The tray was so large that he had to move the Gordon’s bottle and the water jug and the empty glasses before there was room for it on the table top. And, even then, it half covered-up Sir Gardnor’s letter and the long, official-looking envelope.
He pulled the letter out, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and, with the light of the pressure lamp shining down on him, he proceeded to tear the Government House notepaper into long, narrow strips. The paper was so old, it was quite brittle; little pieces, the black ones particularly, broke off as he tore at it. Then he shredded down the envelope, and dropped the remains of it on top. It looked as if a wastepaper-basket had been emptied there.
He was prepared to burn the bits one by one, holding them out, taper-fashion. But, when he struck a match and tried it, the whole pile ignited; dry like that, it kindled immediately. The paper bonfire blazed up, darkening one side of the porcelain lampshade with its smoke, and, died down again. All that was now left on the tray was a charred and fragile skeleton, the kind of relic that a bush fire leaves behind it.
He went through to the verandah, down the steps and out onto the lawn of the small garden. In the small hours, there was always a wind blowing off the sea in Kubanda; and when he lifted the tray and shook it, a dense, sooty dust cloud blew past him. It was gone; all gone. Nothing now remained on which to base any reasonable confession.
The CM. felt rather pleased with himself. What he had just done was clearly so sensible. Suppressing that last piece of evidence had not worried him in the slightest. Not now that it was all over. It would have been awkward, of course, if the Governor had brought it to him while Lady Anne had still been alive. Then he would have had to consider it. As it was, he had saved everyone a great deal of unnecessary trouble. And above all, he had stopped people talking. A Colony was a terrible place for malicious, ill-informed tittle-tattle. Once started, it would go through the place like an epidemic.
Besides, after all those years in Africa, the Governor deserved a decent retirement; some proper rest and quiet when he got back to England, even a little happiness and contentment if he could find it.
The CM. himself still had some time to go before retirement. He was comfortable enough as things were. And there was always the chance that the next train from Motamba would bring the new fan that Stores had ordered. Or, if not, the next train, the one after; or the one after that.
for Joan and Bob
This electronic edition published in July 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP
Copyright © Sarah Helen Collins and Michael Howard Seys-Phillps 1968
The moral right of author has been asserted
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
ISBN: 9781448201266
eISBN: 9781448202584
Visit www.bloomsburyreader.com to find out more about our authors and their books
You will find extracts, author interviews, author events and you can sign up for
newsletters to be the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers
The Governor's Lady Page 40
