Eva Mazza - Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

Frankie was finally introduced to Lee’s family. She knew he came from an advantaged background, but she had never imagined just how advantaged it was. Despite her sketchy upbringing and his parents’ reservations, they were warm and kind to her, believing Lee would eventually tire of her.

When he asked Frankie to marry him, there was no hesitation, and no expense spared on their wedding.

Lee’s friends were ambivalent about the new girl. The girls saw her as a threat because their men found her tantalising. The only girl who was welcoming was Jen. She too wasn’t quite part of the group, and the two of them became close. Two people more different from each other you couldn’t find, but they shared a bond in that their husbands were best friends, and both were wine farmers.

“You’re a stupid, stupid woman, Frankie!” she said, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “You have been so lucky and yet you’re hell-bent on destroying everything: your marriage, Clive’s happiness, friendships, everything. You phone John right now and you tell him you agree, it’s over.”

She dialled his number, and, after two rings, she ended the call. She knew the rules: If John were free, he would call her back. If he didn’t, she knew it wasn’t safe for them to speak. She ran in her bath, waiting for him to return her missed call. He never did, so she sent him a cursory, “We need to cool things between us.”

She climbed into the tub. Why sabotage all of this for John? she thought.

John had always been fascinated by her, but the fascination had not been mutual. Frankie had initially ignored his sexual innuendos and lingering touches. But it all changed about two years ago. After visiting Clive in Cape Town, she had decided to pop by Jen’s house. It was a sweltering day and she had worn the skimpiest of dresses, showing her cleavage and her bronzed, toned legs. Jen had gone to visit her mum, who had broken her hip and had taken a turn for the worse. Frankie found herself alone with her best friend’s husband.

She had never encouraged anything untoward with him. She was used to his sexual banter and it had become a joke between them. After recently terminating a very short and steamy encounter with a French diplomat she’d met on a trip to London, Frankie was game for a new dalliance. Since she had decided to seek sexual pleasure out of her marriage, she had found it tricky to find a partner who was discreet, good looking and who would not succumb to any emotion other than lust.

“Ah,” John said as he opened the front door, “you’re just in time for afternoon sex.”

“I take it Jen’s in the bedroom waiting for me,” she joked as she ducked under his arm to get through. “Jen!” she called out. “It’s me, Frankie. Come and save me from your husband’s grubby hands.”

“She’s not here. She was called to the old age home. Her mom’s taken a turn; it seems like this is it for the old lady.”

“Oh no. Are you going too?”

“I’m on stand by; she said she’d call if she needs me. I think she wants to be alone with her. She was very close to her mom. Dad was a stinker, as you know, but her mom was a real love,” he said.

“She’s not dead yet,” Frankie reminded him.

“I know, I know. But she hasn’t been lucid for months. She’s all but technically dead. Poor Jen, it’s been tough to see her that way.”

Frankie moved towards him and gave him a long hug. “You can be very sweet sometimes, John Pearce.”

She wasn’t sure why John had misinterpreted her very innocent hug, but whatever the reason, he had brushed his lips against her ear and then her cheek, and before she knew it, they were kissing.

“Stop. Please,” she had whispered. But she couldn’t stop him because she couldn’t stop herself either.

They had just ended their first sexual encounter against the entrance hall table when the phone rang. It was Jen. Her mother had passed away peacefully. Could John please help her make the necessary arrangements with the undertakers?

“I’m sorry, Frankie,” John said, pulling up his track pants. “Jen needs me at the home. Her mom’s just passed.”

“Of course,” Frankie said, searching for her panties. “Please tell her I came by to visit just as you got the call. Send her my love. I’ll call her later.” There was a slight hesitation from John◦– an attempt to explain. Frankie shooed him away. “I’ll see myself out. I just need to use your loo.”

That was a ‘gentle start’ to what would become a very raunchy affair. Sure, Frankie felt guilty; she was, after all, Jen’s best friend. But this isn’t an unusual scenario , she told herself. How many people did she know of who had been having it off with their best friend’s husband? Frankie was different though. She had no intention of splitting up any marriage, especially not her own. It would be what it should be: uncomplicated but fulfilling, with the emphasis on discretion.

Pete made his way up to the farmhouse to check on his father. John was a creature of habit and would have been in his office in the cellar first thing on a Monday morning, organising his diary and his staff, before going back to the farmhouse for breakfast. But today, he’d never arrived.

He found John passed out drunk on the couch, the television set blaring and a half-empty bottle of scotch on the floor next to two cellphones. He was far too angry at seeing his father drunk on the sofa to question why he had more than one phone. He was about to shake him awake, when one of the phones vibrated. It was Frankie.

Before he had a chance to answer, the call dropped.

The phone beeped a message from Frankie, and the words flashed on the screen long enough for Pete to read it. “We need to cool things between us.”

At first, he didn’t quite grasp the message, but it didn’t take long for the penny to drop.

“What’s up?” Pete startled. He was holding John’s phone in his hand.

“I came to check if you alright. It’s Monday morning and you not at work.”

John was too hungover to get up off the couch. Pete knew that the sight of him irritated his dad.

“When are you going to learn to speak properly?” John barked.

Pete loaded his “Sorry” with sarcasm. He looked around, noticing for the first time that something had run amok in the house. “Where’s Gladys? Or is she also nursing a hangover?”

John sighed. “Do me a favour? Grab me some water from the fridge.”

Pete did as he was told. The kitchen was in complete disarray. The fruit bowl lay in pieces on the floor.

“What happened to the bowl I made Ma? What’s going on? Where’s Gladys?”

“I gave her time off. She worked hard this weekend. Anyway, I don’t need another judgmental woman in my house. Like your mother, I want to be left alone.”

Pete handed John a bottle of water. “Well, Ma’s going to freak out,” he warned. “And she’s going to be upset when she sees the broken bowl. I made it for her in primary school.” He sounded like a kid.

John mocked, “Well Mommy isn’t here, so there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” He winced as he moved his head and Pete couldn’t help relishing the idea of his father in pain. Judging from the almost empty Black Label that lay beside him, he must have a mother of a headache.

“I guess Patty won’t be coming back to work after you were caught with your pants down.” There, that should teach you, you fucking asshole. John’s eyes widened. “You fucked up big time!”

“Listen, Pete, I’m not your child. No, Patty is not coming back. Brigit must’ve told you, and I’m not proud. Why do you think I’m lying here nursing a hangover?”