by Marion Leigh
‘A special gift from the bride’s mother – pardon me, I mean stepmother – to say thank you to all our guests, especially our visitors from overseas. I believe the tin contains sugared almonds.’
‘The elusive dragées!’ The top of Petra’s tin was decorated with sparkling stones set in a random pattern. The centre stone was bright red. Carlo’s tin was similar, except that the centre stone was blue. He turned the tin over and read the paper label pasted on the bottom:
‘Dragées d’Aix, S.A. Alaix Imports, Montagu, Cape.’
‘It looks as though my informant was telling the truth,’ Petra said. ‘Are you still going to go to Montagu?’
‘Yes, to find out who is behind Alaix. It could be Delapore. Either way, I need to know.’
‘Are you going travelling too?’ Raquel asked. ‘Why not come with us?’
Carlo patted her arm. ‘I have some business to attend to then I’m going fishing with Uncle Tony. But Petra and I might see you in Etosha, if you’re going that far.’
‘We don’t know where we’re going yet – we’re in the hands of the Gods.’
The harpist who had played throughout the meal was replaced by a band. Max and Julia were first on the dance floor. Sandrine and Tony joined them, then Tony danced with Julia and Sandrine with Max. With a quickening pulse, Petra knew what would happen next: Florian would claim his dance with the chief bridesmaid. She refused to let him catch her unawares again and was determined not to be seen as another of his conquests.
Years ago, waiting outside an art gallery, she had noticed a group of at least twenty young women all holding toddlers by the hand and nearly all pregnant. With the group were three men. She had sworn then that she would never stand in line to receive a man’s favours.
Right now though, she was first on Florian’s list. He advanced on her like a duellist claiming his prize. She steeled herself to show no response to his touch. The band, in what seemed like the far distance, was playing another waltz.
When he took her hand and put an arm round her waist, she locked her elbows and kept her muscles rigid. Then she looked up into his face and batted her eyelashes. ‘You stay in your space and I’ll stay in mine.’
Florian the demi-god wasn’t sure what to do. Petra chuckled to herself. He tried again to close the gap between them. Then he tried to bend down to place his lips on hers.
‘Uh uh, don’t even think about it!’
He cocked his head and regarded her coolly.
‘And I thought you were a hot one.’
‘Let’s just say you were wrong.’
‘Never. I’ll prove it to you.’
There was no point continuing the dialogue. Petra pirouetted out of reach and was immediately replaced by Joanna.
An hour later, Sandrine interrupted the band and addressed the guests who were on the dance floor and at the tables.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d just like to say a final few words. First of all, thank you for coming to share Julia and Max’s special day. We are very grateful to you for having made the effort, especially our visitors from overseas, and hope you will take away many happy memories as well as the keepsake tins of dragées. Thank you too for your generous donations to our charitable activities. Julia and Max will be leaving shortly, so I’d like all the bridesmaids to come forward for the throwing of the bride’s bouquet.’
Oh crikey, she’d forgotten that. Petra grimaced as Carlo crossed his index fingers and said, ‘Make sure you catch it. Then you’ll be next!’
‘I don’t want to be next.’
Petra hung back as much as she dared. At the last minute she decided that was the worst place to stand and moved closer.
Sandrine tied a gauze scarf over Julia’s eyes and spun her round two and a half times until she was facing away from the bridesmaids. Julia threw her bouquet over her shoulder, straight into Petra’s face. In a reflex action, Petra caught the damn thing and stood looking at it in horror. Julia pulled the scarf from her eyes.
‘If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to escape too,’ she said.
Chapter
25
Petra was suffocating. There was a hand over her mouth and a weight on top of her. She struggled to break free.
‘Shh, shh,’ Carlo said. ‘You’re all right. I’m going to let go, but I want you to stop making noises and writhing.’
‘What are you doing to me?’ Petra shouted.
‘I’m not doing anything. Someone else must have been doing something in your dreams.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, cara, but I have my suspicions. The gallant Florian, perhaps? Like the other night?’
‘No way, Mercutio.’ Petra hesitated. ‘What kind of noises?’
‘If I tell you, you’ll blush.’
Petra closed her eyes.
‘Don’t pretend you’re falling asleep. Florian’s on the lookout for a mate, and you caught Julia’s bouquet, remember?’
A vision of pink carnations, white roses and blue forget-me-nots entered Petra’s head. ‘I can’t believe I did that!’
‘It obviously gave you ideas. And Florian looked delighted.’
‘Stop it, Mercutio. I made it clear to Florian last night that I’m not in the least bit interested.’
‘Nature will have her way.’
‘In any case, I’m sure Florian isn’t looking for a mate. At least, not just one. He has so many good-looking women in love with him that he can have as many as he wants.’
‘Except you.’
‘Exactly. Except me.’
Petra watched Sandrine directing the staff who were clearing the last tables away from the pool deck. She was like a driver whipping his horses to get the last ounce of effort out of them. The only concession to her guests’ general exhaustion after the week’s round of excursions and parties was that breakfast was an hour later.
Petra filled a mug with black coffee, picked up a cranberry muffin and walked across the lawn to sit under the old oak tree. This was where she had found Julia on Thursday night and where Julia had been going to confide in her until Florian suddenly stepped out of the shadows. Since then, she had had no opportunity to speak quietly to Julia again. Now the newly weds were safely on their honeymoon, no doubt on their way to Europe after a night in Cape Town – at the Mount Nelson Roz had said.
Petra realized she had always thought of Julia’s wedding as a destination wedding, but it wasn’t – not in the way youngsters used the term to denote a wedding in an exotic location not home to either the bride or the groom. In this case Max was Belgian and Julia was South African, even if her parents had come from Italy, so it was logical that the wedding should be held here.
For Petra, though, it was a destination, and a chance in a lifetime to visit a country about which she knew little. She had learned something about the politics from Carlo, and her experiences during the week had shown that a lot of people, from inside and outside the country, were willing to donate time, money and effort to help make South Africa a better place. But somehow it all sounded rather futile – and rather fishy. Exactly how the Brosellis, Delapores and Father John intended to turn their noble ideals into reality, she didn’t know.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Florian making his way from the stables towards the terrace, carrying some papers. She shrank back under the tree, not yet ready to face him and deal with the barbed comments he would doubtless make. Carlo could be infuriating – especially when he teased her mercilessly as he had over the bouquet – but that was easier to cope with than Florian’s conceit.
Petra drained the last of her coffee. A couple of days on her own in Cape Town would give her time to regroup. Carlo was going to leave her at the Waterfront, go to Montagu and come back on Monday or Tuesday to pick her up. They planned to rent a camper van and head first to Tony Broselli’s huntin
g and fishing lodge, then to Namibia.
Tony had been surprised when Petra told him she enjoyed fishing as well as boating. Many women didn’t, he said.
Thinking of fishing, Petra remembered her last fishing trip. It had been in the Bahamas, aboard the yacht belonging to Betty Graceby, the legendary Canadian singer and ex-Vegas dancer. Betty had invited Petra and her friend Martin to accompany her on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Martin had accepted, but Petra had already made a commitment to Carlo to attend Julia’s wedding. Right now, Martin would be with Betty’s group in Spain.
For a moment, Petra wished Martin were with her in South Africa instead of Carlo. The week had been so filled with tension that his calm approach and journalist’s nose might help her make sense of it all. And she could do with a little TLC. She’d had enough of whiz-kids like Florian and Carlo. Martin would look after her, pamper her, bring her coffee or wine depending on the time of day, make her feel whole again …
She woke to find Carlo easing the coffee mug out of her hand and replacing it with a rolled-up brochure.
‘Everyone says goodbye.’
Petra blinked. ‘What? Why?’
‘The wedding celebrations are officially over.’ Carlo looked at his watch. ‘12 noon. Sandrine and Tony are leaving for the north. The contingents from Rome and Florence are on their way to the airport. Father John has taken Gina to visit his inner-city projects. The others have departed,’ he said, counting off on his fingers.
‘But I wanted to speak to Ana and Raquel!’
‘Too late. Your boyfriend has loaded them into a mini-van, along with Pam, Joanna and Diego. They’re off to see the Wizard.’
‘What wizard?’
‘Didn’t you ever watch The Wizard of Oz?’
Petra nodded. ‘It scared me.’
‘This is from your boyfriend. It’ll scare you too,’ Carlo said, tapping the brochure.
Petra unrolled it slowly. The exhortations jumped off the page:
The dark continent needs you to create light!
Dedicate your life to restoring balance!
Make your contribution now before it is too late!
She turned the brochure over. At the bottom of the page in the centre were the words Higher Ground Community Interchange, followed by a Post Office Box number in Stellenbosch and an email address.
‘Dare I look inside?’
‘I suggest you leave it for later. Our transport awaits.’
Chapter
26
The white limousine pulled up in front of the Vredehof Manor House. The driver loaded their luggage and Petra climbed gratefully into the back seat beside Carlo. The leather was soft and inviting and she fancied she would be fast asleep within seconds.
At the last minute, Wellington came down the steps holding two carrier bags.
‘These are for you, Miss Petra, Mr. Carlo. Miz’ Broselli sent them in case she doesn’t see you again before you leave South Africa. She said to please pack them in your luggage and take them home to give to your families. You’re flying to Geneva, I understand, before you go on home.’
Petra nodded. ‘Yes, Carlo lives in Milan and I live in Sudbury, Ontario. That’s not too far from Toronto, in Canada,’ she added when she saw the look of incomprehension in Wellington’s eyes. ‘We have a good friend in Geneva.’
‘You can give him one too,’ Wellington said with a twinkle. ‘Miz’ Broselli is spoilin’ you.’
The bags were full of keepsake tins of dragées.
‘We’ve got enough to sell and make a small fortune, I reckon,’ Petra joked as she counted the tins after saying goodbye to Wellington.
‘I’ll certainly be able to take a close look at one, and pass one on to the guy who asked me to investigate,’ Carlo said.
‘I’m surprised there’s no engraved date and names, nothing to relate them to Julia and Max’s wedding. But that’s lucky in a way. It means I can give one to Vicky Dunlin, and maybe Mrs. Pinderally.’
‘At that rate, the tins will be gone before we know it.’
‘How long before we get to Cape Town?’ Petra asked.
‘An hour maybe, but it depends on traffic. It is Sunday afternoon.’
Once they left the wine-tasting areas and reached the N2, the limousine sped along. Both Petra and Carlo closed their eyes. Petra opened hers with a jerk when the driver braked hard to avoid a young man who was dodging the cars to cross the road. ‘He’ll be lucky to make it! Why doesn’t he use the footbridge?’
‘He must be late for his plane,’ Carlo said, waving his hand at the airport entrance sign.
‘Hah, hah! Which reminds me …’
‘Oh, no!’
‘Yes. You’ve never explained why you weren’t at the airport to meet me last week. You said you’d tell me later. Now is later.’
Petra never forgot anything completely, that Carlo knew. He drew in a long breath.
‘Right. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. As you know, a few days before I was supposed to meet you here, I flew to Dubai for an International Police Conference. The morning I was due to pick you up at the airport, I was still in Dubai.’
‘I thought your conference finished the day before.’
‘So did I. There was a last-minute extension. A Dutchman – a gemologist and specialist in the diamond trade – flew in to give a talk on international diamond smuggling. There’s a lot of concern that the Kimberley Process isn’t working as well as it was.’
‘I thought all diamond trading was done through De Beers.’
‘It used to be. Then countries started objecting to the monopoly and De Beers lost a very big lawsuit. But of course, they didn’t want to lose the control they’d had over the industry. Somebody came up with a new idea and in 2003, the Kimberley Process Certification Scheme was implemented.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a voluntary scheme whereby member states agree to put in place national legislation and institutions, as well as export, import and internal controls.’
‘The object being?’
‘To prevent the trafficking of rough diamonds to finance terrorist activities, so-called “blood diamonds”. All international shipments of rough diamonds must be accompanied by a Kimberley Process certificate guaranteeing that the diamonds are “conflict free”. And Kimberley Process member states can only legally trade with other protocol participants.’
‘So essentially those participants control the diamond trade.’
‘Yes. Kimberley Process members account for something like 99.8% of the global production of rough diamonds.’
‘I’d say it works then!’
‘Most of the time it does. But there’s been an increase in illicit diamonds with no certificate of origin appearing on the market. That’s what this guy came to talk about. And that’s why I wasn’t at the airport to meet you. I flew in later that afternoon.’
‘Hmm.’
Suddenly she sat bolt upright. ‘Talking of diamonds, there’s something you need to know. I forgot all about it until now.’ She threw him a warning look. ‘No banter, Mercutio. Let me finish. This might be important.
The morning before the wedding, that slimy bastard Father John inveigled his way into my fitting for my bridesmaid’s dress. To get away from him afterwards, I walked to the outbuildings we visited with Tony on the day we arrived. While I was exploring, I saw Tony and Florian carrying a heavy machine. They didn’t see me – I managed to hide in an empty storeroom – but I did overhear a very interesting conversation.’
‘Go on.’
‘Florian said it was the wrong time to take Julia out of the business. Tony replied that she would just be at the other end, whatever that means. Then he said Jacob De Witt has the skills they need and could spend six months a year here. But here’s the real nugget,’ she sa
id triumphantly. ‘A thirty percent uptick on rough, and no questions asked as to provenance. Those were Tony’s words. Given what you just told me, it sounds as though he could have been talking about diamonds.’
Carlo gave a long whistle. ‘It sure does. Cut diamonds are about thirty percent more valuable than rough stones, and they don’t need a certificate of origin. The De Witts come from Antwerp and Amsterdam, prime diamond cutting and trading centres.’
‘And Julia’s going to live in Amsterdam which puts her at the other end of the business!’ Petra reflected for a few moments. ‘I have a feeling there’s more than one business involved though. Florian called it a hare-brained scheme, and Tony was quite volatile in his reply. ‘A darn sight better than your feeble attempts to restore a balance in this country,’ he said. Then he ranted on about Florian indulging his appetites. What do you make of that?’
‘Let me turn that around. What do you make of it? You’ve had more dealings with Florian than I have.’
Petra felt the tell-tale blush rise in her cheeks. However hard she tried to control her emotions, the Polish-Italian gene pool had left her with a fatal flaw. ‘Florian can charm a snail out of its shell. If he started a youth movement and insisted that everyone shave their heads and wear blue robes, the girls – and boys – would be flocking to join.’
‘Boys too? You think Florian likes boys?’
‘It’s possible, but I would guess that if there’s a sexual element, it’s more likely to be latent – like when you’re a teenager and you have a crush on someone who is a magnificent specimen of your own kind. Florian’s magnetism is so powerful that he can attract anybody he wants. He has the ability to make you feel as though you’re the only one he’s talking to even if he’s addressing a crowd.’
‘What about the ones he doesn’t want to attract?’ Carlo asked.
‘I suspect that behind the alluring façade lies a ruthless dictator. He will eliminate anybody he doesn’t want in his entourage unless they can be useful to him. Like Julia. He used her to manipulate Max.’