Is thick with letters. The paper crackled as he opened it and he

recognized Duff's back sloping hand. The first the worst, the second

the same. I'm not going through with it. You're the best man so make my

excuses to all the nice people. I'll be back when the dust has settled

a little.

Sean sat down in one of the armchairs, he read through it twice more-

Then he exploded. Damn you, Charleywood, "make my excuses". You craven

bastard. Walk out and leave me to sweep up the mess. He rushed across

the room with his dressing-gown flapping furiously round his legs.

You'll make your own damned excuses, even if I have to drag you back on

the end of a rope. Sean ran down the back stairs. Mbejane was in the

stable yard talking to three of the grooms.

Where is Nkosi Duff? Sean roared.

They stared at him blankly.

Where is he? Sean's beard bristled. The baas took a horse and went for

a ride, answered one of the grooms nervously.

`When? bellowed Sean. In the night, perhaps seven, eight hours ago. He

should be back soon. Sean stared at the groom, breathing heavily. Which

way did he go? Baas, he did not say.

Eight hours ago, he could be fifty miles away by now.

Sean turned and went back to his room. He threw himself on the bed and

poured another cup of coffee. This is going to break her up badly -'He

Imagined the tears and the chaos of undisciplined grief. Oh, hell, damn

you to hell, Charleywood! He sipped the coffee and thought about going

as well, taking a horse and getting as far away as possible. It's no

mess of my making, I want no part of it. He finished the coffee and

started dressing. He looked in the mirror to comb his hair and saw

Candy standing alone in the chapel, waiting while the silence turned to

murmuring and then to laughter. Charleywood, you pig Sean scowled. I

can't let her there, it'll be bad enough without that. I'll have to

tell her. He picked up his watch from the dressing-table, it was past

nine. Damn you, Charleywood. He went down the passage and stopped

outside Candy's door. He could hear women's voices inside and he

knocked before he went in. There were two of Candy's friends and the

coloured girl Martha. They stared at him. Where's Candy? In the

bedroom, but you mustn't go in. It's bad luck. It's the worst bloody

luck in the world, agreed Sean.

He knocked on the bedroom door.

Who is it? Sean. You can't come in what do you want? Are you decent?

Yes, but you mustn't come in. He opened the door and looked in on a

confusion of squealing females. Get out of here, , he said harshly, I

have to speak to Candy alone. They fled and Sean closed the door behind

them. Candy was in a dressing-gown. Her face was quick with

anticipation; her hair was pulled back and hung shiny and soft.

She was beautiful, Sean realized. He looked at the frothy pile of her

wedding-dress on the bed. Candy, bad news, I'm afraid. Can you take

It! He spoke almost roughly, hating it, hating every second of it.

He saw the bloom on her face wither until her expression was dead, blank

and dead as a statue. He's gone, said Sean. He's run out on you. Candy

picked up a brush from her dressing-table and started stroking it

listlessly through her hair. It was very quiet in the room. I'm sorry,

Candy. She nodded without looking at him; instead she was looking down

the lonely corridor of the future. It was worse than tears would have

been, that silent acceptance.

Sean scratched the side of his nose, hating it. I'm sorry, I wish I

could do something about it He turned to the door. Sean, thank you for

coming and telling me There was no emotion in her voice; like her face