Embracing Change (11 page)

An hour later, the gentle motion of the ferry increased as it slowly moved into open seas. Sarah walked over to the side of the boat and looked at the thick wake behind them: a trail of ruffled lace, turbulent ripples washing against the waves.

Joel came up behind her and laid a steadying hand on her arm. “You can just see the shadow of North Island over there but there won’t be much of a view for a while. Let’s go eat.”

“Okay.” She felt his gaze drop onto her hands, which were fastened around the railing.

“You’ve taken your engagement ring off.”

“I didn’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“I don’t mind if you wear it, Sarah. If you need to have it close, you must keep it on.”

She shook her head, struggling for words. “It’s time … I need to move on. I just …”

“You don’t have to explain.” His voice was tender as he took her hand to lead her down to the lower deck.

The rest of the trip passed peacefully and they went back on top to watch the ferry chug into Wellington Harbour.

“It looks like a pretty city,” Sarah commented.

“It is, but it gets a lot of lousy weather. Christchurch is colder but not so windy, and the rainfall is much lower than Wellington’s.”

Joel focussed his camera and took shot after shot as Sarah stared across the ocean, trying to analyse how she was feeling. A warm mixture of sunshine, salty breezes, and security. It was a good feeling, an unfamiliar one.

Chapter Fourteen

Joel has the ability to make me feel safe and secure. I never thought I’d feel that way again.

From the journal of Sarah Johnson

Saturday 3rd May

The motel was a comfortable 3-star, set on a winding hill overlooking the Botanical Gardens. Joel carried Sarah’s bag into her room and walked over to the window. “The gardens are worth having a look at. Do you want to freshen up and then we can go for a walk? Dinner’s served from 7 o’clock onwards, so we have an hour or so.”

“I’d love to.”

He knocked on her door a little later and she joined him, dressed in jeans and a lightweight hoodie. “I’m looking forward to this.”

“It’s quite a climb to the top but there’s plenty to see down here as well. I thought we could start by the duck pond and take it from there.”

Sarah followed him as he led the way across the road and through wrought iron gates flanked by red brick walls. It was quiet inside, sheltered from traffic sounds by enormous trees and thick shrubs. For a moment she was nervous, and glanced around them. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Look at me, Sarah.” She turned her eyes towards him. “I’m with you, and this is New Zealand, not South Africa.”

She felt the tension ease and relaxed her muscles, allowing a smile to break onto her face. “You’re right. Sorry.”

He led the way to the “pond”, which turned out to be a miniature lake, shaded by large oaks. The sun was setting, casting amber streaks across the water, and the air was lightly fragranced with damp grass cuttings and the scent of some exotic crimson flowers.

“I’m not sure what they are,” Joel answered when she questioned him. “I’m not too good with flowers I’m afraid.”

They followed a narrow footpath that circled through the fern garden and herb corner before climbing up to a children’s playground. “I’ll push you on a swing,” Joel offered. “Choose one.”

Laughing, Sarah chose a plank on chains. “Not too high,” she warned, but Joel pushed higher and higher until she squealed, wind rushing through her hair, lifting it into a fluid stream.

He was smiling when she finally climbed off. “Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you look on a swing?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes serious. “And you’ve picked up a little weight.” He ran a finger across her cheek. “The hollows are filling out, Sarah.” They stood for a long moment, staring at each other, energy crackling between them.

Is he going to kiss me?
He looked like he wanted to and she knew she would respond, even though guilt was already rising, smothering the joy of the day.

“Nero!” A voice penetrated the evening chill as a large shaggy dog bounded across their path.

“I suppose we should head back,” Joel said, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost dinner time.”

It was dark when they returned to the hotel and Sarah could feel the heat of Joel’s body as he walked next to her, smell his spicy cologne that mingled with his own distinctive scent. He led the way into the restaurant and gestured towards the full length glass window. “This looks like a good place to sit.” Outside, lamps spilled cones of light across the darkened street and candles flickered on tables.

“Good evening,” the Maître d’ greeted them. “Table for two?”

“By the window, please.”

They sat facing each other and the Maître d’ continued. “Would you like to see the menu or would you prefer the self-service buffet?”

Joel looked at Sarah. “What would you like?”

“I’m happy to go with the buffet.”

“Me too.” He nodded to the Maître d’.

“Certainly. Plates are available at the serving table, and also juice.”

As the man disappeared, Joel leaned across the table. “You have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“If they’re serving sushi, don’t go anywhere near it.”

After they stopped laughing, they wandered over to the buffet and served up plates of vegetables, salad, and succulent cuts of cold meat. Conversation flowed easily as they ate, exchanging stories about family, pets and holidays.

“I’ve always had a dog,” Joel told her. “We grew up with them on the farm and they’re so companionable. I got Shelley as a small pup, and she’s wonderful. Very well travelled too. Some of the motels in New Zealand have pet’s quarters so I take her with me whenever I can. In fact, she’s even done some modelling. I included her in a fashion shoot for kids’ wear last year, and she’s also appeared in promotional material for show homes.”

“My parents prefer cats. They have two at the moment—Sir Charles and Lady Godiva.” Sarah laughed as Joel rolled his eyes. “I know. They have terrible taste in names.”

“Do you like dogs?”

“Adore them—and Shelley is wonderful.” She saw a glimpse of satisfaction on Joel’s face. “How long have you had her?”

“Coming up four years.”

They talked some more, and enjoyed bowls of ice cream and cherries in hot syrup. “Do your parents grow cherries?” Sarah asked.

“No. They alternate potatoes, wheat and lucerne. Most of their income is from sheep, though.”

“Do they raise them for wool or meat?”

Joel smiled. “Do you really want to know about sheep?”

“Yes!” Sarah made her voice indignant. “They all look the same to me—it would be interesting to know more.”

“Ok. Dad keeps about 6000 sheep. Most of them are a Romney/Border Leicester cross and are good wool producers. They get shorn once a year—normally around August—and when they reach six or seven years Dad sends them to the freezing works.”

Sarah pulled a face. “I’d rather think about the woolly side of farming.”

“I’ll take you for a visit sometime. I might even show you how to shear a sheep.”

“I’d love to see that.”

Joel yawned. “Do you want coffee or will it keep you awake?”

“I’ll have one please. I’m so tired, I think I’d need five coffees to keep me awake.”

While he was away from the table, Sarah turned her attention to the candle. It had burned steadily all evening but was now nearing its end, the slender taper dissolving into a pool of wax. The wick collapsed sideways and the flame spluttered and began smoking. A waiter, seeing this, came across with a new one. Without extinguishing the old, he lit the new from its flame, pushed it deep into the pool of melted wax and held it steady for a moment. “There you are, ma’am. Don’t want to set the smoke alarms off.”

Sarah thanked him, thoughts trickling into her mind, pictures forming and parallels being drawn. When Joel returned with steaming mugs, she told him what she’d seen. “The candle was finished but it gave life to the new one, support to the new one. I saw it as a picture of my new life in New Zealand. I’m here because of my old life, and the hope I have is anchored in the old.”

Joel’s eyes turned serious and he placed a hand on top of hers. “Can you tell me about it, Sarah? What happened to you, what happened to Luke?”

So many people had asked her about that night: friends, relatives, strangers, nosy reporters looking for a sensational story, but she refused to talk about it. The bare details had emerged through the trial but only her parents, Luke’s parents and a trauma counselor knew the details. It was private, something she’d hidden in the deep places of her heart. Yet now she found herself wanting to tell Joel. It was a mixture of the compassion in his eyes, the sense that he cared and the intimacy of flickering candlelight, she supposed.

“We’d been out to dinner to celebrate the granting of our New Zealand residency. It was a warm night and we were driving down one of the highways in Johannesburg.” She looked up at Joel. “Jo’burg is a massive place. The population is estimated to be twelve million.”

“That’s huge. There’re only four million people in the whole of New Zealand.”

“So you can imagine that many people crammed into one city. Jo’burg sprawls forever, one area merging into another. It’s a city of contrasts, a mixture of cultures and races, rich and poor, and riddled with crime. In a strange way I love it, but it’s an ugly place. There are mine dumps everywhere—horrible synthetic hills made of yellow dust, and the air is dirty too. There’s a perpetual haze over the city.”

She stopped to draw a breath, feeling her heart rate increase. “When you drive in South Africa, you keep your windows up and your doors locked. That night we didn’t. The air conditioner in Luke’s car was broken, and although it was winter, the air was warm.”

Her mind shifted back to the events that followed, events she had relived a thousand times. “As Luke pulled onto the highway exit, he slowed and then stopped to give way to some passing traffic. It was midnight, and quiet for Johannesburg.”

Joel’s hand still lay across hers, comforting as she pulled out the memories.

The two men had appeared out of the shadows, stealthy, silent and quick. One reached through Luke’s window, snapped the lock open and hauled him out of the car in seconds.

“In the back!” He shoved him towards his accomplice before taking the driver’s seat and ramming a gun into Sarah’s ribs. “Not a word; understand?”

He turned the car and headed back onto the highway. Sarah sat frozen, her mind racing with stories she’d read in the papers. Physically, they didn’t stand a chance of fighting back. She allowed her eyes to slip sideways and saw the man next to her was stocky and muscular, his nose wide on his face, hair short and frizzy. He reeked of cheap beer and sweat and his jeans were soiled with food.

Familiar landmarks flashed past and she realised he was heading towards Soweto, eyes hooded and cold as he moved in and out of traffic, speeding, but not enough to attract attention. When the overhead sign for Soweto appeared, he indicated and swung the car off the highway and onto the bridge that led down into the area.

It was as they reached the top of the bypass that Luke threw himself forward and pulled the handbrake up, while elbowing the hijacker next to him. “Run Sarah!” The car spun out of control and ended up on the shoulder of the road, spraying gravel in every direction.

Before she could get the door open, the driver grabbed her, his grip crushing, bruising. “Move and I’ll kill you!” Then he shouted something in Zulu before climbing out and pulling Luke from the car. “White pig!” His face was a mask of hatred and Sarah watched in horror as he kicked Luke to the ground, booting him in the ribs and head.

“Stop it!” she screamed, her voice sounding far away as she fumbled with her seat belt and half fell out the car.

The man she now knew as Dlamini had turned and looked at her. “This is what happens to white heroes.”

He pulled out his gun and shot Luke twice, once through the shoulder, and once through the chest.

Sarah stumbled past the car, not caring what happened to her, unaware of gravel biting her knees as she fell down next to him. “Luke, Luke!” His blood soaked in a dark stain, spreading to the ground beneath his body. “Oh, Luke.”

“Sarah.” His voice was faint, fading. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Luke, no! Don’t leave me!”

“Go to New Zealand, Sarah. Take me with you. Scatter my ashes … in the mountains …”

Rough arms dragged her up, ripping her knees open, scraping her arms. “No!” she screamed, kicking and struggling.

A shot rang out and she felt her left arm go limp. The pain, delayed by shock, came only as Dlamini dumped her in the boot of Luke’s car.

“Little savage!” He leaned over her, foul breath flooding her face as he pulled up her shirt and fondled her breast; as he pushed a hand below her skirt band. “You’ll pay for this later …”