Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur - Страница 145

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Shasa kept the curb on his own instincts, which were to ride and shine alone, and placed himself completely under the control of his captain, responding instantly to Blaine's calls to cut left or cover the fall or break back', drawing from Blaine the only thing which he lacked himself, experience. Now in these desperate minutes the bond of understanding and trust between then, which had taken so long to forge, was tested almost to breaking point, but in the end it held and halfway through the fourth chukka, Blaine grunted as he passed close to his young number two.

They've shot their bolt, Shasa. Let's see now if they can take what they've been handing out. Shasa took Blaine's next high cross shot at full stretch, standing in his stirrups to pull it down out of the air, and then to drive it far up field, drawing off the Aussie backs before sending it back inside in a lazy dropping parabola to fall under the nose of Blaine's racing pony. That was the turning-point, and in the end they rode in on lathered ponies and jumped down from the saddle to pound each other between the shoulder blades, laughing with a triumph touched by a shade of disbelief at their own achievement.

Triumph turned to gloom when they heard that they would meet the Argentinians in the second round.

David Abrahams ran a disappointing race in his first heat of the 400 metre dash, coming in fourth and missing the cut.

Mathilda Janine refused dinner and went up to bed early that night, but two days later she was bubbling and deliriously excited when David won his heat in the 200 metres and went through to the semi-finals.

Manfred De La Rey's first opponent was the Frenchman,

Maurice Artois, unranked in his division.

Fast as a mamba, brave as a ratel, Uncle Tromp whispered to Manfred at the gong.

Heidi Kramer was sitting beside Colonel Boldt in the fourth row, and she shivered with unexpected excitement as she watched Manfred leave his corner and come out into the centre. He moved like a cat.

Up to this time it had taken much effort for her to feign an interest in the sport. She had found the sounds and odours and sights associated with it all repellent, the stench of rancid sweat on canvas and leather, the animal grunting and the slogging of padded fists into flesh, the blood and sweat and flying spittle offended her fastidious nature. Now in this company of well-dressed and cultivated spectators, clad herself in fresh silk and lace, perfumed and serene, she found the contrast of violence and savagery before her frightening but at the same time stirring.

Manfred De La Rey, the quiet stern young man, humourless and grave, slightly gauche in unaccustomed clothing and ill at ease in sophisticated company, had been transformed into a magnificent wild beast, and the primeval ferocity he seemed to exude, the blaze of those yellow eyes under the black brows as he slashed the Frenchman's face into a distorted bleeding mask and then drove him down onto his knees in the centre of the sheet of spotless white canvas, excited her perversely so that she found she was clenching her thighs tightly together and her groin was hotly melting and dampening the expensive crepe-de-chine skirt under her.

That excitement persisted as she sat beside Manfred in the stalls of the state opera house that evening while Wagner's heroic Teutonic music filled the auditorium with thrilling sound. She moved slightly in her seat until her bare upper arm touched Manfred's. She felt him start, begin to pull away, then catch himself. The contact between them was gossamer-light but both of them were intensely aware of it.

Once again Colonel Brandt had placed the Mercedes at her disposal for the evening. The driver was waiting for them when they came down the front steps of the opera house.

As they settled into the back seat, she saw Manfred wince slightly.

What is it? she asked quickly.

It is nothing. She touched his shoulder with firm strong fingers. Here, does it hurt? A stiffness in the muscle, it will be all right tomorrow. Hans, take us to my apartment in the Hansa, she ordered the driver, and Manfred glanced at her, perturbed.

Mutti has passed down to me one of her special secrets. It is an embrocation made with wild ferns, and truly magical., It is not necessary, he protested.

My apartment is on the way back to the Olympic village.

It will not take long and Hans can drop you back home afterwards. She had been uncertain as to how she would get him alone without alarming him, but now he accepted her suggestion without further comment. He was silent for the rest of the drive and she could sense the tension in him, though she made no attempt to touch him again.

Manfred was thinking of Sarah, trying to form the image of her face in his mind but it was blurred, a sweet and insipid blur. He wanted to order Hans to drive directly back to the village, but he could not find the will to do so. He knew what they were doing was incorrect, to be alone with a young attractive woman, and he tried to convince himself that it was innocent, but then he remembered the touch of her arm against him and he stiffened.

It does hurt? she misinterpreted the movement.

Just a little, he whispered, and his voice caught.

It was always most difficult after he had fought. For many hours after a match he was strung up and nervously sensitive, and it was then that his body was likely to play Satan's tricks upon him. He could feel it happening now, and his mortification and guilt forced hot blood up into his face.

what would this pure clean German virgin think of him if she guessed at that obscene and wicked tumescence? He opened his mouth to tell her would not go with her, but she was leaning forward in the seat.

Thank you, Hans. Drop us here on the corner and you can wait down the block. She was out of the car and crossing the sidewalk, and he had no option but to follow her.

it was half dark in the entrance lobby of the building.

I'm sorry, Manfred, I am on the top floor and there is no elevator. The climb allowed him to regain control of himself, and she let him into a small one-roomed flat.

This is my palace, she smiled apologetically. Flats are so difficult to find in Berlin these days. She gestured to the bed. Sit there, Manfred. She slipped off the jacket she wore over her white blouse, and stood on tiptoe to hang it in the cupboard. Her breasts swung forward heavily as she lifted her pale smooth arms.

Manfred looked away. There was a shelf of books on one wall; he saw a set of Goethe's works and remembered how he had been his father's favourite author. Think of any thing, he told himself, anything but those big pointed breasts under the thin white cloth.

She had gone through to the little bathroom and he heard running water and the clink of glass. Then she came bac with a small green bottle in her hands and stood in front of him smiling.

You must take off your coat and your shirt, she said, and he could not reply. He had not thought of that.

That is not proper, Heidi. She laughed softly, a throaty little sound, and through the laughter she murmured, Don't be shy, Manfred. just think of me as a nurse. Gently she lifted the coat off his shoulders, helping him out of it. Her breasts swung forward again and almost brushed against his face before she stepped back and hung his coat over the back of the single chair and then, a few seconds later, folded his shirt on top of it. She had warmed the bottle in the basin and the lotion was instantly soothing on his skin, her fingers cunning and strong.

,Relax, she whispered. There, I can feel it. It's all hard and knotted. Relax, let the pain just wash away. Gently she drew his head forward. Lean against me, Manfred. Yes, like that., She was standing in front of him and she thrust her hips forward so that his forehead was pressed against her lower torso. Her belly was soft and warm and her voice hypnotic, he felt waves of pleasure spreading out from the contact of her kneading fingers.

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