Assegai

‘And now, my fine-feathered friend, it’s time to come back down to earth. For you the fun is over. You’ve work to do. First, you must see to the horses and make sure they’re taken back safely to Nairobi. Then you will gather up the trophies we left at the camps along the way. Make sure they’re well dried and salted, pack them up and get them to the railway at Kapiti Plains. They have to be shipped to the Smithsonian in America as soon as possible, yesterday for preference. You must service all the equipment and the vehicles, including all five ox-wagons and the two trucks. Everything has been on the road for the better part of a year, and some of it is in ruinous condition. Then you must get it back to Tandala Camp so that it can be made ready for our next clients. I’ve several booked and then there’s Lord Eastmont – it’s two years since he arranged his safari with me. Of course, you’ll have Hennie du Rand to help you, but even so it’ll keep you out of mischief for quite a while. Not much time for the Nairobi ladies, I’m afraid.’

Percy winked at him. ‘As for me, I’m going to leave you to it. I’m heading back to Nairobi. My old buffalo leg is hurting like blue blazes and Doc Thompson’s the only man who can fix it.’

Several months later Leon drove one of the trucks with assorted kit into Tandala, followed closely by the second with Hennie du Rand at the wheel. Since dawn that day they had come almost two hundred miles over rutted and dusty roads. Leon switched off the engine, which stuttered to a halt. He climbed down stiffly from the driver’s seat, took off his hat and slapped it against his leg, then coughed in the resulting cloud of talcum-fine dust.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Percy came out of his tent. ‘I’d just about given you up for dead. I want to speak to you, sharpish.’

‘Where’s the fire?’ Leon asked. ‘I’ve been driving since three this morning. I need a bath and a shave before I utter another word, and I’m in no mood to take bullshit from anyone, not even you, Percy.’

‘Whoa now!’ Percy grinned. ‘You have your bath. You sure as hell need it. Then I’d like a few minutes of your precious time.’

An hour later Leon came into the mess tent, where Percy was sitting at the long table with his wire-rimmed reading glasses on the end of his nose. On the table in front of him was a pile of unanswered letters, accounts, cash books and other documents. His writing fingers were black with ink.

‘I’m sorry, Percy. I shouldn’t have gone for you like that.’ Leon was contrite.

‘Think nothing of it.’ Percy replaced his pen in the inkwell and waved him to the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘Famous man like you has the right to be uppity sometimes.’

‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’ Leon bridled again. ‘All I am around here is a famous dogsbody.’

‘Here!’ Percy pushed a pile of newsprint across the table. ‘You’d better read these. Give your sagging morale a boost.’

Mystified at first, Leon began to make his way through the sheaf. He found that the clippings had been taken from dozens of newspapers and magazines from across North America and Europe, publications as diverse as the Los Angeles Times and Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung from Berlin. There were more articles in German than there were in English, which surprised him. However, his schoolboy German was sufficient to enable him to follow their gist. He studied one that read: ‘Greatest White Hunter in Africa. So says the son of the President of America.’ Below it was a photograph of Leon, looking heroic and dashing. He laid it aside and picked up the next, which had a photograph of him shaking hands with a beaming Teddy Roosevelt. The headline under it read, ‘Give me a lucky hunter rather than a clever one. Col. Roosevelt congratulates Leon Courtney on taking a huge man-eating lion.’

The next featured Leon holding a pair of long, curved elephant tusks so that they formed an archway high above his head, the caption beneath it declaring, ‘The greatest hunter in Africa with a pair of record elephant tusks’. Other articles pictured Leon aiming a rifle at an imaginary beast out of frame, or galloping a horse across the savannah among herds of wild game, always rakish and debonair. There were hundreds of column inches of text. Leon counted forty-seven separate articles. The last was headlined, ‘The man who saved my life. Did you not find that a lot more invigorating than eighteen holes of golf? Byline Andrew Fagan, Senior Contributing Editor, American Associated Press.’

When he had skimmed through them, Leon stacked the cuttings neatly and slid them back across the table to Percy, who immediately shoved them back to him. ‘I don’t want them. Not only are they nonsense but they’re a bit too sickly and sycophantic for my stomach. You can burn them or give them back to your uncle Penrod. It was he who collected them. By the way, he wants to see you, but more of that later. First I want you to read this other mail. It’s much more interesting.’ Percy passed a stack of envelopes across the table.

Leon took it from him and shuffled through them. He saw that nearly all of the letters were written on expensive vellum or heavy linen paper, with ornately embossed headings. Most were hand-penned but a few had been typed on cheaper paper. They were addressed in such varying styles as, ‘Herr Courtney, Glücklicher Jäger, Nairobi, Afrika,’ or ‘M. Courtney, Chasseur Extraordinaire, Nairobi, Afrique de l’Est,’ or, more simply, ‘The greatest hunter in Africa, Nairobi, Africa’.

Leon looked up at Percy. ‘What’s this?’

‘Enquiries from people who have read Andrew Fagan’s articles and want to come hunting with you, poor benighted souls. They know not what they do,’ Percy explained briefly.

‘They’re addressed to me but you opened them!’ Leon accused him sternly.

‘I thought you’d want me to. They might have contained something that needed an urgent reply,’ Percy answered, with an innocent air and an apologetic shrug.

‘A gentleman does not open mail addressed to another.’ Leon looked him straight in the eye.

‘I’m not a gentleman, I’m your boss, and don’t you forget it, sonny boy.’

‘I can change that as quick as a flash of lightning.’ Leon had sensed the new authority and status that the letters in his hand had given him.

‘Now, now, my dear Leon, let us not be hasty. You are correct. I should not have opened your letters and I apologize. Dreadfully uncouth of me.’

‘My dear Percy, your very decent apology is accepted unconditionally.’

They were quiet as Leon skimmed through the last of his correspondence.

‘There’s one from a German princess, Isabella von Hoherberg something or other.’ Percy broke the silence.

‘I saw it.’

‘She attached her photograph,’ Percy added helpfully. ‘Not at all bad. Suit a man my age. But you like them mature, don’t you?’

‘Do shut up, Percy.’ At last Leon looked up. ‘I’ll read the rest later.’

‘Do you think this might be the time to talk about my offer of a partnership?’

‘Percy, I’m deeply moved. I didn’t think for one moment you were serious about that.’

‘I am.’

‘All right. Let’s talk.’

It was almost evening before they had thrashed out the framework of their new financial arrangement.

‘One last thing, Leon. You must pay for your private use of the motor. I’m not going to sponsor your amorous forays into Nairobi.’

‘That’s fair enough, Percy, but if you’re going to make such a stipulation, I want to make two of my own.’

Percy looked suspicious and uneasy. ‘Let’s hear what they are.’

‘The name of the new firm—’

‘It’s Phillips and Courtney Safaris, of course,’ Percy cut in hurriedly.

‘That’s not alphabetical, Percy. Shouldn’t it be Courtney and Phillips or more simply C and P Safaris?’

‘It’s my show. It should be P and C Safaris.’ Percy protested.

‘Not any more is it your show. It’s our show now.’

‘Cocky little bugger. I’ll spin you for it.’ He groped in his pocket and brought out a silver shilling. ‘Heads or tails?’

‘Heads!’ said Leon.

Percy spun the coin high and caught it on the back of his left hand as it fell. He covered it with the right. ‘Are you sure you really want heads?’

‘Come on, Percy. Let’s have a look.’

Percy peeped under his hand and sighed. ‘This is what happens to the old lion when the young one starts feeling his oats,’ he said unhappily.

‘Lions don’t eat oats. Let’s have a look at what you’re hiding.’

Percy showed him the coin. ‘Very well, you win,’ he capitulated. ‘It’s C and P Safaris. What’s your second demand?’

‘I want our partnership contract backdated to the first day of the Roosevelt safari.’

‘Ouch, and shiver my timbers! You really are rubbing my nose in it! You want me to pay you full commission for your hunt with Kermit Roosevelt!’ Percy pantomimed disbelief and deep distress.

‘Stop it, Percy, you’re breaking my heart.’ Leon smiled.

‘Be reasonable, Leon. That’ll amount to almost two hundred pounds!’

‘Two hundred and fifteen, to be precise.’

‘You’re taking advantage of a sick old man.’

‘You look hale and hearty to me. Are we in agreement?’

‘I suppose I have no other option, you heartless boy.’

‘May I take that as yes?’

Percy nodded reluctantly, then smiled and held out his hand. They shook and Percy grinned triumphantly. ‘I would have gone up to thirty per cent on your commission if you’d pressed me, rather than the piddling twenty-five you settled on.’

‘And I would have agreed to twenty if you’d held out a little longer.’ Leon’s smile was equally smug.

‘Welcome aboard, partner. I think we’re going to get along together rather well. I suppose you want your two hundred and fifteen pounds right this minute? You don’t want to wait until the end of the month, by any chance, do you?’

‘You suppose right. I want it now and would rather not wait till the end of the month. One other thing. It’s almost a year since I had a moment to myself. I’m taking some time off, and I’ll be needing a motor. I have business to attend to in Nairobi, and possibly even further afield.’

‘Give the lady, whoever she may be, my fond greetings.’

‘Percy, I should warn you that your fly buttons are undone and your mind is hanging out.’