Abbey waited until they had finished dinner that Friday evening, before handing the Darren the letter.
‘Well, what are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘What can I do? Is your contract likely to finish in the next six weeks?’
‘No, and I wanted to talk to you about that.’ His voice sounded serious. ‘It looks as though it’s actually going to be extended for another four months. We’re having problems on some of the sites and it’s taking longer than we expected to get the samples we need.’
Abbey raised her eyebrows at him. ‘What do you suggest I do then?’ she implored.
‘Well, why not ask AVP if they would be willing to extend your contract here for another six months, and ask your firm to release you until then?’
‘Absolutely no go, not with Paradise Printing. It’s company policy that you get a maximum of twelve months career break, and I had to really exert pressure on them for that.’
‘What about AVP?’ pushed Darren. ‘I bet they would extend your contract.’
‘Yeah, I think they would, but that would mean resigning from Paradise Printing.’
‘Your decision, Abbey. It’s up to you.’
‘Not really,’ muttered Abbey. ‘I have absolutely no intention of leaving you here on your own for four months and just seeing you for a couple of weeks over Christmas. Nah, no way. I’ll email them on Monday and resign.’
She snuggled up to Darren on the sofa and watched TV, resting her head on his shoulder. To her, it was a question of importance and this man was now the most important aspect in her life.
Her mind drifted to her relationship with her father, who had always been present during her childhood, but she could count on one hand the number of meaningful conversations they had actually had. It had hurt her as a teenager, witnessing her friends’ fathers queuing up to be the taxi driver to fetch and carry their little girls while hers was always conspicuous by his absence. Her father never resisted her mother’s wishes, and if that meant disagreeing with Abbey, no matter the reason, he duly complied.
Abbey couldn’t remember her parents picking up the phone and asking her how she was, either at home or in Botswana. It was always her who made the effort to call, making sure she didn’t forget birthdays and anniversaries. Not that they ever forgot her birthday, but the ‘from Mother and Father’, handwritten inside the card, didn’t seem to convey any sincerity at all.
She compared this to the bond Darren seemed to have with his family, who not only rang on a regular basis, but also insisted on talking to Abbey on the phone and introducing themselves to the newest member of the family. Darren often spoke about his father who had died of lung cancer a few years before. He had been an archaeologist, and had taken Darren away on trips during the school holidays. Reading between the lines, she could tell they had had a close relationship and Darren’s father had passed his enthusiasm for nature and the planet onto his son.
‘He must have been very proud of you when you graduated,’ she had commented.
Darren smiled at her. ‘Yeah, it was a good day. My mother’s got photographs somewhere. I’ll ask her to find them and send them over.’
Darren had asked Abbey about her parents, but she always managed to change the subject early into the conversation. She didn’t really know how to explain to him the wall of silence between them, or their lack of interest in her life. After she had told them about her decision to take a career break to work for AVP, they had voiced they concern and disapproval, calling her naïve and reckless. After that, the subject of her ‘little adventure’, as her mother had referred to it, was never mentioned again. Darren sensitively stopped pursuing this line of questioning, knowing full well that all would be revealed at some point in the future.
Abbey also compared her parents’ marriage with her own and was confident it would never go the same way. Her parents had slept in separate bedrooms since Abbey was thirteen years old, and seemed to exist in a pre-determined routine which involved shopping, eating and household chores. She could not remember them showing any affection towards each other, or her for that matter. Physical contact of any sort had been non-existent and something both her parents still avoided.
Her life with Darren included laughter, spontaneity and, most importantly, a genuine love for one another. Darren was her rock, her confidant, and her lover. He provided the stability in her life that nobody else had been able to offer. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she knew that his life had completely consumed hers.
Chapter Fourteen
Abbey sent the emails to Paradise Printing and then to AVP as soon as she got into work on Monday morning. The reply from AVP came back before lunch, offering Abbey a new contract until the end of May the following year. She was sure she had made the right, if not the only, decision open to her, but felt slightly apprehensive about leaving her secure and well-paid job, which had provided her with a comfortable standard of living for a number of years.
Putting that out of her mind, she busied herself with the paperwork that had piled up in her in-tray. There were over one hundred trees to be planted this week and she needed to organise with the secondary school to obtain at least twenty volunteers to help with the task. Getting the students from the school to volunteer wasn’t a difficult job. The work was always carried out in the late afternoon, and the volunteers were allowed to go home after lunch the following day as a reward.
Abbey looked at the stock sheets. According to her, there should be at least fifty-five trees in their compost bags outside under the shading, waiting to be planted. She paused for a moment, and then got up to do a manual stock take. After three counts and forty-five trees later, Abbey gave up. She checked the stock sheets again to see if she had made a mistake. She hadn’t and she made a mental note to mention it to Richard when he came in. Richard had been behaving even more strangely than usual, making excuses to go home early and come in late. However, Abbey had no interest whatsoever in Richard’s out of office activities, and was always glad to have the office to herself.
Richard queried Abbey’s concern about the missing trees when he returned, and carried out yet another manual stock.
‘Maybe they’ve been stolen?’ Abbey suggested.
‘Maybe you picked up the wrong number last week at the Crossroads? I told you it was a big job to do on your own.’
‘Hey, don’t put this one on me, Richard. I made no mistake and, believe it or not, I can actually estimate the number of trees on any delivery quite accurately, without counting them. And I know how many saplings I need to order without having to rely on a computerised just-in-time stock system!’
Seething at his immediate doubt in her abilities, she rang the supplier and changed the number for the new delivery for the coming week.
Wednesday morning arrived and Boitachello was waiting at the gate promptly at eight o’clock.
‘Morning Boitachello,’ said Abbey. ‘How are you today?’
‘Fine Mma, how are you?’
‘Fine,’ replied Abbey, smiling at the usual civilities that had to be gone through in Botswana, before any business could ever be conducted. Not that she thought badly of it; on the contrary, she imagined people would get along much better if they adopted the same manners at home.
‘You’re coming with me this morning,’ said Abbey, picking up the keys for the bakkie and motioning to Boitachello to climb aboard.
They drove in silence, listening to the music playing in the CD player. Abbey sang along happily as the wind teased through her hair.
‘Are you enjoying your work?’ asked Abbey eventually. Boitachello smiled and nodded. ‘What did Richard, sorry Mr Morrison, ask you when you applied?’ quizzed Abbey, wondering what interview criteria Richard had used in his selection process.
‘He didn’t ask me any questions,’ replied Boitachello.
Abbey shot a look over the cab. ‘Oh. How did you get the job then?’
‘My mother knows Mr Morrison,’ explained Boitach
ello nervously. ‘She is his maid, and he is very good to us - I mean her.’
Ho, ho, ho, wait til Phil hears about this one! thought Abbey smiling, already hearing Phil’s sarcastic comments in her head.
Whatever reservations Abbey had had about Boitachello’s ability to do the job soon disappeared, as she proved herself to be a hard, reliable worker. They had the bakkie loaded in no time and, although Abbey was not enthusiastic to stay and eat brunch at the café as she had done in the days with Phil for company, they did however stay for a quick coffee before heading back to the office. They arrived back at Kasane a good forty-five minutes earlier than usual. As Abbey drove down the main street, she noticed a bakkie driving towards her, half filled with tree saplings.
‘Who was driving that bakkie, Boitachello?’ asked Abbey, pulling over. ‘Do you know?’
‘I think it was Mr Permelo,’ replied Boitachello, ‘from the Savuti Lodge’.
Mr Permelo’s underhand ways in managing the hotel was common knowledge in town. He was also known for his temper, and part of the fixtures and fittings in his office included a sjambok. Sjamboks were widely used in Botswana and were a combination of a large whip and a stick. She had seen the shopkeepers chase the children with them if they got to close to the stock outside the shop, or begged too often from the tourists. Mr Permelo’s stood permanently by his desk and, according to the hotel employees, it was used on a regular basis. Phil had also told her that he was an avid gambler, and that he had stabbed a man in the chest, just missing his heart, after losing one thousand pula in a poker game.
Abbey quickly did a U-turn in the middle of the road and followed the bakkie. It pulled left into the Savuti Safari Lodge and drove around the back of the hotel, to the kitchen entrance. Abbey jumped out of the truck as soon as it stopped and walked over to Mr Permelo, who was giving orders to the garden boys.
‘Mr Permelo,’ she said, ‘could I have a quick word with you please?’
‘Ja,’ he replied. ‘It’s Abbey, isn’t it? Abbey Harris from AVP?’
‘Actually, it’s Abbey Scott. Darren Scott’s wife. And yes, I do work for AVP.’
The tactic worked and Mr Permelo shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another.
‘Can I ask you where you got those tree saplings, please?’
‘Ja, of course. I bought them from Mr Morrison. I think he is your boss!’
‘Wrong again, Mr Permelo,’ she shot back at him. ‘There is nothing in my contract of employment that states that Mr Morrison is my boss. Let’s just say I humour him! Now, how many trees do you have there?’ said Abbey, pointing to the trees being unloaded by the garden boys.
‘I told you Miss… er, Mrs Scott… I bought them just now. Do you want to see my receipt?’
‘No need,’ snapped Abbey. ‘We don’t sell tree saplings to anyone around here. They are the property of AVP and destined only for the official plantation sites.’
‘But I have a receipt here, I will show you.’
‘Mr Permelo, I don’t care if you have a letter from the Queen of England. Those saplings are not for sale. Please load them into my truck and I will return them back to where they should be.’
Mr Permelo stared at Abbey for a couple of seconds and then shouted more orders impatiently at the garden boys to reload the saplings onto the AVP truck, before storming back into the hotel. As Abbey drove out of the hotel driveway, she noticed dozens of new trees planted around the hotel gardens. She drove back to the office determined to have this out with Richard and force the truth out of him.
Richard was sitting at his desk, feet up as per usual reading the local newsletter. Abbey marched into the office and threw the keys down onto the desk.
Richard looked up. ‘You’re back earlier than usual,’ he commented, startled by her abrupt manner.
Abbey stared at him momentarily and then launched her attack.
‘I have just recovered thirty trees from the Savuti Lodge Hotel which, Mr Permelo tells me, he has bought from you!’ She stood in front of him, resting both her hands on his desk. ‘Thirty trees which, when identified as missing stock, will no doubt once again be put down to my inability to count!’
‘Abbey I can explain, there is certainly nothing untoward going on here!’
‘Save it for Head Office, Richard. You either resign or I’ll blow the whistle. It’s up to you.’
Richard stood up, glaring at her.
‘You’ve been waiting for any opportunity to get me out,’ he spat at Abbey, as he picked up his jacket from the back of his chair and began to walk away. ‘Ever since you lost your little friend, who obviously couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.’
‘Oh, and Richard,’ called Abbey as he left, determined not to take the bait. ‘Could you leave me the list of interview questions you used to select our newest recruit? Just in case I need to employ a new labourer.’
Richard resigned from AVP with immediate effect. Abbey assured Head Office that she would assume full responsibility and had everything under control. The regional manager took the news well and was more than happy with Abbey’s capabilities. He assured her he would be in touch when the details of a replacement became available.
Abbey did not sack Boitachello, who had been standing nervously outside the office, but offered her a full-time position.
‘As for your mother, Boitachello,’ said Abbey, ‘tell her to come to my house on Saturday morning at nine. I am in need of a house keeper, and I have a feeling that your mother will be in need of a job.’
Abbey returned home that evening feeling a touch of nostalgia. She had finally displayed the people skills, which had been instrumental in her rise to Marketing Director at Paradise Printing. Darren arrived home shortly after her, holding a bottle of wine.
‘Who’s been ruffling a few feathers today, then?’ he grinned, pulling her close.
Abbey raised her eyebrows and laughed. ‘Good god, can nothing happen in this town without the bush drums relaying the news across the National Park within minutes?’
‘Actually, I bumped into Mr Kobe, the assistant manager at the Savuti Lodge, in town. He told me about your run-in with Mr Permelo.’
‘Umm,’ replied Abbey. ‘Don’t think he’s too impressed with me. I hope there’ll be no repercussions. This isn’t the first time we haven’t exactly seen eye to eye.’
‘Don’t worry about him, Abbey,’ replied Darren, ‘there are plenty of people in this town who have been crossed by him and would welcome the opportunity to see him either go to prison, or disappear. I think he’ll keep his distance if he wants his antics to remain out of the hands of the police. Oh, and I don’t mean PC Plod down the road either. The fraud squad in Francistown have been watching him for some time now. Believe me, his days in Kasane are coming to an end.’
‘Do you know him quite well?’
‘No, not really,’ replied Darren. ‘Let’s just say I don’t see eye to eye with him either.’
‘Good God, this just gets worse!’ she sighed. ‘You know, about three months ago Phil told me that Mr Permelo stabbed someone at a poker game? Did you hear about that? Do you think it’s true?’
Darren looked surprised at her question. ‘Well, given Phil was at that poker game, I would say so!’ he replied.
Later that night, Abbey was awoken by someone hammering on the front door. Darren was already out of bed. She listened to the voices, unable to make out what they were saying. She heard the door close and Darren came back into the bedroom.
‘There’s a fire at the AVP office. I said we’d be there as soon as possible.’
Without a second thought, Abbey was out of bed and pulling her jeans on. They arrived at the office within minutes. People were shouting and running around throwing buckets of water onto the flames. The trees under the netting were alight and the flames were licking the window frames of the office. Not far from the gate was a standpipe. Between them, Abbey and Darren managed to organise people into two lines, passing buckets back and to. The
heat was intense and sparks were flying up into the air. Abbey prayed that they wouldn’t take hold in the bush, as it hadn’t rained properly for some weeks.
Bucket after bucket of water was thrown onto the fire. The local rangers arrived with blankets and stamped out any sparks which were burning away from the main fire. It was nearly dawn when the last flame was quenched.
Abbey thanked the villagers and rangers for their help. The whole drama had lasted about five hours and the first shafts of dawn light were breaking into the dark sky as she walked around, assessing the damage.
‘We’ve lost all our new stock,’ she sighed to herself, as she kicked the hot ashes with her foot. ‘Every single bloody tree.’
Darren returned from the higher plantations, walking down the hill with two of the rangers. ‘The second and third plantations are fine. Nothing’s been touched there. How many trees do you reckon have been lost?’
Abbey did a quick calculation out loud. ‘Well, I picked one hundred trees today from the Crossroads, and then there were the trees I recovered from the Savuti.’ As she spoke the last sentence she looked at Darren.
He nodded, reading her thoughts. ‘Seems to me that if Mr Permelo couldn’t have those trees, nobody could.’
‘It could have been Richard?’ suggested Abbey.
‘It could have been both of them,’ replied Darren. ‘Those two have been as thick as thieves for some time now. I wouldn’t put anything past either of them.’
‘You know, this job is hard enough with the elephants eating and destroying the trees, without the vindictive actions of an imbecile like Richard.’ She paused, surveying the damage one more time. ‘I’ll have to ring head office tomorrow. Maybe they’ll give me enough money this month to replace these ones. I hope they’re insured?’
Darren scowled. ‘They bloody well should be, although if foul play is involved I’m not sure if they’ll be covered. Come on,’ he said, taking Abbey’s arm, ‘there’s nothing more that can be done here. Not for now, anyway.’
The Perils of Skinny-Dipping Page 9