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Tirza drew in a breath, but he waved her aside. ‘Now, about dyes—you remember you were eavesdropping when I happened to be discussing this on the Eastern Boulevard—they’re fast colours and everything, of course, is mothproof. We use a
Swiss
chemical—I’ll let you have the name of it—with the result that it’s colour-fast. Before you’re finished with Swaziland, I’ll drive you out to my bungalow and we’ll really go into this for you. I don’t want you coming all this way for nothing!’ His tone was cutting.

‘Please,’ she tried to defend herself, ‘I drove out here again to tell you—to explain ... actually, I wanted to the first time.’ Everything about him seemed to forbid argument and the need to explain herself to him suddenly went out of her. She felt deflated and knew the need to cry. ‘I came here to explain, but you won’t give me a chance. Now that I have come, I have no further obligation in the matter. I’ll leave immediately for Cape Town.’

‘You’ll go home
after
you’ve fulfilled your contract with me, both in Swaziland and in the Game Reserve. I know you said that contracts are made to be broken, but in this case, Miss Theron, you will keep the contract.’ He dismissed her with a careless turn of his shoulder. For a moment she stared at him in bewilderment and then, tears stinging her eyes, she turned and ran out to the Mazda.

She was amazed when he came after her and then, reaching out, he caught hold of her shoulders and swung her around to face him. His blue eyes blazed into hers. His hard, tanned fingers possessed unexpected strength. ‘You will do well to remember this,’ he said. His hands moved down the length of her arms and then closed about her buttocks, and she watched, with a kind of awe, while he bent his head and then his lips were upon her own. His kiss rocked her very being and any reasoning power to try to stop him.

‘I hate you!’ she told him, when at last he let her go.

‘If you really think that, you should have stopped me,’ he told her.

‘I didn’t have a chance,’ she said, and was quick to notice one dark eyebrow lift in cynical disbelief.

With tears of anger and humiliation she drove off, and the tears dried on her cheeks in the sun and the breeze which found their way into the car. Her tears dried in the sun like the raw mohair yarn which hung out on fences.

Hugo Harrington, she thought bitterly, had mentioned that he was ‘sensitive’ about these things, but there was a cold confidence about him and if he had any sensitivity at all he kept it hidden under surface hardness.

Choking back tears, she drove past small banana plantations, avocado pear trees and vivid splashes of purple bougainvillaea-draped and white-walled cottages. The heat, after the rain, was intense and her shirt began to cling to her back. Her slacks felt like a ton weight against her legs.

Apparently Cathy had gone out and, thankful for small mercies, Tirza went straight to her room and began to feel a little calmer, but the knowledge that she had made herself ridiculous before all these people was never very far from her mind.

Cathy, she was told when she went out to the veranda overlooking the valley and the mountain range, would not be back until six o’clock, and Tirza felt the need to get away from the house. She found herself wishing that she could see some humour in the situation in which she had landed herself, but she could not. To keep herself occupied, she drove up to the main road and turned in the direction of Mbabane. Under different circumstances she would have felt excitement at the thought of visiting the market-place, about which she had heard so much, for Swaziland, she knew, was richly endowed with talented artists and craftsmen.

However, she was soon fascinated by the atmosphere at the market-place, which she had found without any trouble. She watched Swazi women stringing beads, admired the various white-fringed sisal table-mats, wooden hand-carved bowls, huge African masks and carvings and curtains made from porcupine quills. The idea of returning to Cathy’s house filled her with such despair that she held her breath every time she thought about it. She had made up her mind on one thing, though, and that was that she intended letting Cathy know that, contrary to her father’s wishes, she intended moving to one of the hotels.

It was obvious that the business rush hour was taking place in this busy and colourful town of Mbabane, the administrative capital of Swaziland, and before getting into the car, Tirza stood with wide, astonished eyes at the sight of small buses rushing at great speed and overtaking everything.

Then she got into the car and soon found herself in the stream of traffic and, unused to the Mazda, she concentrated on the heavy traffic, for although she was used to driving in traffic, the motorists in this part of the world seemed oblivious to the many warnings on the roadside and the reminders of the number of people who had lost their lives on various blind rises and sharp bends on the main road out to the Mobray house.

Cathy and Paige were not yet home and, feeling restless and unhappy, Tirza took a bath. She was still in the water when Cathy arrived and a moment later she could hear the phone ringing. When Cathy called out, ‘Phone for you, Tirza—just wrap a towel around yourself and take it,’ her eyes widened with concern. Who could be ringing her? she wondered.

When she entered the lounge she said, ‘Is it my father?’

‘No. It’s Hugo.’ Cathy sounded strained.

Tirza was unable to keep the surprise from her voice. ‘Hugo?’

‘That’s what I said.’ Cathy went on staring at her, as though this was a situation that demanded careful analysis.

Standing in Cathy’s elegant lounge, with a large towel draped about her and her toes, which she had dried hurriedly, digging into the mohair carpet, she got herself under control with effort. ‘Yes?’ From where she was standing she could see the Mudzimba mountain range and the smoke that curled upwards from mountain fires which had started smouldering again.

‘I usually go out of my way to entertain business associates,’ Hugo was saying, ‘and, since you’re one, I’m taking you to dinner.’

After a moment she said, ‘I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way for me, so I decline your invitation. In any case, it seems strange. Why should you want to have dinner with me?’ She put her knuckles against her teeth.

‘Not just with you,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t want to be so involved.’ He spoke with unveiled sarcasm. ‘I want you to meet the other girls who’ll be modelling with you.’

‘Surely that’s not necessary?’ She kept her voice carefully expressionless.

‘I’ll pick you up at eight,’ he went on with complete indifference. ‘We’ll be going to the Royal Swazi Spa—so dress up.’

‘Do the others know?’ she asked, keeping her voice very soft.

‘The others?’ Her fingers tightened at the terseness in his voice.

‘You know perfectly well who I mean,’ she said, still in that soft expressionless voice. ‘Do I have to inform them?’

‘You’re missing the point. The others, as you call them, will not be going, since they already know these girls.’

Immediately Tirza replaced the receiver she went back to her room where she stood gazing out of the windows. Did Paige and Cathy know about this arrangement? Dragging her fingers through her damp hair, she felt almost suffocated by everything and longed for a suitable opportunity to present itself whereby she could thank Cathy for her hospitality and tell her, at the same time, that she would be leaving.

Cathy was in the lounge, with Paige, when she went through, still wearing her dressing-gown. Tall glasses stood defrosting on a small table.

‘Did you know that Hugo Harrington has arranged for me to have dinner at the Royal Swazi Spa—along with his other models?’ she asked. The frosty silence in the room was an indication that the two women did know. ‘I’m sorry,’ she went on, seething inside, ‘if I’d only known about it I’d have let you know that I wouldn’t be here for dinner, Cathy.’ In a detached way she found herself wondering whether she should allow the rage she was feeling to get the better of her and let these two have a piece of her mind and then, in a diminished voice, she said, ‘Why did you tell Hugo Harrington about my intention to start a weaving industry? What’s more, why did you purposely create a completely wrong impression? It’s made me out to be some kind of spy, to meet my own ends. I didn’t come here to spy, just put that on record, will you? I came here to buy. I’ll admit that I was interested to see the Swazi Signature industry...’

‘You are, nevertheless, here under false pretences,’ Paige sounded vicious. ‘You came here to snoop—it’s as simple as that.’

‘I did not! I came here to model. Primarily, Paige, I came here to model for him. Secondly, I intended buying for Harper’s. There’s nothing against buying from a weaving industry, is there?
Any
weaving industry. Harper’s buy from an industry in Lesotho.’

‘For some unknown reason you appear to be interested in the Swaziland weavers. At a guess, I would say you were going to use your purchases as samples.’ Paige’s small face was like a spiteful mask.

‘You have a nerve, to suggest such a rotten thing! How can you be sure that’s what I was going to do? The purchases were going to various Harper complexes and I was going to tell him so.’

‘You yourself told my mother that you intended to
scout around,
to use your very own words, because you intend starting your own weaving industry. In other words,’ Paige continued with malice, ‘you’re here to find out how to go about it—and at Hugo’s expense, right?’

Tirza felt hopeless and knew that whatever she had to say would count for nothing.

‘I find all this very unsettling,’ Cathy cut in, ‘and that’s putting it mildly.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Tirza, on a hard breath, ‘and for this reason, Cathy, I’m going to leave here. I’ll go to one of the Holiday Inns.’

‘Why don’t you just leave Swaziland?’ Paige asked. ‘After all, you don’t have to model.’

‘Although it really has nothing to do with you,’ Tirza said, ‘I suggested breaking my contract, but Hugo Harrington refused. I can’t think why, except perhaps that he sees fit to humiliate me further. Actually, my father was being perfectly ridiculous in involving you with my visit here.’

They made no attempt to stop her when she left the room, and once she had packed, she left. There seemed to be no point in saying goodbye. It was humiliating, but even more humiliating was the fact that she had appeared humiliated in front of Cathy and Paige Mobray.

Hugo Harrington, she thought, could find out for himself that she had left the Mobray house. Now perhaps she could think again—could cry.

Because she did not quite know what to do, she drove straight to the Royal Swazi Hotel and booked in as Miss Tirza Theron.

The hotel and spa had not yet begun its night life and she had had no trouble in finding space on one of the parking terraces. She had been aware of the traffic swishing by on the National Road at the bottom of the hotel gardens as she had made her way into the hotel, and a wildness within her which was almost too unbearable to stand.

Her room and private bathroom were everything she could wish for, and she sank down on the kingsize bed, with its exciting Spanish-type bedhead and thickly embossed burnt-orange, gold and pale yellow bedcover. Hugo Harrington, she thought, would just have to make the discovery that she had left Cathy’s house when he called for her later on in the evening.

He phoned at eight-thirty. Getting straight to the point, he said, ‘I gathered you might have gone to the Royal Swazi Spa.’

‘I couldn’t let you know.’

‘My number is in the book.’ He sounded hostile. ‘I’m in the foyer, waiting.’

‘You can wait. I’m not a mouse for you to play with, merely because I was fool enough to sign on the dotted line. Besides, I’m not dressed for dining.’

‘Well,
get
dressed.’ She gasped when, at his end, he put the phone down on her and she stood staring at the receiver in her hand for a moment.

Then she went to one of her cases and took out a voluminous, billowing, brilliant, coloured bolero and skirt extravaganza in shocking-pink, apple-green and black, which left her midriff bare. When she was dressed she expertly applied eye-shadow and mascara, coloured her lips and added a touch of lip-gloss. Leaving the ornate lamps burning, she made her way to the heavy Spanish-type door and then hesitated.

‘Why
should
I go?’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I’ll phone D.H. and tell him what a mess I’m in ... it’s as simple as that.’

Hugo Harrington chose that moment to knock on the door and when she opened it he stepped right into the small corridor. He was wearing a dinner suit with a frilled white shirt and black tie which could not disguise the graceful animal-like magnetism about him, or the dangerous quality she had noticed about him at the weaving settlement.

‘I made an appointment with you—and the other girls for ...’ he glanced at his watch, ‘approximately one hour ago. Anyway,’ his voice was scathing, ‘that was roughly the idea.’ His dark blue eyes went over her. ‘However, I’m glad to see you’re ready at last and looking quite ravishing into the bargain. Let’s go.’ He put his fingers on her wrist and she could feel the proprietorial grip which was so definitely male.

‘You’re hurting me!’ She glanced down at his fingers and felt her anger rising.

‘I
mean
to hurt you.’ His eyes did not leave her face.

‘What are you getting out of this?’ she asked. ‘What difference can it possibly make to you whether I model or not?’

‘You signed a contract and you will not break it. I’m just not used to this sort of treatment, Miss Theron.’ His voice chilled her.

‘And you mean to play your part in convincing me, is that it?’ She shook her wrist free and stood rubbing it, her breath coming fast. ‘And while we’re about it, just you keep your hands off me! When I signed that contract, mauling me didn’t enter into it. Besides, signing a contract means nothing.'