following morning when she walked into Baikopanyi, Criselda was surprised to hear from Tseli the receptionist that there was a visitor waiting for her upstairs and that he seemed very impatient.
When she walked into the office, Criselda immediately knew who the visitor was – that familiar scent caught her nose even before she saw him standing by the bookshelf behind her door, paging through her book called Unsolved Mysterious Crimes, compiled by retired FBI agent James Du ... something. She couldn’t remember.
“Good morning, Mr Dlangamandla, what brings you here so early?” she asked with a frown, automatically preparing herself for his rude tone.
“Justice, I said you can call me Justice.”
Criselda’s only reply was a raised eyebrow.
For a moment he looked taken aback, then he continued, “What brings me here is the fact that you didn’t send me the e-mail on your findings first thing in the morning as you’d promised.”
“But I just walked in now, as you can see,” she countered.
“So your boss allows tardiness along with incompetence. No wonder you’re in this pickle,” he spewed back.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but my boss does not allow anything of the kind. I’m allowed to come in at nine-thirty this week so that I can get my kids to school,” Criselda snapped.
He quietly walked to her desk, sat down without being invited and continued to page through the book as though their conversation had never taken place.
Criselda took out her flash drive and opened her laptop to save the document. She would have to go to Tseli’s printer at reception; everything was muddled up on her floor because of the ongoing crisis.
She soon walked out to go and print the document – without saying a word to him, because she was cross and shocked at the same time about his impolite comments on her professionalism.
When she returned Justice was still deeply absorbed in her book and hardly took notice when she slammed the document down on the desk beside him and proceeded to sit down on her chair. He eventually looked up, caught an annoyed stare from her, then quickly closed the book and put it on the desk.
“Can I call you Criselda, since we’re going to be working so closely together in the coming days?” he asked with a gorgeous smile.
“Oh, are we? I thought Adam said I would only be consulted from time to time while you investigate the matter,” she answered sarcastically.
“Well, since I’m the one who’s going to be running the show, I say we should consult closely. Or do you have a problem with that?”
Criselda crossed her arms. “No, I don’t have a problem with that, Justice. And yes, you may call me Criselda.”
“Okay, then I’ll look over these and get back to you soon. Also, can I borrow your book? The chapter on the white Mississippi murders is quite enthralling. I promise to bring it back soonest.”
Soonest? Criselda thought to herself. Now that was one word she would never expect him to use. “Of course, take your time. I’ll wait to hear from you, then.”
With that he rose from his chair, took the file and the book and lankily walked out with a satisfied look.
4
It was around four o’clock the following afternoon when the sudden loud ring of her office phone startled Criselda.
She was deeply occupied, working on her computer and trying to break down every component that linked the S 5.2. She was bent on figuring out the weakest and strongest formulas that operated the system.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Mr Dlangamandla on the line,” said Tseli in her usual morbid tone.
“Put him through.” Criselda braced herself. “Hi, Justice, any progress?”
“Well, I’ve made headway in other avenues, but I need your help in shedding some light on a few matters. Shall we meet for dinner?”
She was amused and surprised at the same time, but decided to play it down. “I would assume you’d want to discuss this in the office, not at a restaurant.”
Sounding slightly irritated, he replied, “The place I have in mind is very quiet. So we should be able to tackle the issues at hand.”
“Okay,” she said, although she really found this a bit inappropriate. “When and where?”
“Pitseng, it’s by the Sugar House Creations building on the corner of De Villiers and Main. I’m sure you know it. Let’s say seven-thirty. You’ll find me waiting,” he said as if to make sure that she would show up.
As the click of the phone brought Criselda back to her world, something suddenly dawned on her. The kids. What was she going to do? Florina wasn’t back yet.
She wondered for a moment whether she could ask Suthukazi, but felt two days in a row was pushing it, even though they were friends.
Just then, right on cue, her friend walked in, took one look her and said, “What has rained on your parade now, besides the Hampshire saga?”
“Eish, Justice just called and he wants us to meet for dinner tonight ... To discuss the Hampshire hacking, of course.” Criselda almost bit her tongue trying to reassure Suthukazi.
“Justice? Since when are we on first-name terms? What happened to ‘that rude guy’?” Suthukazi smiled wickedly.
“We have to get acquainted, seeing that we’re going to be working together on this investigation. It’ll be a business dinner, but I can’t go.”
“Come on, Criss, I can smell your excitement a mile away. You want to go. What’s the problem?”
“The kids. I agreed to meet him, but I forgot that Florina wasn’t back yet.”
“Is that the only reason? You know I’m more than willing if I can, and tonight I can, so go spruce yourself up and have some fun. You deserve it, especially after Sifiso and his shenanigans.”
“It’s only a business dinner, Kazi. Besides, I really don’t trust men. They’re no-good and selfish – and did I mention cold-blooded?”
“Who knows, maybe you’ll swallow those words by the morning. Let’s get out of here and go pick up those adorable twins.”
Despite a feeling of dread, Criselda smiled.
* * *
As she slowly entered Pitseng restaurant and looked around for Justice, Criselda was met by the delicious spicy aromas of traditional South African cuisine. She could almost taste the food as her mouth started to water.
The décor was relaxing, the patterned orange lights were dimmed and went well with the paraffin lights on each table. The walls were adorned with orange silk cloths, and these were also draped across the ceiling from one corner of the room to the other. African jazz was coming out smoothly from the speakers,
