by Marion Leigh
For the umpteenth time, Petra looked at her phone. She didn’t need to, she told herself. If a call or a text was coming in, she would feel the vibration. Then a thought struck her. What if the phone rang and she answered it and it was Father John or Florian? Voices were the hardest thing to disguise. Wouldn’t they think it odd that she was enquiring about volunteering with Higher Ground? Then again, they would probably have staff – or volunteers – to handle simple requests for information. If it got to the interview and assessment stage, she would have to be more careful. They might enjoy conducting those themselves.
Mrs. Pinderally’s water limousine was flat with a glassed-in top and three rows of seats. It reminded Petra of the bateaux mouches on the Seine in Paris. The regular limousine was pink and large enough to accommodate Mrs. Pinderally and several friends easily. Petra could see that the chauffeur was none too pleased when they had to leave the main road and jolt along the gravel road to the fossil park.
At the small café and visitors centre, they transferred to an open jeep for the bumpy ride with their guide across what once had been the site of a phosphate mine. In place of the dusty glass cases Petra was expecting was a large enclosure housing an on-going archeological dig. Narrow walkways led around and through the site, enabling viewers to see the fossilized bones of long extinct animals in situ.
‘I give it ten on the Wow-scale,’ Petra said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. Can you imagine what this land was like five million years ago – not arid desert but green and watered, full of four-tusked elephants, three-toed horses, short-necked giraffes, sabre-toothed cats …’
‘Not to mention big African bears!’ Carlo added.
The guide had described the huge diversity of animals that had been found there. Now he was asking them questions. ‘How do you think these bones got here?’
Carlo shook sand out of his hair.
Petra recalled something Mrs. Pinderally had said about ancient waterways and erosion.
‘Was there a river here?’
‘Yes, the Berg River.’
‘Did the bones get washed up on its banks?’
‘Yes, but why here in particular?’
‘Topography? Floods?’
‘Right. The Berg River was a mighty watercourse that swept everything before it. During catastrophic rains, hundreds of animals would get caught and drown. Their bones would pile up in the estuary among the islands and weirs formed by the river.’
‘Quite an eye opener,’ Carlo commented as they got back into the limousine for the return journey to Langebaan. ‘It makes me think about the Brosellis and their property on the Orange River.’
‘That’s the border between South Africa and Namibia, isn’t it?’
‘It is, but its course used to run farther south. The mouth was likely in the vicinity of Lambert’s Bay.’
‘So there’d be alluvial diamonds there too,’ Petra said happily.
Mrs. Pinderally was waiting on the aft deck to greet them as they climbed out of the water limousine onto the swim platform.
‘I should have bought her something in the gift shop. I saw some crystallized fruit,’ Petra murmured.
‘We didn’t all shirk our responsibilities.’ Carlo delved in his pocket and grinned. ‘A sabre-toothed tiger bone!’
To Petra, it looked like a chunk of rock.
Mrs. Pinderally examined it closely. ‘Wonderful,’ she exclaimed. ‘I shall treasure this!’
Carlo smirked at Petra.
‘You see how the water carried bones to that site,’ she continued. ‘So it is with alluvial diamonds. All along the coast of Namaqualand. The first one was found in Port Nolloth.’
‘Port Nolloth?’ Carlo scratched his nose.
‘Indeed. Now the diamond fishing is very big there.’
‘My uncle has a fleet of fishing trawlers,’ Carlo said slowly. ‘I’ve been fishing with him and seen what he catches. I never thought about diamonds.’
Mrs. Pinderally leaned forward and became very serious. ‘I have been with my yacht in Port Nolloth. Many fishing trawlers search for diamonds under the sea.’
‘Are they legitimate? I mean do they have permits?’ Petra asked.
‘I’m sure some do,’ Carlo answered in place of Mrs. Pinderally, ‘but Port Nolloth is the Wild West, full of rogues and rascals. If we have time, we’ll go there and take a look.’
‘I’ve still got to find Vicky Dunlin.’
Carlo groaned. ‘This is a vacation …’
‘Yes, not a mission to uncover a diamond-smuggling ring!’
‘OK, OK. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.’
Ali appeared carrying his silver salver. ‘Someone is messaging Miss Petra. Come with me, Miss.’
Petra leaped up, her grumpiness vanishing. ‘Thank you, Ali.’
Her inbox was up on the screen. There was one new message, the subject highlighted in bold type: Volunteering with Higher Ground. Petra shrugged. Ali, like all good retainers, knew everything that was going on. Quickly she read the response to her enquiry:
Dear Alice,
Thank you very much for your interest in Higher Ground. We have numerous programmes. To find the most suitable one for you, please tell us which area you are in, how old you are, your interests and any special expertise you may have. We would also like to know how you heard of our organization. Your Outreach Officer will be in touch as soon as we have had the opportunity to match you with one of our programmes.
Sincerely,
Marcus Zen
Outreach Programme Coordinator
By the time Petra finished reading, she had begun to draft her answer in her head: Saldanha Bay, 28, adventure tours, aquafit, aromatherapy. She cheated a bit on her age and added that she had seen a brochure, not wanting to mention any names. Keep it simple. Innocuous. Sincere. Perhaps then they’d hire her.
During the evening, Petra’s spirits rose every time Ali appeared on the aft deck where they were enjoying another al fresco meal. But he never delivered another message.
chapter
35
Henny was glad to be back on the road. Two blustery nights in Lüderitz was enough. The wind had sand-blasted them throughout their visit to Kolmanskop, the ghost town that had once been the hub of the local diamond industry. Finally it had abated. Now every kilometre they covered brought him closer to the moment when he would hand over his group to the Master.
He checked his rearview mirror. Megan and Hilary were suspiciously quiet.
‘There it is!’ Hilary had spotted the “feral horses” sign.
‘We saw them already.’
‘Well, we want to see them again. We love horses.’
Henny gritted his teeth and drove down the track to the observation deck. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He was the tough guy, the one in charge.
There wasn’t a single wild desert horse in sight.
‘We’ll wait.’ Megan selected a few of the brochures and pamphlets she and Hilary had been accumulating since they arrived in Namibia. Their collection had grown in inverse proportion to their ability to download information onto their mobile phones. Most of it ended up on the floor next to their seats.
‘This says the owner of Duwisib Castle – that’s where we’re going this afternoon – was a fanatical horseman. Some of the horses came from there,’ Hilary announced.
An hour later, after repeated cajoling, Henny got them back in the van. He decided to skip the visit to the castle.
‘Isn’t this where we should be turning left?’ Hilary leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘The map says that’s the scenic route to the castle.’
‘We’re behind schedule,’ he ground out.
‘Who cares?’ Megan said. ‘We’ve paid for this trip and we want to make the most of it, don’t we, girls?’
A chorus of voices from behind her confirmed her thinking.
Megan found the pamphlet she was looking for and began reading loudly enough for the whole bus to hear.
‘Duwisib Castle has a fascinating though rather sad history. Hansheinrich von Wolf and his wife Jayta commissioned the building of the castle in 1908. They lived there from 1909 to 1914, breeding horses and cattle. In 1914, they left for England to buy another stallion. While at sea, they learned of the outbreak of the Great War. The German liner they were sailing on had to find sanctuary in Rio de Janeiro, where they were interned by …’
Henny tried to tune out Megan’s shrill voice and focus on the rough gravel road along which he was driving. If it went on like this, he’d rather go back to Port Nolloth. He’d soon find employment maintaining the vacuum hoses and on-shore suction pumps for independent divers. And if he kept a few stones for himself, he’d be set for life. Then he could retire to a shack in the hills with a few women to assuage his appetites and do his bidding.
‘You don’t have to read the whole thing, do you?’ he screeched.
‘Why not? It’s really interesting. Von Wolf found passage to Europe aboard a neutral ship and joined the German forces. He was killed just fourteen days later during the Battle of the Somme.’
‘OK, your starter question for ten points, girls,’ Hilary squawked. ‘When was the Battle of the Somme?’
Man oh man! The pay and the perks were just not worth it. Maybe he could lose the troublemakers somewhere. He began to plot where and how.
Too late he saw the pothole in the road. The rear left tire blew and they lurched to a standstill.
Chapter
36
Petra woke early after a patchy night’s sleep. Ali was in the galley making coffee and preparing breakfast. Still no messages. He must have seen the disappointment in her face because he handed her a mug of coffee and promised to check the computer again after breakfast. At his suggestion, she took the kayak and spent an hour exploring the lagoon.
When she returned, Mrs. Pinderally was already fuelling up for the busy day ahead. She had given Carlo a map of the West Coast National Park and, between mouthfuls, was instructing him on what to see and do. Except in the Postberg section, the roads were tarred so they could take the camper van. Postberg was only open in August and September for viewing the carpets of wild flowers.
‘Wrong season for whales, wrong season for flowers,’ Petra murmured.
‘You have hiking boots?’ Mrs. Pinderally asked.
‘Hiking boots? Couldn’t fit them in with my wedding clothes. How about sneakers?’
‘Bingo! You can walk Eve’s trail. Thirty kilometres through the wilderness. You follow the footsteps of Eve, a young woman who lived one hundred and seventeen thousand years ago. Her prints were discovered in the rock, formerly sea sand. Now in the museum at Cape Town.’
‘It sounds fascinating, but I don’t think I could manage thirty kilometres in a day.’
‘No, no. Two and a half days; I arrange it, fully portered and catered. You will have a good look for Miss Vicky. And see animals.’
Somehow Petra didn’t think a hike through the local vegetation Carlo called fynbos would shed much light on Vicky’s whereabouts. And she certainly didn’t want to run into any potentially dangerous wildlife.
‘What kind of animals?’
‘Many antelope, mountain zebra, dung beetles.’
‘Have you done the hike, Mrs. Pinderally?’
‘My information is from Mr. Pinderally, God rest his soul. I prefer massage.’
Petra could see Carlo was trying to attract her attention. Finally he burst out, ‘Don’t even think about it. We have to get going, Petra. The Brosellis are expecting us, and don’t forget we’ve booked to go to Etosha National Park. We’ll see loads of animals there – lions, maybe rhino, and plenty of dung beetles. There’s a lot to fit into this holiday!’
‘Indeed. Biscuit factories, counterfeit tins of sugared almonds …’
‘When you find Miss Vicky, send her back to me,’ Mrs. Pinderally said as she blew them a kiss from the sofa in the salon. ‘And you both return soon. Toodle-oo!’
‘Why don’t we spend half a day driving round the park, then head up to Springbok tonight?’ Petra urged as they returned to shore in the water limousine. ‘It does sound interesting.’
‘And you’re taking us on a wild goose chase.’ Carlo blew out through his teeth. ‘OK, half a day it is.’
He was jiggling keys in his pocket as they walked across the car park towards two camper vans. The white one looked like a small version of the campers in the Higher Ground tour brochure. The other one must have been spray-painted by a hippie on LSD.
Petra squeezed between the two and tried the door handle on the passenger side of the white van. ‘Open it, Carlo, please.’
‘I have, cara,’ he said meekly. ‘Ours is the other one.’
‘This? No way, Mercutio! Stop having me on. We’ve only got half a day so let’s get started.’
‘I tell you, this is ours.’
The van was like a Dormobile with two front seats, tinted windows and a badass paint job that would guarantee them the freedom of the road.
Petra stood there open-mouthed. After a few seconds, she dropped her luggage to the ground and clapped her hands on her head. ‘I just don’t believe this. We agreed on the 2ST Mercedes camper. You had it reserved.’
‘I figured I’d change it, since you’d gone off with Mrs. Pinderally.’
‘I see. Tit for tat is it? So while I was helping you with your search for illicit goods, you did a number on me. We’re not going to get any undercover work done in that thing.’
‘It’s less likely to be stolen.’
‘Agreed. Nobody in their right mind would steal it!’
‘Wicked, isn’t it? Come on, admit it!’ Carlo said with a big grin on his face. ‘Sometimes it’s best to stand out in the crowd.’
Petra had to acknowledge that the animals they encountered didn’t seem to be phased by the psychedelic artwork. Some of them looked up and stared at them curiously but most carried on browsing.
She was good at spotting and for the first hour was keen for Carlo to stop so that she could photograph the bucks as he called them.
‘Ooh, hartebeest, Carlo, stop!’
‘That’s a bontebok, tesoro mio.’
‘They all look the same. It’s impossible to tell the difference.’
‘I guarantee you’ll soon be an expert like your friend Mrs. P.’
By the time they reached the restaurant near the southern end of the lagoon, their stomachs were rumbling. The waitress, a young pregnant Afrikaner girl, brightened considerably when she saw Carlo.
The impact he had on women was extraordinary Petra thought, as she watched him in action. His eyes sparkled, his step was jaunty, and his smile lit up his whole face in a way that appeared both sincere and roguish. Her old flame Romeo had called it “twinkling”. Carlo used it to get what he wanted from almost every woman he came into contact with. Their food arrived in double-quick time.
What was it women found most attractive about Carlo? Petra pondered. His irrepressible wit? His vibrancy? His tight butt? A picture of Florian flashed into her head. With him, it was something else. He had the butt, but not the wit. Women fell in love with his angelic looks, with his intensity, with the way he focussed his attention on them and made them feel special, and, she finally admitted, with his sensuality … She blinked to erase the image, but it was etched in her brain.
‘You haven’t finished your bobotie, Petra.’
‘It’s a bit much for lunchtime and the curry’s quite strong.’
‘Is that the problem? You looked as though you were seeing a ghost.’
They left the park through the east gate and turned onto the R315 towards Malmesbury. T
here they would pick up the N7 and head north to the Orange River. Traffic was light. After a couple of kilometres, a vehicle coming the other way passed them. Petra watched it whiz by, then shouted, ‘Stop, stop!’
Carlo groaned. ‘No, cara. You can stop spotting. Start again when we get to Etosha at the end of this week.’
‘Carlo, that was a Higher Ground van. Quick, turn round! We can follow them.’
‘Of course we can follow them, but what’s the point?’
‘The point is we’re not far from Langebaan and Vicky was going to work on a project in this area.’
‘You’re clutching at straws, Petra. Anyway, I thought she went with Tabernacle.’
‘She did, but I’m sure there’s a connection between the two groups. It would be too much of a coincidence if not.’ Petra put her hand on the steering wheel and tried to push it round. ‘Come on, Carlo, or it’ll be too late.’
Carlo gave another groan, deeper and more strangled. ‘Fine, we’ll turn around and chase the van to God knows where.’
The van had quite a head start. Dust from the side of the road blew up behind it, marking its progress. Carlo stepped on the gas and sped along the paved road. He slowed as the gap narrowed in order to keep a reasonable distance between them.
They were not far from the park gate when the white van turned without indicating onto what looked like a farm track. Deliberately Carlo drove on before doubling back and coming to a stop just before the track.
‘This could be difficult. If we follow them now, they’re almost sure to see us. What do you want to do, Petra?’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s almost three o’clock.’
Petra adjusted her sunglasses on her nose. ‘I don’t know. It’s just a hunch, Carlo, but we might learn something. It would be a shame to turn back now. Does it really matter if we don’t get to the Brosellis until later tomorrow?’
‘I guess not.’
‘Isn’t the beauty of this vehicle that we’re self-sufficient? We can camp anywhere, go anywhere.’