No one bothered her again that night except to deliver a meal; hot chicken soup, steak and chips and a Spotted Dick pudding. Amie looked at the sponge filled with currants and covered in yellow custard and gave a wry smile. How frightfully British she thought, even here in the heart of Africa. The thought of going on a hunger strike in protest flashed through her mind. It sounded so cavalier, a way to force their hand and admit they’d made a mistake and tell everyone she was still alive. She could go home, begin a new life. But she knew it would achieve nothing and she was convinced that if she didn’t cooperate then she was not long for this world – and she did not want to die.
After breakfast the next day, she was summoned downstairs again. Ken greeted her with a smile.
“Mrs Fish, Amie. By now you must have a very bad opinion of us and I would like to put that right.”
Amie tensed, she couldn’t guess what was coming.
“So, to prove that we are not the ogres you might think ...” he paused, then asked, “... you like Vivienne, get on with her, OK?”
Amie frowned. “I don’t know her very well. I mean, she seems nice.”
“Good, good, then it should work out fine. If you can see your way to cooperating with us, then we would like to offer you a little holiday. We think you deserve some time away from all this,” he waved his arm in the air. “Time to chill out, relax and get back to normal.”
Normal? What was normal? Amie asked herself. Her life had been turned upside down and she was probably living on borrowed time.
“So, what we’ve planned is a nice long break by the sea.” Ken picked up a brochure and thrust it into Amie’s hands. “A spa, north of Durban, all meals, massages, beauty treatments, all the kinds of things that you ladies like.”
Amie gazed at him in amazement. He was offering her a holiday? “Where is Durban?” she asked.
“South Africa, on the Indian Ocean. Lovely warm sea and they’re very civilized down there. I think you’ll be surprised. It’s a little piece of Europe at the tip of Africa.”
It all sounded too good to be true. “What’s the catch?” Amie wanted to know.
“No catch at all. We want you to have a break ...” Ken reached over and took both her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs lightly over the back of her knuckles.
“Before I start work, I suppose,” she interrupted him pulling her hands away. She felt violated though she couldn’t explain why. He’d only touched her in a friendly way.
He smiled, straightened up and sat back in his chair. “Well, yes, but we can think about that when you come back. For now, it’s all sun, sand and sea for you, and a little sightseeing too. I’m sure you’ll both enjoy it.”
“Both?”
“We’ve decided that Vivienne will go with you. You’d probably be very lonely on your own.”
So, Vivienne was to be her guard.
“What do you say?” Ken smiled at her as if he was Father Christmas.
Amie knew she didn’t have a choice, but the idea of getting away from Apatu with its sad memories held a lot of appeal.
“OK then, when do we leave?”
“Tomorrow, it’s all booked.” Ken indicated a file on the table. “Your flight’s at noon. We just need to take your passport photo, and you’ll be on your way.”
Ken escorted her back to her room, though she hardly noticed him, she was in a daze, it all seemed so surreal.
A few moments later Vivienne burst in through the door holding a wig. “Ken’s told you?” she asked with a smile. “I’m really looking forward to a break. It sure makes a change from sweating over a desk from nine to five. It’s not often I get a chance like this. We’re going to have some fun, right?”
Amie was staring at the wig. “What’s that for?”
“Ah, this? For your photo, for the passport, make you look a bit different. Let’s see how it fits.”
She put a chair in front of the dressing table mirror, indicating that Amie should sit down, and then proceeded to place the wig on her head. It felt tight, tickly and uncomfortable.
“I don’t have to wear this all the time, do I?” Amie was horrified.
“No, no of course not, only while we’re in transit. There, how does it look?”
Amie couldn’t believe the change it made, she could hardly recognize herself. When she let her hair grow long, it hung straight to her shoulders but this wig was full and curled gently round her face. Were all disguises this simple?
“Do you wear contacts?” Vivienne stared at the mirror.
“No, why?”
“We can change the colour of your eyes, turn them from your natural grey to brown or blue. That’ll make a huge difference.” Vivienne took a small box out of her pocket and showed her two small bright blue lenses.
Amie shuddered, she wasn’t keen on the idea of wearing something in her eyes and declined the offer.
“I guess dark glasses will have to do then while we’re travelling,” Vivienne was disappointed, but it looked as if she wasn’t going to insist. “I’ll bring you some more clothes tomorrow, but we can get much better stuff in South Africa, so I’ll keep it to a minimum for now, OK?” Vivienne asked cheerfully and left the room without waiting for a reply.
Did Amie have a choice? She didn’t think so. She approached the door and tried it again, wondering if they were beginning to trust her, but no, it was still locked. While Amie realised she was in mourning for Jonathon and had lost everything, including her identity, she wished that she felt more grounded. Much of the time she was in a fog, she still couldn’t think too clearly. Much of the time she was floating rather than walking. Were they putting something in her drinks or was it just the concussion? She had to concentrate very hard when she was having a conversation, and, while, at times the clouds dissipated, everything around her was a little surreal.
The photographer knocked and came in, positioned her against the wall, took several photographs of her, complete with wig, and disappeared again. Then, true to her word, Vivienne was back with a couple of summer dresses, a pair of sandals and some basic underwear which she dropped on the bed.
“These should do for now. We leave for the airport after breakfast tomorrow, OK?”
All Amie could do was nod.
Once she was alone, she inspected Vivienne’s purchases, hardly the styles she would fight to buy in a sale, but she didn’t really care. Now her thoughts were fixed on getting out of her prison and back into the real world. Half of her was dreading it and the other half of her was beginning to get just a little excited.
10 CALM BEFORE THE STORM
After lunch the next day Vivienne came to escort her to the waiting car. When they turned the corner, Amie caught sight of the tall, good looking man she’d seen at the funeral. So, he was from the embassy too, but he didn’t stop to greet her, but rather ducked out of sight before she could get a really good look at him.
The midday sunlight blinded Amie when she walked out of the side door of the embassy forcing her to rummage for the dark glasses she’d tucked into her new handbag, another design choice she would never have made. Vivienne was on hand to hold her elbow and treated her like a small child as they climbed into the embassy car while the driver loaded their cases into the boot.
The streets hadn’t changed, the people looked the same but Amie felt totally removed from it all. Suddenly, she leaned forward and grabbed the driver’s shoulder.
“Take me past my old place, please,” she pleaded.
The driver looked back briefly at her and then at Vivienne, who nodded.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” she asked gently.
“I know it will hurt, but I have to see it for myself. I have to know it’s true. Call it closure if you like.” Amie was tense as they drove towards Brianwood.
“I won’t stop,” the driver warned when they cruised slowly past the burnt-out shell that had once been Amie’s home. So, it was true. From what little she could see, through the heavily tinted windows of the c
ar, there was nothing left of the building but piles of tumbled masonry and blackened bricks. Had their possessions been thrown clear, Amie knew the locals would have removed anything that had escaped damage. Tears stung her eyes and she quickly replaced her dark glasses to hide the pain.
Soon they were at the airport and queuing at the check-in. Amie noticed that Vivienne held both passports and tickets firmly in her hand and she was the one who handed them over the counter. To Amie’s surprise, hers looked even more battered than Vivienne’s but then in the spy game they paid attention to little things like that, she guessed.
“Have a good flight.” The lady smiled at them.
“Thank you, we will.” Vivienne was certainly in a good mood.
No one gave Amie a second glance as they went through immigration and security and found a seat airside. She had no idea why she should feel nervous, she’d done nothing wrong – except travelling on a false passport – but that was hardly her doing.
“Can I look at my passport?” Amie held out her hand and reluctantly Vivienne handed it over.
“Oh no! Mansell? I should have expected that. It’s what they called me in the hospital, but ‘Felicity’? Who came up with that name?”
“I’m not sure.” Vivienne sounded a little embarrassed. “I believe it means happy, or fortunate.” She took back the passport.
“Yeah, right.” Amie was not thrilled.
“Would you prefer I call you Fe for short?”
Amie sighed. “Does it really matter? And do I have a code name too like in all the spy novels?”
Vivienne glanced round quickly before she replied. “Probably, but if you have ...”
“You’re not going to tell me,” Amie finished for her.
Just then the flight was called and Amie trudged after Vivienne to the boarding gate. Her wig was very uncomfortable, her head itched and she kept wanting to scratch it. Her dress felt too tight and her sandals pinched, no one had asked for her size she realised, but only guessed what would fit her. So, spy masters are not infallible after all, she thought, as once again Vivienne showed the documentation for both of them. Then, they were on the plane.
“We should get into Johannesburg mid-evening and we take a connecting flight to Durban. That’s only an hour flight” she explained.
While she struggled with her seatbelt Amie realised that being out in the world had helped to dispel the mists and fog a little. Maybe a spa holiday, something she’d never experienced, would do her good, before she faced a new and unknown life.
The Spa resort was in darkness when they arrived, but as they drove in, Amie caught a glimpse of manicured gardens, little fairy lights on the trees, and a low-level cluster of buildings that nestled within the shrubbery.
In fact, everything she’d seen so far in South Africa had been a bit of a shock, it was difficult to believe she was on the same continent. To begin with the freeways were wide and full of traffic, and most people seemed to obey the traffic rules. The infrastructure was first world. The road from the airport was lined on both sides with sugar cane and some majestic houses that took Amie’s breath away. It reminded her of the ones they’d shown on television in Hollywood, fit for starlets and movie producers.
Amie didn’t care if Vivienne protested or not, but she couldn’t stand the wig a moment longer. She ripped it off and gave her head a good scratch. She glanced sideways at her travelling companion who, for once, said nothing.
If the driver noticed she had long dark blonde hair when she got into the car and short fair hair when she got out, he made no comment, but she guessed he’d not really looked that closely at her.
As soon as the car stopped at the end of the driveway, a tall, white lady bustled down the steps to greet them.
“You must be the new guests who’ve flown in from London right, booked under Miss Mansell?” she asked, and for a brief moment Amie was about to correct her when she remembered. Amie Fish was now Felicity Mansell.
“Let me show you to your room,” their hostess continued. “You can call me Connie. Just leave your cases here and one of the staff will bring them along.”
They followed her across a pale blue carpeted hallway filled with comfortable sofas and chairs. Animal prints decorated the walls and a small reception desk was visible on the left. Popping behind the desk, Connie took the passports from Vivienne and went into a back office. She reappeared a couple of minutes later and asked Amie to sigh the register.
Amie hesitated, she wasn’t sure what to write.
“Just put the embassy address,” Vivienne hissed under her breath, while pretending to hunt for something in her handbag.
Formalities over, Connie then carried on down a corridor to the right until she stopped at a door and used a plastic key card to open it.
“We may be a spa resort, but it’s not a health farm,” she trilled. “There are no rules and regulations, we serve normal meals, so no carrot sticks for breakfast. We have a gym, spa facilities, beauty massage and therapy, and the pool of course. But you must know all that, since you booked. Now” she continued without a pause, “if there is anything you need you only have to ask. There’s a phone and you dial 9 for reception, we have someone on duty from 6 am until midnight. If you want to stay out later then I can give you a front door key.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Vivienne replied, “it’s not likely we’ll be out late and we’ll be having dinner in at night.”
“Don’t be afraid to ask for anything, anything at all.”
“Thank you,” Vivienne answered for both of them. “I understand the hire car will be here tomorrow?”
This was a surprise to Amie, she wasn’t expecting to have transport. She’d assumed that she would still be imprisoned, only in a much nicer cage.
“Yes, it will be here first thing. And I’ve got maps in the office you can have.”
Amie was hoping and praying that Connie would make herself scarce, she was tired, needed a shower and wanted more than ever to rub her head, she could still feel the marks where the wig had dug in.
She inspected the pretty room and noticed with dismay there were two single beds, they were obviously going to share, and Amie hated not having her own space. She hadn’t even shared a bedroom with Sam since her sister had gone to high school, but she guessed there was not much she could do about it.
Eventually Connie disappeared saying they must be tired after their long flight from London, reminding them again that if they needed anything, just to call.
“Have you been to South Africa before?” Amie asked Vivienne.
“A couple of times. It’s very different to Togodo, isn’t it? Very modern and first world.”
“Yes, it’s quite a shock. It’s Africa and it’s not Africa,” Amie replied.
To her surprise, Vivienne walked over and gave her a hug. “It must be awful for you,” she said. “I can’t even begin to understand how you’re feeling, but it can’t be good. Let’s have as nice a holiday as we can under the circumstances. Places like this cost a fortune, and it’s all on the British government so we may as well take advantage of it.” She filled the little kettle up from the tap in the en-suite bathroom. “Coffee, or tea?”
“Coffee, please,” Amie replied absently, nothing would keep her awake tonight, not even a caffeine rush. Yes, this might be an expensive vacation, but she suspected they would demand a high price in return. There was nothing for it but to take it one day at a time.
“Why did you hire a car?” she asked, when Vivienne handed her the coffee.
“There are cabs, but white people seldom travel in the minibus taxis, many of them are not road worthy and they cram them to the hilt. If you order a taxi by phone, it can take ages to arrive. So, I persuaded Ken to push the boat out and give us our own transport. We’re going to have the best holiday ever Am ... I mean Felicity. There’s lots to see and do, that’s if you’re up to it, of course.” She squeezed Amie’s hand.
“I still don’t feel right, so m
aybe a couple of days just lazing around, and then I’ll see how I am.” Amie was damned if she was going to sound grateful to the people who’d hijacked her life and put her in this appalling situation.
“Sure, I understand.” Vivienne got up. “Mind if I have a quick shower first?”
“No, go ahead.” Amie noticed a television on a low table in the corner of the room, and turning it on, found a news channel. She was curious to know what had been going on in the outside world while she’d been incarcerated. All she could see was the usual stuff: politicians arguing, people marching in the streets, she thought it was in Johannesburg protesting about something or other, a fight inside the parliament in Cape Town, and a brief mention of presidential voting in America. There was nothing about Britain or Europe before the weather came up promising another hot, sunny day with no rain.
Amie felt part of the world, and yet divorced from it. Then she gave herself a shake and decided to try and enjoy the holiday. Nothing was going to change things so she might as well make the best of a very bad situation and at least enjoy the break. South Africa would appear to offer the best of both worlds: the first and the third. She just wished she could stop the tears welling up when she least expected them. A reminder of something Jonathon had said, or something from her former life would produce waves of misery that swept over her. How long, she wondered before these feelings went away. If she was to believe the romantic poets she’d studied in school, the answer was – never. Yet people did heal and Amie thought of herself as a survivor. One day at a time she told herself, one day at a time.
For the next forty-eight hours they did nothing but lie beside the pool, have a manicure, pedicure and soothing massages. To her amazement Amie found she was feeling a lot better, and to her surprise heard herself asking Vivienne when they could go out and explore. She told her room-mate it was to get some new clothes and toiletries, but privately she was beginning to go stir crazy, even in the most luxurious resort she’d ever stayed in.
Amie in Africa Box Set 1 Page 76
