LITMIR.BIZ

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you. Going to build six more huts.’ Leon’s voice was not Pretoria-pure, but he separated his vowels and suppressed his aspirates in a wonderfully imitable – I imitated it all the time – Afrikaner fashion. Six maw uts.

      ‘Are you full right now?’

      ‘Wouldn’t be catching a plane if we were full, man. No, we have two days without clients, quite a relief, I tell you, it’s been non-stop. Going to Chip to talk a bit of business, couple of big meetings and so forth. Plenty clients coming Thursday, plenty-plenty clients. Party of bloody ten, bunch of people in England you’ve probably never heard of. Called Wilderness Express.’

      After a slightly stunned silence, I managed to say amiably enough, ‘Bit of a squeeze on game drives.’

      ‘Nott!’ said Leon, another great Afrikanerism. ‘Bought a new Land Cruiser. Came in from Jo’burg three weeks back, just cleared customs this week, slow bastards. My partner had to move in and kick plenty arse, get the damn thing free. But tell me, George, what is happening with the Tondo Pride?’

      Leon, I knew, had little time for George as a businessman; I suspect that even my poor father could have given him a few tips in that area. But Leon knew that when it came to wildlife, and especially when it came to lion, George was the man to ask. ‘George will know,’ people in the Valley said when a conversation about lion reached impasse, and George generally did. And lion were also business: if you showed your clients lion, they tended to go home happy.

      ‘They knocked down an old buff this morning,’ George said. He gave the location precisely. ‘I fancy that they will stay on the riverine strip now until it rains. I know it’s early, but the drought conditions have altered things. Game concentrations are higher round the river than I have ever seen this early in the season, and practically all the standing water has gone. I think the pride will stay where they are till the end of the season. The plain after the ebony grove due north of ours is currently their core area. Not that that helps you on the opposite bank.’

      ‘Well, you’d be surprised at what I have in mind, George. But tell me, have you heard any talk about the bloody road? I need information.’

      ‘That old story again?’

      ‘Shit, George, you never hear anything unless it’s a bloody bird. ‘It’s all started again, man: second strike of natural gas out in Western Province, want to build a road straight through the middle of the park to make the journey time to Chip down to six hours, open the area up. People from the Ministry of National Resources spent a day with the old man, Chief Mchindeni, talking about a four-lane highway.’

      ‘Are you sure?’ I asked, not a good question.

      ‘Jesus, of course I’m bloody sure, and I’m going in to Chip to get even more sure.’

      ‘That would be the end of the park,’ I said, naïvely stating the obvious. But I was suddenly dismayed: the end of the park, the end of my life in the bush.

      Leon shot me a brief look of contempt. ‘It would be the end of my bloody business, man,’ he said, Afrikaner-tough. ‘Bastards don’t bloody care. I’m going to shake a few trees down in Chip, I tell you. These bastards are going to get a fight.’ Git a faart.

      At this point, Helen joined us, boarding pass in hand, and Caroline also arrived, having shepherded her clients into the departure ‘lounge’. She placed her elbow on Leon’s shoulder, which immensely solid item was located at a convenient height for her. Leon was built on the principle of the cube, with a khaki baseball cap (marked ‘Impala Lodge’ and bearing a leaping impala logo, nicely made – ‘got ’em done in Jo’burg, man, none of the local rubbish’) perched on the top.

      ‘I have to go through now, they tell me,’ Helen said. ‘Perfectly dreadful. I feel like running away, coming back to stay with you for ever at Lion Camp. I don’t suppose you’d consider smuggling me back?’

      ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Any time.’ I kissed her cheek, not without affection, and said, not without truth, that it had been lovely having her. ‘Oh Helen, do you think you could be awfully kind and not actually mention to Joyce that we nearly missed the plane? She’ll be waiting for you at Chipembere Airport, you’ll be seeing her in an hour.’

      She smiled. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘And George. Thank you so much, it really was the most – most wonderful – oh dear –’ and there and then, this stately and self-possessed lady was overcome by a deluge of tears. She seized George in a bear hug, kissed him soundly and fled, sniffing, while George and I said more nice things, wonderful having you, come back any time, Auntie Joyce will miss you.

      ‘What have you been doing to that poor woman?’ Leon asked.

      ‘Oh, nothing really,’ George said. ‘Found lion for her this morning, that’s all.’

      ‘It wasn’t the showing that affected her,’ I said. ‘It was making her walk up and shake hands with them.’

      ‘Tell you what, let’s get back to them this afternoon in the vehicle,’ George said. ‘We’ll drive right into them. I think that should be possible in this terrain. Worth a try, don’t you think, Dan?’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Right into them?’ Caroline asked. ‘You don’t do that, do you, Leon?’

      ‘Listen, sweetie, what George does with lion and what I do with lion are two different things. I try to keep my clients alive. Don’t want them eaten by lion, or dying of bloody heart attacks.’ Art attacks. ‘You want to have a art attack, sweetie, you go driving with George.’

      ‘Well, you can if you like,’ George said vaguely. ‘Very welcome, any time, come now, come with us this afternoon, we’ve no clients today either, you know.’

      To my considerable surprise, Leon pounced avidly on this invitation. ‘What a bloody brilliant idea. Triffic, brilliant. Look, sweetie, why don’t you do that, go and look at George’s lion, find out where he is hiding them. Look round his camp, give me a full run-down of their operation. Have a good time. Look after her nicely, you guys, right, and don’t get her bloody eaten or I’ll come across that river with a bloody gun.’

      At this point the airport manager approached us. ‘Mr Schuyler, the plane is leaving now, all the passengers are on board.’

      ‘Christ, sorry, James, all right, I’m out of here.’ Out of year. He kissed Caroline on the lips, the bastard, said, ‘Goodbye, sweetie, don’t get bloody eaten,’ and was gone.

      ‘Are you sure this is all right?’ Caroline asked, suddenly a little taken aback by all these arrangements being made on her behalf. ‘It’s a nice idea, but I don’t want Leon to impose me on you, you know what he’s like. If it’s not really convenient just say – I was planning to spend the day doing the books, anyway, so I’m not being left high and dry or anything.’

      ‘Well, all we’ve really got planned today is a look at the lion,’ George said, ‘once I’ve made a phone call to the office. We’ve got to call in at Mukango on the way to use their phone. Look at lion, have a few beers, perhaps. No clients till tomorrow.’

      ‘George, aren’t we expecting a parcel today?’

      ‘Oh, so we are.’

      George and I walked over to the place where the luggage from the planes was unloaded. ‘George, they’re up to something,’ I said. ‘Caroline and bloody Leon. I don’t like it.’

      George looked benign and mildly surprised. ‘Sorry, Dan, I thought you rather liked her, I wouldn’t have invited her if …’

      ‘There’s a difference between fancying and liking, George. Not my type. No bloody parcel, of course. Another of Joyce’s cock-ups. Oh, well. Let’s go and take the bitch to the lions.’

      We walked back to Caroline. ‘Let’s go to Mukango, then,’ George said.

      ‘If we’ve got to go to Mukango, we won’t get back till

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