Carte Blanche

Theron. He’s from Durban, in town for a few days.”
    Felicity gripped Bond’s hand. He asked obvious questions about her organization and the shipments of food arriving soon, hoping Hydt would change his mind about dinner.
    But the man’s large head turned once more at his iPhone and said, “I’m afraid we have to be going.”
    “Severan,” Felicity said, “I don’t think my remarks really conveyed our gratitude. You’ve introduced some important donors to us. I really can’t thank you enough.”
    Bond took note of this. So she knew the names of some of Hydt’s associates. He wondered how best to exploit this connection.
    Hydt said, “I’m delighted to help. I’ve been lucky in life. I want to share that good fortune.” He turned to Bond. “See you tomorrow, Theron. Around noon, if that’s convenient. Wear old clothes and shoes.” He brushed his curly beard with an index finger whose nail reflected a streak of jaundiced light. “You’ll be taking a tour of hell.”
    After Hydt and Jessica had left, Bond turned to Felicity Willing. “Those statistics were disturbing. I might be interested in helping.” Standing close, he was aware of her perfume, a musky scent.
    “Might be interested?” she asked.
    He nodded.
    Felicity kept a smile on her face but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, Mr. Theron, for every donor who actually writes a check, two others say they’re ‘interested’ but I never see a rand. I’d rather somebody told me up front they don’t want to give anything. Then I can get on with my business. Forgive me if I’m blunt but I’m fighting a war here.”
    “And you don’t take prisoners.”
    “No,” she said, smiling sincerely now. “I don’t.”
    Felicity Willful . . .
    “Then I’ll most certainly help,” Bond said, wondering what A Branch would say when they encountered a donation on his expense account back in London. “I’m not sure I’m able to rise to Severan’s level of generosity.”
    “One rand donated is one rand closer to solving the problem,” she said.
    He paused a judicious moment, then said, “Just had a thought: Severan and Jessica couldn’t make it for dinner and I’m alone in town. Would you care to join me after the auction?”
    Felicity considered this. “I don’t see why not. You look reasonably fit.” And turned away, a lioness preparing to descend on a herd of gazelles.

Chapter 43
    At the conclusion of the event, which raised the equivalent of thirty thousand pounds—including a modest donation on the credit card of Gene Theron—Bond and Felicity Willing walked to the car park behind the Lodge Club.
    They approached a large van, beside which were dozens of large cardboard cartons. She tugged up her hem, bent down, like a stevedore on a dock, and muscled a heavy box through the open side door of the vehicle.
    The reference to his physical well-being was suddenly clear. “Let me,” he said.
    “We’ll both do it.”
    Together they began to transfer the cartons, which smelled of food. “Leftovers,” he said.
    “Didn’t you think it was rather ironic that we were serving gourmet finger food at a campaign to raise money for the hungry?” Felicity asked.
    “I did, yes.”
    “If I’d offered tinned biscuits and processed cheese, they’d have devoured the lot. But with fancier stuff—I extorted some three-star restaurants to donate it—they didn’t dare take more than a bite or two. I wanted to make sure there was plenty left over.”
    “Where are we delivering the excess?”
    “A food bank not far away. It’s one of the outlets my organization works with.”
    When they had finished loading, they got into the van. Felicity climbed into the driver’s seat and slipped off her shoes to drive barefoot. Then they sped into the night, bounding assertively over the uneven tarmac as she tormented the clutch and gearbox.
    In fifteen minutes they were at the Cape Town Interdenominational Food Bank Center. Her shoes back on, Felicity opened the side door and together they offloaded the scampi, crab cakes and Jamaican chicken, which the staff carried inside the shelter.
    When the van was empty, Felicity gestured to a large man in khaki slacks and T-shirt. He seemed impervious to the May chill. He hesitated, then joined them, eyeing Bond curiously. Then he said, “Yes, Miss Willing? Thank you, Miss Willing. Lot of good food for everyone tonight. Did you see inside the shelter? It’s crowded.”
    She ignored his questions,