Wings of the Morning (54 page)

‘Mebbe, Hugh and I sure as hell hope so. Trouble is, no one seems to know much about where George W wants to head — probably doesn’t know himself yet. We can be sure that
little ole Millennium will be well down his list come January, and that’s good. But I hear also that he can be one tough hombre, so we’d better not count on a warm welcome.’

Tina Fullerton chipped in to say,

‘My folks back home in Dakota reckon Bush is just mad to make America great again but he’s also said that he doesn’t think our boys in khaki should be used for nation building.
I dunno if that’s supposed to cover nation grabbin’.

‘Well, I’m certainly worried that Bush doesn’t like me,’ said Hugh, ‘he was one of the first investors in Dundas Securities and he brought in some others. Of
course, he wanted out last January 2nd as soon as he made the connection and I can’t blame him. He had an election to fight and I gave him back his money and no arguing. But he still felt
scammed and he doesn’t like that. Makes him feel he’s been bested. So there’s no love lost.’

David Heaven stepped in then. He didn’t care for general chatter at a public occasion and anyway, he wanted to preserve the happy spirit of the day.

‘Let’s leave it there. We just have to wait and see. But the European diplomacy is all good news. By this time next year, we could be in the Commonwealth.’

There were smiles all round, and Felix Maas took the cue for to change the conversation.

‘Now Tina,’ he asked, ‘how long are you and Bill staying?’

‘Depends on Alexa, Felix. She’s got me a date!’

‘More like a place,’ said Alexa joining in the laughter. Since their arrival in January, Alexa had involved herself in the Orphans of Africa programme and liked to show off what they
had achieved so far. The track record in healthcare and jobs training was impressive and her latest project was situated in the small town of Singahala. She had promised to give Tina a personal
tour and the day’s journey each way from Century would give them some good gossip time.

‘When do we go back, honey?’ Tina asked Bill who looked to Hugh for the answer.

‘Whenever you want. Bertie the Boeing remains on standby for you, a few others and a whole load of cargo.’

Tina wagged her finger at him as she said,

‘Hugh, sweetheart, you’ve gotta get rid of that fuckin’ plane, terrific as it is. It makes no sense to own something that size. Besides, my Bill says the best advice you ever
gave him was that if it flies, floats or fucks, then rent it.’

It was Pente who led the guffaws at this outrageous humour and Alexa extended it by remarking with a mischievous twinkle, ‘I suppose that applies to me too?’

AISCHA HEAVEN — May 2003

It was the first weekend of the month, just a few days before David’s birthday. He wouldn’t be doing any dancing that year. Having become increasingly troubled by
arthritis in his hip, Aischa had persuaded him to have a replacement. David was taken into All Hope hospital and the operation was performed without complication, resulting in an excellent
prognosis. Now, hardly a week later, he was feeling unreasonably pleased with himself. He was so delighted that the procedure was complete, having confided to Aischa in advance that his greatest
dread was to go under an anaesthetic, something which he had never previously experienced. She hadn’t laughed at him, but gave him a wry smile which shamed him as he was immediately reminded
of the many operations she had been through in order to keep her body going.

Aischa was not a well lady and had to live a life of constant pain, ordered and controlled by endless medications. Despite these privations, she managed to remain a marvellously attractive and
feminine figure. She was always poised, immaculately presented, beautifully dressed and still retaining her come hither sexiness when her mood was right and the hurting reduced. She remained as
active as she could and her programme of visits and involvement in her many causes was as committed as ever.

Both of them delighted in the fast developing world of Millennium. During the last three years, things had gone from strength to strength. There was all the evidence that the country was
becoming a nation in its own right. They were well past the point of being accepted on the international stage and were now respected for welding together a dynamic and homogeneous society,
celebrating almost daily advances in every aspect of life, from medicine to music and from science to sport.

It is a function of the human condition that characteristics harden with the passing years. David Heaven remained sharp in his intellect but his perceptiveness in matters of the heart did not
improve. He was more dependent on Aischa’s guidance and company than he liked to admit and this led him into a failure to acknowledge her deteriorating condition. He did not want to accept
it. Worse, he knew it was beyond his capability to arrest which amounted to an impotence which he hated to recognise.

Aischa was badly affected by the news of her father’s death. Jonas Savimbi perished in a bloody little fire fight in February 2002. He was then a less than significant figure and a by note
to history. He had never ceased to struggle, but that state of permanent warfare had become for him an end in itself. As Aischa had predicted, he battled for most of his life and never came within
sight of his goal which had become progressively more illusory with the passage of time. This judgement was confirmed by Rafa, who came over from his home in California to visit them later in the
year of their father’s death. He stayed for two weeks and was of comfort and good company to them both, but when he left, David saw the extinguishing of some light from behind Aischa’s
eyes. A vital chapter of her life was closed.

Hardly a year later, David was still able to persuade himself that his Aischa was a constant in his life. For a man so accustomed to his own success by dint of ability, effort and single bloody
mindedness, he couldn’t accept that the most important achievement for him might be beyond his influence. His own responsibility made the matter far worse. It was true that he hadn’t
known of the diagnosis of a malignancy back in 1999. She had not told him, but he had been aware of a change in her — a tiredness, a hurting and being a little remote from time to time.
Typically for him, he had put this down to other things. She would get over it and he would help her: but a bit later when he had more time. Right then, he was completely absorbed in Zero to the
exclusion of any other subject. The same was true for Conrad Aveling as he now reminded himself bitterly. He had ignored Connie when he might have been able to help. Pray God he could do better by
Aischa.

That Saturday morning, they left the house to walk in the gardens of Founder’s Hill. David was in a powered wheelchair which he had been ordered to use for two weeks after his operation.
He piloted the damn thing while Aischa walked haltingly beside him, breathing heavily and using a light cane stick. They went slowly, heading up the gradual incline towards the outcrop of rock
which gave them their favourite view out over the Atlantic Ocean.

Aischa remarked to him, ‘We’re a right old couple of crocks, you and me!’

He had given a gruff laugh and replied ‘We’ll get by.’

They were both silent for a while as they continued their painful progress. Then Aischa started to speak to him and he knew that he couldn’t interrupt her.

She was giving him one of her lectures. She spoke of all their time together, their unlikely meeting and still less expected reunion. She talked of the family members and of precious friends. Of
happenings which had been so significant to them both. She discussed her father and her brother. She dwelt on the girl who was a daughter to them both and who had mothered their grandchildren.

They reached the vantage point which gave them full sight of the restless ocean — constantly moving, always the same. They were silent for a while. Aischa stood tall and unbowed beside
him. She hooked her cane over the back of his chair. She put her hand on his neck and moved it to squeeze his shoulder. David felt the tears come into his eyes, and he was powerless to hold them
back.

Aischa spoke to him.

‘Most of us leave not a stone to mark our passage here. You have done much and you will leave a monument. I’m happy to have been with you and to have brought you help and comfort.
But we must finish our journeys alone and hope for another time and place to be together. For now, just remember how much I have loved you.’

Aischa paused then, and David was quite incapable of speech or gesture. She was in control and in charge. She moved in front of him. In a lithe movement which belied her years and condition, she
dropped onto one knee and took his right hand between both of hers as she looked into his face which was already ravaged by his grief.

She spoke for the last time. ‘Harisha, my darling David.’

Then she stood gracefully and moved on and away from him around the Point. In a moment, she was lost to his view and he knew that he would never see her again. A little further on, she slipped
over the cliff and was gone. No trace of her body was found. The ocean does not give back those who were greatly loved.

They came in their hundreds to her memorial service. They came in thousands, thronging the Cathedral Square, and within the fine old building, people crammed themselves into every nook and
crevice. It was a Service of Thanksgiving, a theme reflected in the music which Aischa loved and in a congregation which did its best to ensure that she would hear it. There were thundering
crescendos, the great organ teaming with the massed choirs and the platoons of trumpets. In contrast, a hushed silence respected the delicate interpretation of a Chopin nocturne which had been a
particular favourite. There were readings, a poem recital and an anthem.

David had asked Pente Broke Smith to lead the service and to give an address. It was a challenge to which Pente rose magnificently. Standing on the wide altar steps, Pente resembled most
people’s imagination of the prophet Abraham, his huge figure isolated and dominant, the cascade of beard spilling down his chest, his voice deep and powerful over the PA system.

He captured a perfect image of Aischa. He spoke of her courage in life and her dignity in departure. He placed her accurately in the position which she had made her own. She was, he said, the
First Lady of Millennium. It was in every sense that she merited this title, but it was most deserved in recognition of her boundless generosity to the people of our country and her efforts did not
falter in spirit even when her physical strength was diminishing.

‘We are all familiar’, boomed Pente, ‘with her work on behalf of our charities, our schools and the university, our literary festival and the hospital concerts. But I say that
her most precious gift was to those countless individuals whom we don’t know. But Aischa did. Aischa was ours. She was here for all of us and there are so many whom she met along life’s
way who will bless the memory of her loving kindness. She was our First Lady of Grace.’

They were all there. Alexa and Hugh. Tepee Aveling. King Offenbach. Martin and Ruth flew down from London. Fergus Carradine and his wife, Ursula Hampton of course, Rory and Verity Trollope. From
further afield came Mark Bushell, also Sebastien and Izzy Mantel from Singapore. Rafa arrived from California with his family, and from Lisbon, Mario and Isabella Mori, from their favourite
restaurant in Lisbon, at David’s special request.

David had met Anna Aveling on the tarmac two days earlier when her plane from London touched down in Century City. They had not seen each other for some years but he carried in his head a
picture of Anna, always calm and welcoming but with the slight air of harassment which goes with the territory of managing a boisterous household.

It thrilled and shocked and saddened him to see her emerge from the plane, which had halted by special arrangement on the apron, well short of the terminal so that this VIP for the day family
could be welcomed by David with a small entourage. The sight which greeted him might have been of Aischa just a few years ago. Anna struck a poised and glamorous figure as she stood at the top of
the aircraft steps, very smart in a tailored tropical suit which heightened the contours of her excellent figure, her long chestnut hair about her shoulders, stirring in the light breeze. She
waited just long enough for effect, not so long as to give exhibition, and then she turned to usher her two sons in front of her while Oscar, as always smart but subdued in English country style,
brought up the rear. As he watched her graceful descent from the aircraft, David gasped at the similarity to her mother and the effect of it caught in his throat.

After Aischa’s Service, it took almost two hours for the congregation to file past David with a nod of respect or a handshake as he stood at the top of the Cathedral
steps. Beside him stood Anna, and beside her was her elder son Oliver, now fifteen and showing all the signs of a developing young man. He stood motionless, holding himself erect, standing a little
taller than his mother, very conscious of the solemnity of the occasion.