saddle of Impala done over a slow fire and served with Chilli sauce?" He grinned and rolled his eyes. "It's marvellous!"
"How about medical supplies?" Fennel asked.
"In the Land Rover . . . complete medical chest. I took a safari first-aid course a while ago. I can handle anything from a snake bite to a broken leg."
"Looks like you've taken care of it all." Fennel lit a cigarette and let smoke drift down his nostrils. "Then all we have to take is our own personal kit?"
"That's it . . . we travel light . . . just a change."
"I've got my tool bag." Fennel rested his fat back against the Land Rover. "It's heavy, but I can't do without it."
"Well, so long as you can haul it."
Fennel cocked his head on one side.
"We drive, don't we?"
"We might have to walk some of the way. Even with this winch the road up to Kahlenberg's place could sink us and if it does, we walk."
"How about taking the nigger along?"
"Look, friend, drop that." Ken's face had hardened. "We don't talk about niggers here. We talk about natives. Bantus or nonEuropeans but not niggers."
"Who the hell cares?"
"I do, and if we're going to get along, you will care too." Fennel hesitated then shrugged.
"Okay, okay, so what? What's wrong with taking the native, the Bantu, the non-European bastard along with us to carry the goddamn bag?"
Ken regarded him, his dislike plain.
"No. He could talk his head off when he gets back. I've a friend of mine who's joining us at our camp at Mainville. He worked with me when I was on a game reserve. He's coming with us. He is a Kikuyu and a marvellous tracker. Without him, we would never get there. He's out at Kahlenberg's estate now finding a way through the guards and let me tell you there are around three hundred Zulus guarding the estate, but I'll bet when we meet at Mainville, he'll have found a way through them, but he doesn't carry anyone's stuff but his own. Just get that into your skull."
Fennel squinted at him through his cigarette smoke.
"What is he . . . black?"
"He is a Kikuyu . . . that makes him coloured."
"A friend?"
"One of my best friends." Ken stared hard at Fennel. "If that's so difficult for you to believe let me tell you the Bantus out here are damn good friends when you get to know them and damn good people."
Fennel shrugged.
"This is your country . . . not mine. Suppose we go back to the hotel? This goddamn rain is giving me a thirst."
"You go on. I've got to settle up for all this stuff and get it loaded. Suppose we all have dinner together? There's a good restaurant next to the hotel. We can iron out anything that needs ironing out. We could get off tomorrow."
"Okay . . . see you," and Fennel left the garage and headed for the hotel.
Ken watched him go, frowning. Then shrugging, he moved over to where Sam Jefferson was working on the Pontiac.
They all met at the Checkmate restaurant which is part of the Rand International Hotel a little after 20.30 hrs. As was her privilege, Gaye was the last to arrive, wearing a lemon-coloured cotton dress and making every male eye in the restaurant stare at her with that hungry look males have for really beautiful women.
Fennel eyed her as she slid into her chair and felt sweat break out down his fat back. He had known many women in his life, but none to compare with her. He felt a white hot surge of desire go through him and it so shook him that he purposely dropped his serviette so he could bend, grope for it while he forced the desire out of his face.
"Well, what are we going to eat?" Garry asked.
They were all hungry and chose sea food on the broche and breaded veal with french fry.
"How's it been going?" Garry asked Ken. He was aware of Fennel's tenseness and glanced at his flushed face, then looked away.
"All under control. We have everything organized now. We could leave tomorrow if that suits you two."
"Why not?" Garry looked at Gaye for confirmation and she nodded.
"The sooner we're off, the easier
"How about medical supplies?" Fennel asked.
"In the Land Rover . . . complete medical chest. I took a safari first-aid course a while ago. I can handle anything from a snake bite to a broken leg."
"Looks like you've taken care of it all." Fennel lit a cigarette and let smoke drift down his nostrils. "Then all we have to take is our own personal kit?"
"That's it . . . we travel light . . . just a change."
"I've got my tool bag." Fennel rested his fat back against the Land Rover. "It's heavy, but I can't do without it."
"Well, so long as you can haul it."
Fennel cocked his head on one side.
"We drive, don't we?"
"We might have to walk some of the way. Even with this winch the road up to Kahlenberg's place could sink us and if it does, we walk."
"How about taking the nigger along?"
"Look, friend, drop that." Ken's face had hardened. "We don't talk about niggers here. We talk about natives. Bantus or nonEuropeans but not niggers."
"Who the hell cares?"
"I do, and if we're going to get along, you will care too." Fennel hesitated then shrugged.
"Okay, okay, so what? What's wrong with taking the native, the Bantu, the non-European bastard along with us to carry the goddamn bag?"
Ken regarded him, his dislike plain.
"No. He could talk his head off when he gets back. I've a friend of mine who's joining us at our camp at Mainville. He worked with me when I was on a game reserve. He's coming with us. He is a Kikuyu and a marvellous tracker. Without him, we would never get there. He's out at Kahlenberg's estate now finding a way through the guards and let me tell you there are around three hundred Zulus guarding the estate, but I'll bet when we meet at Mainville, he'll have found a way through them, but he doesn't carry anyone's stuff but his own. Just get that into your skull."
Fennel squinted at him through his cigarette smoke.
"What is he . . . black?"
"He is a Kikuyu . . . that makes him coloured."
"A friend?"
"One of my best friends." Ken stared hard at Fennel. "If that's so difficult for you to believe let me tell you the Bantus out here are damn good friends when you get to know them and damn good people."
Fennel shrugged.
"This is your country . . . not mine. Suppose we go back to the hotel? This goddamn rain is giving me a thirst."
"You go on. I've got to settle up for all this stuff and get it loaded. Suppose we all have dinner together? There's a good restaurant next to the hotel. We can iron out anything that needs ironing out. We could get off tomorrow."
"Okay . . . see you," and Fennel left the garage and headed for the hotel.
Ken watched him go, frowning. Then shrugging, he moved over to where Sam Jefferson was working on the Pontiac.
They all met at the Checkmate restaurant which is part of the Rand International Hotel a little after 20.30 hrs. As was her privilege, Gaye was the last to arrive, wearing a lemon-coloured cotton dress and making every male eye in the restaurant stare at her with that hungry look males have for really beautiful women.
Fennel eyed her as she slid into her chair and felt sweat break out down his fat back. He had known many women in his life, but none to compare with her. He felt a white hot surge of desire go through him and it so shook him that he purposely dropped his serviette so he could bend, grope for it while he forced the desire out of his face.
"Well, what are we going to eat?" Garry asked.
They were all hungry and chose sea food on the broche and breaded veal with french fry.
"How's it been going?" Garry asked Ken. He was aware of Fennel's tenseness and glanced at his flushed face, then looked away.
"All under control. We have everything organized now. We could leave tomorrow if that suits you two."
"Why not?" Garry looked at Gaye for confirmation and she nodded.
"The sooner we're off, the easier
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