African Dawn (17 page)

A Ford pulled up next to them and the middle-aged driver glanced across at them, disapproval plain in his fleeting look. Hope unscrewed the flask and tipped it to her mouth. The brandy burned like fire. She licked her lips and grinned at the driver, who accelerated slowly away from them.

Braedan looked back at her. ‘Light's green,’ she said.

‘I'll go when I'm ready.’ He took the flask from her and downed half of it, before passing it back to her. ‘Hang on.’

Hope barely had time to recap the flask and grab him again as Braedan mercilessly revved the BSA's engine and let out the clutch.

‘Whoo-hooo!’ Hope was laughing as they roared past the Ford. The driver honked his horn in annoyance as they overtook him illegally, roaring up his left-hand side. Hope turned and raised two fingers at him.

Braedan cut across to First Street, and then turned into Speke. He stopped the bike amid a line of cars and a few other motorcycles outside a sign for Club Tomorrow. She'd heard of the place but never been into it. She got off the bike and Braedan took the helmet from her. A young white man with short hair was leaning one hand against a shopfront a couple of doors down. Hope heard the deep throb of a bass beat coming from the door to the club, and saw a flight of stairs leading down. It looked like the place was in a basement.

‘Is this some troopie dive?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he said, grinning. ‘Do you want to eat first?’

‘No, I ate at George and Susannah's already.’

‘Good, eating's cheating.’

‘Braedan,’ she said, running her fingers through her now dishevelled hair, ‘I'm not getting involved in any drinking games and I'm not flying to Kariba tomorrow with a
babelaas
.’ She wasn't a good flyer at the best of times, and the last thing she wanted to do was get on a Viscount with a hangover.

‘Sure. No problems. I'll pour you home safely.’

She laughed. ‘I'm serious, hey?’

‘I thought that, until you gave the finger to that
oke
in the Ford. Wait till I tell Tate.’

‘You wouldn't dare!’

He grinned, a wide streak of pure mischief. It made her laugh again.

He led her inside and as they walked down the stairs the music grew louder, until she could feel it throbbing in her chest. Inside the club smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat and perfume. The lights were low, but behind the cocktail bar was a long fish tank filled with cichlids. She'd had some of the little brightly coloured tropical fish when she was younger – they'd come from Lake Malawi and Lake Tanganyika. It seemed the place was aiming for an under-the-sea theme, but as they moved past the bar and the dining area, where no one seemed to be sitting, the music hit them full blast and destroyed any illusion of marine tranquillity. A crowd of guys were on the dance floor, in front of the stage, raising their fists in the air. The long-haired members of the band were doing a Queen cover, thrashing their heads as they sang, ‘
We will, we will …’

‘Fuck you!’ yelled the guys in the unison.

Despite herself, Hope smiled. ‘I did warn you,’ Braedan said.

He pushed his way through the crowd back to the fish tank bar and ordered her a drink.

Braedan downed his beer in one long gulp. ‘Drink up.’

‘No,’ she yelled over the music.

He shrugged and went back to the bar and returned with another beer, which he drank as quickly as the first.

‘Are you trying to get drunk as quickly as possible?’

‘Yes.’

She shook her head. ‘Why?’

‘Because I'm with you.’

‘Thank you very much. Charming.’

He laughed. ‘No, you don't understand. You're beautiful, Hope.’

It hung there between them, and it was as if all the chatter and the music and the singing in the club had stopped. ‘Braedan, I'm –’

He held up his hands. ‘What I meant was that I can only dance when I've had a few drinks, and as I have to dance with you, I need more beer.’

She shook her head as he went back to the bar. When he was there he turned to look back at her. Hope drained her glass and held it over her head. He smiled and nodded, then threaded his way back with another beer and a glass of champagne for her.

The band were taking a break, after a loud round of applause and cheering, and a DJ stepped up to the stage and put on a record, which encouraged a few girls to move out onto the dance floor as the familiar opening riffs produced a few impromptu cheers.

Braedan handed her the champagne, and although he didn't finish this beer in one gulp, he downed half of it before he spoke again. ‘Come. Dance with me.’

‘No, caveman.’

‘Come.’

‘No!’

Braedan finished his third beer and strutted out towards the dance floor. The DJ had put on the Bee Gees' ‘Night Fever’. Braedan looked around and grabbed a man's sports jacket from the back of his chair as he passed. Before the man could stop him, Braedan was in the middle of the dance floor doing a John Travolta impersonation. He swung the jacket around over his head and as its owner stood and moved towards him, he flung the jacket back with a ‘Thanks,
boet
! Buy you a beer.’

Hope had followed Braedan to the edge of the seething crowd, which applauded and cheered on his moves. She'd worried his stunt with the jacket might degenerate into a fight, but now she was laughing, despite herself.

Braedan held out his hand to her and several pairs of eyes fixed on her. Hope felt her face flush and she shook her head vigorously.

‘Go on!’ the girl next to her yelled over the music. ‘He's
gorgeous
! If you don't want him, I'll have him.’

Braedan had both his hands out, beckoning her. More and more people were clapping and cajoling her to join him. The girl who had offered to step in started swinging her hips and boogying out in Braedan's direction. Hope looked at the other woman, downed her glass of champagne and strode out onto the dance floor. The crowd roared.

Afterwards, hot and breathless, she told him to ask her properly next time if he wanted her to dance with him.

‘I will,’ he said. ‘Drink?’

‘Yes. Cane and coke this time, please.’

‘Ah, spook and diesel it is, then.’ He grinned his boyish, sexy, wicked grin again. Braedan led her back to the bar and they found a spot at the end, away from the crush of people ordering and where they could hold a conversation without having to yell over the music. Over their drinks he asked her about Cape Town, and university, and what she wanted to do with her life.

‘Travel, first,’ she said. ‘Before settling down. What about you?’

‘I've already done some travelling.’

‘Really? Where?’

‘I've been on a few day trips to Mozambique.’

She laughed, although she'd been trying not to talk about the war. ‘What will you do when it's over?’

He shrugged. ‘I don't know. Farm, maybe, if they'll let us white
ouens
keep some land. One thing's for sure, I'm not letting any gook kick me out of my own country, and I'm not taking the chicken run.’

Hope was surprised. ‘So you don't think we'll win?’

‘I might be a soldier, but I'm not stupid. Smithy's already sold us down the river by letting Muzorewa take over. The blacks won't be satisfied with the bishop, so it won't end until Mugabe or Nkomo are running the country. We're killing them by the hundreds – the gooks that is – out in the bush, but the men in suits will sign our lives away.’

‘But you keep on fighting? Why don't you leave … go to South Africa, or overseas?’

Braedan shook his head and drank some beer. ‘This is all I know. It's all I'm good at.’

‘I hate it … the killing, the suffering … What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

Braedan drained his drink. ‘You think they should win –
kumbaya
and all brotherhood of man bullshit.’

‘I think Smith is kidding himself if he thought the blacks were prepared to wait indefinitely for independence. They have right on their side, Braedan. They're the majority of the population and most of them don't have the right to vote.’

‘Right? Like the men that kidnapped Natalie. They were right, hey?’

She shook her head. ‘They were animals.’

‘You'll get no argument from me.’

Hope stared at her drink. Her head was feeling fuzzy. She looked up at him. There was something about him … something dangerous. He was staring at her. ‘What's it like … to kill a man?’

‘That's the question you're not supposed to ask and I'm not supposed to answer truthfully.’

‘Truthfully?’

‘When I shot the man who was holding Natalie, I was higher than anything this can give you,’ he held up his glass, ‘or morphine, or grass. What's it like?’ He set his glass down on the bar and leaned in closer to her. ‘I fucking loved it.’

Hope felt a chill run down from the top of her spine to the base. She could feel herself buzzing from the alcohol, but it was more than that. There was something fascinating about this man, something so different from his brother. Her chest felt constricted, almost as if it was hard for her to breathe, and she felt the chill supplanted by a warmth that radiated up to her face. She felt it down low, too, in her core, below the pit of her belly. He held out his hand and slipped off his bar stool. She took it and followed him wordlessly back into the crush of sweating, swinging bodies.

They danced again, and then to the last song of the night. It was an old Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons hit that had been made popular by the Vietnam War movie,
The
Deer Hunter
. Braedan held her tight and she rested her head on his shoulder. She could feel his erection. God, she thought to herself, this couldn't be happening.

They hardly spoke a word as they left the club. Hope climbed onto the bike and wrapped her arms around him. Braedan raced through the near-empty streets of Salisbury, but cut the engine to coast up to George and Susannah's home. The house was surrounded by a high wall that George had only recently built. Hope was sure he was scared of Natalie being abducted again, although the chance of that was virtually zero in the city.

Braedan pulled on the brakes and Hope climbed off, taking off her helmet. She knew she should just say goodnight and ring the buzzer to be let in. Instead, she stood there. Braedan kicked down the bike's stand and got off. He came to her and reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

‘You're beautiful.’

‘Don't, Braedan … don't say that.’

‘I –’

She put a finger to his lips and he understood. He took her and kissed her, hard, and she opened her mouth to him. She'd felt it since they stopped talking, since he held her on the dance floor. She knew it was wrong, but she was overcome with greed for him.

They moved to the wall and he continued kissing her as he undid the button of her jeans. The zip came down as he slid his hand into her pants. She was embarrassed at how ready she was for him. He found her and she ground against him as he rubbed and rolled her clitoris between his fingers. His lips on hers muffled the sound of her orgasm.

Hope was breathing hard, unsteady on her feet as he turned her around. She put one hand out, her palm flat on the rough stucco. She reached back with her other as he was pulling his cock out of his jeans. She guided him into her from behind and grunted as he slid inside her.

She reached around her back, wanting to touch him, but at the same time not wanting to see him. He was rough with her, but she didn't care, even as her arm bent and she felt her face pressed against the wall. She needed it to be like this. She wanted to feel as though he had forced her into this, but at the same time she couldn't get enough of him. It was so wrong. Hope felt her second orgasm building inside her and bit her lip to stifle her cry as he grabbed her hips and forced himself deeper inside her.

*

The Viscount lurched as it hit another updraft, then settled with a screech of rubber on tarmac. Hope opened her eyes. The businessman with the hairpiece was grinning at her.

‘See, nothing to worry about. Are you here on holidays?’

She ignored him and stared out the round window. The aircraft slewed around and she could see Tate, in his national parks khakis, standing at the low fence. He had a bouquet of flowers in one hand. He was waving with the other.

Oh God.

Everyone else on the aircraft was eager to get out and start their holiday on the Rhodesian Riviera. There was the promise of waterskiing and sailing on the lake, game viewing, and gambling and partying at the Carribea Bay casino. Hope was the last one to get up and shuffle down the aisle. The heat hit her and sucked the air from her lungs. She felt as though she couldn't breathe.

She walked down the stairs, holding the railing for support, and ignored the hostess's practised smile. Tate high-stepped over the fence and ran across the tarmac and folded her in his arms. Hope started to cry.

‘What is it, my girl?’

I'm not your girl
, she thought. She'd gone through all the options on the plane. She would say nothing; she would confess all; she would break it off with Tate; she would ask his forgiveness. She still had no idea which one to choose.

‘What's wrong?’ he asked again as he shepherded her inside the small terminal. The other passengers were milling about, waiting for their bags to be brought in on a trolley pushed by an African porter.

‘Nothing. It's just …’

‘What? Why the tears?’

She would hate herself forever if she kept it a secret from him and she would hate herself more if she told him and it crushed him.

Why had she done it? It was more than the sheer animal attraction of the brother, the pure badness of him. She knew some women fell for the wrong men for whatever self-destructive reason, but it was more than that. It was more than the sex, though God knew it was the most intense couple of orgasms she'd had in her life. She knew, standing there in the stuffy, airless little building that she could not live the life Tate had planned for her.

‘Tate, I'm sorry.’

The baggage trolley had just been wheeled in and Tate, recognising her bag, was reaching for it. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

She started to cry again and he led her by the hand out into the afternoon sun. ‘What's wrong? Tell me?’