Glittering Gallows

Chapter 63

361 C Chapter 63 atherine Makgunda arrived in Sydney, Australia, a day later than Moagi and she had anticipated because monsoonal weather delayed their take off in Jakarta for several hours. Soon after arriving in Sydney and checking into the Swissôtel at about half-past nine in the morning, she bathed, slept for about three hours, bathed again and called a taxi. She had heard many fascinating things about Australia and her Sydney and was dying to see the city’s major landmarks including the Harbour Bridge. From the bridge, they drove to the historic Rocks Precinct, the Opera House and the Botanic Gardens. The beauty and serenity in the gardens mesmerised her. She made another date with the place. It surprised her that all the city’s famous attractions were within walking distance of the Swissôtel. In a boutique in the Strand Arcade, she saw a familiar face. It was a Spaniard-looking man. He looked like an acquaintance, or was it a friend, of her husband. About a year ago she was dining with her husband at the deluxe five-star Sheraton Hotel & Towers in Arcadia, Pretoria, when the man passed near their table. She thought he nodded at Moagi. Shortly, her husband said he wanted to visit the bathroom and left. He took ages and she became worried. After trying his number without success, she had gone to a window to see if their car was still in the car park. It was. Seidu Amissah and a bodyguard stood beside it. But she wasn’t settled. Where was he? Was he doing his political work at her expense? She had looked for Moagi and found him in a secluded dark section of the hotel’s flower gardens. The man and her husband were sitting on a bench and speaking in whispers. But when they heard the clatter of her high-heels they raised their voices, talked about the performances of the local bourse and shook hands. The man rose, bowed apologetically at her and left. K 362 Moagi said the man was an economic consultant and he apologised for getting carried away. She never saw the man again until now, if indeed the man was he. But she couldn’t be mistaken; how could she mistake a man with light dragon tattoos on his cheeks and forehead, a man who would’ve completely looked like Antonio Banderas had he removed the tattoos? He was in a black Cordoba hat, a sleeveless sweater exposing Herculean tattooed arms, long khaki shorts and sandals. A red bandanna covered his neck Boy-Scout style. She walked towards him. Oddly, he was standing in the lingerie section and taking an interest in brassieres and G-strings. Did he want to buy his girlfriend or wife a present? He was awkward in his movements, like an amateur shoplifter. She wanted to get to him and say “Hi. Do you remember me?” But before she got to him, he glanced at her and looked away. No recognition lay in his eyes. The man walked away and vanished behind some shelves. She stopped, convinced it was a case of mistaken identity. Had it been the man, she guessed it would’ve enthralled both of them to bump into each other in a foreign city far from home. ...