Wings of the Morning (19 page)

‘And now you live here in town?’

‘That’s right,’ said Ouye, ‘we two and Rafa. We’ve been here for nearly five years. We came in from the bush life at our father’s insistence to finish our
education. Aischa and I have just joined our brother at the university here from High School. It may not be for long. The plan is for Rafa to go on to medical school in Lisbon, which is what our
father did, but it might be a problem to arrange.’

‘Yes, of course, I can understand that. I imagine it must be difficult for you to see much of your father.’

‘You’re right!’ The twins burst out in precise unison and then collapsed in giggles.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ouye,’we do so much together that sometimes we say the same thing at the same time! But you’re right. The better the campaign goes for our father,
the more difficult for us all to meet. He’s always so busy too, and not just with work. He has another three wives and ten children — all much younger than us. But we do get together
from time to time, and of course we support him as best we can. So we try to work hard and keep a low profile here in Mocamedes.’

David wanted to lighten the conversation, so he waved a hand at the high spirited party all around them.

He remarked, ‘It doesn’t seem too low profile to me’.

The girls laughed with him, and it was again Ouye who went on to explain.

‘Actually, in this town David, you would stand out much more and especially at our age if you were not to be seen out and about. We’re a very sociable and fun loving
group.’

As if to prove her point, some of the party members at the main table spilled over to join them. Two couples to whom David had not had the chance to speak previously and he was impressed with
the command of English shown by all of them. Probably they were keen to practise, but he hoped they were enjoying his company too. More food was delivered to the two tables, the wine flowed, the
participants moved around in conversation.

David was enjoying himself. He knew that he was drinking too much, especially having been swallowing pills to ward off a return of sickness, but he felt confident and in control, flattered that
he seemed to be accepted as contributing to the general entertainment of the evening.

Benoit joined him again, asking ‘What do you think of our twin beauties?’

‘I think they’re absolutely stunning,’ he said, ‘and not just good looking either. They’re great company and fun to be with.’

He meant it. But it was certainly true that Aissata and Ouye were very beautiful indeed. He would have liked to have met their mother, or anyway to have seen a picture of her. The girls
benefited from the mixed blood of their parentage. Their colour was a striking cafe au lait, they had a marvellous bone structure with a deep forehead, slightly concave cheeks beneath prominent
bones, piercing eyes quite deep set in their sockets and a retroussé nose, but if all these came from their mother, they must thank their father for their mouth, wide, warm and welcoming. It
was in that feature that David could see Jonas Savimbi so clearly.

He realised that he was musing in the singular, but that was another point. Look at Aischa and you looked at Ouye. Their likeness was astounding: two outstandingly elegant and feminine girls
with poise, style and dramatic figures. I’ll start drooling in a minute, he told himself sternly, and turned back to renew his conversation with Benoit. But even as he did so, Aischa
reappeared by his side and before she could say anything, he put the question to her which had formed his reverie.

‘How can you two be told apart?’ he asked her.

Aischa put her hands on her slender hips and smiled down at him.

‘We dress differently,’ she replied sweetly, ‘otherwise, you would struggle! Now come over here and talk to Rafa for me. Ouye and I want to come and see you off at the harbour
tomorrow, and he’s being difficult about it’.

She led him away from Benoit who bowed his head in acknowledgement of the superior invitation. David followed the gliding form, graceful in her full length deep maroon skirt surmounted by a
deliciously tight fitting top, to where Rafa was still holding court at the head of his table with Ouye taking a seat beside him, her print blouse tucked loosely into tight white jeans which set
off her impossibly long legs.

They partied on. In time, David came to meet almost everybody in the group, and was struck by the warmth of welcome and apparently genuine interest in his provenance, why he was there this
evening, when he would be returning. It often happened as the evening wore on that he would find himself back in the company of Benoit, whose conversation was very entertaining. He was sitting with
him again when Rafa came up to announce that it was time to head for home.

‘After all, David,’ he said, ‘we’ve all got to get up in the morning, but no one more than you’.

They made some noisy farewells, the bill was somehow settled, and David found himself back in the car park, pleasantly the worse for wear. They did not wait for long before Jaou reappeared with
the car, and David was placed beside him in the front whilst the three siblings lounged behind as they drove through almost deserted streets to the large family house. It was 1.30 am.

They bade each other good night and arranged to breakfast at nine before going to catch the boat. Rafa was worn down by his sisters into agreeing that they could come. He guided David to the
door of his room and left him there with wishes to sleep well. David undressed and showered, amazed to note that the clothes he had dropped on the floor were already returned, clean and ironed. The
fan over the large bed continued its steady sweep. He stood by the open window for a few minutes, savouring the smell of the sea. The city slept. Somewhere close at hand, a dog barked plaintively.
He left a light burning in the bathroom, took a last batch of his pills, and feeling lightheaded from the effects of either the medication or the party or both, he sank naked into the middle of the
blissfully comfortable bed and fell instantly asleep.

It was as dark as before when he woke suddenly and the face of his luminous watch told him that it was just after three in the morning. He felt tense. Something had woken him from a deep sleep
and he could not locate the cause. The fan droned on, the dog still barked intermittently, he lay silent and unmoving as he tried to work out what had disturbed him. At last, he raised his head
slowly from the pillows and had the immediate sense that the door of the room had opened. His anxiety increased. He was fully awake, suddenly poised for fight or flight, whichever.

And then a voice spoke from the darkness by the bed head.

‘It’s true. You can’t tell us apart if we are dressed the same ... or not dressed at all.’

Then there was the rustle of the sheet above him, moving as two slender forms slipped into the great bed, one on either side of him.

For a fleeting instant, strange reactions chased each other through him. Relief that he certainly did not need to either fight or fly, panic at what Rafa would say, much greater panic at what
Savimbi would do. And then a marvellous calm as the four arms closed around him and Ouye whispered in his ear.

‘This is very forward behaviour. We are not normally quite this naughty, but you’re fun and not here for long, and most important, we do not get many chances to try out an
Englishman.’

After which, of course, he was just twenty-seven, red blooded, slightly drunk, slightly drugged, to hell with anyone else and to hell with any consequences.

The four arms concentrated into ten fingers marching deliciously across his body, soft mouths alternated with nipping teeth, perfect, pliant breasts danced tantalisingly before him and the
moonlight through the window caught the waves of hair cascading halfway down a naked back. The sensuous long legs surrounded him, beneath him, above him and finally encasing him. Yet still there
were muffled giggles and endearments, even the feeling of a bit of a scorecard being composed and compared. Above all else, there was a sense of fun.

If this was not paradise, David had just the time to think to himself, then it was as close as he would ever get.

He had woken alone, the twins having slipped out in the grey dawn as silently as they arrived. They left the house on schedule and farewells at the harbour had been warm, but decorous. Sad but
happy, he watched Mocamedes recede into the distance and dozed for most of the voyage south. The remainder of the trip back to Johannesburg had been uneventful and now it all seemed like a dream,
to be wrapped up and treasured, brought out for review from time to time.

Back in London, however, there had to be confrontation. David went straight from the airport to Westbourne Grove to give Sol and Martin a carefully edited account of his experience.

‘Savimbi was right about the journey. That was exactly as it happened. I flew back into Jo’burg and had a last talk to Soldemeyer. I made no commitments about the arms list, but I
have a mass to do about stuff for the mines. Now I’m here and you two know what happened. I’m open for questions of course but I do have a few of my own.’

David stood up from his chair and moved to pour himself another coffee from the pot standing on a side table. Behind him, Sol clasped troubled hands behind his neck and Martin chewed his pencil.
It was for Sol to explain to them both, and at last he stared to speak.

‘It seems that I should apologise to you boys, and by God I need an apology and an explanation from Glucky. I’ve told you that I met him on a train and I did: it was taking us both
from Berlin to Dachau. We were together in the Camp, but we lost touch afterwards. Then here in London, I bumped into him again, but only about ten years ago and that was at Lancaster Gate tube
station if you can believe it. Since then, I’ve seen him every six months or so and we’ve talked of this and that — old memories and such like. You can imagine. But we’ve
not spoken about business, not really. He said he was in the rag trade — mostly cheap jewellery and I never questioned further although I knew he had a smart address. And he never mentioned
the arms business, and I know why. I told him I’d never go near war again or anything to do with it. I’ve seen too much already and suffered from it. I’m suffering still. I guess
Glucky got word of a fat opportunity in our part of the world of which he knows nothing and decided he’d try to get my help without asking first. He’d have known my reaction.

Well, let’s forget it boys, and I’m sorry to have put you through it, Davy. You must have handled yourself well to get out of there. But Glucky has lied to me and fooled me.
That’s his mistake as he’s lost any chance of that business now, and my friendship with it. But I’ll get even yet. He owes me now.’

Sol’s voice drifted away. He was sad and diminished. David could understand why.

He spoke again. ‘I hope you ‘ll excuse me if I leave now. I need a bit of time to myself.’

‘Go, go,’ Sol bellowed, ‘you deserve a break.’

David went. It was good therapy to walk and think things through. He passed through Kensington Gardens and went on swinging down the pavements of Chelsea and Fulham towards Parson’s Green
and home.

ALEXA BUSHELL — 1971

In September, Alexa married Peter Bushell, twenty-one months after arriving in Australia.

It was a marriage of convenience, but also a successful union which brought contentment to them both although they knew that death would part them sooner rather than later.

On ‘Alexa’s flight’ as he thought of it, Peter had known that he was approaching an early end to his career. A year previously, he had sought advice in Sydney about the
persistent tingling in his hands and forearms which had started to trouble him. He was told this was probably the onset of multiple sclerosis and the diagnosis was confirmed by a leading authority
in Harley Street, so Peter knew he was heading home to tender his resignation from Qantas.

That was important, but not urgent. It was the state of Alexa which was screaming critical as the aircraft cruised over the Arafura Sea and entered Australian airspace before putting down at
Darwin to refuel. Peter was sitting with her at the back of the plane in an area screened off for crew rest and he was willing her to last the final hop to Sydney. They were taking advice from his
brother Mark who would meet the plane on the tarmac at Kingsford Smith and meantime, all he could do was to keep her going by guess and by God.

Alexa’s condition was deteriorating. She couldn’t or wouldn’t speak now, but she gibbered constantly. She moved around in her seat, tossing her head about, occasionally giving
out a high pitched keening sound. Once, when they were in some turbulence, she sprang up with a chilling yell and Peter had to restrain her physically. She was at her best when curled into a foetal
position but even then she shivered no matter how many blankets he put over her.

Peter knew she had been lucky, even if she was now almost wiped out. Lucky that someone had sent that message, lucky that Aveling was there for her, lucky they had got out of Bahraini airspace.
She was luckier still that he now had help for her from within his own family.