Off the Voortrekker Road

by Barbara Bleiman

  Chapter 13

  April 1958

  Jack was perplexed. Vera had tried calling Clara Joubert on his behalf several times over the previous few days but had either found her unavailable or unwilling to agree to a meeting with him. Her excuses were all plausible enough but excuses they were, of that he was absolutely sure.

  Time was moving on and he felt the urgency of talking to her face to face, to find out more about that trip to Elsie’s River that had caused such consternation among his client’s trusted friends and community. He knew that very soon he would have to ask van Heerden for permission to interview his wife, and he wanted as much information as possible beforehand, so that he could do so with minimum pressure. He’d been warned that Laura was still fragile, both physically and mentally, and he hoped to avoid upsetting her more than was strictly necessary. He dreaded the meeting. It would be hard for her, however gentle he managed to be. Laura van Heerden was caught up in something ugly, beyond her control, and he didn’t like the thought of her suffering.

  He sat in his office at his chambers with his feet up on the desk, chewing on the lid of his fountain pen. Renee had occasionally popped in to meet him for lunch and found him like this. She had laughingly complained that he looked more like a newspaper hack from the Cape Argus than a serious man of the law.

  ‘It helps me think,’ he said. ‘And in any event, in some ways I am a bit like a journalist, investigating a story.’

  ‘Story? I thought that advocates worked with evidence and facts not stories.’

  ‘Oh no! The story’s everything. I have to be able to tell myself the narrative – what happened, when and why, cause and effect. I need to establish the characters’ points of view and tell it to myself as a coherent whole. It really is a bit like being a writer, in fact, pulling together the plotline and hoping that in the end the whole thing hangs together. Preferably with a happy ever after ending… and a conquering hero!’

  ‘Not many heroes among your clients so far!’

  ‘That’s me – the conquering hero, not my clients,’ he’d joked, and she’d come over and kissed him affectionately.

  ‘Of course you are,’ she’d said and he realised, with a little moment of pleasant surprise, that she had meant it; she had a touching faith in his abilities and the likelihood that he would go far.

  Now he spat the pen lid out so it fell onto the desk, leaving a damp inky patch on the blotter. ‘What’s the story this time, Jack Neuberger?’ he asked himself, but so far, he really wasn’t very sure.

  He stood up. He had decided; all this tiptoeing around was getting him nowhere. He rang through to Vera and asked her to look up Clara Joubert’s address in the Cape Town telephone book. There were several Jouberts in the directory so he recommended searching under the name of her father Pieter Jan Joubert, in the Thornton area. Finally, after the usual sighing and grumbling, Vera came up with a matching name and an address in Jan Smuts Drive, close to the church where Johannes van Heerden was minister.

  Ten minutes later he was in Isidore’s Ford, winding down the windows to get some air into the hot, stuffy car. ‘Thank God for Isidore!’ he thought, as he drove out of Cape Town’s crowded city centre and into the wide plains of the Cape flats, with its scrubby waste land and sparse areas of poor housing. Without a car, this case would be difficult and Isidore had offered him the use of his old Ford, passed on to him by his father, while he himself was working as a locum at a hospital up in Port Elizabeth.

  Jack headed out towards the houses and bungalows of Bellville, an area relatively close to his childhood home in Parow. It was interesting to see this area where Laura had been brought up and lived all her life, with its tidy little gardens planted with rhododendron bushes and azaleas, shaded by fig trees and sporting well-manicured lawns. They spoke of quiet affluence; not the richly opulent mansions of Constantia, nor the big old-fashioned double-storeyed homes of Claremont, but something more solidly, simply middle of the road; an Afrikaner area for families of good, hard-working stock, making their way in modest, decent jobs.

  He drove down Dagbreek Road, putting the car into second and crawling along so that he could check the numbers on the doors. Number 18 was a low, brick-built bungalow, with a small front garden and a winding path created out of crazy paving. He parked the Ford several houses further on, so as to avoid drawing too much attention to himself and walked back to the house he’d identified as belonging to Mr Joubert.

  It was the middle of the day and he was hoping that Pieter Jan Joubert would be out at work, leaving just the women of the family at home. If he was especially fortunate and could catch Clara alone, all the better. He rang on the doorbell and waited.

  A coloured woman came to the door, dressed in a white uniform, her hair caught up in a simple floral doek. He was in luck; she looked a little dreamy and slow, smiling up at him in a friendly way, rather than giving him the suspicious watchdog scowl that so many maids had been taught to present to strangers who came to the door.

  ‘Yessir?’

  ‘Is your mistress at home?’

  ‘No sir. She’s gone to the ladies’ prayer and coffee circle.’

  ‘Mrs Joubert?’

  ‘Yes Mrs Joubert and Miss Joubert.’

  ‘Mrs Joubert and Miss Clara Joubert?’

  ‘Oh no!’ The maid tittered. ‘Mrs Joubert and Miss Evelyn, the master’s sister. The coffee mornings are for the older ladies not the young maisies.’

  ‘And Miss Clara. Is she at home?’

  ‘Oh, she’s about the house somewhere, I think. I can call her for you, if you want.’

  ‘Thank you. I would be pleased if you would do that.’

  ‘Who shall I say wants her?’

  ‘Oh, tell her it’s to do with Laura van Heerden.’

  ‘Yessir,’ she said, shutting the door firmly in his face. He smiled. She reminded him a bit of Olive, Ouma and Oupa’s girl from his childhood. The same innocence and lack of guile and a similar lack of finesse when people called. He’d liked Olive well enough, but had not been anything like as fond of her as he was of Ada, their own hired girl, whose clever wit and warmth he remembered with great affection. He wondered what had become of her; she had stopped working for his mother and father a long time ago and he’d heard no mention of her for many years now. Perhaps she was happily married and settled, with children of her own, though from what he knew of women like her, the chances were that life would have been tough. He’d heard enough stories not to kid himself on that score.

  A few moments later there was the sound of murmuring voices and footsteps in the hall, bringing him back to the present. The door opened and a young woman stood in the doorway, looking at him.

  ‘Clara Joubert?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jack Neuberger. My secretary’s been struggling to find a time for you to pay me a visit, so I thought I’d take the bull by the horns and come out here and find you myself. Save you the trouble of making your way to my office. I hope you don’t mind.’

  The young woman’s face flushed red and she turned instinctively to look behind her, as if seeking a means of escape. But then she seemed to change her mind and faced him squarely.

  ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

  ‘I won’t take up much of your time I promise you.’

  She took him into the front room. It was an old-fashioned parlour, with simply upholstered green chairs and lace antimacassars, a dark sideboard with an array of pot plants perched on top; a jade, some spider plants and, in pride of place, a large aloe. The room looked as if it was rarely used, only when visitors came to take tea, or when a church elder stopped by for a word. Perhaps Johannes van Heerden himself had sat in that big armchair, talking about church matters with Pieter Jan Joubert, or with his sister, Clara’s aunt?

  He sat at one end of the sofa and Cl
ara took a seat on an upright chair facing him. He felt himself sinking back into the soft cushions, so pulled himself upright, sitting forward so that he was more on a level with her.

  ‘Can I get you a drink? Some orange squash perhaps?’

  ‘A glass of water would be nice,’ he said. It was a hot day and he would be glad of something to quench his thirst.

  She called out to the maid, who came with a jug and a tumbler, which she set down on the table beside him, smiling cheerfully all the while.

  ‘That will be all, Sadie,’ Clara said. ‘Now, Mr Neuberger, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I understand that you are a good friend of Laura van Heerden, Laura Pietersen that was.’

  She nodded.

  ‘As I’m sure you know by now, I’m acting on behalf of Mr van Heerden, working on his defence and bringing together witnesses who will testify in support of him, either as character witnesses or in the substantive matter of the charge against him. I understand from my secretary that you are very busy, so I thought I’d just come out to see you myself, to make it that bit easier for you. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind. I want to find out a bit more about your relationship with Laura and her husband?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s all quite simple really. I’ve known Laura since we were girls, living in the same neighbourhood. We were at school together at Bellville Girls High, in the same class from the start. We grew up together, sharing our walk to school, spending our evenings and our summers playing out in the streets or in each other’s gardens. We’ve always been as close as sisters. I am an only child, so that’s been especially important to me.’

  ‘And Johannes?’

  ‘He was a member of our church. He was a serious boy. He kept himself separate from the other boys. I wasn’t surprised though, when he started seeing Laura; he had always seemed fond of her and she of him. He was shy with girls, but with Laura he found himself able to talk. She’s such a gentle person, such a lovely person – she brings out the best in everyone. And her father liked him very much. He approved.’

  ‘Did you attend her wedding?’

  ‘I was her bridesmaid. I held her flowers for her in the church.’

  ‘And since then?’

  ‘They’ve been very good to me. I haven’t married, Mr Neuberger. Like my aunt, I’ve remained with my parents in this house but Laura and Johannes are like a second family to me. I’m godmother to their eldest daughter Coral, and to Beatrice, their youngest.’

  ‘Tell me a bit about what happened when Beatrice was born.’

  ‘There isn’t really very much to tell, Mr Neuberger. Laura was unwell. The baby was born early, by Caesarian section. She was taken away from her mother to be looked after by the nurses and only returned to her several days later. Laura has been frail ever since.’

  ‘Frail? Physically unwell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mentally?’

  Clara Joubert looked at him firmly. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Laura’s mind. She’s just delicate. She needs taking care of.’

  ‘And Johannes?’

  ‘He’s been a good husband to her, as far as I am aware.’

  ‘As far as you are aware?’ Jack wondered whether he was picking up a note of hesitation.

  ‘He’s taken care of her. He’s provided her with extra help and assisted her work in the community – that’s very important to her, Mr Neuberger. She believes that it’s her purpose in life to help those less fortunate than herself.’

  ‘And you’ve also helped with this?’

  ‘I’ve done what little I can. I accompany my aunt and the other ladies from time to time, distributing clothes and food to those in need.’

  ‘In Elsie’s River?’

  ‘The project is in Elsie’s River, Mr Neuberger, as you must know.’

  Jack had the feeling that she was telling him only what he needed to know, just so much and no more.

  ‘You went on various occasions when Mr van Heerden was there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you were with him when he visited the houses.’

  ‘We usually split up into little groups. Mrs de Villiers and the minister, my aunt and I, or one of the other ladies joining me.’

  ‘But you sometimes accompanied Mr van Heerden?’

  ‘It was rare for me to do so, but occasionally yes.’

  ‘Who did you visit with him?’

  ‘The Swanepoels, with their five children, living close to the railway track. The husband drinks away any money he brings in and his wife is at her wit’s end. And there’s old Willy Nel. His leg was severed in a farming accident, so he can’t work. He depends on what he gets from charity. Then there’s the Johnson twins, of course. They were left on their own when their mother died last year and we stepped in to try to help. And there were one or two others.’

  ‘The woman who is on trial with him?’

  Jack watched her reaction closely. There was no flicker of emotion.

  ‘Possibly. I forget.’

  ‘Agnes Small is not a woman you would easily forget.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Why is that, Mr Neuberger?’

  ‘She is not what you would expect. She is a refined woman, a person with genteel manners and good sense, and…’

  ‘…And she’s very beautiful. I remember her now.’

  He couldn’t work out whether she had only just recalled Mrs Small, or simply chosen to say so now, when denial of all knowledge might seem foolish and could take her into treacherous waters.

  ‘So you did visit her with the minister?’

  ‘Yes, once. She invited us in and offered us a glass of ginger beer. Johannes gave her a bag of clothes for the children and we said a few prayers together. She was a woman for whom one felt particular sympathy. She had fallen on hard times for reasons beyond her control. In other circumstances, she could have led a good and decent life.’

  ‘On that occasion you left together, Mr van Heerden and yourself?’

  ‘Yes. We had several other families to visit.’

  ‘And on other occasions, you were aware that Mr van Heerden went to see Mrs Small?’

  ‘With Mrs de Villiers, or my aunt, or one of the other women, yes.’

  ‘Never on his own?’

  Was there a moment’s hesitation?

  ‘No.’

  ‘You never had doubts about Mr Van Heerden’s behaviour?’

  ‘No.’

  Jack paused and took a sip of water from his glass.

  ‘So tell me Clara, why it is that you have been avoiding speaking to me? If everything is so straightforward and simple, surely you would be hurrying to speak up for Johannes? He’s the husband of your closest, dearest friend. They have been good to you. Wouldn’t you want to help them? More than anything else in the whole world?’

  ‘I…’ Clara’s lip trembled and suddenly she burst into tears.

  ‘That last time,’ she sobbed, ‘when I went with my aunt and Mrs de Villiers, there was something strange, not quite right. Johannes seemed troubled; he was nervous. I noticed his hand trembling on the gear stick when we parked the car on the road outside the woman’s house. I was puzzled. And then…’

  She looked hesitant.

  ‘I’m on his side, Clara,’ Jack said gently. ‘Both of them, him and Laura. I’m acting for the defence. Whatever you tell me, I’ll try to make sure it does him no harm. But I do need to know what happened. It will help me.’

  ‘Look I don’t want to speak to you here. My aunt and my mother will be back at any moment and Sadie listens in to everything that goes on in this house. She says whatever comes into her head – she can’t be trusted. I’ll come to your office tomorrow, I promise you. And
I’ll tell you everything I know, so help me God.’

  Jack stood up and shook her hand. ‘Tomorrow morning then? Ten a.m.?’

  ‘Ten a.m.’

  Chapter 14

  The following morning, however, Jack was forced to cancel his appointment with Clara Joubert. When he arrived at his office, Vera was waiting for him, anxiously pacing the carpet in the hall downstairs, looking out for his arrival.

  ‘Mr Neuberger,’ she whispered. She was looking animated and urgent, her normal bored expression wiped away. ‘There are two strange men upstairs in your office. I told them that you were busy this morning but they insisted on waiting for you. I asked them to sit in the waiting room but they barged straight in, rude as anything. I couldn’t stop them.’

  ‘Thank you for warning me, Vera. I’ll go straight up and find out who they are.’

  He climbed the stairs quickly, Vera following breathlessly a few paces behind. At his office door he paused, smoothed down his hair and straightened his tie; he didn’t want to look flustered. Then very gently he turned the handle.

  One man, a heavy, corpulent figure, was sitting at his desk, turning back and forth in his swivel chair; the other, a leaner man, sat awkwardly in an upright chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. Both wore drab grey suits and dark ties. They looked up as he came in. He knew at once who they were.

  A memory came back to him, a scene imprinted in his mind. Two men, not the same ones as these two characters who had made themselves so at home in his office, but there was something about their demeanour, the assurance and self-certainty, that took him back. A wave of nausea came over him but he fought it off.