Jigsaw Lovers (16 page)

She had decided right at the beginning that she would not allow herself to pass judgement on what she did. It was a means of making considerable sums of money, was a lot more pleasant, interesting and fun at times than other jobs she had done, and so far she had been well treated by James.

‘What if he tries to find me after I return here?’ She asked. ‘If I do succeed in making him really fall in love with me, then he’s bound to try and contact me in England.’

Yet again James was impressed with the speed at which she could grasp a situation and find one of the few weak points.

‘We suggest you travel under your real name, and only start using the Diana Johnston documents once you’re in South Africa. I’ll take your passport now and have the correct entry visa stamped into it, so when you go to the Bank everything will be in order. If, on the off-chance, he looks for you in England or checks passenger lists there will be no record of a Diana Johnston ever having entered or left South Africa. And by that time he’ll have far more pressing things to worry about, I shouldn’t imagine.’

After James had left, she went through what he had told her in her mind and reflected on the forthcoming assignment. She found herself excited and interested by the challenge of captivating someone so completely that they would be totally in her power.

The taxi took Diana to Heathrow airport for her evening flight to Johannesburg. She was looking forward to arriving in the southern hemisp
here where it was still summer.

She was flying British Airways Business Class under her real name. The flight was uneventful and they touched down at OR Tambo International Airport on time. She went through passport control, was issued with a three month temporary residence permit by the immigration officer, retrieved her luggage and strolled out of the air-conditioned terminal building, into the dry heat of a Johannesburg summer
.

Ten minutes later she was checking-in to the Intercontinental
for one night.

The following morning she took the flight to Cape Town in the name of Diana Johnston. She had her first sight of the beauty of the Western Cape as the plane flew over the Hottentots Holland mountains and banked in its approach to land at Cape Town International airport, in the middle of the Cape flats.

As she waited to collect her luggage she felt a tap on her shoulder.

‘Welcome to Cape Town. Have a pleasant flight?’ It was James looking very relaxed in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans.

He picked up the suitcases and led her outside to his car. As they approached Cape Town, Table Mountain loomed dauntingly on the left. It was much larger than Diana had imagined from the basic research she had done on South Africa, once James had told her that that was where her next assignment was to be.

James pointed out various landmarks as they drove along. Evidently he had spent some time in Cape Town before.

They turned off the highway and drove through an area of wasteland that was known as District Six, at the foot of the Mountain close to the city centre. This had once housed thousands of people, but they had been removed in the late sixties as part of the grand design of apartheid. Only the churches and mosques remained. A new large technical college was built on some of the vacant land.

Driving past parliament and the Mount Nelson Hotel they turned right into Victoria Street and parked outside an impressive looking apartment block.

As they walked through the glass doors the security guard came around his desk to help with the suitcases.

James shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I can manage. Hendrik, this is Miss Johnston. She’ll be staying in flat sixteen for a few months.’

‘Pleased to have you staying with us miss. If you need anything just ask.’ He spoke English with a somewhat guttural accent, which Diana was later to learn was typical of Afrikaans speakers.

They took the lift to the eighth floor. This was the top floor and there were only two apartments on it. Number sixteen was on the right of the lift.

As James opened the door the fragrance of fresh flowers wafted from the arrangement on the hall table. The hallway stretched from the front to the back of the flat. Leading off it were three rooms and a kitchen. The two bedrooms were sizable, one with a large double bed, the other with two singles. The living room had floor to ceiling windows on two of its walls, one of which led out onto a small balcony. The view from this room was magnificent. It took in the entire north face of Table Mountain, from Signal Hill to Devil’s Peak, and continued round to encompass the harbour and Waterfront in the distance.

Diana was amazed at its beauty. ‘It’s breathtaking.’ She said gazing at the panorama.

‘So you don’t think it will be too much of a hardship having to work here,’ smiled James.

‘I think I can probably manage to put up with it.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘So where are you taking me out to lunch, brother dear?’

‘The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, there is a nice little place I think you might enjoy, and I can begin filling you in on the details of what you’ll be doing for the next three months.’

John Smith said good-bye to, and shut the door behind, his ten-thirty appointment. The appointment had been typical of the majority of people he now spent his time seeing. They all came to him hoping for an overdraft or an extension of facilities already offered. They seemed to think he had unlimited funds to hand out; very few of them had actually given any serious thought as to how they would repay any moneys he advanced to them. For this reason he rarely, if ever, made loans available. The only exception was when ample security was offered and even then he made absolutely certain that the Bank was not likely to be exposed to any risk.

He looked in his diary and sighed as he saw he had another appointment in ten minutes. He wondered if things had been the same in his father’s day.

Smith’s father had worked for the Bank for most of his life. His wasn’t a particularly distinguished career, but by a combination of hard work and perseverance he had risen to the position of chief cashier. He had instilled the concept of hard work and Christian values into his son John, who from an early age, wanted to be like his father, to work for the Bank and eventually to become a bank manager.

Due to Mr Smith senior’s long and dedicated service to the Bank, his request that his seventeen-year-old son be employed was received sympathetically by his superiors. Consequently John started work for the Bank just after he left school, first as a filing clerk, then a junior teller, working his way slowly between the different departments. Like his father, Smith wasn’t possessed of great intelligence, but he had inherited a sense of persistence and perseverance that made him ideal for the routine of day-to-day banking tasks.

Eventually, after taking banking exams which he passed second time round he moved into the lower rungs of management. He found the new environment and the privilege of having his own office and staff who now called him ‘Sir’, after all those years in the banking hall, very much to his liking. Others thought he had
become even more pompous.

Smith had married when he was twenty-five. His wife Catherine had been a teller in the same branch as him, and they had become involved with each other after their first office Christmas party. Six months later they married. Six months after that they had their first child, Anne. For the first few years he and Catherine had loved each other very much, but as time passed they had drifted apart. The birth of their second child, Fiona, had brought them closer together again for a while, but they found it impossible to regain their initial love, although they were both devoted to each other, and enjoyed the comforts of a stable marriage.

There had been no other men in Catherine’s life, and no other women in John’s during their fifteen years of marriage.

That was until three months ago when Diana Johnston walked into his office.

John Smith caught his breath as he opened his office door to greet his eleven o’clock appointment.

The note his secretary had made in his diary had said ‘D. Johnston, investment queries’. From that he had automatically assumed that D. Johnston was a man. He was completely unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. Before him stood a woman, who was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had seen outside of the movies. He found himself at a loss for words. He stood in the doorway not knowing what to say.

‘Mr Smith?’ she broke the silence.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Diana Johnston. We have an appointment.’ She had a smooth, soft voice.

‘Yes, yes, of course. Mrs Johnston, please come in.’ He stammered and stood back from the doorway to allow her to pass. ‘Please have a seat.
I’m John Smith, assistant manager.’

‘Diana Johnston.’ He shook her proffered hand, which was surprisingly firm for its size. He noticed that her finger-nails were short and neatly manicured. The contact sent a tingle through his whole body. He tried to regain his composure
that had been totally shattered by the appearance of this beautiful woman.

‘May I offer you coffee, tea?’

‘Thank you. Coffee would be very nice. Black, no sugar, please.’ He realised she had a very English accent, which he found quite attractive.

She looked around his office. The walls were white with oak veneer below a dado rail at desk height. Above this, behind the desk, three framed certificates testified to his having passed various banking diplomas. A door opposite the one she had entered by led to Smith’s secretary, whom he had just told, in a rather self-important fashion, to hold any calls. The carpet was beginning to wear in front of the two doors and in front of her where she sat by his desk. An old-style humming air-conditioning unit was attached to
the only window in the room that looked out onto a central courtyard in the core of the building. Not a pleasant view. She sat back in a wooden chair, that creaked, in front of a large old-fashioned wooden desk, on the top of which a few files and a note pad were neatly arranged. To one side was a computer terminal and keyboard. It was switched off. Next to it was a framed picture of a woman in her thirties and two smaller frames containing two smiling faces of young girls in school uniform. The whole office was very neat and tidy and apart from the photographs somewhat lacking in personality or character.

Whilst Smith poured a cup of coffee from the percolator on the side table, he rapidly tried to collect his thoughts on a more businesslike footing. As he placed the cup in front of her she thanked him and gazed at him with a smile on her face. He was completely enchanted.

‘How may I help you, Mrs Johnston? The note I have here says you require investment advice.’ He tried to sound off-hand and in control of the situation, as he settled into his chair.

‘Mr Smith may I first point out that I am, in fact, Miss Johnston, not Mrs, and likely to remain so for the foreseeable future, I shouldn’t wonder,’ she said still smiling, but with a downward glance of her radiant blue eyes. For some reason this revelation and coy look caused Smith’s heart to beat more quickly. He hadn’t experienced anything like this for years.

‘An aunt of mine died recently,’ she began.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Thank you, but I hardly knew her. I remember she visited England once when I was five. That was the only time I ever saw her,’ she went on. ‘I must have made an impression on her though because about a month ago I was told that she’d left me a flat here in Cape Town and some money in her will. I have some free time at the moment so I decided to come out here for an extended holiday and see what my aunt had left me, and decide what to do with it.’ She paused to stir her coffee.

‘I don’t think the amount of money is really enough to warrant the attentions of a specialist advisor, but it is just enough to require some form of advice to invest it wisely for maximum return. And that’s why I’ve come to see you.’

‘I see. Might I ask you how or why you decided to come to this bank, Mrs, I’m sorry, Miss Johnston?’ He felt embarrassed.

‘I needed to cash some travellers cheques. I was walking along the street. I needed a bank and this was the first one I came across. Quite simple.’ She smiled and crossed her legs which caused her skirt to reveal a little more of her lightly tanned thigh, which Smith couldn’t help but notice.

‘After I’d cashed my cheques I asked if it was possible to make an appointment to see someone to discuss investing my money, and here I am,’ she said.

‘Well you’ve made a good choice, Miss Johnston,’ he sounded like a second-hand car salesman. ‘The Bank has a variety of investment option plans and I’m sure that we could find a suitable one for your requirements.’

At that moment Smith wished he could think of one of them. He had a vague idea gleaned from various courses and monthly memoranda, but had never given much attention to the investment side of banking as most of the clients he had to deal with were only interested in trying to borrow money.

‘Can I start by taking your details?’ He rummaged in his drawer and pulled out a pad of self-carbonating forms.

‘Your full name.’

‘Diana Johnston.’

‘Address, telephone number, identity or passport number.’ He went methodically through the form filling in her responses.