A Holiday to Die For

by Marion Leigh

  ‘They wish. Every year it’s less. Say a third of that, maybe forty days a year.’

  ‘But it’s still rewarding.’

  ‘Can be. I heard tell of pump sites that have yielded more’n a thousand carats from less than ten cubic metres of gravel.’

  ‘Cool! Is it true that rough diamonds can only be sold to licensed diamond buyers?’

  Kirk nodded. ‘That’s just it, man. You have no choice. You have your concession, you put in what sea-time you can, and your bags of gravel get off-loaded and sent away to be processed. You have no idea how many gems are in there. If you’re lucky, you get a cheque every two months.’

  ‘That’s the kind of system that leads people to flout the law. I’d want to see the diamonds for myself,’ Petra exclaimed.

  ‘It ain’t so bad. Most of those guys spend it all on booze and women.’

  ‘What if you hit the jackpot and found a stash of rough on one of your prospecting trips? What would you do?’ Carlo asked.

  Kirk drained his bottle of Castle. ‘Man oh man! I’d say the Lord just placed those beauties there for me to dig out of the ground.’

  ‘Me too,’ Carlo enthused. ‘But you’d have to know how to sell them on to make real money out of them.’

  Kirk dug deep into the side pocket of his shorts. ‘I know you’re family. See here.’

  He pulled out a roundish grey stone with striations.

  ‘Wow! Is that a diamond?’ Petra asked. ‘Where did you find that?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you. But there’s plenty more.’

  Chapter

  45

  Driving along the road that afternoon towards the huge red sand dunes, Henny began to see Megan in a new light. The pain in his leg wasn’t so bad and the shrillness of her voice had diminished somewhat. He looked in the rearview mirror and scanned her face.

  Not a bad little thing. A few freckles, sun-tinged skin, reddish hair cut short. He hadn’t paid much attention to her eyes, but in the mirror they looked greyish-green. Sweet. Her tits were on the small side but well-shaped, like little round apples. He had reappraised her legs as she was climbing into the camper. Strong, a bit heavy round the knees but he could overlook that. That wasn’t what mattered.

  A horn blared. He was too close to the centre of the narrow road. He swung the wheel a little too aggressively and felt the back begin to slide on the sandy surface. Shit! An accident now would land him in a heap of trouble. And blow his chances with Megan.

  ‘You nearly hit that car! You could have killed us all! Don’t you know how to drive? I saw you ogling my friend. Keep your eyes on the road!’

  Hilary’s voice …

  Grunting, he turned onto the side track leading to Dune 45. The east side of the dune was in shadow, the west side glowed a searing orange-red in the late afternoon sun. He pulled into the parking lot.

  ‘OK, this is it for today. Tomorrow at sunrise we’ll be going to the pans at Sossusvlei. If you want to climb, follow the crowd. I’ll wait for you here.’ He pointed to a string of black stick figures toiling like human ants to the top of the dune. Others were running and tumbling their way down.

  ‘Come on! Let’s do it!’ Hilary shouted, getting out of the van. ‘Gimp here’s going to have a snooze. He can’t make it with that gammy leg of his!’

  Henny ground his teeth. ‘Don’t forget to take your damn water!’ he reminded them as the group went off laughing. The sand could be unbearably hot late in the day and the climb was tough. He watched them start up the lower slope. By the time they reached the crest they’d be bushed, but the views were worth it. At least there’d be no arguments about going to bed early.

  He reclined his seat and closed his eyes. Being a tour guide for this lot was a total pain in the ass. Why didn’t he just drive away and leave them? They treated him like shit. Especially Hilary. She never did what she was told. Maybe she’d die of dehydration on the way up, or fall and break a limb on the way down … or choke to death in the sand. Or maybe they’d all keep on walking along the crest of the dune and never come back. Then he thought of Megan … sweet but fiery … not a bad combination … Megan he could handle …

  They got back to the camper van over an hour later, sandy and subdued. The climb had taken its toll. Maybe that was the answer. Tire ’em out. Use ’em until they had no energy left to whine or complain. Was that how the Master did it? Henny had never stopped to think about how or even why, never questioned anybody’s motivations. He did what he did because that’s how things were.

  Back at the campsite, he instructed one of the teams to prepare dinner and picnic packs for the morning. The other he directed to do the laundry.

  ‘We’re not going to put your stuff in with ours. It can wait until there’s enough to do separately,’ Hilary announced. ‘In fact,’ she added, ‘I don’t see why we should do it at all. You do it.’ She folded her arms and faced him down.

  Henny made a fist. He was itching to wipe the supercilious look off her face, to make her do what he said. The Higher Ground Manual was clear. Before they reached the village, tour participants were to be taught to obey orders without question.

  ‘In the true spirit of Africa, our volunteers are required to carry out all household duties for the whole group. Laundry included,’ he added.

  ‘Rubbish! This is a sightseeing holiday, not a prison camp. Though sometimes I wonder,’ Hilary said.

  Megan joined the fray. ‘You want to offload your work onto us so that you can slouch around all day and leer at us. Those South African guys we met think you’re pretty freaky. They said we don’t need to do anything we don’t want to.’

  ‘And if this tour doesn’t turn out to be what we expected, you can be sure we’ll post plenty of reviews on line.’

  Chapter

  46

  Henny woke with a start in the middle of a bad dream where he was working in a steaming laundry wearing orange prison overalls. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and listened. Someone was moving around outside.

  He opened the flap of his tent enough to see what was happening.

  Megan was standing outside her tent in a T-shirt that stopped at the top of her thighs. She had sandshoes on her feet and a flashlight in her hand. Sleep had mussed up her hair so that it bristled like a brush, reminding him of the last camper he had bedded: a Swedish girl with blonde spiked hair, long slim legs and shaved pubes. Megan’s thighs were on the chunky side, but so what, man? The parts in between would taste just as sweet.

  Megan set off across the hard-packed sand surrounding their pitch. The ablutions block was a few minutes’ walk away. That’s where she’d be going.

  Henny watched and waited until she reached the gravel road. None of the other girls had made a sound. He slipped out of his tent and followed her, keeping her in sight but staying well back, savouring the movement of her buttocks as she walked. He felt a welcome surge of blood in his shorts. She’d soon find out that his injury hadn’t affected his little head. If anything, it had given him a greater appetite than before when he had nothing to prove.

  A light came on as Megan disappeared into the ladies’ end of the toilet block. Henny tucked himself back against the wall, round the corner from the door. Absently, he scratched his crotch and thought about his encounter three weeks ago with a Zulu girl. She’d had amazing hands and mouth and given him a good run for his money.

  Christ, how much longer would he have to wait? What did women do? His father used to roust his mother out of the bathroom, calling her every name under the sun. And he got results. None of this persuasion through love of Africa and the community crap that Higher Ground spouted.

  Inside the block he heard a toilet flush. At last. He moved closer to the corner of the building. Water at the hand basin.

  As she got to the door, Henny moved in to block it. He pushed her back into the room and close
d the door with one hand.

  ‘You’ve been a long time, sweetheart. I was worried about you. I came to see if you were all right.’ He stroked the bulge in his shorts. ‘Look what I’ve got for you.’

  Megan shrieked. He squeezed her shoulders hard with both hands. ‘Don’t do that, I’m not going to hurt you. I know you like me, you said so yourself. And you like it hot. I’ll give you what you want.’

  He pulled her close so that he could feel her against him. Her squirming inflamed him further. ‘Ja, baby, ja. Keep doing that, that’s nice.’ He felt the sudden rush of release and groaned. ‘Don’t stop, I’ve got lots more where that came from.’

  Megan shrieked again and began to cudgel him with her fists. She was a fiery one all right. He grabbed her forearms and held them in a tight lock. She was kicking wildly and he felt a sharp blow as she hit his ankle, then a searing pain as she aimed higher and her foot connected with his shin right where the wire rope had cut into the bone. He dropped her as if she were a burning branch.

  She was screaming at him like a fishwife. ‘There’s nothing I want from you. Stay away from me. Get out!’ She picked up the flashlight that was sitting next to the washbasin and brandished it in the air. ‘Get out of here or you’ll be sorry.’

  Henny took a step backwards and flinched as the doorknob hit him in the spine.

  Hilary pushed her way in, followed by two of the South Africans. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘We heard you screaming, Megan. Has this creep been doing something he shouldn’t?’

  ‘Nao, I don’t think he could. He caught me off guard is all, but I got him in the shin.’ She gave a malicious grin. ‘There’s more than one place that hurts like hell if you kick it.’

  ‘I hope you won’t try anything like that with me,’ said one of the guys.

  ‘People get what they deserve.’

  Henny made a move towards the door. The little bitch was busy with her friends. If he could slip away quietly, that might be the end of it. If not, he thought with a moment’s panic, who knew what complaints she might lodge? Even though he had done nothing, she was already exaggerating her account of what had happened.

  ‘He’s been watching me for a while. I’m sure last night wasn’t the first time he’s stalked me. Luckily I was ready for him,’ she was saying.

  He inched closer to the door.

  ‘Hey man, you’re not going anywhere,’ said the other South African, grabbing Henny’s arm. ‘At least not yet. What do you want to do with him, Megan?’

  Megan cocked her head to one side. ‘Kick him in the balls?’

  Hilary snorted. ‘Good idea! We’ll hold him for you.’

  Henny blanched.

  ‘Go for it, Megan! Sock it to him!’

  Megan cocked her head to the other side and looked Henny up and down. ‘I don’t know. It might be more fun to teach him a few lessons while we’re on the road.’

  ‘You want to continue the tour?’ asked the first South African.

  ‘Why not? We’ve paid our money. We’ll be joining up with another group soon and getting rid of this shit.’

  ‘We’re all going to Swakopmund, we can hang out together,’ Hilary added. ‘And as soon as we get there, I’m going to find an internet café and warn people about these Higher Ground tours.’

  Henny went even whiter. The last thing he wanted was for the Master to get wind of what had happened.

  Chapter

  47

  Henny cast a wary glance in his rearview mirror. Not to look at Megan, although she was still sitting next to Hilary in the first row of seats behind him, but to see if they had lost the South Africans. No such luck. There they were, sitting on his tail in their white 4 x 4 camper.

  He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. They had followed him to the dunes that morning, accompanied the girls on their walk to the pans, picnicked at the same spot, and generally been a right royal pain.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the road!’ Hilary squawked for the umpteenth time.

  ‘And your hand out of your shorts!’ piped a voice from the back row.

  They all knew what had happened during the night. At least from Megan’s perspective. The stupid bitch had delivered a blow-by-blow account of how she had incapacitated her stalker, as she now called him. Each time she mentioned it, the throb in his leg got worse. It wasn’t his fault if things hadn’t gone the way he expected. She was the one who had led him on and was now accusing him of assault.

  As they approached Solitaire, Henny threw another glance in his mirror. It was a lonely outpost comprising a fuel station, a general store, a bakery and a café. Normally, he would stop for fifteen minutes to let his campers taste the legendary apple pie and check out the local handicrafts. But this wasn’t a normal day. Megan and Hilary had refused to break camp and he had had to do most of the work himself.

  He put his foot on the accelerator as soon as he saw the sign. Without missing a beat Hilary leaned over the back of his seat and said loudly in his ear, ‘Shouldn’t you be slowing down? This is where we stop, per the itinerary. Turn here.’

  The South African driving the camper behind them sat on his horn until Henny made the turn. He cursed under his breath. ‘Ten minutes, no more. We’re late already.’

  ‘What’s the big deal?’ Megan asked.

  ‘The big deal is that we need to re-provision in Swakopmund for our trip up the Skeleton Coast and through Damaraland to Etosha.’

  ‘So? You can do that while we go to the beach.’

  Why not? Henny thought. Get rid of them for the afternoon. At least he wouldn’t have to put up tents. The way Higher Ground planned it, staying at a rest camp in Swakopmund provided a change of pace after a week of campgrounds and sightseeing. It was the only – and last – town of any size the camper-volunteers would see for a long time. It was also, although they didn’t know it yet, their last taste of freedom for a long time.

  As they walked back to the Higher Ground van, Megan and Hilary dealt him another blow.

  ‘We’re riding with Glenn and Pete,’ Hilary announced. ‘Luke and Steve will come with you.’

  Henny opened his mouth to protest.

  ‘Hey!’ Megan interjected. ‘There’s no issue here, we’re all staying at the same rest camp. So let’s get this show on the road. You lead the way.’

  Luke and Steve clambered into the van to the evident delight of Henny’s four remaining passengers. He spun his wheels in protest as they turned onto the main gravel road that would take them through Kuiseb Pass to Walvis Bay and finally Swakopmund. The Kuiseb Canyon was in sunlight but as they negotiated the steep descents and hairpin bends, the fog that regularly swept in from the Atlantic covered them in grey dankness.

  The temperature in the van dropped. The chatter died down and the two girls behind him reached for pullovers. Further back, the other two girls cuddled up to Luke and Steve. How had it come to this? What would the Master say if he knew Henny had completely lost control of his group?

  Chapter

  48

  Petra was getting used to the camper. She was even beginning to enjoy the reactions of the few other drivers they passed. At the Sendelingsdrift border crossing, the Namibian guard put his hands on his hips and let out a roar of laughter. Carlo, putting on his Mercutio act, performed a few steps of the hornpipe then bowed from side to side to an imaginary crowd.

  ‘Welcome to Namibia. Which way you go?’ the guard asked.

  ‘First to the Fish River Canyon. Tomorrow, the wild horses at Aus then Sossusvlei.’

  ‘Drive carefully. We don’ want that fancy van in a million pieces.’

  ‘We will. Thank you, kind Sir.’

  Petra was so excited that she overlooked Carlo’s antics and forgot about everything except the spectacular mountain scenery around them. The road snaked along the Orange River, twisting and turn
ing sharply. For the first half an hour she handled it well, her enthusiasm overcoming her nerves. Then they pulled out of a tight bend and found themselves at the top of a steep hill.

  ‘Mamma mia! Hold on.’

  Petra tightened her grip on the handhold and closed her eyes. ‘Right now I’d give anything to be on the river gently paddling my canoe.’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for. We might just end up down there.’

  Once they picked up the C37 heading north to the Fish River Canyon, the going was easier. Petra grinned and waved at a group of young people travelling together who had rented more traditional white camper vans.

  Carlo smiled at her. ‘Happier now?’

  ‘Yes. The wedding was a marathon. I knew it would be, but I didn’t realize just how intense it’d be. In fact, if I had to choose one word to describe the Broselli/Delapore family, that would be it: intense. Even Julia, in her rather poker-faced way. I hope she and Max have resolved their issues. Anyway, I’m glad that part of the trip’s over. Now we’re free to enjoy ourselves in the way we want.’

  ‘It’s not all play. I have to follow up on that stuff you sent me from Tony’s computer last night. If there’s a big wedding the weekend after this one, I need to set wheels in motion for the foreign guests’ luggage to be marked and checked. Ideally it should be done at both ends: in Cape Town and Frankfurt, for example. Then we’d have solid evidence as to where the tins originated.’

  ‘What about having a plant at the wedding to photograph the tins Sandrine gives guests to take home, assuming she does?’ Petra suggested.

  ‘Not a bad idea. We could do it ourselves if we got back a day or so earlier.’

  ‘You mean cut a couple of days off our trip?’

  ‘Let’s see how we go. In the meantime, I’ll put my Harry Potter hat on.’

  When they reached Hobas, they paid the park entrance fee and drove to the main viewpoint. Five hundred metres below them, the Fish River snaked its way through the arid plateau. Carlo brought out the Nikon he had acquired for the trip.