‘Righty ho,’ Dicky agreed, and as they sped down the Marine Parade with Dicky whistling and tipping his hat to the pretty girls on the sidewalk, Mark watched his every action with wheel and pedal avidly.
Back at the showrooms in West Street, Dicky flicked casually through a bunch of forms.
‘If you make a sale, you fill in one of these—and make sure you get the money.’ Then he pulled out his watch.
‘God, it’s late. I’ve got a desperately important lunch date,’ it was a little after eleven o’clock, ‘very important client.’ Then he dropped his voice, ‘Blonde, actually. Smasher!’ and he winked again. ‘See you later.’
‘But what about prices, and that sort of thing?’ Mark called desperately after him.
‘There is a pamphlet on my desk. Gives you all that stuff. Ta-ta!’ and Dicky disappeared through the back door.
Mark was circling the Cadillac uncertainly, utterly engrossed with the pamphlet, muttering aloud as he tried to master the operating instructions and identify the various component parts of the vehicle from the line-drawing and numberated list, when there was a tap on his arm.
‘Excuse me, young man, but are you the salesman?’ Before him stood an elderly couple, the man dressed in beautifully tailored dark cloth, a carnation in his button-hole and a cane in one hand.
‘We would like a drive in the motor vehicle – before we decide,’ said the elegant lady beside him, smiling at Mark in a motherly fashion through the light veil that draped down over her eyes from the brimmed hat. The hat was decorated with artificial flowers, and her hair below the brim was washed silver and neatly waved.
Mark felt waves of panic threaten to engulf him. He looked about desperately for an escape, but already the gentleman was handing his wife into the front seat of the Cadillac.
Mark closed the doors on the couple, and ducked behind the machine for one last brief perusal of the operating pamphlet. ‘Depress clutch pedal with left foot, engage gear lever up and left, depress accelerator pedal firmly with right foot, release clutch pedal,’ he muttered, stuffed the pamphlet into his pocket and hurried to the driver’s seat.
The gentleman sat forward in the centre of the back seat, both hands resting on the head of his cane, grave and attentive as a judge.
His wife beamed kindly at Mark. ‘How old are you, young man?’
‘Twenty, ma’am, almost twenty-one.’ Mark pressed the starter and the engine growled, so she had to raise her voice.
‘My,’ she nodded, ‘the same age as my own son.’
Mark gave her a pale and sickly grin, as he silently repeated the instructions in his mind.
‘—accelerate firmly.’ The engine beat rose to a deafening bellow, and Mark clung to the driving-wheel until the knuckles of both hands blanched with the pressure of his grip.
‘Do you live at home?’ asked his passenger.
‘No, ma’am,’ Mark answered and let out the clutch. The back wheels screeched like a wounded stallion, and a blue cloud blew out from behind as the entire machine seemed to rear upwards, and then hurl itself, slewing wildly, towards the street doors, leaving two long black rubber smears across the polished showroom floor.
Mark fought the wheel and the Cadillac swayed and skidded, lined up with the doors at the last possible moment and careered into the street, moving sideways like a crab. A team of horses drawing a passing coach shied out of the path of the roaring machine, and behind Mark the elderly gentleman managed to struggle up into a sitting position again and find his cane.
‘Good acceleration!’ Mark shouted above the roar of the engine.
‘Excellent,’ agreed his passenger, his eyes popping in the rear view mirror.
His wife adjusted her flowered hat that had come down over her eyes, and shook her head sadly.
‘You young boys! As soon as you leave home you starve yourselves. I could tell you are living on your own—you are as thin as—’
Mark took the intersection of Smith and Aliwal at the charge, but halfway through it a heavily laden lorry lumbered across their front and Mark spun the wheel nimbly. The Cadillac changed direction ninety degrees and ducked into Aliwal on two wheels.
‘– as a rake,’ said the lady, holding firmly to the door handle with one hand, and with the other to her hat. ‘You should come up to the house one Sunday for a decent meal.’ ‘Thank you, ma’am, that’s very kind.’
When Mark stopped the Cadillac against the pavement in front of the showrooms at last, his hand was shaking so feverishly that he had to make a second effort to earth the magneto. He could feel the damp of nervous sweat soaking through the jacket of his new suit, and he had not the strength to let himself out of the cab.
‘Incredible,’ said the elderly gentleman in the back seat. ‘What control, what mastery—I feel quite young again.’
‘It was very nice, dear,’ his wife agreed.
‘We’ll take her,’ her husband decided impulsively, and Mark could not believe he had heard right. He had made his first sale.
‘Wouldn’t it be nice if this young man would come to us as a chauffeur. He is such an excellent driver.’
‘No, ma’am,’ Mark nearly panicked again. ‘I couldn’t think of leaving my job here – thank you all the same.’
‘Jolly good show, old man.’ Dicky Lancome folded the two five-pound notes that were his half-share of Mark’s commission on the sale of the Cadillac. ‘I can see a great future ahead for you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Mark demurred modestly.
‘A great future,’ Dicky predicted sagely. ‘But just one thing, old man — that suit,’ he shuddered gently, ‘let me introduce you to my tailor, now that you can afford it. No offence, of course, but that looks like you are on your way to a fancy-dress ball.’
That evening after close of business Mark hurried back to the library for the first time in a week. The librarian welcomed him with a severe expression like a disapproving school ma’am.
‘I thought we had seen the last of you – that you had given up.’ .
‘Oh no, by no means,’ Mark assured her, and again she softened and handed him the key to the reading-room.
Mark had mapped out a family tree for the Courtneys in his notebook, for it was confusing. There was a brother to Sean, who was also a colonel at the end of the Boer War, but also a holder of the Victoria Cross for gallantry – a distinguished family indeed. This brother, Colonel Garrick Courtney, had gradually become a noted and then a famous author of military history and of biographies of other successful soldiers – beginning with his With Roberts to Pretoria and Buller, a Fighting Soldier and going on to Battle for the Somme and Kitchener. A Life. The books were all extensively and glowingly reviewed in the Lantern. The author had a single son, Michael Courtney. Prior to 1914, there were references to this son’s business activities as managing director of the Courtney Saw Mills in the Ladyburg district, and his skills as an athlete and horseman in many local meetings. Then 1917 – LADYBURG HERO DECORATED.
Captain Michael Courtney, son of Colonel Garrick
Courtney V.C., was awarded the Distinguished Flying
Cross for his exploits with the 21st R.F.C. Fighter Squadron in France. Captain Courtney has been credited with five ‘kills’ of German aircraft, and was described by his commanding officer as a ‘courageous and dedicated officer of high flying skills’. Hero, son of a hero.
Then again, within months, a front-page article outlined in a square of heavy black type.
It is with great regret that we report the death in action of CAPTAIN MICHAEL COURTNEY D.F.C. It is believed that Captain Courtney was shot down in flames behind enemy lines and that his executioner was none other than the notorious Baron von Richthofen of bloody reputation. The Ladyburg Lantern extends its deepest and sincerest condolences to his father and family. ‘A Rose plucked in full bloom.’
The activities of this branch of the family, its triumphs and tragedies, were all reported in detail – and it was the same with the Sean
Courtney family for the period from the turn of the century to May of 1910.
Sean Courtney’s marriage to Mrs Ruth Friedman in 1903 was described in loving detail, from the bride’s dress to the icing on the cake. ‘One of the flower girls was Miss Storm Friedman, aged four, who wore an exact replica of her mother’s dress. She makes a pretty new sister for Master Dirk Courtney.’ Again the mention of the name that truly interested Mark, and he noted it, for it was the last until May 1910.
Colonel Sean Courtney’s achievements in politics and business and the more serious fields of recreation filled page after page of subsequent editions; his election to the legislative council of Natal, and later to Prime Minister Louis Botha’s Cabinet; he became leader of the South Africa Party in Natal – and was a delegate to Whitehall in London, taking his entire family with him, to negotiate the terms of Union.
Sean Courtney’s business interests flourished and multiplied, new sawmills, new plantations, elevation to new offices, the chairman of the first Building Society in Southern Africa, director of Union Castle Shipping Lines, head of the Government Commission on Natural Resources. Chairman of the South African Turf Club, a one hundred and fifty foot luxury yacht built for him by Thesens of Knysna, Commodore of the Royal Natal Yacht Club – but no further mention of Dirk Courtney until May 1910.
The Lodyburg Lantern and Recorder’s front page of the edition of 12th May 1910.
The Ladyburg Lantern takes great pleasure in announcing that its entire paid up share capital has been acquired by Mr Dirk Courtney, who recently returned to Ladyburg after an absence of some years.
Mr Courtney tells us that the intervening years have been spent in travel, gaining both experience and capital. Clearly they were not wasted, for immediately on his arrival home, Mr Courtney purchased a controlling interest in the Ladyburg Farmers Bank for a reputed one million pounds sterling in cash.
Ladyburg and all its inhabitants are sure to benefit enormously by the vast energy, wealth and drive that Mr Dirk Courtney brings to the district.
‘I intend taking a close day-to-day interest in all aspects of my companies’ operations in Ladyburg,’ he said, when asked of his future plans. ‘Progress, Growth, Prosperity for All, are my watchwords.’
Mr Dirk Courtney, The Ladyburg Lantern salutes you and welcomes you as a notable ornament to our fair community.
After that, hardly an edition of The Lantern did not contain fawning eulogies of Mr Dirk Courtney – while mention of his father and family was reduced to an occasional small article in the inside pages.
To find news of Sean Courtney, Mark had to turn to the other Natal newspapers. He began with the Natal Mercury.
Ladyburg Mounted Rifles Sail for France General Courtney Takes his Men to War once more.
That jolted Mark, he could remember the sea mist on the bay and the ranks of khaki-clad figures climbing the gangways, each of them burdened by kitbag and rifle. The singing, and the cries of the women, paper streamers and flower petals twisting and falling in gay and gaudy clouds about them, and the sound of the fog horns reverberating mournfully from the bluff. It was so clear in his mind still. How soon he was to follow them, after exaggerating his age to a recruiting sergeant who did not inquire too closely.
Ladyburg Rifles Badly Mauled
Attack fails at Delville Wood
General Courtney: ‘I am proud of them.’
Mark felt sudden stinging tears burn his eyelids as he went slowly down the long casualty lists, pausing as he recognized a name – remembering, remembering – lost again in those terrible seas of mud and blood and suffering.
A hand touched his shoulder arousing him, and he straightened up from the reading table, bewildered at his sudden return to the present.
‘We are closing now, it’s after nine o’clock,’ said the young assistant librarian softly. ‘I’m afraid you will have to leave now.’ Then she peered more closely at him. ‘Are you all right? Have you been crying?’
‘No.’ Quickly Mark groped for his handkerchief. ‘It’s just the strain of reading.’
His landlady shouted down the stairs to him as he let himself into the hall.
‘I’ve got a letter for you.’
The letter looked as thick as a complete works of William Shakespeare, but when he opened it there were only twenty-two pages, beginning:
My dear Mark,
Of course I remember you so clearly, and I have thought about you often, wondering what ever had become of you – so your welcome letter came as a marvellous surprise –
Mark felt a guilty twinge at the unrestrained joy that her letter voiced.
I realize that we know so little about each other. You did not even know my name!! Well, it is Marion Littlejohn – silly name, isn’t it? I wish I could change it (that’s not a hint, silly!) and I was born in Ladyburg (I’m not going to tell you when! A lady never reveals her age!) My father was a farmer, but he sold his farm five years ago, and now he works as a foreman at the sugar mill.
The entire family history, Marion’s schooling, the names and estates of all her numerous relatives, Marion’s hopes, dreams, aspirations – ‘I’d love to travel, wouldn’t you? Paris, London’ – were laid out in daunting detail, much of it in parentheses and liberally punctuated with exclamation and question marks.
Isn’t it strange that our names are so similar — Mark and Marion? It does sound rather grand, doesn’t it?
Mark had stirrings now of alarm — it seemed he had called the whirlwind when he had merely whistled for a breeze – and yet there was an infectious gaiety and warmth that came through to him strongly, and he regretted that the girl’s features were so hazy in his mind. He realized that he might easily pass her in the street without recognizing her.
He replied that night, taking special care with his penmanship. He could not yet blatantly come to the true purpose of his letters, but hinted vaguely that he was considering writing a book, but that it would require much research in the Ladyburg archives, and that as yet he did not have either the time nor the capital to make the journey, and he concluded by wondering if she did not have a photograph of herself that he might have.
Her reply must have been written and posted the same day as his letter was received.
‘My dearest Mark—’ He had been promoted from ‘Dear Mark’.
There was a photograph accompanying the twenty-five pages of closely written text. It was stiffly posed, a young girl in party clothes with a fixed nervous smile on her face, staring into the camera as though it were the muzzle of a loaded howitzer. The focus was slightly misty, but it was good enough to remind him what she looked like, and Mark felt a huge swell of relief.
She was a little plump, but she had a sweet heart-shaped face with a wide friendly mouth and well-spaced intelligent eyes, an alert and lively look about her, and he knew already that she was educated and reasonably well read – and desperately eager to please.
On the back of the photograph he had received further promotion:
To darling Mark,
With much love,
Marion
Under her name were three neat crosses. The letter was bursting with unbounded admiration for his success as a Cadillac salesman, and with awe for his aspirations to be a writer.
She was anxious to be of help in his researches, he had only to let her know what information he needed. She herself had access to all the Governmental and Municipal archives (‘and I won’t charge you a search fee this time!’), her elder sister worked in the editorial office of the Ladyburg Lantern, and there was an excellent library in the Town Hall building where Marion was well known and where she loved to browse – please would he let her help?
One other thing, did he have a photograph of himself, she would love to have a reminder of him.
For half a crown Mark had a photograph taken of himself at a beachfront open-air studio, dressed in his new suit, and with a straw boater canted at a rakish angle over one eye and a daredevil grin on his face.
r /> My darling Mark,
How handsome you are!! I have shown all my friends and they are all quite envious.
She had some of the information he requested, and more would follow.
From Adams Booksellers in Smith Street, Mark purchased a bulky leather-bound notebook, three enormous sheets of cardboard, and a large-scale survey map of Natal and Zululand. These he pinned up on the walls of his room, where he could study them while lying in bed.
On one sheet he laid out the family trees of the Courtneys, the Pyes and the Petersens, all three names associated with the purchase of Andersland on the documents he had seen in Ladyburg Deeds Office.
On one other sheet he built up a pyramid of companies and holdings controlled by the Ladyburg Farmers Bank, and on another he pyramided in the same way the companies and properties of General Sean Courtney’s holding company, Natal Timber and Estates Ltd.
On the map he carefully shaded in the actual land holdings of the two groups, red for General Courtney and blue for those controlled by his son, Dirk Courtney Esquire.
It gave him new resolution and determination to continue his search when he carefully shaded with blue the long irregular shape of Andersland, with its convoluted boundary that followed the south bank of the river; and when he had done. so and wiped the crayon from his fingers, he was left with the bitter lees of anger in his mouth, a reaffirmation of his conviction that the old man would never have let it go – they would have had to kill him first.