both sensitive about being with other people, and this way they could
avoid it.
The Wild Life article was almost complete and ready for postin& when a
letter arrived from Bobby Dugan in New York. The editor of Cosmopolitan
magazine had chanced upon one of the few copies of A Place of Our Own in
circulation. She had liked it, and the magazine was considering
serialization of the book, possibly linked with a feature'article on
Debra. Bobby wanted Debra to let him have a selection of photographs of
herself, and four thousand words of autobiographical notes.
The photographs were there, ready to go to Wild Life, and Debra ran
through the four thousand words in three hours with David making
suggestions, some helpful and some bawdy.
They sent off the tape and pictures in the same post as the article to
Wild Life. For nearly a month they heard nothing more about it and then
something happened to drive it from their minds.
They were in the small thatch and daub hide beside the main pool,
sitting quietly and companionably during a lull in the evening activity.
David had his camera tripod set up in one of the viewing windows and
Debra's reflector was raised above the roof of the hide, daubed with
camouflage paint and operated by a handle above her head.
The water was still and black, except where a surface feeding bream was
rising near the far reed banks. A flock of laughing doves was lining up
with a chattering troop of spotted guinea fowl at the water's edge,
sipping water and then pointing their beaks to the sky as they let it
run down their throats.
Suddenly David took her wrist as a cautionary signal, and by the
intensity of his grip she knew that he had seen something unusual and
she leaned close against him so that she could hear his whispered
descriptions, and with her right hand she switched on the recorder and
then reached up to aim the reflector.
A herd of the rare and shy nyala antelope were approaching the drinking
place timidly, clinging until the last possible moment to the security
of the forest.
Their ears were spread, and their nostrils quivered and sucked at the
air, huge dark eyes glowing like lamps in the gloom.
There were nine hornless females, delicate chestnut in colour, striped
with white, dainty-stepping and suspicious, as they followed the two
herd bulls. These were so dissimilar from their females as though to
belong to a different species. Purplish black, and shaggy with a rough
mane extending from between the ears to the crupper. Their horns were
thick and cork screwed, tipped with cream, and between their eyes was a
vivid white chevron marking.
Advancing only a step at a time, and then pausing to stare with the
limitless patience of the wild, searching for a hint of danger, they
came slowly down the bank.
They passed the hide so closely that David was afraid to press the
trigger of his camera lest the click of the shutter frighten them away.
He and Debra sat frozen as they reached the water; Debra smiled happily
as she picked up the soft snort with which the -lead bull blew the
surface before drinkin& and the liquid slurping with which he drew his
