Indecent Exposure

by Tom Sharpe

  The Kommandant’s startling gallop caused mixed reactions among the huntsmen. Immaculately sidesaddled and with her top hat perched on her neat blue curls Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon watched the Kommandant disappear over the azaleas with a combination of disgust at her husband and admiration for the Kommandant. Whatever else he might be, the Kommandant was clearly not a man to baulk at fences.

  ‘See what you’ve done now,’ she shouted at the Colonel who was staring at the destruction left in the wake of his retreating guest. To add to his annoyance Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon turned her bay and galloped off in pursuit of the Kommandant, churning the lawn up still more as she went.

  ‘Got rid of the blighter,’ said Major Bloxham cheerfully.

  ‘Damned Boer,’ said the Colonel. ‘Shoots foxes and smashes my best roses.’

  Behind them Harbinger blew his horn again happily. He’d always wanted to see what would happen if he stuffed a quid of tobacco up the great black horse’s arse and now he knew.

  So did Kommandant van Heerden, though he wasn’t aware of the specific cause of Chaka’s urgency. Still in the saddle after the first enormous jump he tried to recall what Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon had said about not letting the horse get away from him. It seemed an uncalled-for piece of advice. If the Kommandant could have thought of any way of letting the horse get away from him without breaking his neck in the process he would have been glad to do so. As it was his only hope of survival seemed to lie in staying with the beast until it ran out of wind. With all the fortitude of a man for whom there were no alternatives, the Kommandant hunched in the saddle and watched a stone wall hurtle towards him. The wall had evidently been built with giraffes in mind. Certainly no horse could clear it. As he landed on the other side Kommandant van Heerden had the distinct impression that the animal he was riding was no horse at all but some mythical creature he’d seen portrayed so eloquently on petrol pumps. Ahead there lay open veldt and in the far distance the shadowy outlines of a wood. One thing he was determined on and that was that no horse, mythical or not, was going to career through a wood full of trees with him on its back. It was better to break one’s neck on the open ground than to emerge legless on the far side of a dense wood. With a determination to end his journey one way or another the Kommandant grasped the reins firmly and heaved.

  To Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon, galloping desperately after him, the Kommandant appeared in a new light. He was no longer the coarsely attractive man of reality she had formerly seen him as but the hero of her dreams. There was something reminiscent of a painting she had once seen of Napoleon crossing the Alps on a prancing horse about the figure that soared over the wall no one had been known to attempt before. With a caution entirely justified by her longing for her new idol, Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon chose a gate and emerged on the other side to find to her astonishment that both the Kommandant and Chaka had vanished. She galloped towards the wood and was horrified to see both horse and rider motionless on the ground. She rode up and dismounted.

  When Kommandant van Heerden came to, it was to find his head cradled in the dark lap of Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon who was bending over him with a look of maternal admiration on her face.

  ‘Don’t try to move,’ she said. The Kommandant wiggled his toes to see if his back was broken. His toes wiggled reassuringly. He lifted a knee and the knee moved. His arms were all right too. There seemed to be nothing broken. The Kommandant opened his eyes again and smiled. Above him beneath a ring of tinted curls Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon smiled back and it seemed to Kommandant van Heerden that there was in that smile new acknowledgement of some deep bond of feeling between them, a meeting of two hearts and minds alone on the open veldt. Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon read his thoughts.

  ‘Ant-bear hole,’ she said with suppressed emotion.

  ‘Ant-bear hole?’ asked the Kommandant.

  ‘Ant-bear hole,’ Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon repeated gently.

  The Kommandant tried to think what ant-bear holes had to do with his feelings for her and apart from the rather bizarre notion that they should get into one together couldn’t think of anything. He contented himself with murmuring ‘Ant-bear hole’ with as much emotion as possible and closed his eyes again. Beneath his head her plump thighs formed a delightful pillow. The Kommandant sighed and nestled his head against her stomach. A feeling of supreme happiness welled up inside him marred only by the thought that he would have to mount that ghastly horse again. It was a prospect that he had no intention of hastening. Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon dashed his hopes.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ she said. ‘It’s far too hot.’

  The Kommandant who had begun to suspect that some large insect had begun to crawl up the inside of his breeches had to agree. Slowly he lifted his head from her lap and climbed to his feet.

  ‘Let’s go into the wood,’ Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon said. ‘You need to rest and I want to make sure you haven’t broken anything.’

  Now that the Kommandant was up he could see what she had meant by ant-bear hole. The great black horse lay on its side, its neck broken and one foreleg deep in a hole. With a sigh of relief that he would never have to ride the beast again and that his horsemanship had been vindicated after all by the aardvark, the Kommandant allowed himself to be helped quite unnecessarily into the shade of the wood. There in an open dell shaded by the trees Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon insisted that he lie down while she examined him for broken bones.

  ‘You may have concussion,’ she said as her experienced hands unbuttoned his jacket. In the next few moments Kommandant van Heerden began to think that she must be right. What the great English lady was doing to him must be some result of brain damage. As she stood above him and unbuckled her skirt he knew he was seeing things. I’d better just lie still until it passes over, he thought and shut his eyes.

  Two miles away the hounds had picked up the scent of Fox and, with the hunt in full pursuit and Harbinger occasionally blowing his horn, were off across country.

  ‘Wonder what happened to that damned Boer,’ Major Bloxham shouted.

  ‘I daresay he’s all right,’ the Colonel shouted back, ‘Daphne’s probably looking after him.’

  Presently the hounds veered to the left and headed for a wood and ten minutes later, still mutely absorbed in their pursuit, had left the open ground and were deep in the undergrowth. The scent was stronger here and the hounds quickened their pace. Half a mile ahead Kommandant van Heerden followed suit.

  He wasn’t quite so mute but his absorption matched that of the pack. Above him clad only in her boots and spurs and with her top hat clinging elastically to the top of her tinted head, Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon shouted encouragement to her new mount, occasionally lashing him on with her crop. They were so deeply engrossed in one another that they were oblivious to the crackling undergrowth that signalled the approach of the hunt. ‘Jill, Jenny, Daphne, my sweet,’ moaned the Kommandant unable even now to shake off the notion that he was figuring in one of Dornford Yates’ novels. Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon’s imagination, sharpened by years of frustration, was more equestrian.

  ‘Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross to see a fine lady upon a white horse,’ she shouted and was astonished to find that her invitation had been accepted.

  Out of the woods raced the pack and the Kommandant who had been on the point of reaching his second climax became suddenly aware that the tongue that was licking his face was of a length and texture quite unusual in a lady of Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon’s breeding. He opened his eyes and found himself looking into the face of a large foxhound which slobbered and panted disgustingly. The Kommandant looked wildly around. The dell was filled with dogs. A tide of tails waved above him and out above them all Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon sat impaled upon him beating around her with her riding crop.

  ‘Down Jason. Down Snarler. Down Craven. Down van Heerden,’ she yelled, her topper bobbing as vigorously as her breasts.

  Kommandant van Heerden stared crazedly up at the underside of Snarler and tried to get the dog’s paw out of his mouth. He had n
ever realized before how horrible a hot dog smelt. Obedient as ever to his mistress Snarler sat – and got up promptly when the Kommandant, dreading death by suffocation, bit him. Relieved for a moment of this threat of asphyxia the Kommandant raised his head only to have it submerged a moment later by the press. The brief glimpse he had had of the outside world presented so awful a prospect that he preferred the stinking obscurity to be found under the fox-hounds. Colonel Heathcote-Kilkoon and the other members of the hunt had emerged from the woods and were surveying the scene in amazement.

  ‘Good God, Daphne, what on earth do you think you’re doing?’ the Kommandant heard the Colonel shout angrily.

  Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon rose to the occasion magnificently.

  ‘What the hell do you think I’m doing?’ she screamed with a display of righteous indignation the Kommandant found extraordinarily impressive but which seemed calculated to raise a question in her husband’s mind the Kommandant would have preferred to remain unanswered.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ shouted the Colonel who couldn’t for a moment imagine what his wife was doing in the middle of a dell without her clothes. Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon answered him.

  ‘I’m having a shit,’ she shouted with a coarseness that Kommandant van Heerden found personally humiliating but entirely apposite.

  The Colonel coughed with embarrassment. ‘Good God, I’m terribly sorry,’ he muttered but Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon was determined to pursue the advantage she had gained.

  ‘And if you were gentlemen you’d turn your backs and get the hell out of here,’ she screamed. Her words were immediately effective. The huntsmen turned their horses and galloped back the way they had come.

  As the tide of foxhounds slowly ebbed the Kommandant found himself, naked and covered with muddy paw-marks, staring up at the lady of his and Heathcote-Kilkoon’s choice. With a reluctance that did him credit she detached herself from him and stood up. Breathless with fear and a new admiration for her the Kommandant scrambled to his feet and began to look for his breeches. He knew now what British sang-froid meant.

  ‘And I’ve got a stiff upper lip,’ he said feeling the effects of Snarler’s hindpaw.

  ‘About the only thing stiff you have got,’ said Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon frankly.

  In the bushes on the edge of the dell Harbinger giggled softly. He’d never pretended to be a gentleman and he’d always wanted to see the Colonel’s wife in the nude.

  12

  As they dressed in the dell Kommandant van Heerden and Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon were filled with post-coital depression.

  ‘It’s been so nice to meet a real man for a change,’ she murmured. ‘You’ve no idea how tiresome Henry can be.’

  ‘I think I have,’ said the Kommandant who wasn’t likely to forget his recent nightmare ride. And besides the thought of meeting the Colonel again so shortly after having, as the Kommandant delicately put it, had carnal knowledge of his wife was not particularly appealing. ‘I think I’ll just walk back to the Spa from here,’ but Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘I’ll send Boy over with the Land-Rover to pick you up,’ she said. ‘You’re not in a fit state to walk anywhere. Certainly not after your fall and in this heat too.’ Before the Kommandant could stop her, she had walked out of the wood and had mounted her horse and was riding away.

  Kommandant van Heerden sat on a log and considered the romantic experience he had just undergone. ‘Undergone’s the word for it,’ he muttered aloud and was horrified to hear the bushes part behind him and a voice say, ‘Lovely bit of stuff, eh?’

  The Kommandant knew that voice. He spun round and found Els grinning at him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘Me? Dead?’ said Els. ‘Never.’ The Kommandant began to think Els was right. There was something eternal about him like original sin. ‘Been having it off with the Colonel’s old woman eh?’ Els continued with a familiarity the Kommandant found quite nauseating.

  ‘What I do with my spare time is no concern of yours,’ he said emphatically.

  ‘Might be of some concern to the Colonel,’ Els said cheerfully, ‘I mean he might like to know—’

  ‘Never mind what Colonel Heathcote-Kilkoon might like to know,’ interrupted the Kommandant hurriedly. ‘What I’d like to know is why you didn’t die in Piemburg Prison with the Governor and the Chaplain.’

  ‘That was a mistake,’ said Els. ‘I got muddled up with the prisoners.’

  ‘Understandably,’ said the Kommandant.

  Els changed the topic.

  ‘I’m thinking of coming back into the police,’ he said. ‘I’m tired of being Harbinger.’

  ‘You’re thinking of what?’ said the Kommandant. He tried to raise a laugh but it didn’t sound very convincing.

  ‘I’d like to be a konstabel again.’

  ‘You must be joking,’ said the Kommandant.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Els. ‘I’ve got my pension to think about and there’s that reward money I’m owed for capturing Miss Hazelstone.’

  The Kommandant considered the reward money and tried to think of an answer.

  ‘You died intestate,’ he said finally.

  ‘I didn’t you know,’ said Els. ‘I died in Piemburg.’

  The Kommandant sighed. He had forgotten how difficult it was to get Els to understand the simplest facts of law.

  ‘Intestate means you died without making a will,’ he explained only to find Els looking at him with interest.

  ‘Have you made a will?’ Els asked fingering his horn threateningly. He looked as though he was going to blow it.

  ‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,’ he said.

  ‘The Colonel’s got a legal right to kill you for stuffing his wife,’ said Els. ‘And that’s what he’d do if I blew this horn and called him back.’

  Kommandant van Heerden had to admit that for once Els was right. South African law reserved no penalties for husbands who shot their wives’ lovers. In his career as a police officer the Kommandant had had occasion to reassure a number of men who were feeling some alarm on this account. To add to his own alarm Els raised his horn to his lips.

  ‘All right,’ said the Kommandant, ‘what do you want?’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ said Els, ‘I want my old job back.’

  The Kommandant was beginning to prevaricate when the sound of a Land-Rover approaching determined the issue.

  ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do,’ he said, ‘though how I’m going to explain how a coloured convict is really a white konstabel, God alone knows.’

  ‘No point in spoiling the shit for a ha’p’orth of tar,’ said Els making use of an expression he had picked up from Major Bloxham.

  ‘Hear you’ve been having a bit of trouble, old boy,’ said the Major when the Land-Rover stopped beside the body of Chaka. ‘Always said that black bastard was a menace.’ The Kommandant climbed in beside him and murmured his agreement but the black bastard he had in mind was not the dead horse. In the back of the truck Konstabel Els smiled happily. He was looking forward to shooting kaffirs quite legally again.

  As they approached the house the Kommandant saw Colonel and Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon standing at the top of the steps waiting for them. Once again their reactions came as a complete surprise to him. The woman with whom but an hour before he had enjoyed what could without exaggeration be called a touching intimacy now stood erect and coldly detached at the front door while her husband was exhibiting signs of evident embarrassment quite out of keeping with his role.

  ‘Dreadfully sorry,’ he muttered opening the door of the Land-Rover for the Kommandant, ‘shouldn’t have given you that horse in the first place.’

  The Kommandant tried to think of a suitable reply to this apology.

  ‘Ant-bear hole,’ he said falling back on an expression which seemed to cover a multitude of situations.

  ‘Quite,’ said the Colonel. ‘Damned nasty things. Sho
uld have been stopped.’ He led the way up the steps and Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon stepped forward to greet the Kommandant.

  ‘So nice of you to come,’ she said.

  ‘Good of you to have me,’ murmured the Kommandant blushing.

  ‘You must try to make it more often,’ said Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon.

  They went into the house where the Kommandant was greeted by La Marquise with a remark about The Flying Dutchman which he didn’t particularly like.

  ‘Don’t take any notice,’ Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon said, ‘I think you were wonderful. They’re just jealous.’

  For the next few minutes Kommandant van Heerden found himself the centre of attention. The fact that he was the first man to have cleared the high wall, albeit involuntarily, drew murmurs of admiration from everyone. Even the Colonel said he had to take off his hat to him, which considering the loss of Chaka and the state of his garden, not to mention that of his wife, the Kommandant thought was pretty generous of him. He had just explained how he had learnt to ride on his ouma’s farm in Magaliesburg and had ridden for the police in Pretoria when the blow fell.

  ‘I must say you take things pretty cool, Kommandant,’ the fat man who knew how to get discounts on refrigerators said, ‘coming out here and hunting when there’s all this trouble in Piemburg.’

  ‘Trouble? What trouble?’ he asked.

  ‘What? Do you mean to say you haven’t heard?’ asked the fat man. ‘There’s been an outbreak of sabotage. Bomb attacks all over the place. Radio mast down. Electricity cut off. Absolute chaos.’

  With a curse Kommandant van Heerden dumped the glass of Cointreau he’d been drinking into the nearest receptacle.

  ‘I’m afraid we haven’t a phone,’ Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon told him as he looked wildly round the hall. ‘Henry won’t have one for security reasons. He’s always calling his stock-broker …’

  The Kommandant was in too much of a hurry to wait and hear about Henry’s stock-broker. He dashed down the steps to his car and found, as he might have expected, Els at the wheel. With the feeling that Els’ presumption was somehow appropriate to the terrible news he had just received, the Kommandant climbed into the back seat. Disaster was in the air. It was certainly in the herbaceous border, where Els reversed before turning the car down the drive with a spurt of gravel that suggested he was shaking the dust of White Ladies from his feet.