CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Henk went home, but I could feel him close to me, and I slept with a smile on my lips. The next morning I could still smell him on my skin, even after I showered. It was Sunday, my best day for baking and gardening. It was time to make those mosbolletjie rusks. I let the chickens out of their hok and took two warm eggs from a nest.

In the kitchen, I bruised the muscadel raisins (stalks, pips and all) with the back of a spoon and added them to some sugar water, which I left in a warm spot on my windowsill.

I was not very hungry, which was a strange feeling. I took my diet and antidepressant pills, as they were obviously working. I picked two sun-ripe tomatoes from my garden and made myself tamatiesmoor, with scrambled eggs and cheese scones. I ate on the stoep and watched little white-eye birds in my lemon tree and the big kudu browsing on the gwarrie tree in the veld. The sun lit up the distant Langeberge mountains, then the Rooiberg, then the soft hills on the other side of the veld. I put the leftover breakfast in Tupperwares in the fridge.

The raisin water for the mosbolletjies needs at least twenty-four hours to ferment into must, and it seemed a shame for the oven to be empty on a Sunday morning. I decided to make a batch of my favourite muesli rusks.

When the dough was in the oven, I took off my apron, put on my veldskoene and old trousers, and spent some time in my vegetable garden. The marigolds and wild garlic chased away most of the goggas, but there were always some insects and snails on the spinach and the lettuce, which I threw onto the compost heap for the chickens. I pulled up the weeds that were growing between the green beans and the sweet potatoes. I had a nice recipe for sweet-potato cake and was tempted to make one right away, but decided it could wait until a cake occasion. I tapped my knuckles on a big orange pumpkin. It sounded ripe, but I didn’t cut it loose yet. I moved it into a sunnier spot to sweeten even more.

I could smell when the rusk dough was ready. I let it cool, then cut it into chunks and put it back in the oven to dry out.

For lunch, I ate green beans and chicken-liver pate (made with apple and old brown sherry). Then I went back to the garden. As the shadows got long, I had some coffee with a delicious muesli rusk. I wondered whether Henk was coming for dinner. I would be happy with rusks and leftovers, but if he was coming I’d make a proper meal, maybe bake a sweet-potato cake.

I called Henk on his cell phone but got no answer, so I tried him at the police station.

‘Ladismith-polisiestasie,’ answered a woman in a lazy Sunday-evening voice.

‘Could you put me through to Detective Lieutenant Kannemeyer, please,’ I said in Afrikaans, in a Monday-morning voice.

‘He is not in today.’

‘Are you sure? He said—’

‘Ja, lady, I’m sure. It’s his day off.’

‘Oh.’

‘Can I take a message? He can call you back tomorrow.’

‘No. No thanks.’

I put down the phone and looked at my veldskoene. I suddenly felt hungry for cake.

The phone rang. It was Henk.

‘Maria. I saw a missed call from you.’

‘Ja.’ There was mud on the side of my veldskoene that the doormat had not caught. ‘Um. I was just thinking about making supper.’

‘I’m going to be late; I won’t be able to make it. Sorry.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’

‘Maria . . . Are you all right?’

I heard what sounded like a bleat. As if he had Kosie with him.

‘Where are you, Henk?’

‘I’m working late.’

‘I called your office.’

I heard a woman’s voice in the background. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, maybe because my mind had moved to the sweet-potato cake recipe. I would dig up those potatoes, and I always had flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla essence in my cupboard. I also had some cream cheese for the icing.

‘Sorry, I have to go,’ he said. ‘I’m in a meeting.’

The phone went dead, and I felt worried. Did I have walnuts? They were really important. I went and searched in my cupboard. I found the 150g packet of walnuts behind the baking powder. Phew. I now had all the ingredients that I needed for the sweet-potato cake.