Night Of Knives

Chapter 23

Of course Danton is staying in the Sheraton. Kampala arguably has one or two finer hotels, but none more central, and Danton must always be at the center of things. The staff at the Sheraton recognize Veronica, she comes here for lunch at least weekly. She doesn't need to ask what room he's in. The presidential suite, the penthouse. Nothing less would be acceptable to her ex-husband.

The elevator opens onto a narrow hallway covered by leopard-patterned carpet, overseen by framed explorers' maps and sketches of nineteenth-century Africa, and by a pair of mounted elephant tusks. Two security guards stand on duty. Four mahogany doors lead out from the hallway. Veronica steps out, not allowing herself any hesitation, and demands, "Which door for Mr. DeWitt?"

The guards look at her a moment. Her face is almost healed from her Congo ordeal, the scabs have flaked off, the bruises are fading back into healthy flesh, and she is a well-dressed white woman. They aren't about to challenge her.

"This way, madam," one says, and opens the door for her. She enters the suite's antechamber, basically another hallway with a closet. Veronica closes the door behind her and opens the one ahead without knocking. Her hand is trembling slightly. Danton is sitting and reading the International Herald Tribune by a huge window with a magnificent southern view that extends all the way to the blue expanse of Lake Victoria. He is of average height but thick and wide, built like a pit bull, he lifts weights religiously. His pot belly has grown since she last saw him, his hair has thinned, and his face is grizzled and stubbly. He wears khaki slacks and a vest of many pockets as if he is about to go on safari, it makes him look ridiculously colonial, all he needs is a pith helmet. She recognizes his Ecco shoes.

"Jesus," he says, amazed, he nearly drops the newspaper.

"No. Just me."

Veronica doesn't know what else to say. She tries to resurrect the rage she felt last night, but all she feels is horribly out of place, awkward, embarrassed. She shouldn't have come. This was a terrible mistake. He still has all the power.

It only takes Danton a moment to readjust. "I heard what happened, of course. I'm glad you're okay. But Veronica, if there's something you want to see me about, you should call ahead. You should call Julia. I'm on a very busy schedule, I really don't have time to chat."

His mention of Julia reawakens Veronica's rage. Julia is one of Danton's personal assistants. It was Julia who informed Veronica that Danton had decided to divorce her. He couldn't even be bothered to tell her himself.

"I'm sure you're very busy," Veronica says. Her voice sounds shrill even to herself. "Is there trouble with Selous Holdings? Out at the Kisembe mine? Is Athanase giving you some kind of problem?"

Danton's expression doesn't waver, and it is that which convinces her she's right. If he actually didn't know what she was talking about he would have reacted somehow. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Did you know I was in that group, in Bwindi? Did you know and go ahead and say it was okay anyways?"

He blinks with surprise at the accusation, and she realizes no, he hadn't known. But that doesn't mean he wasn't responsible. It's like Prester said. He didn't know because he didn't want to.

"Veronica, I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't think you do either. It's time for you to go. You should go home. You've been through a traumatic experience and I think your mental health has suffered -"

"You're fucking right I have. Being married to you."

"Veronica, please. Don't make me call security. Don't make me humiliate you like that."

"Oh, come off it. You can't wait to humiliate me. You never could. Seven years and you throw me out like a, like a used condom."

"I'm not going to waste my time justifying myself to you. You know what I think?" Danton sounds angry now. "I think you knew all along you were infertile. You knew and married me anyways."