Windfall

They shook hands. 'Glad you could come.'

'Glad to be here.' Stafford looked around. 'Nice place you have.'

Hunt nodded. 'We like to think so. 'I'll give you the Grand Tour. Would you like it before or after a beer?'

'Lead me to your beer,' Stafford said fervently, and Hunt chuckled.

As they went inside he said, 'This block is mostly for administration, offices and so on. Plus those laboratories that need special facilities such as refrigeration. We have our own diesel-electric generators at the back."

'Then you're not on mains power? That surprises me. I saw a lot of high tension pylons as I drove around the lake. Big ones.'

'Those are the new ones from the geothermal electric plant at Ol Karia. It's not on line yet. The power lines are being erected by the Japanese, and the geothermal project has advisors from Iceland and New Zealand. Those boys know about geothermal stuff. Have you been out there yet?'

'It's next on my list.'

'When we get mains power we'll still keep our own generators for standby in case of a power cut.' He opened a door. 'This way.'

He led Stafford into a recreation room. There was a half-size billiards table, a ping-pong table, several card tables scattered about, and comfortable armchairs. At the far end there was a bar behind which stood a black Kenyan in a white coat polishing a glass. Hunt walked forward and flopped into a chair. 'Billy,' he called. 'Two beers.'

'Yes, sah; two beers coming. Premium?'

'Hapana; White Cap.' Hunt gave Stafford a half smile. 'Premium is a bit too strong if we're going to walk in the midday sun.'

'Mad dogs and Englishmen,' Stafford suggested.

'Something like that.' Hunt laughed. 'You know, the Victorians had entirely the wrong idea, what with their pith helmets and flannel spinal pads. They were more likely to get heatstroke indoors than outdoors in their day; their roofs were of corrugated iron and they cooked on wood-burning stoves. The rooms must have been like ovens.'

Stafford looked at Hunt's sun-bleached hair. 'So you're not worried about sunstroke?'

'You're all right once you're acclimatized and as long as you don't overdo it.' The bartender put a tray on the table. 'Put it on my chit,' said Hunt. He poured his beer. 'Cheers!'

Stafford waited until he had swallowed the first stinging, cold freshness before he said, 'Tell me something. Isn't a place like this eligible for a government grant?'

Hunt stretched his legs and absently rubbed a red scratch on his thigh. 'Oh, we get a grant but it doesn't go far enough. They never do. But things are changing. You heard what Brice said the other day. He still hasn't made the official announcement, though.'

Hunt said, 'Anyway, it was enough to bring the Trustees out of the woodwork. They came this week and it's the first time I've seen them here, and that's been two years.'

Stafford said, 'I'd have thought, if money was tight, they'd have been in your hair seeing there wasn't any wastage.'

'Oh, Brice keeps them informed.' There was a slight hesitation as though he had meant to say something else, and Stafford guessed it was that Brice kept the Trustees in line. 'I wouldn't say he's machiavellian about it, but it suits me if I never see the Trustees. I have enough to bother about." He looked up and waved. 'Here's Judy and Jim Odhiambo.'

Stafford stood up but Judy waved him back into the chair. 'Sit down, Max. I'd give my soul for an ice-cold tonic.'

He was introduced. Odhiambo was a short and stocky black with muscular arms. Hunt said, 'Dr Odhiambo is our resident expert on cereals-maize, millet, wheat-you name it.'

'Dr Hunt exaggerates,' said Odhiambo deprecatingly.

He ordered a beer for himself and a tonic for Judy. Hunt said, 'I've got something for you, Jim. I came across a paper in the Abstracts about primitive, ancestral forms of maize in Peru and I remembered what you said about preserving the gene pool. If you're interested 'I'll dig it out.'

Within two minutes they were engaged in a technical conversation. Judy said ruefully, 'This must be very dull for you.'

'Not at all,' Stafford said lightly. 'I like to hear experts talk, even though I don't understand one word in ten.' He looked at the bubbles rising in his glass. 'Alan has been telling me about the Foundation's good fortune.'

She lit up. 'Yes, isn't it wonderful.' And more soberly she said, 'Not that I'm cheering about the death of an old man in England, but I never knew him, and we can do so much good with the money here.'

'Who was he?'

I haven't the slightest idea.'

A cul-de-sac. A bit of offensive was needed or he would never get anywhere. 'Why the fortifications?'

Judy wrinkled her brow, 'What fortifications?'

Stafford said, 'The fence around the grounds, and the gatehouse with closed gates.'

'Oh, that.' Her voice was rueful again. 'We like to give visitors to Kenya a good impression, but there are some awfully light-fingered people around here. We were losing things; not much – just minor agricultural implements, seeds, petrol – stuff like that. Most of it didn't matter very much, but when Jim Odhiambo breeds a special kind of maize for a certain soil and the seed is stolen and probably ends up in the stewpot of some ignorant wananchi then it hurts. It really does.'

'Wananchi? ' 'Indigenous Kenyan. You can't really blame them, I suppose. The seed would look like any other seed, and they don't really understand what we're doing here.' She shook her head. 'Anyway, with the fence and the gates we tightened security.'

Hunt drained his glass: 'Come and see my little empire, Max. The bit of it that's upstairs.'

Stafford followed him and, on the way, said, 'Is Brice here today?'

'You'll probably meet him at lunch.' Hunt led the way along a corridor. 'Here we are.' He opened a door.

It was a laboratory filled with incomprehensible equipment and instruments the uses of which Hunt explained with gusto and, although much of it was over Stafford's head, he could not but admire Hunt's enthusiasm. 'Perhaps, with this new money, I can get the gas chromatograph I've been pushing for,' Hunt said. 'I need it to identify trace elements.'

Stafford wandered over to the window. Being on the top storey he had quite an extensive view. Away in the distance he could see the fence around the College grounds, and there was a man walking along it as though on patrol. He wore a rifle slung over his shoulder. He said, 'Why do you need armed guards?'

Hunt stopped in full spate. 'Huh?'

'Armed guards; why do you need them?'

'We don't.'

Stafford pointed. 'Then what's he doing out there?'

Hunt crossed to the window. 'Oh, we've been having a problem with a leopard lately, but how the devil it gets over the fence we don't know. It's taken a couple of dogs and the resident staff are disturbed – some of them have children here just about the size to attract a leopard.'

'And you don't know how it gets in?'

'Brice thinks there must be a tree, probably an acacia, which is growing too near the fence. He was organizing an exploration of the perimeter this morning. That's why he wasn't around.'

'How long is your perimeter?'

'I wouldn't know,' said Hunt lightly. 'I haven't measured it.'

Lunch was in the staff canteen which would not have disgraced a moderately good hotel as a dining room. It was spacious with good napery and silverware, and the food was very good. It seemed to Stafford that for a Foundation supposed to be hard up for money the senior staff did themselves well.

He was introduced to most of the staff over a pre-lunch drink at the bar. Their names and faces were forgotten as soon as the introductions were made, as usually happens on these occasions, but he estimated that they were black Kenyans, Indians and whites in roughly equal proportions, and honorifics like 'Doctor' and 'Professor' were bandied about with enthusiasm.