Anton Chetty didn’t expect the small conference room at South Trust to be quite so crowded. Not so early in the morning. He recognised Robert Whitaker and one or two more Africa hands. There were a couple of other correspondents he’d bumped into before. The usual suspects. But who were all the others? There were several TV cameras on raised tripods at the back of the room – they looked like a firing squad. He hated this. Hated what he was about to do. What he had to do – that was what he told himself. Anton felt the perspiration on his back. He removed his jacket. He was accompanied by a member of staff. As they sat down behind a table at one end of the room, he asked her if she knew who all these people were.

‘Over a hundred journalists follow us,’ she whispered, ‘so, no, quite a few of these faces are new to me. I think the business press are here in force, though – that’s the woman from the FT by the aisle in the front row. There’s bound to be questions about land reform so just stick to the bullet points we discussed earlier.’

She handed him a sheaf of papers.

‘That’s a reporter from the Today programme. You spoke to them a few days ago so he’s bound to ask you how you could have known days ago that the murder was linked to agitation over land reform.’

Was that just six days earlier? It felt like a lifetime to Anton. He didn’t know whether to stay sitting or stand up. There was a lectern next to the table. He decided to stay where he was.

‘Another thing,’ the woman said, wrapping her hand around the microphone. ‘Just stick to the agreed wording on Lindi. It’s been checked by the lawyer and the Chair has signed off on it. Bound to be questions about her.’

Anton cleared his throat. His colleague poured water into a glass and shoved it closer to him. He took a sip. He looked down at the notes. Where the hell were his glasses? He found them in the pocket of the jacket he’d slung over his chair.

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Apologies for dragging you in here at this ungodly hour – indeed, no one could be sorrier about that than I am. At least it gives you plenty of time to write up your stories.’

Stop waffling. Just get on with it. He didn’t have to turn around: he knew his colleague was staring at him, anxiety written all over her face.

‘Now, late last night South Trust came into the possession of some documents relating to the sale of farmland in South Africa to foreign entities.’

What? ‘Foreign entities’? Had he agreed to call them that?