The Ponzi Men

by David Chilcott

  Chapter 18

  When McBride got back to the perimeter path, there were a few people who could have been waiting for him to turn up, but he would never know. As he re-erected his easel, one or two inched closer. By the time he got out his paints, and had clipped his paper to the board, he had four people behind him, settling in for the long haul. But no Belinda. That disappointed him. He looked out at the grassland. No animals in sight at the moment. A flash of colour caught his eye. It came from a tree close to the fence. He stared in that direction. Then the colour was there again. He saw there were two or three birds in the tree. Bright scarlet on the throat, drab plumage otherwise.

  He picked up his camera, enlarged the image, and started to photograph a group. He processed the paper prints, and examined them. Turning to the people behind him, he held the photographs out.

  “Does anyone know what this bird is called?”

  A stocky man of about sixty said, “That’s a scarlet throat sunbird, mate.” An Australian, by his accent. “That’s common in Australia, too.”

  “That’s fine, thank you for the information.” McBride turned back to his drawing board, started sketching the branches of the tree, putting the image of the bird where he had first seen it. He smelled something hauntingly familiar. Belinda, with that pleasant perfume. He turned round, giving her a big smile. She smiled back, and gave him a little hand wave.

  “Can you give me time to finish this painting, Belinda?”

  “Of course.”

  By the time McBride had finished the bird painting, the other onlookers had drifted away. Belinda said, “You are going to pack up for today?”

  “I thought we would have a walk round the camp, and perhaps down to the dam. Do you want to?”

  “That would be fun. I’ll show you around, and where I think the best views are. You can leave your gear at my bungalow, if you like.”

  “If it’s closer, of course I will.”

  When they had dispensed with the luggage, they walked over past the pool to the other side of the campsite. Here was the lake and dam, just past the fence, a fantastic sight. McBride was transfixed.

  “We’ve got to go there tomorrow. It’s a bit too late today.” He glanced at his watch. Be dark in a couple of hours.”

  They both leant against the fence watching a few people walk along the path by the water. The animals were on the other side. Grazing animals, and then they saw the jaws of a crocodile rise out of the water’s edge by some reeds. A large yawn, and then it was gone again.

  “Come on where’s the gate? We’ve got to get closer,” said McBride.

  She pointed: “It’s down here, not very far.”

  When they were through the gate, they sauntered down to the dam, which was further along the perimeter. People were gathered there, because that was where the action was. Hippos by the bank wallowing in mud.

  “Good to watch,” said McBride, now up to the barrier built to stop onlookers going any further. “But not really photogenic. There are some things and scenes that you can’t make interesting. The trick is to recognize what not to waste your time with. I’m afraid hippos fall into that category.”

  “Yesterday there were elephants down here,” said Belinda. “Now that really was something.”

  “Do they come every morning?” McBride was getting excited at the thought of adding elephants to his paintings.

  “So a camp ranger was telling us. About an hour after dawn, so you would have to be up early.”

  “I will be. With my easel and paints. Will you be here?”

  “Of course, if you don’t mind. Can I ask you a personal question?”

  McBride nodded.

  “Are you here with anyone? Such as your wife or girlfriend?”

  “That’s easy. I’m divorced. For a long time now. I was in the army at the time, and being married to a soldier didn’t suit her. And I’m not here with a girl. My best friend is with me, Dusty Miller, an army brigadier. He’s acting as my body guard. Don’t ask about that. And I’m heterosexual.”

  Belinda smiled shyly, and didn’t comment.

  Later, as they walked back to the campsite she said, “Tomorrow night I could cook a meal back in my bungalow. Would you come? Price of entrance is that you would have to bring a bottle of wine.”

  “I’m looking forward to that already.”

  Miller was already in the bungalow when McBride got back.

  “I saw you going out of the camp with a nice looking bird,” said Miller. He was in an easy chair, with a bottle of beer, drinking straight from the neck. The television was on, lighting up the room; outside it was nearly dark, night falling suddenly as it does in the tropics.

  “Belinda is her name. From Lincolnshire in England. I could be on a winner there. She’s invited me to dinner tomorrow night. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I wish you luck. You can’t get too much of that. Take it where you can has always been my advice.”

  “What have you been doing all day?” McBride said.

  “Went swimming all morning, about forty lengths, and then a rest with a coffee. This afternoon, went to look at some animals. That’s when I spotted you in the distance.”

  “Shall we spend an evening in the bar? I think you can eat in there as well.”

  “Yes, that’s great. Just let me watch the end of this documentary on the box.”

  McBride sat down in the other chair, and watched the programme. He quickly learned that it was filmed here, in Kruger Park. Probably distributed round the camp on a cable link. Still, it was interesting, and he actually saw the elephants at the dam he had visited that afternoon. It was professionally filmed, he could tell. The composition of each frame was spot on. He made a mental note of the position of the various cameras, and reckoned that he would be able to take up similar viewpoints.

  They sat up at the bar. Simple meals were served, so they ate. And drank beer.

  “Have you spotted Markham?” asked McBride.

  “No. But I did call in at the reception and asked if they had a Mr Markham staying. The girl looked on the computer, and said no.”

  “So he’s not taken the bait. What a waste.”

  Miller looked at him. “Not entirely. I’m getting some exercise, and you’re earning money working. Sounds as if it could be worse.”

  “If he doesn’t turn up, I’ll go to Jo’burg, and run an exhibition or something. Right in his face.”

  “Give it time. We’ve only been here a couple of days. Markham probably has other things to do, and if he’s been told how long you’re staying, he could still sneak up on you. That would make sense, actually. When you have your guard down.”

  “Could be,” McBride took a swig of his beer. “But he doesn’t know about my secret weapon – which is you.”

  “On the other hand, Markham might have his own secret weapon – called Belinda.”

  “Now that isn’t fair.”