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To say the boy was exquisite would have been the understatement of the century, perhaps even the millennium. Cheekbones carved from granite. Eyes the colour of cobalt. Full lips.
The only bracket-face to be found on Oak Avenue at that particular moment was Lightfoot, as he gawked at Harley who he hadn’t notice lean in and light the tip of his cigarette.
The young man’s apathetic gratitude came with a sniff and a cloud of smoke. His eyes were glazed. “Much appreciated.”
Lightfoot parted his lips but couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind was wiped clean. He had forgotten why he stood looking down at Harley in the middle of Oak Avenue. He smiled, finally able to conjure up something to say to create a conversation. It was only right before the words broke loose from his mouth like expensive marbles spilling from a muslin bag that he remembered he was pretending to be Dutch. “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it? Almost perfect for exploring new areas of the Cape.”
Harley lifted a lazy eyebrow. From the dazed expression on his face Lightfoot could tell he was one thousand continents away. “Why only almost?”
Lightfoot rolled his shoulders and dug deeper. “Because I’ve no other choice than to do it alone.” He returned the box of matches to his pocket and opened the handbook to the page with Harley’s illustration of Oak Avenue. Now I’ll grab his attention. “I’ve been using this handbook as a guide, so today I decided to visit the Company’s Garden. Although, now that I’m here, I can’t help feeling a tad disappointed that I came.”
It worked like a charm. At once, the daze drew from Harley’s eyes as he narrowed them in Lightfoot’s direction. “And why’s that, Mister…?”
“Mister van Dijk. Asher van Dijk.” Lightfoot curled his lips while forcing himself to ignore Harley’s. “The illustration of Oak Avenue in this handbook puts reality to shame.”
The heir raised an eyebrow. “Well, in that case, I suggest lodging a complaint with Mister John Noble immediately.”
“Who is that?”
Harley inhaled more of the cigarette. Lightfoot recognised the brand. “He’s the gentleman whose beloved handbook you are holding in your hands.”
Lightfoot shrugged. “I should thank him, rather. This handbook has been a most excellent guide.” He composed himself, the words he spoke were completely impromptu but very much reflective of how a banking officer named Asher van Dijk would articulate himself. “I’ve only been here a month and I already consider myself a local.”
“Well, I hope the rest of the Colony has met your expectations, unlike Oak Avenue.”
Lightfoot nodded and ran a hand over his dyed hair that he’d chosen to comb back for the character rather than go with his usual side-part. “So far, so good.” He eyed the statue of Jan van Riebeeck behind the trees. The bird droppings made the explorer look diseased. “I only wish this location matched the beauty of the illustration, is all. Whoever drew this masterpiece in the book possesses an incredible talent.”
“Thank you,” came the bored answer from the bench.
Lightfoot’s smile widened. This is the part I’ve been waiting for! He had practised the upcoming reaction in the mirror for a solid two hours before he considered it sharpened and authentic. His mouth changed from a grin into a giant O. His eyes giant saucers. He dropped his cane to punctuate his trained shock. “What do you… My word, are you… Are you the illustrator? I… Why, I’m so a-ashamed!” He stuttered. “I apologise for my previous comments. They were frightful. I meant nothing by them, I simply…” Lightfoot allowed his sentence to slip into the ether. He hoped he wasn’t overdoing it. What he intended for this performance was to gain a sympathetic reaction from Harley. If anything, Lightfoot hoped it would provoke even the slightest of smiles from the young heir, which, thankfully, it did.
“No need to apologise,” Harley said, flicking the remainder of his cigarette across the path of the avenue. It ricocheted off an oak and came to rest on the grass. “It was my first commission. Perhaps I went a little overboard with the illustration.”
“I don’t think so,” Lightfoot said, and genuinely meant it. The drawing was the only illustration worth remembering from the entire handbook. “You’re very talented for such a young man.”
“Young man?” Harley cocked his head and grinned. “You couldn’t possibly be much older than me.”
“I’m twenty-three. Yourself?”
“Eighteen.”
Lightfoot offered a wink. “So, you really are young then.”
Harley’s smile dropped. He wasn’t amused. “Don’t be patronizing, Mister van Dijk.” Abruptly, he stood up and pushed passed Lightfoot. “I may not know you very well, but I can tell it doesn’t suit you. Much like that satin puff tie you’re wearing.”
Lightfoot frowned. Mesmerising or not, Harley deserved to feast on knuckles. He swallowed down his annoyance and asked, “Where are you headed?”
With his back to Lightfoot, Harley answered. “Home, probably. Though the thought of walking in this heat makes my stomach roil.”
“Allow me to hunt down a cabbie for you then, to make up for my remarks.” Grovelling didn’t suit Lightfoot, and he deliberated if the young man could pick up on his act. “Please?”
Harley shook his head. “Thank you, but no,” he called. He was walking further and further away. Each step pulled the Star of South Africa from Lightfoot’s grasp. “The air is necessary to clear my head and sort through my thoughts.”
“Then I shall accompany you on your walk,” Lightfoot implored, catching up to Harley.
“That’s all right. Why not immerse yourself further? The South African Museum isn’t too far from here. You will enjoy it, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps you could join me in visiting it?” Dear Lord, the desperation in Lightfoot’s voice made him ill.
