A Holiday to Die For

by Marion Leigh

  Chapter

  29

  Henny’s leg was giving him hell. The drive to Lüderitz was usually a welcome relief after the hike through the Fish River Canyon. Most of the way the road was tarred and in good shape, but today it was blowing a gale. The wind whipped the desert sand onto the road where it formed dangerous slicks and drifts. Visibility was poor. Getting rid of the driver had been a bad mistake. Twice his vehicle skidded and he narrowly avoided losing control.

  As they came into town, the old German-style houses provided some shelter. Not so out at the campsite on the Shark Peninsula, where the Southwester scoured the already barren earth.

  ‘What kind of hellhole is this?’ Megan groused. ‘We’ll never get the tents up in this wind.’

  Henny gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘This is your eco-adventure, remember? I’m sure you’ll do it. If you really can’t manage, I’ll give you a hand later.’ Keep them working, keep them dependent.

  He walked away from the campsite to the edge of the rocky promontory, trying not to limp. Down in the harbour, the diamond boats tugged at their lines. Like the ones in Port Nolloth, his old hunting ground, the larger boats used robots to dig trenches in the seabed at depths of up to a hundred and fifty metres and heavy duty pumps to suck up the diamond-bearing gravel. Then the diamonds were automatically sorted and sealed in what they called Neptune cans. For the independent divers operating small boats under licence to the big mining corporations it was a different proposition. Mates of his worked long hours in the icy waters but still dreamed of hitting it big.

  He had too. Then, on a foul day like this, on board a trawler out of Port Nolloth, a line had snapped and whipped across the deck, slicing into his shin bone. It had mended badly, leaving him with a permanent reminder of why it was so important to keep the upper hand.

  A year later, he had spotted the Master and begun a new life. The girly-looking guy with the blue eyes and blonde hair was sitting at the bar, chatting up the barmaid. He could have been a spy or a new breed of informant for the diamond police. Like the rest of the regulars, Henny kept his distance.

  The next night was a repeat, the only difference being that the barmaid’s tits were almost falling out of her top. Finally, on the third night, curiosity and craftiness drove him to ask the stranger to buy him a drink. At least, that’s what Henny told himself it was at the time. But he knew it was the guy’s sheer animal magnetism that had lured him. Or put more crudely, it was the goddamn light shining out of his arse.

  In the Port, if the talk wasn’t about women, fish or diamonds, it was about the state of the country. And the man had vision. A vision for the future that would restore things in some measure to the way they had been.

  After a few beery evenings that ended how and where Henny couldn’t remember, he was hooked. The Master had a plan that surpassed anything he’d ever dreamed about. Yeah, it was far out and Henny struggled at first with some of the concepts and the big words, but the bottom line was that it fit with his own vision of how things should be. And it was based on attracting more and more women to the cause. Henny had no beef about that.

  Next thing he knew, from March to October he was a scout: dressed like a roadie, pulling the chicks, all expenses paid and decent money to boot, kowtowing to no one but the Master. Even having a little fun – until now.

  But with this bloody group Henny had started to question the wisdom of recruiting only white girls. In his fantasies, he re-wrote the Higher Ground policy to include women of different ages and colours, all of whom would do exactly as he instructed.

  Chapter

  30

  There was a rap on the door of the master suite.

  ‘Enter!’

  Ali opened the door and waved in a lackey carrying a gold tray with all the fixings for coffee along with a plate of chocolate biscuits. The lackey deposited the tray and left. Ali advanced with a silver salver on which lay a white envelope marked with the Cape Sands logo.

  ‘This missive just arrived from the hotel, Madam,’ he said with a bow.

  ‘Goody, an invitation. A gala dinner this Saturday. Open it, Ali, and read it to me.’

  Petra thought she saw him shake his head before he lifted the flap of the envelope and extracted a folded piece of paper.

  ‘Not an invitation, Madam,’ he said as he smoothed out the paper. ‘A message from Miss Vicky.’

  ‘Miss Vicky is late. It is not reliable to be late, especially on the first day of a new job. Go on, Ali.’

  Petra edged a little closer to Ali. The message was typewritten and quite long.

  Ali read as if reciting from memory:

  Dear Mrs. Pinderally,

  I know you will be waiting for me and have offered me a wonderful opportunity to be your private masseuse and live aboard your fabulous yacht. My experience last week working with the Tabernacle Youth Collective in the Winelands was the most illuminating thing I have ever done. There are so many unfortunate young women who need help and love to find their way along the path to enlightenment.

  I have given this much thought and I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have decided to stay with the Collective. I have been chosen to work within one of their outreach programmes at a community village near Langebaan. This is not too far from Cape Town. Whenever I visit, I will come and give you a massage. I hope you will understand. This is my destiny.

  Sincerely,

  Vicky Dunlin

  For what seemed like an eternity, there was silence. Then came an eruption from the bed. With surprising speed, Mrs. Pinderally hoisted herself upright and swung her legs over the side.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense!’ she exclaimed. ‘Again, Ali!’

  As Ali reread the letter, Petra had a strange feeling. Some of the phraseology was startlingly familiar. It was almost as if somebody she knew had helped to write it.

  ‘Does that sound like Vicky?’ she asked Mrs. Pinderally.

  ‘Most dubious, yet possible.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Massage is for calming the mind and the body. Miss Vicky talked too much. So I instruct her in meditation. First degree only, of course. She was far from reaching enlightenment.’

  ‘She mentions enlightenment. Was she religious?’

  ‘This is not the same. Certainly she was searching for something.’

  ‘It would seem she’s found it.’

  ‘The pretty-pale side has overcome the practical side.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ali, show Petra Miss Vicky.’

  Ali went to one of the top drawers in the dresser on the right and pulled out a pink file folder stamped with the Scheherazade logo. He extracted a colour photograph and handed it to Petra.

  Mrs. Pinderally was sitting by the window in the relaxation room at the Cape Sands’ wellness centre. Next to her stood a sturdily built young lady with a face that was pale and pretty but somewhat too narrow given the width of her shoulders and hips.

  ‘I see,’ Petra said. ‘When was this taken?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  ‘You saw her two days ago, on Saturday?’

  ‘Indeed. After the very best cocoon, I realize I cannot do without her. I made the photograph and the offer of employment.’

  ‘Did she say anything about wanting to rejoin the Tabernacle Youth Collective?’

  ‘She did not, but she was too quiet.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like to talk during your massages.’

  ‘Correct, but Miss Vicky had been gone one week. Like you with your drama. She should have told me about her experiences. Romance, a pinch of spice … ’

  Petra’s eyes fell on a paperback that was lying on Mrs. Pinderally’s night table. The cover showed a half-naked couple in a close embrace, the girl’s long black hair flowing over the tattooed back of a stud with a buzz cut. Suddenly Petra understood
. Gossiping and reading romantic novels brought Mrs. Pinderally vicarious pleasure. But she also had a talent for getting right to the heart of a matter.

  Although she didn’t say so, Petra would have liked to hear about Vicky’s experiences too. She settled for commiserating with Mrs. Pinderally.

  ‘It’s a shame she’s not here. I was looking forward to a massage. I brought a tin of dragées for her as a small thank-you.’

  ‘Ah, the diamonds!’ Mrs. Pinderally yelped. ‘And Miss Vicky is in breach of contract. Ali, make haste. Prepare the boat.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Go to Langebaan. To find them both. You and me.’

  ‘I can’t. Carlo is picking me up from my hotel this afternoon. We’re going hunting and fishing.’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Carlo!’

  ‘Soon on my way, cara, soon on my way. Just a few more questions I need to answer.’

  ‘Don’t bother to come to Cape Town.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘I won’t be here. I’m going with Mrs. Pinderally to Langebaan – on her boat. You can meet me there instead.’

  ‘You can’t just change people’s plans because you want to go on a cruise, Petra. The camper van is booked for pick-up at the airport. What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Carlo, Mrs. Pinderally is a gemologist. She found a diamond in the rough in the tin of dragées I gave her.’

  There was a strangled gasp at the other end of the phone.

  ‘I know, it’s crazy.’ Quickly Petra explained. ‘Now she wants to show me a place near Langebaan …’

  ‘Why Langebaan?’ Carlo cut in. ‘They don’t mine diamonds there as far as I know.’

  ‘Two reasons. She says it’ll teach me what to look for, and Vicky Dunlin has gone to Langebaan.’

  ‘I don’t believe this. Why are you chasing halfway across the country after Vicky Dunlin?’

  ‘Gross exaggeration, Carlo. It’s not halfway across the country at all. Langebaan is north of Cape Town, virtually on the route we would be taking anyway. Vicky has reneged on her contract with Mrs. Pinderally and I have a horrible suspicion she’s getting into some kind of trouble.’

  She spent a few minutes giving Carlo the gist of Vicky’s letter.

  ‘I want to investigate this Tabernacle Youth Collective. Father John is involved in community outreach and it seems to me more likely than ever that there’s a connection.’

  ‘What if there is?’

  ‘He’s a very sleazy ball, as Mrs. Pinderally calls him.’

  ‘She knows him?’

  ‘Yes. Look, Carlo, I’ve got to go. I have to pick up my luggage from the hotel before the boat leaves. We’ll be in Langebaan by this evening. I’ll call you later.’

  After she rang off, Petra realized she hadn’t asked Carlo anything about the success of his mission. Oh well, there wasn’t time.

  Chapter

  31

  Mrs. Pinderally had a larger crew than Petra had anticipated. Besides Ali, the steward, and his two lackeys, she counted a captain and two deckhands. Ali showed her to a guest stateroom on the lower deck decorated in pastel tones that bridged the gap between the extravagance of Mrs. Pinderally’s cave and the austerity of the salon.

  ‘Madam is snoozing until tiffin,’ Ali informed her. ‘You have the freedom of the yacht. If you wish swimming, the pool is on the top deck.’

  That might be nice once they had left Cape Town and passed Robben Island, Petra thought. The map she had brought with her showed that the coast was fairly straight and low-lying. Unless they travelled close inshore, she wouldn’t be able to see much anyway.

  Petra watched from the aft deck as Table Mountain receded into the distance. Being on the water again was a treat, and Scheherazade rode well. If the wind stayed as it was, blowing at ten knots out of the southwest, they should be able to cover the sixty nautical miles north to Saldanha Bay in about four hours. From there, it was a short run east to Langebaan and its lagoon.

  Carlo had no right to make a fuss. Langebaan was not a huge distance off the route they had planned to take – the N7 which ran all the way to the Namibian border. On the other hand, rushing off with Mrs. Pinderally to try and find Vicky Dunlin when they had no information to pinpoint her whereabouts was, she admitted, like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  The swimming pool on the top deck was more like a plunge pool with Jacuzzi-style jets. Still, it was refreshing and Petra spent half an hour doing aquafit exercises. Feeling pleased with the workout, she wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel embroidered with pink magic carpets, stretched out on a sunbed and closed her eyes. Even if she couldn’t have the promised massage with Vicky Dunlin, a little relaxation would do her good after the rigours of the wedding. The guests had gone their various ways: Max and Julia were honeymooning in Italy as Mr. and Mrs. De Witt, Sandrine and Tony Broselli would be at their property near the Orange River, Florian … she preferred not to think about Florian. What was it Carlo had said about the others yesterday?

  A few seconds later, Petra opened her eyes wide and stared at the sky. Gina had gone with Father John to visit some of his community projects. Florian had taken the two Spanish girls, the two English girls and Diego on a Higher Ground tour. Carlo had given her the brochure and, if she remembered correctly, there was an email address and maybe a website. If she could find a computer, she could check it out and perhaps find out more about Father John’s outreach activities as well.

  Petra jumped up and went to her cabin. Without bothering to change, she searched for the brochure. There it was: Higher Ground Community Interchange. She began to read.

  The first thing that struck her was how similar yet how different it was to the Higher Ground Tours brochure Megan and Hilary had given her. The emphasis then had been on discovering the delights of Africa through a scenic tour, though if you analyzed it closely the main thrust was still to attract young people as volunteers. Higher Ground Interchange was a charity; it was all about service and doing good. Plenty of exclamation marks and wording designed to entreat and persuade, beginning with the ringing appeal on the front page:

  The dark continent needs you to create light!

  Dedicate your life to restoring balance!

  Make your contribution now before it is too late!

  Page two began on a more serious note:

  Higher Ground Mission Statement

  Our mission is twofold:

  - to raise awareness of the needs of the community and improve standards through programmes designed to foster progress and promote the joy of living

  - to offer young people the opportunity to find balance, peace of mind and comfort in service by living in harmony with nature and each other

  Ways You Can Help

  There are two ways in which you can help:

  - Monetary Contributions

  Higher Ground welcomes monetary contributions, great and small. Money allows us to provide food, shelter and other basic necessities to ensure the success of our programmes.

  - Voluntary Service

  We welcome with open arms and hearts young volunteers aged between 18 and 28. In the prime of life, you have the vigour, the energy, the desire and the ability to help us meet our goals.

  Page three continued in the same vein.

  Our Watchwords

  Nurture, nature, simplicity, economy, devotion to one another

  Outreach Programmes

  Our outreach programmes are carefully designed to allow you to experience Africa as it was meant to be while contributing to the development of the local community. Over the years, we have found that complete immersion in the local way of life is the best way to guarantee success.

  We begin by assessing your skills and determining how and where your contribution can be of most benefit. This usually
takes place during a short working holiday at one of our small outreach projects in the South African countryside. After demonstrating that you possess the right attitude and skills, you will be assigned to a long-stay village where your capabilities will be put to good use.

  Petra took a deep breath and turned to the back page.

  Seize the day!

  With villages in South Africa and Namibia, Higher Ground offers plenty of scope for you to experience the real Africa while working to benefit others. Volunteers should be physically fit and ready to sublimate their own desires for the greater good. We recommend a minimum stay of one year.

  By dedicating yourself to the service of others in our community villages, you will ensure your place in a freer purer world.

  Join with us to create light in place of darkness!

  Email us now if you are ready to fulfill your destiny!

  Petra put down the brochure and rubbed the sore muscle in her right shoulder. There was plenty to take in. The abstract jargon of the last section reminded her of Father John’s afternoon confessional in the slave lodge at Vredehof. Lots of fluff, no real substance, and no indication of what volunteers would actually be doing.

  Twenty or so photographs edged the centre pages of the brochure: pictures of village compounds, rondavels with thatched roofs, groups of huts surrounded by wooden stave fences, white-washed barrack-style buildings, long and low. They were little more than thumbnails so detail was difficult to see, and there were no place names or captions that might identify them. But one thing was clear: all the pictures featured young white women.

  White women with fair hair. Like Vicky Dunlin. Who had said in her letter that she had been chosen to work with one of Tabernacle Youth Collective’s outreach programmes. Questions swamped Petra’s brain. How had she been chosen? Why had she been chosen? Was the working holiday Vicky had just been on linked to the “short working holiday at one of our small outreach projects in the South African countryside” mentioned in the Higher Ground Interchange brochure? And if Vicky had indeed gone to work on a project near Langebaan, how the hell were they going to find her?