On this day, the 2nd of January 2011, South Africa and India would begin the first day of a five-day cricket match traditionally known as the New Year’s Test. It was the final of a three-match series, to decide the victor, both sides having triumphed over the other in the first two matches in Centurion and Durban respectively. The last match would be played in Cape Town, but Joelyn was anchoring for SuperSport fans at the studios in Pretoria. The weather experts claimed that rain would not be a factor in the five-day match, and Joelyn prayed that was true. Rain would mean delays during the match, and more work for her. While she thoroughly enjoyed her job, frankly today she preferred as little appearance as possible in front of the TV cameras. It was a day after New Year’s Day, for God’s sake! Only insane people had to work on the second day of a new year. New Year’s Eve had been a wild night out with partying with friends, after which she had spent yesterday morning in bed, recuperating from a severe headache and possible alcohol poisoning in her bloodstream. And today she was driving herself to work, to spend the day sitting on a chair and discussing a cricket match with the station’s chosen analysts. Insane.
But Joelyn had struggled enough for survival during her youth to know that some things in life are a blessing. Having a job in the New South Africa was one of them. The New South Africa is a term used locally to describe the South Africa after multi-party, multi-racial elections of 1994 during which Nelson Mandela was elected the first democratically-elected President of South Africa and went on to declare South Africa a “rainbow nation”, a nation comprised of people of all color and creed. This new South Africa purported to give equal opportunities to all its people, but due to racial imbalances in the societal setting, the majority of White people in South Africa lead wealthy lifestyles by local standards even today, while only a minority of Blacks live comfortable lives. Efforts at Black Economic Empowerment (BEE) by 2010 had led to a minority of schemers and connivers reaping the rewards of BEE for themselves, denying the rest of the population even a tiny slice of the cake. There are White people emigrating from South Africa to settle in far-flung areas of Europe and Australia, citing as their reasons for leaving high levels of crime and limited job opportunities due to the government’s Broad-Based Black Economic Empowerment initiatives. While the crime issue is justified, because, no matter how tactfully the government’s spin-doctors try to play it down, national police statistics indicated in 2010 that due to violent crime, South Africa was still as dangerous a place to live in as it had been a decade previously. The claim about limited job opportunities by White professionals leaving South Africa was a dubious one, though, simply because there is ample evidence across the globe to suggest that better-educated people will always get better jobs than less-educated people. Historically, White people in South Africa have always had access to better schools than Blacks, and when it comes to recruiting talented young professionals, companies always find ways to skirt the BEE issue and get their man or woman.
Joelyn Vermuelen, née Smit, was an exception. She was a product of the New South Africa’s public education system. Having been born in 1984, she was just six years old when Nelson Mandela was released from prison. Being the daughter of a policeman sealed the fate for her. For some reason one can never quite understand, governments the world over notoriously underpay police officers, which meant that life at home was a constant struggle for survival for Joelyn and her four siblings. During her earlier years, she had attended a primary school in Yeoville, while her father had been stationed at the Yeoville Police Station. The family lived in a 3-bedroomed house in Yeoville, a short distance from the Johannesburg city center.
Later, her father’s promotion came and he was shifted to Norwood Police Station, but the increase in salary did nothing for the family as the new home in Orange Grove ate away a large chunk of the Smits’ income by way of mortgage repayments. Joelyn attended Maryvale Girls High school in Orange Grove. She was a timid girl during her teenage years, keeping mostly to herself and extremely devoted to her school books.
She passed her Matric examinations with three distinctions, and a scholarship enabled her to study Media Studies at Wits University, near Braamfontein, a short drive from the city center. It was at Wits that Joelyn, for the first time living away from home, allowed her extrovert character to emerge and fully express itself. It was also here that she lost her virginity, learned to drink hard liquor, and generally matured from a teenage girl into a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. She had inherited the blonde hair and piercing blue eyes from her father; the nose, understated cheekbones and full, ripe lips were from her mother.
When she went for an interview for the SuperSport job after graduating in 2005, her interviewers agreed in private that they had found a rare gem – a beauty with brains. The next few years had been a thrilling ride of little triumphs; she had been featured in advertisements for household products, been on local magazine covers, interviewed some of the world’s top sportsmen and women, and covered matches during the 2010 Soccer World Cup, organized and showcased in South Africa. In short, Joelyn was a household name, and in hot demand with sponsors and advertisers right now. Many a young man’s heart was broken when she married Hudson Vermuelen.
Presently, Mrs. Vermuelen parked her car at the SuperSports studios. She got out of the Z4 and stretched her back with a groan. It was going to be a long day. She grabbed a brown paper bag from the passenger seat and closed the door. The paper bag contained two choc-chip muffins she had bought at a Mugg & Bean outlet along the way. She was going to buy a Red Bull at the studios’ cafeteria. God she needed the energy booster!
She made her way into the studio complex and thought that life could have turned out worse. Yes, Joelyn lived a charmed life as Mrs. Vermuelen, even though the Indian cricket team’s December/January tour of South Africa had prevented her from going along with her husband on his annual vacation. He had wanted to visit Cyprus, the UK and Spain, but bad weather in Europe had made him change his plans. He had gone to Mauritius instead.
A smile crept to her face as fond memories of her husband came to her mind. She had absolutely no idea that Hudson was planning to divorce her.
Chapter 5
Hudson was not, as his wife thought, in Mauritius. He had left that country on New Year’s Day and was actually in an even smaller island, called La Réunion, situated some miles to the east of Madagascar. La Réunion is a tiny island that is governed by the Republic of France, and to visit it, one needs a visa from the French government, which Hudson had obtained from the French embassy in Pretoria. He was staying at the LUX Ile de la Réunion hotel, a five-star facility with a magnificent presidential suite that offered him and his companion exquisite views of the Indian Ocean. Local girls littered the beaches wearing skimpy bikinis that left little to the imagination. Were it not for the fact that he had female companionship, he would have doubtless been tempted to seek pleasure in one or two of the local females’ bodies. But he was content with the girl he had had the forethought to order from one of Jo’burg’s top escort agencies. She was nothing like his wife, but she would suffice as the attractive companion of a travelling gentleman on an exotic island. Furthermore, she had skills in bed that Joelyn had yet to learn.
On the morning of the 2nd day of the New Year, they performed sexual acrobatics on the carpeted floor of the presidential suite’s bedroom, and then they had a bath together in the Jacuzzi, during which his talented escort fulfilled Hudson Vermuelen’s prurient fantasies by exploring his body in ways that could only be administered by a trained courtesan. After a hearty breakfast prepared in the hotel’s kitchen by the French head chef, the two temporary lovers took a walk out on the beach, enjoying the sunshine and the cool breeze from the sea. At 10AM they returned to the presidential suite, in time for the start of the cricket. When he switched on the big flat-screen TV, his wife’s face filled the screen. She was informing them that rain had delayed the start of the third and final cricket test-match between India and South Africa.<
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Hudson picked up a bottle of Jameson’s Irish whisky and filled a glass half-full. He cast a glance at his escort and she shook her head. He sat down on the couch next to her. He stroked her with his right hand as he raised the glass with his left to take a sip of the deliciously smooth Jameson. He smiled wryly and nodded at the TV. ‘You know I’m married to her?’
Had Hudson known that it is imperative for any self-respecting top-class escort to know everything about the cream of top society, he wouldn’t have asked the question. But he didn’t, so he did. And she nodded her head and replied, ‘She’s beautiful.’
He checked her eyes and saw that she was being honest. ‘And heartless,’ he said.
‘If I was a man and had a wife like that I’d be happy.’
‘But you aren’t a man,’ said Hudson, taking a measured sip of his drink. ‘So you don’t understand that men have needs that beauty alone cannot satisfy.’
‘I do. And I’ll tell you for free that’s why every society needs women like me. I understand that not all women can be expected to do what I do. Sex is an art, which is why every society needs women like me. You keep your sleeping beauty at home, and come to us to give you what you lack at home, and thus the order of things is maintained – as it’s always been throughout the centuries. And we all live happily ever after,’ she added with an amused smile.
He squeezed her knee. ‘Don’t be smug. Don’t you know that my dad died at the hands of one of your kind?’
‘He was old, and his heart was weak. You are not.’
It was a refreshing thought, and Hudson was glad to have her with him, because she saw things differently from the rest of the world. Absent-mindedly, he stroked her hair with his right hand. ‘I’ve wanted to have kids ever since we’ve been married,’ he said, talking to the face of Joelyn on the TV screen. ‘But she doesn’t want to. Says she’s too focused on her career to be a mother. I have actually had visions of me playing with my daughter…I don’t know why, but I’ve always wanted to have my own little girl, made from my own sperm.’
‘How old’s she?’
Hudson turned to face her with a blank expression.
‘Your wife,’ she explained.
‘Twenty-six,’ he muttered without enthusiasm.
‘Give her time,’ said his female companion. ‘Someday she’ll realize that family’s important.’
Hudson wanted to respond, but at that precise moment pictures of the studio with Joelyn and two male cricket analysts disappeared and pictures of the Newlands cricket stadium came on TV. It had stopped raining and the match was about to begin. As Graeme Smith and Alviro Petersen, South Africa’s opening batsmen, stepped out onto the crease to bat, Hudson rued not having heeded his father’s advice to sign a prenuptial agreement with Joelyn Smit.
Chapter 6
Jansen Vermuelen had devoted herself to the sport of tennis from the age of twelve. After finishing high school, instead of going to college she had decided to turn professional. And at nineteen se had won the US Open. Jansen was an attractive blue-eyed blonde. How an extraordinarily ugly man like Joe Vermuelen could produce such a remarkable specimen of beauty was beyond reason. Many of his family members believed that his last wife, with whom he was assumed to have created Jansen, had cheated on him with a secret lover. Jansen was the apple of her father’s eye. He had built for her an indoor clay tennis court and upgraded the one outside to ITF standards at the Sandhurst family home. This was where Jansen had trained for most of her life. When she was fourteen, her father had hired a live-in trainer for his beloved daughter. The man’s name was Gareth Speckman, a one-time ATP championship aspirant who had however eventually given up after many years of trying but failing to win a major tournament and instead focused his attention on developing young talent.
He burst into Jansen’s room now early in the morning, yelling, ‘Get up, Sunshine! If you think winning the US Open’ll win you favors, you guessed wrong. That Open final was last year. It’s gone! History! We need you to win all of the Australian Open, Roland Garros, Wimbledon, and the 2011 US Open in order to convince people that you’re a real champ, not just some fly-by-night who got lucky. Did I forget to mention that the Australian Open is a week from now?’
Jansen groaned and pulled the duvet over her head. ‘Go away, Gary!’
‘Get up, sunshine. Your nine hours of beauty sleep are over.’ His voice became sterner. ‘There’s work to be done.’
Jansen threw away the blankets and slowly rolled out of bed. As she walked to the bathroom she growled, ‘God! I hate you! I really hate you!’
‘And that’s why they pay me the big bucks,’ Speckman retorted with a laugh. ‘Because I make them champions.’
Jansen slammed the bathroom door shut with a bang.
‘Five minutes, Sunshine!’ yelled Speckman. ‘No more. I want you at the court in exactly five minutes flat!’
Sitting on the toilet, Jansen buried her face in her hands and not for the first time wished that she had chosen a totally different career path. She did what she had to do in the bathroom and then went outside for her morning exercises. Later, over breakfast, she checked her BlackBerry Torch for new tweets. Ever since she had won the US Open, Jansen Vermuelen had 215,000 followers on Twitter. She sent a tweet now to her followers to inform them that she had just finished her morning training for the day and was having breakfast filled with energy-building foods.
Her brother arrived at the Vermuelens’ Sandhurst mansion while Gary and Jansen were at the breakfast table. In private, the two siblings discussed their father’s will. Ugly Joe had left his wholly-owned holding company that controlled the merchant bank, the tobacco-manufacturing unit, the Stellenbosch winery, and the Vaal River gold mine to both his son and daughter; they would share the holding company and therefore each of the various business units half-half. Ugly Joe’s 63% holding in the Vermuelen supermarket chain and its food-processing subsidiary would also be shared equally between the two siblings. He had left the Sandhurst mansion to Jansen, and bequeathed the Durban and Cape Town properties to Hudson. There were also luxury cars, thoroughbred horses, a farm near Pretoria, a stake in a major construction firm, as well as jewelry to be shared between brother and sister.
‘I don’t want the house,’ Jansen declared to her brother. ‘You take it.’
Hudson looked at her in surprise. It was a magnificent piece of property, opulent and extravagant in design. Jansen had to be insane to reject it. But then again, Jansen was still a kid. ‘Dad wanted you to have it. Keep it.’
‘I don’t want it,’ Jansen said resolutely. ‘I’m moving to New York, so I don’t need it.’
‘You’re moving to New York?’ That certainly was news to him. ‘When did you decide you were moving to New York?’
‘There’s nothing here for me anymore,’ Jansen said truthfully. ‘Dad’s gone. And this house,’ she looked around the big room as if to indicate the sheer size of the mansion. ‘It’s too big for me. And it’s empty without Dad.’
Hudson looked into her sky-blue eyes. ‘I’m here for you. I will always be here for you.’ They were sincere words, for Hudson truly adored his father’s only other child, but the words were lost on Jansen, because during her formative years Hudson had been off to boarding school, then to college and barely ever at home, so they never quite bonded. ‘And you mother—.’
She interrupted him harshly. ‘I haven’t spoken to my mother in five years. She won’t miss me.’ Then she lowered her voice and spoke in a softer tone. ‘I will keep in touch with you. I promise.’
She came to him suddenly and enveloped him in a strong hug. He held her and felt overcome by a sense of loss he couldn’t shake off. ‘Please don’t sell the house, Hudson. It’s got too many memories…’ Her voice trailed off and he thought she was crying, but when she let go of him, her face was dry. In all his life, Hudson had never seen his young sister cry.
‘I can’t sell it without your consent,’ he told her. ‘You’re the le
gal owner now.’
She smiled. ‘Then it’s okay.’
‘What’ll do with it? It can’t just lie idle. It’ll fall apart.’
‘Can’t you and Joelyn come and live here? It’s such a wonderful place. We can’t just let it go.’
Hudson forced a smile to his lips. ‘We’ll work something out.’ The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had appeared and his eyes became serious. ‘As for the rest of Dad’s business affairs, you’ll have to appoint a lawyer to help you with all the papers you have to sign. I have mine at the ready. The sooner we get things done, the better.’
Jansen elected to be represented by the man who had been her father’s business legal adviser. Hudson didn’t see anything wrong with that. They set a meeting for the next day, when Vermuelen’s business affairs would change ownership and Hudson would take control of his family’s business interests.
Chapter 7
Joelyn’s best friend was Samantha Ashford. Their friendship had developed while they were in high school together, then blossomed when they were at Wits University together, though Samantha had studied Accounting and then proceeded to do her articles with Deloitte & Touché, where she had qualified as a chartered accountant. She lived in a townhouse complex in Morningside, an area that is generally regarded as part of the Sandton district, and was currently dating the national rugby team’s captain, thanks to Joelyn, who in her line of work met with a lot of professional sportsmen, and had introduced the pair together.
The Brand Page 2
