When Time Fails (Silverman Saga Book 2) (21 page)

Mr Venter rocked back in his chair and folded his arms. Annamari clasped Thys’ hand.

‘That’s it? It’s over?’ Thys said.

‘It’s over. Here you are. This makes it official.’ Mr Venter slid a document across his desk.

Annamari stared at it. She reached out her hand but she couldn’t bring herself to pick it up. If she did, it would disappear, she just knew it. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. For eight long years, it had been her waking thought. For eight years it had pressed down on her chest whenever she remembered, making it difficult for her to breathe. And now it was over. Just like that. There had been nothing, absolutely nothing to indicate that today would be any different from any other day. The sun had come up as usual. White fluffy clouds had scudded across a brilliantly blue sky, freshly washed by last night’s soaking rain. Everything pointed to the fact that it was going to be a beautiful day. But there had been nothing, nothing at all to indicate that today was going to be a spectacular day. A memorable day.

‘Do you think it’s because the ANC has kicked Mbeki out – that he’s no longer President?’ Thys asked.

Mr Venter shook his head. ‘Not directly. But I was pretty certain after Jacob Zuma ousted him as President of the ANC last year, that things could finally start to go our way. And it seems I was right. It’s too much of a coincidence. The people behind the claim against Steynspruit are on their way out and the final nail in their coffin will be when Zuma becomes President of South Africa next year.’

‘But how did it happen? I mean... who decided... when...’ Annamari stuttered. She picked up the document, held it in her hand gingerly, afraid it would disappear, or explode.

Mr Venter gave her a brief smile, which Annamari had learned over the years, meant he was if not ecstatic, cautiously happy.

‘As you know,’ he said, ‘our application to have the land claim dismissed because it had been submitted after the cut off date was ignored for years. But there have been a few changes at the Land Claims Commission in the last few months. It seems like Zuma’s people are starting to take over. Then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, I got that notification.’ He pointed at the document in her hands. ‘As you can see, it says our application for dismissal has been granted.’

‘So Steynspruit is safe?’

Mr Venter hesitated. Then nodded. ‘It seems so.’

‘You don’t seem very certain. Is it over, or isn’t it?’ Thys asked. He took the document from her trembling fingers and quickly read it. ‘It says here that the claim has been dismissed. That looks pretty final to me.’

‘And so it has. Which obviously is very good news. However, if the claimants appeal the decision – which I think is highly unlikely given the political environment...but if they do, well, anything could happen. And, if they win their appeal – also highly unlikely – but if they do – we have to remember that we have not proved that the claim itself is without merit. But as things stand right now, and in terms of the law, I think we can assume that it is all over. However, if they do decide to appeal, I will of course inform you immediately.’

Annamari shuddered.

***

‘I’m so sorry, Ma,’ Arno said. ‘I would have loved to be with you to celebrate, but I just can’t get away. Not now. It’s wonderful news and I’m sure you must all be very relieved.’

Annamari clutched the phone and blinked. And blinked again. Hard. ‘We are. Yes. It’s been hanging over us for eight years... it feels odd to think it is all over. Probably.’

‘Does...is... will...’ Arno faltered.

Annamari’s heart sank. She knew what he wanted to ask. She wondered if the day would ever come when he wouldn’t ask about her. She let him ask.

‘Does Beauty know? What did she say? Is she going to come up for the party?’

‘Yes Arno. She knows. Petrus says she is absolutely delighted but she’s involved in some big trial in Cape Town and she can’t get away. So... please, won’t you change your mind and come?’

Annamari held her breath. She was sad Beauty couldn’t come but perhaps that meant Arno would reconsider. This was important. It was special. They didn’t have much to celebrate these days. Things were always tough on the farm and the news and newspapers were full of stories about some financial crisis in America which apparently was going to cause a global recession. So if they were going to celebrate, now was the time to do it, before things got really bad. Anyway, almost every member of Steynspruit Kibbutz would be there, all the children too. Petrus had said so. They were going to slaughter a cow and everything. It was going to be enormous fun.

But Arno was adamant. He could not get away from Johannesburg at the moment. Alan Silverman needed him, he said.

Annamari snapped. ‘Arno – Alan Silverman has his family and lots and lots of employees and from what I’ve heard, buckets of money. Surely he can give you this one weekend off...He doesn’t own you. I never would have thought you would put that... that man before your own family.’

‘It’s not like that, Ma. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t go away. I just ... I can’t. Not now. It’s not work... it’s a personal thing. I can’t really discuss it.’

Her heart leaped into her throat. Personal? What lies was Alan Silverman telling Arno now? It was bad enough that he saw her son every single day; that he had insinuated himself into such an important position in Arno’s life – a position he didn’t deserve, a position that belonged to her, and to Thys.

‘Personal? Alan Silverman is your boss, never forget that. There’s nothing personal about that.’

‘Ma... listen, I’m not supposed to say anything. But – well, you and Pa are old friends of his so I don’t suppose he’d mind too much if I told you. It’s his daughter. She’s disappeared.’

‘What do you mean, disappeared?’

‘Gone. Vanished. No one knows where. Her car is missing too.’

‘Oh my word, how terrible! Was she hijacked? Or has she been kidnapped – like that other young girl a few years ago? The one taken from the parking lot at her university? They found her body after her father had paid the ransom, remember? Oh my word, I hope she hasn’t been kidnapped!’

‘No, there hasn’t been a ransom demand, as far as I know. Yair – that’s Mr Silverman’s son – he told me she’s probably run away – but no one knows and it really doesn’t make sense.’

‘Do you know her? What’s she like?’

‘I’ve met her a few times – when Mr Silverman invites me over for supper on a Friday night and sometimes when I go there on a Sunday to do some work. She’s a student at Wits University. I’ve told you about her.’

Annamari swallowed. She seldom listened when Arno chatted on about the wonderful Silverman family. She hated hearing about them. About how close they were, or how rich, or what a wonderful home they had.

‘Actually, she’s a lovely girl. I like her. Very bright and self-assured. A bit of a swot, I think. She’s also very religious and doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything. Apparently they will arrange a marriage for her or something. But now she’s disappeared and Mr Silverman is taking it really hard. They were – are – they are very close. Not like Yair who’s a bit of a problem child, if I read between the lines of what Mr Silverman tells me.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘She left for varsity as usual on Wednesday last week... and that was it. No one has seen or heard from her since. Mr Silverman is frantic, as you can imagine. He hasn’t been into the office – I’m doing everything I can to keep things going. So I can’t go away now. You do understand?’

‘Of course,’ Annamari said, feeling a little sick. It was bad enough not having her sons at home. She hadn’t seen De Wet for years, but at least she knew where he was. She knew he was safe. And that if he needed anything, if he was sick, Brian and Diana would take care of him. They spoke to each other once a week; more, if he had some exciting news to tell them. He had been overjoyed when she had phoned him to tell him about the land claim. Even Brian and Diana – De Wet’s de facto New Zealand parents he called them – had been excited and happy that Steynspruit was safe.

She didn’t want to be, but she felt sorry for Alan Silverman. No matter what he had done – or not done – no parent deserved to be going through what he must be going through. She’d go crazy if anything happened to Arno, or De Wet or Steyn – or even Beauty. And not knowing if your child was hurt or ill or being kept prisoner and tortured, or even dead – well, she could not begin to imagine what that must be like.

‘How is Alan’s wife coping?’ Annamari asked. She didn’t like Alan Silverman’s wife. She’d never met her, obviously. But according to Arno she was thin and beautiful and very elegant and smart and knew how to be the perfect hostess. In other words, the total opposite of her – a frumpy, fa
t
plaasjapi
e
, the kind of woman men like Alan Silverman wouldn’t look at twice. But Alan’s wife was also apparently a bit sickly. Arno said she often had to leave the dinner table and go and lie down when he went there for Friday night dinner.

‘I haven’t seen Mrs Silverman since it happened and Mr Silverman hasn’t said. I don’t want to ask or interfere. He’s so worried about Aviva. Everyone is.’

‘Nooooo!’

Annamari shrugged off Thys’ comforting arm. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes but they were glued to the white toy plane with its red markings – how had she ever thought it was pretty? – as it flipped over, and flipped again in the ominous, threateningly clear blue sky. She heard the sewing machine engine cough, splutter, stall. The single, pathetic, tiny little propeller stopped turning. And she knew, she just knew that the plane was going to plummet into the ground.

‘Nooooo!’ she shrieked again. ‘Thys do something!’

She glared at her husband’s white face. There were droplets of sweat beading his forehead. He was clearly as panicked as she felt. Served him right. Why had she ever let him talk her into this? He knew how she felt about aeroplanes. Arno too. This was also his fault.

‘It’soka
y
liefi
e
... see?’ Thys said as the engine spluttered... took... and the little plane straightened out and started to climb again, the inadequate propeller disappearing against the sky. ‘Come, let’s go and find some shade. It’s too hot to keep standing here.’

‘No. I’m not moving until that... that thing is down on the ground and my son is safe. You obviously don’t care.’

She turned away and scanned the sky, holding up her hand to block the mocking sun, searching for the little plane which had vanished again.

Thys laughed. ‘You’re looking the wrong way. It’s over there. It looks like he’s getting ready to land. See. Here he comes.’

She swung around and stared, horrified, as the little toy plane raced towards the ground, faster and faster. It was going to crash. Anyone could see that. She closed her eyes, waiting for the explosion.

‘You can look now. He’s down.’

Annamari glared at her husband again, hitched up her jeans, gathered what was left of her dignity, and marched towards the white building which apparently housed the Elite Flight School. The little plane was already there, the propeller still, the door open. Her youngest son was loping across the tarmac – the apron he had called it – towards her.

‘Did you see my spin, Ma? And my stall. I love doing that.’

‘Are you crazy? Are you quite, quite crazy? What the hell did you think you were doing?’

Annamari could hear her voice spiralling out of control. She was shaking and there was Steyn, all sparkling brown eyes and a huge grin. She rubbed her itching hand on her leg.

‘Where’s that instructor of yours?’ she hissed. ‘What on earth was he thinking? How can he allow a child to do acrobatics like that? That’s what they do at air shows.’ She turned on Thys who had materialised next to her. ‘Steyn doesn’t even have his licence yet. How can they let him fly like that?’

‘I’m pretty sure he does now,’ Thys said. ‘Congratulations son. That was incredible. I’m so proud of you.’ Thys put his arms around Steyn and thumped him on his back. Annamari wanted to throw up.

***

‘But I told you, Ma. I told you I’d be doing spins and stalls. You have to be able to do that if you want to get your private pilot’s licence. I told you.’ Steyn beamed at her and sipped his Coke.

Steyn hadn’t stopped beaming, not for a single minute. Not when his instructor came over to congratulate him; not during the drive into Bethlehem; not while they waited for the waitress to bring their celebratory lunch order.

‘I know you told me, Steynkie. But you didn’t tell me that you would flip the plane over and over so much that the engine died. If you had, I would never have agreed to you having flying lessons, even if they were a present from Arno.’

Annamari had almost throttled her oldest son when she realised what was in the envelope he gave Steyn for his seventeenth birthday: a voucher for a test flying lesson. Arno had driven down from Johannesburg especially – and had even made the appointment with Darryl at the Elite Flying School in Bethlehem. Thys and Arno drove Steyn to the lesson in Arno’s latest new car, a silver BMW. She had refused to go – which had turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of her life. Because if she had gone, she would have stopped Arno from signing Steyn up for flying lessons, lessons – he informed her proudly – that would eventually enable him to get his private pilot’s licence. If he worked hard.

But, to her eternal regret, she hadn’t felt up to it. She had still been too upset about the phone call from Mr Venter. The claim against Steynspruit was still crawling along, he’d said. She had given up trying to get to grips with the legal intricacies of the appeals and counter appeals that had been going on for the past three years. Mr Venter had fought their case in this court and that court; he’d filed this motion and that appeal; even Beauty had acknowledged that he was doing a good job. But after each foray, when she asked: ‘So, is it over? Is Steynspruit safe?’ Mr Venter had shrugged, cleared his throat and muttered: ‘Not yet.’ All this legal toing and froing was costing a fortune. There was no way they could afford flying lessons. They had barely managed to scrape together enough to fix the roof of the house – the insurance didn’t cover “wear and tear and natural deterioration”. But, she’d stupidly thought – one little test flight, in a little plane – well, that couldn’t do any harm and the reality of it all might just bring Steyn to his senses.

But, it hadn’t and she’d never understand why she had ever imagined that it would.

‘Ma, flying is all Steyn has ever wanted to do,’ Arno had said when she’d calmed down after they’d broken the news that the single test flight had morphed into a signed contract for flying lessons. ‘The instructor who took him up for the test said he was a natural.’

‘I’m sure they say that about every starry-eyed boy who thinks flying is romantic and exciting. Anyway, it’s too expensive. We can’t afford ...’ she’d objected.

‘Ma, it’s my gift to my little brother. I can afford it. Mr Silverman gave me a fantastic bonus, plus the Silver Properties share price is holding its own nicely. And once Steyn is a qualified private pilot, he should stand a better chance of getting accepted for pilot training in the Air Force after he matriculates. Otherwise, he can become my personal pilot.’

Steyn and Arno and even Thys had all laughed.

***

‘I wonder why Arno hasn’t phoned,’ Annamari said as she and Thys settled down on the couch to watc
h
The Amazing Rac
e
. ‘Steyn has been trying to reach him all day.’

It really was strange. Usually, if Arno was busy and couldn’t take a call, he’d phone back as soon as he was free – which was seldom more than an hour or two. But Steyn’s calls, SMSs and WhatsApps with the wonderful news that he was now a qualified pilot had all gone unanswered.

‘I’m going to try again,’ Thys said, reaching for the telephone, which rang just as he was about to lift the handset.

‘Hello? Arno! I was just going to call... did you get our messages... yes, it’s wonderful. Steyn handled himself like a pro... okay, I’ll tell him. Where have you been all day?’

Suddenly, Thys sat bolt upright; his hand holding the handset whitened.

‘What?’ he said. ‘That’s terrible... when...how awful...’

‘Thys,’ Annamari whispered. ‘What’s wrong?’

But Thys ignored her and continued to listen intently to whatever bad news Arno was giving him.

‘Poor, poor Alan,’ he said. ‘The poor man. What a terrible tragedy. Send our deepest sympathy. Tell him he is in our prayers. Keep us informed... Yes... yes... I understand, your ma will too. And you take care of yourself. Good night, son.’

‘What?’ Annamari said.

‘It’s Alan’s wife. She’s... she... Last night. She’s dead. They found her in her bedroom this morning.’

Annamari felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach by a very strong donkey. ‘How? What happened? Arno never said she was sick or anything. Was she murdered?’

‘They’re not sure, Arno says. The police are apparently investigating.’

‘Oh heavens! You see? I wish Arno would come home. He must come home. It’s too dangerous up there in Johannesburg. First their daughter is kidnapped or something; then his wife is murdered... It shows you. No matter how rich and important you are, no one is safe in a place like that. Arno has to see sense and come home ...’

‘No, n
o
liefi
e
. They don’t know if she was... they don’t know what happened. Arno said they think she might have committed suicide.’