by Dick Francis
Danilo was standing by the rails, watching. He turned as the mounted horses walked away, caught sight of us, and came straight across.
‘Hi, Link. I’ve been looking out for you. How’s about a beer?’
I said, ‘Quentin,’ (not two hours: ten minutes) ‘this is Danilo Cavesey, Nerissa’s nephew. And Danilo, this is Quentin van Huren, whose sister-in-law, Portia van Huren, was Nerissa’s sister.’
‘Gee,’ Danilo said. His eyes widened and stayed wide, without blinking. He was more than ordinarily surprised.
‘Good heavens,’ van Huren exclaimed. ‘I didn’t even know she had a nephew.’
‘I kinda dropped out of her life when I was about six, I guess,’ Danilo said. ‘I only saw her again this summer, when I was over in England from the States.’
Van Huren said he had only twice met Nerissa’s husband, and never his brother, Danilo’s father. Danilo said he had never met Portia. The two of them sorted out the family ramifications to their own content and seemed to meet in understanding in a very short time.
‘Well, what do you know?’ Danilo said, evidently pleased to the roots. ‘Say, isn’t that just too much?’
When Vivi and Sally and Jonathan rejoined us after the race they chattered about it like birds, waving their arms about and lifting their voices in little whoops.
‘He’s a sort of cousin,’ said Sally positively. ‘Isn’t it the greatest fun?’
Even Jonathan seemed to brighten up at the idea of receiving the sunshine kid into the family, and the two of them presently bore him away on their own. I saw him looking back over his shoulder with a glance for me that was a lot older than anything Jonathan or Sally could produce.
‘What a nice boy,’ Vivi said.
‘Nerissa is very fond of him,’ I agreed.
‘We must ask him over, while he is here, don’t you think, Quentin? Oh look, do you see who’s down there… Janet Frankenloots… haven’t seen her for ages. Oh, do excuse me, Link…” The great hat swooped off to meet the long-lost friend.
Van Huren was too depressingly right about Clifford Wenkins being at the races. To say that the Distribution Manager approached as directly as Danilo had done would be inaccurate: he made a crabwise deprecating semicircle, tripping over his feet, and ended damply by my side.
‘Er… Link, good to see you… er, would you be Mr van Huren? Pleased… er… to meet you, sir.’
He shook hands with van Huren, who from long social practice managed not to wipe his palm on his trousers afterwards.
‘Now. Er… Link. I’ve tried to reach you a couple of times, but you never seem, er… I mean… I haven’t called you when you are… er… in. So I thought… well, I mean, er… I would be certain to see you here.’
I waited without much patience. He pulled a batch of papers hastily out of an inside pocket.
‘Now, we want… that is to say, Worldic have arranged… er… since you did the press interviews, I mean… they want you to go to… let’s see… there’s a beauty competition to judge next Wednesday for Miss Jo’burg… and er… guest of honour at the Ladies’ Kinema Luncheon Club on Thursday… and on Friday a fund-raising charity reception given by… er… our sponsors for the premiere… er, that is Bow-Miouw Pet-food, of course… and er… well… Saturday’s… the official opening of er… the Modern Homes’ Exhibition… all good publicity… er…’
‘No,’ I said. And for hell’s sake don’t lose your temper here, I told myself severely.
‘Er,’ Wenkins said, seeing no danger signals. ‘We… er… that is, Worldic, do think… I mean… that you really ought to co-operate…’
‘Oh they do.’ I slowed my breathing deliberately. ‘Why do you think I won’t let Worldic pay my expenses? Why do you think I pay for everything myself?’
He was extremely unhappy. Worldic must have been putting on the pressure from one side, and now I was resisting him from the other. The beads sprang out on his forehead.
‘Yes, but…’ He swallowed. ‘Well… I expect… I mean… the various organisations might be prepared to offer… er… I mean… well, fees.’
I counted five. Squeezed my eyes shut and open. Said, when I was sure it would come out moderately, ‘Mr Wenkins, you can tell Worldic that I do not wish to accept any of those invitations. In fact, I will go only to the premiere itself and a simple reception before or after, as I said.’
‘But… We have told everybody that you will.’
‘You know that my agent particularly asked you, right at the beginning, not to fix anything at all.’
‘Yes, but Worldic say… I mean…’
Stuff Worldic, I thought violently. I said, ‘I’m not going to those things.’
‘But… you can’t… I mean…disappoint them all… not now… they will not go to your films, if you don’t turn up when… er… we’ve… er… well… promised you will.’
‘You will have to tell them that you committed me without asking me first.’
‘Worldic won’t like it…’
‘They won’t like it because it will hurt their own takings, if it hurts anything at all. But it’s their own fault. If they thought they could make me go to those functions by a species of blackmail, they were wrong.’
Clifford Wenkins was looking at me anxiously and van Huren with some curiosity, and I knew that despite my best intentions the anger was showing through.
I took pity on Clifford Wenkins and a grip on myself. ‘Tell Worldic I will not be in Johannesburg at all next week. Tell them that if they had had the common-sense to check with me first, I could have told them I am committed elsewhere, until the premiere.’
He swallowed again and looked even unhappier.
‘They said I must persuade you…’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘They might even fire me…’
‘Even for you, Mr Wenkins, I can’t do it. I won’t be here.’
He gave me a spanked-spaniel look which I didn’t find endearing, and when I said no more he turned disgustedly away and walked off, stuffing the papers roughly into the side pocket of his jacket.
Van Huren turned his handsome head and gave me an assessing look.
‘Why did you refuse him?’ he asked. No blame in his voice; simply interest.
I took a deep breath: got the rueful smile out, and stifled the irritation which Clifford Wenkins had raised like an allergic rash.
‘I never do those things… beauty contests and lunches and opening things.’
‘Yes. But why not?’
‘I haven’t the stamina.’
‘You’re big enough,’ he said.
I smiled and shook my head. It would have sounded pretentious to tell him that so-called ‘personal appearances’ left me feeling invaded, battered, and devoured, and that complimentary introductory speeches gave me nothing in return. The only compliment I truly appreciated was the money plonked down at the box-office.
‘Where are you off to, next week, then?’ he asked.
‘Africa is huge,’ I said, and he laughed.
We wandered back to look at the next batch of hopefuls in the parade ring, and identified number eight as Nerissa’s filly, Lebona.
‘She looks perfectly all right,’ van Huren commented.
‘She will start all right,’ I agreed. ‘And run well for three-quarters of the way. Then she’ll tire suddenly within a few strides and drop right out, and when she comes back her sides will be heaving and she’ll look exhausted.’
He was startled. ‘You sound as if you know all about it.’
‘Only guessing. I saw Chink run like that at Newmarket on Wednesday.’
‘But you think they are all running to the same pattern?’
‘The form book confirms it.’
‘What will you tell Nerissa, then?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know… Probably to change her trainer.’
In due course we returned to the stands and watched Lebona run as expected. Van Huren seeming in no haste to jettison me
for more stimulating company, and I well content to have him as a buffer state, the two of us, passing the cluster of tables and chairs under sun umbrellas, decided to sit down there and order refreshers.
For the first day since I had arrived, the sunshine had grown hot. No breeze stirred the fringes round the flowered umbrellas, and ladies in all directions were shedding their coats.
Van Huren, however, sighed when I commented on the good weather.
‘I like winter best,’ he said. ‘When it’s cold, dry, and sunny. The summers are wet, and far too hot, even up here on the highveld.’
‘One thinks of South Africa as always being hot.’
‘It is, of course. Once you get down near to sea level, it can be scorching even as early as this.’
The shadows of two men fell across the table, and we both looked up.
Two men I knew. Conrad: and Evan Pentelow.
I made introductions, and they pulled up chairs and joined us; Conrad his usual flamboyant self, scattering dear boys with abandon, and Evan, hair as unruly as ever, and eyes as hot.
Evan weighed straight in. ‘You won’t now refuse to turn up at the premiere of my Man in a Car, I hope.’
‘You sound very proprietary,’ I said mildly. ‘It isn’t altogether yours.’
‘My name will come first in the credits,’ he asserted aggressively.
‘Before mine?’
Posters of Evan’s films were apt to have Evan Pentelow in large letters at the top, followed by the name of the film, followed, in the last third of the space, by the actors’ names all squashed closely together. Piracy, it was, or little short.
Evan glared, and I guessed he had checked my contract for the film, and found, as I had done, that in the matter of billing my agent had made no mistakes.
‘Before the other director,’ he said grudgingly.
I supposed that was fair. Although he had directed less than a quarter, the shape of the finished film would be his idea.
Van Huren followed the sparring with amusement and attention.
‘So billing does matter as much as they say.’
‘It depends,’ I smiled, ‘on who is sticking knives into whose back.’
Evan had no sense of humour and was not amused. He began instead to talk about the film he was going to make next.
‘It’s an allegory… every human scene is balanced by a similar one involving elephants. They were supposed to be the good guys of the action, originally, but I’ve been learning a thing or two about elephants. Did you know they are more dangerous to man than any other animal in Africa? Did you know that nothing preys on them except ivory hunters, and as ivory hunting is banned in the Kruger Park, the elephants are in the middle of a population explosion? They are increasing by a thousand a year, which means that in ten years there will be no room for any other animals, and probably no trees in the park, as the elephants uproot them by the hundred.’
Evan, as usual on any subject which took his attention, was dogmatic and intense.
‘And do you know,’ he went on, ‘that elephants don’t like Volkswagens? Those small ones, I mean. Elephants seldom attack cars ordinarily, but they seem to make a bee-line for Volkswagens.’
Van Huren gave a disbelieving smile which naturally stirred Evan to further passion.
‘It’s true! I might even incorporate it in the film.’
‘Should be interesting,’ Conrad said with more than a touch of dryness. ‘Leaving a car around as bait at least makes a change from goats and tigers.’
Evan glanced at him sharply, but nodded. ‘We go down to the park on Wednesday.’
Van Huren turned to me with a look of regret.
‘What a pity you can’t go down there too, Link, next week. You want somewhere to go, and you’d have liked it there. The game reserves are about all that’s left of the old natural Africa, and the Kruger is big and open and still pretty wild. But I know the accommodation there is always booked up months ahead.’
I didn’t think Evan would have wanted me in the least, but to my surprise he slowly said, ‘Well, as it happens, we made reservations for Drix Goddart to be down there with us, but now he’s not coming for a week or two. We haven’t cancelled… there will be an empty bed, if you want to come.’
I looked at Conrad in amazement but found no clue in his raised eyebrows and sardonic mouth.
If it hadn’t been for Evan himself I would have leapt at it; but I supposed that even he was a great deal preferable to Clifford Wenkins’s programme. And if I didn’t go to the Kruger, which very much appealed to me, where else?
‘I’d like to,’ I said. ‘And thanks.’
Chapter Eight
Danilo fetched up at the sun-shade flanked by his two van Huren satellites.
Sally waited for no introductions to Conrad and Evan. She looked to see that she was not actually interrupting anyone in mid-sentence, and then spoke directly to her father.
‘We told Danilo you were taking Link down the gold mine on Monday, and he wants to know if he could go too.’
Danilo looked slightly embarrassed to have his request put so baldly, but after only a fraction’s hesitation van Huren said, ‘Why, of course, Danilo, if you would like to.’
‘I sure would,’ he said earnestly.
‘Gold mine?’ said Evan intently, pouncing on the words.
‘The family business,’ explained van Huren, and scattered introductions all round.
‘There could be great background material… a gold mine… something I could use one day.’ He looked expectantly at van Huren who was thus landed unfairly with the choice of being coerced or ungracious. He took it in his stride.
‘By all means join us on Monday, if you would care to.’
Evan gave him no chance to retract and included Conrad in the deal.
When they and the three young ones had all gone off to place their bets, I apologised to van Huren that his generosity should have been stretched.
He shook his head. ‘It will be all right. We seldom take large parties of visitors down the mine as it slows or stops production too much, but we can manage four of you without a break in work, if you are all sensible, as I am sure you will be.’
By the end of the afternoon the number had grown to five, as Roderick Hodge also turned up at Germiston, and having learnt of the expedition begged van Huren privately to be allowed to tag along with a view to a feature article in the Rand Daily Star.
I would have thought that gold mines were a stale topic in Johannesburg, but Roderick had his way.
I found him unexpectedly at my elbow while I was watching Tables Turned amble round the parade ring looking the prize colt he was not. Danilo and all the van Hurens had gone to take tea with the Chairman, a meal I preferred to do without, and Conrad and Evan were away in the distance being accosted by the ever perspiring Clifford.
Roderick touched me on the arm, and said tentatively, ‘Link?’
I turned. His fortyish face had grown new lines in the last few days and looked much too old for the length of his trendy hair and the boyish cut of his clothes.
‘How is Katya?’ I asked.
‘She’s fine. Remarkable, really.’
I said I was glad, and then asked if he often went to the races.
‘No… actually I came to see you. I tried to get you at the Iguana Rock but they said you were at the races…’
‘Did they indeed,’ I murmured.
‘Er…’ he explained. I have what you might call a source there. Keeps me informed, you see.’
I saw. All over the world there was a grey little army which tipped off the Press and got tipped in return: hotel porters, railway porters, hospital porters, and anyone within earshot of V.I.P. lounges at airports.
‘I live this side of the city, so I thought I might just as well drift along.’
‘A nice day,’ I said.
He looked up at the sky as if it would have been all one to him if it had been snowing.
‘I suppose so�
� Look, I got a call this morning from Joe… that’s the chap who was setting up the radio equipment at Randfontein House.’
‘I remember,’ I said.
‘He said he had taken that microphone to pieces, and there was nothing wrong with it. The outer wire of the coaxial cable was of course connected to the metal casing, though…’
‘Ah,’ I interrupted. ‘And what exactly is a coaxial cable?’
‘Don’t you know? It’s an electric cable made of two wires, but one wire goes up the centre like a core, and the other wire is circular, outside it. Television aerial cables are coaxial… you can see that by the ends, where you plug them into the sets.’
‘Oh yes,’ I agreed. ‘I see.’
‘Joe says he found the earth wire and the live wire had been fastened to the wrong terminals in the power plug of the recorder he was using for Katya. He says people are warned over and over again about the dangers of doing that, but they still do it. The current would go straight through the mike’s casing, and earth itself through whoever was holding it.’
I thought. ‘Wouldn’t the whole recorder have been live too?’
He blinked. ‘Yes. Joe says that inside it must have been. But no one would have got a shock from it. The casing of the recorder was plastic, the knobs were plastic, and Joe himself was wearing rubber soled shoes, which he says he always does anyway, as a precaution.’
‘But he must have used that recorder before,’ I protested.
‘He says not. He says he plugged it in because it was just standing there when something went wrong with his own. He didn’t know whose it was, and no one seems to have claimed it since.’
Arknold gave his jockey a leg up on to Tables Turned and the horses began to move out for the race.
I said, ‘It was all very bad luck.’
‘Joe thinks so,’ he agreed. There was however a shade of doubt in his voice and I looked at him enquiringly. ‘Well… it’s an appalling thing to say, but Joe wondered whether it could possibly have been a publicity stunt that went too far. He says that Clifford Wenkins was fussing round the electronic equipment after your first broadcast, and that you yourself set up the conference, and you did get the most fantastic press coverage for saving Katya…’