and they went into the mellow lighting and flower's and tinkling piano of the This room.
As the two women studied the menu, Daniel surreptitiously compared one with the other.
The obvious difference between them was size. Bonny was almost six feet tall. Kelly was six inches shorter, and they were different in many other ways, from the colour of their hair and eyes to their skin tones.
However, Daniel sensed that the differences extended far beyond physical characteristics.
Bonny was bold, direct and almost mannish-in her attitude to life.
Even from the earliest days of their relationship, Daniel had detected depths in her which he would rather leave unexplored. On the other hand Kelly Kinnear's manner seemed totally feminine, although he knew from her book that she was determined and fearless. It took a special kind of courage to live alone in the great forests with only the Bambuti for companions.
He also knew from the book that she was intelligent and gentle, that her concern was for the spiritual rather than the material values of life, but in the ballroom at BOSS House he had witnessed a graphic demonstration of her contradictory, aggressive and warlike spirit.
Both women were attractive in totally different ways. Bonny was brazen, she hit you in the eye at fifty paces, a copper-headed Valkyrie. Kelly was shaded with delicate nuances. She was softer and more discreet, with facets that changed when viewed from different angles. In repose her face was almost plain, her nose and mouth austere, but when she smiled her entire face softened.
As he had first noted from the photograph on the dust-jacket of her book, her eyes were her best feature. They were large and dark and expressive.
They could glow with a merry impish light, or burn with a passionate sincerity and intelligence. And something else that the photograph didn't show, Daniel grinned to himself. Her boobs were miniature works of art.
Kelly looked up from the menu and caught the direction of his eyes.
With a moue of disappointment, as though she had expected better of him, she moved the menu slightly to screen her bosom from his appraisal. When are you leaving for Ubomo? We are flying in tomorrow, Bonny answered for him, but Kelly did not acknowledge the interruption.
She directed the next question at Daniel. Have you been in since the coup? No, I was last there four years ago. That was when Victor Omeru was president, Kelly stated. Yes, I met Omeru. I liked him. What happened to him?
I heard that it was a heart attack? Kelly shrugged noncommittally, then changed the subject as the head- waiter came to take their orders.
May I really order a steak, or were you just being cruel? Have the porterhouse, Daniel invited magnanimously. When the food was in front of them Daniel returned to the subject. I heard that you and Omeru got on particularly well together. Who told you that? Kelly looked up sharply, and Daniel caught himself just in time. Tug Harrison was not a name to bandy about in front of this lady. I think I read it in an article somewhere he hedged. It was some time ago. I Oh yes. Kelly gave him release. Probably the Sunday Telegraph.
They did, a profile on Victor, on President Omeru and they gave me an honourable mention. That was it. What is happening in Ubomo? You promised to brief me. You said it was a microcosm of emerging Africa.
Explain that. Ubomo has got all the major problems common to every other African state: tribalism, population explosion, poverty, illiteracy. And now that President Omeru has gone and that swine Taffari has taken over, it's got itself another set of problems, such as one-party tyranny, a president for life, foreign exploitation and corruption and incipient civil war. Sounds like the perfect society.
Let's start with tribalism in Ubomo. Tell me about it. Tribalism, the single greatest curse of Africa! Kelly took a bite of underdone porterhouse and for a moment closed her eyes in ecstasy. Heaven, she whispered. Bliss! All right, tribalism in Ubomo. There are six tribes but only two really count for anything. The Uhali are the most numerous, almost three out of four million. Traditionally they are an agrarian and lakeside people, tillers of the soil and fishermen. They are gentle, industrious people. Yet for centuries they have been enslaved and in the thrall of the much smaller tribe, the Hita.
The Hita are fierce, aristocratic people closely related to the Masai and Samburu of Kenya and Tanzania. They are pastoralists and warriors.
They live with and for their cattle, and despise the rest of humanity, including us Europeans, I may add, as inferior animals. They are beautiful people, tall and willowy. Any Hita moram under six foot three is considered a midget. Their women arc magnificent with regal Nilotic faces; they would grace the catwalk at any Paris fashion show.
Yet they are a cruel, arrogant and brutal people. You are taking sides.
You are as much a tribalist as any of them, Kelly, Daniel accused.
Live long enough in Africa, as you know, Danny, and you come to be like them, a tribalist. Kelly shook her head ruefully. But in this case, it's justified. Before the British pulled out of Ubomo back in 1969, they held a Westminster-style election and, of course, the Uhali by weight of numbers, took power and Victor Omeru became president. He was a good president.
I'm not suggesting he was a saint, but he was as good as any other ruler in Africa, and a damned sight better than most. He tried to accommodate all his people, all the tribes, but the Hita were too proud and bloody-minded. As natural warriors and killers they gradually took over the army and, of course, the outcome was inevitable. Ephrem Taffari is now despot, tyrant and president for life. A million Hita totally dominate a majority of three million other tribes including the Uhali and my beloved little Bambuti. Tell me about your Bambuti, the 'people of the tall trees', Daniel invited, and she smiled with pleasure. Oh, Danny, you know the title of my book! Not only do I know it, but I've actually read it.
More than once. Three times in fact, the last time a week ago. He grinned at her. At the risk of sounding jejune, he teased her with her own phrase, I'm a fan. Yech! Bonny spoke for the first time in fifteen minutes. Excuse me while I throw up. Daniel had almost forgotten her existence, and now he reached out to take her freckled hand that lay on the table cloth beside him. Bonny pulled it away before he could touch it and placed it in her lap. I'd like some more wine, if anybody is interested, she pouted.
Daniel dutifully refilled her glass while Kelly concentrated tactfully on the last morsels of her steak.
At last Daniel broke the awkward silence. We were talking about the Bambuti. Tell me about them.