Thunder over the Grass Read online

She leaned over and kissed him. Then in a sudden movement rolled on top of him with her left leg between his knees. Her thigh pressed between his legs, awakening him, and he could feel her warmth on his thigh.

  The passion that had drained from him came flooding back. He pulled her tight to him and kissed her with abandonment. Her tongue forced its way between his lips. He ran his hand down her back—no longer caring about the scars—and squeezed her behind.

  His other hand pushed between their bodies and found her breast. He pressed his fingers into her. “Harder,” she whispered into his mouth. He dug the nails of both hands into her skin. She uttered a quiet groan as she rubbed her hips against him, again and again—developing a slow powerful rhythm.

  He couldn’t take the passivity any longer, pushed her over on to her back and climbed between her legs. He concentrated on trying to locate himself to penetrate her then looked at her face. She had stopped moving and her eyes were wide. It took an effort of will not to thrust himself into her.

  They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

  “Do it,” she whispered.

  He wanted to. Every part of his body and mind was focused on that single act. But her words about not making the choice lightly came back to him. If he was wrong about this he would never be able to look her in the eye again.

  “Are you sure?” he said in a voice taut as a steel wire.

  “I want you to,” she said. “I need you to.”

  He nodded. She smiled for him but he could still see the fear. It was as if there was something inside her screaming don’t hurt me. But his lust was willing to take her at her word. Taking his time, he pressed into her. He felt her hot sheath encompass him; he went deeper until he was fully inside her.

  She closed her eyes and breathed out. A tear formed in the corner of her right eye.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She looked at him and smiled. She pulled up her legs and wrapped them around his back. “More please.”

  iii

  Maliha tied her dressing gown then picked up the tattered remains of her nightgown. She glanced through into the bedroom; Valentine was lying in bed watching her. He was smiling, but then so was she.

  “I’m going to make you pay for this,” she said brandishing the torn cloth at him.

  “I look forward to it.”

  She tutted and went out through the French window and on to the balcony. The street below was much busier now. She had only intended to stay with Valentine an hour at most but it had ended up being thirty minutes longer.

  She would have to teach him how to bring a woman to paroxysm. It wasn’t that she had not enjoyed the experience. She had been nervous but once past that stage it had been very pleasant. The guru may have been a con-man and a criminal but he had also been extremely skilled in pleasuring women. Of course he had had considerable experience.

  Maliha thought she would very happily teach Valentine those particular skills.

  The curtain across Barbara’s balcony door was pulled back and the door was open. Maliha hesitated and then walked boldly past in the hope that Barbara would not notice.

  “Maliha, would you come in here please?”

  It was like the worst possible farce. Maliha came back and went into Barbara’s room.

  Barbara glanced at her attire and the screwed up nightgown in her hand.

  “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Sit down, dear.”

  Maliha sat in one of the armchairs while Barbara poured the coffee and brought over a cup. Maliha took a sip and felt the invigorating effect course through her.

  Barbara sat in the chair opposite.

  “I am not a hypocrite, Maliha. I am not going to tell you not to do something that I did myself when I was young.”

  Maliha was aware of Barbara’s early love affair, however she was surprised at how candid she was being: admitting to sexual congress out of wedlock.

  “I just want to be sure it’s what you want.”

  Maliha took another sip before responding. “I appreciate your concern. And I think that you would be the only person in the world I would obey if you told me I should desist.”

  Barbara acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

  “I love Valentine,” —though I know I have treated him very badly— “and this is through my own choice.”

  “Very well, my dear, if you say so,” she hesitated. “But it would become very awkward if he got a child on you.”

  “I am taking appropriate precautions to prevent conception,” said Maliha.

  Barbara smiled. “Of course you are.”

  * * *

  When Maliha had returned to her rooms Amita had not said anything about her being missing for over an hour, or her nightgown being ripped almost in two. She helped Maliha wash and dress. Maliha carried the baby through to Barbara’s room for the family breakfast. Little Baba was fascinated by her new wooden rattle made of animal shapes on a ring which she alternately held up, and then chewed.

  Breakfast was awkward. Valentine kept smiling at her. And Barbara was clearly suppressing her amusement.

  “I was wondering if you would perform an errand for me,” said Maliha to Barbara.

  “As long as it does not involve a great deal of walking.”

  “Just sitting and reading.”

  “And what would I be reading?”

  “Old newspapers,” Maliha said carefully. “There is something I have heard about and I wanted to know whether it deserves further investigation.”

  Barbara buttered a slice of toast and added a thin layer of marmalade. “Would I be at the library or the newspaper office?”

  “I think the library would be best.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Missing children.”

  “I’m not sure I want to read about children being killed.” Barbara glanced in the direction of Baba, lying on the floor surround by cushions.

  “Not dead. Missing. Disappeared.”

  “And that is supposed to be better, Maliha?”

  Maliha gave a wry smile. “Well, at least there won’t be lurid descriptions of corpses.”

  Barbara sighed. “I’ll see whether the hotel can procure us a perambulator.”

  Valentine frowned at Maliha. “You think children are being taken as slaves?” The tone of his voice suggested he thought it unlikely.

  Maliha shook her head. “I don’t know yet; I don’t even know if it’s really happening. It might just be a coincidence. Anyway I think these would be quite young, perhaps under eight? I’m not sure,” she said. “That’s why I want it looked into.”

  It was ten o’clock when Maliha and Valentine made their way downstairs to the lobby and stepped out into the open with the sun beating down and dust rising from the street. Amita had equipped Maliha with a parasol that complemented her peach-coloured dress. She put it up as they stepped outside. Valentine had a hat to go with his suit.

  “Do you think we’ll be here long?” asked Valentine. “In Johannesburg, I mean.”

  “Difficult to say, why?”

  “I was thinking of hiring a car. I quite fancy one of the Daimlers. What do you think?”

  But Maliha wasn’t listening; her attention was caught first by Izak and Lilith who must have been in an alleyway across the road waiting for Maliha to appear. But behind them, following them, was a black woman. She had a pronounced limp caused by her left foot being turned in, though she did not use a stick and she had no trouble keeping up with the children.

  “Let’s move from the front of the hotel,” said Maliha. She went down the steps and along the road to meet the group of three.

  She stopped with Valentine behind and the three approached. Lilith had the grin that apparently never left her face but Izak did not look pleased. The woman behind looked old at first glance but Maliha realised that her apparent age was a product of her unkempt appearance. The kanga wrapped around her body was bleached almost colourless
by years of sunshine. It did not leave much of the woman’s body to the imagination.

  Maliha glanced at Valentine; he was not looking in the woman’s direction. She turned her attention back to the African.

  “You must be Riette’s mother,” said Maliha. The cold edge of her tone would have cut steel.

  iv

  “You know my little Riette?” She spoke in a wheedling and ingratiating mixture of English and what Maliha supposed was Afrikaans, which was originally Dutch and similar to German which at least made it vaguely familiar.

  Maliha turned to Valentine. “Take the children up the road, will you?” He raised his eyebrows. “Get them something to eat and drink. I need to speak to this woman alone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She turned and looked him in the eye. “Trust me.”

  He nodded and stepped behind her letting his hand brush against her back. She appreciated it.

  “Come along then,” he said in a forced friendly tone. “Where can we get you some breakfast?”

  Maliha watched them walk away, then turned her attention to this woman who claimed to be Riette’s mother. She was not sure why she was devoting any time to her; it was irrelevant whether she was or wasn’t.

  “Come with me,” commanded Maliha and led the way back to the alleyway the woman had emerged from. Maliha took a couple of steps inside so they had at least a modicum of privacy.

  “You found my little girl?”

  “Shut up.”

  The woman clamped her mouth shut as if she had been slapped and stared at Maliha with wide eyes. Maliha looked her up and down, knowing that there was a sneer on her face.

  “What’s your name?” Maliha demanded.

  “Akua.”

  “What do you do, Akua?”

  “Do? I am a poor woman, lady.” Her tone was ingratiating. “I do what I can to make ends meet.”

  “Like give yourself to men for money.”

  “Oh no, I would never do that.”

  Maliha could feel the rage inside her and did not truly understand where it came from. “Don’t lie to me. You’re a prostitute.”

  A look of fear crossed the woman’s face then the smile again.

  “I do what I can, missy. A body has to live.”

  Maliha felt some of the anger dissipate. It was not untrue. Sell yourself or die? Would she do it? The answer came back without delay. No, she would not. She would find another solution.

  “What can you tell me about Riette?”

  “Such a lovely girl, so sweet. She looked just like me as she was growing up. I was heartbroken when she went away.”

  “You’re lying again,” said Maliha. “This is a waste of time. Riette wasn’t living with you when she left. You kicked her out or she ran away.”

  “I didn’t kick her out!” The woman was suddenly vehement—enough for Maliha to believe her.

  “In which case, she ran away from you. Why would that be?”

  The question made the woman hesitate and look away.

  The anger in Maliha rekindled. “How young was she the first time you sold her to a man?”

  “I never—” Her lie was interrupted by Maliha slapping her across the face.

  “You can’t do that. I’ll get the crushers on you.”

  “You disgust me.”

  “I loved my little Riette.”

  “How old was she when she ran away?”

  “Ten.”

  Maliha closed her eyes. To be touched by a man at such an age. It had been bad enough for her with the guru when she understood what she was doing. She remembered how lost she had been when she had been sent away to school.

  “Did you ever speak to her again?”

  Akua shook her head.

  “You’re a monster,” said Maliha. “Why should I not simply have you arrested?”

  “No one cares what happens to the blacks, missy.”

  Maliha sighed, it was probably true. If they had been in South Africa proper with British laws and justice it would matter. But not here.

  “Riette is dead,” Maliha said simply.

  “Dead?” Akua sounded disbelieving. “My little Riette. My sweet little baby?”

  Maliha found it hard to reconcile how the woman expressed her love for Riette as a baby and yet had permitted her to be so abused.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Tell me she did not suffer, missy. Tell me my baby died quick.”

  Maliha hesitated, she wanted to punish Akua and tell her how Riette had suffered months of torture before being tricked into committing suicide. And yet, what good would it do?

  “She did suffer for a time,” Maliha said finally. “She died in my arms.”

  “Was her last words of her mother?”

  “No,” Maliha said. There was a limit to how much she would pander to the woman’s illusions. She considered asking about Marten, but she could expect nothing but lies on that subject.

  “Do you know who Riette’s father was?”

  The woman brightened up. “He was a good man. He was a soldier and he loved me. He gave me my beautiful Riette.”

  “A soldier? So he was white?”

  Akua was crying and made no attempt to wipe away the tears. “He was my love. He said he would marry me.”

  Maliha shook her head. Akua was not entirely right in the head. Maliha found she could not be angry any longer. Perhaps there had been a boy who claimed to love her, perhaps he had left her broken and with child. It did not matter.

  There was nothing here that would help. She needed to track down Marten. She turned away, towards the street. Pedestrians and vehicles passed back and forth less than two yards away. It was like a different world to this woman and this alleyway.

  “Did she leave anything for me?”

  Maliha stopped and turned back. “What do you mean?”

  “Did my baby leave me anything?”

  “She had nothing.”

  “Izak said you had her kanga.”

  Maliha could see the avarice in the woman’s eyes. The avarice that had driven her to sell her own daughter for sex, condemning her to a life of horrors.

  The anger was back. Maliha wanted to beat Akua’s head against the wall until she was senseless. “Riette owed you nothing.”

  She stormed away before she did something she would regret. No. There was nothing that she could have done that she would have regretted. But that would not make such actions right.

  Maliha fumed as she stormed along the side of the street full of anger. She kept replaying the things that she had not done to Akua in her mind as if she could get some satisfaction from such imaginings.

  She glanced up as she came to a road crossing and saw Valentine on the other side outside a shop; he seemed to be enjoying a pie along with Izak and Lilith.

  Then she stopped and stared at him.

  This was the man who had committed murder in his outraged anger at the abuse she had suffered. Maliha was not afraid of the truth. And in the moment of seeing him she realised the anger she had felt towards Akua was the same as his. She had been able to resist because Akua’s crimes were past and gone.

  For Valentine it had been different. The guru had been there, in the middle of his crime against her. Would she have acted any different if she had been there when Akua had prostituted her daughter?

  The truth still flowed as anger in her veins.

  v

  Valentine glanced up and saw Maliha on the other side of the road staring at him. The expression on her face was not one with which he was familiar. He did not try to analyse it; he just smiled and waved.

  She seemed to snap out of whatever reverie she had been in. She checked the traffic and crossed at the first opportunity.

  Valentine swallowed the remains of the pie and brushed off his fingers.

  He gave her a querying look. She shook her head.

  “Did you learn anything useful?”

  She frowned, which he thought odd since it did not seem a partic
ularly difficult question. Then she smiled. “Yes and no.”

  “Which means what?”

  “I learnt something, but it was not related to our current task,” she said.

  “Are you getting married?” asked Lilith to Maliha.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You got a ring.”

  “Well, yes, I am.”

  “To him,” said Izak, he seemed shocked.

  “Yes, to Mr Crier.”

  “You can’t.”

  “And why can I not marry Miss Anderson?” said Valentine.

  “She’s coloured and you’re white.”

  “Well,” said Valentine. “That will not be something to stop us.”

  “You better not tell anyone.”

  Maliha sighed. “Never mind that. If you are all fed let’s be getting on. We have to find the maker of the kanga.”

  “Why?”

  “To find out who he sold it to,” said Maliha, “to find Riette’s lover.”

  “Why don’t we just go to the shop?” asked Izak, genuinely confused.

  “By all means,” said Maliha. “Let us go to a shop.”

  * * *

  The shopkeeper had recognised the kanga and kept good records. They now knew that Marten’s family name was Ouderkirk and he lived on a farm to the south of Johannesburg.

  Valentine and Maliha arrived back at the hotel at half-past twelve. Barbara, Amita and the baby were not back. To preserve proprieties they ordered food in their rooms separately and then Valentine carried his along the balcony to Maliha’s room and they ate together.

  He sat back in his chair and sipped the wine. It was South African but certainly the equal of some of the French wines he had tasted. Maliha drank only water.

  He noticed that she was not saying very much and was picking at her food.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  She did not respond.

  “Maliha?”

  When she looked up and into his eyes he could see her thoughts were distant.

  “Riette’s mother.”

  “What about her?”

  Maliha paused again and looked down at her plate. She prodded the remains of a half-eaten Battenburg cake with her dessert fork. Valentine waited for her, though this was a Maliha he had never encountered before.

  “I wanted to kill her.” She looked back at him suddenly animated as if a dam had broken. “I wanted to dash her head against the wall, Valentine. She let men touch Riette when she was as young as Lilith. I don’t understand it and I wanted to kill her.”