cling to him, and her body was weightless. He handled her like a doll and she offered no resistance. His strength seemed limitless - it made her feel helpless and vulnerable, but she was grateful for his patience. To hurry now would spoil it all. She wanted this to be something far beyond the frenzied groping and often painful thrusting that was all she had been offered by the three or four college lads she had allowed this far.
She learned quickly that he could tease as well as she could, and he let her float around him, light as the buoyant kelp in the gentle swell of the ocean while he stood foursquare and refused to make the final assault. In the end it was she who succumbed to impatience.
In contrast to the cool water that eddied around her, he was like a flaming brand buried deep in her body. She could not believe the hardness and the heat, and she cried aloud with incredible delight.
None of the others had been anything like this. From now on this was all that counted, this was what she had been searching for all along.
Still clinging together they waded ashore, and by now it was full morning. They bundled up their clothes and still naked she led him to the last shack in the row. While she searched for the key in her purse, he asked, 'Who does this belong to?' 'It's one of Daddy's hiding places. I only discovered it quite by chance and he doesn't know tlat I have a key.' She got the door open and led him into the single room.
'Towels,' she said, and opened one of the cupboards. They made a game out of drying each other, but the light-hearted mood changed quickly to serious intent, and she dragged him to the bunk against the wall.
'Where I come from the man does the asking,' he chuckled.
'You are an old-fashioned chauvinist prude,' she told him.
As she clambered up onto the bunk he saw that her bottom was still bright pink from the cold waters of the bay; he found that peculiarly endearing and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of tenderness towards her.
'You are so gentle,' she whispered. 'So strong and yet so gentle.' It was mid-morning before they felt hungry, and dressed only in one of her father's old fishing jerseys, Isabella raided the larder for their breakfast.
'How do you fancy smoked oysters and asparagus with your baked beans?' 'Won't your father miss you?' he asked as he opened the cans.
'Oh, Daddy is a push-over. He will believe anything I tell him. It's my grandmother we have to watch out for, but I've arranged with one of my girlfriends to cover for us.' 'Ah, so you knew where we were going to end up?' he asked.
'Of course.' She rolled her eyes at him. 'Didn't you?' They sat cross-legged on the bunk with the plates on their laps and Isabella tasted the mixture. 'It's ghastly,' she gave her opinion, 'if I wasn't starving I wouldn't touch it.' 'Of course, you will see your mother while you are in London?' he asked, and the loaded spoon stopped half-way to Isabella's mouth.
'How did you know I was going to London - and how did you know my mother was there?' 'I probably know more about your mother than you do,' Lothar told her, and she replaced the spoon on her plate and stared at him.
'For instance?' she challenged.
'Well, for instance, your mother is a rabid enemy of this country.
She is a member of the banned ANC and of the anti-apartheid group.
She associates regularly with members of the South African Communist Party. In London she runs a safe house for political refugees and escaped terrorists.' 'My mother?' Isabella shook her head.
'Your mother was deeply implicated in the plot to blow up the houses of parliament and assassinate most of the members of the House, including the prime minister - and your father and my father.' Isabella was still shaking her head, but he went on expressionlessly, watching her with those golden leopard eyes.
'She was directly responsible for the death of her own father, your grandfather, Colonel Blaine Malcomess. She was an accomplice of Moses Gama who is now serving a life sentence for terrorism and murder, and if she had not escaped she would probably be in jail with him.' 'No,' said Isabella softly. 'I don't believe it.' She was amazed and distressed by the change in him. Minutes before he had been so gentle, now he was hard and cruel, wounding her with words as he went on, 'For instance, did you know that your mother was Moses Gama's lover, and that she bore him a son? Your ?. i half-brother is an attractive coffee colour.' 'No!' Isabella recoiled, shaking her head in disbelief.
'How do you know all this?' 'From the signed confession of Moses Gama, the man himself. I can arrange for you to see a copy, but that is not really necessary.
You will almost certainly meet your bastard half-brother in London.
He is living there with your mother. His name is Benjamin Afrika.' Isabella jumped up and carried her plate to the kitchenette. She dumped the food into the garbage bin and without looking around, she asked, 'Why are you telling me all this?' 'So that you will know your duty.' 'I don't understand.' She still would not look at him.
'We believe your mother and her associates are planning some sort of violent action against this country. We are not sure what it is.
Any information on their activities would be invaluable.' Isabella turned slowly and stared at him. Her face was pale and stricken.
'You want me to spy on my own mother?' 'We simply would like to know the names of the people you meet in her company while you are in London.' She was not listening. She cut in on what he was saying.
'You planned this. You picked me out, not because you thought I was attractive or sweet or desirable. You deliberately set out to seduce me, just for this.' 'You are beautiful, not attractive. You are magnificent, not sweet,' he said.
'And you are a bastard, a ruthless heartless bastard.' He stood up and went to where his clothes hung behind the door.
'What are you going to do?' she demanded.
'Get dressed and go,' he told her.
