Tendai to the mercy of that awful man in order to fly thousands of miles on what appears to be a wild-goose chase. The safety-deposit box contained nothing much of anything, really. Certainly nothing that’s going to help us save Sawubona. Just an envelope.”
“An envelope? Is there a letter in it?”
“No, that’s the peculiar part. There were only two items in it: a map of Damaraland in Namibia, and another key. The type that might fit a suitcase lock.”
“What suitcase?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. The other thing that’s strange is that the envelope is one that belonged to Veronica.”
“My mum?”
“I was surprised too,” said Gwyn Thomas. “It has your old Hampshire address on the back in her handwriting. I can’t think what it’s doing in Henry’s safety-deposit box.”
“Maybe she had something she needed to keep safe?” Into Martine’s mind, unbidden, came the thought: Or maybe she had something to hide.
“An African tourist map and a key with no address label on it? No, I think it’s more likely that whatever she or Henry put in the box has long since been removed and that the map is just a stray memento from some trip or other. The key might be worth looking into, but without an address, I don’t really know where to start.”
They talked about things closer to home after that. Gwyn Thomas missed Sawubona and everyone on it and wanted an update on almost every animal on the reserve. That roused Martine’s suspicions immediately. If there was one thing her grandmother couldn’t abide it was wasted money, especially when it came to the telephone, and she was sure the call from England was costing a fortune. And yet every time she tried to say good-bye, her grandmother would find a new way to keep her on the line.
After five or six minutes of this, Martine said, “Is there something on your mind, Grandmother?”
“No, of course not. Well, naturally I’m very concerned about the future, but apart from that I’m fine. I should go. I’m sure my phone card is about to run out. They’re a con these cards, an absolute con.”
Martine carried the phone over to the kitchen window. Through it she could see the length of the garden and all the way down to the water hole on the other side of the game fence, over which a black sky hung low. Six pot-bellied zebras were trotting for cover. Martine said, “Are you afraid of what you might find if you start investigating?”
The voice on the other end of the line was indignant. “Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous.” There was a pause and then Gwyn Thomas said, “Oh, who am I kidding? Yes, Martine, to be honest, I am scared. I’m scared that the man I loved, the man whose life I shared for forty-two years, might not have been the man I thought he was.”
There was a rush of wind through the mango trees. Fat drops began to fall, drumming the thatch. The roses bowed their heads as the rain fell faster and faster.
“My heart tells me that he was a good, kind man who would never have done anything to hurt me, but at the back of my mind is the nagging doubt that you can never truly know another person . . .” The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the rain, which was now coming down in sheets.
Martine cupped her hand over one ear, straining to hear. The line crackled and hissed. She hit the button that switched it to speakerphone.
Her grandmother’s disembodied voice burst into the kitchen, echoing around the appliances. “Secrets destroy, Martine. Never keep one. Henry’s secret mission, however noble, might mean the end of Sawubona and everything I’ve ever worked for and love. I have no wish to depress you, but you’re going to have to face the fact that it could also mean the end of the white giraffe.”
10
D inner that night was a subdued affair. Grace cooked and the food was as delicious as ever, but nobody had any appetite. Ben sat racking his brains for a solution to the situation at Sawubona. For years he’d been
“An envelope? Is there a letter in it?”
“No, that’s the peculiar part. There were only two items in it: a map of Damaraland in Namibia, and another key. The type that might fit a suitcase lock.”
“What suitcase?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. The other thing that’s strange is that the envelope is one that belonged to Veronica.”
“My mum?”
“I was surprised too,” said Gwyn Thomas. “It has your old Hampshire address on the back in her handwriting. I can’t think what it’s doing in Henry’s safety-deposit box.”
“Maybe she had something she needed to keep safe?” Into Martine’s mind, unbidden, came the thought: Or maybe she had something to hide.
“An African tourist map and a key with no address label on it? No, I think it’s more likely that whatever she or Henry put in the box has long since been removed and that the map is just a stray memento from some trip or other. The key might be worth looking into, but without an address, I don’t really know where to start.”
They talked about things closer to home after that. Gwyn Thomas missed Sawubona and everyone on it and wanted an update on almost every animal on the reserve. That roused Martine’s suspicions immediately. If there was one thing her grandmother couldn’t abide it was wasted money, especially when it came to the telephone, and she was sure the call from England was costing a fortune. And yet every time she tried to say good-bye, her grandmother would find a new way to keep her on the line.
After five or six minutes of this, Martine said, “Is there something on your mind, Grandmother?”
“No, of course not. Well, naturally I’m very concerned about the future, but apart from that I’m fine. I should go. I’m sure my phone card is about to run out. They’re a con these cards, an absolute con.”
Martine carried the phone over to the kitchen window. Through it she could see the length of the garden and all the way down to the water hole on the other side of the game fence, over which a black sky hung low. Six pot-bellied zebras were trotting for cover. Martine said, “Are you afraid of what you might find if you start investigating?”
The voice on the other end of the line was indignant. “Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous.” There was a pause and then Gwyn Thomas said, “Oh, who am I kidding? Yes, Martine, to be honest, I am scared. I’m scared that the man I loved, the man whose life I shared for forty-two years, might not have been the man I thought he was.”
There was a rush of wind through the mango trees. Fat drops began to fall, drumming the thatch. The roses bowed their heads as the rain fell faster and faster.
“My heart tells me that he was a good, kind man who would never have done anything to hurt me, but at the back of my mind is the nagging doubt that you can never truly know another person . . .” The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the rain, which was now coming down in sheets.
Martine cupped her hand over one ear, straining to hear. The line crackled and hissed. She hit the button that switched it to speakerphone.
Her grandmother’s disembodied voice burst into the kitchen, echoing around the appliances. “Secrets destroy, Martine. Never keep one. Henry’s secret mission, however noble, might mean the end of Sawubona and everything I’ve ever worked for and love. I have no wish to depress you, but you’re going to have to face the fact that it could also mean the end of the white giraffe.”
10
D inner that night was a subdued affair. Grace cooked and the food was as delicious as ever, but nobody had any appetite. Ben sat racking his brains for a solution to the situation at Sawubona. For years he’d been
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