Botswana and Zambia.’
‘Yes, I was checking the route on the internet.’
‘What are you thinking, Tom?’
She was starting to wonder if he actually was as fine as he made out. Certainly, it was good that he had a positive attitude rather than wallowing in depression. There was something else going on in his mind, though. Had he come up with a new lead while she was being grilled by his superior? She asked him the question.
‘No, I don’t think the kidnappers would have taken Greeves to Malawi if he was still alive,’ he said. ‘But I’d like to go there.’
‘Why?’
‘I liked what I saw of Africa — given the circumstances — and I think I’ll soon have a bit of time on my hands. I was thinking of hiring a car and driving from South Africa up to Malawi.’
Sannie was suspicious, but played along. ‘That would be expensive. I’ve got a Land Rover. It was Christo’s pride and joy, but I hardly ever drive it any more. We only use it when the kids and I go to the bush. You could borrow it.’
‘I’d pay you,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘Give it a service and a good run and you’ll be doing me a favour.’
They finished their drinks and Sannie went to the bar to buy a second round. While she waited for the barman — a young white South African guy with dreadlocks who, when he heard her accent, told her he was from Durban — she thought about what Tom had just said. Was he hoping to stay with her, perhaps travel with her?
‘You look like the weight of the world’s on your shoulders,’ the barman said, sliding the pint of lager and another gin and tonic across to her.
‘I’m afraid it is.’ Sannie carried the drinks back and appraised Tom as she walked. He would forever carry the stigma of implied failure if the inquiry went the way everyone expected. Even abroad he might find it hard to get gainful work. Did she really want to have anything to do with someone without prospects? She had her children to think about. However, he was very handsome and she knew he was a good man. She felt comfortable around him — safe, which was ironic considering that he was always getting her into trouble. And when he smiled, as he did when she set down the drinks, she felt her heart beat a little faster.
‘Well, let’s drink to your next trip to Africa,’ Sannie said, raising her glass. ‘It can’t be any worse than your last!’
Tom laughed. ‘To Africa.’
They left the pub after their second drink. Tom said he would drive Sannie back to her hotel and he didn’t want to be over the legal limit. He’d asked her if she had any plans for dinner and, as she didn’t, she agreed to let him choose a restaurant.
Once he parked the car, Tom suggested that as it was still early they have another drink, in the hotel bar, before dinner. The first two had made her feel mellow and she agreed, although she switched to white wine as too many gins sometimes made her feel maudlin. ‘Let me put it on my room,’ she said as Tom went to pull out his wallet. ‘The British government can pick up the tab.’
‘Might be the closest I get to a retirement present,’ he said, raising his lager.
‘Stop talking like that, Tom.’
He raised his eyebrows at her stern tone.
‘I mean it. Stop being so damned resigned to your fate.’ She could feel her cheeks reddening, a combination of the alcohol and her sudden growing anger. ‘You can’t go down without a fight, man.’
He set his drink down. ‘I’m just being realistic, Sannie, but I never said I’d stop fighting.’
‘Tell me what you’ve got cooking. Why this sudden desire to go back to Africa?’
He nodded, as though it was a fair question. ‘I’ll need a fresh start. No one will give me a job here — not even as a night watchman at Tesco. In a sense, I’ve got nowhere else to go, so I may as well try Africa.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you. What else? There must be another reason.’
He swivelled on his stool at the bar, so that his body was facing her. He looked as though he was about to say something, but then thought better of it. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Let’s go get dinner.’
‘All right.’ She felt disappointed, as if he’d been about to say something that would affect her. ‘Okay, but I want to get changed.’
‘I’ll wait down here.’
‘You’ll be legless by the time I get back. Come up to my room and you can watch TV while I get ready.’ Why, Sannie wondered, as they walked across to the lifts, had she made such a suggestion? She could feel his eyes on her as she stood looking up at the illuminated floor numbers, waiting for the lift to arrive. It was too late now.
Once in her room she handed him the television remote. ‘Make yourself at home. I’m going to shower as well.’ Though she didn’t want to say it in front of Tom in case he was offended, there was something about London that made her feel grimy. Between the overly heated indoor areas, which made her perspire, and the drizzle mixed with exhaust fumes and grit, she felt as though her skin was coated with a greasy layer of muck. Her fingernails, too, were filthy. She already missed the sun, even though she knew she’d be complaining about the heat in a month’s time.
Sannie grabbed her toiletry bag, closed the bathroom door, slipped out of her shoes and stripped off her business suit. The high pressure blast of hot water invigorated her and she decided to wash her hair as well. She could hear the TV in the room, so she knew Tom would be fine.
It was odd, she thought, being naked in the bathroom, reapplying her makeup and knowing that Tom was just on the other side of the door. It wasn’t until she went to hang up her towel on the hook that she realised she hadn’t brought her clean clothes in with her. Her bag was still on the bed. She blamed the extra drink.
Sannie finished her makeup and wrapped the towel around her, knotting it between her breasts. The hotel was nice and clean, but was not the sort of place that offered fluffy white bathrobes.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, emerging.
Tom stood and looked at her. She felt his gaze on her, saw the way he tried to keep his eyes on hers. She was painfully conscious of the skin she was showing. Her legs, which she was proud of; and her arms, which could have used another day a week in the gym to keep them toned. She darted across the room and grabbed her bag. As she lifted it the flap fell open — she’d forgotten that she had opened it to get out her cosmetic bag.
‘Oh, fok!’
‘Here, let me help.’
Tom dropped to one knee, as did she, but Sannie had to use one hand to keep her towel held together. With the other, she scooped up bras and pants, shoes and strewn clothing. It was very embarrassing, but he started to laugh.
‘Here, give me that.’ She reached out and grabbed the white silk blouse he held.
They were close, kneeling on the floor, their faces less than a metre apart.
‘Thank you,’ Tom said, still holding onto the garment.
When she pulled it she felt his fingers through the sheath of silky material. ‘For what?’
‘For agreeing to come with me today, for everything you did in South Africa, for…’
‘It’s nothing.’ Sannie still held the blouse and he wasn’t surrendering it. She continued to feel the heat of his skin through her fingers as she wrapped the fabric around her hand. It wasn’t nothing, though. She’d risked her career, her future — again — for this dark-haired handsome man kneeling next to her in a hotel room in a foreign land.
She was acutely aware of her own nakedness under the towel, and the growing feeling of warmth radiating from her core. It was him, the excitement, the recklessness, the remoteness of all this from her normal life. It was why she’d invited him into her hotel room.
Tom leaned closer and kissed her.
Time seemed to stand still then, and the kiss went on forever. They were two starving souls and they consumed each other, first kneeling on the floor, then sitting. She was aware of the towel falling away from her body. The feeling of his body against hers, the brush of her erect nipples against the cotton of his shirt, was electrifying. Her skin suddenly felt hypersensitive, tingling. When he moved his lips to the side of her neck and down her collarbone to the point where it joined her shoulder she thought she might faint in his arms. God, it had been so long since she’d felt this.
Sannie held it all together, every minute of every day. The demands of a job in a male-dominated profession
