Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (67 page)

‘Sir, I need to
clarify some things with you first.’ She stalled him, John raised
his eyebrows.

‘What
things?’The Minister asked impatiently.

‘Minister,
firstly this extradition notice for Nicholls.’

He interrupted
her rudely. ‘Wait,’ she heard him speaking to someone else in his
office. He came back on the line and read out some numbers to her,
a bank account in Switzerland. ‘Did you get that?’

‘Sorry, could
you repeat the numbers,’ Marjory agreed reluctantly as she wrote
them down, John doing the same.

‘Now, once the
money has been confirmed in that account, I will send you an
official letter rescinding the extradition.’

‘Sir, and the
other issue with the Ministry of Agriculture?’

‘No problem.
The tractors will be off loaded as per schedule. How soon can you
get the transfer done?’

‘Is this
account officially held by the government of Kenya?’ She shot back.
John frowned at her.

There was a
pause. ‘The recovered money will be held in an escrow account,
until the legal machinery in my country is ready to return it to
its rightful owners, not that it’s any of your business,’ he said
pleasantly.

Marjory took a
deep breath. ‘Sir you will have to send me a formal request, signed
by you in your capacity as Minister of Security for the Kenya
government, before my office is willing to act on this matter.’
John’s mouth was agape.

‘I don’t think
you are in a position to demand anything from my office, the money
does not belong to the British government.’ Omollo replied, his
voice rising.

‘Sir we must
follow the correct protocol. I’m not authorized to comply with your
request,’ she turned him down.

‘You are being
very stubborn and this is not negotiable, as I explained to you
earlier.’

‘Sir this is a
request from my head office.’ John waved his free hand
negatively.

‘So then maybe
I should be talking directly to someone there, what do you
think?’

‘That is your
right,’ she agreed.

John was
shaking his head looking at the ceiling.

‘Yes it is, but
I’m sure you can save yourself the embarrassment, my dear
Ambassador. This problem is growing out of proportion wouldn’t you
say,’ he suggested unfazed.

‘Minister I
have given you my answer,’ she replied.

‘Such a lovely
property, how can you be so foolish?’

‘Sir this is
not my call. If you send me the letter only then can I act on
it.’

‘No can do, let
me know if you reconsider.’

Marjory felt
her face flush. ‘Sir can you wait.’ She covered her mouthpiece and
said to John in a furious whisper. ‘We can’t let him get away with
this.’

He replied in
an equally furious whisper. ‘With respect, it’s not your call
Ma’am. My people have it covered.’

Marjory scowled
at him as she resumed her conversation. ‘Minister, I will arrange
the transfer as you request.’

‘Very good, I
knew you would find a way.’

Marjory put the
phone down, a minor victory. John put down his extension. ‘Phew,
that was close,’ he smiled.

She did not
smile back. ‘You got the details of the account?’

‘Yes
Ma’am.’

‘Well get on
with it,’ she instructed irritably.

FORTY-FOUR

Patel and his
family had a wonderful time at Euro Disney, united once more and
enjoying a completely new experience; their joy was palpable.
Fatima had never seen her husband in such a frivolous mood and she
fell in love with him all over again. The children were fearless
when it came to the rides. Jitu the eldest pestered his father to
distraction until he agreed to come with him on a milder
helter-skelter.

Patel kept his
eyes shut throughout and his legs were shaking so badly at the end
that he could hardly walk straight. The kids found this hilarious
and imitated him, falling over themselves with laughter. Fatima was
more reserved, putting her arm round her husband telling him how
brave he was. ‘Who would have thought you could get people to pay
money for that terrible experience,’ he said, shaking his head.

The three days
went past at lightning pace and soon they were on the train to
Zurich. The bubble burst a little when the children found
themselves held captive in a hotel room while Patel went about his
business.

‘It’s colder
than England mum,’ Gulam the youngest complained, ‘I hope we don’t
have to live here.’

In Venice the
children discovered real Italian ice cream, fed and chased pigeons
in Saint Mark’s square and messed about trying to tip up a gondola,
much to the annoyance of the owner, who insisted the family get out
of his boat before the ride was through. ‘Hey,’ complained Patel,
‘now we are in the middle of nowhere, you have to take us
back.’

‘This is not
nowhere, this is Venice,’ as he poled away from them. ‘You go back
to nowhere,’ he advised.

‘You go back to
nowhere,’ Jitu imitated the man, pointing at his younger
brother.

Fatima burst
out laughing, Patel smiled. ‘Italians, what can you do?’ Soon they
were on their way to Barcelona, the kids happier to be moving.
Patel had not told Fatima about the car until they got there.

She was
surprised and said. ‘It must be expensive to do that.’

‘You know what
a sentimental fool I am, I thought we would need our car here silly
me, eh?’ He smiled at her.

She frowned a
little at his lie but reasoned that he knew better about what he
was doing than she did and besides, she was enjoying his newfound
generosity paying for things without so much as a quibble.

It took three
days to clear the car and get all the paperwork done. That morning
Patel had given his wife a large wad of money. ‘Keep this handy,’
he said.

She looked at
the money puzzled. ‘Handy for what?’

‘I don’t want
to carry it on me into the port,’ he said mysteriously. ‘Why don’t
you take the boys to the beach, while I collect our car,’ he
suggested.

Patel waited
outside the shipping warehouse nervously, while a driver went to
look for the Landcruiser. He hopped from one foot to the other
unable to keep still, a mixture of excitement and dread. The
familiar sight of his car calmed him as it drove up. In a flash he
moved round to the back of the car and peered in the rear view
window his heart pounding. The spare tire was still in place locked
with chains, nothing had been moved. The driver watched him
curiously holding a clipboard as he got him to check for anything
missing or broken. Patel signed the release, his hand shaking. He
started the car and promptly stalled it. The man could see he was
nervous. ‘Why don’t you drive around the car park, until you get
the hang of it,’ he suggested.

Patel peered at
him looking for trickery. ‘Yes thank you, that’s a good idea.’ He
drove back to the hotel and parked in the underground car park,
sweating profusely from nervous excitement. He switched off the
engine and sat in the car calming himself. Getting out of the car
he checked under the driver’s seat for any sign of disturbance, it
all looked in order. He then opened the boot and checked the locks
on the chains.He undid a clip on the carpet and lifted the corner
carefully, a layer of undisturbed coffee granules in his gaze, he
sighed with satisfaction, his cargo intact. He was itching to look
at the money, but resisted the impulse; he patted the car
affectionately and caught the lift up to their apartment.

The kids were
still out. He lay down on the bed with a sense of deep
satisfaction, the most difficult part was over and now he had money
in cash to start a new and more prosperous life for himself and his
family; he dozed off contentedly.

Patel was woken
by the sound of the children in the hallway, racing one another to
the door. He hugged his wife. ‘I got the car,’ he said his eyes
beaming at her.

She hugged him
back. ‘We had fun at the beach.’

‘What car?’
asked Jitu.

‘Dadie has
brought our car from Kenya.’

‘Wow, how did
it get here?’

‘On a big ship,
all the way from Mombasa.’

Gulam asked.
‘Can we go on a ship one day?’

‘Yes we will go
on many ships,’ his father assured him.

‘Where is the
car?’ asked Jitu.

‘It’s nearby,
tomorrow we will it drive back to England.’

‘No dadie let’s
not go there, it’s too cold and I hate my school,’ said Gulam.

Jitu agreed.
‘Yes dadie, let’s go back to Disneyland.’

Patel looked at
his wife and smiled. ‘Your children don’t want to go back. What
shall we do with them.’

‘We could leave
them here,’ she suggested.

The children
shook their heads solemnly. ‘Why do we have to go back to England?’
asked Gulam.

‘Because that’s
where we live now,’ Fatima explained.

That evening
Patel spent time over a series of maps, using a calculator he made
notes on a legal pad. The children were asleep in the adjoining
room and Fatima lay on the bed and watched her husband; he had been
engrossed in the maps for hours.

‘Are you afraid
we will get lost?’ She ventured.

‘What’s that my
dear,’ he said not looking up, ‘lost?’

‘The maps,
you’re looking at.’

‘Oh these, you
wouldn’t believe how many roads there are. It’s not like Kenya and
we have almost eight hundred miles to go before we get to the car
ferry in Holland.’

‘You want to
drive all that way in one day?’

He nodded
happily. ‘Yes if we can. It all depends on the timing of the
ferries across to England.’

‘Why the
hurry?We could stop on the way somewhere.’

‘Now as you
said my dear, the kids have to go back to school, but let’s see how
we get on.’

‘I miss
Malindi. How did the sale of the factory go?’

‘Not now my
love, we will have plenty of time to talk on the journey. In the
meantime let’s get some sleep, as you said it’s a long drive.’

They were all
packed and in the car early the next morning, the boys still half
asleep. ‘I can smell coffee?’ said Fatima.

‘Yes,’ agreed
Patel distractedly arranging his notes on the dashboard so that he
could refer to them quickly.

She could also
smell scent - woman’s scent on her seat. ‘How is Azizza?’

‘What?’ Patel
frowned at her.

‘Your
assistant, Azizza, how is she?’

‘I’m sure she
is fine,’ her husband replied starting the car. He turned and asked
Jitu to move one of the smaller suitcases obscuring his rear view.
Jitu tried to adjust it but it stubbornly slid back into position.
‘Ok pull it forward, it will have to sit on the seat between you.’
Patel pulled out of the car park and said. ‘Now no noise please
until I get the hang of driving the car ok?’ He drove a little way
to the nearest petrol station to top up the tank, making notes on
his pad, and adjusting the trip meter to zero and checked the map
before setting off. Fatima watched him curiously, she had never
seen him so preoccupied.

Their progress
was marked by silence, driving slowly at first until he gained
confidence. They got onto the nearest auto route and were soon
humming along at a good pace with the other vehicles. After the
third fuel stop Fatima asked him if there was a problem with the
car.

‘No my dear
nothing serious, it’s just the fuel gauge doesn’t work,’ he pointed
at the dial, ‘and I don’t want to run out.’

Jitu leaned
forward. ‘But dadie you’re only putting in twenty litres at a
time.’

‘An accountant
already eh?’ He roughed up his hair affectionately.

Patel began to
relax as he studiously ticked off the names on his list. One thing
he had not thought of was the attention the Kenyan number plate was
causing. At petrol stations he became aware of other drivers
staring at them, until at a filing station an attendant said.
‘Kenya?’ Pointing at the plate.‘You drove all the way like the
Paris - Dakar?’ Patel only smiled, nodding affably, the penny
dropping.

They stopped
for lunch at a yet another large filling station, Patel taking his
maps with him. ‘We are making good progress,’ he told his wife as
they ate slices of pizza.

‘Where are we
going Dadie?’ Asked Gulam.

Patel showed
him on the map. ‘Look we are here and we are going,’ he traced a
line with his finger, ‘to here and then all the way to here, we
will get on a ship and go over to England.’

‘Wow,’ he said
with big eyes, ‘a ship?’

‘I don’t want
to go to England,’ said Jitu. ‘Why can’t we go back to Malindi?

Gulam joined
in. ‘We could take a ship back to Malindi.’

Patel laughed
and Fatima smiled with him. She had been reminiscing quietly on the
journey, the car reminding her so much of the home she had left.
‘Yes I miss Malindi too.’

‘Maybe we will
go back there one day for a holiday,’ said Patel getting up, ‘come
on let’s get to that ship, eh?’

Fatima tried to
draw information about Malindi and the many friends they had left
behind from her husband while he drove, but his distracted
monosyllabic answers discouraged her and instead she fell into
silence, remembering with sweet sadness, images of the home they’d
left behind.

At dinner that
night at another motorway café, the kids were bored and tired from
lack of activity, listlessly picking at their sandwiches. ‘Aren’t
you tired my dear?’ she asked him. ‘Surely we should stop, and
spend the night.’

‘No I’m fine,
it’s not much further.’

She frowned a
little. ‘You know, England is not the same as Malindi, the people
there are very different.’

‘That’s because
they are English,’ he said irritably.

She sighed.
‘Yes.’

They boarded
the ferry in Holland at ten that evening. The kids had to be woken
and led sleepily up the stairs to the lounge area. Patel found a
few unoccupied sofa seats in the corner of the lounge and the
children lay down and promptly fell asleep.