‘Clement – my pleasure,’ Saskia said with a smile. She shook his hand and judged its size and the firmness of its grip. ‘And you are?’ Saskia asked, turning her attention to the black one. She let go of Rutherford’s hand and noted with satisfaction that he was disappointed by the briefness of the contact between them.

‘That is Joseth Maraire … my associate,’ Rutherford hastened to say before Joseth could speak for himself.

From the way he looked at her, Saskia concluded that Joseth Maraire was one of those African men who desperately wanted to know what it was like to be with a white woman, and, after fantasising about it for most of his adult life, felt that – now that majority rule was around the corner – this was what independence should mean for him.

‘Joseth Mara …’ Saskia made sure to prettily struggle with his last name as she offered him her hand.

‘Maraire,’ Joseth said as he shook her hand. ‘But please call me Joseth.’

Saskia shook his hand and judged its size and the firmness of its grip. Both were more impressive than Rutherford’s. ‘Joseth?’ she said.

‘Yes. Illiterate parents, I’m afraid.’

‘More like a not-so-literate records officer,’ Saskia said with a smile.

Joseth smiled appreciatively back at her.

Saskia slowly pivoted around the ransacked room, letting both men appreciate the movement of her body. She caught both of them looking at her breasts more than once.

‘What to do, what to do,’ Saskia said with a slight pout. ‘Emil gave me some information when we met, but not nearly enough. I have to find him.’ She placed a hand casually on Joseth’s arm, which predictably drew Rutherford closer. Men … ‘I thought I could whet the readers’ appetite with a feature in this week’s Sunday News.’

‘And you still can,’ Rutherford said, expertly leading her away from Joseth. ‘I’d be happy to help whichever way I can. I have known Emil Coetzee most all my life.’

‘Most all your life?’

‘Yes. We were boys together at the Selous School for Boys.’

Saskia stopped in her tracks – this was unexpectedly brilliant news. ‘You attended the Selous School for Boys?’

‘Yes. I did,’ Rutherford said, his chest puffing out with pride. ‘Best school in the damn country.’

‘Does it turn boys into the men of history as the school motto states?’ Saskia asked, making sure to look Rutherford in the eyes.

‘That it does,’ Rutherford said smugly.

‘Are you a man of history?’

‘I am a man for all seasons.’

The smugness on Rutherford’s face did not last long because from somewhere close in the room, Joseth’s voice said, ‘You’re very taken with him, aren’t you?’

‘With him?’ Saskia asked, confused as she looked at Rutherford.

‘Emil Coetzee,’ Joseth said in a way that made it clear he was not referring to Rutherford.