‘And here comes more trouble,’ he thought. Joseph Tshuma’s sleek Jaguar swept up the drive. Richard had insisted that Penny and Joseph make the drive up to Pentland, rather than be collected in Harare as they all made their way south. The reason he gave was he needed to pack the vehicles the night before they set off. This was true enough. But the real reason was that when he went hunting he liked to shuck his country squire image from the outset. Some inner instinct turned him into a hairy-chested bwana, wild of spirit, free of manner, brave and fearless. He was aware of this transformation and, although he did not fully understand it, enjoyed it so much he never tried to suppress it. Having to drive through leafy suburban streets in Harare to collect his daughter and her boyfriend simply did not work, it would have spoiled the mood.
He waited for Penny to leap out and greet him in her usual flamboyant manner but she got out of the car sedately, waited while Tshuma collected their luggage from the boot, and walked with him to the house. Richard went inside to meet them. When she came into the light in the lounge he was shocked. She was pale and drawn and had dark circles under her eyes.
‘Have you been ill?’ he asked, stricken because he had blamed her for her long silence, never thinking she might not have been well.
‘I’m just tired, Daddy.’
He hugged her, ‘Then this hunt is just the thing for you.’
He shook Tshuma’s hand and forced himself to be hospitable. ‘You can park your car in the garage while we’re away.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘Welcome back to Pentland.’
‘Thank you, it’s nice of you to ask me to join you. I’ve never hunted before.’
‘It’s an experience no-one in Africa should go without,’ he replied, digging mildly at the man’s lack of experience. A black man who had never hunted was, to Richard, a bit like a nun—a complete waste of what he was put on earth to do.
Tshuma simply smiled and said, ‘So I’m told.’
Greg and David joined them in the lounge and Richard introduced Greg to Tshuma saying, ‘An old friend. He’s adjusted his schedule so he can join us.’ Joseph Tshuma showed no sign that he knew Greg’s name.
Penny remembered Greg quite well from her mother’s funeral. ‘You called me Shilling and made me giggle.’ She turned to Joseph, ‘It was nice to have something to laugh about at that terrible time.’ Her recollection unwittingly gave credence to Greg’s cover. She looked over at her father, ‘Where is she? I’m dying to meet her,’ but, while the words were the old Penny, the eyes lacked their usual sparkle.
‘She’ll be down in a minute. She’s getting changed.’ Richard frowned, wondering what was wrong with his usually effervescent daughter. She did not look at all well.
David was watching Penny closely, too. He moved over to her. ‘Are you okay, sis?’ he asked, concerned.
‘Of course. I’ve just been working too hard.’
‘Your sister is fine,’ Joseph said, putting his arm around Penny. ‘Some fresh air and exercise will do the trick, won’t it, darling.’
Penny nodded, not daring to look at her father who had stiffened noticeably at the endearment.
Steve’s arrival diverted Richard’s attention from mentally murdering the man. She looked fresh and beautiful as she entered the room. She wore a simple white cotton dress with a square neckline and short sleeves. It showed off her tan to perfection. She had a fine gold chain around her neck and a dusting of lipstick on her lips. Open-toed white sandals and a wide gold belt completed the outfit. He felt a surge of pride when he saw her.
Penny greeted Steve warmly, surprising him completely. Of his two children he had expected more trouble from his daughter than David. After all, it had always been Penny who jealously demanded her father’s attention. She made a point of calling her Stephanie, however, which amused and encouraged him somewhat. His daughter might not look well and might be overworked but she had not lost all her spirit.
David made an effort during the evening, spoke civilly to his father and was almost his normal self. Steve he ignored as if she did not exist. He and Joseph had a spirited discussion about the effectiveness of Game Department’s methods for reducing poaching in Zimbabwe. Greg joined in and kept David’s youthful zeal from making the conversation too heated, much to Joseph’s relief. He found the boy heavy going.
Penny was unusually silent, toying with her food and making half-hearted attempts to join the conversation. She excused herself immediately after dinner and was gone for perhaps twenty minutes. When she returned she seemed more like her old self, although she still looked unwell and her conversation swung from wildly exaggerated statements to moody mumbled monosyllabic responses.
As for the first visit, Richard had put Tshuma in the guest room downstairs. Greg slept on a day bed in Richard’s study. Going into his room behind Steve, Richard saw David coming out of the bathroom and said, ‘Good night son.’
‘Good night,’ David replied curtly, his face closed. He had caught a glimpse of Steve’s white dress.
Lying in bed, he said to Steve, ‘I don’t know what’s come over David. I thought he might be a bit upset about you but he seems to be going out of his way to be unpleasant. It’s not like him.’
Steve had almost reached the end of her endurance. The strain of the past week had made her jumpy and edgy. To go on safari with David hurting so much and hating her as he did was something she was starting to dread. She did not want to come between a father and his son. ‘I have to talk to you,’ she said, steeling herself.
But Richard leaned over her and kissed her deeply and she felt desire stir and she thought, Just one more week, then I’ll tell him, and gave herself up to the pleasure of being with the man she loved. Just one more week of happiness, then I’ll go away, she told herself, hurting and loving at the same time. She did not want to face it just yet.
TWELVE
Richard chased everyone out of bed at five the next morning. They had over 600 kilometres of driving ahead of them and he wanted to make the most distance on the first day. On the way, he planned to stop at the Great Zimbabwe National Monument, or, as they had been called before independence, the Zimbabwe ruins and, as one cynic put it after independence, the Rhodesian ruins. These beautiful and mystical stone remnants of the past, the main part of which was spread across some 700 hectares just south of the town of Masvingo, had once been the royal centre of the Shonas. Massive fortresses of stone, held together without mortar, their true history remained uncertain. Richard wanted to show them to Steve.
One hundred and fifty kilometres beyond the ruins was the small rural town of Mwenezi. Richard had friends just south of the town, Tony and Elaine Saunders. They owned a large farm and, like a lot of other farmers, were dabbling in selected tourism. They had built six self-catering cabins but they also opened their large home to occasional visitors. Richard had telephoned them from Pentland Park, wanting to book several of their cabins. However, Elaine Saunders would not hear of it, insisting the party stay at the house. From there, they had approximately another 150 kilometres along the A4 to Beitbridge on the South African border where they would buy the last of their provisions before turning west to the hunting block and setting up camp.
Wellington had strong, hot coffee waiting, bacon and egg rolls and, for those who cared to join Richard as he shed his civilised skin and embraced the spirit of adventure which always prevailed before setting off on a hunt, a shot of cognac. The liqueur warmed his belly and enhanced the feeling of wellbeing. Not even David’s sullenness could dull his excitement. Steve and Greg joined him but Penny declined, pulling a face that she could not face alcohol so early in the morning and Joseph Tshuma shook his head and patted his liver. Richard did not offer David a shot.
Philamon was to drive the lorry which was piled high with camping and hunting equipment. Samson sat next to him and, at the last minute, David announced he would travel with them.
‘Why?’ Richard asked. The lorry was slow and uncomfortable.
‘I wa
nt to.’
‘On your own head, son.’ Richard wondered just how far David would carry his dislike of Steve.
Richard drove the Land Rover with Steve sitting next to him. Greg sat alone on the seat behind them. Penny and Joseph Tshuma took the back seat. They pulled away from the house just after 5.30, as the sun’s first probing fingers of shining light appeared over the mountains in the distance, behind the game reserve. The air was crisp and cool and pure and had an autumn feel and smell about it. The hills beyond the flatlands were still mysterious and dark. Richard wound down his window and breathed deeply, enjoying the chilly breeze, until entreaties from everyone else in the vehicle made him wind it up again.
‘Where’s your spirit of adventure?’ he joked.
‘Frozen to bloody death.’ Greg’s voice was muffled as he spoke through the turtle neck of his jersey.
Joseph Tshuma laughed, a deep rich laugh but one which sounded strangely empty. It seemed to Richard like the man was playing a part. Penny was snuggled against him, almost asleep again.
Richard took one of Steve’s hands in his. ‘Enjoying it?’ His eyes were shining with excitement, making him look almost boyish.
She looked over at him, loving him. ‘Every minute of it.’ And it was true, she was enjoying herself. Until this morning she had only thought about hunting and killing. Now she was caught up in the adventurous feeling of getting away from it all, being on holiday. Richard’s enthusiasm was infectious. In fact, she could not remember ever feeling so excited. True, she acknowledged to herself, being in love helps. But it was more than that. It must be the element of danger, she thought. Africa is unpredictable, just like the people in it. Without knowing it, she had come closer to understanding the man at her side than ever before.
By the time they reached Harare, Richard had them all singing, ‘She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain When She Comes’. Even Penny woke up and joined in, appearing more relaxed and happier than the night before. They skirted the capital and proceeded south, along the A4. Richard took a detour which took them into the Robert McIlwaine Recreation Park, a game reserve created both for tourists (who either did not have the time or the inclination to venture further into the country to view the animals) and for occupants of Harare as a weekend resort. The drought had shrunk the large lake in the centre to a quarter of its normal size and boats, normally moored close to shore, leaned drunkenly on dry mud. Steve got busy with her camera, taking pictures of every zebra, eland, kudu and wildebeest they passed. With the water holes all but dried up, most of the animals remained close to the lake making spotting them easy. Richard obligingly stopped the Land Rover every time she saw an animal, or a particularly imposing baobab tree. She mused at the way the strange bottle-shaped trees looked as though they were growing upside-down. ‘We have something similar in Western Australia called “boabs”, she told Richard. ‘But they never get to grow this size.’
They stopped to watch a troop of baboons playing in a couple of dead trees for so long that Richard had to remind her the trip had only just begun. ‘You’ll run out of film before you get to Tuli,’ he told her dryly, as she clicked off another succession of shots of a large baboon sitting, sentinel-like, on the very top of the tree.
Reluctantly, she put her camera away. ‘I have never seen so much to photograph all at once.’ She was alight with excitement. ‘You are so lucky in Africa. All the magic, all the majesty, God has given you everything.’
Joseph Tshuma leaned forward. ‘Don’t you have wild animals to photograph in Australia?’
She twisted around in her seat to answer him. ‘We have plenty of animals over there but nothing as exotic as you have. All our animals are furry and shy and little. They’re sweet of course . . .’ She cocked her head sideways and thought a minute. ‘Put it this way,’ she went on, ‘if you sit quietly in the bush in Australia and catch a glimpse of something, you’re filled with tenderness. Most of our wildlife is vulnerable. If you’re lucky enough to watch one of them you become aware of how fragile and endangered they are. They make you want to stroke them and protect them. But here . . .’ she threw out her arm, ‘. . . just look at them. They’re bold and big. They seem secure. They fill you with respect.’ She grinned when she realised she was lecturing. ‘Sorry, I’m getting carried away.’
‘I’ve seen a documentary about your kangaroos,’ Penny joined in. ‘They’re really different to anything else in the world. I’d love to see one in the wild.’
‘They’re different,’ Steve agreed. ‘You see a lot of them and yes, they’re more solid and exotic. But they’re not dangerous. Here you have to show respect for most of the animals. It kind of adds another dimension to them.’
‘Pleased to hear you’re finally coming to that conclusion,’ Richard said, grinning. ‘I was beginning to think I’d have to scrape you up and send you home in an envelope.’
‘Ah, but the results, the results!’ Greg chipped in. ‘The way this woman uses her camera makes the risks worthwhile.’
‘Just not too many risks, okay?’ Richard still shuddered when he remembered her Victoria Falls shots.
‘We’ll see,’ was all she would concede.
Around lunchtime they passed through Masvingo, the oldest town in Zimbabwe which, up until independence, had been called Fort Victoria, and stopped just the other side to eat the lunch Wellington had packed for them. ‘The Kyle Recreation Park is a few miles out there,’ Richard told Steve once they were under way again, waving his hand to a tarred road on their left. ‘I thought we might stay there on our way back. It’s quite beautiful, surrounded by mountains and on the shores of Lake Mutirikwe. We can stay at one of the Mutirikwe Lakeshore Lodges, they’re very luxurious, just the thing after roughing it in the bush for a week.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
A short while later they turned off the A4 and followed the signs to the Great Zimbabwe National Monument. Once they arrived there, Steve, and her camera, shifted into overdrive. From the eighty metre high stone wall of the Hill Complex, to the circular Great Enclosure with walls as thick as five metres, to the Valley Complex where Zimbabwe’s national emblem, a soapstone carving of a bird, was found, she was a blur of movement. ‘Was Zimbabwe named after this place?’ she asked, between shots.
Amused at her ducking and dodging, bending and twisting to get the angles she wanted, Richard answered, ‘It was—want to know what it means?’
She was on her back photographing up the ten metre high tower in the King’s Quarters, trying to catch the rays of the sun bursting around the corner of the massive round structure. She nodded that she wanted to know.
‘There are several translations.’ He bent down and placed his hands under her head so she did not have to lie with her head in the dirt. ‘One is “venerated houses”, the other is simply “house of stones”. The local people still carry out their ancestor-worshipping ceremonies here, the place holds great spiritual meaning.’
She squinted backwards at him before putting her eye to her camera again. ‘You mean they worship the dead here?’
‘Oh, thank God!’ Greg had walked up behind them and heard Steve’s voice. ‘For a minute there, old Didd, I thought you were talking to your feet.’
‘Just trying to keep the lady’s hair clean.’
‘Such a gentleman.’ She scrambled up and disappeared around the curving wall of the tower.
‘Where’s Penny?’ Richard asked Greg.
‘In the Land Rover. There seems to be trouble brewing. They’re having a hell of a row about something.’ Greg hesitated, went to say something, shook his head and frowned. ‘She’s not the Penny I remember.’
Richard agreed. ‘You’ve got that right. One minute she seems fine, then she’s over-the-top excited, the next she’s silent and introverted, it’s so unlike her. And that bloody man Tshuma hovers around her as though he’s afraid she’ll disappear. I’m really worried about her, Greg.’
‘She’s in your company for a week. He can’t stay glu
ed to her side the whole time. If I get a chance, or you do, we should try to talk to her.’
‘Like I said before, Greg, best of British luck. If I say anything she’s likely to fly off the handle. Mind you, I’d almost welcome it the way she’s acting at the moment.’
‘You should try. If she were my daughter I’d be worried enough to chance it.’
Richard glanced sharply at Greg. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’
Again Greg hesitated before shaking his head and repeating that, in his opinion, Penny should be questioned.
He was about to press Greg for more information, convinced he knew more than he was saying, but Steve came running back. ‘Come and see this.’ She was excited and laughing.
She dragged them out to where a small boy had set up a stand and was selling miniature soapstone birds. ‘He says he found them in a cave. They must be centuries old,’ she bubbled.
Richard and Greg grinned at each other.
‘Why are you grinning?’
‘Darling girl, this young scamp has a workshop back in his village which manufactures hundreds of these things every week.’ Richard looked down at the boy and winked. The boy gave him a toothy response.
‘You mean they’re not authentic?’ Steve sounded disappointed.
‘Oh, they’re authentic,’ he said. ‘Authentically crafted by authentic Africans in authentic soapstone. They’re just not authentically old.’ He delved into his pocket for some change. ‘How much?’ he asked the boy.
The child had been watching them but had not understood much of what had been said. ‘Twenty-five dollar.’ He knew a good thing when he saw it, having realised Steve’s accent was not one belonging to his country.
Greg gave a loud bark of laughter.
‘Twenty-five dollars!’ Richard cried, in mock outrage.
‘Yes, baas. These things very old. Not too many left.’
Storms Over Africa Page 19