collected dirty words and stories-even made some up; Ferguson, the boy whose parents were never at home and who timorously insisted he always came along for the ride. None of them bad boys-and what fun they had had.
The Albert Club had looked over its half-moon spectacles as they each made their entrance, rustled an air- mail copy of The Times, and wished to God that old Brigadier Pinkie Thomas had not faded away. The new secretary, an upstart who had never seen action, was allowing the tone to go to pieces in a damnable fashion. Once the black ball had dealt summarily with counter-jumpers, Jews and Nationalist Party wallahs-now, alas, there were increasingly few men of honour left to do their duty at membership meetings. The whole world was going to hell- look at what had happened to the Seaforths, and to the Camerons. And that was in the UK.
For their part, the four new members had tried very hard to meet the exacting standards which still permeated the vast, panelled rooms. They learnt to speak to the sashed Indian waiters with due courtesy, as if to a fellow countryman. They cheerfully endured campaigns which had left thousands staining the map red where it was losing its colour. They even learned a compassion for the fierce old bachelors who had lived in an officers’ mess all their lives and wished to die in one; there was an almost irresistible attraction in such firm concepts of good, in articulate English spoken slowly round a sip of Cape brandy, in killers who had the innocence of children.
In the end, though, they had moved to the far extreme of the long bar to where their charcoal-suited generation pompously discussed share prices and the effects of cholesterol on the cardiac tissues. This was less of a strain but incredibly boring. Especially when you knew the form of every hobby horse in every race to closing time.
In short, the adult world proved a grievous disappointment and their regression to covert childhood was natural enough. It began with a secret wink that Trenshaw had meant for his fellow councillor Da Silva but which they had all returned. And secret signs are the very foundation of gangs.
Soon the four of them were happier than they had been for years. If their excesses caused damage, their wealth could provide compensation and buy silence. Nothing they did, even with claymores that bizarre night in the billiard room, could be regarded by adults as anything but childish. Best of all, they learned that rumours of their antics-they had only forgotten themselves that once at the club-were earning them reputations formerly the prerogative of devil-may-care subalterns.
Then something happened.
Trenshaw expanded Protea Electronics and went to Japan to arrange a hard-bargained contract for transistors. He spent many long days on factory floors and in board rooms. And yet all he told the others about on his return were the nights. The use of sex as a means of persuasion by the lesser Japanese exporter beggared the imagination. When it was used competitively, very little else was left intact.
Trenshaw was a changed man-and so, vicariously, were his companions. The gang had started to grow up again. They began to titillate each other with fantasies about their respective secretaries. War-time issues of Lilliput and Men Only were discovered in their garages and laughingly passed between them. A Playboy magazine somehow evaded the Customs and postal authorities to go the rounds, despite the risk of a fine or imprisonment for possession. Widows and divorcees soon became the brunt of many a subliminal joke.
But these were grown men, not teenagers still curious and a little afraid. They all had wives. They had all bedded a woman calculated to do wonders for them socially. That she had proved disappointing in other respects had, up till then, been part of the price.
A price, that was it. These were cautious men, these city councillors, an affair with all its unpredictable and sordid risks was unthinkable. A straightforward business arrangement was not, when you came to think about it.
Now Durban was a port, an acknowledged place for trade and barter, and an obvious place to begin. Yet, in the final analysis, only a fool would walk in off the street to strike a deal with a stranger. You had to know your woman first. You needed at least one satisfied customer, and you needed to trust him.
Trenshaw met Jackson on what was to have been their final visit. The others were out on the verandah of the Edward, talking themselves into a self-righteous Puritanism as they watched the night’s bikini girls return their ogles with full-bodied contempt. Jackson had mistaken Trenshaw for the manager-after all, he was in his best suit. And by the time Trenshaw had convinced him of his mistake, they had reached the bar. Jackson had insisted on making his apology a large one and Trenshaw, who was feeling low, accepted it. Then he insisted on negating Jackson’s gesture by buying him a double, too. Jackson said he would have to get it down rather quickly as he was off to a party in a nearby block of flats. It was plain he was afraid he might miss something. Trenshaw was intrigued.
His clumsy probing amused Jackson. Yes, there were going to be girls. Young girls. He did not know their names-names were not ever used at his sort of parties. It was just going to be all clean dirty fun. He was sorry he could not invite Trenshaw to join him. Very sorry, indeed. But you had to be so very careful.
Trenshaw was sorry, too, when he returned to the others and told them what had happened. He had no need to embellish what he had learned. They all recognised the irony that for once their role of civic dignitary would not be voiced as proof of their integrity. It would sound very strange in the ears of a man like Jackson and not worth the risk. He could take it as a measure of what they had at stake-he could also see their position as posing a danger for everyone concerned.
But he had accepted Trenshaw’s business card and had made a promise to pop in on him any time he was in Trekkersburg.
Understandably the corporate life of the frolicsome four had gone into a decline on their return home. Sensing something, their wives resorted to a measure of dutiful abandon which ill became their years. This was only embarrassing and thankfully short-lived. Three secretaries were replaced by mature women, a fourth resigned independently in enormous shame to marry at the mouth of a twelve-bore. It was a bad time.
And then one night Trenshaw had appeared at the long bar in the Albert with a curious smile on his face. Jackson had been to see him. Jackson was in town for the one thing that would bring him all those miles from Durban. It had to be special.
That was why he had telephoned them to meet-they were going to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Trenshaw had already been to the hall porter to sign Jackson on as a visitor. He would come right through the minute he arrived. They chose a remote corner, creaked down into their cane chairs, and waited.
Jackson never arrived.
He telephoned next day and apologised effusively to Trenshaw. Things had got a little out of hand. It had been too incredible for words and only ten Rand, for God’s sake. What had been most impressive, however, were the safeguards. To be quite frank with Trenshaw, sixty minutes was all you were allowed but it left him so-well, he had not been able to face the idea of booze-up on top of it.
Trenshaw was adamant: Jackson had to see him when he called again on Trekkersburg, they would lunch together.
Which they did. And when the others gathered beneath the painting of General Buller, they did not need Jackson to tell them what an hour with Theresa le Roux entailed, music and all. Trenshaw spoke with the tongue of a fallen angel. At the end of it, he declared that Jackson had confessed to having made a check on his background. He had been given the address and an introduction. He was also permitted, after very careful consideration, to allow no more than three others to share his good fortune.
For nobody wanted to kill the golden goose.
But somebody had. And this was not so long after Jackson had dropped the sky on them all, as they played five-up round the Trekkersburg Country Club course, by airily stating he had films and tapes recording acts of unlawful intercourse with a person of another race. He produced a document to prove Theresa was Coloured. Finally, he advised his fellow golfers to use their influence as best they could to see certain contracts for the new Bantu township went to the list of firms he had had typed out.
As soon as they had seen the names, they knew that Jackson was a man of infinite resource. He could not only search for and find the corruptible, he could also foresee the outraged reaction of the incorruptible being coerced into awarding major contracts to the wrong people. All he asked was that the lesser jobs be passed to a specific group of the multitude of small companies competing for them. There was going to be such a squabble among them anyway, like urchins tossed a handful of pennies, that no one would take much notice of who were the victors. The total sum divided would not amount to much, but if it all went into a single pocket, the figures would move into the millions. The work itself could be sub-contracted out.
It was a masterpiece, providing the four elected members of the council could swing it the right way. Even if
