'I don't know anyone who does,' Ken returned. 'But you'd like Cape Town and go crazy about Durban.'
The three chatted together as the Land Rover ate up the miles. Garry noticed that Fennel was sullenly silent. He sat forward with his heavy bag of tools between his feet and his little eyes continually eyeing Gaye's back and the view he could get of the side of her face.
Every so often they came upon a series of beehive shaped huts where they could see the Bantus moving aimlessly about, and tiny boys guarding lean, depressed looking cattle and herds of goats.
Gaye asked a stream of questions which Ken answered. Fennel paid no attention to the chatter. All he could think of was to get Gaye alone. He was confident, once he did get her alone, she would submit to him. He had no interest in black people and he wished Ken would stop yakking.
It was after 14.00 hrs. when they drove into Mainville's town centre that consisted of an untidy square, shaded by magnificent flamboyant trees in full flower. To the left of the square was the post office. Next to it was a native store and across the way was a shop run by a Dutchman who seemed to sell everything from a pair of boots to a bottle of cough mixture. The Bantus, sitting under the trees, watched then curiously, and two or three of them waved languidly to Ken who waved back.
'You seem to be a known character around here,' Gaye said.
'Oh, sure. I get around. I like these guys and they remember me.' Ken drove around the square and headed for a large dilapidated garage. He drove straight in.
Two Bantus came over and shook hands with him as he left the Land Rover. Ken spoke to them in Afrikaans and they nodded, beaming.
'Okay, folks,' he said turning to the others. 'We can leave it all here and go to the hotel for lunch. I could eat a buffalo.'
'You mean they won't steal any of this stuff?' Fennel asked.
Ken regarded him, his mouth tightening.
'They're friends of mine . . . so they won't steal any of the stuff.'
Fennel climbed down from the Land Rover.
'Well, if you're sure about that.'
The other three walked out into the blinding sunshine. Since leaving Johannesburg the sun had come out and it was hot.
The hotel was plain but decent and Ken got a good welcome from a fat, sweating Indian who beamed at the other three.
'Seen Themba?' Ken asked as they walked into the big diningroom.
'Yes, Mr. Jones. He's around. Said he would be here in half an hour.'
They all had a good chicken curry lunch, washed down with beer. From their table, they could see across the square to the garage and Fennel kept looking suspiciously at the garage.
'They're not stealing anything! Ken said sharply. He had become exasperated by Fennel's suspicion. 'Can't you enjoy your lunch, for God's sake?
Fennel squinted at him.
The stuff in that tool bag is worth a lot of lolly,' he said. It's taken me years to collect. Some of those tools I've made myself. I'm making sure no goddamn blackie steals it.'
Seeing Ken's face flush with anger, Gaye broke in to ask about the hotel. The tension eased a little, then Ken got to his feet.
'I'll fix the bill, then go look for Themba.'
'Is he our guide?' Gaye asked.
'That's right.'
'And another black friend of his,' Fennel said with a sneer.
Ken hesitated, then walked away.
Garry said, 'Wouldn't it be an idea if you tried to be pleasant for a change? Right now, you act as if you have a boil on your ass.'
Fennel glowered at him.
'I act the way I like, and no one stops me!'
'Plenty of time to squabble when the job's done,' Gaye said quietly. 'Be nice, Mr. Fennel.'
