A Holiday to Die For

by Marion Leigh

  ‘Yes, but I have a friend who’s inherited a manor house in England and has to find ways to make it pay. She’s thinking of doing weddings and special events. How did you get into the business?’

  Sandrine stared into the distance as if she was looking back into the past. She crossed her hands protectively over her stomach.

  ‘When my father died, I took over the family businesses. There was no one else. I expanded the range of products at the biscuit factory to include cakes. I added new grape varieties at Vredehof and I built the tasting centre.’

  She recited her achievements in clipped tones without a hint of emotion, as taut as a tightrope wire. Then came a blunt admission of failure.

  ‘I underestimated the amount of time and money it would take to sort out the estate and the lag between investing and obtaining a decent return. Not to mention the changes taking place across the country,’ she added in an undertone. ‘Event planning was a logical way of monetizing the assets.’

  ‘You’ve built a great team around you: Wellington and the staff at Vredehof, Father John to conduct ceremonies, Florian to keep the young ladies happy.’

  ‘Florian’s much more than good looks,’ Sandrine said sharply. ‘He has talents and ideals.’

  I can vouch for the former, Petra thought. His ideals were equally worrisome.

  ‘What about Julia? Will you miss her now that she’s gone to Europe?’

  ‘Julia will work with the De Witt family to promote our interests.’

  ‘They’re freight forwarders, aren’t they? Do you export to Europe?’

  ‘We’re looking at our options.’

  Sandrine fell silent and Petra wondered if that was her signal to leave, but suddenly she abandoned her pose and stood up. ‘Lemonade with a touch of honey,’ she said, pointing to a tray that a member of staff was placing on a table under a sunshade. ‘Try it. It’s a good cleanser.’

  Petra blinked. At last, the breakthrough she had been hoping for. ‘You’re right, it is. My mother swears by lemon juice in warm water to cure everything from colds to stomach upsets – she’s Italian.’

  ‘Carlo told me you used to spend your summers in Italy.’

  ‘He was a good friend during my teenage years. When he asked me to come here with him, I couldn’t believe it. Do you get many wedding parties from overseas? Destination weddings are all the rage.’

  ‘There are more during the spring and summer.’

  ‘You mean October to March?’

  ‘Yes, but I have a big one the weekend after next. A group from Frankfurt, guests from London and Paris too.’

  ‘It must be fun working with lots of different nationalities.’

  ‘Fun?’ Sandrine shrugged. ‘I’d call it challenging, but it keeps the money flowing.’

  Petra had a hunch that finding creative ways to get money out of South Africa wasn’t Sandrine’s only talent. She might well arrange to get paid outside the country by foreign guests, building up a nice Swiss bank account so that if things went bad she could get out.

  To keep the conversation going, Petra continued to act as though she was a complete airhead.

  ‘Giving dragées as a parting gift is a really good idea. My friend might be able to do something similar. Maybe she could import them through you. And if you want to expand your export operations, you could use the same tins for wedding cake …’

  ‘You’re really into this, aren’t you?’ Sandrine looked at her sideways. ‘And you certainly have imagination.’

  ‘She does, doesn’t she?’

  Both women turned as Carlo appeared in the briefest of shiny black swimming trunks. He whipped off his sunglasses. ‘I fancy a dip,’ he said, focussing on Sandrine.

  ‘You don’t need me then,’ Petra said.

  ‘No cara, not for now.’

  Chapter

  43

  Petra left Carlo and Sandrine by the pool. She wasn’t interested in Carlo as a mate she assured herself as she walked away, but she had a proprietary interest in him as a very close friend. They had weathered the highs and lows of teenage summer vacations together as well as the trauma of Romeo’s death. All that translated into a motherly concern for his well-being and a desire to keep him safe from predatory women. Sometimes it manifested itself as jealousy.

  She kicked angrily at a stone. Her discussion with Sandrine had been less than satisfactory. She had played the airhead to the best of her ability and succeeded in softening her up, yet Sandrine had let nothing slip that would help them get a real handle on what was going on. Petra began to wish she had stayed with Mrs. Pinderally and carried on hunting for Vicky Dunlin. Right now a Rolling Sands massage would go down well. She must have unconsciously tensed her muscles while talking to Sandrine. Especially once Florian had come into the conversation.

  A wave of heat washed over her. It left her feeling agitated and even more bad-tempered. Carlo was behaving like a gigolo. Florian – where was Florian? What was he doing leading a group of girls on a tour through Namibia? Girls who would end up doing volunteer work in one of the villages he and Father John supported. What would he do after that? Would he stay there with them? Or would she and Carlo see him again before they left South Africa? Did she want to see him again?

  She began to jog towards the river’s edge in a bid to conquer the thoughts and feelings that were invading her mind and body. She sat down on a bench and stared across the river to the other side of the frontier. Florian was somewhere over there. So what? But there was a wetness between her thighs and her nipples were begging to be caressed and it was all she could do to refrain from touching them. This is ridiculous, she told herself. Put a lid on it. It must be something to do with the anti-malarial tablets she had started taking that morning.

  Carlo burst into their chalet. ‘There you are!’

  Petra was curled up on her bed.

  ‘I’ve walked all over the place looking for you. I even thought you might have taken a mountain bike and gone for a ride.’

  Carlo’s aggrieved voice broke into Petra’s fantasy and she sat up groggily.

  ‘You’ve been with Sandrine a long time.’

  ‘Not long enough.’

  ‘Poor Mercutio! Did she throw you out?’

  ‘Why would you think that? No, we were getting along very well. I helped her take off that leotard thing she was wearing. Then we went for a dip and I rubbed her down and I was massaging oil into her lustrous skin …’

  ‘Spare me the details, Mercutio. I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Carlo looked penetratingly at her until Petra began to feel the blood rising to her cheeks. ‘You know you’d be no good with a lie detector, don’t you?’

  ‘You’re hopeless!’

  ‘Not so, cara. I’m your best friend. We make a fantastic team. So tell Father Carlo what’s the matter.’

  Petra sighed. Some things she could never tell. ‘My approaches to Sandrine didn’t work. I tried flattery, humility, admiration, female conspiracy … I blew a magnificent opportunity, just like I blew the application to Higher Ground. I don’t know what’s wrong.’

  ‘This is Africa, tesoro mio. That’s what’s wrong. You’re out of your natural element; I am too. Africa is different. The way people behave here, the way their minds work, their motivations aren’t what you’re used to. You can’t judge Sandrine or Tony, nor Florian or Julia, by your norms.’

  Petra gritted her teeth. ‘I hope you’re not telling me they can break the law with impunity.’

  ‘Not at all. But first we have to prove they’re breaking the law.’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to do, Mercutio! Get more information …’

  ‘You won’t do it by talking to Sandrine, or any of them for that matter. They’ll lead you exactly where they want you to go.’

  ‘Even Julia?’

 
‘She may be straighter than the rest of them, but she’s out of the picture for now.’

  ‘I did find out there’s a big international wedding – not this weekend, but the following one. Guests are coming from Germany, France and the UK. You saw how angrily Sandrine reacted when I told her I’d shared a tin of dragées with a friend in Cape Town. My guess is that she’ll try to smuggle some diamonds out by giving them tins to take home, just as she did with us. Unless she gets spooked.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s likely,’ Carlo said. ‘People like Sandrine are supremely arrogant. They don’t think anything can upset their plans. We need to see the guest list and their itineraries.’

  ‘Sandrine will have recorded everything at Vredehof. We’ll be back there at the end of next week.’

  ‘That’ll be too late.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll have a copy on the computer here?’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  ‘If Tony and Sandrine go out, I can take a look.’

  Carlo raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I watched Tony type in his password.’

  ‘That deserves a kiss!’ He picked up Petra’s hand and gave it a resounding smack with his lips.

  ‘Mercutio!’ She pulled her hand away.

  ‘If we weren’t just good friends, I’d do better than that. Now if you can get that information …’

  Carlo froze as someone knocked on the door. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Tony. I hope I’m not disturbing anything.’

  There was strain in his voice. Carlo opened the door. ‘Come in. Is it time to go to Port Nolloth?’

  ‘I’m afraid Sandrine has other plans. She has to take delivery of something for the factory. We’re leaving straightaway and won’t be back before you go to Namibia.’

  ‘No worries, mate,’ Carlo said, putting on an Aussie drawl. ‘We can amuse ourselves for the rest of the day.’

  ‘I’ve asked Kirk to set you up with a 4 x 4 buggy and show you one of the trails. I’m sorry we can’t go to “the Port”, but you might enjoy this more.’

  ‘We’ll see you before we leave South Africa, won’t we?’ Petra asked. ‘You’ve been so hospitable. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your letting me come to the wedding.’

  ‘Thank Carlo for that, my dear,’ Tony said, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘It’s been a delight to have you both.’

  Sandrine was waiting impatiently for her husband in the lodge’s Range Rover. As soon as he got into the seat beside her, she laid into him.

  ‘You’re too nice to them, Anton. The quicker they get out of our hair, the better. That Mountie is always fishing for information. I don’t trust her and you shouldn’t either.’

  ‘She has an enquiring mind, my darling, that’s all.’

  ‘She pretends to be naïve, but she isn’t. We’ve come so far, I’m not going to let her ruin our plans for the future.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to do anything unnecessary.’

  ‘On the contrary, I’ll do only what is absolutely necessary.’

  Chapter

  44

  The trail followed the curves of the Orange River, testing Carlo’s driving skills and Petra’s nerve. She hung onto the handhold above the door as they hit an S-bend at the bottom of a steep incline. They were going too fast and the wheels spun on the combination of loose gravel and sand. For a horrible moment, Petra thought they were going to lose it.

  ‘One day I want to do the Dakar to Paris rally,’ Carlo said as he pulled out of another bend and they began to climb. ‘What say you come along as my navigator?’

  Petra shuddered. ‘I’m fine on water, Carlo, you know that. On bad roads there are still times when I panic – like back there.’

  ‘These buggies are built for this.’

  As they came closer to the coast, the trail wound through arid desert. There was little or no vegetation, and where the wind had blown the loose sand away, the surface was corrugated. They lurched along until they came to a dry creek that hived off to the left. Ruts indicated that vehicles had driven through it.

  Carlo swung the wheel. ‘Hold tight!’ He followed first one branch then another as the creek splintered into crevasses. Like a maze, most of the branches that had once held flood water came to a dead end.

  ‘I hope we can find our way back,’ Petra said.

  ‘No worries. We have a compass, my nose and your sharp eyes. I want to go a bit farther and take a walk before we turn round.’

  He drove on over terrain that became more and more rugged. A while later he stopped at the entrance to a steep-sided gully. He got out and beckoned for Petra to follow. ‘You remember the fossil park and what our guide said about animals and stuff getting trapped by weirs. This is just the sort of place where you might find diamonds … Mmm, I could resign my job and buy a chalet in the mountains. You could …’

  ‘You’re so easy to seduce, Mercutio! We could ask Sandrine to help us smuggle them out, is that what you’re thinking?’

  Carlo led the way into the gully. It twisted and turned and the buggy was soon out of sight. Petra shivered as the temperature dropped. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  Carlo walked on. ‘The water must once have flowed furiously through here,’ he shouted.

  She saw him pause and kick at something on the ground. He bent down and examined it carefully before moving on. Then he rounded a corner and was lost to view. She waited for what seemed like ages as the shadows lengthened. By the time he reappeared in the distance, she felt chilled to the bone.

  ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  They arrived back at the lodge just before sunset. Kirk met them on the front stoep in his khakis and bushranger hat. ‘How was the ride?’

  ‘Great!’ Carlo enthused. ‘I wish we had time to do the whole trail.’

  ‘Come and have a drink in the bar. I’ll show you some photos of last year’s championship rally.’

  Petra nudged Carlo. ‘I want to go and shower before I do anything else. I’ll join you in half an hour or so.’

  She could hear the staff’s lilting voices floating through from the kitchen as she made her way to the back of the main building. Instead of crossing the verandah and picking up the path to their chalet, she turned into the narrow corridor that led to Tony’s office. She tried the door and was pleased to find that it wasn’t locked. Perhaps Tony had left in too much haste to lock up properly, or perhaps Kirk as manager had access to the computer. Whatever the situation, she had to be quick.

  Stepping inside, she closed the door as quietly as possible then stopped to listen. There were no footfalls on the flagstones of the corridor. Outside, the light was fading fast.

  Tony’s computer was on the desk in front of the window. She sat down and entered the password she had seen him use.

  ‘Incorrect password,’ said the computer.

  Shit! Had he changed it before leaving, or had she made a mistake? She didn’t think so. Petra closed her eyes, reviewing in her mind the keys he had touched. She had to get it right. Three failed tries and the computer would block access and who knew what on-screen messages Tony would find when he returned.

  She took a deep breath, her fingers poised over the keyboard. Could she have memorized the password wrongly? No, she was sure of the sequence. Tony was not a trained typist. He had picked out each of the eight letters carefully so as not to make a mistake and she hadn’t seen him use the shift key for a capital letter. She looked down at the rows of keys.

  OK, crunch time. If she hesitated much longer she would have to switch on a light, which wouldn’t be a good idea. She typed in the letters picking them out as Tony had done.

  Bob’s your uncle! The screensaver appeared. She was in.

  Without hesitation Petra opened up his data files. She had already decided on the way back a
long the 4 x 4 trail that she didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. There was a lot going on that shouldn’t be, and if she and Carlo could put a stop to it, they would.

  Sandrine was a compulsive organizer. She wouldn’t want to be at the lodge without access to her documents, and she didn’t strike Petra as a paper person. She probably used Excel for spreadsheets and schedules.

  Petra began to search. The minutes ticked by. Finally, she hit pay dirt. There was no time to read the file. She copied it onto the flash drive she kept on her key ring, turned off the computer and headed for the door.

  When she got to the bar after a three-minute shower, her wet hair was coiled in the nape of her neck. She had put on an orange and black kaftan she’d bought in the Robben Island gift shop, leather thong sandals and a touch of lipstick and powder. No need to stand on ceremony in the bush.

  Kirk and Carlo were laughing like old buddies.

  ‘You won’t believe what Kirk has been telling me about the diamonds people used to pick up in this area not that long ago. Other precious stones too – garnet, tiger’s eye …’

  ‘Mrs. Pinderally said the same thing. But of course what people want most are diamonds.’

  ‘Like I was telling Carlo here, I still do some prospecting,’ Kirk said. ‘You have to know where to look, and when. We don’t often get rain here, but when we do, man it can be heavy. Floods old river courses like Halfman’s Drift and washes away the sand. You should see some of the trenches and sinkholes. You can put your hand in and pull up a fistful of gravel and like as not you’ll find rough.’

  ‘Do you dive for diamonds too?’ Petra asked him.

  ‘Na man, that’s dangerous work. That ocean can be brutal. You know how many days a year those guys can dive? Go on, guess.’

  Petra thought of the cold Atlantic Ocean and her experiences in the Marine Unit over the years. With cold water, fog was almost always an issue. This was the south Atlantic, far from what she was used to, but no less treacherous. ‘Say a third – about a hundred and twenty.’