verandah wall.
'It is. It belongs to my company.' Boussier took a key ring from his
pocket and handed it to Bruce. 'Here are the keys.
The tank is full of gasoline.' 'Good,' said Bruce. 'Now if we can find
Madame Cartier. ' She was waiting in the hotel lounge and she stood up
as Bruce and Boussier came in.
'Are you ready, madame?'
'I await your pleasure,' she answered, and Bruce looked at her sharply.
just a trace of a twinkle in her dark blue eyes suggested that she was
aware of the double meaning. They walked out to the Ford and Bruce
opened the door for her.
'You are gracious, monsieur.' She thanked him and slid It into the seat.
Bruce went round to the driver's side and climbed in beside her.
'It's nearly dark,' he said.
'Turn right on to the Msapa junction road, there is one post there.'
Bruce drove out along the dirt road through the town until they came to
the last house before the causeway.
'Here,' said the girl and Bruce stopped the car. There were two men
there, both armed with sporting rifles. Bruce spoke to them. They had
seen no sign of Baluba, but they were both very nervous. Bruce made a
decision.
'I want you to go back to the hotel. The Baluba will have seen the train
arrive; they won't attack in force, we'll be safe tonight.
But they may try and cut a few throats if we leave you out here.' The
two half-breeds gathered together their belongings and set off towards
the centre of town, obviously with lighter hearts.
'Where are the others?' Bruce asked the girl.
'The next post is at the pumping station down by the river, there are
three men there.' Bruce followed her directions. Once or twice as
he drove he glanced surreptitiously at her. She sat in her corner of the
seat with her legs drawn up sideways under her. She sat very still,
Bruce noticed. I like a woman who doesn't fidget; it's soothing. Then
she smiled; this one isn't soothing. She is as disturbing as hell!
She turned suddenly and caught him looking again, but this time she
smiled.
'You are English, aren't you, Captain?'
'No, I am a Rhodesian,' Bruce answered.
'It's the same,' said the girl. 'You speak French so very badly that you
had to be English.' Bruce laughed. 'Perhaps your English is better than
my French,' he challenged her.
'it couldn't be much worse,' she answered him in his own language.
'You are different when you laugh, not so grim, not so heroic. Take the
next road to your right.' Bruce turned the Ford down towards the
harbour.
'You are very frank,' he said. 'Also your English is excellent.'
'Do you smoke?' she asked, and when he nodded she lit two cigarettes and
passed one to him.
'You are also very young to smoke, and very young to be married.'
She stopped smiling and swung her legs off the seat.
