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A Holiday to Die For

Page 21

by Marion Leigh


  And what about me? she whispered to herself. She couldn’t pretend to be completely impervious to his charms. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips.

  Abruptly, Carlo checked his rearview mirror, slapped his indicator on and pulled over to the side of the tarred road. ‘Look, cara, I know something’s bothering you and I sense that you don’t want to tell me what it is, so why don’t you drive for a while? This road is OK. All the traffic’s going the same way and there’s no loose sand to make it slippery. You need a break from your demons.’

  ‘What demons?’

  ‘You tell me!’

  ‘You know me too well, Mercutio.’

  ‘Come on, put that little machine away. The dunes await.’

  Five hours later, Carlo stopped in front of the campsite office at Sesriem. Petra jumped out.

  ‘I just want to write a comment in the guest book.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like guest books. You said they’re usually full of inane comments.’

  ‘Sossusvlei and the dunes are awesome.’

  ‘I’ll come and say goodbye to my ranger.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘It’d be better if you stay and look after our things. I’ll give her your love. I shan’t be long.’

  Behind the desk stood a guy with a smile as broad as his shoulders. Petra smiled in return and pulled her camera out of her pocket. Quickly she showed him the picture of Florian in his white suit at the wedding.

  ‘I’m trying to get in touch with this guy. Do you know him?’

  ‘Sure. We see him every few months. He’s with a company called Higher Ground. Usually has a bunch of women in tow.’

  Petra suppressed what she hoped wasn’t a pang of jealousy. ‘Do you know where he is now?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘What about this guy?’ Petra brought up a picture of Father John.

  ‘Father Joe? He’s with another outfit: Tabernacle Youth Collective or something. Due here next week, I believe.’ The ranger turned to the computer and pulled up a file. ‘Yep, Tuesday for a night or two. Are you looking for him too?’

  ‘A friend of mine’s travelling with him, and I was hoping we’d meet up somewhere.’

  The burly ranger tapped a few more keys. ‘He’s moving on to Etosha. You going there?’

  Petra nodded. ‘Yes, after a night in Swakopmund.’

  ‘Well you might see him at Halali.’

  ‘That’d be great. Thanks for the info.’

  ‘Make sure you stop at Solitaire. It’s just down the road. Their apple pie’s the best thing since they invented biltong.’

  Petra ran back to the van that she had now christened Lucy.

  ‘Guess what?’

  ‘Florian’s asked you to marry him.’

  ‘Mercutio, that’s crap.’

  ‘OK. Let me have another try. Mrs. P. has signed in as a guest.’

  ‘No,’ Petra groaned. ‘Father John, a.k.a. Father Joe, is arriving here on Tuesday then going on to Halali. That means we’ll catch up with him in Etosha.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Gina’s with him,’ Petra said slyly.

  ‘Mmm. So?’

  ‘We can find out from her where they’ve been and what they’ve been doing.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Mercutio, stop that.’

  ‘But you’re going round in circles, cara. I can guarantee you won’t learn anything of interest from either Gina or Father John. Particularly if his outreach programmes are a bit dicey.’

  ‘That’s the other thing! As I suspected, he is with the Tabernacle Youth Collective. Now can we speed up?’

  ‘Yes, if you really want to slow us down. An accident could put us out of commission for several days – and that’s if we’re lucky.’

  Chapter

  51

  The rest camp consisted of a couple of hundred tightly packed cabins, chalets and bungalows inside a high electric fence. For Henny it was a welcome break from the established routine. The camp served dinner, and just a stroll away there was a bar serving German beer that became quite lively at night.

  He stopped in front of an A-frame chalet.

  ‘You expect us all to sleep in this?’ Hilary screeched.

  ‘There are six of you and six single beds. Two on the ground floor and four upstairs.’

  What did the bitches expect? This was luxury if only they knew it.

  ‘Two keys,’ he added, placing them in Megan’s outstretched hand. ‘Don’t lose them. If you do, you pay.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You’ll pay.’

  Henny took a deep breath. ‘Group briefing at six-thirty. Dinner in the restaurant at seven. Lights out at ten so we can get a good start tomorrow.’

  ‘Says who?’ Hilary snapped.

  ‘The itinerary,’ he shot back. ‘First the Welwitschia Drive, then the seals at Cape Cross. Check it out.’

  ‘And this afternoon?’

  ‘All yours. Go to the beach with your buddies, do what you want.’

  ‘What about the guided walking tour of town? Too far for you to manage, I suppose?’

  Henny gritted his teeth. ‘It’s too late to do the tour and I’m letting you off the provisioning. It’s an easy walk to town and the beach from here. You don’t need me.’

  ‘We sure don’t,’ Megan said.

  ‘And I sure don’t need you,’ he muttered under his breath.

  He drove angrily into town to stock up for the next segment of the trip. His eyes were smarting from driving through the fog and the crude swastika on his left forearm was itching. By the time he reached the plaza, his overpowering thirst drove him to the nearest brewpub. He ordered a stein of beer and took it to a table in the corner.

  Swakopmund was a solid enclave of burghers proud of their heritage and nostalgic for the time when Namibia, then South West Africa, was under German control. Henny loved their beer and their women and felt more at home in Swakop than anywhere else except Port Nolloth. He had a couple of regulars and looked forward to his visits. If only he’d waited.

  This time he was fucking it up big. Higher Ground policy stated clearly that the girls were to be monitored throughout the tour. The lecture given at each overnight stop was designed to draw them further into the fold. He had skipped the Sesriem lecture because of their late arrival and because of what had happened during the night. Now he was giving them free time. The Master would go berserk if he knew.

  Henny drained his glass and threw some cash on the table. Time to regain the upper hand. He couldn’t have Megan writing stuff about him that wasn’t true. He had to find her diary and destroy it.

  The van was the usual mess where she and Hilary sat. He dumped two loads of trash in a metal dustbin then hunted around in the seat pockets and under the seats but couldn’t find the little pink book. He’d have to go through her personal things. Cursing loudly, he locked the van and made for the supermarket.

  Henny made it back to the rest camp before the girls. He had kept the third key to the A-frame chalet as he usually did: in case of emergency. This definitely fell into that category.

  He parked the camper van as close as he could and unloaded a six-pack of water. Bottled water for the night. That’d be his excuse if the girls returned before he had finished. He locked the door to the chalet on the inside and left the key in the lock. That way he’d have a few extra minutes before he had to let them in.

  His luck was in! Megan and Hilary, hot little bitches, had chosen the downstairs bedroom. Easier to sneak out from there or let blokes in. Megan’s bag was open on one of the beds, clothes spilling out. He started with the side and end pockets. That’s where he’d put a diary if he had one.

  The dive watch on his wrist beeped. At five-thirty, he had to report in to the Master.
He had set the alarm for five-twenty to give himself time to prepare. If he didn’t find the diary in a couple of minutes, he’d have to leave it for now. Irritably he turned the bag upside down and shook it. Stuff came tumbling out but no pink book.

  Henny crammed everything back into Megan’s bag and turned his attention to Hilary’s on the other bed. The same untidy mess and no diary. Dammit, Megan must have kept it with her. In a fit of pique he tossed both bags onto the floor.

  A church clock struck the half hour. Sweat began to break out under his arms. What was he going to say to the Master? Did he really need to talk to him about his problem, or could he stick it out with these six up the Skeleton Coast and through Damaraland to Etosha? In a few days’ time, the Master would take over and he’d be done with them. Then it’d be a spell of R & R, and back to Cape Town to look for the next batch.

  Noise outside. The girls were back. Henny unlocked the door and whipped out the key. Opening the door wide he held up the six-pack of water. ‘You beat me to it.’ He began ripping apart the tough plastic wrap.

  Megan and Hilary led the group in.

  ‘I’ve got wine in the van,’ Henny added. ‘How about a pre-briefing drink?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Hilary.

  When he came back with the cheap wine in screw-capped bottles, Megan was standing in the doorway to their bedroom. ‘You been snooping through our stuff? Or did it just fall on the floor by itself? Pick it up, jerk.’

  ‘No way.’ The afternoon’s German beer had given him a little Dutch courage.

  ‘Learning to keep a good house, whether it’s a tent, a hut or a mansion, is an important part of the Higher Ground philosophy,’ Henny recited. ‘During the tour, all volunteers will have the opportunity to hone their skills so that they are ready to educate and serve others once they reach one of our villages. You guys leave a goddamn mess wherever you go.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? We’re on holiday,’ Megan shrilled. ‘We did enough picking up after people when we were chalet girls. This tour is the pits. It looked good on paper, that’s all.’

  ‘The volunteer thing would have been a give-back,’ Hilary continued. ‘It’s a shame to miss that part, but I’ve posted my review and we’re leaving.’ She looked to Megan for confirmation.

  ‘Yeah. Glenn and Pete’ll take us sand-boarding tomorrow then to Etosha. We can set our own schedule and we’ll stay at decent rest camps where we don’t have to act like dumb servant girls.’

  Hilary picked up the two bottles of red wine. ‘Hey, we might as well enjoy these. Courtesy of our tour guide.’ She lifted them high in the air and chinked them together while Megan went into the kitchen for glasses.

  The phone in Henny’s pocket began to play a loud tune.

  ‘Funny, our guide still has his phone. Who’s calling, I wonder?’ Hilary said. ‘One of your whores? That’s right, go and make your arrangements.’

  Henny hurried out of the chalet and ducked between the buildings until he was as far away as he could get before the phone stopped ringing. Fifteen times was the rule. On the last but one ring, he answered it.

  The Master’s voice was calm but stern. ‘Why haven’t you called? You’re more than a day and a half late.’

  ‘Back tire blew outside Helmeringhausen. We had to wait for a replacement. I paid for the overnight accommodation myself.’

  ‘Don’t whine, Henny. What have you got?’

  ‘Six beauties hot to trot. You’ll love ’em.’

  ‘That will be my pleasure. As soon as we get them corralled. How long to Etosha?’

  Henny took a deep breath.

  ‘What’s up, Henny? You can’t fool me.’

  It was as though the Master’s piercing blue eyes could drill into his soul from afar.

  ‘I have two who want to fly the coop.’

  ‘What are you doing to stop them?’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Use the stuff I gave you, man. That’s what it’s for. And get here as soon as you can.’

  Chapter

  52

  Fog descended on them as they exited the Kuiseb Pass. It took Petra by surprise, and it was just as much of a surprise when it lifted an hour later and she saw the ocean ahead of them.

  ‘I’d almost forgotten what water looks like since Langebaan,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘That’s Walvis Bay,’ Carlo said. ‘The largest deepwater port on this coast and one of the most important birding areas in Africa – over a hundred and fifty thousand migrants, the feathered variety that is, spend the summer here.’

  ‘Look, flamingos! And pelicans!’

  ‘I knew you’d like that. I’ve booked us into the Dolphin Bay Hotel. You’ll be able to watch the birds from the terrace.’

  ‘We’re not going to Swakopmund?’

  ‘This is right next door. Quieter – not so many adventure freaks looking for an adrenalin rush.’

  ‘But Megan and Hilary’s tour was going to Swakopmund.’

  ‘Yes, and they’ll be long gone. Don’t push it, Petra. We’ve got more serious stuff to deal with.’

  Lucy’s arrival at the Dolphin Bay Hotel drew more than a few raised eyebrows. Carlo ran up the steps and returned a short while later, laughing.

  ‘Is there a joke I should share?’ Petra asked.

  ‘They tried to direct me to the municipal rest camp in Swakopmund, but I told them we were special agents on an undercover mission. Now we have a dinner voucher for the restaurant and a large room on the upper floor overlooking the lagoon,’ Carlo said, handing her a key.

  ‘With a bathroom?’

  ‘Yes, and two double beds. Telephone, and internet in the lobby so we can do what we have to do. Then it’s back to camping.’

  Petra put down her bag and slipped her feet out of her boat shoes. ‘First thing I need is a shower. I feel as though I have half the Namib Desert on my body.’

  ‘While you do that, I’ll get in touch with Hubert.’

  Without her thin coating of fine red sand, Petra felt like a new person. She fired up her phone and was pleased to see that there was some sort of signal. Now she could call A.K. The problem was she had no information to give him. On the other hand, if Vicky had contacted her father and told him of her revised plans, A.K. might have information to share. And she really wanted to find out why Vicky was so important to everyone. So should she call, or shouldn’t she?

  ‘Sleep on it’ she heard her father’s voice say in her head. Good advice as always. ‘I miss you, Papa,’ she whispered.

  She took out Megan’s bright pink phone and pressed the power button. The screen lit up. ‘Searching for network’ it said. Petra watched it eagerly. Hilary’s phone number would almost certainly be in Megan’s list of contacts. Assuming they had a signal where they were, she’d be able to call and find out how they were doing, and arrange to return Megan’s phone.

  ‘No signal’ said the screen.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Tut, tut,’ Carlo said. ‘I thought you were ageing gracefully, tesoro mio. Now I see I was mistaken.’

  ‘I’m not ageing any more or less gracefully than you, Mercutio, although I’m getting grey hairs trying to figure out what’s going on with all these young women.’

  Petra switched Megan’s phone off and tried it again. This time it didn’t even fire up. She threw the phone on the bed and picked up her room key. ‘I’m going out for some air.’

  ‘Ciao, bella,’ Carlo said, picking up the phone by his bed.

  Petra followed a walkway through the gardens until she came to a place where she could sit at the water’s edge. The birdlife was extraordinary and in the distance dolphins played round the bow of a boat that was coming in. She wondered whether Mrs. Pinderally ever came to Walvis Bay. Scheherazade would look stunning riding the swell.

  Watching the water and the
teeming life it supported buoyed Petra’s spirits. After a while, she was ready to move on and explore the rest of the property. Near the lobby she found a small business centre with a computer. On enquiry, she determined that it was free to use. She sat down and activated the screen.

  During the drive through the fog, she had been wondering about the Higher Ground organization and trying to make sense of what she knew about it. How large was it? Was it the umbrella for the Broselli/Delapore charitable endeavours? How did the two sides – Tours and Community Interchange – fit together? If Florian was involved in Interchange, who ran the tours? The guy with the limp? There must be something on-line that would answer at least some of her questions.

  Petra flexed her fingers and began to search. Plenty of groups used the name Higher Ground: churches, restaurants, bands, not to mention a film and a TV series. When she added the word “Tours”, Google dredged up something in Tibet but nothing in Southern Africa. “Community Interchange” threw up a pot-pourri of quasi governmental and religious sites along with a lot about highways. After fifteen minutes’ digging, she couldn’t find any references or websites for Higher Ground Tours or Community Interchange in Southern Africa.

  Petra leaned back on the rather wobbly chair. To attract the young and the idealistic in this day and age Higher Ground would surely not rely solely on print materials, however persuasive. And what about the Tabernacle Youth Collective, the group Vicky Dunlin had gone with in the beginning? Now she had joined one of their outreach programmes in a community village.

  Instinctively Petra had associated Tabernacle with Higher Ground because of the outreach programme details in the Interchange brochure Ana had given Carlo. There were too many similarities for them not to be related. She had proof too that Father John/Joe was involved with Tabernacle.

  Petra noticed a pimply youth in shorts and a T-shirt hovering nearby. He was glancing over her shoulder at the computer screen. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘How long you gonna be?’

  ‘Not long, especially if you don’t crowd me.’

  She waited for him to leave the room before typing in Tabernacle Youth Collective South Africa. Nothing. On a whim she added Vicky Dunlin, not expecting to turn up anything useful. But Google’s search engine obligingly revealed that a Vicky Dunlin was on Facebook.

 

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