Amie shot the scenes as fast as she could and then headed for the first car. Ben followed her quickly and pushed her towards the second of the three. In a low voice, he warned her it was unwise to travel in the lead car in case of an ambush. Amie shuddered, it hadn’t occurred to her that they themselves could be the target of an attack.
As usual, Jonathon was working late into the evening, and after she had put Angelina to bed, Amie sat in darkness in the lounge and tried to decide what to do. There was obviously some kind of armed struggle going on not too far outside the capital. Was this a common occurrence? Had it been happening all the time she’d been living in Togodo, or was this a new threat? Should she keep quiet or should she tell someone? If the fighting came any closer, they could all be in danger, despite what Diana said about the British Embassy rounding them all up and putting them on a plane. From what she’d been told, the British were usually the least likely to panic, and also the last of the foreigners to leave somewhere that was considered dangerous.
‘Don’t panic and keep a stiff upper lip. Carry on as normal,’ seemed to be the British motto.
She finally came to the conclusion she should perhaps mention what she’d seen to someone in Her Majesty’s Government, she couldn’t take the chance innocent people might die because she didn’t have the courage to speak up.
Having made up her mind, Amie got up to pour herself another coffee. Then it struck her. The building housing the British Embassy was right across the street from Colonel Mbanzi’s government offices. What if he saw her going in there? Not even him, but his secretary or one of the soldiers or drivers, or any of the number of people who now knew Amie by sight. Perhaps visiting the embassy might not be such a clever idea after all.
She paced up and down, trying to find a solution. There had to be a simple way of telling the right people what she’d seen, and then at least her conscience would be clear. Just before Jonathon drove into the driveway Amie found the answer, and wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her before. She hurried to turn on the lights before Jonathon asked awkward questions as to why she’d been pacing around in the dark.
The next morning was Saturday and Amie set out early for the Club, telling Jonathon she was going to collect some things she’d left behind and she wouldn’t be long. She left Angelina playing happily in the kitchen with Pretty, making a terrible row with a pile of saucepans.
When she walked in the main door, she had her fingers crossed the person she was looking for was there. She checked first by the pool, then the tennis courts and the veranda, but it wasn’t until she looked in the dining room, she saw the person she’d come to see. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the table.
“Vivienne?” she asked.
A cheerful, plump, curly-haired girl looked up at her. “Yes?”
“Hi, we’ve not met properly before, but I’m Amie.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I think someone told me you work at the British Embassy?”
“Yes. Ah, you’re Jonathon’s wife! Mrs Fish?” Amie was surprised Vivienne knew Jonathon, he’d never mentioned it. But she didn’t have time to worry about that now.
“Well I want to … er … I think I should ...” Amie didn’t know how to begin. Vivienne stared at her with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Er, what do you do there? I mean are you … do you know all the people who work there?” Amie squirmed, she wasn’t exactly making a good impression, and the way Vivienne was looking at her made her feel very uncomfortable. She took another deep breath. “Look, it’s like this …” and before she lost her nerve, Amie went on to explain how she’d filmed for Colonel Mbanzi, briefly mentioning the programmes she’d produced for the Trade Fair, and then she went on to describe the last two shoots. She told Vivienne about the massacre in the village and the remains of what looked to be an ambush with at least twenty dead soldiers – or whatever they were – freedom fighters, terrorists or maybe even dissidents. When she had finished, she noticed one of the waiters standing very close, waiting to take her order. She asked for a coffee and shuddered as he turned away. How much had he heard or understood? Most of the local staff here understood English quite well. She could have kicked herself for not being more vigilant.
Vivienne sat quietly and waited until the waiter had placed Amie’s coffee on the table and returned to the bar, before she glanced briefly around the room. Then she began to speak.
“Why haven’t you just come to the Embassy and asked to speak to someone?”
“Because the colonel’s offices are right across the road from the Embassy, and I didn’t think it was wise to be seen,” Amie explained.
“Yes, that was probably a good idea. But I’m only a secretary there, you need to speak to someone with more authority. Have you mentioned this to your husband?”
“Look, I don’t want to make a big fuss about it,” Amie replied. “Maybe this happens all the time, and I have no idea why Colonel Mbanzi wants it recorded, and really I have no proof at all.”
“You don’t have the footage?”
“No, as soon as we get back to town, I’m ordered to hand over all the tapes. They’ve not asked me to edit it. You see I don’t want to start any sort of scare if this is well, ‘normal’ in this part of the world.”
Vivienne gave a small grin and then looked serious. “Look, I’ll pass on the information to the right people, but they’ll probably want to talk to you themselves. Where can I get hold of you?”
Amie was about to give Vivienne her cell phone number when she paused. “Do they monitor our calls here?” she asked.
“As far as I know their equipment is not that sophisticated, but I can’t swear to it.”
“Well, I’m only prepared to talk to someone here at the Club. I don’t want anyone coming to the house, or …” Amie was not about to complicate things further by mentioning Angelina, and the fact she was a mother, albeit a temporary one, to a local Togodian child.
Vivienne thought for a moment. “If the higher-ups want to speak to you, I’ll suggest they leave a note in your pigeon hole here. Would that be OK? They could mention they’d like to discuss your opinion of the movie selection for the Friday night film programme, how about that?”
“Yes, I guess so. This is beginning to sound like a spy novel, it’s all a bit embarrassing. I mean I’m just an ordinary housewife here with my husband.”
“There’s more truth to some of those books than most people realize,” Vivienne said with a smile. “I’ll do what I can to pass on the word, but in the meantime try not to worry.”
“I guess I am worried,” Amie said. “I’m not cut out for the Mata Hari role.”
“Leave it with me,” answered Vivienne as Amie finished her coffee and stood up.
“Take care,” said Vivienne. Just as Amie turned to leave, she bumped into Diana who had come in off the tennis courts.
“Hello!” she said. “I didn’t know you two knew each other!”
Amie was struck dumb, but Vivienne smoothly answered for both of them. “Amie wanted information on fund raising for the orphanage,” she replied brightly. “Keen to know where to try and access funds. But we all know how tight money is these days. Sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” she said addressing Amie.
“No, thank you Vivienne, really. At least now I know where not to go! Thanks for the advice.” Amie took Diana’s arm and guided her towards the veranda quickly changing the subject.
“Are you going to the Hunter’s for dinner tonight?” she asked as they walked back outside.
“Yes, but we might be a bit late. Richard has a meeting at some ministry or other and they never turn up and start on time.”
“I’ll see you there, then,” Amie said in a rush. “Must go, just popped in for a moment and Jonathon is waiting to take us to the beach.” Amie didn’t give Diana a chance to open her mouth, but rushed across the lawn, jumped into her Fiat, and drove away so fast her wheels kicked up a cloud of dust.
Amie felt thoro
ughly miserable. Had she done the right thing? She wasn’t sure. She hoped she hadn’t made matters a lot worse by involving the people in the Embassy. She tried to shake off the feeling she’d somehow done something wrong, determined to concentrate on the rest of the day. She would simply forget all about it now and let events take their course. She hoped Diana wouldn’t discover her lie about going to the beach either, because Jonathon was working as usual even though it was the weekend. She had the dinner tonight to look forward to, and yes, why not drive over to Brianwood Mall and buy herself a new outfit on her way back home? Retail therapy, that’s what I need, she thought, as she drove away from the Club.
When she walked into the Mall, she made a quick detour to the cash machine. Might as well get something really nice, she reasoned. If I’m going to cheer myself up, I’ll do it properly. She pushed her card into the slot after making sure no one was loitering nearby, and wondered how it was, that in a country that was so backward in many ways, there was such an excellent banking service. It offered more flexibility than her own bank at home. She withdrew her card and the money, and then turned back to collect her receipt. She barely gave it a glance as she put everything back in her bag and began walking towards her favourite boutique. Then she stopped and froze in her tracks.
Opening her bag again she fished out the receipt she’d crammed in the back of her purse and examined it again. That couldn’t be right, surely? Her balance was way too high. She went back to the machine and inserted her card again and pressed the buttons to print out a statement. The balance hadn’t changed, and it showed there had been three deposits of over ten thousand Togodian dollars in the last two weeks!
There was no way Jonathon had put that sort of money into her account. He’d insisted she had a separate account. He was sensitive enough to know that now she wasn’t working, she didn’t want to feel like a kept woman! He gave her money every month of course, but she had also brought in a little of her own from England. But thirty thousand dollars? That was more than Jonathon earned in three months!
Amie wondered if she should leave it for the moment, imaging it was a genuine mistake and wait for the deposit to be reversed; it was obviously an error. Or, should she go back into town and visit the bank? Always someone who met problems head on, Amie walked back out into the sunshine and climbed into her car.
There were long queues at the bank and the closer she got to the counter the more uneasy Amie felt. She tried to remain calm as those behind her in the line pressed forward until they were practically leaning against her. She could almost hear Diana’s voice telling her cheerfully that while personal space in most countries was at least twenty centimetres, here in Africa it was closer to twenty microns.
At last she reached the counter, and handing over her statement asked if they could identify who had made the three large deposits.
The teller squinted at the paper for several moments and then shrugged her shoulders as if to say why was she questioning it? “It does not say,” she replied at last.
“Yes, I can see that, but isn’t there some way to find out who credited my account with such large sums of money?” Amie asked in frustration.
“You don’t want the money?” the teller was confused.
“No, it’s not that. I don’t know who put those amounts into my bank account. I don’t know where they came from and I want to know.”
“It’s a lot of money,” the bank clerk remarked as she squinted again at the paper in her hand.
“You must be able to tell me who deposited it, surely!” Amie was beginning to feel more than a little exasperated.
“Wait, I go to ask.” With that the teller stood up and walked over to a row of desks at the back. Amie watched as she showed the statement to another girl who looked up at Amie, stared at her for a moment, and then shook her head. She indicated the closed door of a nearby office. The teller knocked at the door and then disappeared from view.
The line behind her was getting restless, this was all taking too long, and Amie felt the first trickles of sweat begin to run down her brow. I would be hopeless robbing a bank, she thought, it’s nerve wracking enough just puzzling over one unidentified deposit let alone three.
A few minutes later the teller reappeared, and sat down behind the counter.
“It is correct,” she said, pushing the mini statement back across the counter.
“But it can’t be,” said Amie. “I would know if someone was going to put that sort of money in my account, and why they were doing it.”
The teller just shrugged as if to say that Amie was making a fuss over nothing.
“And you can’t tell who put this money in my account?” Amie tried again.
“No,” the teller shook her head decisively.
“Then can you print me out another statement please?”
Reluctantly the teller turned to her computer as if to indicate this customer was being particularly difficult, yet there was also a sense of unease too, or was Amie’s imagination just running wild?
The teller slammed the statement face down on the counter along with Amie’s card and then called out for the next customer.
“Wait,” said Amie, “I want to speak with the manager.”
“Manager not in on Saturday, or Sunday,” the teller added to get the point across. “Managers don’t work on weekends,” she sounded quite bitter about this fact and deliberately turned to the next in line. Amie had no choice but to back away, as the large man pressing up behind her practically flung her to one side.
She looked at the statement and was horrified to see that in the time it had taken for her to drive from the Mall, her balance had increased by a further ten thousand Togodian dollars, making four deposits in all.
For a moment she hovered, undecided whether to insist on seeing the under-bank manager but realised it would be a waste of time; it was unlikely he worked weekends either. Options, thought Amie. One – Jonathon was unlikely to have credited her account, unless it was a tax thing, but she could easily ask him when he came home. Two – it was a genuine bank error but they weren’t going to admit that to her; too much loss of face. In a day or two the money would simply disappear out of her account and all would be well. A third option occurred to her. Was she being paid for her work for the colonel? Had he credited her account? He had never asked for her bank details, but for a man in his position it wouldn’t be difficult to find out. If that was the answer, Amie felt very uncomfortable about talking to Vivienne this morning. Oh well, she would just have to wait and see what happened. She drove straight home, no longer in the mood to do any shopping, she needed a strong cup of coffee and some more time to think.
The Hunters were renowned for throwing excellent parties, they always invited the most interesting people. Daphne Hunter had regular food parcels sent over from the States, and this allowed her to cook up more exotic dishes than could be assembled using only local ingredients.
Amie was seated between a wildlife photographer who was just passing through Apatu – he regaled her with stories of his experiences out in the bush – and a director of Richard’s company who was over from America. He wanted to know what the wives did all day while their poor husbands slaved away in air-conditioned offices and raked the money in.
Amie laughed to herself. What would his reaction be if she told him she spent her time filming dead bodies, and may have been paid a fortune for it? Once she’d pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, she found she was thoroughly enjoying herself almost forgetting her earlier worries. At one point she overheard snippets of a whispered conversation across the table; words such as ‘insurrection,’ ‘out of control,’ ‘Budan’ and ‘tribal differences.’ It made her wonder if they were connected with what she’d seen in the burnt-out village and the ambush site.
As soon as everyone went outside for drinks, she made her way, as casually as possible to the two men who had sat across from her. Hoping she sounded only slightly interested, she asked if there had been
any news of trouble further north, between the tribes maybe?
“Goodness no, it’s as peaceful as peaceful could be. Togodo is a very stable country, despite its appalling government,” the taller of the two said, but not before Amie saw a quick look of alarm pass between them.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” she said brightly. “It’s just that you can never tell in African countries, can you? I mean they’re so volatile if something upsets them,” she added lamely while just as casually, she moved away. She felt an idiot, but she was convinced she hadn’t imagined their embarrassment, and when she looked back across the room they were standing by the far wall, still deep in conversation, and once or twice they gave a quick glance in her direction.
“There you are!” exclaimed Diana. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you all evening.” She took Amie’s arm firmly in hers and led her over to the terrace so she could light up one of her infamous cigarettes.
“So, what’s up?” she asked.
“Why do you think ...?”
“I’ve not reached my advanced age without being able to read people,” Diana said briskly. “I know something is bothering you and if I can, I want to help.”
For a moment, Amie was tempted to pour out all her worries. It would be comforting to confide in Diana, but at the same time, she didn’t know where to begin or how Diana would react, especially to the atrocities she had witnessed; more than witnessed, filmed. She might condemn her, insist on her telling Jonathon, suggest she be put on a plane home immediately, any number of reactions. For some reason, she hadn’t confided in Diana in the Club that morning, so maybe her first instinct had been right.
“Oh nothing,” she lied. “Just a bit down.”
“Homesick?”
“No! Um, well yes. Yes, a bit homesick.” It was the last thing on Amie’s mind, but if it satisfied Diana then let her think it.
Her friend laughed. “I usually find three days back under overcast skies and pouring rain is the perfect cure. Then I can’t wait to get back to Africa.”
Amie in Africa Box Set 1 Page 24
