23
Table Mountain was draped in a cloth of white mist, the folds of which hung gracefully down the sides of the imposing altar to nature’s majesty.
Alex barely spared the mountain a look as he followed the instructions in the rental car’s GPS to the Radisson Waterfront Hotel where Jane was staying. It was three in the afternoon on the day after they had left the Pride of Africa at Cape Town’s railway terminus.
They had fought off the urge to spend every minute with each other and retreated to their separate ends of the luxury train for the rest of the journey, except for a blissful three hours when the locomotive pulled up five kilometres short of the historic nineteenth century town of Matjiesfontein. While most of the passengers, including George, took advantage of a chance to stretch
