The Well of Lost Plots (Thursday Next 3)

'Would you care to have tea with me on the veranda?'

'I'd be delighted.'

He smiled, took me by the arm and jumped us both into Bradshaw Hunts Big Game. I had never been to East Africa, either in our world or this, but it was as beautiful as I had imagined it from the many images I had grown up with. Bradshaw's house was a low colonial building with a veranda facing the setting sun; the land around the house was wild scrub and whistling thorns, herds of wildebeest and zebra wandering across in a desultory manner, their hoofs kicking up red dust as they moved.

'Quite beautiful, wouldn't you say?'

'Extraordinary,' I replied, staring at the scenery.

'Isn't it just?' He grinned. 'Appreciate a woman who knows beauty when she sees it.'

His voice dropped a tone.

'Havisham was one of the finest,' he said. 'A little too fast for me, but a good egg in a scrap. She was very fond of you.'

'And I of her.'

'I had a look at the wreck of the Bluebird when it returned to Wemmick's Stores,' he added. 'Looked like an accident, my girl, nothing more. Mr Toad was pretty cut up about it and got into a helluva pickle for visiting the Outland without permission.'

'Did Havisham confide in you about Perkins?'

'Only that she thought he'd been murdered.'

'Had he?'

'Who knows? The office think it's Deane but we'll never know for sure until we arrest him. Have you met the memsahib? My darling, this is Thursday Next – a colleague from work.'

I looked up and jumped slightly because Mrs Bradshaw was, in fact, a gorilla. She was large and hairy and was dressed only in a floral-patterned pinafore.

'Good evening,' I said, slightly taken aback, 'a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Bradshaw.'

'Good evening,' replied the gorilla politely. 'Would you like some cake with your tea? Alphonse has made an excellent lemon sponge.'

'That would be nice, thank you,' I spluttered as Mrs Bradshaw stared at me with her dark, deep-set eyes.

'Excellent!' she said. 'I'll be out in a jiffy to join you. Feet, Trafford.'

'What? Oh!' said Bradshaw, taking his boots off the chair opposite. When Mrs Bradshaw had left he turned and said to me in a very serious whisper:

'Tell me, did you notice anything odd abo

ut the memsahib?'

'Er,' I began, not wanting to hurt his feelings, 'not really.'

'Think,' he said, 'it's important. Is there anything about her that strikes you as a little out of the ordinary?'

'Well, she's only wearing a pinafore,' I managed to say.

'Does that bother you?' he asked in all seriousness. 'Whenever male visitors attend I always have her cover up. She's a fine-looking gal, wouldn't you agree? Drive any man wild, wouldn't you say?'

'Very fine,' I agreed.

He shuffled in his chair and drew closer.

'Anything else?' he said, staring at me intently. 'Anything at all. I won't be upset.'

'Well,' I began slowly, 'I couldn't help noticing that she was …'