Trudy swung her head.
‘Bassey!’ Hortensia called out.
‘I’ll get him.’
‘Bassey!’ she called again, pressing the button at the same time.
When he appeared, Hortensia questioned him.
‘It’s next door,’ he explained.
The mess of insurances had been sorted out, Marion the Vulture was repairing her nest. Hortensia felt a pang of jealousy. Her builder had wanted to know if she’d be continuing with the works to No. 10 and she’d had to decline, had to accept that in her state she didn’t have the energy for managing the project just then.
Hortensia spent the day tuned to the sound of what she guessed was rubble being cleared, the occasional call of one worker to another, bits of broken house scraping about. Then, with late afternoon approaching, came the doorbell and the sound of Marion herself. Hortensia tried to make out what was going on in the front room. After she heard the front door shut, she prised an explanation from Bassey. Marion had simply needed a drink of water. Next door, her water had been switched off and while the workers were drinking from an outside tap – linked to a borehole – Marion, who’d come to visit the site, didn’t think that suitable drinking water. The hag, Hortensia said. Bassey frowned and excused himself to make dinner.
TEN
MARION HADN’T BEEN on a building site in longer than she cared to remember. It felt good. The builder had not been on-site when she dropped by, but she’d phoned and made an appointment with him for the following day.
She awoke uncertain what to wear, even from her limited supply. The phone went, reception said Agnes was downstairs to see her. Marion rehearsed in her head. Only when walking down the dank stairway did she realise her buttons were misaligned.
‘Agnes.’ Marion walked up to where her maid stood at the reception counter.
‘Good morning,’ Agnes said.
‘Your key, please, Ma’am,’ the receptionist said.
Marion placed the key attached to an oblong piece of wood on the counter. She walked towards a grouping of chairs. Agnes followed. The woman was still shapely at her age, in a way Marion had always envied but never had the strength to admit to herself.
‘Sit down, Agnes.’ Marion liked the sound of her own voice. She was relieved it sounded stronger than she felt. She was relieved at being able to give orders. Bring command to chaos.
Agnes settled herself on a weary couch and Marion sat beside her. She looked around; she’d keep her voice down, say as little as possible. Agnes wouldn’t make a scene.
‘As you know … things at home have changed slightly.’ Marion coughed into her hand for no reason.
Agnes’s face had always surprised Marion. Two eyes, a nose and mouth, yes, but the composure. Where does someone, especially without much money, buy that kind of peace? And even, as here and now, about to hear bad news. She must know surely.
‘Agnes, I—’
‘I found this, Ma’am.’ Agnes pulled a long chain from the pocket of her skirt.
‘Oh, gosh.’
Marion had thought it lost for ever in the rubble. She’d searched for it, racking her brain to remember what the last valuer had offered. It was a thick spiral of gold links. A gift from her father before her parents divorced, before life got more tangled. The rope of gold had always seemed inelegant, but Marion was grateful for it now. That and the large sapphire.
‘Where did you find it, Agnes?’
Agnes shrugged. ‘I went back. After the accident, Niknaks came with a bakkie to pick up my things. I wasn’t with her and when I looked I saw I’d left something, so I went back. A picture of her when she was still a baby, with her father. And then, I don’t know, one of those things, while looking at the damage I saw something shiny. There’s a small break.’ She stretched across to show Marion where she meant. ‘But otherwise good.’
‘You went back. Oh, did you … perhaps see …?’ She wanted to ask without letting on how important it was, although this impulse embarrassed Marion – after all these years, to think Agnes would steal from her. ‘I had wrapped a painting. Just before the accident. But Marelena can’t find it. Did you see anything like that when you went back?’
Agnes frowned, thinking.
‘I mean, thanks for this. Thanks for the chain, but did you see a painting?’
‘No, Ma’am.’
Marion felt like crying; in a few seconds she’d convinced herself that Agnes had the Pierneef in her back pocket. ‘Well, okay. Let’s get on with it. I actually don’t know what to say. You’ve been with us so long.’
‘It’s fine, Ma’am. Ag, Niknaks has been saying I must retire anyway. For some years now.’
‘Oh.’ Why did Marion always feel like she had to fight so much in Agnes’s presence. Fight for her own dignity.
‘She sends her greetings. And says she’s sorry about all the … for the accident.’