The Wayward Wife - A South African Mystery Drama

THE WAYWARD WIFE

A South African Suspense and Psychological Drama

DAVID S. FISHER

Copyright 2018

IRRESISTIBLE READS

PUBLISHING

www.irresistiblereads2.com

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CHAPTER 1

Margot Rowlands was feeling down as she drove her black Mercedes SUV into central Cape Town. She had no reason to be sad. She had a beautiful home, a devoted husband, a beautiful daughter going on eighteen. Lots of friends. And no financial worries. And yet something was missing. And, to make matters worse, she would turn forty-two next birthday – although she felt and looked like a thirty-two-year-old.

As she drove on to the N1 motorway, she had an undisturbed view of Table Mountain in the west and the jagged peaks of the Hottentot chain in the east.

The mountains undulating in the morning haze, one range further, lighter than the other, the furthest a mauve blur – it all inspired poetry. The beauty of light and colour together with the crisp smell of sea breezes gave her strength when she had the blues. She could picture the power and might of raw nature and convert it into something like body energy.

But not today. All she saw were the lofty, grey shapes in the distance and heavy rain clouds forming above them.

She had time in hand and stopped off at the Pick 'n Pay supermarket to do some shopping. At ten, her shift started at the local hospital where she worked three days a week. More to keep her mind busy than for any other reason. She had qualified as a pharmacist some years ago and liked the intellectual challenge. The different environment. A change of scenery. Anything to combat the humdrum she felt plagued with.

As she backed into a parking space, still deeply immersed in moody thoughts, the car bumped against something. The crash of metal against metal jerked her back to the present.

"Oh shit," she cried and jumped out.

A heavy motorbike lay on its side, a wheel twisted.

"Oh God," she sighed to herself. "This day is getting off to a bloody marvellous start."

A parking attendant standing close by sauntered over. "Can I help, lady?"

"Do you know who this machine belongs to?" she said to him sharply, attempting to hide her embarrassment.

"Looks like mine," said a man's voice, cutting in behind her.

She turned to the speaker. "Yours? Oh God, I'm so sorry. I ... I'm afraid I didn't see it."

He put his plastic shopping bag on the ground and, unlocking the bike and removing the sun cover, righted the sky blue machine. He gave it a good look-over. "Not too bad," he murmured. "I guess the wheel's done for though." He pressed the starter and revved the engine a couple of times. "Hm, sounds OK."

"You'll need my insurance details," Margot said, backing away to get her handbag from the car seat. Returning, she took him in for the first time. He was quite something. Over a metre-ninety tall, muscles rippling under his T-shirt, a touch of devilry in his blue eyes, wavy, dark hair hanging down to his shoulders. Above all, he had a compelling smile which never seemed to leave his face. She guessed he was an athlete of sorts and not more than twenty.

"No drama," he said and relocked the steering. "But I'll have to get the bike picked up. Can't ride it like that."

"Can I ... Can I give you a lift?" she asked, feeling the need to offer some kind of help.

He replaced the sun cover ."Er, yeah. That'd be great."

"That's the least I can do?"

He opened the car door with a nonchalance as if he owned it, and slid into the passenger seat, his plastic shopping bag in his lap. She got in, still shaking from the collision.

"Where to?"

"Do you know the golf club in Mowbray?" he said.

She nodded, let in the clutch and drove off. Carefully, the accident still sitting deep.

"Hey, I'm Darren, by the way." He held out a hand.

"Mar ... er, Mara.'' The prevarication came easily, although she couldn't explain why. She kept her eyes on the road as she reached across to shake it.

''Nice name. Mara suits you.''

She drove through the light traffic on the expressway westwards towards town.

"You're a golfer?" she said, feeling compelled to say something.

"Ja. You play, too?"

She laughed. "No, but I need the exercise."

She sensed him giving her the once-over.

"You look pretty trim from where I'm sitting."

"Thanks ... You're playing today?"

"Nah. I work at the club. Assisting the teaching pro. I also do some caddying, give lessons. To earn some money. And I train there."

"Oh?"

"Ja, I plan to compete in the qualifications for the European Golf Tour."

"Really?" she said politely, understanding nothing.

"This November in Spain."

"You're good, then?"

"I finished runner-up in the national championships last year. And I'm the current Western Cape amateur champ."

''Wow. I'm meeting a real sports celeb.''

"Hardly.''

She glanced across at the young, earnest face. The blue eyes were staring straight ahead, misty. She could imagine his thoughts – enjoying the accolades and riches of a successful athlete.

"What if you win in Spain?"

"My dream. But any of the qualifying places will do."

"And then?"

"I turn professional." Again the proud note in his voice.

"Wow. The big time."

"Not all pros are billionaires. I'll be satisfied with a million or two, though," he added with a little smile, but seemed to mean every word.

She cut across to the N2 expressway and took the ramp and then a small approach road leading to the club. "Where do I drop you?"

"At the end of the car park will do."

She drove at a walking pace through the main gates and past the gate porter, who gave Darren a friendly wave, and stopped in front of a row of outbuildings. She noticed a large sign saying PRO SHOP and another pointing to PLAYERS ENTRANCE. He opened the door.

"Thanks for the lift, Mara."

An uneasy silence. For some crazy reason, she didn't want this chance meeting to end. "Hey," she said with studied suddenness, "what about the damage to your bike? I have insurance."

"Forget it. I've got a spare in the garage."

She already had her purse open."No ... No. Wait. Five hundred rand. Will that cover it?"

"No need ... "

She pulled out a bunch of notes and thrust them at him. "Is that enough?"

He pushed her hand away. The cool touch of his skin sent a high-voltage thrill through her body.

"Take it ... please."

"OK, I suppose I can use every cent." He pocketed the money. "And thanks."

"For damaging your bike?"

"For the ride – and the pleasant company."

He got out. Hesitated. "Hey, can I buy you a coffee?"

Oh God, yes, she said to herself. But her shift at the hospital had already started. "Sorry. I'm a working girl – and running late now."

"Sometime soon?"

"I'd love to."

He shot her a stunning smile and flipped a card in the shape of a golf ball onto the passenger seat. ''My numbers,'' he said as he closed the door with an easy swing. He strolled off, heading for a building with the PRO SHOP sign and looking back to wave once.

She watched him go. His broad shoulders, narrow waist and tight bum...