She handed him a sheaf of papers.
‘That’s a reporter from the Today programme. You spoke to them a few days ago so he’s bound to ask you how you could have known days ago that the murder was linked to agitation over land reform.’
Was that just six days earlier? It felt like a lifetime to Anton. He didn’t know whether to stay sitting or stand up. There was a lectern next to the table. He decided to stay where he was.
‘Another thing,’ the woman said, wrapping her hand around the microphone. ‘Just stick to the agreed wording on Lindi. It’s been checked by the lawyer and the Chair has signed off on it. Bound to be questions about her.’
Anton cleared his throat. His colleague poured water into a glass and shoved it closer to him. He took a sip. He looked down at the notes. Where the hell were his glasses? He found them in the pocket of the jacket he’d slung over his chair.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Apologies for dragging you in here at this ungodly hour – indeed, no one could be sorrier about that than I am. At least it gives you plenty of time to write up your stories.’
Stop waffling. Just get on with it. He didn’t have to turn around: he knew his colleague was staring at him, anxiety written all over her face.
‘Now, late last night South Trust came into the possession of some documents relating to the sale of farmland in South Africa to foreign entities.’
What? ‘Foreign entities’? Had he agreed to call them that?
‘Our researchers have been looking at the documents through the night and they appear to show prima facie evidence that some – perhaps all – of these sales are irregular.’
Another of those weasel words. ‘Irregular’. ‘Corrupt’ would be the right one.
‘We, South Trust, are not an investigative agency. Our only interest, in accordance with our mandate, is to determine the causes of the recent unrest in South Africa and, if at all possible, to try to mediate between the competing parties. We have decided, therefore, not to publish the documents as yet. We have instead handed copies to the relevant authorities in South Africa and, indeed, here in London. Once we have had representations from our legal advisers we hope to publish the documents on our website, though, as I say, that will primarily be a legal decision and, of course, not ours alone. The authorities in both countries will have their own views on the matter.’
He could barely bring himself to continue.
‘Now I want to turn to a related matter. You are, no doubt, aware of developments in South Africa overnight, which, according to the South African authorities, are linked to the murder of Lesedi Motlantshe last week. Two people are in custody …’
Anton’s colleague leaned towards him and pointed to something on her phone. He couldn’t tell what he was supposed to be looking at. She pulled the microphone towards her. ‘Sorry to interrupt. It seems a third person is in custody. A former government employee turned campaigner. Thanks, Anton.’
He wished she would just carry on, finish the job.
‘A British national is also being questioned, not under arrest, I must make that clear, but I can confirm this morning that she is …’ he reached for the water, swallowed hard ‘… she was working for South Trust.’
There was an audible crackle of activity: phone keyboards being tapped; notepads being written on; and the collective and unmistakable murmur of journalists who have found their top line. A British citizen, a Goody Two Shoes activist, caught at the heart of a murder investigation in a foreign land. The press officer took the microphone again.
‘Mr Chetty will take a few questions but just a word of caution – I’m sure you’ll all understand that, for legal reasons, he may have to be more circumspect than … than … well, than you would want him to be.’ She pointed to the man from Today.
‘Mr Chetty, when you say this British citizen was working for South Trust, do you mean she was an employee? Is she still an employee and what is her name?’
‘Yes, she is a member of our staff and her name is Lindi Seaton.’
The press officer grabbed the microphone again. ‘Just to be clear, I mean to expand a bit on what Mr Chetty was saying. Yes, she is still a member of staff but, for the moment and until her position becomes clearer, she is suspended with all the usual protections under employment law.’ She pointed to another journalist. ‘Just tell us who you represent.’
‘Daisy Evans, the Guardian. In their initial statement and in other follow-up remarks, the South African authorities have made it clear that they believe the British national – Lindi Seaton, as you say – has what they’re calling close links with this underground group, the Land Collective. How long have you been aware of those links?’
Anton took a moment. ‘Look, let me put it like this. Our staff are given a great deal of independence when they’re in the field. That’s the way we work and it accounts for our success. They are not expected to be referring things to me all—’
‘Could you just say whether it is true she had links with the Collective and how long you have known that?’
‘Well, it depends on what you call links.’ Exasperation ricocheted around the room. ‘It is part of our job to make connections with all parties to a conflict. We don’t make judgements.’
‘I’m not asking you to make a judgement. Did your employee have links or not? It’s quite simple, really.’
The press officer leaned over to the microphone. ‘There is absolutely no way the Trust was aware of any connection or link between Lindi Seaton and this so-called Land Collective when she was assigned to this mission in South Africa. We were first made aware that she had met a member of the group just two days ago. The facts are hazy. For obvious reasons we have not had a proper chance to debrief Ms Seaton.’
Another reporter spoke up. He directed his remarks at the press officer, ignoring Anton. ‘Surely any link would compromise your neutrality in the eyes of other parties.’
‘Clearly that is an issue and one we take extremely seriously. It is one of the reasons Ms Seaton has been suspended. Mr Chetty will take a couple more questions. Yes, the Financial Times.’
‘Mr Chetty, you said the Trust handed the documents to the British authorities and not just the South Africans. Why?’
‘It is our view, our preliminary view, that some of those who stand to gain from these land acquisitions, which we, er, believe to be irregular – that some of these companies and individuals are UK-based.’
‘Can you name any of them?’
‘No, I can’t. As I said, there may be legal implications. What I can say is that the beneficiaries range from individual investors to private equity—’
‘I’m afraid we really can’t say any more.’ The press officer gathered her notes. ‘That’s all we have time for. Mr Chetty has – as you can imagine – some urgent meetings to attend but I will be around for a few minutes more. Thank you.’
Clive Missenden’s phone bleeped. He was in the private dining room of a Dubai hotel, having a late breakfast. He looked at the message. It read: Get out of there, dump the deal, whatever it takes. Then he dialled a number.
‘Josiah, hope I haven’t woken you up. Not surprised you’re still under the covers after last night’s exertions. Wonderful evening. Thank you so much. Look, I’m just calling to say I’m heading out. The plane’s being fuelled up as we speak.’
‘But what about the meeting? This fellow, Kariakis, he’s bringing the papers soon. They are all ready for you to sign.’
‘Yes, yes. I’m sorry, it’s going to be a wasted effort. The truth is, Josiah, dear boy, we were never really very keen on this Mpuma-what’s-it business. Don’t get me wrong, it did look quite promising at one stage but it does seem rather sticky now.’
‘But – but what should I tell Jake and the others? I mean, they’re expecting a call from me today.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find Jake’s got his hands full at the moment,’ Missenden said briskly. ‘Josiah, old thing, why don’t you break the habit of
a lifetime, get off your arse and just check your phone? Come to think of it, why not try the remote control for your TV? It’s quite easy if you try. So long.’
And that was that. Time to move on. There were other continents, other deals to pursue. True, they’d had to put some money up front but, what the hell, it could all be written off. There was only one thing Clive Missenden couldn’t stomach. That bitch Lindi Seaton. She’d got one over on him. He wasn’t going to forget that in a hurry.
EPILOGUE
Later that day, when Kagiso had finally called Lindi – about the time Sharmi Meer walked into a Johannesburg police station – it was to tell her that the Collective was linked to Lesedi Motlantshe’s murder and that he would be handing himself in: an act of solidarity with Sharmi. Shortly afterwards, Lindi was interviewed by the South African Police Service.
The next morning, having watched a live stream of Anton’s less than convincing performance at the press conference, she leaked the contents of Lesedi’s hidden file to the Mail & Guardian in South Africa.
She was subsequently expelled from South Africa. She was persona non grata and her passport was stamped to that effect. Banned from South Africa: like father, like daughter.
Lindi and Kagiso were unable to meet before she was thrown out.
In the wake of the online newspaper exposé, Jake Willemse, the minister for rural development and land reform, was placed under house arrest pending police enquiries. Parliament was due to launch its own investigation.
Josiah Motlantshe, whose name made numerous appearances in what was already being dubbed the ‘Lesedi Papers’, was thought to have flown straight from Dubai to one of his homes abroad, in Florida. A statement on his behalf said there was no question of his running, he was simply attending to business and would return to South Africa in due course. The statement came from a PR firm in London, one that had made its name looking after the interests of a British businessman accused of breaking arms embargoes to several countries, including the Democratic Republic of Congo.
In the absence of her husband, Priscilla Motlantshe became the focus of press attention. Finally, she agreed to face the journalists, reading a handwritten statement outside the front door of the family’s Houghton home.
‘My heart is sore. I have lost the two men in my life. My marriage to Josiah is over. He is not the man I met so many years ago in Soweto. He fought like a lion for our freedom, but now he has forgotten those days. I never thought of a future without him – that is what I face now. But as I prepare for this I know I am not alone. I carry inside me,’ at this point she held her clenched fist against her chest, ‘the memory of my beloved Lesedi. No mother wants her son to oppose his father but Lesedi did the right thing. You see, I believe that the true spirit of the father lived on in his son.’
Sharmi Meer, Dudu ‘Two-Boy’ Modise, Kagiso Rapabane and François Nel, who had been arrested on the Botswana border, were all charged under terrorism legislation, some of it dating back to the apartheid years. Sharmi Meer refused to name her accomplices in the Lesedi murder and it was assumed she could not escape a lengthy jail sentence. As for the other three, after the revelations of the Lesedi Papers, public opinion was on their side. There was even talk of a presidential pardon. It was a gesture urged on the president by supporters who believed such a move might help to ease the pressure for the role of the Office of the President to be included in the forthcoming parliamentary inquiry.
In London, Harry Seaton stood in the hallway of his house, staring at the wall of photographs. He had another to add to the collection. He’d decided that the picture of Lindi and Kagiso arm in arm, taken a few weeks earlier in Joubert Park, should go right next to the one of the family taken in the week before they’d all left South Africa. Harry tapped the hook into the wall. He slipped the newly framed print over it and stood back, looking at the two photographs side by side. In his mind there was a sort of symmetry to them: a relationship begun in the old country and cemented in the new one. A friendship that transcended time and place. There was enough truth in that. Another photo, another story.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Several people read this novel in its various stages. Milton Nkosi and Steve Lenahan in Johannesburg, friends from a time when South Africans were first working out what to do with their freedom, have helped to give this story its authenticity. One of them black, the other white, they grew up in different South Africas but come Freedom Day they shared a passionate hope in the new country. I first knew Kamil Naicker as a child when her parents were working clandestinely towards an end to apartheid. Kamil is one of freedom’s children and now, as an academic and writer, her understanding of the challenges facing her generation made her comments on this book invaluable. Sophie Raworth, a newsroom colleague turned stalwart friend, put her talents as a journalist and bookworm at my disposal. Richard Allen, who has known me since our days in school, was my one-man focus group. I was happy and relieved to hear that he kept turning the pages.
I am indebted to Hannah Knowles, Senior Commissioning Editor at Canongate, for listening to the voices in this novel and deciding to let them be heard. She’s been a supportive and inspiring editor whose interventions have improved this book.
I am grateful to my copy-editor, Hazel Orme, who combined an eye for detail with an enthusiasm for the narrative.
A huge thank you to my agent, Maggie Hanbury, who has guided my excursions into the world of publishing for twenty years and more. This is my first work of fiction and she has supported me every step of the way.
Frances Robathan has lived with these characters from the moment they started to form in my mind and has helped to shape them. She has done so with her usual grace and generosity.
‘Deeply compelling and immersive’
ELIF SHAFAK
‘Stunning’
Observer
‘A compact little gem’
Sunday Times
The Burning Land Page 27