Eva Mazza - Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

He sent his ex-employee a cursory text demanding banking details before phoning Carina at Human Logic to find a placement for his company. She always had candidates on her books.

“Monday morning, first thing,” John insisted. “And I want good-looking girls.”

“John, quite frankly, I’m not a modelling agency. I work with candidates who qualify for the job. These women are well presented and come with good references.”

Carina herself was a beautiful woman. He had seen her around town◦– broad smile, tall and well groomed. “Someone like you,” he flirted.

She laughed.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“I think I do. John, I’m going to be honest, these women are sales representatives. If this doesn’t suit you, don’t waste their time, or mine for that matter.”

“Okay, okay. I just don’t want any old decrepit, that’s all I’m saying, or you’ll be wasting my time.”

After ending the call, he sat behind his desk ready to begin his day. Gladys had come in with a tray of coffee and the newspaper.

“Is Jen up, Gladys?” John asked. “She slept in the spare bedroom last night. She’s not feeling too good.” Why he felt he had to give Gladys an explanation, he didn’t quite know.

“Jen’s not home,” Gladys answered, not able to look him in the eye. “She left early.”

“Oh, of course. I forgot she said she was leaving early today,” he lied.

Gladys began straightening up his unusually untidy office.

“And Pete? He should have been here by now,” he said, plonking his empty coffee mug back on the tray. “He’s sleeping in, is he?”

Gladys looked desperate. “Pete’s not in the cottage.”

“Well, where is he?”

She shrugged. “His bed is made and his cupboards are empty.”

John pushed passed her and rushed from the cellar to Pete’s cottage. He yanked the door open. The kitchen was spotless. His bed had not been slept in and cupboard doors were wide open showing empty shelves and hanging rails. “What the fuck’s going on?” he yelled.

Pete’s number went straight to voicemail. “Where the fuck are you, Pete? You cannot just leave me like this. Phone me when you get this message. I want you back on this farm by the end of today.” He slammed his phone down on the counter.

“Gladys!” he yelled. She came running in. “Do you know what’s going on around here? ’Cause if you know anything I don’t know and you’re not telling me, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

Gladys looked at him directly in the eyes this time. “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just the maid.”

The phone rang as Patty rocked backwards and forwards. It stopped and then rang again. She picked up the second time. It was the commanding officer of the police station. He kept asking if she could hear him and she kept whispering, “Yes”.

“Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry that you had to learn about the death of… What is your relationship with the deceased?” he asked politely.

Patty whispered back, “He is a good friend.”

“The deceased is male, then? I’m sorry I have to ask you this, but the remains are so badly charred we were unable to determine the sex. We have obviously sent the body in for forensic testing to determine identity and whatnot.”

Patty closed her eyes and rocked faster at the morbid details. “Maybe it isn’t him. Do you have a number plate?”

“We couldn’t find the number plate of the car either. Everything was destroyed in the fire. It must’ve happened late last night or in the early hours of the morning, as the wreck was smouldering when we got to it. We were checking the list of Ferraris in the country, hoping we could find the owner or the driver, but fortunately you called.”

Oh God, God, God, please, let it be someone else, please, please, please .

“I need to go. I’m going to be sick.” Patty dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom.

The phone was ringing when she returned to the dining room. She reluctantly answered. “Ma’am, are you all right? Would you like us to send someone to speak with you or can you answer questions telephonically? I know this is hard, Ma’am, but we need as much information as possible. It seems you are the only one who can assist us.”

Patty spoke slowly. “Look, this is a very delicate situation. The deceased, Lee, is a friend of mine. No one needs to know that. In fact, it would upset his family, particularly his wife. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I do. We will be as discreet as we possibly can, Miss…?”

“You don’t need my surname, and if you need me, you have my number. You can phone me any time. Just as I won’t lodge a complaint about your officer disclosing personal information about Mr Holms before notifying his next of kin, you are not going to mention that I have any relationship with the deceased. Are we clear about this? I’m only giving you this information so that his next of kin can be notified as soon as possible.”

“I understand. Could you tell me his name and where he resides?”

Patty gave the policeman Lee’s full name and his details. She gave him Frankie’s telephone number and told him that Lee had a son, Clive, who lived in Rondebosch, near the university. She also explained that Lee had seemed distressed and had asked if he could spend the night at her place, which was why she had become worried about him.

“This last bit of information his family need not know. Believe me when I tell you it is innocent, but also understand that it will not be construed as innocent, and surely Mr Holms’s family will be hurting enough?”

Sharon was on the phone and gestured to Jen to come in. Jen sat down and pulled out the photograph again, studying it carefully. It awakened a new suspicion: she wondered if the ‘small op’◦– the gynaecological procedure she’d had three years ago to remove atypical cells◦– related to her husband’s philandering? To make things even worse, her gynaecologist, a well-respected man in the community, was a family friend. Had he withheld the truth from her to protect his buddy?

She resolved to march into his rooms and demand to see her file. She was not going to leave any stone unturned; if she had contracted an STI, she needed to know, even though she now was in the clear. This was not so much for vengeance as for the truth. For so long she had been careful to keep the truth from herself, and it was time to expose everything. It had become clear to her that she could not move forward if she didn’t.

Sharon put down the phone and looked at her a while before she rose from her chair behind the desk.

“That was Leonard. I see you have the envelope?”

Her answer lay in Jen’s lap.

“I’m sorry, Jen, but I’m pleased that you’re with me at this time. We can try to handle this together. How do you feel?”

“Glad!” Jen said, before she realised what she was saying.

“Oh! I thought you’d be angry, or hurt. Why glad?”

Jen paused. Why was she glad? “I finally know the truth. John is an expert at covering his tracks. I’ve always had a feeling, but I’ve never wanted to probe. If I did upset the status quo, which was seldom, he would accuse me of mistrust, or ask me if I was having an affair.”

Sharon looked up from her notebook. “That’s what guilty people do, they distrust their partners.”

“Well, he made me doubt myself, and now I’m glad◦– glad that my misgivings are founded and that I’m no fool.”

“Does this make your decision easier?”

“Most definitely! Divorce. There is no other way. No long, protracted visits to marriage therapists to see if we can salvage anything, no questions as to my children and their wellbeing. Finally, there is evidence to prove that he has transgressed every boundary. Divorce is the only answer and I have no choice; there is no alternative.”