In Afrikaans, Jamie thought.
“Now, there are a few other deals I find very interesting, Ian.”
Because it was important to keep his new partner happy, Van der Merwe no longer objected when Jamie asked that Margaret show him around the countryside. Margaret was more in love with Jamie every day. He was the last thing she thought of when she went to bed at night, and the first thing she thought of when she opened her eyes in the morning. Jamie had loosed a sensuality in her that she had not even known existed. It was as though she had suddenly discovered what her body was for, and all the things she had been taught to be ashamed of became glorious gifts to bring pleasure to Jamie. And to herself. Love was a wonderful new country to be explored. A sensual land of hidden valleys and exciting dales and glens and rivers of honey. She could not get enough of it.
In the vast sweep of the countryside, it was easy to find isolated places where they could make love, and each time for Margaret was as exciting as the first time.
The old guilt about her father haunted her. Salomon van der Merwe was an elder of the Dutch Reformed Church, and Margaret knew if he ever found out what she was doing, there would be no forgiveness. Even in the rough frontier community where they lived, where men took their pleasures where they found them, there would be no understanding. There were only two kinds of women in the world—nice girls and whores—and a nice girl did not let a man touch her unless she was married to him. So she would be labeled a whore. It’s so unfair, she thought. The giving and taking of love is too beautiful to be evil. But her growing concern finally made Margaret bring up the subject of marriage.
They were driving along the Vaal River when Margaret spoke. “Ian, you know how much I—” She did not know how to go on. “That is, you and I—” In desperation she blurted out, “How do you feel about marriage?”
Jamie laughed. “I’m all for it, Margaret. I’m all for it.”
She joined him in his laughter. It was the happiest moment of her life.
On Sunday morning, Salomon van der Merwe invited Jamie to accompany him and Margaret to church. The Nederduits Hervormde Kerk was a large, impressive building done in bastard Gothic, with the pulpit at one end and a huge organ at the other. When they walked in the door, Van der Merwe was greeted with great respect.
“I helped build this church,” he told Jamie proudly. “I’m a deacon here.”
The service was brimstone and hellfire, and Van der Merwe sat there, rapt, nodding eagerly, accepting the minister’s every word.
He’s God’s man on Sunday, Jamie thought, and the rest of the week he belongs to the devil.
Van der Merwe had placed himself between the two young people, but Margaret was conscious of Jamie’s nearness all through the service. It’s a good thing—she smiled nervously to herself—that the minister doesn’t know what I’m thinking about.
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That evening, Jamie went to visit the Sundowner Saloon. Smit was behind the bar serving drinks. His face brightened when he saw Jamie.
“Good evenin’, Mr. Travis. What will you have, sir? The usual?”
“Not tonight, Smit. I want to talk to you. In the back room.”
“Certainly, sir.” Smit scented money to be made. He turned to his assistant. “Mind the bar.”
The back room of the Sundowner was no more than a closet, but it afforded privacy. It contained a round table with four chairs, and in the center of the table was a lantern. Smit lit it.
“Sit down,” Jamie said.
Smit took a chair. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”
“It’s you I’ve come to help, Smit.”
Smit beamed. “Really, sir?”
“Yes.” Jamie took out a long, thin cigar and lighted it. “I’ve decided to let you live.”
An uncertain look flickered over Smit’s face. “I—I don’t understand, Mr. Travis.”
“Not Travis. The name is McGregor. Jamie McGregor. Remember? A year ago you set me up to be killed. At the barn. For Van der Merwe.”