Silk Threads

By Frankie Kay

“We want Lisa Van der Linde found.” David Brewster, lands this task, more than twenty years after Lisa, the only daughter of Rotterdam based businessman Johann Van der Linde, disappears. In 2010, she becomes the sole heiress and major shareholder of the Van der Linde Corporation. They want her found, dead or alive.

Lisa, assured a life of leisure, privilege, is expected to marry the right man, conform to the norms of the ultra rich. Instead, at age fifteen, the painfully shy Lisa, meets Eugene, a badass from across the tracks. Eugene is good with women, and Lisa, no match for his practised skill.

“Come next week,” is the first command Eugene issues to Lisa. “Never cut your hair again,” follows shortly. She obeys both. Lisa, who usually avoids contact with people, locks eyes with Eugene across a hall, ten minutes before he makes these demands.
She was not to know he only attended the social to meet her, seduce her, use her.

The story tracks their unusual relationship, intertwined with David's quest for Lisa, and his own budding romance with Henrietta.

Set in Johannesburg and Bulawayo, Frankie Kay explores themes of love, dependency and racial interactions within the context of very different character types.
Lisa, an Aspergers sufferer and painfully shy is intelligent yet terrified of people.. Elusive Eugene, as constrained by his character as are we all, forever in the background, manipulating, dominant. David, a people person. Henrietta: cool, controlled poised.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Kay
• Release date: Aug 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301587759

Frankie Kay

I'm an author from Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. I've written a novel, Silk Threads and a few short stories. Although Frankie is a pen name, she is the me who never grew up, the crazy kid who spoke to animals, talked to the wildflowers and asked awkward questions...I love: music, the silence..., distant horizons. I hate: crowds and spending money.

Book preview

HANDS pulled above her head, legs and lacy lingerie tangled, the girl stared up at the ceiling. Like an abandoned mannequin, her alabaster skin shone smooth and bloodless against the scarlet bed-cover.

The suite, an exclusive getaway high up in the Drakensburg, overlooked a narrow ravine plunging hundreds of metres to a clear mountain stream.

For the second time that evening, a man, sporting a red do-rag and a ghetto accent, slipped into the room and standing at the end of the bed, studied the restrained figure.

With her throat exposed and long, blond hair artfully tumbled, the girl appeared to be holding a pose, as if waiting for a photographer to click the shutter. A leather strap, dark against her chest and the red smudge on her carotid, told a different story.

Moving to the headboard, he unlocked the handcuffs and her arms, heavy in death, flopped down. Checking her corneal reflex once again, he brushed her eyes closed.

He washed her still-warm body, flushing the soiled paper-towels down the toilet before dressing her and carrying her to the car. Positioned on her side, the girl appeared asleep, snug in her windbreaker. He tucked a blanket along the back seat and under her body, holding her in place. Splashing a little brandy on the blanket he tucked the bottle into the crook of her arm.

Returning to the cabin, the man packed the girl's belongings into a large bag. He searched the room, the cupboards, the tiny bathroom, even under the bed for any evidence of a woman's presence.

Back at the car, he exchanged the do-rag for a peaked cap, his bomber jacket for a chauffeur’s overcoat. Pulling away, he drove carefully, climbing even further up the mountains towards the pass that lead to the desert, far inland.

THERE are many places to dispose of a body in the Drakensburg. Like any range of mountains, they offer endless possibilities: deep ravines, caves. Every year, hikers and trampers disappear; some are never found.

Chapter 2 JOHANNESBURG JUNE 2010

WE want Lisa Van der Linde found, said Mr Aylesworthy in his slow, precise, lawyers' voice and David sitting across from him at the VLC Africa headquarters in Johannesburg, thought it would be interesting to get into the mind of this girl, missing for more than twenty years. He believed, getting into the minds and often the lives of missing people was the way to find them.

His partner Robbie, always more cynical, believed to find a missing person one should follow the money. From what they knew so far, this girl was extremely wealthy, and upon the death of her father, would be even more so.

Three years ago, we began the search for Ms. Van der Linde, in Europe, Mr Aylesworthy continued, in his pedantic manner, "because she was most certainly residing there after she left Zimbabwe in 1988. We expanded the search to the other continents when we were unable to locate her. Our premise, was that she would not have returned to Southern Africa with its poor future prospects, a deteriorating economic situation and the additional fact that her parents were themselves, domiciled in Europe.

To date however, we have not been able to locate her anywhere in the world and are now finally turning our eye to Africa, where we perhaps should have begun our quest.

Mr Aylesworthy allowed himself a self-deprecating smile, his forefinger tapping an envelope on the desk in front of him.

You will see in the files, the search elsewhere in the world has been thorough, and yet yielded absolutely no information with regard to Lisa. A resolution was passed at a recent meeting of the board of the Van der Linde Corporation, to request of you to join the search. Since you are based here, with branches in several Southern African countries, we feel you are best placed to cope with the search on this continent. You are of course, welcome to extend your investigation wherever you deem necessary.

Do you have any evidence Lisa Van der Linde is alive? asked David.

"No, but we also have no evidence to the contrary, as you will see when you read the files. We need to know conclusively either way. An extraordinary sum of money is at stake, a large corporation cannot afford to have a matter such as this hanging in limbo, so to speak.

"As you already know, she is the only daughter of Johann Van der Linde, the majority shareholder of the Van der Linde Corporation. Her father is ill and upon his death his shares and a controlling interest in the VLC, will pass to her.

Her last contact with us was shortly after her twenty-first birthday, back in 1988, when she attended a week-long series of meetings at the VLC headquarters in Rotterdam. Within a month of these meetings, she sent us written instructions to use dividends attributable to her, to purchase VLC shares as and when they became available.

Mr Aylesworthy spoke slowly, deliberately and precisely and David wondered if all lawyers were taken aside at some time point during their training, and taught how to speak like that.

She assigned her proxy and seat on the board to her father, Johann Van der Linde, even in respect of those shares later accrued. I represent the family interests under the Van der Linde umbrella, he continued.

You will find everything that has been done so far in the search, in that file, he said, pointing again at the thick folder on the desk, included is a flash stick and a CD with transcripts or recordings of all interviews.

Mr Aylesworthy paused, steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

Mr. Brewster, you have an excellent reputation. We know you have solved some difficult missing person’s cases in the past. We want Ms. Van der Linde found and we accept your terms as outlined in our email correspondence. Please peruse the file, and if you have any questions, get hold of me before next Friday, when I return to Rotterdam. Of course, I am available on email and on Skype. We would appreciate regular updates.

DEALING with lawyers usually fell to David rather than his partner Robbie, and he always allocated adequate time when dealing with them.

In his experience, lawyers valued their own time, but not that of others, and had been agreeably surprised this morning when he arrived at the firm to be taken directly into Aylesworthy's office. He had been even more surprised when Mr Aylesworthy kept the meeting to an absolute minimum. He handed over all the relevant documents, gave a brief over view of the case before shaking his hand and walking him to the door.

Chapter 3

Thursday 20th May 1982

Pretend.

That is what I will do. I will just pretend and no one will know how scared I am, what I am feeling.

What I am feeling now is panic.

I have been forced into going to the Barham Green Community hall, which is in the 'coloured' area of Bulawayo. Sister Mary Margaret wants me to 'integrate' socially with other races. It is not the race thing that bothers me so much as integrating with people.

I am terrified of people. I never know what to say, and I hate having to talk to anyone. Why can't they just let me stay quiet? Why do I always have to say things to them, look at them? Why do they always expect me to reply?

I am not so scared of Sharleen anymore. She is the only person I speak to at school. I help her sometimes with numbers and science, she helps me when I need to go to a shop or speak to people. I can't do lots of stuff.

So I pretend.

* * *

LISA put her pen down, shut her diary and standing, smoothed her hands down her hips.

She walked down the stairs, through the hallway and out of the door to the waiting chauffeur and car.

Pushing her head back against the leather seat, she closed her eyes in an attempt to get the sick feeling out of her stomach. She felt short of breath and wiping her sweaty hands on her skirt, once again, wished she did not have to attend this function. It would be torture.

Alone in her world, she didn't want to meet people, certain they didn't want to meet her. She thought the whole idea of social interaction over-rated.

If Sharleen had not promised to attend, Lisa would have found some way to get out of it, although until today, their association had only been at school.

THE driver turned into an entrance way and peering through the dark tinted windows, Lisa took in the groups of teenagers who loitered near the building and in the adjoining playground.

She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a long, deep breath in an attempt to clear her rolling stomach.

Pulse erratic, he climbed out of the car, her head down in a defensive hunch.

Her driver spoke, but Lisa, unable to absorb anything, only mumbled in reply and walked a short distance, numb with terror.

Father Duncan surged out of a group of kids towards her. Taking her hand, he pulled her along, releasing her near a group of white girls, none of whom she recognised.

Lisa stood alone, twisting her watch strap backwards and forwards, peeking through the curtain of her hair.

A cluster of girls came around the side of the building in short skirts and high-heeled shoes, Sharleen in the centre. The leader of the pack.

Lisa thought Sharleen looked fabulous, wished she could look like her, wished she had a small waist and large breasts. Hers were still different sizes.

Sharleen smiled and greeted Lisa with a casual Hiya girl, and Lisa flicked a grateful glance at her without answering.

Fortunately, Father Duncan ushered everyone towards the hall.

LISA, neither religious nor social, found the next hour excruciating. The function began with a prayer, which seemed to her to go on forever. Clusters of chairs faced Father Duncan who stood behind a lectern. After the prayer, he encouraged everyone to sing hymns and later handed pieces of paper to each group with discussion points.

Lisa looked around at the other kids, most of whom appeared to be enjoying themselves. Perhaps they were also pretending? She wondered what she looked like. Did she look as uncomfortable as she felt?

After a final prayer, the groups broke up and Father Duncan encouraged everyone to mingle and make new friends.

Lisa stuck to Sharleen and several other girls who attended Founders High, the local 'coloured' school. Mostly Lisa remained quiet unless directly addressed, while the girls gossiped about other girls and also about boys, none of whom she knew. They compared manicures and hairstyles, makeup and hair accessories.

Lisa stood between Sharleen and Helen, a willowy, light-skinned girl with an elaborate hairstyle. Dressed in a short tube with a wide leather belt around her slim waist Lisa thought she could be a model: trim figure, long, slim legs and ankles.

There's Eugene, Helen hissed. Is he looking my way? Do you think he is interested in me?

Lisa mentally shook her head. Of course he was; all the boys were.

Although Helen had previously ignored Lisa, she now began talking to her, animatedly moving her hands, laughing and thrusting her hip outwards, all the while swivelling around to better advertise herself.

Right up against Helen's side, Lisa turned her head.

Her eyes met those of a man standing with his shoulder against the wall, near the floor length curtain.

Tall, with a muscular, slim body he remained immobile, among a group of young coloured boys, posturing and showing off.

Lisa, staring at him across the hall decided he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. His piercing, green eyes seemed to look right into her and for the first time in her life, she couldn't look away; didn't want to look away.

A hand on her arm brought her back to reality. Helen standing at her shoulder asked a question and with a hollow feeling Lisa realised the man must have been staring at Helen.

A few boys sauntered over and began chatting, using slang Lisa could hardly understand. Apparently it was Eugene over against the wall, but she lost sight of him when the others moved.

She had lost sight of Sharleen too, and although she could have joined a group of girls she knew from school, she felt frazzled; unable to maintain a façade any longer. She decided to escape outside where it was dark, and she would not be required to talk to anyone.

Moving through the side door she walked along the waist high flower bed, until it turned back against the car park wall. She levered herself into the corner above the flower bed and leaning back against the taller wall, closed her eyes in relief.

SHE relaxed, until something brushed against her knee. Her eyes flew open and her heart thudded hard; once, twice and then raced off at full speed.

Eugene stood close to her. Far too close to her.

Lisa, he said, with a strange inflexion that made her name sound like, Lizaa.

His voice was soft and she felt his breath on her face. She sat staring at him, her hands on either side of her thighs with her elbows locked.

He put his right hand on the wall above her head and clasped her wrist with the other, his body covering hers.

Lisa, he repeated.

Wide-eyed and mute, she nodded.

I followed you out here. I saw you were not enjoying it in there, he said, jerking his head towards the hall.

Still mute, she nodded again. She knew she appeared stupid and scared. But was she really scared? She was excited, sure. Not scared. He’d looked dangerous, earlier in the hall, and everything she had heard from Sharleen confirmed this.

And now he was here, suffocatingly close.

I ah... she started I ah... don't really know..., she tried again.

His lips moved into a small smile. Sarcastic? Understanding? Lisa didn’t know. She was hopeless at reading people’s expressions.

I watched you arrive, he said, and her eyes dropped. Eugene took her chin, forcing her head up.

Cool car.

Lisa's heart began beating its crazy tattoo again. She could feel it pounding in her chest, so loud she thought he must hear it. She had a strange feeling under her ribs, almost a cramp.

I hate it, she said in a low voice.

The car?

All of it. The car, the chauffeur, everything. She waved her hand towards the hall, People.

He dropped his hand from her chin, once again claiming her wrist.

People, yeah. I just ignore them all. The car, no.

I can't ignore them; I just have to pretend.

Pretend?

Yes, I pretend I am not in the car, whispered Lisa. Pretend I’m not in there. Pretend…

You never have to pretend with me, he interrupted. Always remember that.

Once again, she nodded.

On the flowerbed, her eyes were level with his. His hip pushed against her knee, body angling towards hers. Oxygen seemed scarce again and Lisa took a deep breath.

Next week when you get out of the car, what will you pretend?

Ah..., she broke off, swallowed and tried again, ah, I don't think I will be coming next week.

Come next week, he said. I want you to.

She stared at him in the half light, her eyes wide.

When you arrive, pretend there is no one there at all, just an empty yard.

He smiled slightly; so slightly his lips only tipped up at the edges. Now you know the layout and bullshit that goes on inside, you can run on autopilot.

He grabbed the open ends of her small jacket, tugging upwards, straightening her back.

His knuckles brushed against her breasts and an electric shock raced through her body. She couldn't breathe. Her body arched towards his and her eyes drifted closed.

He smiled again, leaning into her.

Come next week, he said, his voice soft, lips brushing her ear. He put both his hands on her cheeks and tilting her head upwards put his lips against hers. He slipped his fingers into her hair, cupping her head with his hands.

Plenty hair, he said. Too short... Never cut it again, Lisa. You hear?

In a daze, Lisa let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding and nodded.

He tugged her off the flower bed wall.

Let's go wait for your driver, he said.

Lisa's legs felt all rubbery, but he supported her under her elbow. Not the elbow next to him, the one on the other side. His body, right up against hers, so close she could feel heat coming off his, enveloped her.

He guided her into the darkness of the car park, where she could hear her car idling and released her with a gentle push. She stumbled towards it and when she looked back, he was gone.

Lisa slumped into the back seat and waited for her heart to slow, too numb to analyse what had happened.

Of course she had heard about Eugene from Sharleen, how he had reappeared recently from who knew where. He had been the topic of most break-time conversation among many of the coloured Convent girls for the last three weeks or so, all talk about what a bad, bad boy he was. How he spent much of his childhood on the streets, that no one knew who his father was. How his mother started on drugs, alcohol and different men until she faded away.

Before she met him, Lisa had been puzzled how girls could find a thief and possibly a violent murderer, attractive. Now she knew. He was very, very attractive, mysterious, dangerous and bold.

In control.

And he had singled her out; had spoken to her. Why, when there were so many, much prettier girls to choose from? Girls who had been trying to gain his attention.

EUGENE stood with his shoulder propped up against the wall watching the black BMW leave the grounds.

He levered himself off, moved along the dark line of trees, and out of the gate. Keeping to the shadows, he set off down the road in the opposite direction to the one taken by Lisa, moving with a fluid walk that quickly covered ground.

Eugene could walk alone at night in this part of town. Apart from his reputation, he was quick on his feet, had good reflexes and carried and knew how to use, a large, sharp knife.

He fitted in with the fabric of Bulawayo, able to hold his own among the blacks and coloureds, also able to pass as white in most circumstances. He had never penetrated Lisa's kind, though.

LISA arrived home and, while waiting for the driver to open her door, noticed there were several other cars parked in the driveway. Her parents had guests.

She shuffled past a young girl in classic maid's uniform and immediately climbed the stairs to her room, hoping to avoid both her parents and their guests. There she found her supper on a tray, covered with a net, to protect it from flies.

SHE tossed and turned throughout the night, her stomach a tight knot.

Each time she felt herself drifting into sleep, she remembered Eugene's voice in her ear, his hands on her clothing. She would roll over, only to be reminded he wanted her to return, how he had stared at her.

Lisa woke in the morning with diarrhoea and spent Friday in a daze, drifting sleepily through classes.

TO teachers and classmates, Lisa did not appear much different than normal. The teachers had discovered although Lisa Van der Linde appeared inattentive, avoiding eye contact, she was extremely capable intellectually. Good at arts subjects, she excelled in mathematics and science. In class, Lisa never volunteered an answer to a question. Addressed directly, she became flustered, whispering the answer, her glance shifted to the side.

Some of the staff took this as a challenge, interpreting her avoidance as disrespectful, a notion fostered by her unfortunate appearance. So far, none of them had managed to effect any changes in her behaviour.

* * *

Saturday 22nd May 1982

I didn’t write anything yesterday for lots of reasons. I am not sure if I can write what I feel, I am not sure if perhaps I just dreamed what happened. Imagine if I wake up and it was all a dream. A scary dream. An exciting dream.

So now, it's Saturday and my parents are socialising and I am, as usual in my bedroom and I am a little calmer about what happened.

I listened to the girls talking about Eugene on Friday at school, but I didn't really learn much about him, just he has been away for some time, drives a sports car and is secretive and desirable.

The big question is what do I do? I can't ask anyone for help, certainly not Sharleen. She would like to get closer to him. She would like to be his girlfriend, but so would all the other girls who hang out with Sharleen.

At first I couldn't think, you know, yesterday, but now I can ask myself some questions:

Like, did it happen? Did Eugene come outside and talk to me?

Did he tell me to come again next week? - Yes, he did.

What does he want? - I don't know.

Do I care? - No.

Eugene is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. He is not the most frightening thing to happen to me. I am not frightened of him.

He smells so nice. I can still smell him.

His voice is so soft and it makes me get shivers and I feel tight under my ribs when I think of him.

Does he want me to be his girlfriend? Do I want to be his girlfriend? I don't know what a girlfriend does.

Usually I pretend when I don't know how to do something. How can I pretend about something I can't find anything about? I don't find anything in books about how to be a girlfriend.

Now the big question: Do I go back next week? If I do, what will happen?

Chapter 4

LISA spent the week in turmoil. She vacillated from one extreme to another, unable to make a decision about attending the Thursday social. Her firm resolve to stay at home would waver, and eventually disintegrate. The force of her compulsion to see Eugene, experience the excitement of him again, too strong to withstand. Within an hour or two, she would once again stand firm in her resolution to stay at home.

She spent every break time with Sharleen, hoping to hear snippets of information about him. It was not difficult; the group of girls who hung out with her couldn't stop talking about him. They all had schemes of how to catch his attention.

One of Sharleen's friends was told by her father he would beat her, if she went anywhere near him. Eugene he said, was a dangerous person to be around, but would not elaborate. It appeared to Lisa this added to the incentive of the chase.

Eugene had been seen with various women, but not linked with one in particular. A group of young boys appeared to gravitate to him, but none seemed to have any strong influence.

One of the girls had a brother who hung out with Eugene. He laughed at the idea of fixing his sister up with him.

THURSDAY evening however, found Lisa on her way out to the hated chauffeured car. Baffled by the irresistible impulse propelling her, Lisa chose to distract herself by thinking about where she was going, rather than the situation she would have to face once she arrived. She was going to Barham Green, where you HAD to live until Independence in 1980, if you were of mixed race.

Lisa couldn't understand it. Her parents were also mixed race, her father Dutch, her mother English, and yet they lived in the 'white' area of Khumalo.

Mixed race meant mixed with dark people, like blacks and Asians, Sharleen told her. You were different if you have a black mother and a white father, rather than a black father and white mother, she explained. Also, if your grandparents were from South Africa, you were different from a home-grown coloured person. It seemed so confusing, the differentiation unnecessary.

Lisa's reflections did not divert her fears in the slightest and by the time the car cruised into the parking lot, she had sweaty palms and her stomach hurt. All week, she practised the event in her mind, mentally practised walking across the lot, pretending it was empty. Practised how she would walk to Father Duncan, how she would look for Sharleen.

Lisa knew the layout of the hall, and it did help. What could never be practised was the unexpected, what she should say when someone asked her a question to which she didn't know the conventional reply.

The driver parked the black car, climbed out and opened the back door. Lisa climbed out, thanked him and turned, head down, shoulders hunched. Then it seemed, she collected herself, straightened her shoulders and looking around, zoned in on the group around Father Duncan. She lifted her chin and began the long walk in their direction.

Lisa, terrified, her mind blank, had Father Duncan in her sights and planned that once she spoke to him, she would look around for someone else she recognised.

This week, Sharleen stood among the group talking to him, making Lisa's next planned manoeuvre easy.

Once in the hall, Lisa found herself a seat fairly close to the exit door, although she did not know anyone in the cluster of chairs.

Once again, she found the event boring and a little embarrassing, but this evening she slipped out as soon as the session ended. There wasn't anyone there she wanted to talk to. She wanted to see Eugene again.

She made her way to the flowerbed and hopped up onto the wall, hoping he would see her.

He had not been in the hall, and she hoped he would see her sitting in the dark.

ALTHOUGH she sat waiting for Eugene, Lisa didn't hear him when he rounded the wall. He took her hand immediately and led her across the car park, into the trees that bordered the property.

Tucked against his body again, Lisa's heart beat rapidly.

I'm glad you sat close to the door, said Eugene, ducking his head down to hers as they walked away. I want you to myself.

He led her over to a concrete block with a manhole in the centre and pushed her down.

I saw you arrive. You did a good job, Babe.

Lisa felt a surge of pride, inordinately pleased that he was pleased with her. For the first time in her life, she had been praised for something she did very badly.

Some people found mathematics and science difficult, she found people difficult. Everything about people scared her; talking to them, entering shops, asking questions.

Lisa was eager to make Eugene proud of her.

* * *

Friday 28th May 1982

There is something to this writing thing; it helped me to sort out what to do. I am not sure I would have made the right choice if I had not written things down. I think it’s because I just write what I think, when I think it. I don't try to write like I do at school, you know all correct grammar and everything. I can write like that. I can't talk like that though! I wish I could.

Eugene came last night and found me outside and I hope none of the girls at school saw me with him. I don't know what will happen if they find out about us. They will hate me.

I like the way he talks to me, telling me what to do, and also he doesn't force me to look at him. He comes close to me and talks in my ear, or he moves me around until I am how he wants. I want to do what he wants, I don't know why, but I like it so much.

Last night he gave me a ticket to a music concert. When he first told me about it and that he wanted me to go, I just froze up. I literally can’t go into a place I have never been to before. I get as far as the door, and then just walk past. Sometimes several times; never able to enter! Even somewhere I really want to go to. It’s why I go places with Sharleen. I just keep my eyes on her back as she walks into shops so I don’t have to see all the people staring at me and worry about where to go once in the shop.

Eugene told me all about the inside of the Sibson Hall, what to expect, what to wear and it does help a little. I so want to do what he wants, so I gave the ticket to the chauffeur immediately I got into the car, before I have time to change my mind.

I will try very, very hard to go into the concert because what happened last night was worth all the stress of last week.

I was worried that Eugene wouldn't come back to see me, but he did, and he wants to see me again next week, and he will kiss me again, touch me. I begged him to come to the concert with me, but he just smiled and kissed me, touching me all over, until I couldn’t think properly anymore and I forgot my fear of going to strange places.

I want him to touch me again.

Why? Why do I want Eugene to touch me? I usually hate anyone coming close to me, let alone touching me. Yet I crave his hands on me.

I know I am supposed to feel revulsion that Eugene is part black. I mean, isn't that why people have to live in different suburbs? So they don't touch black people? I don't really know what I am supposed to feel but I know our servants don't like to drink from the same cups as us, and don't touch us like we do to white people.

Do I care Eugene has black blood in him? I don't know. I didn't notice. Eugene doesn't look black. He hardly looks coloured, he has straight silky hair, not anything like Sharleen's which is kinky and stiff when straightened.

So, according to the coloured gossip, where does Eugene fit in the Barham Green hierarchy? Sharleen says he has a white father, and a coloured mother. How coloured? Sharleen says it’s important exactly the proportion of colours which determines what category of coloured class one fitted into.

As far as I can see, Eugene doesn't fit into any category of coloured person. He doesn't come from Barham Green anyway.

I think everyone talks about Eugene not because he has straight silky hair, but because they are scared of him. He looks scary. The girls like him because he doesn't talk to them, or try to kiss them or anything, he never calls them by their names, ever; like it's too personal. Also, the girls say he is a criminal, that he makes his money from stealing cars and things and this makes him exciting. Some say he has even killed.

Coloured people are as racist as white ones. They have a stack of names they use to talk about black people too, which change all the time so no one finds out.

I have also noticed something else about names. Coloured people use lots of names for people. A girl can be called 'cat' or 'foxy.' if a boy calls you that you know he likes you. The boys call each other things like 'dude' or 'chommie.' If the girls don't like a boy, they call him 'scat.’

Us white people call each other by our names, always. Or I call my mum 'mother' and my father 'papa' how you say it in Dutch.

And we never use a name for a black person. I don’t think I have ever heard my mother use the word 'black' even. She doesn't say anything, and she says 'mulatto' instead of coloured or 'mixed race.'

When I told Sharleen, she laughed and laughed. She asked how we were supposed to know who we were talking about if we never use the word 'blacks' but I am too scared to ask my mother.

But when Eugene says my name, Lizaa like he does with that accent of his, my stomach curls. He hardly ever does though. He calls me 'Babe,' another coloured slang word, but I like it. Sometimes he calls me 'Baby Doll' and I like that too.

Chapter 5

LISA peered out of the window as her chauffeur manoeuvred the limousine through the entrance to the Bulawayo Academy of Music.

She saw cars parked in every available space, and people streaming into the open doors, assisted by black suited ushers, just as Eugene had described.

She lost her nerve, however, when the black BMW swept up to the steps, smoothly stopping right in the middle of the road.

She realized she wasn’t going to be able to go through with Eugene’s wishes. She was not going to be able to get out of the car, and walk into a strange place on her own, no matter that Eugene had described the inside of the auditorium, what she should wear and who she was likely to see. She had only been able to attend the Barham Green social, because she had known Sharleen would be there. Here, she knew no one.

About to press the intercom to instruct her driver to take her home, an usher opened her door.

Your ticket, please, Ma’am.

Eugene.

Staring up into his face, Lisa handed him the ticket he had given her a few days ago. He reached into the car and took her sweaty hand.

This way Ma’am, he said for her chauffeur’s benefit.

Did you think I would desert you? he asked her quietly, as he helped her settle in her seat. Lisa said nothing, only stared down at her hands, working at her watch strap.

Utterly captivated, Lisa sat spellbound, the music enveloping her. It caught her imagination, her sense of order and her response was unexpected.

The piece built to a crescendo and Lisa, caught up in the beauty of it, frowned, almost annoyed when the lights came on.

She waited until the rush waned and, since it seemed to be what one did, moved to the doors and into the foyer where tea and eats were served. Pulling her program out of her pocket she noted the name of the composer: Mendelssohn. She had to find out more, the last half hour had been almost magical.

At the eats table the server handed Lisa a cup of tea, which she took with a plate of small cakes to a spot against the wall.

She stood, head down, munching her cake. Within a few minutes, black pants and black shiny shoes appeared in her view. Too close to her. Far too close.

Lisa edged away slightly until she heard Eugene’s soft voice.

After you go to the ladies, follow where I go.

He immediately moved away and she watched him walk up a flight of steps and disappear from sight.

She waited until the rush for the ladies died down and went in. She washed her hands and dried them, nervously rubbing her palms down her thighs, hoping no one would see her disappear up the stairs when she came out of the restroom.

She stuck her head out and saw only a few people standing at the refreshments table and decided it would be safe to chance it.

No one appeared to notice her dash up the steps.

She found Eugene, his shoulder propped up against the wall, at the top of the stairs.

He watched her surge up the last few steps, his green eyes shadowed by his long, dark eyelashes his lips curving slightly, more on one side than the other.

You need to look like you belong, coming up the stairs, Babe. Walk up like you belong here, no one will notice you that way.

What's this place? Lisa had never been into this building, had never noticed it before.

These are practice rooms. People who come for lessons use them.

Did you take lessons here? Lisa asked wide eyed.

Nah... My mum did. She played the violin.

Your mum can play the violin? asked Lisa amazed. Like the guy playing today? She can play like that? She had never met anyone who could play a musical instrument and until today, had never heard an orchestra playing live.

Come this way, Babe.

Eugene led her along a corridor to a door near the end. He opened it and led her through into a small room with a piano on one side, a stool in front of it. A small table stood to one side of the piano, with a heap of sheet music, and a water jug standing on it.

Does your mum still play? Lisa asked.

No. She's dead. Did you like the music?

I loved it, she said, her face animated. It made me get a feeling, deep down in my stomach. I never knew music could do that to you. Oh, I can't explain it. But I liked it.

I knew you would. That's why I gave you the ticket. I also gave you the ticket, cos they have these cute little sound-proofed rooms up here and I want you here regularly.

Lisa felt her face warm and her heart rate increase.

Eugene pulled her towards him, took her face in his hands and brought his head close to hers, his thumbs slowly brushing against her cheeks and downwards towards her lips. She thought he intended to kiss her, but he didn't, simply stood, bending over her. Close. His fingers stretched around the back of her head, holding her tight. He slowly tipped her head to one side brushing his lips over her ear.

She shifted her feet, instinctively moving closer, and her fingers curled up around the lapels of his jacket.

Eugene took her hands, crossing them at the small of her back, one strong hand clasping both wrists. Mouth near her ear again, he said, Lisa, you follow my lead. No touching me unless I give you permission.

She nodded, not sure if she could abide by this instruction, or if she knew what he meant. Her hands had moved of their own volition.

He breathed in her ear, nibbled the lobe. His mouth began a slow journey, along her jawline to her mouth. He brushed his lips along hers, slow, seductive, well-rehearsed.

Experienced women of the world often found themselves no match for Eugene's practiced manoeuvres; Lisa never stood a chance. Compliant, yielding, aroused to the point of fainting, she spun into the overwhelming sensations to which he introduced her. He pulled her towards him, supporting her with his body and the hand clasped around her wrists. His other hand, at the back of her neck tilted her head to receive his kisses.

EUGENE took hold of her shoulders and pushed her down onto the piano stool, sitting opposite her. Dazed and swaying, Lisa stared up at him, unfocused.

Look like you gonna bail, Lisa, he said teasing her. She didn't mind, he sounded amused, but caring.

Opposite her, on the teacher's chair, he pushed one knee on either side of hers, forcing her legs open, his hands resting on her shoulders.

You know Sandy Myers? From school? he asked.

Lisa frowned, concentrating with effort. Ah. Yes. She's in my class. But I don't know anything about her.

I want you to get to know her. I want you to visit her home, so invite her to yours first. She will accept, cos your folk’s parties are something she would not usually be invited to. I have some others I want you to work on, people who visit your home and have kids your age, but who go to other schools.

I don't usually mix with people my parents invite. I usually stay in my room.

Fine, but this weekend, I want you to come out and meet them, even for a little while... for me.

Why? What is it you want me to do?

I will tell you when the time is right. For now, I just want you to learn how to meet people and to get what you want out of them... for you to take control.

Eugene took her head between his hands again and moved his face closer to hers.

You can do anything, he said, especially if you have me to help you.

Lisa believed him. He was the first person who had ever paid her any attention. He centred all his attention on her and it made her feel special.

When they arrive, just go out to the pool and greet them, don't take too long talking and then go to your room. Pretend you are a movie star giving them the time of day. Remember it's your house and you are rich. They will want to talk to you.

But I am not the kind of person they are interested in. They have never asked about me. Look at me, why would anyone be interested in me?

You are rich, Babe. Guys are always interested in rich girls. They don't care if you are beautiful or interesting or clever. So we will use them... you and me. Cos I know underneath you are all those things.

You think I am interesting and clever?

Yeah... you are beautiful too, Lisa.

Lisa’s eyes dropped, but he forced her chin up.

Look at me, Lisa. Eugene waited until she did. You are an ugly duckling. One day, you gonna be beautiful, inside an' outside. Just wait, believe me.

Lisa wanted to believe him, but her mirror told her otherwise. So; she had good skin and nice eyes, but her hair grew thick and unmanageable. She had crooked teeth, and a huge hooked nose. She wanted to look like her mother: tall, chic, blue eyed. Perfect.

She favoured her father in looks. His dark skin, and dark brown eyes, his thick mane of hair and unfortunately, his hooked nose. Other than her blond hair, she did not resemble her mother in any way.

Eugene, stroking along her thighs, kneading her muscles, brought her attention back to the immediate. He moved up to her hips then to her arms.

She straightened her back, pushing her breasts outwards and tipped her head back, closing her eyes. He kissed her on the mouth, his lips soft on hers, becoming more demanding and intense. He had one hand on her cheek, the other on her hip and when he pulled away, she felt drugged, her eyes heavy and her brain mushy.

FIRST off, I want you to stop eating all sweets. No more bread, pastries, potatoes. No Mazoe orange juice: too much sugar. Also, no sugar in your tea. If you feel hungry, eat biltong, and put things like sausage into your lunch basket.

Lisa, blurry, disorientated and dreamy said, Ah... My mother doesn't have biltong in the house. She's English and doesn't like it.

Do you?

Love it.

So, tell someone you want some. Tell the cook.

What should I drink, if I can't drink orange juice?

Water or tea, said Eugene.

I hate tea, and I don't really like water, she said.

Eugene's voice became softer, menacing, his accent stronger.

Lisa, if I hear you eating any of these things, I will punish you. You want I do that?

No, no, she said quickly, I will be careful and I will try to drink tea.

Good girl. You want to lose weight slowly, over a long time, or you will get flabby. We don't want that. In two, three years you will be slim, and beautiful.

He pushed away from her and stood.

"You should go now. The concert will be finished soon and you want to be down there before anyone comes out of the auditorium. Remember, act like you belong and no one will ever question you. Same like on the weekend, look people in the eye and expect that they want to talk to you. And they will want to talk to you, believe me.

Eugene leaned down and kissed her again, long and hard before pulling her to her feet. He opened the door, pushed her out and watched her as she moved down the corridor and away down the stairs.

Chapter 6

Thursday 10th June 1982

I went again to Barham Green. I wore what Eugene told me to wear: a long skirt and a shirt with buttons right up the front. Flat shoes again.

He said he didn't want me to look like the sluts inside. He wants me to be able to walk in high shoes before I start walking in public in them. He says I will practice wearing them first. He told me to wear a short jacket, similar to the one I had on last week and no stockings.

I thought he wanted me to wear the clothes so he could have sex with me. But he didn't.

I want to have sex with him.

I was so sure everything was heading that way, he made me close my eyes and he stroked me all over. With my eyes closed, I was more sensitive. Then he told me not to move, and that was SO hard. My body kept wriggling on its own and every time it did, he stopped moving his hand or stopped kissing me.

He let me lean back on him, his head was against mine and he talked into my ear, softly, on and on. Sometimes I didn't really 'hear' what he said, but when I lie at night in bed, I remember what he says. I am lucky, I can keep him close to me. I can remember exactly what he says, exactly as he says it and I can run it over and over, like a tape in my mind. Problem is, I can't run the feelings I get from his hands in my mind so I try to write about them.

Eugene had his hands on my stomach, on my hips and over my front. Sometimes I just wanted to scream and tear my clothes off. I know how nice his hands feel on bare skin. I want to feel his hands on my skin.

I started crying when he told me my horrid car had arrived and that I needed to go. I wanted to stay with him, I wanted him to carry on touching me, I wanted him to have sex with me. I thought he told me to wear a skirt and blouse that opens up like that so he could take it off like I read in books. But he didn't and I wanted him to, and I started crying. I asked him why he didn't want to have sex.

"Babe, sex is nothing. I had sex earlier on this evening, it's nothing special. It's like a massage, or a cold coke on a hot day. I want to make you feel so good, I want to make you feel so much that you lose control completely, do things you really don't want to do. I know you have good control.

Sex is nothing special, believe me, and yes I will be the first person to have sex with you."

I lay in bed that night remembering, over and over: but yes I will be the first person to have sex with you...

* * *

Lisa’s