Michael Ridpath - See No Evil

‘No, I didn’t. Nor have I ever heard of the Laagerbond.’

‘Oh, well. Is there anyone you know who I could ask about it?’

Zan fiddled with the row of rings in her ear. ‘Actually, I might be able to help you there,’ she said. ‘The National Intelligence Agency merged the old regime’s security forces with those of the ANC. I’ve never quite figured out how they managed that. A lot of documents relating to the security forces’ activities were destroyed in the early nineties, literally tonnes of them. I don’t know whether anything about the Laagerbond will have survived. Or the ANC might have some information in their files. I can ask a couple of comrades from my days in the struggle who work there now.’

‘Let me know what they say.’ Calder scribbled down his mobile phone number. ‘If you can get in touch with them in the next few days while I’m still here, that will be a great help.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Zan looked at her watch. ‘I must go. I’ve got to pick up the kids from school. It’s going to be difficult, you know. To find out what happened. There were many crimes committed in those days, and this country has become expert at forgetting them. It’s had to to survive.’

‘I know. But I’m quite determined. This isn’t about history for me, it’s about today, about what happened to Todd and my sister. Whoever it was who tried to kill them, I’ll find them.’

‘I believe you will,’ said Zan.

Sandy brushed the breadcrumbs off the documents in front of her. It was three o’clock and she had just finished what was supposed to be lunch, although her body clock was so messed up she didn’t really know what meal it was. She had arrived at Heathrow on an overnight flight from New York that morning and she was due to return the following evening after a big meeting with the client.

The clause in front of her blurred as she read it for the third time. It was one of those badly drafted legal sentences where the distance between subject, verb and object could be measured in vertical inches on the page. But the reason she couldn’t concentrate was the thought of the meeting she was due to have with the senior London partner that afternoon.

She still wasn’t absolutely sure what to do: whether to try to withdraw her request for a transfer to the London office, or whether to leave it and hope that it would be turned down anyway. She was quite sure that there was no future in her relationship with Alex, and she couldn’t believe that she had been so stupid as to think that there might have been. But she would look a total loser if she told the partner that, sorry, she had made a mistake, she didn’t have an English boyfriend after all. How unprofessional was that?

The anger welled up again. Damn him!

The phone rang a couple of desks away, and a moment later a secretary called over to her. ‘There’s a Mrs van Zyl downstairs to see you.’

‘Van Zyl? As in Cornelius van Zyl?’ The Times takeover was all over the business press, and Sandy had been following it with passing interest.

The secretary shrugged.

‘OK. Tell her I’ll be right down.’

Sandy took her jacket off the back of her chair, went to the bathroom to check herself in the mirror and headed for the lifts. The man at reception nodded towards a pair of slim legs beneath an open copy of The Times.

‘Mrs van Zyl?’ Sandy approached, an expectant smile on her face.

The newspaper was lowered. It took her a moment, but Sandy recognized the dark curly hair, the pale face, the lively eyes.

‘You!’

Kim smiled nervously and scrambled to her feet. ‘Hello, Sandy.’

Sandy’s mouth hung open. ‘Are you who I think you are?’

‘Probably.’

‘Then what the hell are you doing here?’

‘I want to talk to you. About Alex.’

‘You must be crazy.’ Sandy turned on her heel.

‘Wait! Please. For Alex’s sake.’

Sandy stopped. ‘For Alex’s sake! And just why exactly would I do anything for Alex’s sake?’

‘OK, for your sake.’

‘What can you have to say that could be of any interest to me?’

‘Look, I know you must be angry,’ Kim said quickly. ‘I know I would be in your situation, but listen to what I have to say and then you can walk off. Please.’

Sandy hesitated. The other woman looked sincere, troubled, honest even. She shrugged. ‘There’s a Costa Coffee around the corner. Let’s go.’

They walked quickly out of Trelawney Stewart’s offices and on to the pavement.

‘Your secretary in New York said you would be over here for a couple of days,’ Kim said. ‘When are you going back?’

Sandy resolutely ignored the small talk. They walked in rapid silence to the coffee shop, both ordered skinny lattes and sat down.

‘OK,’ Sandy said. ‘Talk to me.’

‘Alex was absolutely devastated after you discovered us the other day.’

Sandy shrugged. She was a tall woman with short wispy blonde hair, high cheekbones and clear blue eyes and she could look cold when she wanted to. She looked very cold.

‘I’ve been a friend of Alex’s for a long time, since university, a very good friend, but that’s the only time we’ve ever...’ Kim hesitated searching for the right euphemism.

‘Screwed each other?’ Sandy suggested.

‘Yeah, well. And it hasn’t happened since. I know Alex would like nothing more than to see you again. So I’ve come to ask you to give him another chance.’

‘Did he send you?’

‘God, no. He’d be too humiliated. I’m humiliated. But I am fond of him and I don’t want to be responsible for messing up his life as well as my own. We talked about you; he told me how important you are to him. He thought you weren’t interested in him any more, but you must have been to appear at his house so suddenly like that.’

‘Perhaps I was,’ said Sandy. ‘But I’m certainly not now.’

‘Please give him a chance. He’s in South Africa at the moment, but when he gets back, call him.’

Sandy studied Kim, her face impassive. ‘Didn’t you say your name was Mrs van Zyl?’

‘Yes,’ Kim said, lowering her eyes.

‘Are you related to Cornelius van Zyl?’

‘He’s my father-in-law.’

‘I see. And where was your husband when you and Alex were rolling around in the grass?’

Kim looked down at her coffee and mumbled something.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’

Kim raised her head and looked straight at Sandy. ‘In hospital,’ she said, her voice quavering.

‘You’re not serious?’ Sandy said, unable to keep the contempt from her voice.

Kim tried to hold Sandy’s gaze, but her chin wobbled and a tear ran down her cheek. Without a word, she dabbed her eyes with her knuckle, sniffed and blundered for the exit.

Sandy watched her go.

Benton glanced around the small conference table. One of the few good things about being head of the London office of Bloomfield Weiss was that he rated a large desk, leather sofas and chairs, a corner view of Broadgate Circle and his own little conference table. He had managed to manoeuvre Dower into coming up there to make the call, rather than traipsing down to Investment Banking. It wasn’t a question of convenience, it was much more important than that; it was a question of status, who was leading the deal. They had bad news to deliver to Cornelius van Zyl, and Dower wanted Benton to do it. Coward. And fool. Benton would become more indispensable to the deal. So now Benton, Dower and two bag-carriers huddled around the speaker phone.

Benton punched out Cornelius’s number in his Madeira Quay office. Since the Times deal had become public Cornelius had decamped from his home to the Herald offices in Docklands.