Deciding that killer cleavage is a girl’s best friend, I keep my La Perla lace bra and panties on, reclaim my wineglass and the razor, and then step into the bath. Setting everything down on the side of the tub, I sink into the water. Air Supply is crooning “Without You” loudly from the hidden speakers. It’s the song I want playing when Vince finds me. I’ve set it to automatically replay, as I can’t be sure exactly what time he’ll arrive.

Things are getting woozy and I blink a few times to see better. The bath needs some blood for effect, but I really don’t want to have to cut myself too badly or bleed out too much, so I’ll only do that at the last minute. Even the sight of my own period used to make me queasy, before the onset of menopause.

I sink lower into the water just to ease the strain on my back and take a sip of wine, careful not to let the bathwater flood over the rim and into the glass. Diluting award-winning wine would be sacrilege. Sweat runs down my forehead and pools into my eyes. Still no sign of Vince, but he’ll come. Of course he’ll come.

What if he doesn’t come?

I bat away the thought and close my eyes for a second. The water rises up to just below my nose. It’s a pleasant sensation that tickles.

CHAPTER FOUR

Zodwa

21 November 1993

Sterkfontein, Transvaal, South Africa

An hour after Zodwa drinks the infusion, the cramps begin. They start like ripples on a pond. Soon they expand into swells that rock her from side to side. When the pain peaks, it spills over into whitecaps, frothing until Zodwa kneels on the dung floor clutching at her belly.

No. No. No.

Her bowels loosen and Zodwa groans as she grabs at the bucket the nyanga left next to her. The scent of sage is no longer comforting. It has become the smell of suffering and it offends Zodwa even more than the stench of her own waste.

Perhaps this is her punishment for trying to bend the Lord’s will to her own. She knows her mother would strongly disapprove of her being here trying to play God. When the cramps finally subside, Zodwa’s groans give way to whimpers. She lies curled up, shivering and spent, and watches as the nyanga rises from her place at the fire and limps over to her. She roughly spreads Zodwa’s thighs and then reaches down between them. Her fingers come away clean.

“No blood. The baby will not leave. It has fought this battle and won. May you be stronger to win the other struggle. Now leave, child. You have made this old woman tired.”