A Holiday to Die For

by Marion Leigh

  They drove in a southwesterly direction for over half an hour. When they picked up the river again, the winding steep-sided canyons had flattened out. The river was broader and there were numerous rapids. Tony turned away from the river and Petra noticed how the vegetation had all but disappeared. Then they were driving over a sandy plain towards a steep rocky slope which, she saw when they got there, was covered in scrub.

  Tony pulled up at the bottom of the slope and pointed out a couple of trees with strong trunks topped by numerous small upward-pointing branches. At the top of each branch was a bunch of green pointed leaves.

  ‘That’s the quivertree, a member of the aloe family. It survives well in arid conditions because the branches and trunk store water. Bushmen used to hollow out dead branches to make quivers for their arrows, hence its name.’

  There was no doubt about Tony’s love for the land and its flora. Petra just hoped they would be back in time for a spot of relaxation before dinner. Then she could ask to use a computer and check her email. Since they had left their hidey-hole near the compound full of pregnant young women at first light that morning, Vicky Dunlin had not been far from her thoughts. Higher Ground hadn’t phoned or texted, and now she was a long way north of Saldanha Bay. If they offered her employment, she would have some difficult decisions to make.

  Suddenly Carlo, who had been unusually quiet, sat up straight and pointed to something in the distance. ‘There’s one.’

  ‘You’re right, my boy.’

  All Petra could see over another ridge was what looked like a person with a mop of wild hair coming towards them. Surely not Father John, she prayed, out here in the wilderness.

  ‘There’s your halfman,’ Carlo said proudly.

  ‘It’s not a real man?’

  ‘No, cara, it’s a very rare and protected succulent. The head always faces north.’

  When they drew nearer, Petra saw that the tree was about the height of a man with a cylindrical stem and a tuft of branches at the top. Drifting sand had piled up round its base.

  ‘Look for the halfman and you’ll find one of the beauties of nature,’ Tony said.

  On the way back to the lodge, Tony seemed to retreat into himself and Carlo slouched down in his seat. Behind him, Petra studied the wild but beautiful landscape and remembered something Mrs. Pinderally had mentioned during her teaching about diamonds.

  ‘Wasn’t the first diamond in South Africa discovered along the Orange River?’ she asked whoever might be listening in the front of the jeep.

  ‘It was,’ Tony replied. ‘The Eureka Diamond in 1867, then the Star of Africa two years later. But those finds were much farther east.’

  Eureka! Thank you, Mrs. P.

  ‘Isn’t there a border crossing near here into the Sperrgebiet, the forbidden diamond mining zone, of Namibia?’ she continued.

  ‘You certainly do your homework.’

  ‘I’m a cop, don’t forget!’ Petra kept her tone light and delivered her line with a smile, but she was sure a shadow passed across Tony’s face when he glanced at her through the rearview mirror. ‘Having a wonderful vacation,’ she added.

  ‘The old forbidden zone has been made into a national park, although security is still tight.’ He half-turned to observe Petra. ‘You don’t look like a cop,’ he said almost to himself.

  ‘Is the diamond mining over then?’

  ‘Not over, but nowadays it’s mostly alluvial.’

  Now we’re getting there, she thought, but with his next words he passed the buck.

  ‘If you want to know about diamonds, ask Sandrine. She’s more up to speed than I am. I look after the fishing and hunting. You both like fishing, you said.’

  Carlo roused himself. ‘We do, and we’d love to visit Port Nolloth and go out on one of your trawlers.’

  ‘We’d have to stay on board – the boats go out very early and fish overnight. I’ll have to check with my wife to see what she has planned.’

  Back to Sandrine.

  She met them on the steps and told them they had half an hour before dinner. Petra asked if there was a computer she could use to check her email.

  ‘I thought you were on vacation,’ Tony said mildly but nevertheless showed her into his study, opened up the computer for her and left her there.

  As soon as he had gone, she went into boatgirl. There was one email waiting for her. From Higher Ground. Eagerly she opened it.

  Dear Alice,

  I am very sorry to have to tell you that we have no openings for volunteers in the Saldanha Bay area, and no need for anyone with your skills anywhere else.

  Thank you for contacting us. We wish you well in your future endeavours.

  Sincerely,

  Marcus Zen

  Outreach Programme Coordinator

  Petra sat back in Tony’s office chair and stared at the screen in disbelief. She read the email again in case she had missed something, but it was quite clear. They didn’t want her. Normally volunteer organizations welcomed new prospects and even if she hadn’t made the final cut, she would have expected them to ask for further information or suggest she reapply in a few months’ time. Instead they had broken off all communication. She leaned back and put her hands behind her head to think it through.

  When the dinner gong rang, she was still smarting from the rejection. She had five minutes to return to the chalet she was sharing with Carlo, put on mosquito repellent and a long-sleeved shirt. Carlo met her on the way.

  ‘So did they hire you as an aromatherapist or an aquafit instructor?’

  ‘Neither. I’m persona non grata.’

  ‘Well I didn’t think your skills were quite the right thing for a community outreach programme.’

  ‘On this occasion, you were right, Mercutio. I blew it.’

  ‘Knowing what we do now, you could try telling them you forgot to mention your midwifery skills.’

  ‘Oh yeah, they’re extremely likely to believe that. I’ll have to find another way.’

  ‘Why not just drop it and enjoy our vacation?’

  ‘I don’t think I can, Carlo.’

  Dinner was on the verandah – just the four of them, as there were no outside guests that week. Setting aside her disappointment at Higher Ground’s response, Petra tried to engage Sandrine in conversation since she hadn’t had much chance during the week of the wedding. Maddeningly, Sandrine preferred to interact with Carlo, who seemed to have forgotten the incident at the folly. Any opportunity to get close to a beautiful woman, and Sandrine, Petra had to concede, was beautiful despite her haughty manner. How unattractive and inadequate she would have made Julia feel, especially compared to Florian, her golden boy.

  Petra was forced to talk to Tony. ‘Have you heard from Julia?’ she asked him.

  ‘No and I don’t expect to. She and Max should enjoy their honeymoon without worrying about us here at home.’

  ‘What about Florian? Isn’t he leading a tour of some kind?’

  ‘I believe he agreed to show some of the wedding guests the highlights of Namibia. He’s very knowledgeable and enjoys being a tour guide from time to time.’

  ‘Like father like stepson!’

  ‘Not quite. Our priorities are somewhat different. I have a historical focus; his is more on the future.’

  ‘And your wife’s is more on diamonds – oh, and on biscuits and weddings,’ Petra added as Sandrine broke eye contact with Carlo and turned to glare at her.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Sandrine snapped.

  ‘I heard you telling Julia last week that diamonds pay for a lot of what you have.’

  ‘Of course. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Anyone with money buys diamonds.’

  ‘Does your wedding planning service include advising prospective bridegrooms on the purchase of a suitable ring?’ Petra asked in her best honey
ed tone.

  ‘Naturally, if I’m asked.’

  ‘I’m sure you have excellent connections in the diamond business.’

  Petra caught Carlo’s eye. He gave a tiny shake of his head as if to say, don’t push it.

  ‘Those sugared almonds you gave me were absolutely delicious. I shared a tin with a friend in Cape Town,’ she continued.

  Sandrine’s face turned white then red with anger. ‘Those were gifts for you to put in your luggage and take home to your family, not to waste here in South Africa!’

  ‘They weren’t wasted, believe me. And I love the colour patterns in the stones you decorate the tins with. Red in the middle. That’s my favourite!’

  Petra waited for Sandrine to deny any involvement with the tins, but she didn’t.

  Chapter

  41

  Henny was at his wit’s end. The itinerary was getting away from him. They were supposed to be on their way to Swakopmund, and the Master would be expecting him to report in that evening. Because of the breakdown, they had only one full day to spend at Sossusvlei and Megan and Hilary refused to omit a single activity. To make matters worse, his leg was playing up. Stress, it was the fucking stress. And the driving.

  He’d switched things around so that they’d explored the Sesriem Canyon and the watercourse of the Tsauchab River in the morning. The sunset tour of the dunes was happening later that afternoon. Tomorrow morning they’d head for the dunes at sunrise, then break camp and take off for Swakopmund.

  He could hear the strident tones of the young women as they discussed the South Africans they’d met at the guesthouse the night the van had been out of service. Squeals of delight drowned out the normal sounds of the campground.

  Henny was seriously thinking of dumping the whole lot of them once they reached Swakopmund. He’d call the Master and leave them at the rest camp, and even pay for a couple of nights out of his own pocket. Then he’d make a beeline for Port Nolloth.

  After a few beers, he’d find himself a local beauty and get his rocks off. Somebody with a bit of flesh on her who knew how to pleasure him, not one of these spoiled brats that were off limits for him even if others could do as they pleased with them. Just thinking about it gave him a hard-on.

  Henny laced the door of his pup tent shut and limped across to the camper van. He switched on the engine and checked the fuel gauge. There was enough fuel for the afternoon’s excursion but not enough to do next day’s sunrise trip and the drive to Swakopmund. The pumps would be closed by sunset, so he would have to fill up now. No point waiting in line with dozens of other vehicles at 6 a.m.

  After filling up, Henny went into the campsite shop and bought himself a pack of Camels and a root beer. As he came out, a mini-van pulled up and disgorged the four young men who had been at the guesthouse. Dammit man, there could be trouble if they were coming to stay the night.

  The inside of the camper van was a pigsty. Megan and Hilary had left maps, leaflets and tour brochures all over their seats and on the floor. So far they had ignored his orders to tidy up. He’d have to speak to them again and deliver the Higher Ground cleanliness-next-to-godliness lecture. That was bound to go over well.

  He opened the side door of the van and began to clear the floor. Hilary’s seat was behind the driver’s seat, Megan’s to her left, except when one of them insisted on riding up front next to him.

  He stuffed a bunch of brochures into the pocket on the back of the front passenger seat. Two of them fell out and he cursed. Something else was in there, filling up the bottom of the pocket. He pulled it out. It was a small book covered in pink suede. A piece of heavy elastic sewn into the spine held it closed.

  Gleefully he opened it. If it was what he thought it was, he’d find out what Megan was thinking! He’d read what she’d written to date and put it back where he found it. If he read her new entries every day or two, he’d be able to stay one step ahead of her. That’s how he’d re-exert control.

  The name inside the flyleaf was Megan Jones. Running his finger down the page, he began to read.

  What fun to be doing this tour then going to volunteer in an African village …

  Long drive to Springbok with lots of slowdowns for roadworks. Mobile phone coverage is the pits …

  Crossed into Namibia yesterday. Lots of golden oryx, so beautiful, black faces, long straight horns …

  Boring stuff. There must be more interesting bits. He turned the page and spotted his own name.

  Our guide Henny’s a bit of a weirdo. Tried to take our phones away, stupid sod! Wears black and lectures us all the time. But he is kinda cute even if he does limp.

  I wonder what he’d be like in bed.

  She’d underlined the last sentence several times. Henny felt a stirring in his pants. Once last year, one of the girls on a tour had come on to him and they’d had a thing just before he joined up with the Master’s group at Etosha. He still had a few days to make it with Megan. He’d show her how cute he was, and boy did he know a way of stopping her talking.

  Chapter

  42

  The diabolical screeching penetrated Petra’s brain at six o’clock in the morning.

  ‘That’s one thing I won’t miss when I leave South Africa,’ she said aloud.

  ‘What’s that, cara?’

  ‘Those horrible birds. Always making a racket early in the morning.’

  ‘Ha-de-dahs? They’re just socializing. And you’ll be pleased to know that they’re a very un-endangered species.’

  ‘Mmm. Carlo, I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Does South Africa have exchange controls?’

  ‘Indeed it does. The Reserve Bank controls all inflows and outflows of capital.’

  ‘So let’s say you had a lot of money you wanted to get out of the country. How difficult would it be to move it?’

  ‘That’s a very good question. Right, South African Finance 101. I don’t know the finer details but it’s really quite simple. All movements of capital – in and out – are controlled by the Reserve Bank.’

  ‘We’re not concerned with inflows.’

  ‘True. In the case of outflows, no resident individual or company may make a transfer without prior approval. Outward payments can only be made for permissible reasons, and all payments to foreign parties must be reported to the Reserve Bank.’

  ‘So it’s pretty strictly controlled.’

  ‘There may be ways to sidestep the requirements.’

  ‘Which is what I guess your dear step-aunt is looking for – a means of getting undeclared wealth out of the country.’

  Carlo nodded. ‘Wealth in the form of undocumented diamonds.’

  ‘If Sandrine does amass money outside South Africa, do you think she’s going to follow? She seems so keen on her businesses here, and the Delapore family goes way back. I’d have thought it would be hard for her to leave. For Tony too, although Julia’s already gone. And then there’s Florian. What’s he going to do?’

  ‘One thing at a time,’ Carlo said slowly. ‘Businesses. That’s it! You’re wasted in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Petra. If anything used in the manufacture of Delapore biscuits or the sugared almonds is imported, Sandrine will need approval to pay her suppliers. There’ll be documents on file.’

  ‘We know the tins are imported from China and decorated here, so there’ll be a record of that.’

  ‘But the documents won’t be enough to establish the link between Delapore and Dragées d’Aix unless Sandrine signed them herself,’ Carlo said.

  ‘Customers like Mrs. Pinderally order stones in specific colours for the decoration, and Sandrine prides herself on quote “fulfilling all our customers’ wishes”. I bet she’ll have signed some estimates and proposals.’

  ‘I should have spent more time in Montagu sifting through the paperwork.’
/>   ‘Sandrine’s more likely to keep important or incriminating documents in the safe. If we carry on though, we’re bound to find something.’ Petra paused. ‘Isn’t it strange how the two things you were on the lookout for – illicit diamonds and illicit dragées – seem to be coming together?’

  ‘I repeat, truth is stranger than fiction. But this isn’t my investigation. I’ll report back to my colleague and see how he wants to proceed. Meanwhile, we’ll continue our vacation as planned.’

  ‘I’m going to pump Sandrine for more information. She can’t keep snubbing me.’

  ‘Be careful. I don’t think it’ll pay to make an enemy of her.’

  Petra found her hostess not far from the lodge, practising yoga on a mat near the swimming pool. Clad in a skin-tight pale pink finely woven bodysuit, she appeared to be stark naked. Her movements were fluid and she made even the most intricate positions look easy.

  When Sandrine uncurled herself and sat quietly in the lotus position with her hands palm-up on her knees, Petra approached. She sat down far enough away not to crowd her but close enough to have an intimate conversation. She adopted the lotus position too, then, taking a leaf out of Carlo’s book, said, ‘You’re in amazing shape, I really envy you. Last year I took beginners’ yoga but I’m not a contortionist. I prefer Pilates.’

  Sandrine didn’t answer and Petra wondered whether she was going to ignore her. Finally she said, ‘It’s all about control.’

  ‘That’s why you’re such a good event planner. You control and organize every detail so that the final product is flawless – like the best kind of diamond.’

  A muscle twitched above Sandrine’s left eye.

  Petra continued. ‘Julia’s wedding was perfect.’

  ‘I’d hardly say that. On her wedding morning she was late and threw off all the timing, and you went running off somewhere and had to have your pedicure redone.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Petra said in her meekest voice.

  ‘Why the sudden interest in the event business? You’re a cop like Carlo.’