Deceive and Defend

by Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  DECEIVE AND DEFEND

  Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  Copyright © 2018 Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  First edition 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

  Deceive and Defend is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance of the characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-620-78980-6 (print)

  978-0-620-78981-3 (e-book)

  Published by: Mapolaje Publishers

  Edited by: James Mitchell

  Proof reading: Sue Purbrick

  Cover design: Francois Engelbrecht

  Website: www.marilyncohendevilliers.com

  Email: marilyncohendevilliers@mweb.co.za

  Also by Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  Silverman Saga

  A Beautiful Family

  When Time Fails

  Deceive and Defend (Coming Soon)

  Watch for more at Marilyn Cohen de Villiers’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  Deceive and Defend (Silverman Saga, #3)

  Prologue

  Aviva

  Part 1

  Chapter 1 | Tracy

  Chapter 2 | Tracy

  Chapter 3 | Tracy

  Chapter 4 | Zivah

  Chapter 5 | Tracy

  Chapter 6 | Tracy

  Chapter 7 | Carol

  Chapter 8 | Carol

  Chapter 9 | Carol

  Chapter 10 | Aviva

  Chapter 11 | Aviva

  Part 2 | October 2016

  Chapter 12 | Yair

  Chapter 13 | Yair

  Chapter 15 | Aviva

  Chapter 16 | Zivah

  Chapter 17 | Carol

  Chapter 18 | Tracy

  Chapter 19 | Tracy

  Chapter 20 | Tracy

  Chapter 21 | Yair

  Chapter 22 | Yair

  Part 3 | January 2017

  Chapter 23 | Carol

  Chapter 24 | Aviva

  Chapter 25 | Tracy

  Chapter 26 | Tracy

  Chapter 27 | Aviva

  Chapter 28 | Zivah

  Chapter 29 | Tracy

  Chapter 30 | Tracy

  Chapter 31 | Yair

  Chapter 32 | Aviva

  Chapter 33 | Tracy

  Chapter 34 | Yair

  Chapter 35 | Tracy

  Chapter 36 | Yair

  Chapter 37 | Tracy

  Chapter 38 | Tracy

  Epilogue | March 2018

  Aviva

  Acknowledgements

  Message from the Author

  Sign up for Marilyn Cohen de Villiers's Mailing List

  Further Reading: A Beautiful Family

  Also By Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  About the Author

  In loving memory of my mother,

  Margaret Sarah Cohen

  1928 – 2017

  “Oh what a tangled web we weave ...when first we practice to deceive”

  – Sir Walter Scott (Marmion, 1808).

  Prologue

  Eleven months earlier

  Aviva

  Aviva lay on the bed and gazed, dry-eyed, at the ceiling. She had no more tears. She was a dehydrated shell, too exhausted to sleep, too filled with self-loathing to get up. Her churning brain played the horror of that scene in the Steynspruit farmhouse lounge over and over: Arno staring at her in disgust, choking out those terrible, hideous words: ‘You’re my sister... Oh my God, you’re my sister!’ She’d fled down the passage to his room, slammed and locked the door and flung herself on the bed. His bed. The bed where they had made love just a few hours before, giggling quietly, terrified of alerting Annamari and Thys to what they were doing.

  ‘I know it’s stupid but, well, my parents are in the house somewhere and... well, we’re not married. Not yet, so shhh, No noise or I’ll have to tickle you here,’ (a kiss on her left breast); ‘...and here’ (a kiss on her right breast); ‘... and here...’ (her stomach) ‘... and ...here.’ His head moved lower and she wasn’t giggling any more.

  Then came the horror of Annamari’s revelation. She couldn’t stay in his bedroom, on his bed, a moment longer. She couldn’t bear to see that look in his parents’ eyes, in his eyes again – the disgust and horror and realisation that there was something very wrong with her; the recognition that she was sick, really sick. She had to get away from Steynspruit, from Annamari and Thys van Zyl, from Arno. From this nightmare. She stuffed her clothes into her suitcase, quietly opened the door and tiptoed into the passage. She prayed that the front door was not locked, or that the key would be close by. She’d find her way to the road, and then try to hitch a ride back to Driespruitfontein. From there, she’d... . She didn’t know. She’d disappear. She’d done it before. She’d done it when she’d run from her father. Now she’d run again.

  She spun around as the door to the next room opened and Arno appeared in the passage. He was fully dressed. His white face glowed in the pale moonlight filtering through the open curtains.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked. His voice was dull, lifeless.

  ‘I have to go. I can’t stay here.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘I’m leaving. I’ll walk. Get a taxi. I don’t know.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  They stared at each other. The only thing left between them was silence.

  Then he stirred. ‘You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous. I’ll get my things. I’ll drive you.’

  ***

  Aviva curled up on the sofa in Esther’s tiny bedsitter and listened to the roar of the traffic on Ben Yehuda Street below. Or perhaps it was the roar in her head. No. No. No. No. Impossible. She had been so sure that the first test was one of those false positives she’d heard about when she’d worked at the shelter. So she’d waited a week, and then snuck into the Superpharm at the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station and bought another – the most expensive one on the shelf. And within minutes, the little purple line appeared. She wanted to vomit. Or perhaps it was just afternoon morning sickness. She’d been feeling nauseas for ages; she’d put it down to stress. But then she’d looked at the calendar and the terrible realisation started to prick the edges of her consciousness. It had been six weeks since that four-hour drive in strained silence from his parents’ farm to O R Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg; six weeks since she’d boarded the El Al flight to Israel; six weeks since she’d arrived at Esther’s door and found a semblance of solace on her sofa; six weeks since her life had died – and a lot longer since she’d had a period.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Esther asked. ‘Are you going to tell the father? Are you going to keep it?’

  Aviva shook her head. She wished Esther would stop asking questions, questions for which she had no answers.

  ‘How far are you?’ Esther asked.

  She shook her head again.

  ‘How did it happen? Didn’t you take precautions?’

  ‘Of course we did,’ Aviva snapped. But they hadn’t. Not that first time. When Arno had arrived at her Ramat Aviv apartment and literally swept her off her feet. She had been so overwhelmed with joy and love and sheer, unadulterated lust, that she hadn’t thought; and, frankly, neither had he. Then Arno had asked her to marry him and that first indiscret
ion had been pushed right out of her mind, overtaken by endless days and nights of protected bliss. She looked at the calendar. And counted. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was... . Oh God, she had to be almost eleven weeks by now. She flung herself into Esther’s tiny bathroom and heaved into the toilet bowl.

  ‘You could still get an abortion, you know. But you’ll have to decide soon,’ Esther said

  Abortion. What a terrible word. It wasn’t something she thought she’d ever have to consider. She never thought about being a mother. She’d never even played with dolls; she’d much preferred Yair’s cars although, she had to acknowledge, that could have been because it always upset him when she wouldn’t let him play with his favourite – a red Lamborghini. Anyway, having had to be more of a mother than a sister to Zivah had killed any lurking maternal desire that she might have had. But she’d never thought she’d fall in love. Never considered that she’d fall pregnant. Now she had to think about it, but she couldn’t, not with the noise of the traffic and Esther’s incessant chatter and questions.

  ‘I have to get away,’ Aviva said. ‘I’m really grateful to you, Esti, for taking me in when I just rocked up on your doorstep. I’ve grown quite fond of your sofa. But I have to go.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she lied.

  ***

  Aviva walked slowly along the path that ran almost the full length of the crater. A movement among the rocks to her left caught her eye, and she paused. A large ibex with wonderfully curved horns materialised from the pale brown dust and stared at her. Then another of the strange goats emerged, and another. These creatures fascinated her. How did they live? What did they find to eat and drink in this harsh and barren wasteland? Yet somehow, the ibex not only survived, but they seemed to thrive. She had seen several young in the ibex herds that roamed the crater. What a harsh childhood they had to endure; what a terribly difficult life to look forward to.

  She walked on until she came to what she had come to regard as her bench. She sat and gazed out over the crater. The changing colours of the sand mesmerised her. The crater itself was a veritable rainbow, from the palest tan through rich oranges and reds to almost black. As the sun moved through the cloudless cobalt sky, the colours shifted, becoming lighter then darker: blacks became purples, oranges turned to burned browns. Sometimes a slight wind would come up, awakening dancing dust spectres and bringing relief from the baking desert heat. And sometimes, the temperature would plummet – as she and Arno had discovered almost three months before when they’d dallied too long on the edge of the crater, fascinated by its shifting shades. Dressed only in T-shirts and shorts, they’d shivered hurriedly back to their B&B and warmed their cold bodies against each other in the king-size bed.

  ***

  ‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he said.

  Aviva closed her eyes. It had been a mistake to come back to Mitzpe Ramon. She had loved the stark beauty and restfulness of the remote little town, despite the military jets constantly roaring overhead. She and Arno had planned to stop only briefly on their way through the Negev desert to Eilat. It had been their road trip of discovery—of Israel and each other—before heading to South Africa to break the news of their engagement to Yair and Zivah, and to his family. But the beauty of the place had captured their hearts and imaginations. So they had found a little B&B and stayed on for four magical days and nights. They had been the best four days of her entire life, days of love and peace and comfort and feeling safe and everything she had ever wanted. But then the world had intruded and snatched it all away.

  Now he haunted her thoughts, which were so vivid, she could sense his presence, smell his intoxicating Arno scent, hear his voice.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said, indicating the crater... but his eyes were glued to her face.

  Her mouth opened. Then closed. She wanted to ask him what he was doing here, why he had come, why he was torturing her. She was just starting to get her life together, she was starting to get over him, she was going to make a life for herself, she was... she was... conflicted. Her nerve-endings were frayed, screaming for his touch; her heart was pounding in her ears, but she quickly suppressed the surge of love and hope and relief that flooded through her veins because she knew it was wrong. And hopeless.

  ‘I tried, Avi. I really tried,’ he said. ‘I tried to get you out of my system. I tried to stop thinking about you. I hated myself for wanting you so much, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I kept telling myself that everything about us was a sin – only... only it isn’t. Something so good, so wonderful, can’t be wrong. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t live without you. I won’t live without you.’

  She stared at him. There were deep purple bruises beneath his sunken blue eyes, two new furrows carved their way from his nose down paper white cheeks to his chin, and she was startled to see flecks of grey at his temples.

  She opened her mouth again. Nothing came out. She saw him reach out to touch her hand and she flinched.

  ‘Avi please. We belong together.’

  ‘No,’ she croaked. ‘No. We can’t. I can’t. It’s sick. No.’

  ‘Yes! Avi, yes! We belong together. What we have is special and perfect and right.’

  ‘But, you’re my brother, for God’s sake. It’s wrong. It’s incest. There, I’ve said it. It’s evil and a sin and against the law... and...’

  ‘Stop! Stop. Why is it wrong?’

  ‘Because it is. It just is.’

  ‘But why? Because we happen to have the same biological father whose relationship to me is no more than that of a sperm donor? Why should some freak accident of biology, some bizarre coincidence – why should that destroy what we have? It should not stop us from making a life together. I won’t let it stop us unless... unless, you don’t really love me. Do you love me?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  He took her hand urgently. ‘Then let’s be together. Let’s get married.’

  ‘We can’t. You know we can’t. It’s against the law. We’ll be arrested. They’ll put us in jail.’

  ‘Why? Who are we harming? Anyway, think about it. No one knows. No one has to know. It’s no one’s business but ours.’

  ‘Your parents know. Your mother, your father. What about Tracy Jacobs – that journalist who was sniffing around. And people have always joked about how much you look like him. People will notice, they’ll talk, they’ll put two and two together.’

  ‘People see what they want to see. A lot of people have doubles. But to be safe, I’ll grow a beard. I’ll shave off my hair. We can go somewhere where people don’t know us. I don’t care where we live. I just want us to be together.’

  ‘I want that too,’ she said. ‘But, Arno, you realise it will mean that we can never go home again. You will never see your family again. I’ve cut ties with my family before, I know I can live without them. Yair will be fine and Zivah hates me, but you love your parents, your brothers. How will you feel if you can never see them, never hear from them again? You’ll start to resent me, even hate me. Do you really want that?’

  ‘My family have no idea where I am. They don’t need to know. I just want us. You and me. You’re all the family I’ll ever want.’

  She smiled then. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not anymore.’ Her hand moved protectively over her stomach. ‘If you want me, you are going to get more family than you anticipated.’

  Part 1

  September 2015

  Chapter 1

  Tracy

  Tracy slammed Buttercup into gear, revved the engine and hurled a blistering glare at the guard as he raised the boom in excruciatingly slow motion. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel and as the boom finally reached its zenith, she floored the accelerator.

  ‘Fucking idiot,’ she muttered as the guard’s white teeth gleamed in a mockingly subservient smile. He’d delayed her on purpose, she just knew it. When Yair was driving, the guard had the boom open befo
re the blue Range Rover had even rounded the corner. Yair barely had to slow down before he was on his way, through the security boom with a cheery wave. But whenever the guard saw Buttercup approaching—or, more likely, heard the old yellow rattletrap lumbering up the hill—he developed an acute case of memory and hearing loss along with a debilitating physical condition that prevented him from moving at anything faster than snail’s pace.

  ‘I’m going to the Silvermans’ house,’ Tracy always yelled through the open passenger seat window as the boom remained firmly in place. ‘I’m going to the Silverman house,’ she always repeated when the guard eventually reached the driver’s seat window and stared down at her enquiringly. He always pretended he hadn’t heard her the first time. He always acted as if he didn’t know who she was despite the fact that she had driven through that boom dozens—no hundreds—of times in the past few years.

  ‘He’s just doing his job,’ Yair always said when she complained. She’d eventually stopped complaining. But today of all days, she didn’t want to be late. She wanted to have a moment alone with Yair before all the other guests arrived. He’d said he had something he wanted to ask her, something important. She’d gone bed with his words playing a loop in her brain.

  ‘You have to tell your news editor you must have Sunday off, Red,’ he’d said. ‘It’s not only the official housewarming after all the renovations, it’s also Zivah’s coming-home party and her twenty-first. She’ll be so upset if you aren’t there. And...’ he’d paused and then added, ‘I have something I need... something I want to ask you.’

  Tracy was pretty sure Zivah would be delighted if she didn’t attend the party, but she was determined that one day, Yair’s little sister would at least trust her, perhaps even like her. Poor little thing. With what she’d gone through, it was no wonder Zivah was a bit hostile and suspicious. And now, after Yair’s words... if they meant what Tracy could hardly bring herself to hope they meant... well, if he asked her... if he... well, then, she and Zivah would just have to become friends. For Yair’s sake, if nothing else.