She stared at her father, wondering how this was going to play out. She had hoped she might find a way to socialize with him with her emotions chained in the basement. Obviously, she had miscalculated. The problem was she needed his support.
“So how is the campaign?” she asked, attempting to make conversation. “The BBC says you’re up in the polls.”
He turned back to her. “The Brits tend to understate things. We’re well ahead.”
“Which makes it doubly odd that you’re here,” she said, unable to help herself. “You don’t need to win any austerity points.”
“I’m on the African Affairs Subcommittee,” he said.
She smiled. “I’m your daughter. Your DNA is better than a lie detector.”
He tensed. “What do you want me to say?”
“Why don’t we start with the truth?”
Her father just stared at her.
“Okay, let me guess. Sylvia wants you to make sure I keep quiet. Am I getting warm?”
The Senator blanched. It was no secret how little Zoe cared for his second wife. Yet he never seemed to grasp how well she could read Sylvia Martinelli’s mind.
“I thought we had an … understanding,” he said slowly.
“You mean the suggestion you gave me when I was seventeen? That doesn’t count.”
The waiter reappeared, looking gun-shy. This time the Senator waved him away. “You would talk about it in public? Why?”
“What I might contemplate and what I intend to do are not necessarily the same.”
He frowned. “This isn’t a law class. You don’t get points for being coy.”
“True, Dad, but it’s so much fun.”
He looked away and sipped his champagne. To her surprise, he dropped his guard. “You’re right, Sylvia wanted me to come. But it was a good excuse to get away. I wanted to see you. I thought we turned a corner in Cape Town.”
She steadied her breathing. “In a way we did. You stood up to her.”
He shrugged. “The trust is almost yours, and Atticus is a bit of a Scrooge.”
“So you’ll talk to him again this year?”
“Only if you finish the meal with me and leave the old grudges out of it. I want to hear about you. Talk to me like you did when you cared what I thought.”
He made the statement so baldly, so unsentimentally, that Zoe almost missed the emotional charge beneath it. Then the words registered, and she felt like she had been punched in the gut. Even after all he had done, had she ever stopped loving him? It was a question too painful to examine, let alone to answer with conviction.
“All right,” she agreed. “Just pleasantries and platitudes.”
“And a good old-fashioned African braai,” he said with a smile.
The meal passed without incident. Zoe filled up on tenderloin while her father regaled her with scuttlebutt from the campaign trail—the media snoops digging for dirt; the rows with the other candidates; the hanky-panky between interns; even a self-effacing gaffe or two. She couldn’t help but wonder at the political animal he had become. He was born brilliant and charismatic, a lord among leaders. But since his departure from the boardroom, he had added polish to his innate sense of timing and delivery. At moments, Zoe found herself mesmerized by him.
They finished off the meal with espressos, and then the Senator walked her to the parking lot, his security detail in tow. He nodded at the Land Rover. “I’m glad old Atticus isn’t stingy with your living expenses.”
In spite of herself, Zoe smiled. “It’s the only time he’s not.” She hesitated, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Dad. Thanks for the invitation.”
He looked into her eyes. “I wish I could change the way things are between us.”
“Please don’t. I was almost beginning to enjoy myself.”
The pain in his eyes was sincere. “Be safe,” he said, seeing her into the SUV.
She watched him walk back to the hotel, flanked by bodyguards, and then keyed the ignition. She flipped on her headlights and started to pull out when she recognized something in her peripheral vision. She peered into the shadows, searching for an explanation. At once her mind processed what she was seeing—a black Jaguar sedan with the blue crest of the Lusaka Golf Club on its bumper.
She scanned the lot, noting the silhouettes of at least twenty SUVs. What if the rapist is here? she thought with a shudder. She got out of the Land Rover and walked slowly down the row, her heels clicking on the tarmac. She passed two silver SUVs, but neither bore the familiar crest. At the end of the row, she caught sight of another candidate in the corner of the lot. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. The darkened lot was eerily quiet. She walked through the last row of cars and approached the SUV.
Something moved at the edge of her vision.