her to say goodbye to her mother. He waited in the Red Lion pub across
the road, and he smelt of Theakston's Old Peculier when she climbed back
into the Range Rover beside him. It was a Pleasant, yeasty aroma, and
she felt so much at ease in his company that she lay back in the seat
and fell asleep.
His London house was in Knightsbridge, but despite the fashionable
address it was much less grand than Quenton Hall, and she felt IF more
at home there, even if it was only for two days.
During that time she saw little of Nicholas, for he was busy with all
the last-minute arrangements, which included a number of visits to
government offices in Whitehall. He returned with wads of letters -of
introduction to high officials and British Embassies and High
Commissions throughout East Africa.
'Ask any Englishman,' she smiled to herself 'There is no such thing as
upper-class privilege any longer, nor is there an old-boy network that
runs the country.'
While he was away, she went off with the shopping list he had given her.
Even walking the streets of the safest Capital city in the world she
found herself looking back over her shoulder, and ducking in and out of
ladies' rooms and tube stations to make certain that she was not being
followed.
'You are acting like a terrified child without its daddy,' she scolded
herself.
However, she felt a quite disproportionate sense of relief each evening
when she heard his key in the street door of the empty house where she
waited, and she had to control herself so as not to rush down the stairs
to welcome him.
On Saturday morning, when a taxi cab deposited them at the departures
level of Heathrow MNIJ Terminal Four, Nicholas surveyed their combined
luggage with approval. She had only a single soft canvas bag, no larger
than his, and her sling bag over her shoulder. His hunting rifle was
cased in travel-worn leather, with his initials embossed on the lid. A
hundred rounds of ammunition was packed in a separate brass'bound
magazine and he carried a leather briefcase that looked like a Victorian
antique.
'Travelling light is one of the great virtues. Lord save us from women
with mountains of luggage,5 he told her, refusing the services of a
porter and throwing it all on to a trolley, which he pushed himself.
She had to step out to keep up with him as he strode through the crowded
departures hall. Miraculously the throng opened before him. He tilted
the brim of his panama hat over one eye and grinned at the girl at the
check'in counter, so that she came over all girlish and flustered.
It was the same once they were aboard the aircraft.
The two stewardesses giggled at everything he said, plied him with
champagne and fussed over him outrageously, to the obvious irritation of
the other passengers, including Royan herself. But she ignored him and
them and settled back to enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of the reclining
first-class seat and her own miniature video screen. She tried to
concentrate on the screen images of Richard Gere, but found her
