‘Interesting policy,’ Saskia said. ‘Does the Selous School for Boys not believe in the mental capacity of the fairer sex?’

‘No. No, not at all. It is just that there once was an incident … years ago.’

‘An incident?’ Saskia said, feigning mild interest.

‘Yes,’ Mr Stuardts said. ‘Very long time ago now.’ He seemed to have thought better of talking about the incident, for that was all he said.

‘But surely male staff members are allowed to bring their wives.’

‘No. No women. No wives allowed,’ Mr Stuardts said with finality.

‘That must make things rather hard,’ Saskia said as she watched him firmly shut the trophy case and lock it.

Just then two black women in maids’ uniforms quietly passed by carrying buckets and mops.

‘Oh, we – we … manage somehow,’ Mr Stuardts stammered as he blushed profusely. ‘So you are writing on Coetzee’s days here at Selous?’ he asked, eager to change the subject.

‘It’s a biography that looks at his entire life.’

‘You know we were boys together, Coetzee and I,’ Mr Stuardts said with not a little pride as he opened another case, this one containing yearbooks from the 1930s and 1940s. ‘He was my senior,’ he declared as he reverentially removed nine yearbooks – 1937 to 1945 – and placed them on a long table for her to peruse.

‘My goodness, he is everywhere,’ Saskia said as she thumbed through the yearbooks, watching Emil Coetzee grow from a boy to a young man.

‘There was nothing he couldn’t do,’ Mr Stuardts said, the admiration plain in his voice. ‘It came as no surprise to any of us that he became who he became.’

‘May I take some pictures of the photos?’ Saskia said, holding up her camera and flashing her most dazzling smile.

‘Of course, of course,’ Mr Stuardts said, happy to oblige.

As Saskia took photos of Emil Coetzee from the ages of ten to eighteen, she noticed that through the many changes he underwent, one thing remained constant – the uncertainty in his eyes.

‘He loved his time here,’ Mr Stuardts was saying. ‘We belong to the Selous Old Boys Club.’

Saskia came across a photograph from 1941 that contained within it a Mrs Findlay. ‘Mrs Findlay – the lady involved in the incident you spoke of earlier, I presume?’ Saskia said.

Mr Stuardts blushed profusely again and did not know what to do, and so started closing all the yearbooks and putting them away. ‘I – I take it you’ve taken all the photos you – you need?’

‘Yes. Yes, I have,’ Saskia said, delighting in his discomfort. ‘Let me guess, she made all the male teachers fall in love with her, and there was a duel at dawn that ended rather tragically.’

‘No. No such thing. It was … it was … really, Miss Hargrave, the imagination you have,’ Mr Stuardts said, putting the yearbooks back and not in the correct order. ‘Mrs Findlay was married to a member of staff—’