Page 15

* * *

OK, I can officially say I’ve never been anywhere like this before. On the surface, Cape Town is a typical cosmopolitan, modern city, with the iconic Table Mountain serving as the backdrop. There is the usual mix of glass office blocks, tower buildings and wide roads. It is, at least, a relatively easy place to drive around, with the exception of the people at every traffic light. I try to follow the advice of the woman at the car hire desk, but it proves impossible. By the time I reach my apartment block, I’ve bought two packets of biros that I suspect are already used up, some sweets that I wouldn’t dare put in my mouth, and had my windscreen cleaned twice. But it’s not just the traffic lights. I’ve never been anywhere where such wealth literally sits side by side with such extreme poverty.

The block where my apartment is is a case in point. The apartment is exactly as described, and I now have a card that lets me straight into the secure underground car park beneath the building. From there, it’s a simple lift ride to my floor and a few steps to my door. All very convenient and safe, which is just as well, as the street outside is obviously a popular one with the city’s homeless, if the makeshift shelters out there are anything to go by. Everywhere else I’ve been, I’ve always felt safe to go for a run in the morning, but I picked up a definite air of hostility when I first arrived and had to park on the street. The first thing I did after that was look to see if the building included a gym which, thankfully, it does. I’m not normally a gym bunny, but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of running out there on my own.

It’s the same with shopping. It didn’t take me long to find the very upmarket Victoria and Alfred waterfront, with all the usual designer stores, department stores and so on. Again, though, the parking was underground with guards on the entrances. It’s an uncomfortable vibe and I suspect I will end up spending much more time in my apartment staring at the walls than I planned, as I really don’t feel completely safe out on my own even in daylight. By the time I’d unloaded my food shop and cooked my evening meal last night, I was already starting to feel distinctly claustrophobic. Three weeks of this is going to be much harder than I thought.

The second problem with being stuck in the apartment, although I do have a very nice balcony I can sit out on, is that I’ve ended up trapped in my head, and Mum’s words in particular have been playing over and over. Am I running away? If so, from what? It’s true that I just can’t see myself meeting a man I trust enough to settle down with, but I have good reason to mistrust them. Let’s face it, if someone as unassuming as Trevor can turn into the kind of man who thinks it’s OK to cheat on his partner, what are the rest of them like?

* * *

These thoughts are still running round my head as I pound the treadmill early on Tuesday morning. I should be focusing on the day ahead, but it’s just not happening. I’m vaguely aware of someone climbing onto the machine next to mine, but totally caught off guard when they speak.

‘I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,’ he says. ‘Are you new?’

I turn my head to look at him. I’d guess he’s probably mid-thirties, with thick, dark hair that’s just starting to be flecked with grey. He has a nice face, I notice, with blue eyes that have just the faintest twinkle of mischief in them. He’s wearing a black T-shirt over his running shorts and I risk a quick glance at his legs as he presses the button to set his machine to a fast walk. He’s obviously no stranger to the gym, if his physique is anything to go by.

‘I arrived yesterday,’ I tell him cautiously. Every woman I know has been chatted up by guys in the gym before so I’m on my guard.

‘British?’

‘You’ve got me.’

‘Same as me. Work or pleasure?’

‘Work.’

‘Again, same as me. Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Nathan, by the way.’

‘Athena.’

There’s a brief pause and then, to my surprise, he laughs. It’s a full, deep laugh.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Sorry, I just realised that our names are almost anagrams of each other. I know. It’s a weird, nerdy thing, right, but I can’t help spotting patterns like that.’

I’m not entirely sure what to say to that, so I turn my head back to the front and concentrate on my run. I’ve selected an automatic profile on the machine and it’s obviously decided to help me out by giving me a hill at this point, so further conversation with Mr Anagram is not really going to happen while I’m huffing and puffing anyway. Thankfully, he obviously gets the message and also starts to increase the pace on his machine. However, I can’t help glancing sideways surreptitiously from time to time, and I have to admit that watching him run is not at all unpleasant. Some people thud along as they run, making me worry about the force of the repeated impacts travelling up through their knees, but Nathan’s steps land softly as his calf muscles flex. There’s a fluidity to the way he moves that even translates to the way he’s moving his arms. I’m reminded – appropriately, given that I’m in Africa – of a big cat. It’s a very welcome distraction from the train of thought that was going round my head before he arrived, and I have to remind myself not to stare.

Forcing my eyes back to the front, it occurs to me that he’s probably sizing me up in the same way and, unusually for me, I realise that I care. I like to think I keep myself in reasonably good shape, but I’m certainly not an elegant runner like he is. If I’m honest, I’m not even sure I like running that much; it’s just something I know I can do pretty much wherever I am, with the minimum of equipment required. A pair of leggings, sports bra and trainers and you’re good to go. And I’ve found, with the exception of this morning, that it gives me the mental space to get my thoughts in order before starting the day’s work. I push Nathan out of my mind and try to concentrate instead on what I’ve got coming up. Today will be all about meeting the people I’m going to be working with and starting to get an idea of the company culture and what they’re looking to achieve. As the machine increases the speed of my run automatically and my lungs start to work harder, I can finally feel myself starting to think about the day ahead with some clarity.

Nathan is still running and also seems absorbed in his own world when my treadmill beeps to let me know that I’m reaching the end of the cycle and it’s going to put me into warm down mode so, after a couple of minutes of brisk walking, I step off and prepare to slip away. To my surprise, he also slows to a walk and turns to face me once more.

‘Have a good day at work, Athena,’ he says with a smile. ‘Maybe I’ll see you here again tomorrow.’

‘Maybe,’ I tell him.

As I head up to shower and get changed into my work clothes, I’m relieved to notice that the conversation with my mother has finally been pushed completely to one side now that my mind is switching into professional mode. As I pack my laptop and head down to the car, even running the gauntlet of the traffic-light vendors and beggars doesn’t seem so daunting.

I’m Athena, I tell myself as I start the engine. I’m here because I know my shit, and I’m going to knock this project out of the park.

8

OK, this is not a promising start, if the expression on the barrel-chested man talking to the receptionist is anything to go by. His face literally dropped as he glanced over just now, and he looks distinctly unimpressed as he crosses to the sofa where I was instructed to wait.

‘Athena Littlejohn?’ he asks as I get to my feet. Even the tone of his voice is dubious, as if hoping against hope that I’ll actually turn out to be someone else.

‘That’s me,’ I tell him, plastering on a smile.