“Anything but wine. I’ll try a kriek. Lindemans, if they’ve have.”
“Is it my imagination, or have you become quite a kriek connoisseur?”
A friendly woman in an apron came out, placed the menus in front of them and took their orders.
Lilah picked up the menu. “MaCaz, don’t turn round.” She kept her voice low. “But I spy with my little eye ...” Her eyebrows bounced up and down.
“What do you spy?”
“A possible candidate.”
“For?”
“You. Slouched down in his chair at present, but he looks tall enough. Snazzy glasses. About your age. Still has all his hair. That earns him double points. On the thin side, so chances are he won’t have a beerbelly. And ... drrrumrrroll ... he’s reading. Not a newspaper, not an e-reader, a real book. Lee Child, no less, even though it’s in Dutch.” Lilah clasped her hands melodramatically. “A match made in heaven, if he happens to be unmarried.”
“Belgians read, Lilah. Real books. In Dutch. And if the I-spy man is such a hunk, he’ll be married. And even if he isn’t, what do you suggest I do? Go across and say: Hi, I’m Caz. I haven’t had sex for ten years and I’ll only be in Belgium a few more days. So how’s about a roll in the hay? That is, if you don’t have a problem with the fact that I’m multiracial and possessed by ancestral spirits.”
“Hmm. I see your point, but it’s a good thought. By the way, he’s drinking kriek too. If only he would lower the book slightly, I could see if he’s really such a dish.”
Caz rolled her eyes, but wished she could look over her shoulder. Lilah had roused her curiosity. The poor man. His ears must be ringing.
The kriek arrived. Lilah suggested they should wait until they were closer to home before they had something to eat and Caz agreed.
They spoke about Tijl Uilenspiegel, his grave, the artwork all over the town depicting him and his friends, the museum dedicated to him, all the names of restaurants linked to the odd trickster from the Middle Ages. But Caz remained annoyingly aware of the man’s presence behind her.
“Take a look when we leave,” Lilah whispered urgently when at last they got up from the table.
As if she wouldn’t have anyway.
Caz caught him at the moment he peered over the top of the book. Gaping at Lilah, she supposed. But no, he was looking at her. Their eyes met and locked before he hastily lowered his gaze.
Lilah had been right. Not a dish, exactly, but there was a certain sexy quality about him. He looked kind of familiar too. His hair was longish in the neck, but fashionably styled on top. If it wasn’t the mophead from the Graslei, she would eat her scarf. She averted her eyes and headed for the exit.
It was weird. Really weird.
Caz looked up when Lilah dug her elbow into her ribs, motioning with her eyes at the man. Caz shook her head, annoyed. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from taking another look. Straight into his eyes.
He gave a slight nod, raised his book and carried on reading.
Suddenly she knew. It was bloody Luc DeReu who was hiding behind Lee Child. He was the one who had been at the Graslei and had seen her talk to Njiwa. Who had sent the smileys while pretending to be busy on his phone. And he knew exactly who she was.
Tijl Uilenspiegel, indeed. The kind of man who turns one’s life upside down and then walks whistling into the sunset.
A reckless feeling took hold of her. “Wait for me.” She pulled her new book from its bag, turned on her heel and strode to his table.
He looked up at her, clearly embarrassed.
“Would you mind signing your biography for me?” she asked with a feigned smile, opening the book at the title page.
He sat motionless for a moment before he put Lee Child down. Retrieving a pen from his inside pocket, he took the book from her. “With pleasure.”
His silver hair slid forward as he bent over the book and began to write. He returned the book with a lopsided grin. “Alstublieft.”
“Dank uw wel.” Caz returned to Lilah, who was staring at her, flabbergasted, and linked Lilah’s arm with her own. “I reckon we can tick Damme off the list, don’t you agree?”
Lilah looked down at her and then over her shoulder before they started for the cabriolet. “Well, I never. Are you going to tell me what happened there?”
“In the car. Just keep walking and help me if my legs give way. They feel like jelly.”
“You’re in love? So soon?”
“No, I’m livid. Have been for a long time. Now more than ever.”
Luc
Damme
He should have gone over right at the beginning, introduced himself and improvised from there. It had been an excellent opportunity to determine whether she was the witch or the fairy godmother. But no. The coward in him took over and was stupid enough to be caught.
Goodness knows how she had known who he was.
As the BMW drove away he closed his eyes and drew the moist air deep into his lungs. He could detect the scent of flowers. It smelt like her. When he opened his eyes, the cabriolet was crossing the bridge. It turned left in the direction of Bruges and disappeared from view.
Caz
Damme
“What are you saying? The prof? Luc DeReu? That was him?”
“Yep.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen him before. I just didn’t realize it.”
“Why are you angry with him?”
“Because he’s hand in glove with De Brabander. Telling tales behind my back, making me look even more suspect than I already do. And that after he blatantly lied to me. Pretended to be a friend of Luc DeReu’s. One day he’s nice, the next he suspects me of all kinds of things. Including being a danger to Ammie. Besides, it was clear he knew me. Hiding behind a book. Why? Bloody coward.”
“Okay, but when was he nice?”
“He congratulated me on my birthday.” She sighed. “And apparently he helped save my life. When Matari threw me into the Dijle.”
“Ah. Saved your life. And that’s all?”
Caz kept silent. Lilah’s sarcasm didn’t deserve an answer.
“What did he write, damn it?”
Caz took a deep breath and opened the book. “To Caz. Pleased to meet you. Tijl Uilenspiegel.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.” Lord knows why she was upset. Lord knows why the silver hair falling over his forehead had stuck in her memory. That and the picture of the lean hand holding a pen in such an intimate way.
Thirty-eight
Sunday, October 12
Caz
Ghent
De Brabander kept his word. Her passport and her phone were delivered to the guesthouse.
Erdem looked slightly relieved when she took her leave. Nevertheless he put his arms around Caz and gave her three kisses on alternate cheeks. He sounded sincere when he wished her everything of the best for the future.
“Okay. Amsterdam, here we come,” Lilah said as they drove away.
The day was misty and cool. They had crossed the border into the Netherlands by the time Lilah was able to let the top down.
“We’ll have lunch at the Zaanse Schans. It’s the quaintest place. Windmills galore. Then we’ll take the city streets. And tonight we’re staying at a decent hotel. Herbergh Something-or-the-other. There are several restaurants to choose from. Oh, and in the morning the cabriolet will be returned to the rental people and we’ll take the shuttle to Schiphol. From there I’ll take the Thalys to Paris.”
“My superefficient daughter. I could never have imagined you’d be so organized.”
“Neither could I, but I must admit I learned from Aubrey. Every minute of his day goes like clockwork and pity the poor soul who throws a spanner in his works.”
Sounded like a control freak, tho
ught Caz. A businessman, Lilah had said a few days ago when Caz asked how Aubrey made his living. Import and export. “When do I meet the remarkable Aubrey?”
“In January, if it’s okay with you. We have reservations at one of the hotels in Hermanus from the fourth to the eighth. Then on to Cape Town for four days before it’s back to the salt mines and the freezing cold.”
“Of course it’s okay, but why stay at a hotel?”
Lilah glanced at her. “It’s better that way, MaCaz. Believe me, Aubrey can be quite demanding.”
It didn’t sound promising, but Caz decided to reserve judgment until she had met the man. She was certainly not the world’s best authority on men. And she was biased. No man could ever be good enough for her Lilah.
Luc
Damme
Luc tried to read, but he could not concentrate. He kept smelling flowers. His thoughts kept returning to those forty minutes at the restaurant. If he had done this, if he had acted like that. Over and over he reviewed the events and changed the outcome.
Caz resembled Ammie after all, he had realized last night. Especially the Ammie he had known as a young woman. The nose, the chin, something about the mouth. That beautiful mouth.
Luc closed the book and pulled a Jean-Claude van Damme DVD from the shelf. Ten minutes later he switched off the DVD player. The man irritated him no end.
At his wits’ end, he logged onto the internet. Read every Belgian newspaper he could find. Read a free quota of Network24 reports on events in South Africa. The country was still plagued by crime. There were few murders in Brussels and most were related to drugs or failed love affairs. And yet, Caz’s foster sister was murdered here, in Ghent. And in Leuven, Caz was assaulted and could have died. Did she drag violence along with her like a comet its tail of gas and dust?
That was what she was in his life. A comet shooting past. One of those rare ones that made its brief appearance in the night sky only once every decade or even century.
Thank goodness she was on her way back. Hopefully his life would return to normal.
The disappointment he felt because he would never get to know the woman who had caught his eye at the Graslei was nothing but foolishness.
Monday, October 13
Caz
Amsterdam
The hotel shuttle dropped them at the airport at eight. Lilah helped Caz weigh in, and with the lilac case now at 22.9 kilograms and very little hand luggage, there was no problem at all. She even got a window seat.
The farewell was tearful, but December was just around the corner, they kept assuring each other.
Caz followed Lilah with her eyes as she walked away with long strides and bouncing braids. Heads turned as far as she went, but Lilah seemed oblivious. Caz felt as if her heart would burst. With pride, but also with longing, already tugging at her heartstrings.
She waved when Lilah looked over her shoulder and wiggled her long fingers in a final farewell. Caz was left to her own devices until she had to go through the security gate.
She would look for a gift for Annika before she went to find the right gate.
On the plane Caz took out the Tijl Uilenspiegel book. She had no wish to sit and brood about things she could do nothing about. Hopefully the book would distract her.
After an initial struggle she got into it. Flemish was easier on paper than on the ear.
Every so often she looked through the window. Tried to guess where they were as they flew over African plains and deserts.
Hours later, the lights of Johannesburg flickered far below the wing of the plane. Caz’s ears ached during the landing but not as much as when she landed in Cape Town.
So far, Van Daele’s book had been a disappointment. The Tijl Uilenspiegel she remembered from her childhood wasn’t nearly as inconsiderate, borderline mean and arrogant. Maybe it was the translation. Maybe she was just older and hopefully wiser. Maybe she was just better able to put herself in others’ shoes today and that was why her sympathy lay mostly with his victims, rather than with Tijl.
Van Daele’s Tijl was a know-it-all who stepped all over people, didn’t trust anyone, and took no responsibility. He messed with people because he thought himself superior and cleverer and went his merry way.
But in the end she wasn’t sure whether she was passing judgment on a fictional Tijl or bloody Luc DeReu, whose unbidden image kept popping into her mind.
Her luggage wasn’t first to emerge, but neither was it last. The angels were smiling on her today. And hopefully tomorrow too. No, she didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Not even speculate about the answers she might get, or about exactly what the nkísi would be.
She walked unchallenged through the green zone and began to look for directions to the car-hire counters. She still had to find out from Annika where she had arranged accommodation for her. She would switch off the roaming function on her phone in a while and call Annika. First she had to rent a car.
“Surprise!” a voice behind her cried out moments later.
Caz turned. “Annika!”
“If you weren’t so bloody tall I would give you a proper hug. Would I allow my favorite translator to muddle along on her own? Let’s get you home. I have a lasagne in the oven and a bottle of wine on ice. You’re staying at my place. I want to hear all about your trip and that parcel you sent. I’m dying of curiosity.”
“You’re a darling,” Caz managed to get a word in. Annika liked to talk, Caz recalled. Not that she minded. The sound of Afrikaans was music to her ears.
Tuesday, October 14
Caz
Pretoria
At half past seven Caz was raring to go. She’d had three cups of coffee. Her luggage was in the trunk of the car. Her backpack was packed. She had kept out her handbag. The key was in the pocket of her jeans.
Last night she let Lilah know that she had arrived safely, but so far there had been no reply. She didn’t want to bother the child again. She was probably up to her ears in work after her short break.
She had told Annika that she had mailed her the key because she was afraid she might lose it during her travels. She explained that the key would open a safe-deposit box that contained something she had inherited, but that she didn’t know what it was.
“Are you sure you won’t have breakfast?” Annika asked.
“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. I’m too tense.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what, we’ll take the scenic route to kill time. Let me show you all your old stomping grounds on our way to the bank.”
Caz nodded, relieved. Anything was better than just sitting there, waiting for the hands of the clock to move.
Annika shoved her handbag under the driver’s seat before she got in. “Put yours out of sight as well. The joys of living in our dearest country.” She gave a wry smile.
At the security gate to the townhouse complex she waved to the guard, who acknowledged her with a broad smile.
Caz hardly recognized the city where she had grown up and spent a large part of her life. Even though the jacarandas were in full bloom.
Her heart grieved for the Hatfield she remembered. Sunnyside, where she had taken long strolls with Lilah in her pram, had changed unrecognisably. Sadly, not for the better.
She shook her head when Annika asked whether she would like to go to Meyerspark to see her former home.
A few minutes before opening time, Annika pulled into a parking lot in Silverton.
To Caz the centre looked as if it could belong in any other African country. Fenced off by a green palisade, papers fluttering in the breeze. On the other side of the fence, the fronds of a palm tree rustled softly. The place looked deserted, except for a number of minibus taxis. A few people emerged from one and strolled inside.
“I’ll wait here, Caz. I have a few calls to make and an email to reply to. Thank goodness for smartph
ones.”
“Are you sure? It might take a while.”
“Not long enough for me to do anything more productive than what I can do on my phone.”
“Will you be safe?” Caz couldn’t help asking.
“I’ll lock the doors and keep my eyes open. I’m used to the city, you country bumpkin.”
“I must say, it’s like another planet to me.”
“You’re lucky down in the Cape. Go on in.”
Caz heard the sound of the doors being locked and saw the lights flash the moment she shut the car door behind her.
A huge Shoprite sign kept watch over the entrance to the mall. Some of the smaller stores were still closed but inside it was already bustling. Cleaners, people with cellphones at their ears, Shoprite customers—some going in, some already on their way out, carrying their shopping in plastic bags. So different from Ghent or Leuven.
The door of the bank opened as she approached, yet she wasn’t the first client to enter.
She was second in line at the enquiries counter. She kept looking around her. Was Njiwa watching the mall in case she came earlier to avoid him? Would she see him in time? Here, where he wouldn’t be conspicuous because his skin was dark? Where she was the one who drew glances instead?
At last it was her turn.
“Good morning. I don’t really know how it works but I want to get access to a safe-deposit box. I presume the manager ...” she began in Afrikaans.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Afrikaans.” The woman was unapologetic, but not impolite.
Caz switched to English. “I presume the manager has to accompany me to my safe-deposit box?”
“The safe?” The woman frowned. “No one can get to the safe.”
“No, not the bank’s safe, I mean the personal strongboxes. Where clients keep their valuable possessions?”
“Sorry, I don’t understand what you mean. The safe belongs to the bank.”
Caz stifled a sigh. “Could I please see the manager?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I flew in from Europe last night, so I was unable make an appointment.”
A shake of the head. “Sorry, but without an appointment I can’t help you. You can make one but it will only be for tomorrow.”
Sacrificed Page 40
