BAMAKO by Aribert Raphael (latest books to read .TXT) 📕

felt the morning’s irritation return.
Sitting at the desk, Talya wrote in her journal:
Our Monsieur Savoi is in hiding, God knows where!
Monsieur Kane isn’t keen on us staying in Mali.
Jean-Claude is on his way back to Europe leaving Chantal to assist me.
Monsieur Fade is twisting my arm to engage this lawyer friend of his.
If I don’t do something about them rather quickly, I may have a bunch of landowners at my doorstep demanding reimbursement of their finders’ fees.
And the elegant Rheza, who couldn’t care less about Carmine’s permit application, is manipulating the circumstances.
That, pretty well summarizes the situation at this point, after two days in Bamako.

Looking at this impressive list of what could very well become major problems, Talya did what she should have done the morning before; she picked up the phone and dialled Savoi’s number.
Mr. Touré, the company secretary, answered, “Oh, Madame Kartz, I’m so pleased to hear from you.” I bet you are.
Evading the smooth introduction and platitudes, Talya asked the man if she could speak to his boss.
“Yes, of course, but Monsieur Savoi is not in at the moment. Could I leave a message for him?”
“Yes, Monsieur Touré, you may. Just tell Monsieur Savoi I rang. And, please make sure you also tell him that if he wants to see his next paycheque, he better come to the Grand Hotel tonight at seven o’clock for a meeting.” She didn’t allow Touré to respond nor to react; she just hung up. Talya felt better and went to the pool.
13
Rheza drove out of the Grand Hotel’s parking lot. She was angry, frustrated and sad all at once. Madame Kartz and this Chantal Gauthier woman were more than she could handle at the moment.
When they had received the letter from James Flaubert, saying Madame Kartz was coming to Bamako, her uncle Amadou Savoi told her he would stay unseen for a while, “to think things over.”
Although she knew very well that her uncle had accepted a salary he didn’t really deserve for the amount of work they had done, she had benefited from their venture in many ways. This car, for one thing, it didn’t belong to her personally, but she had been driving it for months now. It was her car. In fact, there was too much to sacrifice for her or for her uncle to slip-up now. They would lose everything.
If nothing else, these thoughts made her realize that she had started on a path of deceit from where there was no escape, no return.
Maybe, going to Uncle Mohammed with Madame Kartz, had been a mistake. She had elaborately told one lie after another. She had told him that Uncle Amadou had gone out of town on business and he was solely responsible for the disappearance of the money. The worst part of it was that Uncle Mohammed had believed her. Rheza felt as if she was sinking in quicksand.
She turned into Main Street not knowing what to do, or where to go next. She drove through the central market for a while and stopped in front of one of the women who were squatting at kerbside. She was chewing on a ‘soteou’, a wooden stick, to clean her teeth. She looked serene. Rheza thought, if she could, she would gladly change place with the fruit seller.
Overwhelmed by a sense of guilt and dread, she was terrified of what could happen. If Madame Kartz discovered the truth—and Rheza knew instinctively that she would eventually—all would be lost. She stepped out of the car, called to the woman and purchased some mangoes, some vegetables and a bag of peanuts.
Lost in thought, she took a walk through the market; she went to the tailor shop. The children needed new shirts and she bought some trousers for Tom, her eldest.
They would need much more than clothing come September. She had promised both of them they would attend boarding school in France….
Rheza was sinking in a mire of mixed emotions, and a terrible premonition hung over her head like a Damocles sword.
She knew she had abused Madame Kartz’s trust—the woman was gullible anyway. Her conscience was nagging at her, however. She shouldn’t be taking further advantage of the offer Madame Kartz had made. How could she even go to the hotel in the first place, and offer her services pretending that she hadn’t been paid. That was so stupid. Nonetheless, she would need money soon, and maybe if she was careful enough she could pull it off, for a little while longer, or could she?
Sitting back at the wheel, she decided to drive out of town to the villa. Maybe Uncle Amadou was there.
The drive was pleasant enough. The late afternoon sun wasn’t too hot and the wind from the open window was soothing. Rheza needed soothing. She needed to be in her husband’s arms. He was gone. The reality of this loss had eluded Rheza for the longest time.
Soon after her husband passed away, Rheza came back to Mali to seek refuge with her uncle, Amadou Savoi. Instead of comfort and peace, she found a man who had become a businessman without scruples, the kind of person she used to meet in the big cities of Europe and America; the kind of man who had only time for himself and making money.
Nevertheless, once she had settled behind the director’s desk at the Savoi Mining Company, and into the prestige of the position, Rheza had been lured into her uncle’s dubious schemes and had willingly participated in anything that had been materially profitable for both of them.
However now, he was no longer a man she wanted to trust; she knew him too well.
For all that, she was sad. Now more than ever, when she thought she could win at the game of life, it seemed everything was falling apart around her.
She parked the car in the driveway. This was a French Colonial house surrounded by majestic old trees, lush lawns and trimmed hedges. The structure itself had suffered a little during the years it had been vacant, yet it had preserved the comfortable allure of the Mediterranean residence. It was a pretty place full of memories. Uncle Amadou’s first wife had lived here and the children had grown up in this house. It was Rheza’s family retreat.
As she approached the front entrance, an impressive brace of mahogany doors, everything was quiet. It looked unoccupied. She walked around to the back door, pushed it open and entered the laundry room. The tranquillity of the place was unchallenged by the sound of her steps on the tiled floor. Suddenly Rheza felt very cold. There was no wind or even a breath of air as if she was in the eye of a storm; one step outside the circle of safety and the tempest would sweep her away.
Perhaps, and for no other reason than the stillness enveloping her, she was petrified. She didn’t know why. She had been at the villa the night before and although everything seemed the same, premonition in her heart was sounding a very loud tocsin.
Where was Allan, Uncle Amadou’s manservant? He was there last night.
She took a few steps farther inside. Cautiously first, she called her uncle’s name. There was no response. Where was he? Asleep on the sofa, perhaps? She ventured slowly toward the kitchen. A door screeched. Rheza jumped, as if pulled back by an unseen hand. Her heart was beating so hard that she could hear it thumping in her chest. Cold sweat ran down her spine.
“What on earth are you so afraid of? Uncle Amadou must be out taking a walk that’s all.” Rheza was saying this aloud as if the sound of her voice could calm her down. Carefully, she made her way to the lounge room—still nothing. All the curtains were drawn. The place was dark, full of shadows.
It became so unbearable that Rheza turned, scurried toward the back door, and ran out to her car. She no longer wanted to talk to her uncle. She was frightened. Everywhere she turned an enemy was lurking. A ghost was waiting for her to make the wrong move. She sat in the car and began crying. She could not bear it anymore. Rheza McLean had become afraid of her own shadow.
“Now what?” she muttered. She was on her way back to town. What on earth happened to him? What am I going to do? These questions were at the tail end of one quandary, which came to the forefront of her thoughts. What would happen if he really left her stranded, and holding the bag? Tears of fear and despair rolled down her cheeks now. There was no longer any sadness in Rheza’s heart, just fear of being held responsible for the mess Amadou Savoi had created. She needed to find him. She had to find him, if for no other reason than that of the sake of her children; they could not grow up facing the shame of having a mother who had been an accomplice to a criminal.
14
Talya took a deep breath and put the book down in her lap. She wasn’t reading it anyway. She had done it; she had taken the first step. Will Savoi show up tonight? She couldn’t be sure. It was nearly four o’clock. She got up from the lounge chair she had occupied for a few minutes only, slipped back into her sundress, grabbed her towel and bag, and returned to her room. She threw all her sunbathing paraphernalia on the bed, went to the phone and dialled the number.
“Maitre Sangor please.”
“Just one moment. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Madame Kartz.”
He came on the line almost instantly. “Madame Kartz. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.” The surprise in his voice was obvious.
“I’m sorry to disturb you but I wondered if I might impose upon you to attend a meeting with Monsieur Savoi at seven o’clock tonight, at the hotel. And, if your schedule permits, I’d like you to come ahead of time to discuss the matter.”
The line went dead for a moment.
“Yes, I could do that. What time would you like me to be there?” He sounded unsure.
“Make it six o’clock, if you don’t mind. That will give us enough time to review the situation.”
“That’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I arrive.”
“Thank you, Maitre. I’ll see you then.” At these words, Talya replaced the receiver in the cradle and reclined on the pillows trying to picture him. Maitre Sangor; what was he like? Was he old or young? Was he good-looking? His gentle voice didn’t give Talya any clue except one—he was black. His accent, although very subtle, told her that much. He sounded very professional. She tried to draw his face in her mind’s eye and within moments she dozed off.
A strident ring woke her with a start—the phone again. She looked at the alarm clock. The red numbers glared at her: 6:00PM. She had