Shilo's Secret (19 page)

He caught sight of The Telegraph on the table in front of her.

“Awful thing, this serial killer story, isn’t it?” he said.

“Seems like one sick puppy, Charles. One very sick puppy,” Carina answered, shaking her head deliberately and staring straight into his brown eyes, and at the traces of the scratches healing on his left cheek.

If only you knew, he thought. But he was a little disturbed at her interrogation and he could not help but wonder if she knew something he did not.

                                                                  *

   Shilo lay awake, the night before their departure, with the sounds of this strange city in her ears. The constant sirens wailing in the darkened suburbs, the weird shrieks of the night birds, dogs barking incessantly, car alarms and the endless cicadas. She had really opened up about her feelings for Stratt in her letter – and she somehow regretted her forthrightness. She had felt, then, that those things needed to be said, but in retrospect she was not so sure she had done the right thing. What had she really expected to achieve by it? Had she expected him to drop everything, rush to Johannesburg after her, and beg her to stay? Or even better, beg her to take him to England for a rosy future together? No, that would never have happened. She didn’t know what she expected him to do at all. He knew where they were staying. He could have called… he could have come here to see her. Soon they would be leaving for familiar shores. She drifted off into a turbulent slumber: her dreams were full of Africa - and in the shadows, on the edges of her dreams, lurked Stratt Ogilvy, like an omniscient protector.

                                                                      *

   In another room, in another part of South Africa, Stratt lay on his oval bed. He had felt a wave of indescribable disappointment when his father had told him about Michaela’s baby. Dorianne had called Philip, who had relayed the news to his son. Everyone at the Lodge had grown to love Michaela and had reveled in her enthusiasm for the baby. Even Shilo had looked forward to its arrival. How was she taking it? Stratt had a feeling that underneath all that sisterly love and “glad it’s not me” attitude she was a little jealous of Michaela’s hidden prize. But weren’t all women like that? They all had some hormonal imbalance triggered by any mention of the word “baby”. Yes, Shilo would be devastated at Michaela's loss, and perhaps he should swallow his pride, his insecurities and make some attempt to convey his condolences to her. He wanted her more than ever. She had said she loved him and he knew he loved her. But what worried him more than anything was what contacting Shilo would do to him … or her. He had tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to lay her to rest…he had tried to start the slow process of moving on. But where to? The future looked very bleak without her. Very bleak and lonely indeed.

                                                                      *

…
She was walking through the long, tawny grass, with the sunshine on her face. A herd of giraffes were nibbling leaves at a nearby copse. Shilo felt totally at peace. There was the sound of wild birds calling; the hush-hush as the warm wind caught the grass…

…. Then she was lying on a large bed. A man was caressing her naked body, tracing the curves with his tongue. She could feel his warmth and indulged in the pleasure he was giving her. She could feel his hands all over her body, could feel his warm breath in her hair, on her neck, could hear his erotic whispers and smell his wonderful masculine smell. Then they were thrashing about in the throes of passion … he was thrusting deep inside her…

   Her eyes fluttered open in the dark room, the gasps and groans of her recent dream still echoing in her head; her whole body tingling and her heart pounding. She burst into tears. Suddenly the only thing that mattered at all in the world was Stratt. A feeling of considerable guilt weighed upon her: How awfully she had treated him in the beginning - like a lesser human. What a valuable lesson he had taught her about that! What separated them then was what she considered so important – social standing, wealth, and a family name. Was it really so vital, when all that really mattered was that she loved him and he loved her? And he was an equal … someone o whom she knew her parents would approve. Now it was distance and pride. What was a title like Earl or Viscount, if you were not happy or completely at peace in each other’s company? What was the use of all the money in the world, if you had not found true love?

   Could she survive in the African bush? She had up to now, hadn’t she? She had overcome sunstroke, malaria, snakes and even warthogs in the dead of night … what else could there be that she could not endure and survive? There was electricity, hot and cold running water … in fact she had lived in the lap of luxury whilst at the lodge. And what was a hectic social life, if the man you loved wasn’t there to share it with you? The Lodge was the perfect place to live – away from the rat-race, the pestering paparazzi and the hoity-toity, class conscious, status wielding society she was accustomed to, and which now did not seem that important any more.

   Yes, she could do it. It would mean change and adaptation – but she could… and she thought she would … if only he would ask her.

   The telephone’s shrill call startled her from her reverie. Her travelling alarm clock showed that it was three in the morning. She picked it up the receiver.

“Hello,” she said.

“Shilo? It’s me. Did I wake you.”

It was Stratt, and the sound of his voice sent ripples of excitement through her. He had called!

“No. I was just thinking about you… in fact I had just been dreaming about you,” she said ruefully wishing she sounded more cheerful.

“Shilo?  Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. You obviously know about the baby?”

“Yes. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I wish I had been there to hold you and say it to you personally… I wish that I could be there now to hold you …”

“Thanks,” she breathed, momentarily imagining what it would be like to feel his arms around her again right now.

“You were dreaming about me?” he said, just registering what she had said some seconds before.

“Yes. Wow! Was I dreaming about you… you and me,” she replied, her voice low, smooth and seductive.

“Sounds good. I miss you so much,” he sighed.

“Me too.”

“Shilo?”

“Yes?”

There was a pregnant pause, as if he was deciding if he would say something or not.

“Nothing… I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

   There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to ask. But she was waiting for her cue and it never came.

“I read your letter,” he continued, “it meant a lot to me. Thank you.”

“Well it’s true. Everything I said was true… I fell in love with you. And that is not easily reversed. I’m just so sad that it all turned out this way. If I had stayed a bit longer, like we were meant to do, maybe things would have turned out differently,” Shilo said matter of factly.

“Yes.”

   There was another long, uncomfortable pause. The silence spoke volumes. They both were dreading the moment when they would have to end the call.

“Shilo,” he finally breathed, “Shilo, I had better go.  I’m finding this very difficult…” his voice cracked with emotion.

“Goodbye, my darling,” she said.

“Goodbye,” he answered, and then the line clicked and he was gone.

CHAPTER 12

    Charles was lying low. No more trips into the country. No more frequenting of tiny, out of the way taverns and cosy bars in remote villages. Not just yet. He was a little unnerved by this man Corbett, who had publically threatened his neat and organized little world, his secure cocoon, from a podium on television news broadcasts. They were uncomfortably close to getting him. The identikit picture that had heralded the front page of The Sun, The Times and page two of The Telegraph was a remarkable likeness to his old look. Friends and acquaintances had started to joke about it. Even Lady Carina had commented on it, always pressing him for a reaction. He was made out to be sick and perverted by criminal profilers. He did not enjoy killing – he simply hated the resistance. He had enough of that from Shilo. Shilo was always too tired, had a headache or was not in the mood. When she did agree she might as well have been dead she was that unenthusiastic. These girls resisted too, so he quietened them. He did not have a fetish for dead women, like the papers implied. He just needed to kill them … to stop their breath that gave them a voice. Thinking about it began to arouse him. But he tried to overcome the feeling. He had to let Corbett know that they had him all wrong. An anonymous letter or phone call might do the trick.

                                                                               *

     Stratt sat in the Land Rover, peering through the sheet of water that the windscreen wipers had little effect in clearing. The heavens had opened just past Nelspruit. The roads were treacherous in these sudden tropical cloudbursts that occurred in summer, and he was travelling at a snail’s pace. Rain and hail stones lashed at the windows and the road ahead was a misty blur.

   He thought about his conversation with Shilo the night before. He had tried with all his might to ask her to stay… but his fear of rejection, and the deep knowledge that it would not work, had left him speechless in that regard. The words would just not come. But once the call had ended he knew the error of his ways. She had once again proclaimed her love for him … and he had just kept quiet although his heart had ached to do the same. Now he was in a race against the clock to get to her before she flew home. Thunder boomed overhead and the thud of hailstones made the drive even more difficult. Lightening streaked across the purple, heavy clouds above. Huge puddles across the road, sometimes half a foot deep, caused the traffic to go even slower. He had to get there. It was his last chance.

   Instead of three hours, the journey took nearly five. There were accidents all along the route where vehicles had aquaplaned on the sheets of water, which covered the road, and skidded into banks, trees and other cars. Visibility was poor and there were several bumper-bashings, which caused great hold-ups in the flow of traffic. Fortunately the four wheel drive vehicle he was in coped remarkably well, and soon he saw the silhouette of Johannesburg ahead of him framed between two low hills, the Post Office Tower swathed in mist and the skyscrapers darkened blocks against the charcoal sky, He might still make it.

   Wearing a pair of camel chinos and a red golf shirt, Stratt looked quite out of place in the exclusive northern suburbs hotel which clung to the side of a hill overlooking huge palatial residences in the opulent suburb. The vaulted foyer was a shimmering marble with gigantic granite pillars and Grecian style statues on ornate pedestals. The furniture was gilt with illustrious brocade upholstery. An immense bouquet of flowers stood in a gold urn in the centre of the lobby on a large round table. Porters with golden luggage frames bustled around and many businessmen in dark suits and cell phones glued to their ears strode importantly across the gleaming floor.

He approached the highly polished reception desk.

“Could you call Ms. Delucci’s room and tell her that Stratt Ogilvy is here to see her, please?”

   The rather rotund clerk dressed in a tuxedo and bow tie was very obliging. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ogilvy, the Deluccis checked out about fifteen minutes ago. The limousine has just left for the airport.”

   Stratt’s heart sank. He had just missed her because of the stupid weather. Fate was so cruel. Maybe all this was happening for a reason. But, it suddenly dawned on him, when he climbed into his hot, stuffy Land Rover, that if he drove quickly, he might make it to the airport in time to see her … speak to her.

   He hit the airport highway, and like a madman, wove in and out of the rush hour traffic at high speed heading out of the city.  Huge, colourful billboards flanked the busy freeway, still dripping from the earlier showers. The rain had stopped and the roads were still glistening with wetness. Steam rose off them in the last rays of the afternoon sun, and the whole world looked refreshed.