Maun, Botswana, 1996
Angie scuffed her foot in the powdery sand of the dry riverbed and watched the dust devils spiral in the afternoon heat. She hoped she’d still be in Maun when the floodwaters finally reached town this year—that slow-motion miracle when the Okavango’s waters arrived months after the rains fell hundreds of miles away in Angola. But in three days she’d be signing on for her rostered Johannesburg-to-London flight, back to her carefully constructed life thirty thousand feet above all this.
She shaded her eyes to watch a batteleur eagle soar majestically overhead, wishing Saskia had had time to go on a jaunt—just the two of them. A photographic spree, like in the old days. But her cousin was too consumed with her new boyfriend these days to be able to spare time for the things Angie and Saskia used to do when it was just them.
“Hey, Angie! I thought I might find you here. I need to know if you’re going to the party at Le Bistrot tonight.”
Saskia emerged, grinning, from behind a stand of waterberry trees, thankfully alone. Her blonde hair caught the slanting sunlight, and even since the last time Angie had seen her a month ago, she seemed to have grown in confidence. Certainly there was a glow about her.
Perhaps that’s what having a boyfriend did for one. Angie wouldn’t know.
“Hi, stranger.” Angie kept her tone light as she turned. She wouldn’t let Saskia see how needy she felt. “I’ve hardly seen you since I got back. Tell me about the new job. And, no, I’m not going to any parties tonight.”
“The job is brilliant!” Saskia clapped her on the shoulder, practically vibrating with joi de vivre. We’re filming all over the delta, and Rupert’s got backing from a European conservation foundation. We’re talking proper good money to document what’s happening to the water.”
Angie glanced down at the riverbed under their feet — cracked pale sand where the Thamalakane should have been running. She didn’t need to be told what was happening to the water with one of the worst droughts in the history of the Okavango Delta threatening to destroy this vast water wonderland. “What do you think’s going to happen about this pipeline proposal?” That fact that the delicate ecological balance was under threat from upstream was almost too frightening to put into words.
Saskia’s expression darkened. “It was what almost everyone in Maun was talking about in June.” She shrugged as she sent a baleful look up the dry river bed. “And now it’s all anyone’s talking about.”
Angie scuffed her shoe in the dust. “If the Namibians have already announced they’re going ahead with it—a pipeline from the Okavango all the way to Windhoek—is there any way it can be stopped?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Saskia bit her lip. “But that’s what Rupert’s documentary is going to hopefully show. That the environmental situation makes it untenable.” She encompassed the parched riverbed with a sweep of her arm, then looked up at the bleached sky. “It’s the worst flood year in living memory—I mean, like no flood—and they want to take more water out?” She paused. “Rupert told me OKACOM meets in Gaborone in September. The three governments will get together, face to face, to discuss Namibia’s proposal. So that’s what this film is for. Not just wildlife photography this time.” She hesitated. “Well, wildlife photography too. Rupert knows that’s what gets the public’s attention but the real purpose is to put the state of the delta on record while there’s still time — before the September meeting. Botswana needs ammunition.”
“Ammunition from an anti-hunting wildlife documentary. I like that.” Angie grinned, trying to lighten the mood.
Saskia smiled briefly then sobered. The topic was too serious. “Ammunition from a wildlife documentary that happens to show the delta at its lowest level since measurements began, filmed in the same year Namibia is arguing this unique place can absorb a water diversion without ecological damage.” She shook her head. “Rupert’s foundation has been working hard to make sure the right people will see the footage. Conservation groups, scientists, some European MPs who have interests in the region.” She paused. “There’s actually a group of European hunters and safari operators who’ve been pulling together a declaration of their own — people who’ve been coming to the delta for years and have witnessed the changes firsthand. So, we’re not just talking conservation lobbyists this time. Rupert’s hoping to get that submitted alongside the documentary evidence before September, and I’ve been helping him.”
At the same time that Angie acknowledged Saskia’s impressive career trajectory, she was speared with envy, quickly tamped down. Saskia had a cause to serve, a deadline driving her. Here she was, shining with the nobility of it all— quite a different creature from Saskia in love, though right now she appeared to be both simultaneously.
“And so, Angie, I was hoping you could talk to Starky who, I’ve heard, is going to be at the party at Le Bistrot.”
Saskia’s word came like a jolt from the blue. “What?” Angie blurted, too late to hide the horror in her tone. “Talk to Starky?”
“We need access to the southern concession areas — the Thamalakane, the dried Boteti, the floodplains that should be underwater right now.” Saskia went on as if she hadn’t clocked her cousin’s response. “It’ll be aerial footage, mostly. And we’ll be flying mid to late August, which is exactly when I’ve heard Starky has a hunting safari operating out there.” Saskia sent her an expectant look.
“Why should Starky’s safari impact your plans if it’s all aerial photography?”
“Except that it isn’t all aerial photography,” Saskia countered. “We want to document the river that runs through Zerangu and get footage of the wildlife on the ground near camp—to compare it with past years. It’s not such a good look for a wildlife documentary if his hunting clients are all bagging trophies the day we’ve set aside to film the wildlife in the same area. All I’m asking you to do is speak to Starky and find out when his hunting party is at Zerangu so we can plan Rupert’s flying days around them.”
Angie sent her cousin a combative glare. “Ask him yourself.”
“He’s been in camp or in the air every waking hour. And I’m not going to discuss it over the radio.” Saskia paused. “Besides, he’s your father.”
There it was. Angie looked back at the empty riverbed.
Your father.
Saskia sighed. “Sorry. I’m being awful, aren’t I? You’re only here for a few more days before you go back to work, and I’ve been completely Missing in Action, and now I’m asking you to bury the hatchet like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”
The small kernel of resentment in Angie’s chest dissolved. It was impossible to stay angry with Saskia when she was so fired up with life—doing work she loved, and in a satisfying relationship with a man who clearly adored her. One day, maybe, Angie would find that too.
“But honestly, Angie, this could be a good way to thaw the ice. I know you’re cross with Starky but it’s not like he was a monster when he dumped Sarah. And it was ages ago. Surely you’re not still angry with him?”
Angie let out a slow breath, then looked up, one eyebrow raised. “For breaking up with Sarah? The most decent, honest woman who ever crossed his path—a woman so madly in love with him she forgave him things no other woman would? For sabotaging not just her life but his own?” She let the full force of her resentment show. “Of course I’m still angry.”
“But Starky is just... like that.” Saskia’s tone turned pleading. “He’ll never settle down. You know that.”
“I really thought Sarah was different.” The words came out more bitter than Angie intended. “I’d never seen him fall for someone the way he did for her. They lasted two years—two years, Saskia. They seemed genuinely happy. And then—” She snapped her fingers. “Poof. He just sabotaged it all. I haven’t spoken to him since…but he hasn’t tried to seek me out either. Clearly, the novelty of finding a long-lost daughter he didn’t know about has worn off.” She drew a breath, feeling the heat press down like a physical weight, as she wiped her eyes. “And anyway, you’re his favourite. Ever since he saved you from the crocodile, there’s been a bond that our real father-daughter blood bond can’t compete with—”
“Oh, Angie, I had no idea you felt that way…” Saskia gripped her cousin’s arm, her voice thick with emotion. “Yes, he saved my life but… it’s rather ironic that my father saved yours. See, we’re even.”
She tried to smile but Angie shook her head. “Your poor father still has the scars to show how brave he was when he threw himself into the path of that lion but… it was my stupidity that caused all the damage. You weren’t stupid, you were innocent and lucky…and fortunately got saved by Starky in the nick of time. Me? I was just plain dumb and ran into trouble, and Uncle James had no choice but to do what he did. I can barely look him in the eye, knowing that I ruined his life.”
“You didn’t ruin his life! He’d do the same thing without hesitation if it happened tomorrow. You know what my dad’s like. The most decent man alive. And for goodness sake, you were fifteen years old.”
“Sixteen.”
“OK, like by about a week. And you’d just learned that minute that Starky was your father thanks to my mother who just blurted it out.”
Angie clapped her hand to her mouth. “Yes! Because of that Afrikaans tart, Charlize… if you recall.”
The shared memory had the odd effect of making them both laugh unexpectedly. How long ago it seemed that the two girls had persuaded the brother of a school friend to fly them into Deception Pan in the middle of the Kalahari Desert when Starky was taking a German hunter and his son on an overland safari to bag a Kalahari lion. And yet, those intervening six years also seemed to have disappeared in a flash.
“Did you ever hear from Kurt Heinrich’s son, Thomas, after they went back to Germany?” asked Saskia. “I’m sure he was a bit sweet on you.”
“Of course I didn’t!” cried Angie. “And of course he wasn’t sweet on me.” Unable to hold in her grin, she added, “I think Charlize probably gobbled him up.”
“Or poisoned him if she became his wicked stepmother.” Reconsidering, Saskia shook her head. “But of course, Charlize was only Kurt Heindrich’s bit on the side. She was a prostitute he picked up at Sun City between Kurt landing in Johannesburg and Starky flying the now three of them to Zerangu. Mum only talked about it when she thought I was old enough—as if I was just some innocent kid when we landed on them at Deception and we could both see that Charlize was having it off with Starky too.” She clapped her hand to her mouth, adding quickly, “Sorry, Angie.”
“It’s quite all right. I’ve never been under any illusions about the extent of my father’s philandering.” Angie gave a short, exasperated laugh. “I should be grateful for it, I suppose, otherwise I wouldn’t even exist.” She exhaled. “But I still don’t want to talk to him.”
“Please Angie, won’t you cut him some slack? Or has your mum been getting in your ear?”
At the mention of her mother, Angie felt sudden anger spike, hotter than the resentment she felt about Starky. “Do you honestly think I’d let my mother get in my ear about anything?” Her voice came out sharp. “Starky loves women and runs through them like water through a sieve. But my mum?” She shook her head bitterly. “My mum has the worst judgment when it comes to men. The worst judgment about everything. I practically raised myself, so don’t think for a second I’d give credence to anything she says. My not talking to Starky has nothing to do with my mother.”
“Sorry, sorry! I know it’s a prickly subject.” Saskia held up both hands in surrender. “I won’t talk about it again, I promise.” She tossed back her long blonde hair and hooked her arm through Angie’s, her voice turning soothing. “Hey, Angie, can I ask you… what’s really bothering you? I know it’s more than the idea of talking to Starky. Or me talking about your mum.”
Angie felt the tears prick unexpectedly at the back of her eyelids. Nobody was as good as Saskia at reading her moods—better, in fact, than Angie was at reading them herself. Now that her cousin had articulated it, she realised she really did feel... so utterly alone.
Saskia led her to a pair of director’s chairs someone had left at the bottom of the Rutledge’s garden, where the dry sand stretched down to what would—God willing—soon be a glistening expanse of floodwater.
“Come on, out with it.” Saskia settled into her chair and fixed Angie with a knowing look. “Something else is troubling you, and I’m not going to let up until you tell me.”
Angie blinked rapidly, gave a rueful smile, then said, “You know, you’re the only person who ever puts me on the spot like this. I really should dislike you intensely for making me feel so uncomfortable.”
“It’s because I love you,” Saskia said simply. “You were my first friend at my new boarding school when we immigrated to South Africa. And then to find out you were my cousin too? That was amazing.” Her expression softened. “And it’s true what you said about raising yourself. Now I feel really awful for going off into my own little world with Hamish when I know you’re only back for such a short time before you do your air hostessing thing again.”
She paused, studying Angie’s face. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re feeling alone because you’re not talking to your dad, and your mum’s pissing you off as usual. You just want what I have—someone to be happy with.”
