The Blood of an Englishman Read Online Free PDF Page B

lager?”
    “Please,” said Kramer, and felt suddenly very much at his ease, being a man of simple, down-to-earth tastes himself. “And don’t bother with a glass, hey?”
    As Jonty removed the cans of lager, Kramer subjected him to a swift reassessment. He could see now that the salon owner was a fairly ordinary sort of bloke under all that rubbish he wore—the wide leather belt, the embroidered shirt and pink jeans—and probably not the least bit perverted. His age was around thirty-five, his build was well above average, and his face would not have disgraced a bulldozer driver, provided something was done about those golden ringlets first. One thing still seemed a little strange though, and that was his accent.
    “Right, get that down yer,” said Jonty, handing over the lager. “Where were we?”
    “You were telling me about this bloke Bonzo.”
    “Old Trekkersburg family, the Hookhams. Must’ve been second- or third-generation South Africans by the time our Lillian was born, followed a few years later by Bonzo. Their dad was in the seed trade.”
    “Oh ja, Hookham & Bailey, down by the Market Square.”
    “Right. Lillian married money—Digby-Smith really only plays at being an estate agent—and Bonzo buggered off to England to join the RAF when the war started. He was in Bomber Command, and that’s where he got the nickname Bonzo, apparently, which has stuck ever since. Then he did the opposite to me.”
    Kramer tipped his head enquiringly.
    “What I mean is,” said Jonty, “I came out here five years ago last March from Southampton—I’m an immigrant.”
    “Ah. I’d wondered.”
    “And Bonzo did things the other way round. When the war ended, he stayed on in England, married an English girl, and built up a small electronics business. His wife died about two months ago.”
    “Oh ja?”
    “Of cancer. He was left on his tod—their kids were all grown up—and he decided to carry on with the holiday they’d planned for his retirement, which was to come and visit his sister. First proper holiday he’s ever taken, she tells me.”
    “When did he arrive here?” asked Kramer.
    “In Trekkersburg? Oh, I’d say about three appointments ago. That’s right, they took him to Hluhluwe Game Reserve last week, and so he must have arrived—”
    “—at the beginning of the month.”
    “Check.”
    Kramer watched Jonty drain a can of lager in one long pull. “And now the juicy gossip, hey?”
    “About the Digby-Smiths?”
    “That’s right.”
    Jonty laughed. “You’ve got to be joking! Those two? They’re not only past it, I don’t think they ever bloody reached it!”
    “Tell me more.”
    “No kids, two dogs, six servants and a house the size of a sodding hotel. They run on rails. They do the same things year in and year out. They don’t care about anything, apart from the fact everyone recognizes their
position
, is polite to them at cocktail parties, and keeps telling the old bag how well groomed she is.”
    “You sound bitter, my friend.”
    “Do I?” Once again Jonty laughed, and went over to the refrigerator to get them each another lager. “Not really. I’ve been screwing their kind for years, and I’ve done all right out of it.”
    The telephone rang. Kramer answered it and Dr. Crickmay promised to be at Jonty’s within the next ten minutes.
    “So there’s absolutely no gossip on the Digby-Smiths?”
    “Christ, no!” snorted Jonty. “It would kill ’em.”
    Kramer pondered that for a moment. “But does the same apply to Bonzo?” he asked. “No scandal there either?”
    “None so far. He doesn’t sound a bad fellow, actually. His sister bitches about how ‘independent’ he is, which probably means that they bore the arse off him, and he goes and does his own thing. Like last night, for example.”
    “Oh ja?” Kramer’s interest quickened.
    “That’s what she’s been moaning about this morning. It seems Bonzo announced he had an old flame to look up, borrowed