Ivory Nation, Andy Maslen [e manga reader .txt] 📗

just told you what sort of a world we’re trying to create. That’s the dividend!’

Witaarde held eye contact for five seconds. Gabriel searched deep in those hard, blue irises for a sign of trust. He noticed a faint wrinkle at the corner of the left eye smooth out. Got you!

‘Come for dinner tonight, Alec. I want you to meet Klara.’

‘Your wife?’

‘Yes. And the best cook in New Hope. Come at six-thirty.’

Gabriel checked in at New Hope’s only hotel: Die Wit Huis. It shared little with the official residence of the US president beyond the name. But the manager had been welcoming and had assured Gabriel he’d allocated him the best room in the house. Gabriel thanked him. News of his generosity had clearly spread beyond Witaarde’s house.

46

Pikko sniffing his left hand, which was curled around the necks of two bottles of wine, Gabriel knocked on the door of the Witaardes’ house.

‘It’s open, come in!’

A woman’s voice. Mrs Witaarde – Klara – Gabriel assumed.

He went in, leaving the inquisitive Pikko keening softly on the stoop. Klara Witaarde greeted him just inside with kisses on each cheek. Her eyes, a softer blue than her husband’s, were unadorned by makeup, as was the rest of her pleasant, apple-cheeked face. The constant sun had turned her skin the colour of cinnamon, though she must use some sort of moisturising product, because it was unlined and smooth beneath the weathering.

She wore a loose-necked white cotton peasant blouse above a suede skirt, covered by a flour-dappled apron. The apron was embroidered with the same design as the pennant he’d seen at Yusuf’s factory.

She stood back, holding Gabriel’s right hand with both of hers. Her smile revealed small, white teeth, and he noticed a tiny triangular chip in one incisor.

‘Alec, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, ‘come inside and let me get you a drink.’

Gabriel followed her into the kitchen. When they reached it, he held out the bottles.

‘South African Chenin Blanc and a Pinot Noir. I wasn’t sure what we’d be eating.’

Her smile widened as she took them from him, placing the red on the counter and the white in the fridge.

‘That’s so kind of you. Thank you. And before Julius gets back, let me just say what an incredibly generous gesture you made this afternoon.’

‘Call it an earnest of my good intent. I knew Julius would be suspicious of an Englishman arriving unannounced. He had every right to be.’

‘Yah, we do have to be careful. Those kaffirs in Pretoria keep trying to penetrate our defences. Lucky for us, we can sniff them out like Pikko hunting vlei rats.’

‘Vlei?’

‘It means marsh.’

‘You have marshes out here? It looks so dry.’

‘No, there are plenty of lakes around here. It’s how we get our water. I like to take Pikko with me and he has some fun hunting the rats. Now, what about that drink?’

‘If you have any wine already chilled, I’d settle for that,’ he said with a smile.

With a glass each, she untied her apron, draped it over the back of one of the hard wooden chairs and motioned for him to sit. As she took a chair for herself, she leaned forward and the front of her shirt gaped for a second, revealing the inner slopes of her breasts.

‘So, Alec, tell me about yourself,’ she said, taking a delicate sip of her wine.

‘Private school in England, then I went to work in the City of London. Finance?’ Klara nodded. ‘I made my money in investment banking. Cross-border mergers and acquisitions. That’s how I met my mentor.’

‘Mentor?’

‘A very wise man named Paddy Stirling. He showed me how the races were never meant to intermix. He had all this amazing evidence he’d spent decades putting together. He invited me to join his organisation. Basically I never looked back.’

She dropped her eyelids for a second, then looked back up at him. Her expression was hard to read. Lips parted slightly, finger on the point of her chin.

‘Does it have a name, this organisation you joined?’

‘The Committee for Policy Progress.’

‘That doesn’t sound very exciting!’

‘Paddy always said, “If you’re running a group dedicated to racial cleansing, Alec, you don’t call it The White Power Commando. Make it sound boring, so people don’t notice you until it’s too late”. I always thought that was rather clever. Not exciting, but definitely clever.’

She took another sip of her wine, regarding him coolly over the rim.

‘Does that description fit you, too?’ she asked, one eyelid fluttering.

Had she just winked at him? Gabriel shrugged, buying time with a sip from his own glass.

‘I’m not sure I’m either, to be honest. I got by in banking because I was good at forming relationships. Clients like that. Paddy says one good relationship with the right person is worth a thousand soldiers.’

‘And you think Julius is the right person?’

Gabriel heard footsteps.

‘The right person for what?’ Witaarde said as he entered the kitchen.

Gabriel stood and turned to greet Witaarde, holding out his hand.

Witaarde ignored it, enveloping Gabriel in a hug noticeable for the wiry strength behind it as much as the affection. He smelled of sweat and something else. Propellant. Witaarde had been shooting. He stepped back, holding Gabriel by both shoulders.

‘Here he is! The man with the money!’ Witaarde glanced down at the table. ‘You’ve got a drink. Good.’

He rounded the table and kissed Klara on the lips. Then he turned her round and slapped her backside.

‘How about a drink for the boss?’

She smiled at him, but Gabriel detected a tremor in the expression. A tightness around those un-madeup eyes. Interesting.

‘Of course, Julius. What would you like? Alec brought wine.’

‘Red?’

‘And white.’

‘Red, then. A big one. I feel like celebrating.’

After toasting his new benefactor, Witaarde placed his glass on the table.

‘The right person for what, Alec?’

Gabriel focused on Witaarde’s dilated pupils. Holding his gaze. What he said next had to be convincing.

‘The right person to join a global crusade for white rights and white freedom. For too long, the white race has been cowed into submission by