Jackal's Dance (64 page)

‘How would you know? A twenty-one-year old girl yet. You don't remember. The man has something else up his sleeve. He is alone and needs a nursemaid for his daughter. That's what all this is about.' Yonina tucked a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear and nodded knowledgeably. ‘Or something else,' she added darkly. ‘I'm telling you, my girl, he's up to no good.'

Josie hadn't told her parents about Walter's sincere apology or her acceptance of it. She knew they wouldn't understand the raw emotion which
had stripped the hostages bare of everything but honesty on that terrible second day. And Walter was not lying now, Josie would stake her life on it.

‘If I find there's some hidden agenda, I'll come straight home.'

‘What's the man thinking?' Ozzie queried out loud. ‘Giving everything away to you. A Jewish girl with no business experience whatsoever. It's insane.'

‘I can learn, he knows that.'

‘That doesn't change what you are. I don't trust it.'

‘Look, Dad, what harm is there in going?'

Josie's father was weakening. This man, Walter Schmidt, seemed to have more money than sense. ‘How long would you be away?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Do you promise not to sign anything without consulting us first?'

‘I promise.'

‘Agree to nothing.'

‘Okay.'

‘And have an accountant check his books. He might be bankrupt. A fine thing that would be, inheriting nothing but demanding creditors.'

‘Stuttgart's so far away,' Yonina whined. ‘Why can't you stay here? Find a nice Jewish boy and get married?'

Josie's parents had no idea their daughter was gay. ‘I'm still too young to even think of that. I want to travel, see the world, get out there and really live my life.'

‘But why now? At least wait until you're through university?'

‘I can't explain. Etosha has changed everything.'

Yonina threw her hands in the air. ‘I don't understand. We give you everything. Education, a nice home, money, security, and you want to give it all away.'

‘My mind's made up,' Josie stated firmly. ‘I know you have doubts but I'd at least like to count on your support.'

‘Our support,' Ozzie said, horrified that his daughter might think they'd withdraw it. ‘You'll always have that. Go and do what you must. Just don't sign anything.'

A week later, Josie flew to Stuttgart. Walter met her at the airport and took her straight to his home. From then on the two of them spent every waking hour together, Walter explaining the workings of his business, introducing employees, cramming her head with facts, figures and advice. They met with accountants and lawyers. The staff, if surprised to learn that a young South African Jewish girl was to become the major shareholder and technically their new boss, made no reference to it. Josie, with their help, picked up the ropes quickly. It was as Walter had said, the company virtually ran itself.

Despite her father's advice, Josie signed the share transfer papers.

Jutta was rarely seen. She stayed in her room, cared for twenty-four hours a day by nurses.

Whenever Josie tried to find the reason for
Walter's generosity, or ascertain his plans for the future, all he would say was that he and his daughter would be well taken care of.

Devon Valley, South Africa: 3 February

Caitlin McGregor missed Thea when she left for Botswana with Sean. Nature Conservation had paid out Caitlin's ranger contract in full and had nothing to offer her. Logans Island Lodge was to be closed down and dismantled. In time, it would go back to how nature intended. Although a successful venture, it was decided not to establish a similar facility for the time being. New construction was put on hold until the Angolan situation resolved itself. Caitlin didn't plan to hold her breath for that. Namibia's northern neighbour had been in a state of unrest since 1961.

Keen to stay in the country, Caitlin picked up every brochure she could lay her hands on and wrote to any privately owned nature reserve advertising accommodation and guided safaris. There were dozens, most of which were family-run guest farms. She was back to square one. Qualified, experienced, but no-one wanted a female ranger. About to give up on the idea, she heard back from the operators of a tented camp and wildlife sanctuary in Damaraland, just south of Etosha. An interview followed and the job was hers. Like Logans Island, it too was closed for the summer. Caitlin couldn't start work until the last week in February.

Fed up with her own company – Dan had left for South Africa to see Norman Snelling – Caitlin
decided to head for Johannesburg and see a friend of her own. Shauna had been delighted to receive Caitlin's call from Windhoek. ‘Stay as long as you like.'

‘Thanks. I won't impose for more than a few days.' Caitlin, now that she'd set the wheels in motion to get off her backside and do something, suddenly had doubts that this was what she wanted to do. Company she needed, that much she knew. Why was she now hesitating? ‘Um, can I call you back?'

‘Sure. Is there a problem?'

‘No . . . yes . . . I don't know.'

‘Caitlin, you need to get away.'

‘I know.'

‘This is not like you. Come to Joburg and we'll take it from there. You've got three weeks before you start the new job. What are you planning to do?'

An idea had been forming.
Of course!
Caitlin now knew what it was she needed. ‘Look, sorry. I don't mean to mess you about. I'll call you back, okay?'

Shauna's voice carried concern. ‘You're stressed, I can hear it. Understandable, but I don't like it. Call me straight back or I'm getting on a plane to come to you. You shouldn't be alone.'

‘No, no. Don't do that. I'm okay, really. It's just that there's something . . . I need to think it through. We'll get together, I promise. A little sun and surf would be nice. Could you manage that?'

‘Sounds good. I could squeeze some time off.

Why don't we drive down to Durban, pick up a couple of hunks and indulge in a little horizontal exercise?'

Caitlin frowned at the receiver. It was the last thing she needed.

Her silence was taken by Shauna as disapproval. ‘I'm sorry, my love. That was stupid of me. We'll have a girlie time, how's that?'

‘I'm not a basket case.'
God! What's wrong with me? Shauna's only trying to help.
‘Can we talk about it when I phone back?'

‘You've got an hour. If I don't hear from you I'm calling my travel agent. I mean it, Caitlin.'

‘You will, you will. Talk to you soon. Bye.'

Replacing the receiver, Caitlin had more doubts. She sat alone, curled into an armchair, being brutally honest with herself. The idea had merit but it also carried risks. Was she strong enough? Would it help her or make matters worse? Should she perhaps just turn her back and walk away? No. That in itself could be dangerous.
Jesus, Caitlin, get a grip. You can run and you can hide. You can stick your head in the sand and pretend it never happened. Go to Johannesburg, go on, and play a stupid make-believe game with yourself. You know very well that this has to be faced sooner or later.

Her mind was made up and Caitlin went into action. She called Shauna back. ‘Sorry. Change of plans. I won't be coming tomorrow after all. There's something I've got to do. I don't know how long it will take.'

‘Are you okay?'

‘No, but I hope to be.'

She would not be drawn to explain.

Next, she called the travel agent and added a Johannesburg to Cape Town leg to her air ticket. Caitlin packed a bag. Her flight left Windhoek at ten-thirty the next morning but the sight of her luggage standing ready in the hall helped her resolve.

The following afternoon, Caitlin landed at Cape Town's International Airport at four – fifteen. She was behind the wheel of a hired car by five and headed towards Stellenbosch. Fletch had mentioned that his parents farmed at Devon Valley, an area just outside the historical university town known for the quality of its grapes. Directions given at the Devon Valley Hotel found Caitlin pulling up outside a large Cape Dutch-style house a little after six o'clock.

Now she was here, she felt like an intruder. She had no place being here. She was a stranger, not welcome in this house of sorrow, an interloper who could only bring more suffering. The windows and closed doors seemed like a barrier. ‘Go back,' they said. ‘We do not want you here.'

An attractive woman in her forties opened the front door and stood on the stoep to see why the dogs were barking. Caitlin emerged from the car and hovered by it, uncertain. Fletch's mother approached slowly, the pain of her recent loss still in her eyes. ‘It's you,' she said softly.

‘Yes.' Caitlin's voice caught and she blinked back tears.

Intense emotion rolled down the older woman's cheeks as a flood of sorrow was released.

Caitlin had no memory of how it happened. Suddenly the two women were embracing, holding on tightly, seeking and giving comfort, consoled by the fact that if he had still been alive Fletch would have undoubtedly approved that the mother he adored and the girl he might have loved needed no prompting, no outside influences, to be drawn to each other.

When they pulled back there was no awkwardness.

‘Troy told us how you sat with our son. It was you, wasn't it?'

‘Yes. I'm Caitlin.'

‘Maggie.'

‘I had to come.'

‘I'm glad you did. Come inside and meet Graham.'

Caitlin stayed with Maggie and Graham Fletcher for ten days. It was strange listening to stories of Fletch's childhood and hearing him called Gary – it didn't seem like they were talking about Fletch. For a few days, the feeling that she was intruding on Fletch's past life continued, and Caitlin worried that maybe he wouldn't have wanted her to do that. But as time went by she realised that his parents had completely accepted that something special might have developed between their son and Caitlin if he had lived, and that this girl deserved to know all the things she hadn't had a chance to find out for herself. Their
acceptance made it okay to be there. In the home Fletch had grown up in, in the memories, the pennants and trophies won at tennis, his room, his dog, the gardens he played in as a child, the photographs, everything Caitlin saw, heard and touched gave her a piece of the man she would never know. The experience was far from easy, but Caitlin knew it would be so much more difficult to pretend that she and Fletch had never taken that first tentative step towards each other.

When she told them what Fletch had said when he thought his mother was beside him, Maggie nodded. ‘He was right, my dear. We do love you.'

Many tears fell as the three mourned for something lost – a son, a lover, a husband, children, grandchildren.

Caitlin found a measure of peace when visiting the small cemetery where Fletch was buried. She laid his ghost to rest there. When she left to return to Namibia, Caitlin still didn't know if she could have loved him but at least she knew that she was not alone in her sorrow over something that might have been. The sharing of that sadness bound her to the Fletchers and made them all a little stronger.

As the plane lifted from Cape Town, she looked down on the green vineyards surrounding Stellenbosch and said goodbye.

Laupheim, Germany: 8 March

A black Mercedes turned off the Stuttgart to München road at Ulm. A short while later it crossed the Danube and turned right towards Laupheim. The
car slowed as it swung into a country lane. Headlights penetrated the darkness, punching brilliant yellow beams through the silent velvet night. It was just after three in the morning. Tyres crunched on gravel, the radio softly played Beethoven's second piano concerto. Snow had started to fall, drifting down, blanketing everything in ghostly white. After another kilometre, the vehicle pulled off into a stand of trees and stopped. All light was abruptly extinguished. The driver's door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out, leaving the interior flooded with soft illumination. He went to the boot and removed a length of hose, attaching one end to the exhaust, placing the other through a window. In the front seat a young girl sat in silence. Walter climbed back in, shut the door and restarted the engine.

‘Soon, my darling. Come to papa.'

Jutta Schmidt slid obediently towards her father who put his arms around her and rested a cheek on top of her head. Exhaust fumes rapidly filled the car. He wondered how long it would take.

Walter had tried everything possible. His daughter remained unchanged. Since Etosha, she had not uttered a single word. She made a kind of low growl, sometimes kept up for hours, or took to giggling hysterically. Nurses were quickly spooked by this behaviour. Those employed to take care of her didn't stay anyway. Jutta bit them – several needed stitches. Things became so bad that committing her to a mental institution seemed the only solution. Walter refused. He and Josie were the only ones she did not attack.

When accepted procedures failed, her psychiatrist tried more extreme measures, showing her pictures and drawings of men and women having intercourse. Jutta stared at them with no reaction.

Then it was discovered that she was pregnant. The doctor recommended termination. Walter again refused. No-one would lay a finger on his little girl. When blood tests confirmed she had AIDS, Walter accepted the news stoically. It was almost a relief, final proof that the solution he'd planned was more than justified.

No-one understood the transfer of everything he owned to a young Jewish South African, a girl he barely knew. Walter didn't try to explain. Who could fully grasp what one tiny gesture of comfort had meant to him? Who could come close to appreciating how the sight of Josie stroking Jutta's hands turned Walter's heart and head upside-down, changing forever the way he looked at life?