He rummaged in a drawer for a piece of paper and wrote out directions.
Although the N2 over Sir Lowry’s Pass would have been faster, Zoe decided to take the coastal road to the seaside town of Hermanus. Like California’s Pacific Coast Highway, the route from Gordon’s Bay to Kleinmond was a stretch of tarmac that could turn anyone into a poet. Winding along precipitous cliffs and through picturesque beach communities, the R44 hugged the ragged edge of land that joined the Hottentots Holland Mountains with the eternal blue of the ocean.
Zoe reached Hermanus by early afternoon. Following Hendrik Kruger’s directions, she turned off the main road just before the town center and drove inland through the Hemel en Aarde Valley. The mountains of the Overberg rose up on all sides, blotting out the sky, but the slopes adjacent to the roadway were dotted with vineyards and Cape Dutch homesteads.
After a few miles, Zoe saw the sign for Vrede Retreat Center. The access road was bumpy and lined with tangled shrubs. Soon, however, the hilly terrain gave way to a vast meadow tucked in between rocky cliffs. Zoe parked in a gravel lot beside a white cinderblock building with a hanging sign that read: “OFFICE.” She left the SUV unlocked and greeted a lanky silver-haired man sitting on a deckchair. The man stood and shook her hand.
“Welcome to Vrede,” he said in a polished voice. “I’m Robert Vorster.”
“Zoe Fleming,” she replied, looking around. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Heaven on earth,” he replied with a grin, and then explained himself. “Hemel en Aarde. It’s Afrikaans.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “I don’t believe we were expecting you.”
She shook her head. “I’m looking for someone—Dr. Jan Kruger. His father sent me.”
Vorster hesitated. “Do you have business with him?”
She chose her words carefully. “I suppose ‘business’ is an appropriate description.”
Vorster gestured toward a path that led into the trees. “Will you walk with me?”
Zoe nodded. Another gatekeeper. Jan certainly knows how to protect himself.
They strolled up the path beneath the boughs of evergreens and came upon a clearing at the foot of an old chapel. Beside the chapel was a fishpond surrounded by vegetation, and beyond the pond on the hillside was a cluster of whitewashed homes.
Vorster took a seat on a carved stone bench. “Have you been to Vrede before?”
“No,” she replied, sitting beside him.
“Many would say this is a holy place. We’ve hosted opponents of apartheid, members of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, politicians, clergy, and cultural leaders, along with visitors from around the world. At Vrede everyone is the same. We are all people searching for peace in troubled times. There is only one rule: do no harm.” Vorster gave Zoe a direct look. “Does your ‘business’ with Dr. Kruger meet that standard?”
Zoe watched a leaf tumble through the air and land in the pond. She knew she had to tell the truth. “I’m a lawyer,” she said. “I’m helping a child in Lusaka who was raped. The trial of her abuser starts in four days. Jan has information critical to the case. I need to talk to him.”
Vorster was silent for so long that Zoe thought she had lost him. Then, suddenly, he stood and faced her. “After lunch, he went on a walk. I suspect you will find him at the falls. The trail begins at the bridge across the meadow.”
“Thank you,” she said, offering her hand, which Vorster took.
“Jan is a good man,” he said. “I urge you to remember that.”
Zoe found the trailhead on the far side of a footbridge that spanned a highland stream. She took a slow breath, listening to the music of water dancing upon round stones, and then began to walk. Before long, the meadow gave way to more rugged terrain, dominated by shrub-like vegetation. Zoe followed the serpentine course of the stream, traversing groves of towering oaks and slowly trading distance for elevation.
Eventually, she reached a fork in the trail. The main path led through a tangle of trees, and a second path—much narrower—led upward along a rocky defile toward the crest of the mountain. She could hear the sound of falling water nearby, but she couldn’t see it. She ventured into the thicket, pushing branches out of the way and stepping around exposed roots. Soon, she emerged on a patch of grass at the edge of a muddy pool. She saw the waterfall and the bench at the same time. A man turned and looked at her.
It was Jan Kruger.
If he was shocked to see her, he didn’t show it. Instead— paradoxically—he looked almost relieved. After a while, she sat down beside him and stared at the waterfall.
“Why are you here?” she asked at last.
He looked at her curiously. “If you don’t know, I should ask you the same question.”
“Is this some sort of penance?”