The October Killings Read Online Free Page A

Gone with the Wind. Her bedroom was decorated in lavender and was furnished with only a single bed and a hand-carved yellowwood dressing table. In the adjoining walk-in wardrobe that was almost as big as the bedroom itself she found a pair of nail scissors. “Will this do?” she asked. “I don’t know what the problem is.”
    Abigail had already rid herself of her jacket. “This label is driving me crazy. It feels like it’s made of sandpaper.”
    After the label had been dealt with and Abigail was ready to return to the party, Marcia held her by one arm. “Most young women would simply have suffered the label on an occasion like this.”
    â€œMaybe I’m not most young women.”
    â€œYou certainly are not, my dear. You’re altogether refreshing. Something else I should mention…” She waited for Abigail’s full attention. “My husband gets a little overdone sometimes. When he called Robert a black editor of genuine ability, he simply meant that he was an editor of genuine ability.”
    Abigail nodded. “Thank you. That needed to be said.”
    When she got back to Robert, he studied her face for a moment before releasing a lungful of air. “You look happier.”
    â€œI no longer feel quite as patronized,” she said, “and the label’s gone. I’m sorry, Robert. Here I am, behaving like a bitch on your big night. Please forgive me.”
    â€œLet’s just try to be a little tolerant. And I’m glad the label’s gone.”
    â€œIt was scratching the hell out of my neck.”
    Suddenly Robert was laughing. He hugged her briefly, not the sort of thing husbands did to their wives on such occasions. “We’ll be able to afford clothing with gentler labels from now on,” he whispered.
    Robert was drawn into conversation with a business acquaintance, and Abigail moved to the edge of the patio. She watched her husband, smiling and shaking hands, as he was introduced to someone. He was so effortlessly gracious and as effortlessly honest. Watching him, she realized again how much she loved him. Dear Robert, she thought, you deserve an easier woman than me.
    In due course the chairman made his unavoidable speech. Abigail saw similarities with that made by the minister earlier in the day. Both, according to their authors, had been about liberation. The minister had spoken about Michael Bishop’s selfless devotion to the cause of political liberation. The chairman revealed his corporation’s commitment to the cause of economic liberation. Each speech was full of praise, first for Michael Bishop and then for Abigail’s own Robert.
    In time it was over, the food consumed and the requisite interval had been spent smiling, sipping drinks and shaking hands. And, at last, Abigail could go home. With the afternoon and evening behind her and the label in an ashtray in Marcia’s bedroom, life felt much better. She drove quickly along the highway between the two cities with the headlights of Robert’s car in the rearview mirror, never more than a hundred meters behind.

4
    The distance between their cars narrowed as they entered Pretoria, Robert stopping close behind her at the first traffic light. Abigail was glad that the drive home had been uneventful. She admired the safeness of his driving after the amount of liquor he had consumed during the evening, but she did not imagine that he would have passed a blood test.
    A wind had been blowing across Pretoria all evening, and once they turned out of the main suburban artery the streets were sprinkled with lilac jacaranda blossoms. As far as the headlights reached, the little flowers formed a soft and colorful carpet.
    Tonight Abigail waited till Robert had finished showering before entering the bathroom. “Come to bed, baby,” he murmured in her direction as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I want to celebrate the occasion.”
    From the