Aminata of Casamance

AMINATA OF CASAMANCE                                             Chapter One                                             End of June     Aminata had had no trouble slipping away without her chauffeur. She had driven her glossy black limousine. She had sent the chauffeur on an errand in the jeep which would take most of the night. He had to go to Casamance to fetch what she'd ordered. Now she heard the whine of the sleek executive jet before it broke through the light cloud cover and glided to a perfect landing not a hundred feet from her. The man she was waiting for exited almost before the airplane had come to a complete stop.     From the first time he'd seen her in Paris, she was the only woman he wanted. She could be as soft as a cuddly kitten, as exotic as the wildflowers of her native Senegal, or as hard as the sun-baked bricks of a native hut. He had waited for her in more places than he cared to name and now she was the one doing the waiting.     She was exiting her limo, her tall panther-like body gliding toward him in the dimmed lights of the car and the jet. In spite of his resolve to be in complete control, he ran to her. Closing his eyes, he hugged her so tight she cried out. He released her. She was the first to speak, anticipating his question of why she was driving her limo.     Before he could ask, she volunteered. "I sent the chauffeur to Casamance on an errand." Then, "How soon do you have to leave?" She asked softly, rearranging her long wrap around skirt.     "I'm expected in Brussels in the morning. So, I would like to leave in an hour, if that's all right with you. I'm flying alone." "You are that isolated?" He nodded, glad she couldn't see his face. She invited him to join her inside the car. One didn't stand around on concrete still warm from the hot sun in Senegal. Cold-blooded, poisonous snakes liked to soak up the warmth on it at night. Inside the car, he handed her a folded check in the amount she had mentioned earlier on the telephone. She shook her head slowly now. "I am sorry. I have changed my mind. I can't take it. It's no longer the most important reason I telephoned you. "But I want to help you," he said gently. "After thinking about it, I can't." She didn't meet his eyes. "I wish you would accept it. .." He sighed wearily and placed the check on the seat between them. In the distance the jet waited, minding him of a giant panther, it's landing lights like animal eyes. Later, he re-entered the jet alone, revved the high-pitched engine, turned it around and swept the magnificent black airplane into the ebony sky. She sat in the limo on the tarmac staring at the black hole where the jet had disappeared. All she could think of was him. All she had really wanted was him. The check was completely forgotten, as Aminata of Casamance, West Africa, turned on the ignition, and guided the sleek limo back to Dakar.                                 AMINATA OF CASAMANCE                                     Chapter Two                                   Montreal, Quebec, Canada End of June                                                                           Bruno van Lanctot couldn't sit still. His antique beast pocket watch showed only five minutes later than the last time he had snapped it open. He nervously thrust it back into his velvet red wine-colored vest pocket. Only a few more hours. He sat on the edge of the delicate antique Queen Anne chair,, one knee crossed over the other, swinging an elegantly clad leg back and forth. What was wrong with him? He, who was never nervous. Everyone of his acquaintances knew him to be the proverbial cucumber cool and in control of himself and his environment, at all times.     Stocky and tall, van Lanctot reminded one of an oil tanker. It was difficult to detect that he was of mixed race. His skin was pale, the bald top of his round head was ringed with straight black hair. His eyes were a cold color: one ice blue, one hard brown. Nevertheless, they could not distract from his ever-so-slightly too long nose, wide nostrils and jet black eye brows that almost met above the bridge of his nose. He had the carriage of a man who owned diamond mines, diamond processing plants, diamond stores and millions of dollars.     Bruno van Lanctot was the product of a Congolese mother whose family controlled most of the diamond industry in the former Zaire and a Belgian-French father back in the days when the foreigners who begot children with the locals, "adopted" their offspring and educated them in Europe. He had escaped France to return first to the Congo then to Belgium following World War Two. He had needed to find a place to hide out following the war and France wasn't safe. Van Lanctot wasn't unhappy to leave France. He was an adventurer at heart. Besides , black Africa was awakening politically what with their sons returning who had helped their colonial masters win the war. Africa and Belgium offered golden opportunities for anyone with foresight, a taste for adventure and for those who had something to hide from. And, yes, for anyone who was willing to spend the money their family had hoarded during the was for diamonds. Before long Bruno van Lanctot was a name to be reckoned with in the diamond industry between Belgium and the Congo. In short order he was financing industries to rebuild the devastated railway system of Belgium, the waterways, the cities. His hand could be seen in most of the post-war rebuilding and he was enjoying himself because the more money he made the more he wanted. By the time Sekou Toure had told the French to get out of Guinea and Dr. Kwame Nkrumah had become Ghana's first president, Bruno had opened bfanches in most countries of the world. He had found that women the world over believed in the saying "diamonds str s girl's best friend" and that they found the men to pay for them.