He shrugged his shoulders in indifference and replied that it hadn’t happened. She appeared to accept this and thereafter spent much of her time in his flat in the mews.
His flat, situated in a recently renovated building in a mews in Swiss Cottage, was spacious, with all the modern conveniences and appliances he needed. He did not know his neighbours and had no inclination to meet them, but he knew them to be a banker and a stockbroker. The fourth down towards the cul-de-sac was a Harley Street specialist doctor. Their ostentatious cars were a clear indication of their wealth. Peace wasn’t a car fanatic — his interest lay in aircraft and he part owned a specially adapted De Havilland Super Chipmunk, a Canadian-built trainer aircraft. When at home he often spent his weekends at a small airfield in Kent where he tested his aerobatic skills. Of course, he did own a car, a black turbo Saab coupe, but preferred using a cab when travelling in the city. Most who knew him assumed he was attached to Naval High Command with an office in the city, his job occasionally taking him away from home. Cherry, when in his company, had quickly learned to adjust her behaviour to match his assumed persona.
When VA had said that Cherry should accompany him on his next mission to South Africa, Peace was initially resistant, although conceding that her knowledge of Afrikaans had been invaluable. He believed the mission had become too dangerous, there being no doubt that Van Rhyn and his supporters were capable of killing. He had since learned that many of them were hardened soldiers, with years of combat experience in the fight against terrorism and the extended bush war in South Africa.
VA remained adamant about his decision and stated that Cherry being a woman had no relevance on her ability to get the job done, her previous work on missions speaking volumes.
They left Cape Town’s International Airport and got in a taxi. The driver was a Cape Coloured who spoke in Afrikaans. Cherry and he soon struck up a conversation, Peace not understanding a word. They had hoped for warm sunshine after London’s drab weather, but this was not to be. During the night, a cold front had moved in from the southern Atlantic, bringing cold rainy weather with it. Table Mountain was shrouded in cloud and Cherry was disappointed.
Peace was returning to South Africa to resume his association with Van Rhyn. MI6 had established that Van Rhyn had no idea that Lord Digby was associated with those who had infiltrated Copperton and abducted his youngest from the farm. Had Van Rhyn investigated Lord Digby, he would have found that he had returned to London shortly after the dinner party at his Pretoria residence, and that he was due to return to Johannesburg to continue managing his growing mining share portfolio. There was no reason for Van Rhyn to suspect him. The only person who might inform on him was Margaret, but she would then be in equal danger.
Peace had let Van Rhyn know that he was returning to South Africa, and would be staying at the Mount Nelson Hotel in Cape Town. The hotel was set in a lush estate just below the slopes of Table Mountain. Its layout and décor, and the attention of the staff to their guests’ needs, was redolent of the country’s colonial past. While Peace and Cherry booked in, two bellhops whisked their luggage to their adjoining rooms on the top floor. These had a splendid view of Cape Town and the harbour and right across the blue waters of Table Bay to the beaches of Bloubergstrand four miles away.
Peace had insisted that the rental company again make available the chauffeur he’d used in Johannesburg, along with a Mercedes 500 or similar vehicle. Martin was to be trusted and had every reason to believe Peace was the true Lord Digby. This proved possible, but only at considerable expense. The next day Peace had found Martin waiting for him in the hotel’s car park.
Immediately on his arrival in South Africa, Peace had phoned Van Rhyn. He was not available, so Peace left a message and added that he would phone Van Rhyn later. However, a phone call was received shortly thereafter, the magnate clearly elated to hear from his friend again. He insisted that Peace join him for a dinner at his estate in the Stellenbosch wine lands. When Peace mentioned his secretary, the Afrikaner laughed knowingly, as if he were aware she had to be more than just a secretary, and insisted she partner him as he wished to meet her.
Peace replaced the hotel phone on its cradle and looked up at Cherry. “Well, it seems you’ll get to meet the man after all,” he said.
Chapter Nineteen
As it would be a black-tie dinner, they made sure to dress appropriately. Cherry was radiant in a low-cut wine-red full-length cocktail dress with matching shoes. She wore a necklace with what appeared to be a gem, nestling in her cleavage.
“My God, you look quite regal,” Peace said admiringly. “You certainly seem more than a mere secretary, I might add.”
Cherry gave a snort. “Do you really believe he’ll think I’m your secretary? I doubt it. That’s more in line with Digby’s reputation. He’s known to be a notorious womaniser. Believe me, being on your arm will certainly not be out of character.”
Peace had to concur, seeing as most of what he knew about the man he’d learnt from her studies. However, she also seemed to have made quite a study of him too. No wonder she’d been standoffish when he’d first met her at the embassy in Pretoria.
“Incidentally,” she added, “should that Janet woman be there, don’t you start with her or let her come onto you.” Her eyes flashed. “You should know, I don’t give a damn what VA’s view is on this, if that woman starts flirting, I’ll have my claws out.” The look on her face told him that she was serious.
The sun was about to disappear below the horizon — it was time to go. Martin held the door open, and they slid into the backseat of the black Mercedes.
Peace wore a shoulder holster in which nestled a small KelTec P3AT, a .38 pistol that fits into a man’s hand and reveals no underarm bulge. He did not believe they’d be searched or be subjected to metal detection, but even if this happened, he hoped Van Rhyn would not consider it unusual for Lord Digby to be touting a weapon. Cherry carried the small calibre KelTec P32 in a holster high on her thigh. Since they were now accepted guests, he fervently hoped they wouldn’t be searched.
The short Cape twilight had set in by the time they arrived on the farm. A large Dutch-gabled house overlooked the extensive vineyards that sloped down to the small willow-lined river below. Obviously, this estate was someone’s pride and joy, as the vineyards were cultivated in neat rows following the contours of the land, the grounds impeccably kept.
The car stopped at the bottom of the short flight of broad stairs that led to the porch. A man, who he presumed to be part of security, stepped forward and opened his door. Cherry was the first to emerge, followed by Peace. They climbed the stairs side-by-side.
Peace immediately noticed Van Rhyn on the wide porch, dressed in a white dinner jacket with a glass of wine in his hand, ready to greet him. He did not miss the two security guards on the porch dressed in dark suits with the ever-present white earpieces and cables leading into the collars of their shirt. He recognised one from his previous visit to Van Rhyn’s Pretoria estate. Peace did not doubt that he had a firearm tucked under his armpit. All the guests were immaculately dressed, the women in full-length eveningwear. A small parking area that adjoined the driveway, brightly lit by a security light, revealed a few other chauffeur-driven cars — Peace noticed General Booyens’ car with its General’s standard on the vehicle’s wing.
Van Rhyn extended his huge hand in greeting and his gaze then travelled up and down Cherry’s body. “Your companion is truly beautiful,” he said. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “My pleasure,” he whispered.
Peace climbed the steps and was met by Lady Langton-Van Rhyn. She brushed his cheek with her own. “It is so good to see you again, Lord Digby,” she said. She nodded at Cherry and whispered a soft, “How do you do?” The women touched hands.
Peace saw Janet standing in the doorway. Her astounding beauty jolted him and it was hard not to show his reaction. This woman is exquisite. She was dressed in white, the low décolletage revealing her ample
bosom and the deep valley between her breasts.
As he walked towards her, she watched his approach with a smile on her face. Damn, he thought, she may as well have blurted out right here and now that he was no stranger to her. He thought he could feel the eyes of others on him, watching his every move. This woman’s effect on him was amazing — already he lusted for her. Damn the bloody woman.
Cherry walked next to him; her face serene. The interaction between the two was seemingly lost on her, but Peace had no doubt she had missed nothing. She stretched out her hand and smiled.
“You must be Janet Van Rhyn. Lord Digby has told me so much about you.”
“Really?” said Janet, still smiling. “Told you about me? Well, that must have been interesting.”
God, the woman was playing with Cherry, Peace thought.
For a second he felt Cherry stiffen, but she answered innocently, “Yes, he mentioned a previous dinner where you both met.”
Peace had his hand on Cherry’s back and gave her a warning pinch. She gave an almost imperceptible flinch and stepped back, grinding her heel into his foot. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Lord Digby,” she said. He got the message.
They moved round to greet the other guests, mostly Afrikaners who were champions of the newly emerging Afrikaner industrial conglomerates.
As he greeted each guest, he found himself in front of General Booyens, resplendent in his military eveningwear, his aide-de-camp hovering nearby.
“Lord Digby, it’s good to have you back with us,” the general said, apparently truly pleased to see him.
While he was responding to the general’s greeting, Peace noticed a guard outside on the lawn, slowly patrolling and cradling an automatic machine pistol. A hyena on a leash walked in front of him. Van Rhyn was obviously taking no chances. Over the last few months, Van Rhyn had had to contend with more than just a few unfortunate instances — the loss of the gold, the unknown breach of his security at Copperton, the failed salvage attempt, the death of his security personnel, and finally the abduction of his stepdaughter. He couldn’t blame the man. And now, he had two cabinet ministers with their wives present for dinner. Surely, there had to be some concern for the safety of such distinguished guests. Of course, they belonged to the hard-core right wing of the Nationalist Party who had little sympathy for de Klerk. Peace knew Van Rhyn had to be particularly cautious and thus the heavily armed guards. These could not be happy times.
Leaving Cherry in conversation with the general, he turned and advanced towards Lady Langton-Van Rhyn, who watched his approach over the rim of her cocktail glass. He noted that the cocktails were already having some effect, but the alcohol did not hide the stress the woman was clearly feeling.
“Where’s your youngest?” he asked. “I so enjoyed her company in Pretoria.”
For a moment, the woman was taken back, and slightly spilled her drink, bewilderment on her face.
“Oh, you mean Margaret,” she said and hesitated. “The poor dear, she doesn’t like the farm, and my husband and I have been spending time in the bush. She decided it wasn’t for her. You know what the modern children of today are like. She decided to return to the UK. Don’t forget, she still has her studies to pursue.”
“You were spending time in the bush?” he asked.
“Yes, we’ve a farm in Namibia near the Etosha Pan. I’m sure you’ve heard of the place.”
“Yes, I have. One of the largest game reserves in the world. Must be a lovely residence you have.”
“Yes, we just love spending time there. There is no better place to unwind, but Margaret doesn’t like it. She prefers lots of people and bright lights.”
“I’m sorry, I’m going to miss her,” he said, taking a vodka martini from an immaculately turned-out waiter.
“Me too,” said Lady Langton-Van Rhyn, grabbing another cocktail from the tray.
Peace felt the presence of someone behind him and turned around. It was Cherry, with the general in tow.
“Miss Pyper tells me she is your personal secretary,” said the general. “I was surprised to learn that she speaks fluent Afrikaans and like you, has little time for the Blacks. You have chosen well.”
Peace laughed. “General, rest assured that if you were to meet others of my staff, you’ll find them all ultra-conservative. I just wonder what you chaps are going to do about your fellow Whites who want to hand this wonderful country of yours to the Blacks. Just look at the rest of Africa — it’s obvious what the final outcome will be.” There was no reaction from the general, so he continued, “What truly amazed me was that you allowed the government to decommission your nuclear weapons, not to mention your chemical and biological warfare programs.”
God, that’s sticking my neck out!
The general’s jaws clenched and his eyes hardened. “I’m surprised,” he said, “that you are so well-informed. What do you propose we should have done? That we simply hand our nuclear arms development program to the new Black government when it assumes power? No, no! Can you imagine the belligerency of these people were they to have such unlimited power at their disposal? We had to get rid of the weapons.”
Peace had heard enough. There was no persuading their kind that majority rule might not result in vengeance. Democracy, as the world knew and practised it, was not an option Van Rhyn and his sort in government and industry were prepared to consider. They would resist to the end, no matter what it took.
At the dinner table, Peace and Cherry found themselves seated close to Van Rhyn, who sat at its head. Janet, who appeared to have no partner, sat next to Peace, while Cherry sat on his other side. General Booyens sat opposite them with his wife, who seemed to be the typical Afrikaans housewife found so often in the country — still looking somewhat dowdy despite her long evening dress and the coiffured hair.
Peace allowed Booyens to continue their discussion on the decommissioning of the country’s nuclear arsenal. Peace adopted an outrageously right-wing stance, saying that the regime should have used nuclear weapons against the Cubans and Angolans rather than negotiating with them, and that neither the Russians nor Chinese would have been likely to intervene. From the top of the table, Van Rhyn interjected saying that it was a pity Lord Digby didn’t serve on the South African government. He jovially added that perhaps a few of the problems they were currently experiencing would long have been solved.
Van Rhyn’s statement was greeted with some amusement.
Janet interrupted the conversation. “Come, Father, enough talk of war and atom bombs. Let us enjoy Lord Digby’s company.”
Peace felt her thigh being pressed against his. He furtively glanced down and saw that her dress was split along its entire left side, revealing her thigh almost all the way near to her hip. Fleetingly, his thoughts returned to when they’d had last been together, and felt a frisson of nostalgic lust. She had turned to face him, the décolletage of her dress gaping open to reveal the deep cleavage between her breasts.
“Tell me, Digby, what made you beat such a hasty retreat to London when last here?” she asked mischievously. She obviously assumed that Cherry really was no more than just his secretary. She addressed Peace as if Cherry did not exist. Neither did she hide that she was attracted to him. Cherry’s composed demeanour revealed nothing, but Peace knew that she seethed.
“It was unfortunate that I had to leave so hurriedly,” he replied, “but unfortunately, business demanded my presence in London.”
The general interrupted, ignoring Janet’s attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. He started a rant along the lines that most of those in the South African military High Command shared his sentiments — Peace knew this to be untrue — and when Peace suggested that perhaps the conscripts in the army might be unwilling to join a rebellion, the general, obviously angered, played his trump card.
“You know, as does the rest of the world, that we have the RSA-5, an intercontinental rocket — ”
Peace interrupted him with a chuckle and waved his
hand dismissively. “And what do you propose to arm it with? A one-ton conventional warhead capable of destroying no more than a city block?”
Silence followed his remark, during which the room seemed to crackle with tension.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” the general hissed.
Peace now knew that these bastards were prepared to use the bomb.
Cherry nudged his leg with her knee, indicating that she thought this conversation was heading into dangerous territory.
Janet didn’t look at him but stared at her plate as if she’d suddenly found something of interest on it, but then raised her head and said firmly, “Enough! This is a dinner! Talk about something else, please!”
The general turned to Cherry.
“Tell me, Miss Pyper,” he said, speaking in Afrikaans. “What is an Afrikaner doing at the side of an English aristocrat, albeit that he is ultra-conservative as we are?”
Cherry smiled. “He advertised for a secretary. Fluent Afrikaans was a prerequisite. I applied. He pays well and provides a generous expense account. How could I refuse?”
“And your thoughts on what we’ve just discussed?”
“I have none. I just do what I’m told.”
“Really, how interesting. Is that always the case?” Janet interjected, her voice containing a hint of sarcasm and disbelief. Cherry ignored her, not even affording her a glance.
“Clearly, you are a good person for Digby to have at his side,” the general said.
The conversation now turned to everyday matters, yet the atmosphere remained tense. But Janet continued to flirt openly with Peace, obviously unconcerned by the presence of Cherry or the others.
She turned, brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “Is it to be my place or yours?”
Per Fine Ounce Page 17