Zoe slept until ten o’clock and woke to an empty bed. She blinked her eyes against the sunlight pouring through the open window shades and remembered she was in the guest room. She put on her glasses and went to the bathroom to freshen up. A few minutes later, she walked to the kitchen and found Joseph drinking a glass of water.
“Morning,” she said. “Hungry?”
He set the glass down in the sink. “Famished.”
She whipped up a breakfast of coffee, scrambled eggs, and toast with jam, and they ate on the deck. After a few bites she asked, “Should we file a report about last night?”
“Ordinarily, I’d say yes,” he replied. “But this is the Nyambos’ neighborhood, too. If they have friends at the police post, I don’t want them nosing into our investigation.” He gave her a somber look. “You’re not going to like this, but I don’t think you should stay here for a while.”
She shook her head. “This is my home. I’ll get the landlord to replace the bars and install a security system.”
“You’re a brave woman. I admire that. But all the precautions in the world don’t matter if you can’t trust the people around you.”
She wrestled with her emotions. She had never run from a fight. She had been robbed at gunpoint in Johannesburg, but she hadn’t stopped walking the streets of Hillbrow. She was partial to her flat and the freedom it afforded her. Hotels were a nuisance, as was guest status in someone else’s home. But she couldn’t protect herself in her sleep.
“Where do you suggest I go?” she asked.
He looked relieved. “You need a place that’s secure. You have friends at the Embassy?”
She nodded. “I know Tom Prentice, the director of the CDC office. His wife was a close friend of my mother’s.”
“You should talk to her. The home of an American diplomat is one of the safest places in Zambia. The Embassy has its own security company.”
As much as Zoe hated to admit it, the idea made sense. “They have an extra wing,” she said eventually. “And a live-in housekeeper. It probably wouldn’t be an inconvenience.”
Joseph looked into her eyes. “Please, Zoe. I don’t want to worry about you.”
“I’ll think about it,” she sighed, knowing the decision had already been made.
Zoe called Carol Prentice after cleaning the dishes. A twenty-year veteran of the Foreign Service, Carol was fearless and formidable, a champion of the cocktail party circuit and her husband’s greatest political ally. Zoe’s story, however, left her at a loss for words.
“My God,” she said at last, “you expect that sort of thing in Lagos or Kinshasha, not Lusaka. Of course you can stay with us.”
“You sure it’s no trouble?” Zoe asked.
Carol laughed. “Honey, your mother was one of my dearest friends. You can have the guest suite for as long as you like.”
Zoe hung up and went to her bedroom to pack. She laid two suitcases on the floor and stuffed them with clothing and personal items. Afterward, she took a shower and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. A few minutes before noon, she met Joseph in the parking lot and threw her bags in the Land Rover. They drove to the Prentices’ separately—Zoe in the lead and Joseph behind. She watched her mirrors for the blue sedan but saw nothing.
The Prentices lived in a sprawling bungalow in nearby Sunningdale. The house was a model of colonial charm, its solid block construction, white stucco, terracotta roof, and plant-covered terraces reminiscent of a bygone era.
Carol greeted them at the door and gave Zoe a hug. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” she said. “I phoned Tom right away and he insisted you stay with us. The house needs a little spunk. It feels like a museum since the kids left.”
She held out her hand and escorted them to the guest suite. Inside, the bungalow had the feel of a safari lodge, with breezy living spaces, wood ceilings, and animal carvings in every corner. The guest suite was in a different wing from the Prentices’ sleeping quarters and had its own sitting room and bathroom.
Carol handed Zoe a set of keys. “You can come and go at your leisure and have visitors any time.” She winked at Joseph. “You’re not a guest; you’re at home. We eat dinner at six. If you’re here, you can join us. If not, we’ll eat without you. No expectations either way.”
Zoe touched her arm. “It’s very kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” She tossed a “Ciao!” over her shoulder and left the room.
Joseph was impressed. “I like this place. It’s built like a bunker.”
“You’ll have to get to know it then,” she replied, taking his hand and drawing him toward her until their faces were inches apart. She searched his dark eyes and waited, feeling shivers along her spine. He smiled and leaned in to kiss her. At that moment his phone rang.