and kissed them both.

‘Oh, Simon,’ she said. ‘I can’t thank you enough for this house. But I don’t know how I am ever going to repay you for it.’

He shook his head. ‘For goodness’ sake, Nandi. You don’t have to repay me. Alice and I have benefited extremely well from the deaths of our parents and we have invested wisely. We can well afford this. And I will keep to my promise to rebuild your farm, once this war is over. So stop worrying!’

Nandi looked down to avoid showing them the tears in her eyes, then kissed them both again.

‘Where are the children?’ asked Alice.

‘They are in the garden at the back with 352.’

Fonthill threw back his head. ‘So that’s where he is! It seems he doesn’t care about this war very much any more.’

Nandi looked embarrassed. ‘Yes … well. He is … er … very fond of the children, you know. I suppose it is because he doesn’t have any of his own. And they love him.’

‘Let’s go through,’ said Alice. ‘I have to see this.’

They walked through the house and observed Jenkins and the children from a window looking out onto the garden. The Welshman was squatting on the grass with the two girls opposite to him, watching him intently, as he seemingly produced a penny from the mouth of the youngest, who squealed with delight.

‘Ah,’ said Simon with a smile. ‘The disappearing penny trick. He once showed me how to do it – something to do with sleight of hand, of course, but I’ve forgotten how it’s done.’

‘No,’ said Nandi, with a completely straight face, ‘it’s not a trick. It’s
magic. At least, that’s what he told me.’ Then they all burst into laughter.

Jenkins looked up in some consternation and they all joined the trio in the garden, where the two girls immediately became shy. The Welshman pulled at his moustache and looked sheepishly at Simon. ‘Just popped over to make sure everythin’ was all right, see,’ he said, ‘bein’ as everythin’ was quiet, like, at the camp.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about us. We can win this war without you, thank you very much.’ Then Simon winced as he remembered that this was twice within the space of a couple of minutes that he had mentioned the war in Nandi’s presence. For God’s sake, it was only less than two years since her husband had been killed by the British and two months since he had burnt down her house!

He cleared his throat and went on quickly. ‘Everything all right with you here, Nandi?’ he asked. ‘Do you need anything? Are the girls happy at their school?’

‘Oh yes, thank you, Simon. Thanks to your generosity, we need nothing and the girls love their school.’ Then her face clouded for a moment. ‘Though I had a visit yesterday that worried me a little …’

‘What?’ Jenkins face immediately settled into a scowl. ‘Who was that, then, eh?’

‘Yes,’ Alice joined in. ‘Who was it Nandi?’

‘Two British soldiers came to see me. One officer – I think he was a captain or something like that – and a sergeant. They wore red bands around their arms.’

‘The military police,’ exclaimed Jenkins. ‘Bloody ’ell! What the devil would they want with you, then?’

‘Come inside, Nandi,’ said Simon. ‘Sit down and tell us what they wanted.’

They left the children to play, trying to extract 352’s penny from the most unlikely places, and sat in the little lounge, where Nandi had laid out coffee cups and small cakes. ‘Would you like coffee now?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Jenkins, almost belligerently, ‘tell us about these visitors, then.’

‘Well, they were quite polite, but they asked me where I had come from and whether I owned the house.’ Nandi looked across at Fonthill. ‘I told them the truth, of course, and I hope I did right, Simon?’

‘I am sure you did, my dear. But please go on. What else did they want to know?’

‘I told them that I had come off the veldt south of Johannesburg and that you were an old friend from many years ago. I told them all about the Boer commandos being in the house when you arrived and all the shooting and that. And then I told them that you and your men had helped me take the furniture out and load it on the wagon and that dear 352 and the other soldier had ridden with us into Johannesburg and put us up at the hotel and that you had bought this house for us.’ She finished breathlessly. ‘It was all right to say all that, wasn’t it, Simon? I just didn’t know what else to say. You won’t get into trouble, will you?’

Fonthill smiled. ‘Good gracious, no, Nandi. But it’s all rather strange. What else did they ask you?’

‘Well, yes, there was something else. They asked about Jan, my husband …’ she paused ‘… my late husband, that is.’ She looked demurely into her lap for a moment before continuing. ‘And whether he had volunteered to join the Boer army. Which he had, of course, and I told them that. And then they asked me why me and the girls
weren’t in one of the camps. And that’s when I told them about you and Jenkins coming, Simon.’

‘Bloody cheek,’ murmured Jenkins.

‘Bloody cheek, indeed,’ echoed Alice.

‘Hmm.’ Simon frowned. ‘This is all very strange and I shall certainly make enquiries. Did they say where they were stationed?’

‘No. I was becoming a little frightened at this stage.’

‘I should bloody well think so,’ grunted Jenkins. ‘We shall ’ave to sort this out, bach sir, I’m thinkin’.’

‘Well,’ Fonthill waved his hand in dismissal. ‘It’s nothing to be worried about, Nandi. It’s some sort of army bureaucracy, probably checking up to make sure that you are not some dastardly spy. Think nothing more about it. If you have another visit of this nature, though, be sure to tell me. In the meantime, I will make some enquiries. Now, tell me about these many years when we lost track of you. We must fill the gaps.’

And so the conversation settled into the recounting of Nandi’s move back into Zululand to live with her father, John Dunn, after his appointment as one of the Zulu chiefs appointed by General Wolseley after the end of the Anglo-Zulu war, her meeting with Jan de Wath, the Boer farmer, their eventual marriage and her move to the Transvaal. Coffee was served and the cakes were consumed but, somehow, the conversation seemed stilted, with the shadow of the strange visitors of the day before hanging over it.

Eventually, Simon and Alice made to leave. ‘Are you coming back with us?’ asked Simon of Jenkins.

‘Er … no, thank you, bach sir. I’ll stay a bit longer, if that’s all right with you, Nandi – an’ if I’m not needed back at the camp, that is?’

‘Oh, of course.’ Nandi smiled at him indulgently. ‘The girls would hate you to go just yet.’

‘No,’ added Simon. ‘As long as you are covered back there.’

‘Oh yes, bach sir. Sergeant Williams is standin’ in. ’E’s Welsh, so everything should be all right, look you.’

‘Very well. But back tonight, please.’

‘Very good, sir.’

In the cab riding back to the hotel, Alice smiled. ‘Have you a feeling that we are going to lose Jenkins at last, darling? He seems to be getting alarmingly domesticated.’

‘Never! Jenkins was always fond of Nandi. But he would never get married. It would be like taking a fox off the green Welsh hills and putting him in a cage. No, not Jenkins.’ He grinned at his wife and then he frowned. ‘I don’t like the sound of Nandi’s visitors, though. Interfering busybodies. I shall certainly make enquiries.’

In fact, the arrival of a small draft of new recruits and the need to bed them in occupied Fonthill’s mind over the next two days and distracted him from following up the matter, that and a telegram from French saying that he was on his way back from the Eastern Transvaal and warning Simon that his column should prepare for a new assignment, the details of which he would explain on his return.

French arrived as Fonthill, now joined by Jenkins and Hammond, the latter having returned from his leave, was taking the column through training exercises out on the veldt and it was two days before he was summoned to a meeting with the general. Unusually, however, this was to be with Kitchener at his headquarters in Pretoria.

Simon had not met the commander-in-chief since his appointment
nearly a year before and it was with some anticipation that he entered the familiar large room that was K’s office. His new assignment, he presumed, must be important for him to be briefed about it by the C-in-C himself.

The two generals were sitting at Kitchener’s desk and the victor of the Nile pointed unsmilingly to a vacant chair as Fonthill approached. The atmosphere seemed strangely oppressive, although the weather outside was cool.

‘Fonthill,’ said Kitchener, ‘I’m afraid a rather serious charge has been levelled against you and we both felt that we should hear what you had to say about it before I allowed the matter to go any further.’

Simon blinked. ‘A serious charge? Good Lord. What might that be, then, sir?’

The big man looked down at a paper on his desk. ‘Do you know a Mrs Nandi de Wath?’

‘Yes I do. She is a very old friend.’ Fonthill shot a quick glance across at French, who looked vaguely embarrassed.

‘I understand …’ It was the turn of Kitchener to seem discomfited, for his words faded away. Then he cleared his throat, adjusted his pince-nez and looked over the top at Simon as he continued. ‘I undertand that she is your mistress and that you are probably the father of her children. Is this so?’

Fonthill’s jaw dropped and he gulped in indignation. ‘Good God, no. This is absolutely untrue.’

Kitchener shifted in his chair and glanced across at French. ‘I am glad to hear it. But I must ask you some more questions. You understand, of course, that our policy of farm clearances is, I suppose
I must call it, controversial but I have given orders on what should be done when a farm has to be burnt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I further understand that you have often contravened these orders in that you have often delayed at a farm, had your men take out the occupants’ furniture and other belongings and allowed them to be driven off by the occupants before the house was burnt. So that they often, presumably, were not taken into care in one of our camps.’

‘That is so, sir.’

‘Ah! I see. However, in the case of this …’ Kitchener looked down again at the paper on his desk ‘… Mrs de Wath, you went considerably further. Although when you arrived the farmhouse was occupied by Boer commandos and a lively action then ensued, which involved casualties, you delayed destroying the place for quite some time, although other enemy units might well have been in the area. Then you followed your usual practice of ordering your men to carry out furniture, but you also deputed two men – including your regimental sergeant major – to accompany the family into Pretoria, where your RSM found them a house, which was bought with funds supplied by you. The inference seems quite clear: although you are a married man, there is clearly some sort of liaison between you and this lady.’

Fonthill opened his mouth to speak, but Kitchener held up his hand. ‘Now, your private life, of course, is your own affair, Fonthill, and apart from disobeying the strict interpretation of my orders on this farm-burning business, you don’t seem to have contravened any army regulations, although employing your RSM in this way while on active service sails pretty close to the damned wind, I would have
thought. But I must say that your behaviour with this … er … Boer lady is bound to lead to gossip and, frankly, is not the sort of thing that I can condone from an officer of your seniority under my command. Now, let us both hear what you have to say on this matter.’

The C-in-C settled back in his chair and removed his pince-nez expectantly.

Fonthill drew in a deep breath and looked again at French, who was studiously gazing out of the window. Who had supplied this remarkably detailed information? A certain amount of digging had obviously been involved – and then the involvement with the regimental police. Where to start? He tried to concentrate.

‘First of all, sir,’ he began, ‘I don’t wish to give offence but it is ridiculous nonsense to accuse me of being the lover of Mrs de Wath and I am certainly not the father of her children. She is the widow of a Boer burgher who lost his life at the siege of Ladysmith and they are his children. In fact, until we arrived at her farmhouse, I had not seen the lady for nearly twenty years.

‘Both Sergeant Major Jenkins and my wife can confirm these facts because the three of us were all involved with Mrs de Wath, first during the Zulu war and then with General Wolseley’s campaign against the bPedi nation shortly afterwards. In fact, we all visited her the day before yesterday at her house in Pretoria. But let me tell the background to that involvement years ago and why I still feel in her debt to this day.’

He then related how Nandi, as a young girl in her late teens and daughter of John Dunn, the trader who was an adviser to King Cetshwayo, had smuggled a revolver and knife into the hut where he and Jenkins had been kept prisoner by the King at his capital, Ulundi.
This had enabled them to escape and so take part in the Battles of Isandlwana and, in his case, Rorke’s Drift, for Jenkins had been wounded at Isandlwana and left for dead there. Fonthill’s story had not been believed and, despite taking an heroic part in the defence of the hospital at Rorke’s Drift, he had been accused of cowardice by his former commanding officer. At the court martial, it was only the evidence, given at the last minute by Nandi and confirming his story, that had convinced the court of his innocence.