Spokes could tell that Marion Hartley was normally a proud and strong woman; therefore, he understood that what he said next and how he said it mattered most. He told her what he had told Kuki Coetzee earlier that day, in what he hoped was the same measured tone, one that gave nothing away. ‘Mr Coetzee seems to have driven to the Matopos area a few days ago, and I somehow find myself the bearer of his keys.’

Marion Hartley’s lips formed an ‘O’ but the sound never came out. She seemed to relax into the news somewhat, and Spokes watched as several different emotions played over her facial features: relief, anger, disappointment, overwhelming love, and something else that he could not quite read. It was that something else that let him know that he could not fully believe whatever Marion Hartley said and did next.

‘He has upped and disappeared, it seems,’ Kuki Coetzee said. ‘But I apparently have more experience with him doing so than you do. He was always disappearing on me. Once disappeared on me for more than a week. Turned out he had been with you the entire time,’ Kuki Coetzee said.

Spokes was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. For many reasons he could not, as yet, tell them that Emil Coetzee had entered the bush completely unarmed, that his Stetson had been found, and that no one seemed to have seen him since. One, Emil Coetzee had only entered the bush two days ago, so it was early days yet. Two, there was no evidence to suggest that something unfortunate or untoward had happened to him. Three, his walking into the bush had been a deliberate act. If, as Kuki Coetzee was saying, he often ‘disappeared’, then chances were high that he would reappear. There was no need to tell the women things that might make them worry unnecessarily. But, even so, Spokes had to admit that the business of returning the keys Machipisa had left in his care was getting a little out of hand.

‘You wouldn’t know where he is, would you?’ Kuki Coetzee asked Marion Hartley. ‘It would save us all a heap of trouble.’

Gone was the Kuki Coetzee who had cried into his handkerchief; standing next to Spokes was a woman who was more hurt and angry than broken.

‘I think we may want to continue this discussion inside,’ Spokes said delicately.

Marion Hartley’s hand came up to hit her forehead in a rather theatrical manner that was not performance at all. ‘Where are my manners? Please do come in,’ she said, as she opened the door and stretched her mouth in a smile of warm welcome.

Spokes gestured for Kuki Coetzee to go in before him, which she did with great reluctance.