The Star of Simbako Read online

  THE STAR OF

  SIMBAKO

  ____________________________________

  The Sam Harris Series

  Book 3

  PJ SKINNER

  First edition

  ISBN

  Copyright 2018 PJ Skinner

  Dedicated to My Parents

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  Prologue

  The Village of Fona, Simbako, 1980

  Pakuteh ran through the trees. The thin branches of the thorn bushes whipped skin from his arms making him wince. He did not slow down. Behind him, light flickered from the clapped-out generator in the compound of the Paramount Chief, Joseph Sesay. The rebels were closing in. They were bound to kill the Chief, who had stayed in his home refusing to leave. Pakuteh didn't want to die too.

  He patted his stomach, which was full of stew stolen from the kitchen, and pulled the strap of his satchel over his head to make sure he didn’t drop it. He stuck his hand in the internal pocket of the bag, just to make sure it was still there, and it was – hard and unyielding, like a piece of glass, its dead weight and cold lustre giving lie to the power that made people kill for it.

  The diamond represented their future. Had he underestimated the Chief? A man with that much wealth and power rarely proved to be human. Joseph Sesay had thrust the diamond into Pakuteh’s hand, saying it was a wedding present. Pakuteh had been too stunned to question it, stuffing it into his bag as he left the Chief to his fate. He had heard about the fabled diamond, the Star of Simbako, but, like everyone else, he had assumed that it was mythical or long gone.

  But how had Sesay had found out that Pakuteh had married his only daughter? Why hadn’t he objected? Perhaps because, like Pakuteh, Chief Joseph Sesay wanted his daughter Adanna to be taken away, far from their suffocating culture of subservience and black magic. He had done well to protect her so far, but she was in danger of being sucked into the world of violence and voodoo.

  If they sold the diamond, they could live a normal life as a married couple in any country they wanted. They could leave Simbako with its primitive ways and join a different culture. There would be no more sneaking around or avoiding Tamba, the Chief’s dodgy sidekick. The way he stared at Adanna made Pakuteh’s skin crawl. Not that he blamed him. Adanna was tall and willowy with a regal bearing and exquisite face. She had a smile that melted icebergs and a stare which could create them.

  He slowed as he moved closer to the river. There were voices echoing across from the river terrace. Who would be out there so late? Maybe they were trying to find something before the rebels arrived. He had heard there was a pothole in the terrace, caused by a whirlpool in an ancient river which caught diamonds in the current and concentrated them in its depths. The rebels would steal them all if they found out about it. War is expensive and diamonds are small, valuable and easy to smuggle.

  He emerged from the trees, being careful to stay in the shadows thrown by the full moon and peered into the gloom. Two dozen men worked on the pit in the terrace. They were refilling it with sand and gravel from mounds on the surface. A small figure stood on top of one of them, directing operations, his belly mirroring the full moon’s roundness. He issued instructions in a strangled tone, urging the men to greater effort.

  Pakuteh crept closer to hear what they were saying, forgetting he could be seen in the moonlight. A twig snapped behind him. He spun around to confront his stalker, but a heavy blow caught him on the temple. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Chapter 1

  London 1990

  A car door slammed shut on the street outside. It woke Sam from a deep sleep. She swore under her breath. Disorientated, she scanned the room for landmarks. Weak light leaked though the blinds from the street lamp outside the flat, illuminating the wall opposite the bed. A familiar poster of Marilyn Monroe clung to the wall, her white dress visible in the dim light.

  Sam tried to sit up, but her boyfriend’s outstretched arm pinned her to the bed. Pushing it off, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The wooden floor was cold underfoot. She tried to locate her socks in the dark, probing along the floorboard with her toes, but only finding the corpse of a fly which crunched under her foot, making her jump away.

  Simon grunted in protest. ‘What are you doing? For God’s sake stop messing around, I’m trying to sleep.’

  But she was wide awake and she needed to go to the bathroom. She switched on the bedside light, provoking another grunt. Then she got down on her hands and knees and poked around under the bed, reaching as far as possible with her free arm. One sock emerged, covered in dust, and she searched around for the other. Her hand closed over another object that did not feel like a sock, but she pulled it out to have a look. It seemed to be a pair of knickers. She squinted in the bad light. What were those red things? None of her underwear had that pattern. Most of it was from M & S – boring, white high-legs she had bought in bulk after reading somewhere that men liked white underwear best. Presumably this didn’t apply to greying knickers with dodgy elastic, but at least she had tried.

  As she focussed on the alien panties, she saw that the red things were peppers holding hands and dancing in a row. She had seen them before in a duty-free shop in Madrid. They had been an impulse buy for her sister, Hannah. But what were they doing under Simon’s bed? She held them under the lamp. They weren’t clean. She dropped them, hoping to make them disappear. Was she even awake? A nasty sensation crept up her back.

  She picked the panties up again with the tips of her fingers, ignoring the cold floor, and stumbled into the bathroom, pulling the cord for the fluorescent light. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it, locking it clumsily, her hands shaking. The bulb over the mirror flickered. His-and-her toothbrushes cosied together in a plastic tooth mug on the basin like a bad joke.

  She put the underwear in the sink and sat on the bathroom chair, the cork seat warm under her thighs. Lowering her head into her hands, she took two deep breaths and then raised her head again to look at herself in the mirror. Her face was etched with misery, her mouth a thin line in a shocked white background. It was happening again and this time it was with her sister.

  ***

  Two weeks earlier, Sam had called Simon from the airport.

  ‘It’s me. I’m back.’

  Sam had tried to disguise her nerves with false bonhomie, uncertain of her reception. The last time she had spoken to Simon, it hadn’t gone so well. She blamed herself for that. Simon had panicked when she’d informed him she might be pregnant. For him, as a serial womaniser, this news was not just unwelcome, it counted as a catastrophe. He had said something that should have been unforgivable, but she had given him the benefit of the doubt, telling herself off for jumping the gun before she’d known what was really going on.

  She had arrived back in London after attending Gloria and Alfredo's wedding in Sierramar on the west coast of South America. She’d wanted to stay longer to avoid the British winter and the inevitable clash with Simon, but eventually she’d
understood that pushing it into the future would not solve anything. She needed to get home and speak to him face-to-face before another day passed.

  Simon had had a tantrum when she went to Sierramar to help Gloria look for Alfredo, who had disappeared, and Sam’s false alarm on the pregnancy front had unsettled them both. They hadn’t discussed it yet and she was still sulking, but Simon was special and she didn’t want to lose him. Her mind was filled with thoughts of sex with him as her flight crossed the Atlantic. The Kama Sutra was tame compared to Sam’s lurid imagination.

  ‘Sam, you’re here already. Great!’ said Simon, his voice strained. Not a good start.

  ‘Can I come over? I need to talk to you.’ She tried to keep her own voice light but was betrayed by its high tone.

  ‘Aren't you tired after your long flight? Don’t bother, I’ll come to you. Where are you now?’

  ‘In my flat.’

  'Give me an hour.’

  ‘Okay, I can’t wait to see you. Can you buy a pint of milk on your way? Oh, and some bread and eggs and –’

  ‘I know what you like. Have a snooze and I’ll be there soon.’

  ‘Don’t forget the chocolate.’

  That went better than expected. Perhaps they just needed some time together to get back on track.

  Originally, she had dropped into her apartment in Fulham, intending to stow her bags and have a quick shower before going to see him, but now she could wait there instead. Home sweet home. It was always good to be back, surrounded by the souvenirs of her travels, the wooden parrots, the cheap paintings bought in markets, the ethnic wall hangings. The cacti had survived her absence, but the tomato plant had wilted and shrivelled to a thin brown stick.

  She switched on the immersion heater and emptied her suitcase onto the bed, dividing her clothes into two piles, clean and dirty. He loves me, he loves me not. Ignoring the fact that the wrong pile won, she loaded the washing machine with a dark wash and stuffed the rest of the dirty clothes into the laundry basket. By the time she put the clean clothes from her suitcase back into the cupboards, there was enough hot water in the tank for a shower.

  As the bubbles from the shampoo rolled down her back, she pondered the coming conversation. There was no need to worry. Despite his arrogant facade, he craved her company. Sometimes, he needed her more than she needed him. They would sort this out.

  She dried herself with one towel, made a turban with the other and climbed into bed. He could never resist her straight out of the shower.

  ***

  Simon put down the telephone and addressed Hannah’s bare back.

  ‘That was Sam. She’s here.’

  ‘So you’re planning to see her?’

  ‘She’s my girlfriend.’

  ‘And what am I?’

  ‘Jesus, Hannah, we talked about this. I’ll tell her about us, but not today. She needs time to settle in first.’

  ‘You’re going to carry on as if nothing happened?’

  ‘I'll try. She doesn’t deserve this and I can’t deal with it right now. I broke her heart once already.’

  ‘What about my heart?’

  ‘You’re sleeping with your sister’s boyfriend and you’re worried about your feelings? Do you even have a heart?’

  ‘That’s harsh. I’m not the only one who is selfish.’

  ‘No, you’re not. And I’ve loved our time together, but I have priorities and Sam’s one of them. I’m sorry, that’s how it is.’

  ‘Aren't you happy with me? Didn’t you say you had chosen the wrong sister?’

  ‘I’m confused right now. Give me time to sort myself out. I need to see Sam to be sure of my feelings. Can’t you understand that?’

  ***

  Simon let himself into Sam’s flat. The washing machine was spinning noisily in the kitchen and a couple of new balsawood parrots lay on the table. Dumping the shopping beside them, he crept into her bedroom and found her asleep, her head on a damp pillow. Her hair had escaped from a towel and was plastered all over her face. He smiled and brushed the hair away, revealing her brown skin with its sparse freckles. He broke off a square of chocolate and waved it under her nostrils. The aroma woke her and she reached out and grabbed it, popping it in her mouth without opening her eyes.

  ‘Yum. More please,’ said Sam, chocolate on her teeth.

  ‘Can I have a kiss first?’

  ‘As well?’

  ‘Okay.’

  His lips searched for hers and she tipped her face up to his to receive them. She stuck her chocolaty tongue into his mouth as he pressed it to hers. His kiss set off a chain reaction which made her flush with desire. She moaned and opened her eyes to find him peering at her.

  ‘Did you miss me?’ he said.

  ‘No, I didn’t. I was too cross.’

  ‘Are you still cross with me?’

  ‘No, I’m so sorry about the pregnancy thing. I needed your reassurance. That newsflash must have shocked you.’

  ‘Sorry to be such an idiot. I shouldn't have asked who the father was.’

  She wanted to ask him what he would have done if the test had been positive, but they were having a moment, and she was loath to disturb the layer of heat and sex that was settling over them.

  What had she wanted to say to him?

  He pulled her closer.

  ***

  ‘Sam’s back today,’ said Bill, looking up from his newspaper.

  ‘Oh, God, what are we going to do?’ said Matilda. She paced the kitchen, straightening bits of fruit in the bowl and refolding tea towels.

  ‘I don’t think it’s our place to tell her.’

  Matilda sighed, a mixture of exasperation and resignation.

  ‘But we’re her parents. Surely that’s what we should be doing. It’ll be my place to listen when she finds out. I can’t believe Hannah has been so cruel and thoughtless.’

  ‘The wicked sister. Are you sure she didn’t get swopped at the hospital?’ said Bill.

  ‘I wish she had been sometimes. She’s so complicated.’

  ‘Complicated? Selfish is a better word.’

  ‘That too. Can Sam recover from such a double blow? It'll be hard on her.’

  ‘Every black cloud has a silver lining though.’ Bill put down his newspaper and stood up to face his wife.

  ‘How can you say that? What silver lining?’

  ‘As harsh as it sounds, this may be the final straw as far as Simon is concerned.’

  ‘That’s true. But what if he stays with Hannah?’

  ‘At least they’ll deserve each other. Sam needs someone kinder and more faithful.’

  ‘If this episode hasn't put her off for life,’ said Matilda, brushing a hair off her husband’s shoulder.

  ‘It’ll be okay, darling. You’ll see.’ Bill put his arm around her waist and gave her a hug.

  ***

  Sam had returned from Sierramar to find the commodities market booming and plenty of geologist roles on the market. The flood of jobs had led to a bunfight between recruiters desperate to earn commissions in these good times. She had sent out new résumés to every possible source of work and already had some great leads. Even so, she hadn’t yet had any interviews.

  ‘I’m afraid they want a man,’ said one recruiter. ‘I know that it’s 1990 and not 1890 and I’ve told them how qualified you are, but that’s how it is. If you weren’t a woman, I could get you a job tomorrow.’

  Sam was well aware of the stumbling block her gender created in the mining industry. She sympathised with anyone trying to place her in that male-dominated environment. At least the recruiter understood what the problem was. Some agents seemed to think that people wouldn’t employ her because of her record of short contracts.

  Exploration geology was like that – six months here, twelve months there. Sam couldn’t help it if the junior exploration companies worked in countries that changed their mining legislation with their governments and ran o
ut of money just as the markets tired of supporting commodities. Jobs in exploration evaporated quicker than rain on a hot roof.

  ‘That’s okay. They’ll run out of suitable male applicants. They always do. Push me to the front of the line when that happens.’

  ‘Good girl. Keep your pecker up and I’ll keep putting you forward. We’ll get there.’

  Keep your pecker up! Huh, well that was the problem – lack of a pecker. Someone has to be the first over the top though. I wish it didn’t have to be me. But I chose this I can do something else if it doesn't work out. Besides, I’m a good geologist and things will change.

  She was sorting through her field gear, separating the worn from the worn-out when the phone rang.

  ‘Hello, Sam Harris here, who’s speaking?’

  ‘Sam? Hello, my name is Alex Simmonds. Have you got time to chat?’

  ‘Sure, no problem. How can I help you, Mr Simmonds?’

  ‘I understand you’re an exploration geologist?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Are you working?’

  ‘No, not right now. Do you have something in mind?’

  ‘Would you like to meet me for a coffee?’

  ‘That would be great.’

  ***

  Alexander Simmonds waited for her in the bar of Brown’s Hotel in Mayfair. It was almost empty and the hotel staff bustled around behind the counter, getting ready for the lunch hour rush. When she entered, he came across to greet her. He was nearer to sixty than fifty, short and bald with a large tummy hanging over his trousers. A button had come undone on his shirt and black chest hairs were poking out. The same black hairs were springing out from his collar and growing up his neck to his head where they petered out. He had rolled up his sleeves and the same dark forest covered his arms and hands. Despite his dishevelled appearance, there was something hard and dynamic about him. Was he ex-army?

  ‘Sam? A pleasure to meet you.’ An iron grip, but not showing off, just natural. Definitely army.