Daphne's mind played like the sun over the words 'Queen Anne house', 'Kensington', 'Chelsea', 'Studio', 'Regent's Ca.n.a.l', 'Henley'. She had ears for nothing else.

'Now take another fellow,' continued the art master, 'I knew at college. He hadn't much talent, rather ultra-modern, but he wanted to be an artist and he wouldn't be anything else. What has he got for it? The last time I saw him he hadn't the price of a tube of paint. He was sharing a Soho attic with another artist - who's since become famous as a theatrical designer incidentally - name G.T. Marvell. Heard of him?'

'No,' Daphne said.

'Well, he's famous now.'

'Oh, I see.'

'But the artist he was living with in Soho never got anywhere. They used to part.i.tion the room with blankets and clothes hung on a piece of rope. That's the sort of thing you get in Soho. The native in the bush is better off than the artist in England.'

Daphne took home all such speeches of discouragement, and pondered them with delight: 'Soho', 'poet', 'attic', 'artist'.

In 1946, at last, she got a place on a boat. She went to say goodbye to Chakata. She sat with the ageing man on the stoep.

'Why did you never go back to England for a visit?' she said.

'There has always been too much to do on the farm,' he said. 'I could never leave it.' But his head inclined towards the room at the back of the stoep, where Mrs Chakata lay on her bed, the whisky and the revolver by her side. Daphne understood how Chakata, having made a mistake in marriage, could never have taken Mrs Chakata home to the English Pattersons, nor could he ever have left her in the Colony, even with friends, for he was a man of honour.

'I suppose,' said Daphne, 'the Pattersons will be thrilled to hear about our life out here.'

He looked worried. 'Remember,' he said, 'that Auntie Chakata is an invalid. At home they don't understand tropical conditions, and -'

'Oh, I shall explain about Auntie Chakata,' she said, meaning she would hush it up.

'I know you will,' he said admiringly.

She walked over to Makata's kraal to say goodbye. There was a new Makata; the old chief was dead. The new chief had been educated at the Mission, he wore navy blue shorts and a white shirt. Whereas old Makata used to speak of his tribe as 'the men', this one called them 'my people'. She had used to squat with old Makata on the ground outside his large rondavel. Now a grey army blanket was spread, on which two kitchen chairs were placed for the chief and his visitor. Daphne sat on her kitchen char and remembered how strongly old Makata used to smell; it was the unwashed native smell. Young Makata smelt of carbolic soap. 'My people will pray for you,' he said. He did not offer to send a man to escort her to the farm, as old Makata had always done.

She knew Old Tuys had followed her to the kraal, and she was aware that he was awaiting her return. Her arms were swinging freely, but she had a small revolver in the pocket of her shorts.

A mile from the farm Old Tuys walked openly over the veldt towards her. He was carrying a gun. Daphne doubled as casually as possible into the bush. It was spa.r.s.e at this point, and so she was easily visible. She picked her way through the low brushwood, moving towards the farm. She heard Old Tuys crackling through the dry wood behind her.

'Stop there,' she heard him say, 'or I shoot.'

Her hand was on her revolver, and it was her intention to wheel round and shoot before he could aim his gun. But as she turned she heard a shot from behind him and saw him fall. Daphne heard his a.s.sailant retreating in the bush behind him, and then on the veldt track the fading sound of bicycle wheels.

Old Tuys was still conscious. He had been hit in the base of the neck. Daphne looked down at him.

'I'll send them to fetch you,' she said.

The following week the police made half-hearted raids on the native dwellings in the district. No firearms were discovered. In any case, Daphne had called in at the police station, and told her old friend, Johnnie Ferreira, that if any man black or white was brought to trial for shooting Old Tuys, she would give evidence for the a.s.sailant.

'Old Tuys was after you, then?'

'He was. I had a revolver and I intended to use it. Only the other got him first.'

'Quite sure you didn't see who shot him?'

'No. Why?'

'Because you say "black or white". We have been more or less a.s.suming it was a native since we understand the man had a bicycle.'

'Black or white,' said Daphne, 'it makes no difference. He was only doing his duty.'

'Oh, I know,' said Johnnie, 'but we like to know the facts. If we got the man, you see, there are good grounds for having the charge against him dismissed, then we should bring Old Tuys on a charge when he comes out of hospital. It's about time Chakata was rid of that slug.'

'Well, you haven't got the man,' said Daphne, 'have you?'

'No,' he said. 'But if you have any ideas, come and let's know. Think it over.

Daphne parked the car at the foot of Donald Cloete's kopje and climbed slowly, stopping frequently to look at the wide land below, the little dorp, the winding main road, and faintly, the farm roofs in the distance. She took in the details like a camera, and as if for the first time, for soon she would be gone to England.

She sat on a stone. A lizard slid swiftly between her feet and disappeared among the gra.s.ses.

'Go'way. Go'way.'

The sound darted forth and vanished. Two or three times she had seen the go-away bird. It was quite colourless, insignificant. She rose and plodded on.

'D or S, Donald?'

'So-so. Come in.'

'Johnnie Ferreira wants to bring a charge against Old Tuys,' she said, 'for his attempt on me the other day.'

'I know,' he said, 'Johnnie's boys have been here.'

'What did you say?'

'I told them to try elsewhere.'

There were few white men in the Colony who rode bicycles, and only one in the district. Bicycles were used mostly by natives and a few schoolboys. All the children were away at school. Daphne's unknown protector was therefore either a pa.s.sing native or Donald doing his rounds. Moreover, there was the question of the gun. Few natives, if they owned firearms, would be likely to risk betraying this illicit fact. And few natives, however gallant, would risk the penalty for shooting a white man.

'Why not let them put Old Tuys on charge?' said Daphne.

'I don't prevent them,' he said. 'They can go ahead.'

'They need a witness,' she said. 'Otherwise it's his word against mine. Old Tuys would probably be acquitted on appeal.'

'Nothing doing,' he said. 'I don't like the law-courts.'

'Well, it was very nice of you, Donald,' she said. 'I'm grateful.'

'Then don't talk to me about law cases.'

'All right, I won't.'

'You see,' he said, 'how it is. Chakata wouldn't like the scandal. All the past might come out. You never know what might come out if they start questioning Old Tuys in the courts. Old Chakata wouldn't like it.'

'I think he knows what you did, Donald. He's very grateful.'

'He'd be more grateful if Old Tuys had been killed.'

'Did you catch Old Tuys on purpose or did you just happen to be there when Old Tuys came after me?' she inquired.

'Don't know what you mean. I was putting up the Foot and Mouth notices that day. I was busy. I've got more to do than keep Old Tuys in sight.'

'I'm going away next week,' she said, 'for about two years.'

'So I hear. You have no conception of the greenness of the fields. It rains quite often ... Go to see the Tower ... Don't return.

2.

Linda Patterson, aged twenty-eight, was highly discontented. Daphne could not see why. She herself adored Uncle Pooh-bah with his rheumatism and long woollen combies. Only his constant threats to sell the damp old house and go to live in some hotel alarmed Daphne at the same time as the idea gave hope to her cousin Linda. Linda's husband had been killed in a motor accident. She longed to be free to take a job in London.

'How could you leave that lovely climate and come to this dismal place?' Linda would say.

'But,' Daphne said happily, 'this at least is England.'

Not long after she arrived Aunt Sarah, who was eighty-two, said to Daphne, 'My dear, it isn't done.'

'What isn't done?'

Aunt Sarah sighed, 'You know very well what I mean. My nightdresses, dear, the rayon ones. There were three in my drawer, a green, a peach, and a pink. I only discovered this morning that they were gone. Now there is no one else in this house who could have taken them but you. Clara is above reproach, and besides, she can't climb the stars, how could she? Linda has lots of nighties left over from her trousseau, poor gel -'

'What are you saying?' said Daphne. 'What are you saying?'

Aunt Sarah took a pin out of her needle-box and p.r.i.c.ked Daphne on the arm. 'That's for stealing my nighties,' she said.

'She'll have to go to a home,' said Linda. 'We can't keep a daily woman for more than a week because of Aunt Sarah's accusing them of stealing.'

Pooh-bah said, 'D'you know, apart from that one thing she's quite normal, really. Wonderful for her age. If we could only somehow get her to realize how utterly foolish she is over that one thing -'

'She'll have to go to a home.'

Pooh-bah went out to look at the barometer and did not return.

'I don't mind, really,' said Daphne.

'Look at the work she causes,' said Linda. 'Look at the trouble!'

Next day, when Daphne was scrubbing the kitchen floor Aunt Sarah came and stood in a puddle before her. 'My Friar's Balsam,' she said. 'I left a full bottle in the bathroom, and it's gone.

'I know,' said Daphne, scrubbing away, 'I took it in a weak moment, but now I've put it back.'

'Very well,' said Aunt Sarah, trotting off and dragging the puddle with her. 'But don't do it again. Pilfering was always a great weakness in your mother, I recall.'

The winter temperature lasted well into April. Linda and Daphne had to sit by a one-bar electric fire in the library if they wanted to smoke; Pooh-bah's asthma was affected by cigarette smoke.

Linda was conducting a weekend liaison with a barrister in London, and with Daphne in the house she found it easier to disappear for longer weekends, and then, sometimes, a week. 'Daphne,' she would say on the phone, 'you don't mind holding the fort, honestly? This is so important to me.

Daphne went for walks with Uncle Pooh-bah. She had to take short steps, for he was slow. They walked on the well-lad paths to the river which Daphne always referred to as 'the Thames', which indeed, of course, it was.

'We went as far as the Thames,' Daphne would tell Linda on their return. They ventured no further than the local lock, a walk bordered with green meadows and wonderful sheep.

Relations of some friends in the Colony invited her to London. She accepted, then told Linda when she would be away.

'But,' said Linda, 'I shall be in London next week. It's important, you know. Someone's got to look after Pooh-bah and Aunt Sarah.'

'Oh, I see,' said Daphne.

Linda cheered up. 'Perhaps you could go the week after?'

'No, next week,' said Daphne patiently, 'that's when I'm going.'

'Someone's got to look after Pooh-bah and Aunt Sarah.'

'Oh, I see.

Linda started to cry. Daphne said, 'I'll write to my friends, and explain.' Linda dried her eyes and said, 'You can't imagine how deadly it is living in this awful house year after year with a couple of selfish old people and that helpless Clara.'

Next weekend, while Linda was away, several Patterson relations arrived. Molly, Rat, Mole and an infant called Pod. Mole was an unattached male cousin. Daphne expressed a desire to see Cambridge. He said it would be arranged. She said she would probably be in London soon. He said he hoped to see her there. Aunt Sarah stuck a pin in the baby's arm, whereupon Molly and Rat took Daphne aside and advised her to clear out of the house as soon as possible. 'It's unhealthy.'

'Oh,' said Daphne, 'but it's typically English.'

'Good gracious me!' said Rat.

At last she had her week in London with the relations of her friends in the Colony. Daphne had been told they were wealthy, and was surprised when the taxi drove her to a narrow house in a mean little side street which was otherwise lined with garages.

'Are you sure this is the right place?' she asked the driver.

'Twenty-five Champion Mews,' he said.

'That's right,' said Daphne. 'This must be it.'

Before Daphne had left the country Linda had remarked, 'A house in Champion Mews. They must be rather rich. How I would adore a mews house.' Daphne remembered this.

The interior of the house was very winning. She readjusted her ideas, and at dinner was able to say to her hostess, 'What an adorable mews house.

'Isn't it? We were so lucky - literally everyone was after it.'

Mrs Pridham was middle-aged, and smart. Mr Pridham was a plastic surgeon.