The Ponzi Men
Page 20
Chapter 20
John McBride walked up to the door of Belinda’s bungalow at five minutes past the time she had invited him. It didn’t do to be early. And more than five minutes late was rude. So his mother had told him when he was a young boy. She still was a stickler for good manners.
Belinda opened the front door, and smiled broadly at him. She was wearing a dress, more a gown, but it didn’t look out of place, even in a safari park. McBride himself wore smart trousers and a light weight sports jacket, only a shade darker than his nearly white trousers. He had bought an expensive bottle of white dry wine. French, even though the South Africans made a decent wine themselves. For McBride, he had to give Belinda the best. He had asked the store in the camp to gift wrap it, and it was tied with a large red ribbon.
“Come in, you’re just in time, the meal is about ready to serve. I hope it’s to your liking.” She pulled the wrapping from the bottle, studied the label. “How did you know that it is my favourite wine?”
“Just good luck. I bought it on the way here, and it was from the chilled cabinet, so it should be cool enough, but maybe you could pop it into the fridge for a few minutes.”
She went into the kitchen came back with two glasses and a bottle of scotch. “I hope you drink whisky? There’s some ice if you use it, and a jug of water on the side table here.”
“No ice, thanks. I drink it as it comes. No point in spoiling the flavour, eh?”
She sat down on the sofa, and patted the seat next to her. McBride took the seat, and wondered what to talk about. He really knew nothing about her. But he knew that she had nothing to do with Markham, despite what Miller had implied.
She raised her glass, “Here’s to the pair of us,” she said and took a swig from her glass. McBride raised his own glass and took a drink. It was a malt he realized immediately.
“You’re a whisky expert,” he said.
“No, I just buy the ones that my dad used to drink.”
“So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a farmer. It was my father’s farm before he died. Not a very ladylike job I know.”
“Arable, mixed?”
“You know things. Most people don’t know anything about farms. Since I told you where I lived, I should think you could guess.”
“Arable, growing vegetables or flowers.”
“Vegetables. Five hundred acres. And before you ask, I’ve got a very able manager, that’s why I can get to come on holiday. And we should eat now, if you’re ready.”
She rose and walked into the kitchen which also served as a diner, as did McBride’s kitchen on the camp. The table was set for two, with a couple of candles lit, making the glassware gleam. At each place the starters of melon portions were set out.
As soon as they had eaten the starters, she was up and bustling at the stove, putting a fry pan on the hob. Then she opened the oven, and with an oven cloth in hand put dishes in the centre of the table. She turned back to the hob, and he could smell that it was some sort of fish. She put two large plates on the table, served fillets of fish straight from the pan to plate.
“Help yourself to potatoes and vegetables. I hope you like the fish. It’s river fish, so it didn’t travel far. I had a taste of some last night in the restaurant, and I can vouch for it.”
McBride expected it to taste muddy, as it usually does in England, but instead had an interesting, fresh taste. There were chipped potatoes, and peas.
“I don’t think any vegetable but peas go with fish, except maybe asparagus. I couldn’t get any of that. Out of season, I suppose.” She was tucking in to her food.
McBride got up and went to the unit next to the sink, pulled open the top drawer, removed a corkscrew, got the wine out of the fridge, opened it and poured it into the waiting glasses on the table.
“The layout of your kitchen is identical to ours. That’s how I knew where the bottle opener was.”
She had cheese on a breadboard on one of the kitchen unit tops. As soon as they had finished the main course she cleared the plates, and put the cheeseboard on the table, and a small plate in front of each of them. They sat talking and drinking McBride’s wine. When the wine was finished, she led the way back into the living room.
“Would you like a brandy? I’m going to have one. I’ll just get a couple of glasses. There might be something that equates to the real thing.”He could hear her searching the kitchen cupboards, doors slamming, and then she re-appeared with a smile. In her hands a couple of glasses for red wine.
“Close but not the real thing. They will do, though.” Expertly she filled each glass with a small portion of brandy.
She sat close to McBride on the sofa. Very close, he was pleased to note.
“I’ll bet you know where the bedroom is, since your bungalow is the same as mine. So you said.” She looked him in the eye, a small smile on her face.
McBride needed no further encouragement. He stood up, held out his hand, so that she could pull herself out of the chair. He put down his glass, and lifted her in both arms, and carried her over the threshold of the bedroom.
“Bravo, Mr McBride,” she said.
She went into the en suite bathroom when he put her down. In a few moments she was out, this time dressed only in a sheer night dress. And that was why McBride could see that was all she was dressed in.
McBride flung his clothes off and jumped into bed beside her.
McBride awoke, and for a moment didn’t know where he was. He opened his eyes, and the bedside light was on. Belinda had her head on his shoulder, and was asleep. When he moved to get rid of the cramp, she groaned slightly, and reached out an arm to put round him.
“You lovely man,” she murmured.
McBride lifted his head to see if there was a clock. There was, a small alarm clock. Three o’clock. He drifted back to sleep. The next time he woke it was eight o’clock. He shook Belinda gently.
“Hey, wake up.”
She rubbed her eyes, looked at the clock. “That isn’t late.”
“I’ll treat you to breakfast in the café if you get up now.”
“Wow, how can I resist your charms? You’ve done the loving bit, and now all you need is food.”