Circle With 3 Corners E-Book

AnB Love

• Herausgeber: Europa Edizioni
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Author AnB Love is as enigmatic and compelling a character 
as is her break-out novel. It’s a knotted tale about 
big game poaching, crooked politicians, international crime 
and (somewhat unexpectedly) an intimate look 
into the underbelly of the skin trade.
But don’t expect an “all guns blazing” kind of spectacle here.
This “circle with three corners” is a much more nuanced, 
an almost personal feeling, story. 
Whether that is through fictionalised autobiography 
or just darn good writing we can only guess.

David Bristow, author and environmentalist

AnB Love, the mysterious author, finds her true expression in the realm of creativity, and in the domain of suspense, thriller and romance, she aims to evoke emotions and readers to “Feel the Words,” while blurring the boundaries between reality and vivid fiction.

Her narrative transcends mere fictional storytelling, she endeavours to shed light on real-life issues, exploring emotional and moral dilemmas while reflecting the multifaceted nature of the human experience.
Amid crafting novels and contributing to publications, AnB embarks on wild African adventures with her husband, indulging in the thrill of 4x4 off-roading. Armed with their camera equipment, they capture the raw essence of untamed landscapes, immortalizing fleeting moments in time. 

Leseprobe

AnB Love

Circle With 3 Corners

© 2023 Europe Books| London www.europebooks.co.uk | [email protected]

ISBN 9791220143011

First edition: September 2023

Edited by Stella Fusca

Circle With 3 Corners

Circle With 3 Corners

Desperate for closure about her mother’s mysterious life and death, Emily’s eventful Safari

holiday takes an unexpected turn when she

becomes an undercover agent to infiltrate an international modern slavery network.

But the quest for truth and justice imposes heavy toll.

How can she break free from the chains of her past

and rewrite her destiny?

A c k n o w l e d g e m e n t s

To my husband, who is my biggest fan and also my harshest critic, I’m immensely grateful. This novel would not have happened without your unwavering support, patience, the countless debates, and your input at the most crucial times when I hit the ‘blank wall’ in my writing.

My heartfelt appreciation to my family and friends, an author Eleanor, and a dramatist Barry, to Tita and Debbie, for their valuable feedback on the manuscript, their advice and corrections.

I would like to express my gratitude to Sheena Billett for her meticulous proofreading and editing of the first draft.

A particular word of thanks goes to the accomplished author and environmentalist, David Bristow, for providing me with much-needed encouragement.

To the many other authors whom I admire and who have paved the way before me, your words and stories continue to inspire and challenge me to push the boundaries of my own creativity.

I want to also thank the characters who sprang to life within the realm of my imagination and refused to be silenced, you breathed life into this manuscript. And let me not forget the ever-present companion of self-doubt, whose whispers in my ear have impelled me to question, explore possibilities, and refine my words.

To each and every person who has crossed my path in life, even if only for a fleeting encounter, I believe that you were there for a reason, to teach me something valuable.

And finally, to my readers, your support has made this literary journey all the more meaningful and rewarding.

Autho r ’ s No te

The characters portrayed in this work of fiction are entirely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

While majority of geographical places and landmarks mentioned in this novel are real, their depiction and portrayal are fictionalized for the purpose of the story. Efforts have been made to ensure the accuracy of the descriptions and details of these locations; however, they may have been altered or modified to suit the narrative. The establishments, businesses, and organizations mentioned in this novel, unless otherwise stated, are purely fictional.

Any resemblance to real establishments is unintended and should not be construed as an endorsement or association with those establishments.

The author has taken care to research and depict realworld locations and their characteristics, but discrepancies or artistic liberties may exist for the sake of the story. The novel blends fiction and reality, including historical facts, cultural references, and societal aspects. However, readers should remember that this is a work of fiction and may not reflect real-world events, beliefs, or practices. The author and publisher do not assume any liability for any consequences arising from the use of the information contained within this novel. Readers are encouraged to exercise their own judgment and discretion when interpreting the content.

Although a work of fiction, the novel aims to shed light on the severity of human trafficking, the lifelong impact on victims and survivors, including physical injuries, addiction, PTSD, and mental health disorders.

By raising awareness, supporting organizations dedicated to prevention and rehabilitation, and advocating for stronger legislation, we can work together to eradicate human trafficking and provide support to survivors.

C H A P T E R – 1

It is about Life or Death. A choice to be made in a heartbeat. Even if you believe you are, you are never fully prepared when confronted with the inevitable.

The roar ripped through the air. Raw. Ferocious. Sending tremor into my heart. Its resounding vibration had not yet faded when the next bellow rumbled. And another one. The male shook his densely ruffled mane in a display of dominance and superiority, his tail swishing whip-like in wild directions and his muscles strung – ready to propel into action. The lioness bared her fangs. She lowered her head to her shoulders, her ears flattened, and eyes ignited with yellow blazing fire. It was not a flare of anger or fear burning in her eyes, but a defiant spirit, filled with courage and determination. She knew she might be facing death. The odds of beating the male lion – the most feared and powerful who always gets his way – were close to none. With resolve, she stood her ground, barring him from where her cubs were hidden.

He advanced, and the blow from his powerful paw landed with a thump on the lioness’s flank. The male’s intimidating roar eclipsed her growl of strangled pain. He imposed his supremacy as the second blow of his muscular paw, energised with deathly intent, sent her sprawling; turning up a tuft of grass from the parched earth. My fingers gripped tighter around the game vehicle railing. The lioness staggered back to her feet, but it was too late; with vaulting strides and gaping maw, the male had reached the cubs who were desperately trying to hide behind the termite mound. He got hold of the nearest cub and crunched his jaw into it, mauling it remorselessly. I raised my palm to my face to hide the vision.

A quivering yelp. One more… And the final cry for help. Don’t look. Vivid images formed in my mind of what must have happened.

“Go, girl – go! Come on – don’t you give up!” Shepherd yelled from the driver’s seat of the Land Cruiser.

I snuck a glimpse through my fingers. The lioness, with loping bounds, flung herself on the male’s back and clung onto him with an unyielding grip of last hope and despair. With the grunt, the male released the cub from his jaws – an expression of surprise and annoyance. Wiggling and bouncing, he attempted to throw the female off. She almost lost her grip but sunk her canines and claws even deeper into his flesh. The tumult lifted the earth in a plume of red sand with a glowing halo against the backlight silhouette of the ochroid sun. And it engulfed them, transforming into a ferocious whirl of discordant thunder, with slashing claws and black tufts of fur at the ends of their tails.

As swiftly as the battle had begun, it was all over. The puff of dust gradually dispersed, leaving behind an unsettling silence in its wake.

Still smarting from the retaliation, he let go with a guttural roar. In a demonstration of his ire, the male tossed his magnificent, dark tawny mane with a headshake before striding away in the direction from which he had come; his flanks bearing trails of bloodied lacerations.

Weakened by her injuries, the lioness limped to

where the cubs had been hiding. She sniffed the ground in the surrounding area where only strewn fur clumps were left to be found. The feline raised her chin with flared nostrils, picking up the scent. She called. Her low note resonated enduring grief. The only reply was a crackling sound of scurrying spurfowls. She called once more. This time, a barely audible squeak answered from the Mopani shrubs and a single cub emerged, wobbling and stumbling on its tiny legs. Before the game ranger might see my emotions, I wiped my knuckles over my eyes. Shepherd addressed me while observing the lioness’ and cubs’ interaction – he presumably pretended not to have noticed my discomfort, “Miss, you must understand, the predator’s world in nature is ruled by three basic instincts: survival, hunger and dominance.”

“I guess the same applies to us humans. We are also part of nature.”

“True, Miss, but there is more to us than a simple survival instinct. In Tsonga language we say ‘Ndza’ which means” – he tapped his finger on his chest and animated a large circle with his hands – “Mina yo kulu. In English, it explains: ‘I am the big me’.” Shepherd regarded me to confirm whether I had grasped what he was trying to say.

“You mean the ego?”

“Jah, I had forgotten the word. It’s the energy to live. But see, when the ego grows large, it wants more things. It craves all the power. Becomes unhealthy.” Shepherd’s pinched lips, underlining his statement. “This is why we have murders, corruption, violence and crime. Because people crave to be rich and want to have big power.”

Shepherd’s cynical, yet accurate explanation struck me as profoundly apt, referring to the graphic life-anddeath duel I had witnessed.

It stumped me for a response. Maybe Shepherd wasn’t even expecting any comment.

“Let’s leave the brave girl with her saved cub for some alone-time. In any case, it’s time to go, Mister Du Randt is expecting you for sundowners,” Shepherd noted over his shoulder to me, his smile displaying a row of milky-white, healthy teeth in contrast to his dark, sun- and weather-beaten skin.

“Base two, base two, on the way. Over and out,” he spoke over the radio and started up the Land Cruiser. The engine cranked into gear and rumbled when driving off on the sandy road, dodging the fresh balls of elephant droppings where eager dung beetles were already hard at work.

I glanced back at the lioness. With the bobble-head cub lovingly held in her powerful mouth, she blended into the brush of the Mopani, and faded into the distance.

“Welcome to Carpe Diem game farm.” Daniel extended his hand to help me off the game vehicle. “Please forgive me for not being at the airport to receive you. I only arrived an hour ago from an urgent assignment.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” Climbing down, I skipped the last step, and he caught me, suspending me in the air for a few seconds before allowing my feet to touch the ground.

“Follow me,” he beckoned, and led me to the cathedral-styled thatched lapawith an extended wooden deck overlooking the valley. I came to a halt. The scene greeting me was identical to the photograph I had received a week ago in my letterbox with the plane ticket. Two khaki canvas directors’ chairs on the deck, with a sunset view of Africa’s bushveld as a backdrop, and the backrest of the left chair displaying one word – Emily.

And neat handwriting on the back of the photograph had read:

The one chair is empty.

Thought you might’ve had enough of Britain’s rainy weather.

Why not change it for a sunny holiday?

It had been a drawn-out month since Daniel’s hurried departure from England to South Africa. My memory flashed back to us standing at Heathrow Airport; Daniel’s head bandaged, and a smudge of my lipstick on the lapel of his suit jacket. I must have looked ridiculously transparent in my hopes for him to say what I wanted to hear. The moment passed with the announcement over the intercom of his flight boarding. His “Goodbye” had been the last word. I took it as conclusive evidence: The End!

“Dammit!” My ankle twisted, and I grasped Daniel’s arm in a reflex. Then smiled apologetically for my inappropriate choice of language and wiggled my heel free from the step’s timber slats. Daniel cast a fleeting glance at my midi heeled ankle boots – the same pair I was wearing when I boarded the plane in London.

“I’m afraid, Emily, those won’t serve you well on the safari, and” – the dimple dent on Daniel’s cheek betrayed his amusement – “I suggest a shopping trip to Hoedspruit tomorrow for a more suitable outfit than the dazzling mini.”

“Shame on you. You didn’t prepare me what to expect other than a sunny holiday. On second thoughts, I’m glad I didn’t pack my beach umbrella and a tiger print bikini.”

He gave a good chuckle, knowing full well I was only clowning, especially about the non-existent tigers in Africa.

“Meantime, I’ve left you a welcome kit of essentials, such as sunscreen and mozzie repellent in your chalet. But looking at your dry lips, refreshments are on their way right now.” Daniel became preoccupied in the bar nook, and I allowed my curious eyes to rove around the eighty-square-meter African-themed lapa. The leather and sleeper-wood furnishings created a cosy and unpretentious atmosphere,and an illuminated sidewall – displaying a portfolio of wildlife canvases – drew me to get a closer look. A sepia oil painting of a grumpy buffalo with an imposing scowl grabbed my attention. The artist’s technique matched the rest of the artworks grouped in the gallery.

“Wow, such an original style. Daniel, did you paint these?” I questioned, fascinated by the lion in the painting whose hypnotic eyes appeared to watch me from every angle.

“No, it wasn’t me. It was Sonja.”

What an awkward blunder from me. Before I probed, I should have noticed the letter ‘S’ in front of the handwritten ‘Du Randt’ on the artworks. To lead the discussion to Daniel’s late wife wouldn’t have been the great start to our conversation, and I changed the focus:

“Shepherd informed me you have the Big 5 on the farm?”

“He is correct, they are around us. Although there’s never a guarantee to see them as on order,” Daniel explained as he snapped the cans open and poured the fizzy tonics into the glasses. “After all, we are in their territory, and they’re not on parade to entertain us like in a zoo. It takes not only patience and luck to find them, but also know-how.”

“It sounds more of a hide and seek game to me.”

“Let’s play that tomorrow.” Carrying a gin and tonic glass in each hand, Daniel motioned with his head. “Shall we? The chair has been missing you for far too long.”

The chair has been missing me? – He hasn’t changed from the man who weighed his words, guarded his emotions and displayed affection sparingly.

“I’ve missed you too, Daniel,” I daringly admitted, taking the seat unequivocally designated for me. Daniel settled into the other safari directors’ chair, which had weathered wooden armrests and faded, sagging canvas – tell-tale signs of age. Unlike his, my chair gleamed from fresh varnish, and the new khaki canvas seat felt trimmed tight. His touching efforts were not lost in me.

“Look over there” – Daniel pointed into the distance – “it’s called a memory of elephants.” An elephant herd, like giant boulders in motion, walked on the horizon with their outlines etched into the incarnadine hues.

“Camera! I need my Camera…” I cringed. “Absentminded of me. I forgot it in the game vehicle.”

“No stress, there will be more of these prize-winning photographic opportunities, I promise,” Daniel smiled at my excitement, his gaze roving over the hundred and eighty-degree copper painted panorama. The glowing rays enriched his honey-toned skin and accentuated the lines on his face. Not lines. But fingerprints of over four decades of life experiences, traces of love and loss, challenges and wisdom. My eyes were drawn to the reddish scar line tracing at an angle from his forehead into his salt and pepper hair. Daniel became aware of me observing him.

“Your wound has healed well,” I noted quickly, “Now it’s a remnant to remind you how incredibly fortunate you were.”

“One never knows what devils hide up their sleeves, and what God in his mercy has in store for me,” his tone neutral, as if he was unfazed about the fact that he was inches away from the death. He added: “I was given God’s mercy. This time.”

Odd. Daniel had said the exact philosophical statement to me after the failed assassination attempt. Somebody desperately wanted him dead then. Though, I’d never asked if such an incident was the first time for him. Or the last?

“Daniel, please tell me…” I attempted an eye contact “…is your life still in danger?”

“It’s part of the job, and one of the risks I have to take,” he stated matter-of-factly, not meeting my eyes. “Let me explain – predators first give what we call a ‘mock charge’. It’s to warn, intimidate, delude – it’s a message. The opponent must assess the situation, and act to either prevent the ‘real charge’, to back-off, or to be ready to face the attack.” Daniel’s gaze lingered somewhere between the treetops and skyline. I turned my head in the same direction to figure out what he was observing. The circling vultures over a carcass? The bloodred coin of a sun? The peregrine falcon dive-bombing the dove? It aimed with precision, speed, and a lethal strike.

What on earth was Daniel trying to say? I had asked a direct question if someone still wants his head. And he’d given me a metaphor.

“I hear what you said,” I commented; feeling I ought to respond. More vultures had joined – silently, patiently hovering above and forming an ominous shadow in the sky. Like a dark omen.

“Am I allowed to know how long before the next investigation calls you away?”

“Well, since you ask, it is the same case, but new developments have surfaced.”

“I don’t want to sound impertinent, and I know it’s not my place to poke my nose into, but does this have anything to do with this morning’s news headlines?”

Daniel ran the pad of his thumb over his brow, a sign he was considering his answer. To give him some time, I continued: “I read a local newspaper on the flight here. Breaking news of a South African celebrity, an actor, found dead – a suicide. Rumours say he was a friend of a British politician who remains unnamed. The media reported of him recently being exposed for having child pornography material and an alleged connection to a paedophile ring. And, over and above, there were accusations of other nefarious dealings and money laundering schemes. All these revelations place the circumstances of his death under a cloud of suspicion.” I took a sip of my drink and furtively checked for Daniel’s reaction. He remained inscrutable and I continued:

“Anyway, when I read it, I thought it falls exactly into your field of expertise.”

“His untimely death adds a fresh dimension to the case. Not unexpected, though,” Daniel stated nonchalantly.

I knew it! My instincts were proven correct that this case was part of Daniel’s portfolio.

“Did I hear you say ‘death’ – not a suicide?”

“At this moment, I am not speculating on anything, Emily. As you have come to know, I first investigate, examine the facts and analyse the evidence. Then, and only then, do I act.”

“Of course. My apologies.”

“It’s getting late, how inconsiderate of me to keep on talking while you must be starving. Shepherd has the fire going for our braai. Let’s go.”

I figured he wished to close the discussion of his investigation.

Daniel handed me his glass to carry, picked up our camp chairs and I followed him down the path leading away from the main house and into a circular area made of bound branches. Here, the evenly spaced paraffin lamps lined the inner circle, and in the centre of the ring nested an open firepit where Shepherd attended by adding extra wood into the flames.

“Enjoy my boma, this” – he straightened up and swept his hand wide over the surroundings – “is part of our African culture. Traditionally used as a kraal to protect the cattle and sheep, now it is a place where we gather together with family and friends.”

“You keep surprising me, Shepherd.” I returned the smile.

He spoke few words in Afrikaans with Daniel before his slender figure vanished with a gait unexpectedly agile for his age.

“Shepherd delivered a message from my dad, offering his sincere apologies for not joining us tonight. He is on a critical mission in the veldt. There has been another incident of rhino poaching, yet again. They are pursuing the poachers, and it’s impossible to predict when they’ll return. My dad is however eager to meet you tomorrow.” Daniel drew camp chairs closer to the heat ring. “It’s to keep us cosy. Although the days are hot, it’s the change of the season into summer, and the nights can still be nippy.”

I leaned back in my ‘Emily’ camp chair and observed Daniel’s activity with rapt attention. He meticulously separated glowing embers from the fire, arranged them under the braai grid and felt the heat with his palm – seemingly a well-practised procedure. Then retrieved a pocketknife from his cargo pants and cut a binding rope from the wood bundle with a single slash. “Let’s switch on our bush television,” he commented, tossing another log into the lapping flames, and smacked the dust off his palms against his rolled-up shirtsleeve. I’d only ever seen him dressed in trendy business attire in England, and while he was the same man – at ease in his own flesh with unwavering assurance – another Daniel stood before me. It couldn’t have only been his khaki colour-coded outfit that was different, neither his sandy hiking boots, which bore evidence of having had their fair share of devoted service to their owner. I keep on discovering that there’s much more to the complex Daniel.

“Emily, I need to give you a heads up,” he broke my train of thoughts, “tomorrow the wake-up call is at five.”

“A what! Before sunrise? Surely you must be kidding. I was under the impression I came for a holiday.”

“I want you to experience the Carpe Diem moment.

You’ll see what I mean.”

A thunderous roar reverberated, and I jolted upright.

“My goodness, is the lion here, somewhere?”

Another resounding bellow. Raw. Riveting. Even after hearing it a few times, it still had the power to rattle me.

“Relax, he is quite a few kilometres away.” Daniel raised his gaze skywards. “On a crisp, clear night like this, sound travels surprisingly far. Shepherd told me of the action you witnessed during the game drive. It might be the same rogue male who terrorised our gallant girl.”

“Yeah, I wonder why the lion was such a bloodthirsty beast?”

“The young nomad males frequently intrude into the other lions’ territory, hoping to displace the dominant male,” Daniel patiently explained, “Killing the cubs is an instinct to secure their own gene pool.”

“Gruesome sight. I didn’t expect the lioness to defeat the all-powerful male lion.”

“That’s our girl, Nyeleti, a true lioness with grit and nerve. She will not give in or give up.”

“What an intriguing name.”

“We give our special animals names to suit their personality. Nyeleti means ‘Star’ in the local Tsonga language,” Daniel spoke while arranging the meat on the braai grid, the dripping marinade hissing and sparking in the flames. “Lionesses form a pride with one dominant male. Living in a coalition improves the chances of successful hunting and brings safety in numbers. Nyeleti, on the other hand, is a loner. This is how she received her name as a ‘lone-star’. She is an accomplished hunter, and yet an uncompromising mother.”

“That’s a mother’s spirit – risking her own life to protect her cubs. I am relieved she managed to save at least one of her cubs. The little survivor also deserves a name,” I prompted to Daniel. “What do you suggest it should be?”

Daniel took his time, watching the pieces of meat on the grid with tender care. Only after he was satisfied that the impala fillet was grilled to his satisfaction, did he say,

“I can think of nothing more apt than Masungulo.”

“I fancy the sound of it,” I remarked, “though I suspect the name has a significant meaning. What exactly?”

Daniel came and sat next to me, leaning his elbow on the armrest, he angled himself to face me. “Masungulo means ‘Beginning’.”

“Beginning?” I parroted, perplexed by his choice. Only when I saw the corners of Daniel’s eyes curve in a familiar way whenever he smiled did I realise the intended ambiguity of what he had meant. A fresh start! I avoided Daniel’s eyes. “It’s getting hot in front of the fire. Makes me swelter.” Dear me. It must have been the most ridiculous pretext I could have concocted.

“I see you’re overheating,” Daniel commented,

making me feel even more self-conscious by noticing my florid face. “It’s time,” – he rose, defusing the awkward moment – “our food is ready and there can be no braai without a fine South African wine.” He pulled the cork out of the wine bottle with a gentle pop and handed me the glass.

“Gesondheid!” He toasted. “In Afrikaans, it means ‘to your health’.” Daniel raised the wineglass to his lips.

“Wait!” I stopped him before he could drink. “Not my health,” I said, and made a second salute: “To our, good health.”

C H A P T E R – 2

“Iwish you knew the ‘everything’.” Mum is not wearing her favourite yellow dress. It’s a sterile-white hospital gown. “Your mother made her choice. So did you.” A faceless man. His tone – much like his burnished leather wingtip shoes – possesses self-assurance.

“Choice?” It is my wavering voice I’m hearing.

“Indeed, and isn’t it most peculiar – we are where things started.” His baritone laughter mimics a joker.

“What do you mean? In the beginning? The end?” I sound confused.

“Emily, no matter what choices we make in our life, regrets are inevitable.” He lifts up the revolver… “Do you choose or are you chosen?” He aims the barrel… Finger pressing the trigger. Tok – Tok – Tok

Again. Tok –Tok –Tok. I strained my eyes to focus but stared into obscurity. Strangling darkness. What’s the smell? A pungent antiseptic odour of a hospital? – No. It is the scent of the smouldering insect-repellent coil. Cold dampness clung to me like my second skin, and I clutched my tightened chest. The thudding sound against the wood persisted.

“Hello!” Shepherd’s muffled voice drifted to me from outside. “Wake-up call, Ma’am! Game-drive time.”

I groped for the bedside lamp switch and the sudden blaring light pained my eyes. I muttered a curse.

Shepherd knocked on the door – frantically this

time – and yelled, “Are you there, Ma’am? Are you all right?”

I ran my fingers over my face and examined my hand. No blood?

Of course, not – it was all a dream.

Nothing other than an awful dream.

“Yes. Thanks, Shepherd.” My words came out

croaky and shaky. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

The sound of his footsteps faded away. I flopped back onto the pillow and allowed myself a moment to adjust to my surroundings. The mosquito net, suspending above the bed floated like a wispy white dream, in a stark contrast to my nightmare, and the powerful presence of the man from my dream still held its grip on me. I hate when it happens. What exactly was the doctor’s explanation? “Nightmares can be an indicator of post-traumatic stress disorder. Emily, you should seek professional help.” I’d given the doctor a noncommittal response, having already relegated the suggestion to the backburner.

I dashed into the outdoor shower and gritted my teeth against the needles of the icy water slashing my skin. As always – the pain numbed my emotions and cleared my mind from the spectres.

“Stay calm.” Daniel lowered his voice and took my hand in his. “Don’t make any sudden movement. Watch carefully, he will walk past you, and check you out.”

“What you mean – check me out?” I whispered, but Daniel didn’t hear me. The elephant bull approached the game vehicle. His tread leaving enormous prints on the sandy ground, yet his heavy gait was soundless.

“Observe his body language,” Daniel spoke in a hushed voice.

I made mental notes: the elephant’s tail swatted from side to side languidly, his ears flapped idly and his stride slothful. He reached our Land Cruiser and paused. My heartbeats were sure to be heard by the elephant. That’s all I could hear. Eyes half-closed, he raised the tip of his trunk and moved in front of me as if it was a giant fingertip touching and tracing my imaginary aura. Daniel gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. The elephant bull lowered his trunk, turned away and ambled off with the same gentle pace.

“Well done.” Shepherd complimented me.

“How did you know he wasn’t aiming to sit on the bonnet?”

“Body language – far better language than words. He was not agitated, only inquisitive,” Daniel remarked. “By learning to interpret the subtle hints of nonverbal behaviour, you will understand what they are telling you.”

Shepherd held up his finger for attention. “This friendly giant came to tell me that behind those marula trees is a great place to have our morning coffee. Let’s find out.” He grinned and cranked the engine.

Daniel hoisted the picnic basket out from the back of the Cruiser; Shepherd set up a fold-up table and spread the checked tablecloth. I climbed out of the game vehicle and started walking towards the shrubs.

“Be careful! It is a big-game area after all.”

“No stress, I’m only going for a ‘bush-break’ to

mark my territory,” I brushed aside Daniel’s concern with a giggle, and aimed for the thickest thorn bush. No ambushing leopard here. None more than an intricate net webbed between the blades of grass, with glistening dew beads adorning the threads. An insect, trapped within the web, struggled to free itself, and a spider nimbly pounced on its prey. The paradoxes of life – I thought – nature can seem innocent, but you never know what lurks around the corner. My mind wandered.

A child’s distress cry startled me. I pivoted – a flashback to my dream, followed by a stinging pain in my arm. A squeal escaped – mine, this time.

“Emily!” Daniel shouted and darted over to me.

“Ouch! I had no idea bushes could be so vicious.” I tried to pluck my blazer free from the branches, but more thorns ripped and snared me into their clutches.

“Easy – easy. Patience.” Daniel came to my rescue, untangling my hair and clothes from the hooked thorns. “Now, that’s an art getting so tangled up. What happened?”

“The scream.”

“Yes — you screamed.”

“No – no, I mean, the child’s cry. It scared the crap out of me.”

“It was only a bird.” Daniel inspected the not-soserious lacerations on my arm. “Many birds make imitation sounds,” he continued to explain while wiping away the drops of blood from the cuts, “for example, the chinspot batis sings: ‘three-blind-mice,’ and an orangebreasted bushshrike asks, ‘coffee, tea, or me’.”

“All three please.” I attempted to make a light of the situation, and we returned to the Cruiser where steaming cups of coffee were waiting for us.

“You have to try these as well.” Daniel held out a jar, the contents of which resembled pieces of stale bread. I hesitated. He chuckled and was joined by Shepherd who had evidently peeked to watch my reaction. “They are rusks, not stale buns, Emily.” “I didn’t say a word,” I protested.

“No, but your crinkled nose did,” Daniel remarked, and didn’t give up.

“Try. You’ll enjoy them. Morning coffee isn’t complete without a rusk – it’s a South African tradition and you will soon get hooked on it.”

“Please don’t remind me of ‘hooks’.” I cast Daniel a fake stern look, then, imitated him by dipping the rusk into the mug, biting a chunk off it, sipping the coffee. And repeat. “So, these dried buns are called rusks?”

Shepherd boasted, “My wife, Nomsa, she baked these. The recipe is at least twice as old as she is… And she is old.”

“Please send my compliments to your wife for these rusks are truly delicious.” And I reached for an extra one.

“Nomsa will be overjoyed.” Shepherd clapped his hands in a demonstration of gratitude. “And she’s really not that old.” He gave a knowing chuckle, then, slung a rifle over his shoulder, announcing, “Going to check out some tracks.” He wandered off. Or it could have been his way of giving Daniel and me some privacy.

I joined Daniel as he leaned against the Cruiser’s bulbar, basking in the first rays.

“I see why you insisted we had to wake up this early, to catch what you call a Carpe Diem moment.” “Seize the day – leave the shadows and ghosts of night and embrace the new start.” Daniel mused.

Chuck the dark and troubled past behind you. No psychologist could have conveyed it to me more effectively than Daniel. And yet, he didn’t even know it.

“Thank you.”

“For?” Daniel gave me a puzzled look.

I had to think fast. “For the holiday,” I replied. It reminded me of the dreaded day when I’d have to fly back to London. Daniel had purchased a return ticket, which, despite it had no date, was still a return. This implied there would be another ‘goodbye’. I hadn’t even decided what to do with my newfound freedom back in England. I needed a change, my own new beginning. Wasn’t this precisely what Daniel had hinted, a fresh start?

“Any news on the beginning?” I blurted.

“I assume you’re referring to Masungulo.” His amusement implied we were both aware of each other’s thoughts.

“I found this!” Shepherd waved for attention, returning from the direction of the same thorn bush that had ensnared me. “It has to be yours, Ma’am.” As he walked closer, I noticed a shiny object with a number tag in his outstretched hand.

“My talisman!” I called out with relief and accepted the key from Shepherd, slipping it back into my pocket.

“It must have fallen out when I got stuck in the thorn shrub.”

Daniel was well aware it was a key to a safety-deposit box, but he made no comments about ‘my talisman’.

Instead, he asked Shepherd, “Has anyone seen Nyeleti with her cub? By the way, we named the little one Masungulo.”

“This is it – this is it, a well-fitting name.” Shepherd and Daniel exchanged brief but meaningful glances before Shepherd added, “They were spotted at the east side about an hour ago. Let us try our luck to find them.”

Shepherd spoke into the radio in his native tongue, and the radio crackled in response. He turned to us, reporting, “It appears Nyeleti has hidden the cub and is on a hunting mission towards the river,” he went on to elaborate, “Another incident was logged: lions killed a baby elephant in that area last night.”

“We should avoid the location.” Daniel raised his concern.

“Yes, but the elephant herd is on the move again.”

“All right, then,” Daniel agreed, albeit reluctantly. “But we must keep an eye out for the herd. They are still grieving and in distress after last night’s ordeal.”

“Sharp,” Shepherd affirmed, and we changed direction, leaving the open savanna behind us.

The landscape transformed into a magnificent copse of riverine trees. We disturbed a hippo pod in the river who snorted to express their displeasure and a circling fish eagle serenaded us with an enchanting, yet mournful call. I attempted to capture the scenery, but the Cruiser swerved around a bend, and Shepherd slammed on the brakes.

“Oeps – we’ve driven right into the breeding

herd.”

Daniel’s voice echoed concern as more elephants loomed out of the thickets; several with youngsters, and the ensuing trumpets, bellowing and tossing of the heads demonstrated their displeasure with our presence.

“Reverse. Now,” Daniel instructed, and Shepherd shifted the gears. Behind us, another elephant emerged out of the dense foliage. His tusk and trunk raised, and ears extended to the sides – a bulldozer-like mass of an animal adapting his posture to appear even larger. Blocking the road, he’d left us no escape route. Next, his ears flattened and without any further warnings, the bull raced head square-on towards us, each step sounding like the thump of a cannonball, turning up a puff of powdered soil from the dirt track. Doomed. No way to turn back. Neither going forward.

Shepherd veered off the road, the car jerked and skidded, and the engine revved as he pushed his foot on the accelerator. Still, the elephant pursued – his stance determined and movements swift – contrary to the placid and ambling giant we had encountered earlier.

“Hold on, it’s going to be rough!” Daniel tucked me tight against him as the Land Cruiser vaulted over a termite mound and rugged terrain.

Shepherd manoeuvred the car, aiming for gaps, and behind a tight turn, the Cruiser bounced into an erosion ditch, its wheels spinning for traction in the muddy patch. The screeching trumpet grew louder. Shepherd engaged low range, rocked the car back and forth, then, swiftly changed the gears from reverse to drive. The car lurched, tyres spattering muck. Back on the firm ground, Shepherd urged the engine to gain distance.

“My camera,” I cried, rising to reach the sliding off camera on the seat’s edge.

“Careful!” Daniel shouted, yanking me down, and a thick branch swished over our heads, lashing thorns and leaves taking Daniel’s cap. The Cruiser roared as the bullbar rammed into and over the thickets, cracking and splitting the wood.

Daniel checked behind. “He has given us his mercy.”

Shepherd slowed the speed, and after a curve, the Land Cruiser roved over a sandbank and back onto the road. None of us spoke.

I took a glimpse at Daniel: although he appeared unruffled, his tanned complexion had decisively turned a shade lighter. He is human, after all.

Shepherd stopped the game vehicle near a field resembling an aftermath of a passing tornado. Barren ground with bushes minced, and young trees pushed over in an area surrounding a deep red patch on the soil. The fresh blood had not yet been entirely absorbed into the earth.

“It is last night’s battleground,” Daniel noted and pointed further back to where lions lay with bulging bellies next to the remains of the baby elephant.

“That explains the unusual full-on charge without a warning.”

What Shepherd had said contradicted his previous declaration of elephants being calm and predictable animals. But his next statement explained, “The herd is grieving. When provoked, the elephants can turn into unyielding and raging protectors of their loved ones.”

Daniel turned an approving, even proud look to Shepherd. “Well done, man.” He patted Shepherd’s shoulder.

I massaged my fingers, which were stiff from squeezing the railing.

“I’m Martin, Daniel’s old man.” He approached me. With his straight-back strides and solid shoulders, I could have mistaken him for Daniel. Martin extended his hand to greet me with a firm grip.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Emily.” I looked up, drawn into Martin’s knowing, green eyes. He smiled with his eyes rather than his lip. He was indeed an older version of Daniel. What would he think of me – a twentysix-year-old with his son? Next to Daniel, I’m like a girl. Martin, however, greeted me with a non-intrusive eye contact, and I appreciated him for not giving me the overt analysis I was typically subjected to.

“Thank you for allowing me into your home and to spend time on my holiday here.”

“Welcome, you are most welcome.” He motioned for me to join him in the boma. “I heard you’ve already experienced exciting encounters out on the safari drive.”

“I’d describe it more of an unexpected series of adventures.”

“This is Africa, young lady.” Martin relaxed into his chair. “Always expect the unexpected; the only thing you can ever be certain of is that you can never be certain of anything. This…” He opened his arm expressively, “…is what makes this place unique and addictive: wilderness, untamed beauty. Not to be taken for granted,” he spoke with a brassy, hoarse voice, but in a buoyant manner.

“I hope the old man is not boring you,” Daniel spoke behind us, having returned from his phone call. “My old Pa has an uncanny ability to talk nonsense, very convincingly.”

“No sense? No way, I am not talking kak. We were having a decent conversation about you right now. Were we not?” Martin pulled an innocent face.

“Am I supposed to believe you, Pa?” Daniel quipped. “Emily, whatever this old man gossips about me, only some of it – if any – is true.”

“Jaa – nee,” Martin chortled with a mischievous twinkle playing in his eyes. The opposing ‘yes – no’ meant to denote a single word – ‘perhaps’.

Martin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pipe, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in an antique shop. I’d assumed these things were extinct in today’s world. He knocked the old, ashen tobacco from the pipe and began to fill its bowl with a fresh supply, tapping it down into its opening. He lit the tobacco and drew with a gurgling sound. Martin carried out the entire process in such a methodical and tranquil manner, as though it was some sort of a ritual to be savoured as much as the pipe-smoking itself.

“Where shall we start? Let me tell you a story…” He paused for a puff, thick smoke leisurely rolling around him, and then continued:

“One day, a group of us are wild camping out in the Kalahari. Can you believe it, that at night the temperature is still hovering at thirty-two degrees – we could as well be in Hotazel. Too hot to sleep. We put up our tents for the night, as this is what responsible campers will do. But the boys are too lazy to pitch their tents and insist on sleeping out in the open. Arguing with me, trying to convince me that they know much better.”

“Ag, Pa, that’s an old tall tale,” Daniel interrupted, giving the impression he was bored.

“Jaa, for you, but for the young lady here, this is a brand-new story.”

I agreed with enthusiasm for Martin to continue.

“Then this is what happens: during the night, nature calls and stirs me awake. What do I see – I rub my eyes to make sure – Bliksem! There’s a mighty lion stalking towards where the boys are sleeping. I am thinking to myself: it is too late – those boys are gonna be like a couple of lekker chops for this mighty lion to munch on. If I were to wave off the lion with a ‘Voetsek’ – what you say to a dog – it will be as useless as a mosquito to a buffalo. While I am scratching my brain for a quick plan…” Martin rubs the top of his head. “…next the lion sniffs the boy’s leg. His cavernous mouth opens, and I see the massive teeth flash as the lion jams his jaw closed. I scream Raaaawr!” He sprang out of his chair, imitating a lion’s roar in a hilariously animated manner and plummeted back into his seat.

“What happened after?” I asked through my giggles.

“The lion gets a fright and takes off. And the boys learn a valuable life lesson: Don’t scratch a lion’s balls with a short stick.”

Noticing my puzzled expression, Martin went on to explain: “It’s an Afrikaans saying that one should not be too stubborn to listen to a piece of good advice, neither to be a windgat to show off.”

In response, Daniel snorted and yawned.

“Did the boy get badly injured?” I asked, still curious about the story and how it ended.

“Aaah!” Martin exclaimed, feigning utter amazement on his expressive face. “Soo… Daniel hasn’t shown you the puncture marks on his ankle as yet.”

“Daniel! You?” I barely managed to contain my laughter.

“Coals are ready.” Daniel, keen to change the conversation, moved over to work at the braai. The man, whom I knew to always maintain his unperturbed demeanour, surprisingly showed signs of embarrassment.

“We’re having kudu meat for supper with fireroasted sweet potatoes and grilled bananas,” he announced, producing a steaming loaf of bread from the iron pot like a rabbit from the hat.

“I already know it will be delicious.” I voiced my anticipation.

“My son is an expert braai master.”

“He must have had an excellent teacher then,” I addressed my remark to Daniel’s father.

“Thank you, young lady, but I’m not the one to take the credit,” he quickly declared. “Since his boyhood days, my son has been a stubborn and self-reliant individual. He won’t give in if he has a goal in mind. Strongwilled, that of his mother’s.” Martin lifted his face skywards for a pensive moment of silence.

Shepherd arrived, heaping more logs into the flames.

“Come, my old friend, join us,” Martin beckoned to Shepherd, and we formed a circle around the fire.

“Shepherd is part of the family. His dad worked for my father, Daniel’s grandpa – no need to explain. And

Shepherd and I grew up together. Naughty days they were… How many years has passed by now, ninety-something?”

“No—no, I am a lot younger than you,” he protested, and grinned at Martin’s light-hearted bantering.

“One thing is truth: Shepherd is by far the best tracker in Timbavati, and all the way to Pafuri.” Martin swung his arm wide, indicating into the distance. “Assured, with Shepherd by your side in the wilderness, you are safe and always find your way.”

“Don’t make my man’s chest too wide, Mister Du Randt,” Nomsa chipped in, carrying a basket of steaming

Roosterkoek. “You all dig in, they’re fresh out of the oven.”

Martin and Shepherd continued to recount old tales. Background bellows of jackals and distant whoops of the hyenas contributed to their riveting African stories about tracking injured animals, apprehending poachers, and escaping dangers – all told with a peculiar sense of humour and a mixed lingo of Afrikaans words. Daniel kept the conversation going by chiming in every now and then.

I silently observed everyone gathered around the fire. This is how life should be: genuine friends and family, compassion and acceptance. The kind of normal I’d never experienced.

Martin knocked his pipe empty and tucked it, along with the tobacco pouch, into his pocket. “It’s time for this old cowboy to hang up his boots for the night,” he announced, getting ready to leave.

“Yoh—yoh, check, it’s late already,” Shepherd urged Nomsa along. “We have some stuff to sort out before the day ends,” and both made their way out of the boma.

Perhaps now is the right time to speak with Daniel. Uninterrupted. To break the news of what I’d discovered after he left me in England. Tell him I understood why he’d tried to protect me. After all, even now, he still assumed I was unaware that our histories have been running on a parallel path.

Daniel stroked the remaining smouldering coals, igniting them into flames, and moved his chair closer to mine. His earthy scent, mingled with the wood smoke, had an exotic quality to it. A scent that couldn’t be contained in a bottle. However, if one could, I would name it ‘Braai Perfume’ – most fitting description. And the fragrance would be labelled: ‘Caution. When inhaled, it will mess with your heart rate and judgement.’

Daniel wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

“Feeling warm?”

Forget about the talk, Emily.

“Since you asked, you were correct, the nights can be chilly. Last night I was close to getting frostbite.” I snuggled and drew nearer to him.

“Not at all acceptable,” Daniel declared in a sympathetic tone. “Fortunately, I do have a remedy for it.”

“Mmm, I hope so.”

“There’s nothing like an old-fashioned hot water bottle under your blanket to get rid of the cold,” he explained bluntly and without a hint of levity. “There is such a nostalgia about them – taking you back down memory lane. Don’t you agree?”

“Water bottles are for another generation.” I delivered him a gentle nudge with my elbow. Poker-face! “Right now, I’m feeling extremely sentimental and I’m not only nostalgic. I’m—”

His palm slid behind my head, fingers tousling my hair and luring me closer for a luscious meeting of our lips. My contented murmur muffled as Daniel claimed my mouth. He briefly released me.

“Don’t…” I protested, and Daniel’s hot breath shushed into my ear:

“You meant to say something?”

“I wondered if I was going to have to beg.”

C H A P T E R – 3

Afaint glow filtered through the mosquito curtain. I rubbed my eyes and peeked through the opening. Daniel sat in the living room with his MacBook in front of him. Working already. The lambent glow of the paraffin lamp cast a warm reflection over his back, with shadows defining his sculptured muscles. A sight to behold. I cautiously snuck out of bed, slipped Daniel’s T-shirt over me, and crept closer to him. Unaware of my presence, Daniel’s attention stayed on the screen and his fingers kept tapping away on the keyboard. I extended my hands – ready to skim my palms over his chest and aim lower. With a single swift movement, like a striking leopard, Daniel caught my wrists and restrained me.

“You didn’t startle as I expected,” I murmured in his ear and nipped his earlobe hard. He didn’t even flinch. “I’ve been wondering, Daniel, if you deliberately conceal your emotions… Or perhaps you keep secrets?”

“You are not wondering, Emily. You’re sneaking and alluding to something specific. Speculating.” Daniel released my hands and swivelled his chair, facing me. “Am I correct?”

I dodged his eyes, but they bore effortlessly into mine.

“I know I’m right. Despite the dim light, I can see your rosy cheeks.”

“It’s that look of yours,” I protested. “You have the art of… Why you’re laughing! Stop making me crimson.”

“I haven’t even begun yet.” He pulled me into his

lap, and I caught a glimpse of an email with a familiarlooking photograph on his laptop screen a second before the screensaver’s floating abstract blocked it. Daniel twirled my hair around his fist. Twist after twist. Next, contrary to his previous tender gesture, he tugged my hair with calculated firmness in his clenched fist and his lips caressed my neck, sending a flutter of pleasure down my belly. I want him. No – Now, as I’d seen the photograph, I must speak with him. Daniel had grown enticingly hard under my buttocks. My back arched, willing to surrender. Sweet heavens.

“Wait!”

“However long you need. But make it quick.” His tone brimmed with desire; one arm bracing my waist, he made space on the table with the other hand, shifting his MacBook aside and then a folder with the same heading I’d seen in London:

United Nations Office for Investigation of Drugs and Crime South Africa division

Director of Criminal Intelligence and Special Agent:

Daniel Jacques Du Randt

“Agent Du Randt, you always keep secrets?”

“No, I uncover them.” He slipped his hand under my T-shirt and glided his warm palm over my navel.

“You know, I can help you to uncover them.”

“I expected you would.”

“We seem to be conversing in two languages, Dan-

iel.”

“You are accusing me again of unfounded motives, yet I am unambiguous about my intentions,” and without a warning, he yanked the T-shirt over my head, exposing my nakedness.

“Wait, Daniel, I am serious, I meant…yes…” The pleasure of feeling his probing tongue over my breast drowned my words.