Calder took a deep breath. ‘I can see that now. Although I still don’t see how that engine fire could have been anything else.’
Kim shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I want to find out what’s going on here. Not just for Todd’s sake, but for my own. And I’d like you to help me. I trust you more than any of Todd’s family.’ Her bottom lip trembled, and she began to cry. ‘I’m scared, Alex. Just like Martha was when she wrote that letter. I’m scared.’
6
June 28, 1988
I was in a foul mood all morning. Neels didn’t come home. I called George, who said that he and Neels had made the announcement. It was one of the hardest things George has ever had to do. The journalists were in uproar. And not just the journalists, a lot of people are going to lose their jobs, including George himself, of course. Neels has given them three months until closure, September 30. George says it’s going to be a nightmare keeping things going until then.
What will I say to Neels? Last night I was all set to confront him and throw him out on his ear. But now I’m not so sure. It would be demeaning, degrading, to ask him where he was last night. It’s going to be hard to talk sensibly to him, and dangerous to scream at him. I’ll ignore him. He can manufacture a little business trip out of somewhere, he’s done that before.
Caroline looked scared out of her wits this morning before she went to school. How’s she going to take all this? And Todd?
And on top of all that, Zan’s coming this afternoon. I wonder how she’ll be. Polite and surly? Or awkward and bloody-minded? It’s going to be a disaster, I just know it, and I’m not sure I have the strength to deal with it.
Later...
Well, Zan came and it was fine. She’s gone all African. Her blonde hair is braided with beads, her arms are jangling with bracelets and she was wearing a yellow Hotstix Mabuse T-shirt, car-tire sandals and an East African skirt. She still swims, you can see that from her shoulders which are broad and strong. She looks extremely healthy and she still has Neels’s familiar blue eyes. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me when she arrived just after lunch. She was very friendly to Doris; one of the problems we had with her was the way she treated the maids as she got older. You could see Doris was thrilled. I think she was as upset as I was by the way Zan changed as she grew up.
She asked all about Todd and Caroline and my parents. She asked about Neels, and I was positive, I really was. She’s staying in the room she always used to sleep in when she came to Hondehoek, and she started to reminisce about how Doris and I used to help her make clothes for her Barbie dolls. She says she wants to dig them out again. I’m pretty sure they weren’t thrown away; Caroline used to play with them sometimes. Doris promises she will look for them tomorrow. Four years ago Zan would have been mortified at the suggestion that she ever played with dolls. The Barbie stuff is a tad embarrassing, but it was fun at the time.
In fact we had a lot of fun when she was a little kid. She was only five when Penelope and Neels divorced. After we got married she and Edwin came to stay with us for the odd weekend. I felt sorry for her; her mother was an alcoholic with men around all the time. I was trying to get used to this weird country and she became my ally. I probably spoiled her a bit: we got her the pony, and Matt, who started off life as a cute little puppy before turning into that boisterous bruiser of a Labrador. Poor fellow; I miss him. Anyway, she was my little shadow at weekends, prattling away about this and that. When she took up swimming and began to win races, I used to take her to the meets, I cheered her on.
And then... and then it all changed.
But I think it’s going to be okay now. In fact in my current frame of mind, it will be nice to have the company. Of course, she doesn’t know that Neels and I are not getting on. That’s going to be difficult. Because when he comes home tonight she’s certainly going to notice it.
June 29
As I write this, Zan is thrashing up and down in the pool outside despite the temperature — it’s only about sixty. I don’t want her to see me writing in this diary.
She was overjoyed to see Neels last night, and he her. He embraced her so tightly I’m amazed she managed to breathe. Despite myself, I was touched.
But I’m still furious with him, although I did my best to hide it. It worked, I don’t think Zan noticed anything was wrong, but I’m not sure how long I can keep it up. If it hadn’t been for the fact that my husband is a cheating sonofabitch, it might have been a nice evening.
I made coquilles Saint Jacques. Doris and I are a good team, I do like cooking with her. Zan told us a little of what she has been getting up to in Johannesburg. Apparently she shared an apartment with Tammy Mackie, the daughter of Don and Heather Mackie who were both members of the South African Communist Party and are now in exile. Tammy is banned, which means that she can’t go to any meetings of more than a certain number of people, but Zan can and does. I’m sure she didn’t tell us the half of what she’s up to, but it sounded quite exciting. Neels asked her to promise to be careful while she was staying with us. This she agreed to do, to my surprise.
We didn’t mention the newspaper business once, although Neels said he wants to invite the Pellings over to dinner in a couple of days. We know them a little, but we’re hardly best friends. Graham Pelling is loaded, so there’s got to be some business motive behind that, I’m sure. Perhaps Neels can get him to buy the Mail. That would be good.
I let Neels into my bed last night, but I didn’t talk to him. He tried to touch me but I shook him off.
Bastard.
June 30
It’s been raining. The Hondekop is wreathed in wisps of cloud and a couple of miles upstream the valley has disappeared into a ceiling of thick gray. Everything is dripping wet. There’s no wind. The fynbos smells wonderful in the damp air. I was standing by the slave bell, trying to decide how to protect the tulip bulbs from the moles, when I heard a complicated whoop, followed by an answering call. It was a bokmakierie and his mate, flitting about somewhere in the branches of the white stinkwood tree. They are a kind of bush shrike, small with a yellow breast, black collar and loud voice, but the Afrikaans word captures the cadence of the call. The cock sings out “ka-weet, ka-weet, bokmakierie,” and the hen answers. There is something wonderfully domestic about them; I feel as if this is their garden as much as mine.
Suddenly I found myself standing there, in the damp lush garden, with tears streaming down my face. I’m jealous of the married bliss of two dumb birds. I really need to get a grip.
July 1
Zan went to an End Conscription Campaign meeting in Cape Town this morning. I considered asking whether I could come with her, but I don’t quite have the courage.
I’ve seen very little of Neels this past couple of days, although whenever I have seen him he looks in a nasty mood. There’s some heavy criticism of him in the newspapers today. He’s gone from benevolent dictator to evil tyrant in one day. Serves him right. I hope it hurts!
It’s Caroline’s last day at school before the winter holiday. She seems more subdued than she usually does at the end of term. I’m sure she feels the tension between me and Neels. Poor girl!
July 2
Saturday, and Neels is taking the day off. The newspaper editorials, the letter pages and the journalists are all outraged over the closure of the Mail. They hate Neels, and it’s really getting to him. George and his journalists are demanding that Neels allow them to buy the Mail themselves, or find another friendly buyer. Neels told them that if they could find a buyer he would happily sell. He’s certain they won’t and I fear he is right.