Jigsaw Lovers (17 page)

‘We can open a non-resident savings account without any problem. Can you make a small deposit to open it?’

She opened her handbag, pulled out an envelope and extracted a certified cashier’s cheque, from one of the Bank’s main rivals, for two-hundred and fifty thousand rand.

‘Will this do? This is the money my aunt left me.’ She handed him the cheque.

‘Good heavens. That’s considerably more than I was expecting, from the way you described the sum just now.’ He was genuinely surprised.

‘But its only about twenty thousand pounds, give or take a few.’

‘But two-hundred and fifty thousand rand has considerably more buying power here, than twenty thousand pounds in England. I think you’ll notice that as your stay progresses. Many people in this country don’t earn this much in a year.’

‘I’ve noticed that things do seem a lot cheaper here,’ she agreed.

‘We have experts who are better able to advise on how a sum of this size could best be invested.’ He was out of his depth here. ‘We’ll deposit this cheque into the savings account for the time being, and I’ll consult with the experts,’ he laughed as though he didn’t regard them as such, ‘and then we should have another meeting and I’ll give you all the options.’

‘That sounds fine. You have my number. Will you phone me once you have the information?’ She asked with a big smile as she stood up.

He came quickly around his desk and opened the door for her.

‘Thank you for your time and help,’ she said. ‘See you again soon, I hope.’

He closed the door behind her as she left. He felt like jumping in the air. He couldn’t believe what he was feeling. She was an extraordinary woman, and the way she had looked at him as she said ‘see you again soon, I hope’ left him completely entranced.

Then he had a sudden flash of reality. What was he thinking? He was happily married, had two wonderful daughters and had never been unfaithful in his life. How could he be entertaining such thoughts about a woman so much his junior,
who he had known for such a short time?

He called for his secretary and asked her to send someone from investments immediately, with details as to how best to invest two-hundred and fifty thousand rand.

Three further meetings, over the next two weeks, with John Smith resulted in Diana investing her money in a variety of schemes.

She decided to telephone him just after the Bank had closed for business, as she didn’t want to interrupt him in a meeting and, more specifically, she wanted his full, undivided, attention. The call went through to his secretary Carol.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Johnston, he doesn’t take calls after three thirty, unless they’re personal.’ Her tone indicated that she didn’t necessarily agree with this arrangement and found it somewhat tiresome.

‘It’s very important that I speak with him.’ She was not going to be blocked, ‘Why don’t you tell him its personal? I’ll back you up.’ She laughed conspiratorially.

Carol liked Diana Johnston. Even though she had only met her a couple of times, Miss Johnston was one of the few customers who was polite to her and she seemed to have a way with her boss. He was always in a much better mood before and after one of Miss Johnston’s appointments. After the first meeting she thought she must be imagining it, but the other members of her department also commented on how much more pleasant and affable Smith had become on those days that he saw Miss Johnston. It was a pity she didn’t have business with him every day.

‘Thank you, Miss Johnston, I’ll put you through.’

Smith picked up the telephone on the third ring, ‘Hello, darling,’ he said automatically. Only his wife telephoned him after hours.

‘Well hello, Mr Smith. Do you greet all your customers like that?’ She heard a deep inhalation of breath and then silence. ‘It’s Diana Johnston.’

‘Miss Johnston. I’m terribly sorry. I don’t normally get calls this late, unless its my wife.’ He felt embarrassed, and ill at ease. It was stupid really, but he didn’t like to remind Diana Johnston that he was married. ‘My secretary …’

‘Don’t blame her. She explained you didn’t take calls this late, but I insisted she put me through. Anyway I told her it was personal.’

‘No problem, Miss Johnston. Always a pleasure to speak to you.’ He tried not to sound too ingratiating, ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m having a few people around to my apartment tomorrow evening for drinks, and I was wondering if you and your wife would care to join us.’ He couldn’t be sure but it almost sounded as though she added ‘and your wife’ as an afterthought. But maybe it was a result of his imagination and wishful thinking.

‘That’s very kind.’ He couldn’t believe his ears. ‘I know I can, but I’m not quite sure about Catherine, my wife.’ He hoped he sounded sincere. ‘I’ll have to check with her this evening. Is that all right?’

‘That’s perfectly all right. It’s very informal. You’ve helped me so much since I’ve been in Cape Town that I just wanted to say thank you.’

‘Oh, just part of the service we give all our customers,’ he lied.

‘Then you must have many happy customers.’ She sounded playful. ‘About six-thirty. You know where I live. It’s on the eighth floor. Until tomorrow then. Look forward to seeing you, good-bye.’ She hung up before he could say another word.

Carol came into his office. ‘I’m sorry about that call, Mr Smith, but she said it was very urgent.’

‘That’s quite all right, Carol. You can put Miss Johnston through any time of the day in future.’ This was most unusual. Smith looked at his watch. ‘And Carol, if you’ve finished everything why don’t you go home early today.’

‘Thank you, Mr Smith. I will. Good-bye.’ As she left she heard him singing to himself. What had Miss Johnston said to him? Whatever it was she hoped she would telephone more often if this was the effect she had on him.

John Smith arrived at Diana Johnston’s apartment promptly at six thirty. He had been looking forward to the evening all day long. The thought had put him in a good mood for the first time in months. His colleagues were quite surprised at how jolly he had been. One lucky client was amazed at the ease with which he was able to extend his overdraft facility.

As she opened the oak door her face broke into a large smile when she recognised who it was.

‘Mr Smith. I’m so pleased you could come,’ she beamed at him. ‘Your wife?’ she asked, looking over his shoulder, as he walked into the hallway.

‘I asked her but I’m afraid she couldn’t make it. It’s the girls’ ballet class this evening.’ He hoped she wouldn’t pick up the lie. He’d told his wife that he had to attend a foreign exchange conference, which seemed quite plausible considering the unpredictable fluctuations in the currency markets at the time.

Smith found it difficult not to stare at her. She was looking particularly attractive, dressed in a simple beige calf-length cashmere dress that hugged the contours of her slim figure. She was obviously wearing very little beneath it. It also emphasised the richness of her suntan and her blue eyes sparkled with just a hint of eye-shadow. She wore a plain gold necklace and matching ear-rings. The effect on Smith was devastating.

He saw her notice his gaze. Lowering his eyes and feeling somewhat embarrassed he mumbled, ‘What a lovely dress.’

‘Why thank you. Do you like it? I found it in Paris last year.’

Gathering his composure Smith returned to safer ground. ‘My word, Miss Johnston, this is a delightful flat,’ he said as he looked around.

The wide hallway led past two rooms into a living area, off of which was an open-plan kitchen. Pale creamy-pink terracotta floor tiles throughout created an impression of spaciousness and elegance. This was enhanced by the walls
that were a light two-tone stippled yellow, on which hung botanical illustrations surrounded by broad mounts and gilt frames.

‘Please feel free to call me Diana. Miss Johnston makes me sound so middle-aged and spinsterish, don’t you think?’ she said, with a sideways smile, offering him a glass of champagne.

‘Thank you Diana, and in that case you must call me John.’

‘Come and meet my other guests, John.’ She pl
aced her hand on his arm and led him through to the living area.

This room had a white L-shaped sofa
that ran almost the length of one wall. A white thickly woven woollen rug covered most of the central floor space, in the middle of which was a square metal and glass coffee table. Two smaller side tables in the same style were at each end of the sofa. On these, elegant hand-painted lamps threw pools of light. Double sliding doors led out onto a balcony that gave splendid views of Table Mountain and the harbour.

There were six other people in the room, to each of whom she introduced him in turn. It seemed they were all people she had met during her brief stay in Cape Town, and like her they were all visitors to the Mother City. The man standing next to him was called James. He didn’t catch his other name. He was in public relations in London, and in Cape Town on a mixture of business and pleasure.

‘How are you enjoying your time in Cape Town, James?’ Small talk had never been one of Smith’s strong points.

‘What a great place. So beautiful, but I find the people somewhat reserved and withdrawn by comparison with those I’ve met in other parts of the country, such as Johannesburg or Durban. They’re a bit anti-social, I think is the way I’d describe it.’

‘Yes, they do take a bit of getting used to, I must admit,’ answered Smith. ‘It’s a very cliquey society and it can take time to be accepted,’ he went on, having heard this complaint many times in the past from all types of visitor.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have the time this time round, but I’ll take your word for it,’ said James with the aloofness of the English.

‘I must say,’ he continued, ‘I’m amazed at the way some of you drive. These minibus taxis for instance. They just seem to whizz around, in and out, stopping anywhere with absolutely no regard for other road-users.’

‘Yes, that’s true. They are a law unto themselves at times.’ Smith tried to make light of the situation. ‘It’s because the whole transport system can’t cater for the numbers that need to move around.’

‘And your traffic lights, robots you call them,’ interrupted James. ‘Why on earth don’t you synchronise them, so that you can drive through without having to constantly stop and start? It wouldn’t take too much effort, you know.’

‘Oh that’s Cape Town for you. We don’t like to rush around too much. We’re very laid back down here on the tip of Africa.’

Diana reappeared in the room with a tray of snacks for her guests, and having offered them around to everyone came and stood beside John.

‘If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’m just going onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette.’ said James, smiling. ‘Diana’s one of these, namby-pamby non-passive smokers.’ With that he strolled off.

As James lit his cigarette, the Mountain floodlights came on, highlighting the contours of the rock face that made such a majestic backdrop to the city. During the summer months, if the weather was fine, Table Mountain was lit up at night. It was almost more impressive than during the day. Tonight the Mountain was silhouetted against a pale azure-blue sky, and had wisps of white and pink clouds streaking above it, like giant candy-floss.

James found himself wondering, now that he had met John Smith for the first time in the flesh, what this inconsequential little man had done to warrant such attention and expense as was at present being lavished on him by James’s organisation. This operation was unlike anything else he had worked on, and he felt sure it would live up to his expectations of being extremely exciting and fun. He looked forward to examining the material they would gather.

After an hour or so Diana’s guests began to thank her and depart, until only James and John remained. Smith was about to take his leave when she asked him if he would like to accompany her and James to dinner in the Waterfront. Thinking of his wife at home, he was about to decline the invitation, but to his surprise he found that when he spoke he had accepted.

As they got out of the lift James’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and went to one side to take the call. When he rejoined them he apologised but something unexpected had occurred and his immediate presence was required in his office. He thanked Diana for the evening and strolled off.

‘Oh well, that leaves just the two of us, John,’ she said. ‘How nice and cosy.’

He grinned uncertainly. ‘Do you still want to go?’

‘Of course, but if you’d rather not, that’s fine by me.’

‘No, don’t misunderstand me. I just thought that you and James …’ he left the sentence hanging.

She laughed. ‘No, I like James but not like that. We’re just friends who met on the plane on the way over, that’s all.’

For some reason Smith felt a sense of relief at that last comment, and when they reached his car he gallantly opened the passenger door for Diana.

Smith had never been to the restaurant where Diana had made a reservation although he knew of it by reputation. It was perhaps one of the more successful, of all the successful establishments, of the Waterfront development. They opted for a drink at the bar rather than being seated at their table immediately.

‘Good evening sir, madam. What may I get you?’ asked a coolly efficient barman, who thought he was god’s gift to the drinking man, and any woman that set foot in the bar. ‘Our cocktail special tonight is ‘Sex on the Beach’, if you’re interested.’ He said with an appraising glance at Diana.