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Zambian. Who would hire me? If I take her home to Zambia it will be worse.’
    Cameron thought about her situation and knew she was probably right. With no experience and no family to back her up, her prospects were not good. Around her neck Beauty wore a simple silver cross on a thin chain; it gave him an idea. ‘There is a project here in Barberton the mine supports, a jewellery-making collective. They train women and unemployed people in basic metalwork skills.’
    Beauty sniffed. ‘I am not good with my hands. I can’t even sew. I worked as a part-time maid to get through university. I will have to go back to that, I suppose, although I can’t afford child care.’
    ‘No, that’s not what I was suggesting. The Imvoti Jewellers, that’s the name of the project, do good work, but their products could be better marketed to tourists coming to Barberton, and further afield, in Nelspruit and even Johannesburg. They don’t even have a website.’
    Beauty wiped her eyes. ‘I studied website design. And I love jewellery.’
    ‘What would you say to, say, six months’ work on contract, writing a marketing plan for Imvoti Jewellery and designing a website for them? If things work out and you can improve their sales I can put a case to our new head of environment and community to make the position permanent.’
    ‘My baby?’
    ‘We have a créche at the mine. You must still consider yourself as part of our family, Mrs Tshabalala.’
    There was the rattle of china behind him and Cameron turned to see the lady of the house standing in the doorway, carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups. Beauty’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Don’t worry, girl, your little one is asleep on my bed for now. I put pillows either side of her so she won’t roll out.’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Beauty said.
    ‘Yes, you do,’ said the woman as she set down the tray and started to pour. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear what
Meneer
McMurtrie is offering you. You must stay here in Barberton if you have nowhere else to go. I can look after your little one if you have to go to Nelspruit or Joburg or whatever outside of the crèche’s opening hours.’
    ‘You would, Mrs Van der Post?’
    The older woman nodded. ‘My Frikkie was killed down the mine twenty years ago and my boys are all grown up and living in Australia now. What else is an old woman going to do with herself? Like Mr McMurtrie says, you are part of the Eureka family.’
    Beauty stood and took her hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Van der Post.’ She turned to Cameron and started to thank him, but she dissolved into tears, her narrow shoulders shaking.
    Cameron put his arms around her and she pressed her face to his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. After a while she looked up, eased herself from him and wiped her eyes. ‘Thank you, Mr McMurtrie. I will not disappoint you. But I just need to ask one more thing of you, please.’
    ‘Child,’ the woman interrupted.
    ‘No, Mrs Van der Post. Just one more thing.’
    ‘What is it?’ Cameron asked.
    ‘The men who did this to Themba, to the father of my baby – you will kill them?’
    There had been armed raids against the
zama zamas
in the past and lives had been lost in underground combat, and this had drawn the ire of the board of Global Resources over in safe, law-abiding Australia. He had been ordered not to take matters into his own hands and send in armed security to rescue Chris and avenge Themba and Paulo. Cameron himself had not fired a weapon at anyone since he left the army more than twenty years ago.
    ‘Yes, I will.’
    *
    Chris Loubser wanted to scream into the hessian bag that covered his head, but he knew if he did so his mind would unravel like a ball of string. It was bad enough being underground, stripped of his headlamp and his rescue pack – which contained an emergency oxygen supply – but the weave of the hessian made the claustrophobia almost unbearable.
    The man who was leading him through the darkness pushed