Team Mallard

By Nicola Shiplee and Joy Shiplee

Tony Mallard has now retired from his spectacular career as a racing driver, much to the delight of his long-suffering wife, Margaret. He now gives all his time to running his inherited engineering business and producing his own racing cars with great success. Meanwhile, his many children are growing up with all the traumas, heartaches, and successes that accompany the process, to become part of Team Mallard and racing drivers in their own right.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524663704

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© 2016 Joy Shiplee. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/28/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-6369-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-6370-4 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

To

Christopher and Susan

For the incalculable wealth

of happiness and experience

that bringing them up has brought me

CHAPTER 1

T ony Mallard glanced across to where his wife stood, in the heat of the South African sun, talking to some of his young drivers. Peter was leaning against her, his arm draped over her shoulder, ogling her. No wonder Tony thought, for she was wearing light jeans that in his opinion were a size too small, and he guessed they belonged to their daughter Amanda. The contour of her hip bones showed through them and he could clearly define the curve of her small firm buttocks down to her slim thighs. Her silk blouse was slacker, but he could still see, or perhaps imagine, the touch of her protuberant nipples that draped it over her breasts. He wanted to go up behind her and run his hands down over them, and over those hip bones to her flat abdomen and….. He excused himself from his group and went over to her.

‘Come on, we’re going back to the hotel.’

‘Oh are we?’ She looked up at him surprised, and turned back to the boy’s adoring eyes. ‘Sorry Peter, you’ll have to take me for that long cool drink some other time.’

As they left Tony circled his arm tightly round her waist drawing her close. ‘Ooh sexy!’ she teased.

‘Yes. I want you, badly. Come on.’ He pushed her into his recently restored, customised, E Type Jaguar, and shouted to his group. ‘See you in an hour.’ Then he paused to kiss her sensuously before driving off.

‘Tony really!’ She pushed him away; annoyed with him, for being so blatant when there were people watching them.

‘You shouldn’t look the way you do, especially in this heat. I could see those poor little bugger’s mouths watering.’

On reaching the hotel car park, he went round to open her door, and pulling her from the car, kissed her again. She clung to him till he released her, then followed him into the hotel. As he went to the desk for their key, she walked to the lift, conscious now of several eyes upon her.

In their room he began to undress and she took off her blouse. ‘I guessed you weren’t wearing a bra.’ As always, his eyes were drawn to her magnificent nipples.

‘It’s too hot to wear a bra.’

‘You mustn’t tease those youngsters you know.’

‘Why not?’ She continued to undress.

He stood contemplating her. She had changed so much since the children had grown up. She used to be so shy. ‘Because they’ll think you want them to make love to you.’ He threw down his shoes and took off his socks.

‘So?’

‘Do you?’

‘I think I might like a boy,’ she answered wistfully. Then he reached out and touched her, and she knew she was totally committed to him. Now, and always. Nothing had dampened their ardent boundless love. It had been tested to the full throughout the years of marriage and even before that. So now, when age had tempered a little his insatiable sexual demands, he could still send the singing joy spiralling through her body with just his touch, and beyond that was a world of rapture few lovers experienced.

An hour or so later, as Tony had promised, Margaret arrived back at the Kyalami race track in a change of clothing looking flushed and radiant. One of Tony’s drivers, observing her as she passed, whispered to Tony. ‘You lucky bastard. I hope I can manage as well when I’m your age.’

Tony laughed and his dark brown expressive eyes came alive, giving his lined rugged face an image of vibrant youthfulness. ‘What has age got to do with it?’

At that moment David, his eldest son, came up to him. ‘Well, what are we going to do with this car?’ he asked his father.

‘I’ll show you what we’re going to do with it. If no one can tell me what’s wrong with it, I’ll have to find out for myself.’ He held out his hand for David’s crash helmet, and pulled it on down over his face. ‘Christ Almighty!’ He exclaimed as he struggled with the chin strap until it was tight. ‘I feel like a bloody astronaut.’

‘You can’t kiss with a broken jaw,’ David laughed.

‘You can’t fuck with a broken pelvis, but we don’t wear suits of armour.’ He turned away to the waiting car amid guffaws of laughter from those around him; and Joe, his long time personal mechanic, fixed him into the latest and most exciting version of the Mallard sports cars.

The powerful engine throbbed into life as the mechanics pushed from behind, and the car was away with Tony at the wheel: back on the track again for the first time since his retirement from motor racing over ten years ago.

David watched him into the first corner, silently proud and just a little apprehensive; but the artistry was still there. Not the speed, but the same skill and precision that was part of David’s heritage.

A few minutes later Tony was cruising back alongside the pits to stop beside his son once again. ‘It seems all right to me.’

David shook his head sadly. ‘You need to take Crowsthorn at 140 at least.’

Tony sat calmly pondering the suggestion. In his day, even a race prepared sports car had never been driven into a fast corner at 140 miles an hour. ‘Okay, we’ll try again,’ he said at last.

‘Right!’ David banged on the bonnet to send the car away again, and then put a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘Be careful.’

He grinned up at his son. ‘That’s a bloody stupid thing to say.’

David looked across at his happy, laughing mother. ‘You know what I mean.’

Tony nodded solemnly and moved off. As his speed built, it was like soaring away up into the clouds. It lifted him out of himself. It was life as he remembered it, and made him feel twenty again as he resisted the impulse to touch the brakes on approaching the fastest corner on the circuit. With the revs still high and the needle bouncing on 150, he felt the car shudder as he braked hard and went down through the gears on the apex. It was hardly perceptible, but it was there, and it brought his concentration to a maximum as he held the racing line through the corner. It was then he became aware of the strain, both mental and physical and it reminded him that motor racing wasn’t easy. He knew from bitter past experience, things could, and frequently did, go wrong. It was then that one needed an agile mind with split second reactions, and super fit body strength.

After a few more laps to assess and confirm his diagnosis, he was back at the pits again, and when he stopped, he knew he had enjoyed it only because he didn’t have to do it all the time. ‘It’s transmission linkage.’ he said as his old friend and personal mechanic Joe, came to release him from the mechanism that anchored his artificial leg to the clutch pedal of the car. ‘We’ll have to check it thoroughly.’

David nodded confidently. He knew his father was almost certain to be right. For not only was he a vastly experienced mechanical engineer, but years of driving the worlds quickest and best racing cars, had given him a sixth sense for mechanical disturbances. David watched him walk back to where his mother stood and thought with pride how lucky he was to still have such a father. At aged over fifty, his mental agility was still well above average for his years; and although the tall straight body had thickened a little from the good living and lack of once necessary regular exercise, he was still a physically fit very attractive man.

As Tony approached Margaret, the stunned expression on her face prompted him to joyful laughter. ‘That was great, I enjoyed it - but I’ll not do it again unless I’m forced to.’

Margaret’s face relaxed. ‘Dear Holy Mother of God! I thought for one dreadful moment you were going to attempt the impossible yet again.’

‘No,’ he assured her still laughing. ‘I enjoy leaving all that to the youngsters now. You really didn’t think I would, did you?’

‘I don’t know. In your present mood I wouldn’t put anything past you.’

‘As a matter of fact….’ he began in the tone that suggested he was about to tell her something he knew she wouldn’t approve of, ‘David mentioned he would like to fly two of the cars up to Embakasi after the race tomorrow and have some fun. I even thought I might have a drive myself. I don’t think there will be much competition.’ He saw the disapproval on her face and added hastily. ‘We might even stop over in Nairobi and see a bit of Kenya.’

The thought interested her. East Africa was one of the few places in the world that did not have a Grand Prix racing circuit, so it was a place they had never visited.

‘Yes, that might be rather nice - if you promise to leave the racing to David.’

He capitulated smiling. ‘Alright. It was only a thought anyway.’

His willingness now to bow to her wishes was another aspect of his mellowing. There was a time when nothing would have stopped him doing exactly what he wanted. She smiled at him happily, but couldn’t help wondering; now that he had tasted it, would the lure of racing prove yet again, too much for him to ignore.

CHAPTER 2

T he big fawn Ridgeback stirred lazily before the blazing log fire and lifted his head. The deep throaty rumble said that he had picked out something unfamiliar from the noisy lullaby of the African night. He came awake listening, then dropped back to sleep. All was well. All to often when she had been alone in the bungalow, she had felt her hackles rise with the dog’s; cursing his sensitivity and her awareness of his efficiency; but this time her husband was with her, so she went back to her sewing.

He put down the news paper he was reading. ‘What am I going to do Kate?’

There was the look of a little boy lost in his eyes, in spite of his big hard sunburned frame. He had spent most of his life so far in the African bush. First with his father who had taught him all he knew of his inherited profession of white hunter, and then on his own account, building the business that had been handed down for generations, since the first early white settlers in Kenya. It was a business that was booming, for tourists were flocking to Kenya to see and take limited trophies of the fast disappearing game. Disappearing that is because of the indiscriminate poaching that was rife in the area. Perhaps tourist were as bad for Africa as the poachers in that respect, but they were part of her economy and his; until today, when the headlines in the newspaper confirmed the rumours he had been hearing all week in the White Hunter’s Club. The President had banned the shooting of all game in Kenya.

‘Don’t worry about it Tim. It will sort itself out,’ she answered him reassuringly, thinking it might be nice to have a husband at home for a change, instead of out hunting in the bush for weeks on end.

‘But it’s the only thing I know. It’s my life, you know that.’ He sat thinking about the alternatives. He supposed he could take out camera safaris as he had done once or twice when a client hadn’t wanted to kill anything, but he knew that didn’t satisfy him. To be surrounded by gabbling tourists who often drove the game away after he had led them to it; and even if they didn’t, having to just sit and listen to their cameras clicking away, in the hope that no one did anything stupid enough to cause danger to the whole group, wasn’t his idea of a job well done.

When a man came out to shoot game on foot, he had enjoyed that, especially on the rare occasions when he had accompanied a party who were interested in the wild life, and not just trophy hunters: and for his part, to stand firm enough to drop a charging rhino with one sure shot, was something that gave meaning to his existence.

The other alternative was to join the ever growing band of hunters who helped the district commissioner catch poachers. This involved hunting the human animal, whose bravery and cunning was miserably inferior to the magnificent beasts he decimated. To come across a great pile of massive tusks hidden in the bush and imagine the mountain of majestic flesh mutilated to acquire them, sickened him beyond words. He had a great love for elephants and avoided shooting them whenever he could.

What was he to do with his life now he wondered? A spirit as wild as the animals themselves, a love of danger and the feeling of heightened senses it produced, together with cool calculating accuracy, split second reactions and timing, fitted him for little else in life.

Trying to push thoughts of his uncertain future from his mind, for the next few days Tim Caruthers busied himself with his second love and hobby, his 4 litre race prepared sports car. The meeting at Embakasi was important, as he had heard there was to be some formidable competition this time. For the first time in its history, a fully equipped British racing team were making their appearance there, having come up from racing in South Africa recently, and the consolation was it would attract the crowds and bring in some money. The track desperately needed money for repairs, and they might even be able to build something that resembled pit stalls.

As Tony stepped off the plane at Nairobi airport and boarded the waiting bus along with the tourists and returning Asians and Africans, his feeling was one of slight apprehension. The airport was scant, although it seemed to be run efficiently enough, and the road into town past the race track was even less impressive, especially what he could see of the track, and he began to wonder if it was such a good idea after all. The expense of flying two of the cars up from Kyalami seemed exorbitantly extravagant for just a little fun. But then, he had long passed the time in life when to waste a little money on a whim was disturbing to him. He had promised Margaret she could see a bit of Africa and that was the main reason for the visit.

Margaret entered the lobby of the Norfolk Hotel and thought that she might be anywhere in London but for the hovering attentive black Africans waiting to carry their suitcases to their cottage. The dark suited black African reception clerk welcomed Tony in perfect English and he began to feel more at home.

Finding a place to keep the cars turned out to be the biggest problem, as no one had the slightest idea why he had brought them. The easiest solution seemed to be to drive them about with them, an idea that proved disastrous when Tony discovered that very few people in Nairobi obeyed even the simplest rules of the road.

The day of practice dawned with a dull cloudy sky and drizzling rain. So this was Kenya, Tony mused. The rain, he was assured would clear up by lunch time and then it would be hot, a prediction that proved right as they drove to Embakasi. It was hot and sticky, and Tony hoped that David would cope with it.

The race track seemed to be occupied by a vast majority of privately owned cars with driver/mechanics of amazing know how. He watched a particularly impressive performance by one young driver and wondered if, after all, it was going to be as easy as he had imagined.

The day of the race confirmed his suspicions, and the big tall sunburned young man he had watched in practice, gave David more than a run for his money. Tony recognised in him a dogged determination and tenacious skill, and after the race, Tony went to congratulate him on his second place.

‘Hard luck,’ Tony’s commiserations sounded genuine, and the young man looked up in surprise. ‘It was a good scrap.’

Tim Caruthers shrugged. ‘That’s the way it goes. It was a welcome change to have someone to fight against.’

‘Do you race often?’

‘Whenever I can: but it looks as if I shall have more time for it in the future.’ He smiled philosophically. ‘I’m out of a job.’

‘What do you do?’ Tony asked with interest.

‘I’m a professional hunter, or rather I was. We are not allowed to shoot game anymore.’

‘I didn’t know that. This is the first time in Kenya for my wife and me. We were hoping to see some animals, though I’m afraid I don’t know one end of a rifle from the other.’

‘That makes no difference now. But if you’re interested in seeing some of the wild life, I’ll be more than happy to take you on safari.’

The word safari fired Tony’s imagination. Of all the things he had done in his life, going on safari in Africa was not one of them. ‘You have a deal. When do we start?’

‘How long do you want to be?’

‘Two weeks at the most.’

Tim hid his disappointment. ‘The Masai Mara is the best reserve to see a variety of game in a short time. Do you want to drive there or fly? There is an air strip.’

‘How long will it take to get there by road?’

‘Only a day, but the going is pretty rough. They are mainly dirt roads, and we’ve had quite a bit of rain lately.’

Tony smiled slowly. The prospect of the drive interested him more than the scenery and animals. ‘We’ll drive.’

‘Good, I was hoping you would say that. It will be a trip you won’t forget, I promise you. How many will you be?’

‘Just my wife and me. David, my son, the one who caused you so much trouble earlier, is racing in Europe this week.’

Tony saw for one fleeting second the envious gleam light the pale blue eyes, then the matter of fact, self confident business man was talking again. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll do the driving. As we have no gun bearers, safari boys or equipment to carry, one Land Rover will be enough and it will cut down your costs.’

‘Oh don’t worry about the cost. I don’t want to stint on anything.’

‘Good, then we’ll stay at the tented camp. It’s more authentic than the lodges and more civilized than camping out, for a beginner. Leave it all to me; I should be able to arrange it for the day after tomorrow, if that’s alright with you. Where are you staying by the way?’ Tim wasn’t surprised at his new clients reply, very few wealthy men stayed anywhere else, and Tim was as well known in the bar as any of the celebrities that stayed there.

Forty miles outside of Nairobi, Tim turned the Land Rover off the main tarmac road and headed out into the broad Rift Valley stretching away for miles into the distance, and Tony had to admit the scenery was breathtaking by reason of its sheer magnitude. They drove for miles without seeming to see a living thing, but Tim assured them that there were people and animals all around them.

‘We’ve only to break down, and they’ll come out from nowhere and surround us like beetles out of woodwork.’ Tim saw the concern on Margaret’s face and added quickly. ‘Don’t worry, they’re all very friendly and sometimes jolly useful as work horses, especially if you pay them.’

It wasn’t long before Tim envisaged such an incident, as down in a hollow ahead of them lie several deep muddy tracks filled with water. ‘Hold on,’ he advised, as he banged down into the low ratio gear. The Land Rover rolled and heaved as he swung the steering wheel back and forth groping for a firm hold; then as one wheel found it, the vehicle came up and the other three wheels followed, and they were out. The dirt road got increasingly wetter and the muddy ruts deeper; and Tim once again battled with the steering wheel and gears; drifting the Land Rover forward over the shinny black cotton mud at speed a few yards at a time, first on one lock then fighting back on to the other, sliding then gripping, driving on, then sliding again until they were clear and once more driving along a bumpy road, full of pot holes, but dry.

Tony noticed all the while how well the powerful arms coped with the strain, and never once did the cool calculating mind loose its concentration. ‘You are obviously used to driving under these conditions,’ Tony remarked when it was once more possible to hold a conversation.

‘One has to get used to it, there are no other roads.’ He smiled secretively. ‘I have thought about having a go at the Safari Rally.’

‘Why don’t you? I imagine you could cope with it quite well.’

‘Oh I don’t know, time, money, the reason why I didn’t win the other day. You need a big back up for something like that. Something like your organization.’

They drove in silence while the Land Rover encountered successfully, yet more deep holes and ruts. Then they were driving through a vast grassland plain that stretched for miles away to the distant hills.

‘You know, I always wondered when I was at school, why lions were tawny when they existed on grassland that was green,’ Margaret began conversation. ‘Now I realise the grass isn’t green at all, it’s the same colour as the lions, we were never told that.’

Tim laughed at her then pointed. ‘Look there are some Thompson’s gazelle. See the black stripe on their sides? We call them Tommys.’

Margaret looked, excitement beginning to grow in her. ‘Oh look, are those giraffes over there?’

‘They are Masai giraffe. Notice how their patterns have ragged edges.’ He stopped the Land Rover. ‘Look, in that patch of rocks and bushes, there is a lioness.’

Margaret held her breath. She could hardly see it and wondered how Tim had spotted it, and then remembered it was his job.

‘We’ll drive in for a closer look.’ He turned the Land Rover off the road and headed across the grass towards where the lioness sat.

Margaret looked at Tony apprehensively, and then remembered the big rifle that Tim had slid beneath the seat before they started their journey.

He stopped within yards of the lioness sitting majestically beautiful on a mound of rock and earth, the stunted bushes camouflaging her perfectly.

Margaret leaned forward and clutched at Tim’s shoulder. ‘Sorry Tim, but I don’t know how anyone can shoot them.’

Tim smiled back at her. ‘No, I’m beginning to wonder myself. But when you’re out there on foot hunting them, you know it could be you or them. You have a sort of respect for each other. You know you have to get pretty close for a clean shot, and they’re not very often alone. It’s when the clients miss that you’re in trouble. Once Simmie and I had to track one through the bush for three days. When we found him it was a pleasure to put him out of his misery. The client got his skin, but I doubt if it was much of a trophy. It wouldn’t have been for me.’

Tony remembered the time he had won Bob’s cup so easily that he had wanted to give it back, so he knew the feeling.

‘Who is Simmie?’ Margaret asked.

‘Simmie is my gun bearer. He hands me a loaded rifle then reloads the empty one. He can do it in a few seconds; it can make all the difference between life and death, and I trust him with my life,’

Margaret looked at Tim in awe as he spoke. She had thought motor racing was dangerous.

‘His full name is Simeon,’ Tim continued. ‘He is Masai by birth, but he left the tribe some years ago. They are still a very primitive people, but very brave. They hunt lion with a spear. We may see some of them later on.’

They sat watching the lioness for a long while. She turned her large golden eyes on them with aloof majesty, then turned away and opened her big mouth showing huge teeth, and yarned contentedly. Tim relaxed his vigil. ‘She’s not hungry.’ He started the Land Rover and drove away.

At the camp Tony and Margaret inspected the civilised comfort of their tent with incredibility. It had proper beds, a zipped on bathroom with hot and cold running water and a flush toilet.

To their even greater surprise, they were later served outside the big dining tent, with English tea and home made cakes while a tame mongoose wandered between their legs looking for crumbs.

When they had finished tea, Tim suggested a short safari into the plain to look for some game before dinner. Once again he drove the Land Rover with great skill, following the grassy tracks that criss-crossed the game reserve, stopping now and then to converse in Swahili with African game wardens, on the probability of finding certain animals in the area.

They managed to find some more lion, and once again Tim drove in very close for a long absorbing look, while a whole pride, including cubs, lazed and tumbled in the tall yellow grass. ‘They have already eaten,’ Tim assured Tony and Margaret as he detected a certain uneasiness because of their close proximity. ‘Take as many photographs as you like.’

Later they discovered a large herd of Elephant, and this time, much to Tony’s and Margaret’s relief, Tim did not drive in too close.

That evening, after an excellent meal in the tented dining room, Tony sat with Tim and Margaret and the few tourists, by the huge hissing crackling camp fire logs, drinking his brandy, watching the fire flies dancing, and listening to the unfamiliar noises of the African night: and as he puffed on his favourite cigar, he felt thankful that Tim had astutely assessed his mature appreciation of all that was best in life.

At first light the following morning, when the chill was still in the air, and before the rapidly rising sun drove the big cats to the comfort and seclusion of a shady clump of thorn bushes, Tim drove them deep into the plain.

‘Of course, if you were going to shoot anything, I would make you get out and walk at this point. It’s very difficult trying to follow a hunch in a Land Rover, and even more difficult to follow spore.’

‘You’re not doing too badly, look.’ Tony spotted more Elephant.

Tim laughed. ‘It’s about the only thing you can’t miss on the plain. I would have liked to have found you a leopard, but it would mean shooting a lure as they are very shy creatures.

‘Oh, what sort of lure?’ Tony asked.

‘A bush pig or a small buck. The leopard keeps his larder in a tree, only he’s never quite sure which tree or whether it’s his larder, so if you hang something up for him to come across, he will almost certainly climb after it; then you’ve got him!’

‘Oh poor thing,’ Margaret sounded unhappy.

Tim turned to look at her tolerantly. ‘I think if we were on a hunting safari, Memsaab would have to stay back at camp.’

‘Unless your shooting is as good as your driving, I would stay there too.’ Tony was resolute.

‘My shooting is far better than my driving,’ Tim answered smugly. ‘Shooting is my job, driving isn’t.’

‘Hmm!’ Tony grunted and sat thinking about it.

They drove in silence for a while and Tim wondered how this man would behave in the bush. He didn’t give the impression of one lacking in courage. Neither did Margaret Mallard, in spite of her fragile appearance. ‘Look, over there,’ Tim pointed resuming his job. ‘A Masai Manyatta, see the flat topped roofs?’

As they drove closer, they saw a tall proud Masai, clothed in a blanket against the chill early morning air, and carrying only a spear as protection against marauding wild animals.

As they left the village behind, Margaret noticed with concern a very large herd of cattle attended by only one very young boy. ‘Surely he’s not all alone out here. He’s only a child.’

Tim smiled. ‘He’s not so much of a child. In the old days he would probably have killed his first lion single handed by now. See he has a spear? That is a sign of his initiation into manhood as a Moran.’

‘Moran?’

‘Warrior. As he grows older, the spear blade is made longer until he becomes a full Moran, which he enjoys for a few years. They still raid neighbouring tribes and steal their cattle. They have refused civilisation, and I can’t say I blame them.’

Tony was beginning to realise how much Tim loved the primitive way of life and wondered if he would ever ‘civilise’.

The following day Tim took them to the Mara River to watch hippo and crocodiles, and every day after that, they saw something different. Zebra and hyena; and a family of warthogs trotting like dressage ponies; and monkeys and jackals with silver backs; until time had run out, and they had to leave this wonderful place; but vowing to come back some day soon.

Back in the bar at the Norfolk Hotel after their safari, Tony thanked Tim for their interesting experiences.

‘It’s been a pleasure,’ Tim assured them. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it.’ Perhaps he could after all, show tourists his beloved Africa, but he knew that some time the fire of adventure would rise within him, and he would have to go off and pit his wits against something or die.

‘What will you do now?’ Tony asked, almost reading his thoughts.

‘I haven’t decided. My wife, Kate, and I haven’t really talked it over yet.’

Tony looked surprised, he hadn’t thought of Tim as married. It rather unbalanced the plans forming in his mind. ‘Would she leave Africa?’ he asked. ‘Or for that matter, would you?’

‘Depends on how good the incentive was.’

‘Would you come and drive for me?’ Tony’s question was so out of the blue, that even Margaret was taken aback.

‘Professionally you mean?’

‘Yes.’

It was something he had never even thought about, supposedly because the opportunity had never been likely to arise. He loved driving his sports car, that was certain, but to do it for a living was another matter, and what of Kate?

‘It would mean living in England,’ Tony continued, ‘but you would make enough money to be able to visit Kenya when ever you wanted, I can promise you that. Anyway, talk it over with Kate and see what she says. It is very important that she approves.’

Kate’s eyes widened with incredulous joy when Tim told her of his conversation with Tony. ‘I said something would sort itself out didn’t I?’

‘You think I should do it then?’

‘If you really want to, yes.’

‘We would have to leave all this.’

‘We can come back for holidays. Your parents would want you to.’ Her dreamy eyes gazed into the fire, and her thoughts went back to Yorkshire. It would be nice to go home. Unlike Tim, she had not been born in Africa, so it didn’t have such a pull on her. Yes, she thought, I would be nice to go back home to England.

CHAPTER 3

D avid stepped forward as Tim and Kate came through the customs barrier at Heathrow and they shook hands warmly.

‘I’m afraid I’m parked way over,’ David apologised as he took charge of the luggage. ‘I’ll drive you straight to the flat, but Mother insists on you coming to the house for dinner tonight.’ He looked at them apologetically, thinking they would probably want to be alone together on their first evening. ‘But if you like, I can make some excuse for you; I know how it feels when you’ve just got off a plane, especially a long haul.’

Tim smiled, he was beginning to like David very much and he sensed they were kindred spirits. He also knew what mothers could be like. ‘No, of course we’ll come,’ he assured him, and David noticed for the first time the clipped English accent that was peculiar to colonials born in East Africa.

‘Well, if you’re sure, I’ll come and pick you up, say about seven. Will that suit you?’ he asked as they made their way from the lift to the car.

Tim looked at Kate as they got into the car and she nodded. ‘Yes, that’s fine. It’s very good of your parents to let us use their flat.’

David laughed. ‘It’s me you should thank; I use it more than they do. I’ve had to make alternative arrangements for three dates so far.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise,’ Tim was over sympathetic. ‘Back home, before I met Kate, there was never any need for sheltered accommodation, there was always a vast amount of sunlit grass available. The only problem was, the bloody rifle always got in the way.’

The two men roared with laughter, as Kate sat silently disapproving, and David realised he would have to be careful in future, of what he said in front of her.

Later that evening when Amanda heard David’s car draw up on the gravel outside the front door, she ran to greet them, introducing herself as soon as they were in the hall. ‘I’m Mandy,’ she announced precociously. ‘I’m the fourth child.’

Kate smiled at her timidly and looked apprehensively at the splendour about her. The hall, thickly carpeted, was flanked on three sides by heavy panelled natural oak doors. A tall grandfather clock stood against one wall space, and on the opposite wall was a large ornate gold framed mirror. The other wall space was taken up by a large oil painting of a sad faced young woman, also in an ornate gold frame. The pale golden oak staircase that faced her ascended to a gallery that extended on either side, from which two passageways led off, flanked again with heavy natural oak doors. As she looked upwards her attention was drawn to the gracefully suspended glittering chandelier in the centre of the ceiling. David took her coat and handed it to Amanda, who skipped away to the cloakroom with it, then rushed into the kitchen.

‘Mummy, she’s wearing a long skirt,’ she said in breathless consternation. ‘Should we rush up and change?’

‘Ssh!’ Margaret hushed her. ‘No of course not, it’s quite normal to wear a long skirt after dark in Africa.’

‘But she’s not in Africa now.’

‘Mandy, for goodness sake! Stop pestering and help Wardy lay the table.’

‘When are we going to get an au pair girl?’ Amanda pouted petulantly as she took the napkins that Mrs Ward the housekeeper handed her.

‘When one becomes available. In the meantime it won’t hurt you to make yourself useful.’

‘Mum, am I allowed whiskey tonight?’ Nicholas, her second son asked coming into the kitchen.

‘Why do you want to know that?’ Margaret asked him as she busied herself helping Mrs Ward with the dinner.

‘Dad told me to ask you. The other men are drinking it.’

She smiled inwardly, his voice was just beginning to take on the rich deepness of manhood, but in some things he was still her baby. ‘Oh I suppose so, but not on its own, have something with it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh I don’t know, ask your father.’

Mrs Ward saw his face sadden. ‘Soda,’ she advised. ‘Ask for some soda.’

‘Thanks Wardy.’ He grinned at her and left.

‘You spoil him.’

Mrs Ward laughed. ‘He’s like the son I would have wanted.’

Outside the kitchen door, Margaret heard him arguing with Robert, his younger brother. ‘Hell no, you can’t!’ he insisted authoritatively.

‘Why not? I’m only a year younger than you.’

‘Because it’s bad for you.’

‘Who says?’

‘Mum says.’

‘I’m going to ask her.’

‘No you can’t,’ Margaret greeted him with a definite answer as he entered the kitchen.

‘Can’t what?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Have whiskey.’

He accepted her decision, pulling a face so that she wanted to hug him. He never argued with her like the others, so he often missed out on things, because Nicholas and Mandy nearly always got what they wanted.

‘Have a sherry instead,’ she suggested.

He shook his head and turned to go. ‘I’ll have some beer.’

‘Robert,’ Margaret called after him. ‘You can have a small whiskey before you go to bed.’ He turned and grinned at her.

‘You spoil him,’ Mrs Ward commented.

Margaret smiled. In temperament he was like her father had been. Easy going and uncomplicated, but with an Irish temper that when roused could match the volatile Latin tempers that both David and Nicholas had inherited from their father.

As they all sat down to dinner, Kate found it difficult to conceal