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And wondered who it had been. Who had thought it worthwhile to curse him that night with the knowledge that would end everything he had ever treasured. It had to be the same person that sent him the photographs.
    Kyle looked towards the corner of the large and spacious lounge. Lying there was a manila envelope that bore only his name and surname. Delivered at the agency. By an unknown person. Inside were several black and white glossy photographs. Taken with a long distance lens. It showed the window of a house? A hotel? And beyond, a half naked Angelique in the passionate embrace of James fucking Burton. It had been delivered a few days before the divorce papers had arrived.
    In an attempt at self-hate, Kyle had often imagined the two lovers together. But nothing in his imagination could possibly sting like the photographs.
    Who would do something like that? And why? Had he not suffered enough? As if it wasn’t enough that his life was falling apart, somebody had to amuse themselves by screwing with him.
    And he knew who it was. He knew exactly who it was. It had the unmistakeable touch of Charles Baker. It was subtle. But obvious. Baker had finally avenged himself. Kyle had humiliated him publicly all those years ago. And now Baker had his revenge. And there wasn’t a single thing Kyle could do about it. He didn’t know who he hated most; Charles Baker or James Burton. Fuckit!
    Kyle looked up at the ceiling and let out a long and piercing howl of utter agony. And then he cried.
    Outside, the leafy and tree-decked street was empty. Almost.
    Within the darkness afforded by the many trees that lined the street, a man was standing motionless.
    Alone. Watching.
     
     

Seven
     
    Hope came into being at the exact halfway point of the nineteenth century. Although it gained relative historical importance during the second Anglo-Boer War of 1899-1902, it quickly congealed into the essential economic drudgery of small town South Africa and never achieved any kind of prominence again.
    Until the advent of Daddy Long Legs.
    The little town of Hope, and the province of the Northern Cape in general, is characterised by the cultural crucible of two very distinct peoples: the Afrikaners from essentially Protestant European descent; and the ethnic group collectively known as the Coloureds.
    The Coloured people developed a very rich and distinct culture over time and adopted the language of their European fathers, which eventually became the language of Afrikaans, spoken throughout South Africa.
    A consideration of the nature and history of this group is important in that Hope is shaped and influenced by the Coloured people. Specifically the people that chose to call themselves the Griqua.
    Johannes Boonzaayer was a glorious son of the Griqua people. As a gifted child, he had been inspired by the notable figure of Sol Plaatjie, himself a Griqua and one of the founders of the African National Congress. Johannes Boonzaayer worked assiduously throughout his school career and as a young man dedicated himself to completing a medical degree at the Fort Hare University (which Plaatjie himself had attended). This was in sharp contrast to most of his male Griqua contemporaries who instead dedicated themselves to the assiduous consumption of alcohol. Upon completion of his degree, Boonzaayer decided to move back to Hope, the town of his youth, to dedicate himself to the health and upliftment of the people of Steynbrug township. He married a like-minded woman in the person of Katrina Olifant and soon after she fell pregnant with what would become their only child. This was due to a particularly difficult labour which even the skills of Doctor Boonzaayer could not assuage. As a result of injuries sustained during this mammoth episode, Katrina was unfortunately left sterile. It didn’t matter however, for the son borne of this hurt became the pride and joy of the young couple.
    It wasn’t long before the intelligence and scholarly aptitudes of the