He hunted for the TV remote control, looking under last week’s newspapers, on the floor beside the sofa until, eventually, he found it perched on the edge of the bookshelf. He pressed the power button and heard the little click before the flat screen on the wall burst into life. For a moment, he imagined it was a detonator setting off a bomb. Yet more fantasies from the glory days. His ‘cell’ in Durban, a group of college friends, really, had had rudimentary training in bomb-making, taking instruction from a pamphlet smuggled to them by the ANC’s military wing. He remembered going through the step-by-step instructions, using rice packed in women’s tights as a substitute for explosive. How they’d dreamed of striking a blow for freedom, obliterating some iconic building or statue. Like so much else in his earlier life, it had never quite happened that way.

He looked through the door into the rest of the office. How long can it take to make a couple of mugs of coffee?

Lindi finally walked in, two mugs precariously held in one hand and her notebook in the other. He grabbed one of the mugs, took a sip and nearly gagged. ‘Christ! What the hell is this?!’

They swapped mugs, Lindi taking back the peppermint tea that was her habitual work-time tipple.

He knew he was heading for a ticking off and waited for Lindi to speak first.

‘You should have told me last night that you were going to do an interview.’

‘I didn’t know I was. Some journalist caught me off guard first thing this morning.’ Anton sounded almost apologetic, unusually for him.

She brushed off his explanation with a wave of her hand. ‘Whatever. The fact is we’re out there now saying that one of South Africa’s most famous families, not to say most respected, is somehow embroiled in the land business. Talk about going out on a limb.’

‘Okay, I may have pushed it a bit too far—’

‘A bit too far?’ Lindi interrupted. ‘You’ve practically gone the whole distance. I’ve already had a couple of journalists calling me.’

‘What did you say to them?’

‘That I’d call them back. A bit lame after your performance but it buys us time to get this straight. And they’re not the only ones who are curious.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I had a call from an old colleague of mine. I was still at home. It must have been minutes after your thoughtful contribution on the airwaves this morning.’

‘From the Foreign and Commonwealth Office?’

Lindi shook her head. ‘He’s no longer a diplomat. Anyway, he said your statement – or whatever it was you said – must be my doing. If only he knew.’

‘I don’t get it.’ Anton frowned.

‘It’s ancient history. Years ago, when I was at the FCO, I wrote a paper about how explosive the land issue would be in South Africa.’