Shifting Sands
much in mind, most particularly Jonathan and Vicky and the wedge that had come between them. She accepted that she’d been hard on her son, alloting him his boyhood room when he came for the weekend, rather than the adult comfort of the guest room, and making no attempt to conceal her displeasure with him. But for some time she’d been increasingly aware of his inconsiderate behaviour towards his wife, and it upset her to see Vicky, who’d always been so bright and bouncy, subdued and prone to tears.
    Vicky had been only sixteen when her mother died, and five years later, her father had remarried and gone to live in the south of France. Consequently, when she and Jonathan became engaged, Anna and Miles had evolved more into parents than parents-in-law, and since Miles’s death, the two women had grown even closer. It was therefore, incongruously enough, in the arms of her mother-in-law that Vicky had sobbed brokenheartedly on Jonathan’s departure.
    What was it Lewis had said, back among the penguins? Hard on the children. And indeed it was: her heart ached to see the eagerness with which the little boys awaited their father’s weekly visits.
    In the darkness of her hotel room, Anna gave a frustrated sigh. She loved Jonathan dearly – of course she did – but that didn’t stop her wanting to shake some sense into him.
    This was getting her nowhere, she told herself firmly, and, pushing her problems aside, she determinedly closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.
    As luck would have it, the next morning, as they were leaving Durban, the sun finally came out, and their last view of the city was, at last, under blue skies.
    The drive north was a constantly changing kaleidoscope of hills folding away into the distance, of pineapples growing by the roadside, banana plantations, and sugar canes stretching for mile after mile.
    They stopped for lunch at the village of Shakaland, where they were shown a display of Zulu dancing. Anna was particularly intrigued by the grass circlets the girls wore on their heads to enable them to carry pots.
    It was late afternoon when they arrived at the game reserve where they were to stay, and a further twenty minutes before they reached the Reception Centre. Anna was taken aback by the vastness of the area; she wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but certainly not mile after mile of hilly shrubland covered with bushes and stunted trees. As the coach moved slowly along, Edda pointed out groups of game browsing in the relative cool of late afternoon – white rhino, giraffe, herds of zebra and even, in the distance, a solitary elephant.
    The coach deposited them at the Centre, and there was a long wait while their accommodation was sorted out. It transpired that they’d been allotted individual huts, referred to as rondavels, that were spread over quite a wide area of the camp, and maps were handed out, on which the route to their own huts had been highlighted in pink.
    Typically African in appearance, they were, however, comfortably equipped with baths or showers, a sitting area, and a kitchen where, had they been on a self-catering holiday, they could have cooked their meals. As they were not, and would be eating at the main Centre, they’d been warned in advance to bring torches to light their way back after supper.
    That first evening, after a convivial meal in the crowded restaurant, it was an eerie sensation to leave the lighted Centre and set off in the dark along unfamiliar paths. Anna was glad of Harry and Susan’s company, their hut lying in the same direction as hers.
    Then, when they’d almost reached their destination, she came to a sudden halt.
    The other two also stopped, looking at her questioningly. ‘Something wrong?’
    â€˜I’m trying to think what I’ve done with my key,’ Anna said worriedly. ‘It was too big to fit into my bag, so I was carrying it separately. I must have put it on the
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