Free Indecent Exposure by Tom Sharpe

catches of the bonnet and was presently greasily engaged in looking for anything that might indicate why the car had so fortuitously ceased to function at the top of the Golf Club drive. Behind him Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon urged him on with an indulgent smile and the idle chatter of a fascinating woman.
    “I feel so helpless when it comes to machinery,” she murmured as the Kommandant, who shared her feelings, poked his finger into a carburettor hopefully. It didn’t get very far, which he judged to be a good sign. Presently, when he had inspected the fan-belt and the dip-stick, which more or less exhausted his automotive know-how, he gave up the unequal task.
    “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but I can’t see anything obviously wrong.”
    “Perhaps I’m just out of petrol,” smiled Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon. Kommandant van Heerden looked at the petrol gauge and found it registered Empty.
    “That’s right,” he said. Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon breathed her apologies. “And you’ve been to so much trouble too,” she murmured but Kommandant van Heerden was too happy to feel that he had been to any trouble at all.
    “My pleasure,” he said blushing, and was about to go and get the grease off his hands when Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon stopped him.
    “You’ve been so good,” she said, “I must buy you a drink.”
    The Kommandant tried to say there was no need but she wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll telephone the garage for some petrol,” she told him, “and then I’ll join you on the verandah.”
    Presently the Kommandant found himself sipping a cool drink while Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon, sucking hers through a straw, asked him about his work.
    “It must be so absolutely fascinating to be a detective,” she said. “My husband’s retired you know.”
    “I didn’t know,” said the Kommandant.
    “Of course he still dabbles in stocks and shares,” she went on, “but it isn’t the same thing, is it?”
    The Kommandant said he didn’t suppose it was though he wasn’t quite sure as what. While Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon chattered on the Kommandant drank in the details of her dress, the crocodile-skin shoes, the matching handbag, the discreet pearls, and marvelled at her excellence of taste. Even the way she crossed her legs had about it a demureness Kommandant van Heerden found irresistible.
    “Are your people from this part of the world?” Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon inquired presently.
    “My father had a farm in the Karoo,” the Kommandant told her. “He used to keep goats.” He was conscious that it sounded a fairly humble occupation but from what he knew of the English they held landowners in high esteem. Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon sighed.
    “How I adore the countryside,” she said. “That’s one reason why we came to Zululand. My husband retired to Umtali after the war, you know, and we loved it up there but somehow the climate affected him and we came down here. We chose Piemburg because we both adore the atmosphere. So gorgeously fin de siècle, don’t you think?”
    The Kommandant, who didn’t know what fin de siècle meant, said that he liked Piemburg because it reminded him of the good old days.
    “You’re so right,” said Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon. “My husband and I are absolute addicts of nostalgia. If only we could put the clock back. The elegance, the charm, the gallantry of those dear dead days beyond recall,” She sighed and the Kommandant, feeling that for once in his life he had met with a kindred spirit, sighed with her. Presently when the barman reported that the garage had put the petrol in the Rolls, the Kommandant stood up.
    “I mustn’t keep you,” he said politely.
    “It was sweet of you to help,” Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon said and held out her gloved hand. The Kommandant took it and with a sudden impulse that sprang from page forty-nine of As Other Men Are pressed it to his lips. “Your servant,” he murmured.
    He was gone before Mrs Heathcote-Kilkoon could say anything and was soon driving down