She let the bleached-blonde sales assistant, a friendly woman who plainly lived for her work, pick out a dress for her. She sensed the woman’s keenness had been aided by her ‘money’s no object’ remark. Stuff it, she thought. The whole expedition to Africa had been one nightmare after another.
‘Shoes as well?’ the woman queried, unable to contain her excitement.
‘Why not?’ Jane shrugged. ‘All I’ve got are flip-flops.’ Carel de Witt had laughed good-naturedly when Jane had shown him her rubber footwear at the commencement of the meeting. She’d explained that she’d bought the first grey business suit she’d seen in Melrose Arch, but had forgotten to buy shoes on her way to the meeting.
She liked the white-haired shipping owner. He, more than George, seemed not to have lost touch with the se
