Delta Moon
by
Jeffery Kempson
Jeffery Kempson was born in Durban, South Africa, and educated in Kenya, South Africa, and Rhodesia. Delta Moon is his first novel.
Delta Moon
Copyright © Jeffery Kempson 2005
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Ed Boyes.
ISBN 0-620-35097-0
Acknowledgements
The author gratefully acknowledges Lyall Watson’s information regarding Antonion Stradivari’s violins. Taken from his book;
“The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects”, published by Destiny Books,
and Hodder and Stoughton.
Michelle Cochrane, for her numerous corrections to the revised manuscript.
PRELUDE
On a cold, moonlit June night, shortly before midnight, white twins were born in Francistown, a small hamlet in the British Protectorate of Bechuanaland. The births were separated by fifteen minutes, and occurred two weeks prior to the Southern Hemisphere winter solstice.
The father, an ex World war two Royal Air Force pilot recruited from Britain to fill a flying post with the local civil air service, had a fine baritone singing voice. The mother, an accomplished pianist, had abandoned the London concert stage to accompany her husband on his African posting. On hot dusty afternoons she gave piano lessons to colonial children at the local school.
The parents were articulate, personable and handsome. A civilized pair, seemingly incongruously exiled to the rude environs of a wild, emerging continent.
The twins’ births were normal in every respect. The moon waned low in the third quarter, and the Tati River, which bisects the town, lay characteristically dry at that time of year.
The first-born was the girl, the second the boy. They were not physically identical, but similar in outward appearance, the parent’s excellent genes replicated faithfully. Africa nurtured, honed, and melded those beneficial attributes, infused them with its own unique qualities.
Warmed by brilliant sunlight, caressed by scent-laden winds, seduced by vast, shimmering horizons, the twins grew to exceptional adulthood.
Chapter 1
THE RETURN
He came out of a bright African sky, banking the small aircraft around billowing, turbulent white cumulus clouds that towered high above him in the hot summer afternoon. A shimmer of heat hazed the horizon, smudging the otherwise clear visibility. Far from civilisation’s pollution, the small aeroplane tracked steadily northwards.
High above Botswana’s central Kalahari Desert, he checked his watch against the satellite navigation data. A small frisson of excitement coursed through him, it was time to descend. Keying the electric elevator trim switch forward, the nose pitched gradually downwards. He made small adjustments to the mixture and other controls, and peered expectantly through the windscreen.
As the single engine high wing Cessna Centurion moved down into the lower levels, hot thermals of rising air bounced the aircraft, causing him to slow the machine to reduce their turbulent effects. A few minutes later the familiar ground features he sought emerged through the haze. As a complete contrast to miles of unremitting yellow and brown scrub desert, patches of green flood plain came into view interspersed with occasional glints of sunlight reflecting from bright water. Then palm filled islands swept by. The windscreen filled with a mosaic of meandering waterways and bright sparkling blue fresh water lagoons.
His wide-set blue eyes smiled, displaying webs of crows-feet that characterise men who have spent long periods scanning distant horizons from high places.
The Cessna Centurion flew low over a group of llala palms clustered near a sharp bend in the river. He banked a few degrees to the left, and suddenly it was there, the short grass airstrip paralleling the Southern extremity of a large crescent shaped lagoon. At the Western end an orange windsock hung limply from a wooden pole, near it stood a rudimentary hangar built of stout local timber and dark green shade cloth, sufficient protection from the sun’s harshest rays, and resilient enough to deflect hammering summer hailstones.
A dozen water loving red letchwe antelope, startled by the sound of the low flying aeroplane, ran off the airstrip where they had been grazing and took up station on the adjacent green floodplain. He turned the aircraft towards the East on a right hand, down wind leg and performed the pre-landing checklist. With the wheels down he banked the small plane round and scanned the immediate vicinity for large birds that might be flying in the area. Collision with a heavy vulture or eagle would mar the idyllic afternoon.
A quiet contentment suffused him as he lined up with the grass runway. Afternoon updrafts bounced the aircraft again and, selecting full landing flap, his eyes switched between the cockpit instruments and the approaching runway. He made small corrections with hands and feet to maintain the rate of descent and correct airspeed for a touchdown close to the downwind end of the short rudimentary airstrip. A knowledgeable observer would have recognised the finesse of a master aviator approaching.
The light aircraft touched down gently in the classic nose high attitude, pulling a long plume of spiralling dust in its wake. The blue and white machine slowed quickly, then taxied off the runway and stopped next to the small hangar.
He deactivated the various systems and shut down the engine. The silver propeller blades slowed and stopped. His left thumb clicked the red plastic master switch off. In the new silence he heard the characteristic hum of instrument gyros winding down, together with the periodic clicking of cooling hot metal. Through a side window he noticed that the letchwe had abandoned the airfield and were now standing stock still, watching him. Then one by one they lost interest in the mechanical interloper and lowered their heads to resume grazing.
Opening the left door he stepped from the aircraft, then reached into the back for a small portable tow bar which he attached to the nose wheel. With a few hearty shoves he manoeuvred the Cessna backwards into the shade cloth hangar. He chocked the wheels and placed little red cloth protection covers on various parts of the machine to prevent tropical insects from crawling into important small apertures. Then he retrieved his well-worn brown leather suitcases from the rear baggage area and put them on the ground, locked the aircraft’s doors and pocketed the key.
A noise, like an approaching express train, startled him until he recognised the unique susurrus sound caused by a strong gust of wind soughing through the acres of long fibrous tassel headed papyrus plants that bordered the lagoon.
The pilot walked to the edge of the airstrip and put down his bags. He knelt on one knee and placed the palm of his right hand flat against the earth, and held it there for several moments. Then he stood up and brushed the dust from his fingers, the gesture of a returning pilgrim who’d kept the faith. He stretched his six foot two inch frame, flexing long limbs to expunge muscles kinked by cramped confinement. As he did so another sound carried to him, the shrill, inimitable call of a fish eagle. He smiled.
At the far end of the airstrip a roofless four wheel drive safari vehicle appeared and turned towards him, his surface transport to the nearby game lodge he had acquired. He lifted his bags and, smiling expansively, walked along the airstrip to meet it. A big man, handsome, blonde and blue eyed. Middle-aged now, yet still lean, tanned, and fit.
Beyond the tall palms and undulating papyrus fronds the Northern sky showed a deep cerulean blue. The horizon glowed briefly, etched in the nascent discharge of distant lightning. He marvelled at the unique quality of the light that suffused this region. Crisp, yet somehow soft at the edges, a light that seemed to heighten the three dimensionality of sky, scenery, and whatever occurred between.
After an adventurous life, Julian Bella-Jones had returned to reside in the Okavango Delta.
Chapter 2
LONDON
Later the same evening
The statuesque blonde woman held the appreciative audience in thrall. Her lustrous blue eyes sparkled above high cheekbones; the sensuous lips parted slightly as her nimble fingers flew across the undulating piano keys.
Her charismatic personality radiated to every corner of the large concert hall. She exuded mystique, and her virtuoso performance transported her numerous devotees, inducing in many yearnings for things they’d never have.
The gleaming black Bosendorfer Concert Grand Piano, tuned to perfection, seduced the discerning audience with the exciting and technically taxing music of Rachmaninoff’s beautiful Piano Concerto Number Two.
A solitary, long stemmed red rose, launched from the darkened auditorium, shed a crimson petal as it fell softly onto the brightly lit stage and rolled to rest near her piano stool. There would be official bouquets at the conclusion of this final encore, the closing concert of her acclaimed London season.
The Royal Albert Hall, renowned showcase of classical music, brimmed with a capacity crowd of distinguished followers, a tribute to the legendary piano playing virtuosity of Arabella Bella-Jones, the celebrated white African.
The piano encore completed, Arabella acknowledged three curtain calls and a tumultuous standing ovation. With a wide-mouthed smile, she graciously accepted the two large bouquets of red roses presented to her on stage, blew her customary kiss towards the audience, and then exited the brightly lit concert platform to continuing applause.
An hour later at the lavish post-concert cocktail party, Arabella courteously autographed programs, mingled charmingly with the many attending well wishers and musical luminaries, then shared canapés and kind words of mutual appreciation with the accomplished conductor, violinists, and other invited members of the philharmonic orchestra.
An hour and a half later she deemed sufficient time had elapsed to permit her polite withdrawal to her Knightsbridge apartment. Arabella bade a charming farewell to the elegant guests, thanking them for their patronage and many gracious compliments. Then she swept with inherent athletic élan from the festive ballroom, and was handed into the open rear door of a waiting black Mercedes Benz limousine.
The smiling orchestra conductor closed the car door. As the chauffeur pulled away from the rain slicked kerb Arabella turned, beaming, and waved through the rear window at the many well wishers who had stepped outside to see her off.
The black Mercedes rounded the corner and Arabella slumped back into the luxurious upholstery, her body language diametrically opposed to that she had exhibited moments earlier.
Twenty minutes later, ensconced alone in her plush apartment, Arabella removed the telephone from the hook and seated herself at the large dressing table. After a particularly fine performance it was her habit to award her adrenalin charged reflection a congratulatory wide-eyed wink.
Tonight she declined. Instead, the fine blue eyes gazed sadly into the mirror. A small tear trickled from the corner of one, followed immediately by the moistening of the other. She brought her hands up to her cheeks and spoke directly to her reflection. “Oh, Arabella!” she exclaimed. Then the tears coursed unchecked. Her sobs grew loud, wracking her statuesque body with inconsolable grief.
Morning found her sleepless. Distraught, she stood at the window regarding the damp English dawn through troubled eyes.
Chapter 3
THE CENTRAL KALAHARI
Dawn on the following day
The old Bushman stirred in his makeshift grass hut. Waking fully, he sat up on his animal skin kaross and unwrapped a dirty length of grey linen cloth, carefully extracting a shining stainless steel artifact that had been in his possession for many years. He gazed at it fondly, then ran his brown bony fingers around its form as though to internalise its gleaming symmetry. Completing the morning ritual he re-wrapped the silver talisman, and woke the boy with a gentle shake to his shoulder.