Sannie had slowed the Mercedes and he’d had close-up sightings of the huge bewhiskered snouts, piggy eyes and swivelling ears of hippos. A big-horned, scarred buffalo had watched them as it chewed a mouthful of grass. Tom tried to keep his cool, but it was undeniably exciting being this close to wildlife. He found himself wishing that Alex was with him to share the experience and this realisation dampened his excitement.
They followed the signs to Tinga Legends Lodge and at the end of the dirt track came to a rather ornate- looking dark wooden gate topped with curled wrought iron and set between two white posts. Without the press of an intercom or a buzzer, the gate opened automatically. Cameras or sensors, Tom thought.
The Merc’s tyres crunched along a gravelled driveway which took them around a landscaped circle to an imposing thatch-roofed building as tall as a two-storey house. A woman in a loose-fitting white blouse and tight khaki pants and boots stepped off the wide porch. Her face was framed by long, straight jet black hair and she wore a necklace of what looked like small gold nuggets. She appeared to be about thirty. Attractive. A pretty young African girl with her hair twisted into tiny spikes stood behind the white woman, holding a silver platter.
‘Beware of Carla,’ Sannie said. ‘She’s the closest you’ll get to a man-eater on this trip.’ They walked towards her.
‘Hello, welcome to Tinga, I’m Carla Sykes. You must be Tom?’
Tom shook her hand and then accepted a cold towel from the platter borne by the African girl, who Carla introduced as Given.
‘Sannie, how lovely to see you once again,’ Carla said. Tom thought her smile looked a little less sincere this time.
Sannie just nodded. ‘You too, Carla.’
‘Precious will organise one of the guys to bring your bags and move your car. Same drill as usual, Sannie. What can I get you to drink?’
Tom was dying for a beer, but said, ‘Ginger ale would be fine, please.’ Sannie ordered a mineral water and Carla relayed the orders to an African man standing behind an enormous dark wood bar off to their right.
Carla led them through the airy reception area. Sannie’s heels clicked pleasingly on the polished caramel- coloured floor, whose hard surface was softened here and there by Turkish rugs. Overstuffed leather lounges and chairs faced a huge fireplace, the mantel of which was topped with a black-and-white photo of a reclining leopard. In contrast to the outside, the lodge’s reception was cool and shaded, the light coming from soft bulbs set in antique wall fittings and an overhead chandelier. The barman emerged from behind his fortress-like bar and brought their drinks on a platter. Tom glanced at the cream-coloured walls. As well as more monochrome photos there were antique prints of animals. The place was a mix of colonial indulgence and modern ethnic African chic. Elsewhere this might not have worked — been too over the top — but the place felt smooth and sophisticated and welcoming all at once.
If the reception area was grand, it was understated compared with the spectacular natural view at the other end of the open hall. Carla stepped onto the patio overlooking a wide river studded with pinkish-coloured boulders and stands of lush green reeds. Something which sounded like a five-hundred kilogram goose on steroids honked from out there.
‘Hippo. You’ll have to get used to them, I’m afraid, Tom. This way.’ She touched his arm to steer him down a set of wide stairs to an octagonal-shaped stained timber deck with a giant tree in the centre. Off to the right was a grassy terrace set with a swimming pool, and below the deck was another open area with a smaller platform, jutting out over the river itself.
Carla motioned them to take wooden seats around a table in the shade of the tree, again touching Tom. She gestured to the branches above them. ‘This is a jackalberry tree. Tinga is set on the site of an old National Parks Board camp called Jakkalsbessie, which is Afrikaans for jackalberry. It was a very exclusive place — a favourite of the ruling elite during the apartheid years. Because it’s so close to the Kruger air strip, which is just up the road, the bigwigs could fly in from Pretoria and Jo’burg and have their meetings and a little fun in seclusion.’
‘Where does the current name come from?’ Tom asked.
‘Tinga is an abbreviation of a Shangaan word, Tingala, which means “many lions”. The “Legends” part is based on the camp’s history. There are plenty of stories about secret meetings that used to go on here. It’s said that some of the African national parks staff here were actually undercover ANC operatives, who used to eavesdrop on the government’s dastardly business. Not that Mr Greeves will need to fear spies these days!’
‘I know you’ve been through all this before, Carla, and it must seem like a bit of a chore, but…’ Tom began.
‘It’s perfectly fine, Tom. I understand how things need to be done, and the value of an advance visit. We get plenty of overseas dignitaries staying here — and a few of our own, including our president — so I’m used to dealing with people such as yourself. Besides, I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon than in the company of a handsome policeman. You must tell me later about all the people you’ve been a bodyguard for.’
Tom smiled politely and noticed Sannie rolling her eyes.
‘By the way,’ Carla asked, ‘how is Nick? Is he ill? I got your email saying you’d be carrying out the advance and assumed he wasn’t well.’
‘Actually, he didn’t report for work the other day. We’re trying to locate him.’
‘Oh, shame,’ Carla said. ‘That doesn’t sound good. He always struck me as particularly… conscientious.’
Tom glanced at Sannie and saw she was making a show of looking away out over the Sabie River.
‘Were you in contact with Nick at all in the last week or so, in the lead-up to this visit?’ Tom asked.
‘Err, well… I mean, there was the official notification of the meeting between the two ministers, which came through two weeks ago from the British Embassy, and the bookings for the rooms and conference room…’
Tom said nothing. Something about Carla’s tone of voice and Sannie’s attitude and earlier remark told him Carla had had more than official contact with Nick. He knew that the best way to get someone talking was to keep quiet and let the other person fill the void.
‘Perhaps one or two other follow-up messages,’ Carla said, looking down and brushing the front of her pale linen pants with her palms. ‘There was nothing odd, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Odd?’ Tom said.
‘Well, Nick sounded fine in his emails. He liked Africa and working with Robert, and was looking forward to coming back again and seeing…’
‘Seeing?’ Sannie prompted.
Tom smiled inwardly. He didn’t mind that she had interrupted his questioning; he would have said exactly the same thing. Carla couldn’t stop talking once she started. Her accent was softer than Sannie’s and Tom guessed from her name being Sykes, which he assumed was her maiden name as she wore no wedding ring, she was a South African of British descent, as opposed to an Afrikaner.
‘Seeing all the fabulous game we have here on the concession,’ Carla said to Sannie, punctuating the sentence with pursed lips.
‘Thank you, Carla, I’m sorry to put you on the spot like that, but we’re trying to put together a picture of Nick’s movements and contacts over the days leading up to his not reporting for work. Any bit of information might help.’
‘Well, if I think of anything, I’ll pop by later,’ she said, smiling again at Tom. ‘Now, if there’s nothing else you need to discuss, I’ll show you to your rooms. Your afternoon game drive is at four, in just over an hour. I presume you want to go on it?’
‘The minister’s itinerary includes an afternoon drive, so I’d like to see the route we’ll be taking,’ Tom said.
‘Don’t forget your camera — for research purposes only, of course,’ Carla laughed. She appeared to be grateful the talk had switched from the topic of her and Nick back to preparations for the visit.
Their suites were separate dwellings, strung out along the Sabie River. The rooms were linked by a walk-way made of timber logs, set about a metre above the ground. While the bush had been cleared in front of each suite to allow uninterrupted views of the river, the trees and other vegetation between and behind the individual units appeared to be natural.
‘What about wild animals coming into the grounds?’ Tom asked Carla on the way to his room.
‘We’ve got low-level electric fences around the accommodation which deter rather than prevent the game moving to and from the river. Our guests like the feeling of being in the wild and everyone is escorted to and from their suite after dark by a security guard.’
