A Guest of Honour by Nadine Gordimer Read Free Book Online

Wiltshire? Were you a golfer, I can’t quite remember … ?”
    â€œIt was tennis … and afterwards we took the girls for beer to the old Dar-es-Salaam hotel with the German eagle?”
    Dorothy Clough came in and Clough cried out, “Does it fit? Come and have a drink with James—”
    â€œMy dear James— it must be a hundred years—”
    â€œWe’ve had a crate made to transport Fritzi, and she’s been trying it on him.”
    â€œMy niece Vivien found a carpenter. She has the most extraordinary contacts, that girl. It’s very useful!”
    William Clough took a pecking sip at his martini. He said with gallant good humour, “Reposting was child’s play compared with this. One has had to learn how to camp out … I’m sure it’s terribly good, keeps the mind flexible.”
    â€œDenis thinks your angle lamp’s been left at Government House, did he tell you?” Dorothy Clough sat forward in her chair, as if she had alighted only for a moment.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, let them have it, it’s someone else’s turn to burn the midnight oil there, now—wha’d’you say, James …”
    Roly Dando asked with grudging interest about the visit. “He’s never been sent anywhere where there was anything left to do,” he said. “Clough only goes in for the last year, after self-government’s been granted and the date for independence’s been given. An early date.”
    Bray was slightly embarrassed by gossip, when quite sober, and said hesitantly, smiling, “The impression was that he and his wife were slipping away quietly after the field of battle.”
    â€œSince he arrived eighteen months ago there’s been damn all for him to do except go fishing up at Rinsala.”
    At the Pettigrews’ house that night, Dando’s voice came from the group round someone basting a sheep on the home-made spit: “… damn all except go fishing with his secretary acting ghillie….” Rebecca Edwards had just told Neil Bayley that Felix Pasilis, the Pettigrews’ Greek friend, was furious with her because she’d forgottensome essential herb that he wanted for his sheep— “If I were Felix I’d make you go back home and get it, my girl,” Neil said, and the look of inattentive exhaustion on her rather heavy young face moved Bray in fellow-feeling to distract attention from her, saying, “My God, I’m afraid I behaved like a child at Cloughs’! I showed off by making a point of speaking to the servant in Gala.” Neil and Rebecca Edwards laughed. “Poor Uncle Willie.” “He was quite a nice young man in Dar-es-Salaam. He took Swahili lessons conscientiously and he certainly spoke it better than I did.” They laughed at him again.
    Everyone was gathering round for servings from the roast sheep, and the fair stocky man from the airport signalled a greeting with a piece of meat in his fingers. “Wentz, Hjalmar Wentz, we met on the plane.”
    â€œHow are you? Roland Dando said we probably should be seeing you at the Rhino.” They moved off with their plates of food, and Wentz said to a woman settled in one of the canvas chairs, “Margot, here is Colonel Bray.”
    â€œNo, no, please stay where you are.”
    In the fuss to find somewhere to sit he saw the light of the fire under the spit running along the shiny planes of the woman’s face as it did on glasses and the movement of knives and forks. Bright hair was brushed up off a high round forehead and behind the ears, in a way he associated with busy, capable women.
    â€œTry some, Margot, it’s wonderful—”
    â€œAren’t I fat enough—” But she took a tidbit of crisp fat from her husband’s fork.
    â€œTo tell the truth, this’s the first time for a week we’ve had time to sit down to eat. Honestly. Margot’s had to be