Dalton, his head gardener, made a beeline for him, shuffling along at his side but with his eyes cast down. “Mister Roost, you have a visitor,” he informed him somewhat needlessly.
“Yes, so I see.”
Johan glanced up at his veranda, seeing the figure of a person seated in one of the wicker chairs, their features indistinct under the shaded roof. Not that he needed to see them clearly to know who his visitor was.
“Fetch me a beer will you, Dalton?” he instructed, before clomping his way up the wooden steps.
At the top, he paused and looked directly towards his surprise guest.
The beautiful young lady looked straight back, holding his gaze with her steady, brown eyes. She smiled, and said, “Hello Uncle Johan.”
Johan Roost simply grunted and continued to stand there unmoving.
The lady flicked her blonde fringe out of her eyes and crossed her legs, her summer dress showing off her immaculate figure. A twinkle glittered in her eyes, all mischievous and playful, and he couldn’t help but feel himself relax a little. His niece always had this effect on him, no matter how hard he tried not to let it. He had a soft spot for her, there was no doubt about that.
Removing his backpack, Johan lowered himself into another one of the chairs, and slowly shook his head. “You still like to make a grand entrance don’t you, Charlotte?” he told her.
Charlotte Janssen tilted her head. “Of course. You know me.”
“Nothing like keeping a low profile eh? Surprising, after all of the trouble you’ve been causing. I thought you’d have wanted to avoid attracting attention.”
“You’ve heard then? About my spot of bother during the spring?”
“I think the whole world heard all about it.”
“Oh,” she breathed, swatting at the air, “it was all so exaggerated by the media. Blown out of all proportion. But someone like me can only lie low for so long before I get bored - and restless.”
“So you thought you’d pay me a visit? A little trip to see the family? Out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“You’re the only family I have left, Uncle. I’m guessing you know about mum and Bart?”
Johan was silent for a few moments, and then he glanced away, looking out across the lawn. During the lull, Dalton arrived with his glass of beer, which he placed on a side table, before making his way back to the garden. He took a sip, savouring the cool liquid as it glided down his throat, then he turned back to Charlotte.
“Yes. Famke, your mum, she was a bitch when we were little, so I can’t say I’m sorry. But Bart, now that was a shame. He was a good lad at heart, just troubled, that’s all. People led him astray, corrupted his mind because they knew he was weak and easy to manipulate. People used him for their own ends, and he was too stupid to see that. Your silly little scheme cost him his life Lotte, and for what? What did you gain? What did you achieve, except to make you the most hunted woman in the whole of Europe? Ahh, silly girl!”
Lotte said nothing, just shrugged her thin shoulders demurely.
“And now here you are. Paying me a surprise visit. The first time I’ve clapped eyes on you in years.”
Johan put his glass to one side and leaned forward in his chair, his strong and muscular forearms resting across his knees. He looked at her with hard eyes, ignoring the pleasant smile, now getting directly to the point.
“What is it you want? Because if you’re looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere to keep your head down, then you can get straight back on that helicopter and fly right back to where you came from. The last thing I want is the police, or fucking Interpol or whoever, coming sniffing around here. You know the set-up I have going, and I don’t want you messing it up for me.”
“Don’t worry Uncle, I have no intention of staying. It’s too hot, the place smells, and there are too many flies. I’m a city girl, I like my creature comforts.”
“Then what are you here for.”
This time it was Lotte’s turn to lean forward. Whispering, she said: “I have a job for you.”
“I must be fucking mad,” Johan had replied, after she’d told him exactly what this ‘job’ entailed.
As the afternoon wore on and the shadows lengthened across the lawn, they had retired to his inner office at the back of his lodge.
Johan was seated in his leather swivel chair behind his large mahogany desk. The desk surface was strewn with papers and notepads, a pair of synched laptops, pens, pencils, a telephone, a small printer/scanner, as well as a number of hunting trophies. One of the laptops was on and currently downloading a long movie file – Lotte saw it was called Monks Cowl to Spitsberg # 12. One of Uncle Johan’s hunting videos, no doubt.
Behind the desk the blinds covering the room’s only window were pulled down and closed, blocking out the evening sunshine and stopping prying eyes, and the door was locked from the inside.
Covering the walls were several framed photos and certificates. Lotte strolled around, looking at them, seeing most were of groups of people, mostly men, holding high-powered rifles with telescopic sights. On each one, at their feet, lay a dead animal shot through the forehead; sometimes an elephant, perhaps a springbok or a kudu or a Mountain Reedbuck, even a giraffe on one. She moved from picture to picture, her face impassive and her thoughts private.
Sitting in his chair, Johan watched her silently. Not for the first time, he asked himself how she had become the person she now was? Although he had had very little to do with her and her brother’s upbringing, from what he knew they had led a relatively normal – if privileged – childhood. They had spent several summers here with him in South
