Bright Star Safari

by

Olivia Winter

The coffin lay in the centre aisle, near the altar. Amanda stared at it for a moment then made her way to a vacant seat a few rows from the front. In spite of the heat, she shivered. How strange it felt to be in this crowded church, attending the funeral of a woman she had not seen since she was five years old. Stranger still, to think that after all those years, Aunt Emily had remembered her in her will.

Amanda’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a tall, fair-haired man. He made his way down the aisle in long strides then joined the mourners on the front bench. The latecomer stood out among them. He was not only taller, but something about his bearing drew the eye. He was a big man, broad-shouldered with rugged features topped by an untidy thatch of blond hair. He wore a suit, but his bronzed skin gave away the fact that he spent much of his time outdoors.

Amanda turned her gaze to his companions--two elderly women, a striking redhead and a dark-haired man. She wondered who they were and whether they were related to Aunt Emily in some way then shrugged. What did it matter? In a few hours time, she would be back in Johannesburg, far from this small village. When the funeral was over, she would be unlikely to see any of them again.

“Ashes to ashes… dust to dust…” The parson’s voice rose above the somber music, and as the congregation reached for prayer books, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the phone call that had come out of the blue two days ago.

The stranger’s words came back. “Miss Baker? Is that Miss Amanda Elizabeth Mary Baker?”

She had frowned, not sure what to make of the call. Who was the man, and how could he possibly know her full name? She hesitated before answering. “Yes. I’m Amanda Baker. What can I do for you?”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the voice continued. “I’m Ronald Birch, of the law-firm, Birch, Marcus and Smith in Elandsdorp. I’m afraid I have sad news for you, Miss Baker. Your aunt, Mrs. Emily Johnson, died in a car crash yesterday.”

It took a while for the words to make sense. It had been so long since Amanda had seen Aunt Emily that for a moment she couldn’t think who the man was talking about. She gasped. “Aunt Emily? I’m so sorry. How did it happen?”

“We’re not sure exactly. It seems her car left the road and plunged down a bank.” He paused. “The funeral will take place at two p.m. on Friday. Here in Elandsdorp. I thought you might like to know.”

Amanda hesitated. “Thank you for letting me know, but I don’t think I’ll go to the funeral. Elandsdorp is a long way from Johannesburg, and… well, the fact is, it’s been so long since I saw Aunt Emily that I hardly remember her.”

“Oh?” There was a note of surprise in the lawyer’s voice.

“Aunt Emily married my mother’s brother,” she explained. “They both died when I was young. And then… well, Dad remarried, and after that our families drifted apart. I was very young when I last saw my aunt.”

“I see.” A silence followed, and for a moment, Amanda thought they’d been cut off. She glanced at her watch and her eyes strayed to the nurses’ station, to the pile of work waiting for her before she went off duty. She tapped a foot and waited impatiently for him to go on.

Mr. Birch’s voice came again. “I think you should know that the reading of the will is scheduled to take place in my office after the funeral. As you are one of the beneficiaries, it will be to your advantage to be present.”

“A beneficiary? In Aunt Emily’s will? Oh no, that can’t be possible. There must be some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake. Mrs. Johnson’s will was drawn up as she instructed, and it’s my duty to see that her wishes are carried out. I can assure you that your name is listed among the beneficiaries.”

“You’re sure? You’re not mixing me up with someone else?”

“Quite sure. May I repeat, it will be to your advantage to be present when the will is read. You might like to know that the flight from Johannesburg lands at eleven a.m. and returns first thing the following morning.” Mr. Birch coughed. “I’ve taken the liberty of booking a room for you at the local hotel. And a rent-a-car…”

From that moment, life had become a whirl of activity--applying for leave, canceling appointments, booking a flight, organizing a lift to the airport. The lawyer didn’t mention the value of the bequest and, although curious, she hadn’t asked. The thought that Aunt Emily had remembered her brought a glow of gratitude. The bequest, no matter how small, would be welcome.

She closed her eyes in an effort to bring back a picture of the woman she had last seen eighteen years ago. Dark hair… sparkling eyes… and hands that had a way with animals. Not just dogs and cats, but wild animals too--a motherless monkey, a cheetah cub, a baby giraffe, a tiny antelope. And a warthog. She smiled as memory of the strange looking creature came back.

A wave of sadness washed over her as the service came to an end. She wished she had known Aunt Emily better, that they had kept in touch over the years. But it was too late for regrets. Amanda sighed and reached for her purse as the congregation stood and began to trickle out of the church.

She did not expect to see the tall man again and was surprised to find him among the handful of people in Mr. Birch’s office when she arrived there after the funeral. He glanced up as she came in and she found herself gazing into the greenest eyes she had ever seen--green, splashed with flecks of gold. Strange eyes, like those of a cat, or rather a lion. He held her gaze, smiling a little then Mr. Birch stepped forward to wave her to a chair.

There were two other people in the room--a middle-aged woman and a man who resembled her so closely, it seemed evident they were mother and son. The woman was well-groomed and meticulously made up, her son tall and dark with handsome, aquiline features. Mr. Birch introduced them as Rita Simpson, Emily’s sister-in-law, and Basil Simpson, Emily’s nephew. The fair-haired man’s turn came next. “Greg Anderson. Friend of Emily Johnson and manager of Kwezi Ranch. And Amanda Baker, Mrs. Johnson’s niece.”

Rita Simpson swung around to stare at Amanda. “Amanda Baker? Why, you must be Janet’s daughter. Fancy that! I thought Emily had lost touch with your side of the family. I must say I’m surprised to see you here.”

“It’s a surprise for me, too,” Amanda told her. “I had no idea…”

Mr. Birch cleared his throat, tapped a pencil on the desk to make sure he had everyone’s attention then picked up a document, and began to read. “This is the last Will and Testament of Emily Rebecca Johnson…” He broke off and looked up over his glasses. “You will all receive a copy of the will in due course. If I have your permission, I’ll skip the paragraphs which refer to the administration of the Estate, and read the passage that details the disposal of Mrs. Johnson’s assets.”

He waited for nods of approval before going on, “First is a list of bequests: To my sister-in-law, Rita Simpson, ten thousand Rand and five items of jewelry, namely: a gold bracelet, two rings, an emerald brooch and a pearl necklace.”

Basil glanced up at his mother, and Rita, obviously pleased, gave him a nod and a smile.

“To my good friend, Johanna Long, ten thousand Rand. To faithful servants, Petrus Zondi, Miriam Mkize and Tom Nkala, one thousand Rand each.” Mr. Birch turned the page. “We now come to the main asset, Kwezi (Pty) Ltd. The Company incorporates Kwezi Ranch, in extent twenty-three thousand hectares, and Kwezi Lodge, a profit-orientated tourist facility. It was Emily’s wish that shares in the Company be divided in three equal parts.” He paused to draw in his breath. “I now read Emily Johnson’s words: ‘The beneficiaries of these shares will be my nephew, Basil Simpson, my niece, Amanda Baker, and my friend, Greg Anderson, who has managed Kwezi Ranch for the past five years.”

There was a stunned silence then Rita burst out, “One third? Basil to only get one third? That can’t be right.”

Mr. Birch raised an eyebrow. “You have a problem, Mrs. Simpson?’

Rita’s voice shrilled. “One third…? That’s not what Emily led us to believe. There must be a mistake.”

“Do be quiet, Mother,” Basil cut in. He turned to Mr. Birch, obviously embarrassed. “Please excuse my mother. She’s been under a lot of stress lately. You see, Aunt Emily… well, when she invited us to move from the city, she… she more or less promised that Kwezi would be mine one day. This is… well, I must confess this has come as a big disappointment, for both of us.”

Mr. Birch drew his lips into a thin line. “That is most unfortunate. However, I can only go by what is in the will, and as far as that is concerned, there is no ambiguity. None whatsoever. Mrs. Johnson made her wishes plain, and they will be carried out to the letter. However, I can assure you that one third of Kwezi (Pty) Ltd represents a very valuable asset. Congratulations to the three of you. It is now up to each of you to decide what you wish to do with your portion of the shares.”

Amanda sat quite still, trying to absorb the news. It did not seem possible that she owned one third of Kwezi Ranch. And yet, she did. Mr. Birch had made it quite plain. She had come to Elandsdorp expecting to receive a small bequest. Instead, she’d been told that Aunt Emily had left her one third of a very valuable asset. It was almost too much to take in.

Greg Anderson’s voice broke into her thoughts. “A three-way partnership is difficult to run at the best of times, and if the shareholders are strangers, well… it’ll be just about impossible.” He paused, gave Basil a questioning glance, and then turned to Amanda. She could feel his eyes on her, feel them moving up and down over her body. A small smile played around his lips then, in an instant, it disappeared, and he became businesslike again. “So, if anyone would like to sell their shares I’d like it known I’m in the market to buy. I would appreciate first option.”

In the silence that followed, Mr. Birch looked from Amanda to Basil then back again. When no one made a move to speak, he raised an eyebrow. “Would either of you like to take up Mr. Anderson’s offer?”

Basil shook his head. “No thank you. I’m hanging on to what I’ve got.”

“Miss Baker?”

She looked around uncertainly. “I’m not sure. This is all so unexpected. I’d like time to think it over.”

Mr. Birch nodded. “A wise decision. But I must tell you that Mr. Anderson has a point--a three-way partnership is extremely difficult to administer. It might be to your advantage to sell your shares.”

Greg’ regarded her steadily for a few moments then leaned forward to ask, “Have you ever lived in the bushveld, Miss Baker? Do you have any idea what it’s like?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I spent holidays on the ranch when I was a child, but that was a long time ago. I haven’t been back since.”

He nodded and smiled, as though he’d expected no other answer. “Well, let me tell you that holidays, even as an adult, hardly prepare one for life in the bush. Not for what it’s really like. It’s a very hard life if you’re not used to it. I think you should know we’re a small outfit. We can’t carry passengers. So, unless you’re prepared to change your lifestyle--completely--I suggest you take Mr. Birch’s advice and sell.”

Greg Anderson hadn’t actually said that he’d looked her over and dismissed her as someone who would not fit in, but the implication was there. Amanda felt herself flush with annoyance. How could he tell what would suit her or not? She tossed her head. “Thank you for your advice. I’ll bear it in mind.”