Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse

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СКАЧАТЬ off the black underclothes and wished she could strip off her skin the same way. Maybe the new one would be thicker. Her eyes fell on her image in the mirror. For better or for worse, whether you liked it or not, you continued to pass the genes on. She had her mom’s figure. Slender, medium height. Average. Boobs neither big nor small. She was probably a fashion designer’s ideal. More or less in proportion from head to toe. Nothing out of the ordinary.

      But she looked like her dad’s people, and their genes had defined her. Melissa was right. She’d have to get rid of more than her hair colour if she wanted to escape her ancestry.

      A girl got to know herself through the eyes of her father, she had once read. With a mother, there’s sometimes a subtext. But a father’s eyes are gentle. There’s no expectation, only acceptance.

      She put on her pyjamas and got into bed. The bedroom was hers, yet it wasn’t any more. Once upon a time it had been a haven. Now it was just another room in a house where the walls resonated with her sorrow. She curled up under the duvet and closed her eyes. Maybe her mom couldn’t cry either, she thought. Maybe there are certain things you can’t do more than sniff about. But she couldn’t even do that, and the pressure in her chest kept building. After an hour she got up and took the duvet and a pillow out to the stoep. Douglas lay down beside her and she fell asleep at last with the dog’s ear between her fingers.

      CHAPTER 4

      Nick Malherbe took his luggage out the boot, paid the taxi driver and carried his bags to the apartment. The key was with the concierge, as arranged. When he stepped into the spacious foyer, he was reminded of his first visit to the luxurious Bantry Bay apartment.

      He couldn’t help wondering what his late mother would have said about such opulence. She had often warned him and his brother against trumpery. Against bad girls and strong liquor, too. And the devil’s wiles. They hadn’t taken all her warnings to heart.

      He put his luggage in the main bedroom and opened the balcony doors. The sea breeze rushed into the flat, carrying the scent along with it. The late-afternoon sun glinted on the water.

      He had come a long way since that day. Two years ago he could never have dreamed he’d be here today. He was old enough, had been in the job long enough, to know you never achieve half of what you initially plan. But his first boss used to say you only fail the day you stop trying. The younger guys had laughed behind his back every time he said it. They were still hungry, supremely confident. But as the years go by, the confidence takes some knocks, the arrogance gets tempered. One day you discover you’re consoling yourself with small victories, telling yourself at least you’re still trying. It’s not that the hunger is any less. It’s just that you understand your own limitations, and the system’s, so much better.

      The fridge and freezer were stocked. Nick reminded himself to tell the housekeeper he wouldn’t be needing her every day. He didn’t need her at all, actually, but he knew better, by now, than to say so. It would only lead to questions. People like the Allegrettis didn’t understand that you could make your own bed and wash your own dishes.

      He unpacked and was grateful it wasn’t a hotel room. He needed space, even if it was just one or two rooms to move around in. Few things are as frightening as bumping into your own thoughts in the middle of the night.

      He wished he could go for a run. In the past two days he hadn’t had time to exercise for even half an hour and he felt stiff and uncomfortable. For a man who had not paid much heed to exercise for most of his life, doing the bare minimum to keep fit, he surprised himself these days. At thirty-eight he was fitter than he had been in a long time. At this point in his life, it was probably exercise or booze or women. Of the three, exercise may not be the most appealing, but it was certainly the safest.

      An hour later he drew up at the gate of a house a few blocks higher up the mountainside, gave his name and waited for the security guard to make a call. His glance took in the enormous house and the wall topped by an electric fence. Automatically he began to search for weak spots. When the gate swung open, he drove through and parked the Range Rover in front of the big garage doors. He remembered Enzio Allegretti boasting that he’d got the house on the mountainside in Bantry Bay for a bargain. Only forty-eight million rand.

      He pressed the doorbell and waited a few seconds before a voice answered.

      “Patrice, it’s Nick.”

      There was a click, and he stepped into the entrance hall. He pressed the lift button, the doors slid open and he stepped into the mirrored interior. He stared at his image. Under the bright lights the grey in his short, dark hair was more noticeable. He ran his hand over his short-cropped hair. He looked drained in this light, and the scar next to his eye seemed to be pulling his eye down even more than usual. On the positive side, he seemed to have shaken off two or three kilos.

      When the doors slid open again, he couldn’t help stopping for a moment, just as he’d done the first time he’d come here. A gigantic room stretched to his left. Clean, straight lines. Light marble floors, floor-to-ceiling foldaway glass doors that opened onto a large patio where a rim-flow pool slipped over the edge of the property. An unrestricted view of the Atlantic. Armchairs and sofas were grouped together to form different seating areas, mostly upholstered in shades of white, with an occasional splash of colour. Against the back wall was a bar counter and large mirrors with shelves displaying bottles of liquor. He couldn’t understand these people’s obsession with mirrors. From how many angles do you want to see yourself? And how many times a day?

      “Nick, my man!” Enzio Allegretti came walking towards him. “What the hell are you doing in Cape Town, and why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I could have had you picked up at the airport.”

      “I wasn’t sure what time my flight was. I took a taxi. And the Range Rover was at the apartment.”

      “Well, what a surprise.” He looked over Nick’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me the old man is here too.”

      “No, I’m alone.”

      Allegretti took Nick’s arm and led him deeper into the room. “In that case, you’re most welcome. I’ve just poured myself a drink.” They went across to the long bar counter, and Allegretti stepped behind it. “What will it be?”

      “Beer.”

      “No, dammit, man, look what I’ve got here.” He pointed at the bottles against the wall.

      “I see you’re stocked, but a beer would go down well right now.”

      In the mirror on the wall Nick saw a man enter behind him. He turned and held out his hand.

      “Patrice, how are you?

      “Very well, sir.”

      “Tell him you like Cape Town.”

      “I like Cape Town, sir.”

      “Tell him it’s much better than Zimbabwe.”

      Patrice touched his head. “Zimbabwe is not so bad, sir. It’s bad at the moment, but maybe it will be good again one day.”

      Allegretti shook his head. “Don’t hold your breath, my man. That place is fucked.”

      Patrice looked at Nick. “Do you have luggage, sir?”

      “Thanks, Patrice, but I’m staying at the apartment.”

      Patrice СКАЧАТЬ