The Perils of Skinny-Dipping

by J A Sandilands

  Chapter Fifteen

  At nine o’clock precisely, a tall, slim lady dressed in a brightly-coloured frock and a straw hat walked up the drive and knocked on the door.

  ‘Hi,’ said Abbey. ‘You must be Prisca, I’ve been expecting you.’

  Prisca was Boitachello’s mother, and previously Richard’s maid. Abbey invited Prisca to sit down and offered her a cup of bush tea.

  ‘Well Mma,’ continued Abbey as they sat opposite one another in the lounge, ‘I am going to be spending more time at the office now Mr Morrison has left, and I am looking for someone to come in and clean for me, just on week days. Would you be interested in working for me?’

  Prisca smiled and nodded. ‘Yes Mma, I would be very happy to come and work for you. I will start on Monday, if that is alright?’

  ‘That’s fine. Now tell me, what was Mr Morrison paying you?’

  Prisca shifted in her chair uncomfortably before replying. ‘He paid me one hundred and fifty pula a week.’

  ‘OK, well I am going to pay you two hundred pula and you can start at eight and finish at three. Does that suit you?’

  Prisca nodded her head, looking quite satisfied with the outcome of the meeting.

  ‘How long did you work for Mr Morrison?’ enquired Abbey.

  ‘I went to work for him when I left the Savuti Lodge.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Abbey, ‘I didn’t know you’d worked there first.’

  ‘Yes, but Mr Permelo said he’d have to let me go. Said there wasn’t enough work for me to do, but that he knew someone who needed a maid straight away and he would give me a good reference. Mr Morrison hired me the day after.’

  Abbey nodded her head as more of Richard’s manipulative behaviour was being exposed. She decided against sharing her thoughts with Prisca, but would talk it over later with Darren.

  Abbey made another cup of tea and the two women sat and chatted quite easily as Abbey learned snippets about Prisca’s life. It never ceased to amaze Abbey how the people in this country survived the most unthinkable hardships, and yet emerged with pride and dignity, ready to face whatever life brought to their door next.

  Prisca was originally from Shakawe on the west side of Botswana, close to the Namibian border. There had been no school for her to go to when she was a child, and she spent most of her childhood by her mother’s side, learning how to cook, sew and till the land. The minister from the local church had taught her how to read and write Setswana, on a Sunday, after the service - a skill that her father considered completely unnecessary for a young woman. He had taught her the practical skill of basket weaving, which could bring much-needed money into the home. Her father sold the baskets all over Botswana, and she had accompanied him one day on a trip to Maun to sell the baskets to the tourists. It was here she met her husband, Benjamin.

  Benjamin had been working in the garage as a petrol pump attendant, not far from where they had set up their stall on the main road. After careful negotiations between Prisca’s father and Benjamin, they had got married one year later and moved to Kasane, Benjamin’s hometown. Boitachello was born exactly nine months later and, after a very difficult labour and birth, Prisca had been unable to have any more children.

  ‘Where does your husband work now?’ asked Abbey, feeling a pang of guilt about not showing more interest in Boitachello and her family.

  ‘He is passed,’ replied Prisca quietly. ‘I have been on my own for a few years now. I am not interested in men anymore.’

  Abbey could see the pain in her eyes and instinctively knew that the scars from whatever had happened were only superficially healed. She wasn’t quite sure where Richard fitted into the story, or if he fitted in at all, and she certainly wasn’t going to mention his name again. She tactfully changed the subject and talked about the increase in visitors the town was enjoying, and the extra income it brought to the small shop owners, who very often struggled to make ends meet.

  After they had finished the second pot of tea, Abbey watched Prisca make her way down the hill and was confident she would be as valuable an employee as her daughter was proving to be. She leaned against the doorframe as Prisca finally disappeared from view. ‘Bastards,’ she said to herself, when she thought about the contrived plot by Richard and Mr Permelo to lure Prisca into Richard’s grimy grasp. A shiver ran down her spine as she imagined what Richard’s agenda might have included.

  As Prisca disappeared from view, Darren’s bakkie swung onto the road at the bottom of the hill. She waited on the porch for him.

  ‘Well, did you find anything out?’ she shouted over to him, as he got out the cab.

  ‘I’ve chased up the complaint at the police station and, to be quite honest, they seem to have several theories how that fire could have started, and none of them include arson. I think they’ll pay you a visit though, as I told them I had connections with officers in Gaborone, who would query why so little has been done.’

  ‘What about Richard? Has anyone seen him?’

  Darren shook his head.

  Richard hadn’t been seen since the day he had walked out of the AVP offices. Darren had gone to his house the morning after the fire, but it was empty with no sign of any of his belongings. Mr Permelo had been interviewed by the police at Darren’s insistence and denied any knowledge about how the fire might have been started. Abbey could sense Darren’s frustration at the lack of police activity, but he had promised not to pay Mr Permelo a visit whilst the so-called investigation was being carried out.

  The following weeks flew by as Abbey took up her new position as manager at the office. The regional manager had agreed to increase the Kasane budget to replace the lost stock and help with the repairs. Darren had brought some of his labourers in to help, and the townsfolk also seemed eager to help restore calm and order. Eventually, everything got back to normal and Abbey’s small empire was running smoothly again. No stock went missing, no fires were started and Abbey was pleasantly surprised at the number of visits she received from passers-by, who had always wanted to come in and chat, but felt that they wouldn’t have been welcome. Abbey quickly capitalised on this and set up a volunteer’s notice board and roster for anyone who was interested in helping out.

  For the first time since Phil had left, Abbey was starting to feel good about going to work again. She did, however, miss Phil now more than ever. She imagined how well they would have got on running the project together. Abbey was in constant touch with him by email and phone. He had roared with laughter down the line when she had told him about Richard, Mr Permelo and the missing stock. He was also in no doubt about the role Mr Permelo, or Richard, or both, had had in starting the fire.

  ‘Never mind the fire, how are you Phil? Really, I mean, no messing about now?’

  ‘Look, hun, I’m as good as I can be just now. It’s taking me a while to get my head around all of this. When you coming back home so I can see you? I really need to talk to you about something.’

  ‘I’m not sure at the moment. Can’t you talk over the phone?’

  ‘Nah, no way, not about this.’

  ‘Look Phil, I’ll try to get away in the next month or so. It’s not easy now I have this place to manage, but as soon as my feet hit British soil I’ll be on my way to Sheffield. OK?’

  The connection clicked and Abbey replaced the receiver, slightly concerned about what Phil needed to talk about. She doubted very much that getting away in the next six months would be possible.

  As well as her work life, married life also got better and better as far as Abbey was concerned. She found she had started to clock-watch at home, waiting for Darren’s bakkie to appear on the driveway. When he was away she missed the warmth of his body in the bed and the intimacy they shared. In an attempt to keep him near, she kept the mobile in the bedroom during the night, just in case he managed to get a signal and call.

  After one particular lengthy trip, Darren had been away for almost ten days, and Abbey was busy cooking his dinner ready for his imminent retur
n. As soon as she heard his bakkie pull up on the drive, she went over to the door to greet him. He smiled at her and took her in his arms as he usually did, kissing her. He looked tired and sank down into the chair, pulling her onto his lap. She felt his body tense.

  ‘I’ll run you a bath,’ she said, ‘so you’ll be nice and clean before we eat.’

  ‘Are you saying I smell?’ he laughed.

  ‘Hey, you always smell good to me,’ she said, snuggling into his neck. ‘No, it’s just that you look tired and you need to relax. By the way, you’ve got at least three messages on the answer phone from the surveyors in Cape Town.’

  ‘Oh,’ he groaned. ‘I’ve been expecting this.’

  ‘Anything the matter?’

  ‘It can wait a while. I’ll tell you over dinner,’ he shouted, as he disappeared into the bathroom.

  Darren explained to Abbey over dinner the problems he was facing at work.

  ‘The surveyors are contracted the same way as I am, so they’re pushing me for samples,’ he sighed, ‘and my drilling equipment is fairly dated and not getting through some of the solid layers of rock. I’m literally stuck between a rock and a hard place here. If I don’t come up with something soon, they’ll cancel my contract and all the money I’ve invested into this project will be lost.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll be out of business?’

  ‘Probably and there is plenty of competition out there just waiting to step into my shoes. I’ve been in this business a long time now and I’ve have built up a good reputation. It’s unfair, but I could lose it in a matter of days.’

  ‘Have you any money saved up? Or maybe get a bank loan to buy the new equipment?’ asked Abbey trying to be as positive as she could.

  ‘I’m up to the limit with the bank I’m afraid, and no, all my savings have gone into keeping this business going.’

  ‘How much do you need to buy the new drill?’

  ‘Not sure, but probably about sixty thousand would secure a good one. Why?’ he looked at her. ‘Have you got a solution for me?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Abbey had rented out her small house in south Manchester while she had been away. It had commanded a good rent and was slowly building up a nice little nest egg in a savings account she’d opened specially. This was going to be her cushion when she returned and provide her with cash before the pay cheques started coming back in. She had bought the property over ten years ago and had slowly upgraded it, putting in a new heating system, kitchen and bathroom. She had paid seventy-five thousand pounds for it which, at the time, seemed a colossal amount of money; but property prices in that particular area had rocketed, and she reckoned she could probably sell it in the current market for at least three times that amount, leaving her a tidy profit.

  ‘What if I sell my house?’ she suggested.

  Darren didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to swirl his wine around the glass.

  ‘Well, what do you think? Or at least re-mortgage it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Abbey. That’s a big sacrifice to make and what if I can’t deliver? What then?’

  ‘Well, what’s the alternative?’ she drove on. ‘If we don’t raise the money and you go out of business, we’re done for anyway. It could mean we have to leave here and try and get jobs back in England. Don’t you at least want to give it a try?’

  ‘I’ll think about it. Now, no more talk about work, not tonight anyway.’

  They spent the weekend relaxing around the house. Employing Prisca had freed up much more time for Abbey, as she no longer had to worry about the cleaning or the washing before Monday morning came round again. Abbey loved spending her weekends with just Darren for company. They took it in turns to cook and spent hours talking over dinner and late into the evening.

  It was during these long talks that Abbey learned more about her husband’s past as he talked openly about his life. He, too, had got married at nineteen. As he pursued his career, it had taken him away from home for longer periods of time. After one long trip in Namibia, he returned to find the house had been sold and his wife had filed for divorce and had moved in with a man she worked with.

  Like Abbey, he had been single ever since and put all his time and effort into building up his business. Abbey got the feeling that Darren firmly blamed himself for the breakup of his marriage, and wondered if she was now benefiting from that experience, as he was the most attentive, considerate man she had ever known.

  In the late afternoon, after the temperature had cooled, they walked around the bush land at the back of house, armed with a pair of binoculars, trying to spot some of the colourful birds that nested in the trees and bushes. Darren was quite knowledgeable and was able to tell Abbey the names of most of the ones they spotted, as well as giving her a brief history lesson about the park and its original inhabitants.

  She listened as he explained how the San, also known as ‘Bushmen’, still existed in small numbers, and lived a nomadic lifestyle, surviving solely off the resources the land had to offer. When the Chobe Park had been declared a non-hunting area, the San and other groups of people who had moved into the area had left and spread themselves across the country, mainly in the Kalahari Desert. Then, after diamonds were found in the Kalahari, the San were forced once again to leave their makeshift wooden homes and now lived in resettlement camps, being forced to live off government aid.

  Abbey’s affection for the country and its people grew stronger as the weeks passed by and, in a bid to understand more fully the culture she was living in, she was keen to learn about its history and traditions. She did, however, feel a great sense of injustice for these indigenous folk, whose own lifestyle and culture seemed to have been sacrificed in the pursuit of riches from gems and the tourist trade. She supposed there had to be losers as well as winners as the country took full advantage of its assets and exploited them to their maximum potential.

  ‘Is there anything we can do to help these people?’ she asked. ‘Maybe lobby a few MPs?’

  ‘Abbey, take my advice,’ replied Darren, ‘and say nothing about it publically. This is still a very sensitive situation, and free speech by foreigners about domestic affairs can very often lead to deportation. Trust me on this one!’

  The rest of the weekend was spent lazing on the veranda drinking cold beers and trying to keep cool in the shade. Abbey decided not to bring up the subject of money, and would wait for him to instigate the conversation. It was Sunday evening before Darren spoke to her about her suggestion.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I can foresee a few problems.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, this money would have to be on a loan basis only. Second, I can’t guarantee repayment quickly. It might take time, depending on the long-term success of the business.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that, Darren, but I want to help and if this is the only way, then so be it. Anyway, aren’t we in this together now, as man and wife? If it makes you feel any better, I’ll charge you interest. Five per cent above base rate do?’

  ‘Are you completely sure you’re happy to remortgage?’

  ‘No, I’ve no intention of remortgaging. I’m going to sell.’

  Darren put down his glass and turned to face her.

  ‘Look Darren,’ she continued before he could speak, ‘I’ve decided that if I ever do return to the UK it won’t be to that house. We’ll buy our own house, together. Somewhere we both want to live.’

  He pulled her on top of him, smelling her newly-washed hair, and ran his fingertips across the bottom of her back.

  ‘Can we negotiate the interest rate?’ he whispered.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Abbey spent most of the next week on the phone organising the sale of her house. She instructed the estate agent to give the tenant two months’ notice and erect a For Sale board immediately. The house was valued as she had expected, and the agents advised her that, as the market was buoyant, to expect a quick sale. Darren, in the meantime, h
ad driven down to Francistown and managed to raise an overdraft with Barclays of Botswana to cover the cost of the new drill, on the back of the income from the sale of Abbey’s house. After a quick goodbye, he packed his bag and left for Johannesburg to buy the new drill, leaving Abbey to sort out any outstanding questions that might come up from either the bank or the surveyors.

  Abbey received the first phone call from the surveyors the day after Darren had left, which she didn’t think had gone particularly well.

  ‘Hello, can I speak to Darren please?’ said the woman in an Afrikaans accent.

  ‘I’m sorry, he’s away in Johannesburg on business at the moment. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Who am I talking to?’ cut in the voice.

  ‘This is Abbey, his wife.’

  There was a moment’s silence before the woman spoke again.

  ‘This is Anna Halley from Halley & Gunnell Surveyors in Cape Town. I had no idea that Darren was married - he certainly wasn’t a few months ago when he visited us here.’

  ‘I was with him in Cape Town on that visit, Ms Halley. That’s when we got engaged.’

  ‘How sweet. Tell Mr Scott I need to speak to him as soon as he returns. He can ring me on my mobile - he has my number.’

  The phone clicked and the connection was gone. The abrupt manner of Ms. Halley momentarily unnerved Abbey, leaving her feeling quite cold.

  When Darren returned at the weekend, he seemed much less preoccupied and suggested they went out for sundowners. This had been one of Abbey’s favourite treats since arriving in Chobe and she readily agreed. Sundowners involved driving out into the middle of the bush, late into the afternoon, drinking long, cold cocktails and watching the sunset. They found a shady spot under a large baobab tree and put up the camp chairs. The intense heat from the sun slowly subsided, allowing them to sit in comfort and absorb the sights and smells of the bush.

  Impala grazed in the distance unperturbed by their presence. The trumpet of a bull elephant echoed around them, a sign that one of the herds was on the move. In a nearby tree, the sound of the Grey Loerie bird screeched its warning to any game in the vicinity that humans were around, and to be on their guard. The air was completely still and the sky turned into a combination of deep reds and purple as the sun slowly disappeared from view.