Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  When she told them what Fletch had said when he thought his mother was beside him, Maggie nodded. ‘He was right, my dear. We do love you.’

  Many tears fell as the three mourned for something lost – a son, a lover, a husband, children, grandchildren.

  Caitlin found a measure of peace when visiting the small cemetery where Fletch was buried. She laid his ghost to rest there. When she left to return to Namibia, Caitlin still didn’t know if she could have loved him but at least she knew that she was not alone in her sorrow over something that might have been. The sharing of that sadness bound her to the Fletchers and made them all a little stronger.

  As the plane lifted from Cape Town, she looked down on the green vineyards surrounding Stellenbosch and said goodbye.

  Laupheim, Germany: 8 March

  A black Mercedes turned off the Stuttgart to München road at Ulm. A short while later it crossed the Danube and turned right towards Laupheim. The car slowed as it swung into a country lane. Headlights penetrated the darkness, punching brilliant yellow beams through the silent velvet night. It was just after three in the morning. Tyres crunched on gravel, the radio softly played Beethoven’s second piano concerto. Snow had started to fall, drifting down, blanketing everything in ghostly white. After another kilometre, the vehicle pulled off into a stand of trees and stopped. All light was abruptly extinguished. The driver’s door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out, leaving the interior flooded with soft illumination. He went to the boot and removed a length of hose, attaching one end to the exhaust, placing the other through a window. In the front seat a young girl sat in silence. Walter climbed back in, shut the door and restarted the engine.

  ‘Soon, my darling. Come to papa.’

  Jutta Schmidt slid obediently towards her father who put his arms around her and rested a cheek on top of her head. Exhaust fumes rapidly filled the car. He wondered how long it would take.

  Walter had tried everything possible. His daughter remained unchanged. Since Etosha, she had not uttered a single word. She made a kind of low growl, sometimes kept up for hours, or took to giggling hysterically. Nurses were quickly spooked by this behaviour. Those employed to take care of her didn’t stay anyway. Jutta bit them – several needed stitches. Things became so bad that committing her to a mental institution seemed the only solution. Walter refused. He and Josie were the only ones she did not attack.

  When accepted procedures failed, her psychiatrist tried more extreme measures, showing her pictures and drawings of men and women having intercourse. Jutta stared at them with no reaction.

  Then it was discovered that she was pregnant. The doctor recommended termination. Walter again refused. No-one would lay a finger on his little girl. When blood tests confirmed she had AIDS, Walter accepted the news stoically. It was almost a relief, final proof that the solution he’d planned was more than justified.

  No-one understood the transfer of everything he owned to a young Jewish South African, a girl he barely knew. Walter didn’t try to explain. Who could fully grasp what one tiny gesture of comfort had meant to him? Who could come close to appreciating how the sight of Josie stroking Jutta’s hands turned Walter’s heart and head upside-down, changing forever the way he looked at life?

  His estranged sister tried to have him certified when she learned of his intentions for the business. If her brother was going to throw everything away, why not to family? Walter submitted to psychological tests, and when declared stone cold sane he legally tied up his affairs in such a way that no-one could undo them.

  To an outsider, Josie’s acceptance of Walter’s generosity seemed callous and greedy. But both of them knew why. Aside from expressing concern that he’d left himself with no means of support, Josie took what he offered because she knew he needed her to. Walter wondered if Josie suspected what he planned to do. It didn’t worry him – she would respect his wishes.

  Snow fell hard now. Jutta’s head grew heavy against his chest. Walter felt drowsy. He had no sense of fear. The feeling was quite pleasant. He wondered how long the car’s fuel would last.

  The following day, Stuttgart’s media reported the dual suicide of a wealthy industrialist and his daughter.

  Windhoek, Namibia: 17 April

  Billy’s divorce papers arrived in a thick white envelope. A certificate. A seal. A signature. Just like that, his marriage was over. Uncontested, the procedure had been completed with clinical precision. Billy was neither relieved nor sad. He couldn’t have cared less.

  He had not tried to find work since returning to Windhoek. His parents thought their son’s marriage break-up was probably the main cause of what appeared to be chronic depression. The truth lay deeper. Of those taken hostage, Billy was the only one who remained alone – neither seeking nor giving comfort. Helping Walter and coming to Felicity’s aid when she tackled one of the terrorists had been more about saving his own skin than anything else. In Billy’s case, old habits hadn’t died hard. His solitary nature, something long relied on, didn’t change just because he was in trouble. So the sharing that provided strength to everyone else gave Billy a miss. And now he was paying for it. There was no escape, no memory of a kindness, no special moment when generosity of spirit excelled itself to give or find comfort.

  At night his dreams were a screaming turmoil of terror, waking him in a lather of sweat. All his life Billy had blamed others for mistakes he’d made. Now voices from the edge of sleep shouted meaningless accusations, as if he had been responsible. And that brought resentment. Lying awake, Billy would grow angry, becoming more and more convinced that everybody was against him. In company, he would fly into an uncontrollable rage at even the slightest hint that he was in the wrong.

  Friends avoided him, he was too difficult to be around. Paranoia, combined with a need to absolve himself from any blame, became a vicious circle. Billy refused counselling – seeing the suggestion that he needed help as further criticism. His state of mind became worse by the day. Before long, Billy couldn’t tell the difference between fact and fiction. Sometimes his mind confused completely separate events so they seemed connected. One day he might blame UNITA for the marriage break-up, the next, he’d be blaming Thea for their capture. Reality blurred around the edges. Instead of time bringing recovery, in Billy’s case, the reverse seemed to be happening. To avoid depression, Billy began to drink and experiment with drugs. This let loose an irrational fear of death. He became necrophobic. Mentally, the man was unstable as hell.

  The day he received his divorce papers, Billy went on a drinking spree. Around eight in the evening he was seen stumbling from an alley covered in blood. The police were called. They found the body of a stray dog which had been brutally bashed to death. Billy was arrested at his home. He hadn’t even bothered to clean himself up.

  Public sympathy towards Billy’s hostage ordeal wavered. A dog today might be a human tomorrow. The magistrate who heard his case was lenient about the dog but recommended that Billy undergo extensive psychiatric evaluation, confined for an indeterminate length of time in a mental institution.

  Sydney, Australia: 23 April

  Philip Meyer anxiously scanned passengers pouring into the arrivals hall. The board said her flight had been on time. She could be through at any moment.

  Five months had passed since he’d seen her. They’d stayed in touch by telephone and e-mail. Now Felicity was here. It was, in her own words, a make or break visit. ‘It’s ridiculous, Philip. We’re both free, interested and above the age of consent. This long distance relationship is driving me nuts.’

  ‘Me too,’ he’d admitted. ‘Come to Australia.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon as you can for as long as you can.’

  That had been three weeks ago. Felicity was not in the mood to delay. She harassed the Australian High Commission in Pretoria until a visa was obtained, booked the flight, arranged a house-sitter and informed her agent that she would be away for three months.

  They’d spent three day
s together in Windhoek before going their separate ways. When the army had finished with them and Philip had sorted out the insurance tangle that erupted when his mangled hired car was returned, their thoughts turned, quite naturally, to each other.

  ‘When are you going home?’

  ‘I fly to Joburg on Friday. Couple of hours at the airport then on to Sydney. How about you?’

  ‘Haven’t booked yet.’

  ‘Stay here. Fly to Johannesburg with me.’

  Felicity remembered their first meeting. She had instantly found him attractive. Now there was also the utmost respect for him. A lethal combination. ‘Where is this heading?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m not into one-night stands.’

  ‘Neither am I.’

  Their eyes locked. ‘I like you.’

  ‘I like you too.’

  She was not going to mince words. ‘I fancy you something rotten.’

  Need flared in Philip’s eyes. His voice was a shade wonky. ‘I want you.’

  ‘Not here.’ They were still at the same hotel as the others. Felicity needed to be truly alone with Philip. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’

  He nodded. ‘Okay.’

  Inquiries led them to Villa Verdi, close to the centre of town but in a quiet street and very private. The hotel was perfect. Friends who subsequently asked either of them what Windhoek was like were inevitably surprised by the answer: ‘Haven’t a clue.’ They barely left the room.

  They had been hesitant at first. Not sure what to do next, they stood facing each other. The same tongue-tied malady that kept them uncertain and apart at Logans Island was back.

  Felicity had been first to speak. ‘There’s been no-one but The Turd for twenty years.’

  ‘I’ve been with no-one since Sue died. I have to tell you, I’m nervous.’

  ‘So am I.’

  Silence returned.

  Philip self-consciously cleared his throat.

  Felicity huffed out breath. ‘Whew! It’s hot in here.’

  Both laughed, after a fashion.

  ‘Drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Please.’ She looked around the room. The queen-sized bed that dominated it seemed to make a lewd statement. Felicity sat in one of two cane chairs and crossed her legs.

  Philip handed her a glass of wine and sat in the other. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  Both drank.

  Silence again.

  Felicity was growing impatient with herself. ‘I can’t stand this.’ She carefully placed her glass down on the small table. ‘At the risk of sounding indecently forward, how about we just rip off our clothes and see what happens? The tension is killing me.’

  Philip smiled, placing his glass next to hers. ‘I do like the way you come straight out with things, but I’ve got a better idea. I could kiss you. Kind of warm things up a bit.’

  It was Felicity’s turn to smile. ‘In this heat? Anyway, I’m quite warm as it is.’

  He rose, held out his hands and pulled her up towards him. ‘I think you have the right idea. Let’s get this over and done with.’

  ‘How romantic.’ Her arms encircled his neck.

  ‘I’ll be romantic, I promise. I’m just a bit twitchy at the moment.’

  Their lips met in a long kiss.

  The rest came easily.

  Once through the initial awkwardness, Felicity and Philip found common ground in practically everything they said and did during the next three days. Their love-making ran the spectrum, sometimes wild and uninhibited, sometimes gentle, always satisfying. Philip had never considered himself a particularly passionate man but he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. She excited him both physically and mentally. He had a constant feeling of anticipation inside him, just like the feeling he had as a kid in the build-up to Christmas.

  Felicity, with her usual directness, fell in love. No questions, no doubts. He was everything she wanted. She told him so.

  Philip took it in his stride.

  Parting was difficult but Philip had to return to Australia for the launch of his new book and Felicity had loose ends to tie up over her impending divorce.

  The next five months were hard on both of them. The only ones to benefit from their separation were the telephone companies whose charges soared beyond belief. On the eve of her divorce, Felicity could stand it no longer.

  Philip saw no point in delaying the inevitable and suggested she make immediate travel arrangements.

  Short blonde hair. She stood in front of him. Philip’s eyes drank in the sight. ‘Divorce suits you.’

  She flung her arms around him. ‘Marriage suits me better.’

  Johannesburg, South Africa: 30 May

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’

  ‘It was terrific.’

  Troy took Angela’s hand and they made their way from the bottom floor cinema at Hyde Park Centre to the level where he’d parked the car.

  They’d been seeing each other regularly for six months. Troy was still at university, Angela made reasonable money modelling. A golden couple in every respect, they were seen at the best restaurants, first nights and parties for the rich and famous. Accepted as an item, it would have astonished Troy’s friends if they’d known that the most passionate thing to take place between them was a goodnight peck on the cheek.

  Celibacy was not easy but Troy remained faithful. He never tried to pressure Angela into sex. He was a changed man.

  She was wary at first, then grew more relaxed and now trusted Troy implicitly. Finally, she screwed up enough courage to speak with her doctor. She hadn’t said anything to Troy. This afternoon, Angela left Santon Clinic feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The doctor confirmed everything Troy had told her. ‘He sounds like a lovely young man. You’re a very lucky girl. Put the rape behind you, Angela. Making love is very different.’

  She loved Troy and totally trusted him. Now it was time to show him how much she cared. Angela said nothing of her plan. If she had cold feet at the last minute, it would be unfair to mention anything beforehand. She was nervous but determined.

  Troy opened the car door for her. ‘Like a coffee before I take you home?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  His disappointment didn’t show, although he felt it. Time spent away from Angela was agony.

  ‘Can we go to your place?’

  About to start the car, he glanced over at her. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. It’s early.’

  ‘Angela.’ Apprehension was evident.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Okay.’ He was uneasy with the suggestion. Troy went out of his way to ensure they were never alone for too long. The last thing he wanted to do was put a foot wrong. But he was only flesh and blood after all, and his need of her was so strong he sometimes wondered how he hadn’t blown it before.

  At his apartment, he again offered coffee.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Music?’

  ‘If you like.’

  He selected a Steve Earle CD. ‘Copperhead Road’ made him want to dance. It was safer than a love song.

  Having made up her mind that this was the night, Angela had no idea how to go about it. Troy’s nervousness didn’t help. ‘Come and sit.’ She patted the sofa next to her.

  He sat opposite.

  ‘Nice.’ She looked around. This was the first time she’d been to his place. ‘Aren’t you going to do the grand tour?’

  He did. Kitchen, dining room, balcony.

  ‘Where do you sleep?’

  ‘In there.’ He pointed to a closed door.

  ‘Show me. Come on, Troy, I want to see all of it.’

  In his bedroom – surprisingly neat for a bachelor – she bounced on the king-sized bed, commented on the zebra-striped duvet cover, peeked into the en suite and finally stood in front of him placing her hands on his shoulders. Sensing he was uncomfortable gave Angela the courage to take the initiative.

  Troy fel
t desperate. Why did she have to do that? In here of all places? Her next words took his breath away.

  ‘You have never kissed me.’

  His hands covered hers, ready to remove them and ease her away. Desire stirred through him.

  ‘Angie . . .’

  She moved closer, her eyes on his. ‘Will you kiss me?’

  Her face raised to his.

  He lowered his head and touched her gently on the lips with his own.

  Angela increased the pressure.

  With a groan he was helpless to hide, Troy folded her close, inwardly cursing the erection he knew she’d feel.

  Angela didn’t pull away. In fact, she pressed closer. It was Troy who pulled back. ‘Angie!’ He was trying to warn her.

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t push me away. Make love to me. I’m ready.’

  He caught his breath. ‘Angie, are you sure?’ He’d waited so long for this moment that now it was here, it was Troy who held back.

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes searched his for the look she had always found so frightening. She found nothing but love and concern. ‘I’ve never been more sure.’

  Troy still had to be careful, take it slowly. Angela might think she was ready but the arousal he felt was something she still had to experience. He kissed her again, allowing the passion flooding his body to build in hers.

  This time there was no fear. Nerve-tingling sensations, the like of which she’d never known, suddenly so beautiful she didn’t want them to end. Troy’s lips on hers teased out emotions she never dreamed possible, and having found them, their kiss intensified until Angela was shaking.

  He moved her gently to the bed. Kissing her eyelids, her mouth, jaw, ears, neck, he sought her breasts and Angela strained towards him. Troy undressed her with warm caressing hands, gentle on her skin as they stroked her to the point where a deep and natural instinct took over. She had to have him inside her.