Those Who Love Night (38 page)

Abigail hung up and started packing. It was a process that would take less than five minutes. Apart from clothing and the single file containing the documentation of the matter that had brought her to this place, there was only her laptop and its few accessories.

Something had changed in the storm, possibly the wind direction. The rain was beating against the window now. Streams of water flowed down the pane on the outside. Nothing was visible through the glass.

There was still no guarantee that Yudel and Helena would return with a full fuel tank, or when they would return. The only thing that was guaranteed was that they could not afford even the slightest delay.

Abigail was crouched in front of the cupboard, reaching for her spare pair of shoes, when she heard the door open, then close immediately. “Yes?” she asked.

She had the shoes in one hand and was starting to rise, still facing away from the door. Yudel must have arrived back sooner than she had anticipated. “You ready to go?”

“No, I'm not. It's a surprise to find that you are.” The rich tones of Jonas Chunga's voice were unmistakable.

For Abigail, it would take a while before speaking was possible.

“Leaving now in this weather?” The voice was calm, but carefully controlled. Abigail could see none of the gentle amusement she had seen in his eyes before. “I understand there are no flights tonight. The storm has ruled them out.”

“Is that so?” Getting the words out was not easy.

Chunga had moved to the bed. He sat down. “I'm afraid it is. You may as well unpack. It's not possible to go anywhere tonight. Or were you thinking of changing hotels?”

“No; this one is quite satisfactory.” Her voice had risen a few notes. But where the hell was Yudel—and would he rush in, wet, expecting that they would be ready to go?

“I thought so. By current standards it's a pleasant enough place.” Chunga leaned back on the bed in a posture of exaggerated relaxation. His eyes were cold, or were they pleading? The fingers of one hand beat a silent rhythm on the bedspread. He gestured vaguely in the direction of the stairs and the lobby. “I asked the manager about you and she said that you were booking out, but I corrected her. I told her that booking out on a night like this was not feasible. She must have misunderstood you.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said. I don't know where this is going, she thought, but don't come in now, Yudel. Stay away a little longer while I deal with this. This is something I have to handle myself. I don't know how, but I have to.

“Of course, that may prove to be a problem for your friend, Mr. Gordon. As I understand it, he has to be out of the country by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I'm sure the weather will be better tomorrow.” She hated the breathless, almost apologetic tone she heard in her voice. “These tropical storms don't usually last long.”

“Quite so. I'm sure he'll be fine. I'll just sit here while you unpack.”

“That's not necessary,” Abigail said. She had control over her voice now. “We will be leaving in the morning, after all.”

“Of course. Then why not sit down next to me?”

No, Abigail thought. I'm not sitting down next to you or across a dinner table from you, not ever again.

“Please.” He was patting the bed next to him. “It's a comfortable bed. But you know that. You've been sleeping in it for a few nights now.”

“Yes.” But where do I go from here? she wondered. Should I be the regretful lover who never quite became a lover and has now realized that her heart belongs to her husband? Or the indignant advocate who orders him out of her bedroom? Or do I buy safe passage by giving him what he wanted all along? Or do I tell him I know that he never wanted me, that he still longs for my aunt?

“Where is Mr. Gordon, by the way?”

“He went out.”

“Any particular destination?”

“I'm sure there must have been one, but he never shared it with me.”

“What a pity. He is a very clever man, I have to admit. He almost succeeded in deceiving me this afternoon. I only realized what he'd been up to after he'd left. He and I have unfinished business. I'd best wait here until he returns.”

But you aren't in his room, she thought. You're in mine. Then again, perhaps it's better that you aren't in his room.

Abigail had decided on her strategy. She did not have great confidence in it, but it was at least based on the one strength she knew she had. It was possible that her face, so like that of her Aunt Janice, still left him vulnerable. It had on every occasion so far. But then she knew nothing about his relationship with her aunt. With an effort, she produced a smile. “You know,” she said, “you have had a powerful effect on me. I came very close to forgetting my marriage vows.”

“Close, but not quite.”

She could still see no sign of softening or flirtation in his face. “Especially last night.”

“That's interesting. Everything about you has been interesting so far.”

“I should think it has been more than just interesting,” she said. How far can I go with this?

“It was interesting for me, but perhaps for you it was just a game, a tease. I think that's the commonly used word.”

“It never was that.” This time Abigail was telling the truth.

“A tease, because you thought you could use me in the quest for justice—what a word—for those clients of yours.”

“No, Jonas. It was not that. For a few days I almost reached the point when I would have done anything for you.”

“Almost.”

“Yes, almost.”

“But that's over, so there's nothing for me to do but to leave, I suppose.”

Abigail knew at which moments silence provided the best argument. And she knew that this was one of them.

“I suppose it would be best if I left, and then tomorrow you and the Gordons can board your flight to Johannesburg. That seems like the obvious solution.”

There was still no sense in replying, but now she knew that he did not intend leaving soon, at least not before Yudel returned. And what did he intend to do with Yudel then?

From beyond the wall, the sound of a heavy object falling to the floor reached them. Chunga's eyebrows rose in a bored imitation of surprise. “Rosa Gordon is a careless packer.”

You bastard, Abigail thought, how do you even know her name? “That can't be her. She's not here; hasn't been for a few days.”

“So you've had her husband all to yourself?”

Forget it, she thought. I'm not going to play your game. There was always the option of racing him to the door. She was closer than he was. But what would she do once she was on the other side of the door, if she even got that far? And perhaps he had a man waiting for him in the passage.

“Well, that's all I have to say.” He rose and stretched, the picture of a middle-aged man waking from a slumber. “Good night, Abigail.”

It was too easy, much too easy. To respond in any way would be to invite a reaction.

“Are you not going to bid me good night? How about a last kiss?”

The hand that reached out to take her behind the neck moved much too fast for her to avoid it. She was pulled toward him with sheer physical power that she was not able to resist. In the same movement, she was thrown onto the bed and pinned there by one strong arm pressing into her solar plexus.

This time there could be no pleading with him. The pressure of his hand eased a little as he changed position and she tried to roll free. A hand was at her throat, cutting off the air to her lungs. Her left hand was free. Its fingers found one of his eyes. “No,” he cursed. A large hand flashed and she was pinned down again.

“Why, Jonas?” her voice rasped painfully. “There's no point to this.”

“I think there is.”

“Don't do this. You'll regret it later.”

“No; you're the one who may regret it later.” He was on the bed with her. The weight of his body made it impossible to break free. The hand at her throat moved and she could breathe again. She felt her blouse torn away in a single movement. She got one of her legs free. She aimed the knee at his testicles, but found only a fleshy thigh. “Before you struggle any further, know that you can't win.” One of his hands was on her forehead, pressing her head down into the pillow. The other was at the zip of her trousers. She heard the fabric tear. “Abigail.” In saying her name, the tone of his voice had changed. She heard something close to pleading in it now. “Abigail, I never wanted you this way. I wanted you to be my woman. Even now, I can give you so much.” She was pinned down, but it was clear that he had stopped trying to hurt her. “It's not too late. It's still not too late.”

“Jonas, it makes sense for us to stop and talk about this.”

“You mean it makes sense for me to stop.”

Her left hand found the hotel's reading lamp and she swung it hard, making sharp contact with the side of his head. For just a moment his grip weakened. She saw his right hand rise and the beginning of its descent. She ducked her head forward, pressing her face against his right shoulder. The punch scraped the back of her head. The second smashed against an ear. With her head burrowing into his shoulder, she was protected from his right hand. He tried with the left, but missed entirely. “I'll fucking kill you,” he cursed. “I would have done anything for you.”

She felt her trousers being torn away. The protective warmth of the fabric had disappeared. One of his legs was between hers, prying them apart. The fingernails of one hand found the skin of his face. She dug them in with the fury of desperation and heard his grunt of pain. Her fingers moved, finding new flesh to dig them into.

With a violent jerk he lifted both her hands above her head and pinned them there with one of his, leaving his other free. She felt him tear away whatever protective clothing remained.

I'm sorry, Robert, she thought. I know I got myself into this. Oh God, Robert, I'm sorry.

“You forced me into this. You've been looking for this ever since you got here.” His face was pressed against hers, his mouth seeking hers. She could feel his erection against her upper thigh. Oh, Robert.

A loud crash and an avalanche of plaster shards that sprayed around her and into her face made her turn her face away. Her eyes closed involuntarily under this new assault. Chunga's body, so powerful a moment before, had become a deadweight. She pushed at him. Someone else was also pulling. The
CIO
director's body rolled to the side, falling heavily to the floor.

Abigail turned her head to one side to shake off the plaster dust and the pieces that seemed to be everywhere. Wiping it away to clear her eyes, her fingers closed around a larger piece. She opened her eyes and found that she had in her hand the still snarling head of the plaster tiger. One of the elephant's tusks rested in the hollow at the base of her throat.

Rosa was standing over her. “My dear, are you all right?” she asked.

“My clothes have seen better days, but I'm fine.” She had rolled to the side and was sitting on the edge of the bed. “That's more than can be said for the tiger and the elephant. Christ, Rosa, I don't suppose it seemed to be consensual?”

“No, it didn't look terribly like it.” Rosa sounded excited. She was staring at the unconscious body of Jonas Chunga on the floor. She had never before assaulted anyone, let alone rendered an officer of the law unconscious. It was the first time that Abigail had seen her composure shaken. It looked to her as if Rosa was having difficulty in believing that she was responsible for the state Chunga was in. “Men don't usually tear your clothing, when it's consensual. At least, Yudel never did.”

Abigail was hanging on to Rosa and laughing softly in a state of barely controlled hysteria. “No, I don't suppose he did.”

“And you're far too sensible a person for it to have been consensual,” Rosa gasped.

I wish I believed that, Abigail thought. “We'd better get out of here. Where's Yudel?”

“I think I heard the car arrive downstairs as I was coming in here. Get into something else, but do hurry.” Her chest was rising and falling furiously. “He's not dead, is he?”

“No. He's breathing.”

“Then we must hurry. He's not going to be in this condition indefinitely.”

50

Yudel had little interest in matters of a mechanical nature, but he did know how to remove the valves from car tires. He removed all four from the
CIO
double-cab that Jonas Chunga had parked in front of the hotel. To get it moving again would not be the simple matter of changing a tire.

It was still raining hard, but without the earlier violence, and this time he was sheltered by the hotel proprietor's umbrella. As he drove away from the hotel, he threw the valves, one at a time, into the yards of houses they were passing.

Helena had shown great enthusiasm for the sabotaging of the tires on Chunga's vehicle, encouraging him with assurances that she would never underestimate him again, and that she had never imagined him to have such street smarts. “Where can we drop you?” Abigail asked her.

“Like hell!” Even her agreement was couched in hostile terms. “I'm coming with you to Plumtree. You're going to need me.”

Yudel drove toward Samora Machel Drive, the main artery that he knew led to the Bulawayo road. Rosa was in the seat next to him, with Abigail and Helena in the back. “Not this way,” Helena said. “If he does know what we're doing, like maybe the Plumtree crowd may have called him, then there may already be roadblocks. We've got to stay away from Samora Machel for as long as we can. Once we're on the Bulawayo road there's nothing we can do about roadblocks. But in town, that's where they're likely to stop us.”

The wipers were running at maximum speed, keeping the windscreen clear enough to give Yudel reasonable visibility. Ahead the road looked clear. A single pair of headlights, one of which was blinking intermittently, was approaching from the front. The pavements were empty. “I don't think they'll have roadblocks yet,” he said.