“Except me.”

The words were out without thought and impossible to go back on, even if I’d wanted to. There was pride for one thing, but there was more to it than that. For some reason I found that I wanted his approval. I don’t suppose a psychologist would have had much difficulty in analysing the situation. I’d lost my father too early in life for a growing boy, plus the whole of that side of my family. Now I was running hard, trying to erase the memory of the events of the last few terrible months that had taken my mother and had left me with only one individual on top of earth who really cared for me – my grandfather. The one person I was afraid to love.

Burke’s voice cut in on my thoughts. “You mean it?” he said softly.

“ Coimbra was the first person I ever shot at in my life,” I told him. “I think I should make that clear in fairness to you.”

“Four hundred thousand francs a month,” he said, “and all found.”

“Including a shroud? I hear it’s rough up there.”

He changed – altered completely, became almost a different person. He laughed out of the darkness, reached over and squeezed my arm. “I’ll teach you, Stacey – everything you need to know. We’ll cut a path from one end of the Congo to the other and come out laughing with our pockets full of gold.”

Thunder rumbled beyond the horizon like distant drums and rain started to fall, heavy and warm, thumping against the canvas roof. The air was electric. I was seized with excitement. I suppose the simple fact was that I wanted to be like him. Tough, unafraid, not caring, able to look the world straight in the eye and stare it down.

God, but I was happy then – happy for the first time in years as the truck lurched through the night, filling my nostrils with the dust of Africa.