‘What a beautiful room,’ said a delighted Morag.
‘There is an information pack on the dressing table. Meals are in the doctors’ dining room, but the kitchen is always open if you require food out of hours. You, Mr Harvie can eat with Morag when you are here.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to unpack. Give me a ring if you have any questions. There’s bound to be a few in a new hospital, so far from home.’
‘You have made us feel so welcome. I am sure my placement will go well,’ said Morag, smiling.
‘Let me give you an Akan Twi proverb. Kakra, kakra Akawkaw benum nsu. It literally means; slowly, slowly the hen drinks water. You can just imagine that, can’t you? It means you are new with much to learn in our culture. So, do it bit by bit, just as the hen drinks water. Enjoy your afternoon.’
With that proverb still in our minds she left and we stood together silent for a moment.
‘Engaged? When did that happen?’ I asked. We laughed and then we cuddled. ‘It sounded good to me.’
‘Well maybe one day,’ she said.
I felt good to hear that. We sauntered over to the window and looked out into the Gulf of Guinea.
‘You are as pretty as ever, I could not have found a better girl. I really love you,’ I said.
There was a moment’s pause.
‘I love you too Robert. But we’ve got to get you out of this mess you are in. Whatever it is. So, start from the beginning again. Tell me after you were on holiday on Jura… start there once more.’
Chapter 20
Labadi Beach Club
When I returned that night to my embassy room, I lay down on the bed, mesmerised by the revolving wings of the ceiling fan above me.
Morag had learned of my route to Ghana, and finally, I had explained the murders I could still be charged with. It shocked her of course yet she saw I was not the instigator of death. Her condolences were so reassuring for me. My secrets were off my mind, the way was clear for me. How clear it was for Morag I was yet to discover.
The next morning, Vitaly joined me at breakfast. He pulled up a chair.
‘Is Morag well?’
‘Yes, she’ll be starting her first day by now.’
‘A pretty girl.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ I said taking a bite of buttered toast.
‘Known her long?’ he enquired.
I chewed a little more then held a cup of tea between both hands. ‘Yes, we met not long after we became students at Glasgow University.’
‘That’s a few years ago now, isn’t it?’
I smiled at him. ‘Guess so.’
‘If an engagement party was on the cards, we’d just love to host it here.’
‘Well I can’t guarantee anything—but it’s on my mind, I assure you.’
Vitaly rose from the table and slapped my back as he was leaving. ‘Come up to my room, I have something for you.’
My eyes followed him out of the dining room. What could he possibly have for me? I finished my tea and returned to my room to brush my teeth. The brush sped hurriedly over my teeth; up and down, up and down, and as I spat out into the basin, I wondered if he had found something to occupy my duration in Accra. A quick comb of the hair and beard and I was on my way to his door. I knocked and waited.
‘Come in Robert,’ he said in Russian, the language in which we spoke at the embassy on every occasion.
I saw on his table that he had a racquet, a squash racquet, laid across two files.
‘You play squash?’
‘I played a few games at university. Prefer badminton actually,’ I said relieved that there appeared to be no sinister intentions on his mind.
‘I don’t have a badminton racquet. But I do know a squash court.’
‘This is very kind of you. I think Morag could play too.’
He shook his head. ‘No, Robert, this is work. I want you to go every Wednesday night to the Labadi Beach Sports Club. It’s where the expat community gather on a Wednesday night. It has a pool and a tennis court too, but they seem short of squash players. It’s after the game that you earn your stay. That’s when they socialise over a couple of beers. You understand?’
‘Yes, so far,’ for I knew there was more on his mind.
‘You will take note of anything interesting they might say. Get their names, find out where they work, who their contacts are.’
‘Will I use my own name?’
‘No, I have cover for you. You are Ewan Shankland. You work as an accountant for the Ghanaian owned African Trading Company in Usshertown in Accra. Go along this afternoon and join the club. They are likely to ask which activities you are interested in. Say squash, and perhaps swimming. Then you will be invited to join. Tell them Wednesday nights suit you. Take it from there. Mind you no Russian. You are British of course, this time. Go over there on Tuesday to get your membership card and see the lie of the land. Any questions?’
‘No, I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘You are a Godsend Robert, I mean Ewan,’ he said, and I got up to leave with my racquet.
At 5 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon I arrived at the Labadi club. The staff was very obliging. I was met by cheerful smiles and in no time at all, I had a member’s card in my hand and had paid 10 cedis for my first three months. I asked if many played squash and to what standard.
‘Some are very good and some are just beginners,’ I was told. That was a good omen. I had a look around the clubhouse seeing names on the tennis championship board going back to the turn of the century. Only the years 1939-45 had no winners. There were several Macs and Jones and an array of other British names too. It was doubtful if any of them still frequented the club yet their presence seemed to linger in the old oak barstools.
‘Sir, can I get you a drink?’
‘Ah yes, a good idea. Have you a Tata beer?’
‘Sorry no Tata. We have Guilder or Club, sir.’
‘Then a pint of Guilder please.’
‘Where will you be sitting?’
I looked around. There was a table near the tennis court where a ladies’ foursome was underway.
‘Over there,’ I pointed.
I was more than halfway through my glass when their game finished. They left the court and simply had to pass by my table.
‘Well played, ladies,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ the tallest one said.
‘Are you a visitor?’ asked another.
‘No longer. I just joined,’ I said twisting my membership card between two fingers like a stage magician.
‘Then you can join us for tennis.’
‘Actually, squash is my preferred game. I gather we can play on Wednesday evenings.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Roger, my husband plays then. You’ll meet him tomorrow tonight.’
I smiled at her.’ And how will I recognise your handsome husband?’
All four ladies laughed like school children.
‘Roger is six feet five, need I say more?’
My eyebrows raised an inch. ‘Six foot five, then it looks like he’ll cover the court better than anyone. I’m sure to be the loser.’
‘I warn you they seem to spend more time drinking than playing squash,’ Roger’s wife guffawed.
‘It’s a challenging game,’ I found myself saying.
‘Yes. So you are visiting Accra, or do you work here?’ the red-haired tennis player asked.
‘I’ve only been in Accra for three weeks. I work at the African Trading Company at Usshertown. I am their accountant.’
‘Oh, I must get you to do my tax return,’ laughed the smallest tennis player. I’m sorry—I did not catch your name.’
‘Ewan Shankland.’