mollified, Jake opened his mouth to protest further, but before sound
passed his lips, Gareth had pressed a long black cheroot between them
and lit it.
"Now let's use what brains God gave us, shall we? Tell me why these
two won't run and what we need to make them do so." Fifteen minutes
later they were sitting under the sun-flap of Jake's old tent,
drinking iced Tusker, and under Gareth's skilful soothing the
atmosphere was once more one of friendly co-operation.
"A Smith-Bentley carburettor?" Gareth repeated thoughtfully.
"I've tried every possible supplier. The local agent even cabled
Cape Town and Nairobi. We'd have to order one from England eight weeks
delivery, if we are lucky."
"Look here, old son. I don't mind telling you that this means facing a
fate worse than death but for the good of our mutual venture, I'll do
it." The Governor of Tanganyika had a daughter who was a spinster of
thirty-two years, this despite her father's large fortune and respected
title.
Gareth glanced sideways at her and saw all too clearly why this should
be. The first adjective which sprang to mind was "horsey', but it was
not the correct one, Gareth decided.
"Comely'or'camel-like' would convey a much more accurate description.
A besotted camel, he thought, as he intercepted the adoring gaze which
she fixed upon him as she sat sideways upon the luxurious leather
seats.
"Jolly good of you to let me take your Pater's bus for a spin, old
girl. And she simpered at the endearment, exposing the huge yellowish
teeth under the large nose.
A V A "Definitely thinking of buying one myself, when I get home.
Can't beat the old Benters, what?" Gareth swung the long black
limousine off the metal led road and it plunged forward smoothly over
the dusty rutted track that led northwards along the coast through the
palm trees.
An ask ari policeman recognized the fluttering pennant on the front
wing, red and blue and gold with rampant lion and unicorn, and he
pulled himself to foot-stamping attention and flung a flamboyant
salute. Gareth touched the brim of his hat to the manner born, then
turned to his companion who had not taken her eyes from his tanned and
noble face since they had left the grounds of Government House.
"There is a good view place up ahead, looks out across actually.
Thought we'd park the channel, very beautiful there for a while." She
nodded vehemently, unable to trust herself to speak.
Gareth was glad of that she had a squeaky little treble and he smiled
his gratitude. That brilliant, completely irresistible smile,
and the girl blushed a mottled purple.
She had good eyes, Gareth tried to convince himself, that is if you
like camels" eyes. Huge sorrowful pools with long matted lashes.
He would concentrate on the eyes and try and avoid the teeth. He felt
a sudden small twinge of concern. "I hope she doesn't bite in the
critical moments.
With those choppers, she could inflict a mortal wound." For a moment
he considered abandoning the project. Then he made himself imagine a
pile of one thousand sovereigns, and his courage returned.
Gareth braked the Bentley and searched for the turnoffs It was well
concealed by underbrush and he missed it and had to back up.
Gently he eased the gleaming limousine down into a small clearing,
walled in by fern and scrub and roofed over by the cathedral arches of
the palms.
"Well, here we are, what?" Gareth pulled on the hand brake and turned
to his companion. "Actually you can see the channel if you twist your
neck a bit." He leaned forward to demonstrate, and with a convulsive
leap the Governor's daughter sprang upon him. Gareth's last controlled
thought was that he must avoid the teeth.
Jake Barton waited until the huge glistening Bentley began to heave and
toss on its suspension like a lifeboat in a gale, before he rose from
the cover of the ferns and, carpet-bag in hand, crept around to the
bonnet with its gleaming winged initial V and the stiffly embroidered
household pennant.
The noise he made in opening and lifting the engine cowling was
effectively smothered by the whinnying cries of passion that issued out
-of the car, and Jake glanced through the windscreen and caught one
horrifying glimpse of the Governor's daughter's white limbs, long and
shapeless and knobbly kneed as a camel's kicking ecstatically at the
roof of the cab before he ducked his head into the engine.
He worked swiftly, his lips pursed but the tune stealthily muted,
and his brow creased with concentration as the carburettor jumped and
heaved unpredictably under his hands and the whinnies of passion and
the high-pitched exhortations to greater effort and speed rang
louder.
The resentment he had felt at Gareth Swales's refusal to assist in
painting the iron ladies faded swiftly. He was pushing and pulling his
full weight now, and his efforts made even the most gruelling manual
labour seem insignificant.
As Jake lifted the entire carburettor assembly off the engine block and
stowed it into the carpet-bag, there was one last piercing shriek and
