Cry of the Firebird Read online

  Born in Zimbabwe, T. M. CLARK completed her primary school years at boarding school in Bulawayo. She attended senior school in South Africa, where she lived in the boarding school hostel as her home.

  She began writing fiction in the UK while a stay-at-home mum to her two sons and she hasn’t looked back.

  Now living on a small island near Brisbane in Queensland, Australia, T. M. Clark combines her passion for storytelling with her love for Africa.

  Her first novel, My Brother-But-One, was shortlisted for the Queensland Literary Award 2014. She is also the author of novels Shooting Butterflies, Tears of the Cheetah and Nature of the Lion, as well as a novella, The Avoidable Orphan, and a children’s picture book, Slowly! Slowly!, a 2018 CBCA Notable Book, which are companion books to her novel Child of Africa.

  Readers can find T. M. Clark on Facebook (tmclarkauthor), Twitter (@tmclark_author) or visit her website at tmclark.com.au.

  Other T. M. Clark books published by Harlequin

  My Brother-But-One

  Shooting Butterflies

  Tears of the Cheetah

  Child of Africa

  Nature of the Lion

  Cry of the Firebird

  T.M. CLARK

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  As always, to Shaun, my love, my life.

  Amy Andrews, to flamingos and pink covers!

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Glossary

  Fact vs. Fiction

  Cultural-Sensitivity Note

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER

  1

  Kimberley, South Africa, 2017

  Quintin Winters pulled his violin, La Angelique, from her bed of purple velvet, along with Fred, his bow, and smiled fleetingly before tucking them under his arm. He walked outside onto the verandah, which looked out over their property, towards their neighbour’s game farm. Today there were at least fifty flamingos that had stopped to visit. A few more were silhouetted against the golden sky as they honked and joined those already gathered in the cool water. He and Lily had done extensive work on building a bigger dam soon after Minke, their rescued flamingo, had left them, in the hope that one day, flamingos might visit. If Minke was one of those there now, they would never know.

  Beyond the game fence, a herd of majestic eland grazed the small hill, while a group of impala ate against the fence line, their tails continually moving to keep the flies at bay. A troop of monkeys clambered up and over the fence, using the thick upright pole. Never ones to be imprisoned, they now ran towards the water’s edge and an evening drink, chattering madly between themselves, almost as loud as the flamingos.

  Buying Hacienda El Paradiso had been one of the best decisions Quintin and Lily had made together. The landscaping had been worth it. So had the extensive renovations to the house. Their room had been designed to capture just this sight: the flamingos on the dam.

  Quintin sat down next to Lily, who was dressed in a pink pyjama top, to watch the sunset. She loved the flamingos as much as he did, and everything they represented to both of them.

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead, breathing in her scent. He smelled strawberries. Bessie had obviously washed her hair while he’d been at Kamfers Dam. His own hair was still damp from the rushed shower he’d taken. Her braid was neat, with a pink-striped ribbon at the end keeping it in its place.

  He removed the elastic and loosened her silky locks, once so dark, now streaked heavily with grey. Lily only liked to braid her hair at work, otherwise she preferred to have it free. Like she was.

  ‘There you go, my wifie,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I’m a little late getting here tonight.’

  He rubbed his hands together, creating warmth. Then flexed his fingers against each other, ensuring that the stiffness from being broken all those years ago was massaged out, and they would perform once again as they were meant to. Lifting La Angelique, he tested a few notes with Fred patiently caressing the strings.

  She was still in tune.

  ‘There was so much to do at the dam today. The good news is that the breeding season is going well, despite this drought. The dam received a good shower and some decent run-off a few days ago, and now the green algae looks a bit like pea soup all over the place. There are about ten thousand adults still waiting with the nursery chicks. The creche has settled in on the north-western side of the pan. Piet and his trusty Platfontein helpers are making sure that when they roost there, they have no unexpected visitors, either four- or two-legged, to disturb them. There are already three or four chicks who have managed to become airborne, even if for only a moment. The rest are still wandering around, flapping their wings vigorously. They looked like they were attempting to walk on water. Won’t be long now and this lot will all be moving on, flying to other feeding pans. It’s been a hard slog, but it was so worth all the effort, Lily. The flamingos are safe, they have their warriors constantly watching over them. Only change now is that with money behind them, they can make a difference to the future of the species.’

  He began playing his concerto, the slow haunting start, and he watched Lily closely. Quintin let the music wash over them, cocooning them in a time capsule, and as the music rose and fell, he saw her hand twitch.

  He smiled and closed his eyes as he reached a particularly intricate run he’d written, allowing his mind to relax and enjoy the music. To enjoy the process of playing to his greatest fan and inspiration in his life. Fred knew the movements and instinctively followed Quintin’s heart, and La Angelique’s sweet sounds serenaded in the curtain of night. One by one the stars peeked out from the violet sky, and then hearing his music, they brightened.

  Quintin felt the soft touch of Lily’s hand on his thigh.

  He opened his eyes. She was looking at him. Their eyes locked. For a moment, she was free, and they were together.

  ‘I love you, Lily,’ he said. ‘From that first moment till eternity, you know I was yours alone. I’m not going anywhere. My heart has always been yours, and it always will be.’

  She closed her eyes. Slowly, her hand became heavy. He didn’t want it to move away, to break the contact.

  He continued to play her favourite piece, which he’d composed for her—Concerto for the Flamingo.

  CHAPTER

  2

  Brisbane, Australia, 2010

  ‘You took the job, didn’t you?’ Quintin said as soon as Lily put down the phone. It was more a statement than question, and his Austrian accent was strong with disapproval.

  Lily turned to look at her husband of twenty-seven years. Quintin had a
ged beautifully, like a sculpture, and he seemed to get better every year. His hair was flecked with silver and appeared more ash-blond than grey. Although it had thinned, lots of hair remained—hair that he still couldn’t control. At the moment, it was stuck up, making him look like he’d just got out of bed. Unable to resist, she reached over and threaded her fingers through the silky strands to smooth it all down. She looked into his blue eyes that were so dark, they were almost purple. They should look older given what they’d seen, but instead, they were vibrant and alive, as if adventure and living had sparked an eternal fire deep inside his soul. And his eyes were surrounded by laughter lines of years spent exploring and enjoying life. Fifty-eight wasn’t old at all, they were in their prime years and getting better all the time.

  She placed her hand on his arm and nodded slowly.

  He pulled away, causing her hand to drop back to her side. ‘Even though you know how I feel about South Africa? You still said yes?’

  ‘I did,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘And you know why? Ian Hawthorne.’

  ‘That shithead.’ Quintin’s volume was rising. ‘What about him? No, don’t tell me. You’re working with him again? I swear, Lily, if Ian—’

  ‘He’s dead,’ she said quickly.

  Quintin stopped with his hands midway to imitating a strangling position. ‘I can’t say I feel anything for that cockroach dying. Hell’s a good place for a man like that.’

  Lily shook her head. ‘There’s a little more to it. He was there and things went wrong. Now World Health don’t trust his research. They’re questioning it. The cherry on top is that they said that he discovered clusters of meningitis but did nothing. Just put it in a report as if it was an everyday occurrence and continued to focus on HIV in the township population. He totally ignored the fact that he was sitting on the data of a killer disease.’

  ‘That’s on Ian—’

  ‘That’s just it, Quintin. With Ian dead, it’s my problem. I know he could be callous and abrasive, and rub people up the wrong way, but now World Health want me to verify the state of things. Imagine that? Sound familiar?’ She paused. ‘I want to know why he’d do that. Ignore something that was so obviously a looming disaster.’

  ‘Lily, it’s South Africa. You shouldn’t have taken the job. Not without us discussing it more first.’ He shook his head.

  She opened her mouth and then closed it. Sometimes silence was a more effective tool than arguing. Instead, she turned and looked out at their view of the ocean and across the bay to Moreton Island. The weather was abysmal, the wind churning the ocean as white peaks leaped across the normally calmer waters.

  ‘How did he die?’ Quintin asked.

  Turning back to him, Lily said, ‘Hijacking. They stole his Land Cruiser.’

  ‘Bloody hell, just one of the reasons we always avoid spending time in the cities in South Africa. It’s like the Wild West there. They don’t rank Johannesburg as one of the murder capitals of the world for nothing.’

  ‘He wasn’t in Johannesburg, he was outside Kimberley.’

  ‘Another city, same crimes. Call them back and tell them you made a mistake, Lily. It’s too dangerous,’ he said, taking both her hands in his.

  She shook her head. ‘No, Quintin, I need to do this. It’s my chance to disprove him. To make people understand that what happened in Sudan could’ve been avoided, that they listened to a pig of a man instead of us. Make them acknowledge that they were wrong. That we were right.’

  ‘I don’t care about that, it’s history,’ Quintin said.

  ‘I care,’ she said. ‘He messed up royally at Zam Zam, and now this. That man should’ve had his medical licence pulled years ago. He should never have been employed again in any position of authority.’

  ‘You have nothing to prove, Lily. You’re an amazing doctor. Do you remember why we stopped going into Africa? Do you remember why we stopped working with NGOs?’

  ‘Of course I remember, but this is World Health—not just some NGO.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s Elvis himself back from the dead, it’s too dangerous. Last time Africa nearly killed you, and I’m still picking up the pieces.’

  ‘But it didn’t. I’m still here. Now Ian’s dead, and I can go and—’

  ‘What? Clean up another of his messes? Get another kick in the teeth for it? I don’t want to watch that again. Don’t ask me to see you go through that repeatedly.’ He was shaking his head. ‘Lily, you don’t have to put us in this situation, just tell them no. You don’t have to work. God knows I earn enough for both of us.’ He let go of her hands and ran his own through his hair.

  ‘You think I don’t know that? It’s not the money, my golden rock star. This is about me. About my reputation. After the Sudan fiasco that I warned them about, this is my chance finally to get World Health to acknowledge that they were wrong.’

  ‘They just admitted that when they came crawling back to you and asked for your assistance on this! The admission is there, end of story. No need to go back to Africa and get involved again.’

  Lily felt the familiar tears well in her eyes and was damned if she was going to brush them aside. The anger over her treatment a few years back still burned a hole in her stomach when she gave it time to linger. She looked him directly in the eyes. ‘I want justice, Quintin. I want them to take what I have to say in my report about Ian and his findings and admit to me, in writing, that I was right. They owe me an apology, a big one.’

  He blew out a breath. ‘Think about this for a moment before you answer. Is it seriously worth risking your life over? Our lives? Because as much as I hate the thought of you doing this work in a township in South Africa, I hate the idea of you being out there alone without me even more. It’s both of us or nothing. That’s the way it’s always been, and this time wouldn’t be any different. But know I’ll fight you on safety the whole way.’

  Lily waited for her moment, choosing her words carefully. ‘Six years ago, I felt like my heart had been ripped out, after Zam Zam. This is my chance to prove to myself that I’m not broken. That I’m tough enough. That I can face Africa again. It didn’t destroy me. I’m ready to face the beast again. I love Africa, I was born there, and it’s unreasonable that I should be scared to return. I know that you can make your music anywhere, and that deep down you too have a love of Africa. I want this chance to find that stronger me again. To prove to me that while I always knew I was right, I should’ve stood up and been stronger, more assertive, and perhaps then, Zam Zam might have ended differently for us.’

  ‘Oh, Lily.’ He took hold of her shoulders and drew her into his embrace. ‘You are strong enough. How can you, after all these years, not know how amazing you really are? But if this is what it takes—then we go back to South Africa. No matter how unhappy I am with the situation there. We go together and find whatever it is that you’re searching for. You should know that I would follow you to the ends of the earth if I needed to. I won’t let you step into that world alone.’

  CHAPTER

  3

  South Africa, 2010

  Lily’s heart raced, dreading the changes she knew she would see in the land of her birth. She gazed out the window as the plane prepared to land at O.R. Tambo Airport in the sea of sprawling buildings below, and the tall skyscrapers that marked the financial centre of Johannesburg. The flush of green trees lined straight streets and a serenity that she knew hid a city that never slept. Where a workforce constantly moved, between the shanties of the townships to the glass monstrosities of the modern buildings, and then later in the day would vacate the working areas and inhibit the smoke and haze of their settlements once again.

  No matter where she lived in the world, she still thought of Johannesburg as her city. She’d known it when she was growing up, even when she left to go to university in Durban. And she accepted it, even though she now lived primarily in Australia. This ancient land would always be a part of her. From the goldmine dump sites to the exclusive suburbs, Johannesb
urg always felt like home. Only this time, she was thankful that she was arriving a week after the end of the FIFA World Cup, which had the entire population blowing cheap imitation vuvuzelas that sounded horrendous.

  ‘You okay, wifie?’ Quintin asked, half smiling as he lifted her hand and kissed it.

  She grinned at the old Afrikaans endearment that she’d told him years ago she hated but loved hearing him say in his Austrian accent. ‘Just looking at how much it’s grown again.’

  ‘You ready? Not too late to charter the next plane and go back to Australia. We have a perfectly good house and recording studio waiting, and you can go work in a private clinic somewhere, see patients, be normal …’

  ‘Not a chance. We’re here now, so close.’

  Turning her face back to the window and resting her forehead against the pane, she strained her eyes to see if there was anything recognisable yet.

  ‘Cabin crew, prepare for landing.’ The captain’s voice came over the speaker system. Lily felt the wheels as they uncoiled from the belly of the plane, and her gut clenched.

  Six months in South Africa. When she’d signed the contract papers, it had seemed like a long period of time, but now looking at this city passing below, she knew that it wouldn’t be enough.

  No matter how many months they spent in Africa, it would never be sufficient to quench her love of the place. Despite her reservations about herself, and her capabilities, she didn’t blame Africa for the scars she’d received at Zam Zam. The gross mismanagement of the NGO and the complicity of Ian in the situation—it was his pig-headed view that because they were foreign, they would be safe, that had led him to completely misread the situation.

  And she was about to get the chance to prove it now. Although she knew that she couldn’t make a decent dent in the community health in Kimberley in just six short months, even if she was double-checking someone else’s research.

  Dr Ian Hawthorne. An unpleasant man she’d worked with before. According to Marion, her boss at the World Health Organization, the police had just considered his death an ill-fated case of hijacking.