by Rhys Bowen
“Really, Ross, is this dinner table talk,” Angel said. “Lady Georgiana is used to civilized company.”
“Lady Georgiana grew up on a big estate. I’m sure she’s seen animals mating before now.”
“That may be, but she doesn’t want to talk about it at a dinner table.”
“And what would you talk about? The latest fashion?”
“As if there would be any point here where nobody would notice if I wore Molyneux or Woolworth.”
There was an awkward pause.
“The young couple has been invited to Idina’s tomorrow night,” Diddy said.
“That will be more of an eye-opener than the bull,” Bwana said with a great guffaw of a laugh.
“Shall you be going?” Diddy went on.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Don’t think I’ll bring my offspring, though.” He turned to Darcy. “So do you have a safari lined up yet?”
“We’ve only just arrived,” Darcy said. “And we are on our honeymoon. We’d like some time just to ourselves and to explore.”
“Safari is perfect for that. In a tent in the middle of nowhere. What could be more romantic? And then bagging your first elephant together? You must take them, Cyril. And you can take my two along as well.”
“Safaris are expensive, Bwana,” Cyril said. “Are you planning to hire my services?”
“If you damned well insist,” Bwana said. “Not that you’re much of a great white hunter. With you around all they’ll bag is a wildebeest and only because wildebeests are so stupid that they walk right up to you and don’t run when you fire a shot at them.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a damned good hunter,” Cyril said. “One of these days I’ll take you on, see who can shoot the most animals.”
“I might just take you up on that. Down in the Serengeti.” He nodded happily and motioned the waiting servant to fill his plate with another helping and Joseph to refill the wineglasses.
We ate and drank very well that night, then we went back to the room with the fireplace and brandies were served with the coffee. With the warmth of that fire I felt overwhelmingly tired and fuzzy headed. I remembered Diddy’s warning about the altitude and going light on the alcohol. We certainly hadn’t been doing that this evening. I decided I should go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face before I passed out or fell asleep. I rose from my chair and whispered my request to Angel.
“Use the one in my bedroom, honey,” she said. “That’s the closest. Second door on the right.”
I followed her directions. The bedroom was not exactly tidy, with various outfits thrown over the backs of chairs. Clearly a lady’s maid was not a requirement up here. Queenie could get herself a job and be appreciated, I thought with a smile. I went through to a bathroom with a large claw-footed tub and splashed water on my face.
When I emerged I was startled to see Lord Cheriton standing outside the bathroom door.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Were you waiting to go in?”
“No, I was waiting for you, you sweet creature,” he said. “I haven’t had a chance to be alone with you all evening.”
“That’s because you’re the host and I’m with my husband,” I said, trying to sidle past him. He was looking at me rather, I imagine, as a lion would be examining a zebra. I glanced uneasily at the door and tried to move past him.
“But you still owe me for saving your life this morning.” He blocked off my exit, backing me into a corner. “I always expect debts to be repaid.” And he forced his big body against me, half crushing me while his hands took both sides of my face as he attempted to kiss me.
“Oh, come on,” he said as I turned my face away and we bumped noses. “Don’t play the little innocent with me. You’re in Kenya now. You have to learn to play the games our way. A quickie on the bed here and we’ll be back before we’re missed.”
His hands were now definitely wandering as he kept me pinned in place. I had had enough of being polite. Anger overtook any thought that he was my host and I was a guest in his house and it might not be the done thing to bring my knee up where it would hurt most.
I pushed him away with all my strength. “Shame on you,” I said. “You have a wife in the next room and two children to whom you’re supposed to be setting an example.”
He was laughing at my efforts. “That namby-pamby pair? I can’t believe they are my spawn. And let me tell you that Angel’s not much fun between the sheets either. I meant what I said about new blood, young blood.”
“And what makes you think that I’m attracted to you?” I demanded. “I’ve just married a handsome, young and virile man. Do you think I’d want someone who is old, fat and boorish like you?”
It was lucky I was wearing pajamas and not a long tight-skirted evening dress, which would have restricted my movement. He might be pinning my body but my knee was still free enough to come up sharply and make contact right where it would hurt. He gave a surprisingly high-pitched yowl and doubled over. I pushed past him. As I stalked out of the room I bumped into Rowena, hovering in the hallway outside.
“Still up to your old tricks, spying on other people, Rowena?” I said. “Most of us have outgrown our schoolgirl ways.”
I stalked down the hall to rejoin the group, my heart thumping in my chest.
“Darcy, do you mind if we go home now?” I said. “I have an awful headache. I’m afraid the altitude is getting to me.”
Darcy gave me a look that understood immediately there was more to this than a headache. Angel and Diddy were kind and solicitous. Angel offered to fetch me aspirin but Darcy said, “I think the best thing for her is to sleep, Angel.”
“Of course it is,” Diddy agreed. “I’ll take her home. We’ll have plenty more occasions to meet while they are staying with me. You must come over to lunch when Bwana is showing the twins the estate. We’ll have a good chin-wag, just us girls.”
As soon as we were alone in our bedroom I told Darcy what had happened. His face flushed with anger.
“The bastard,” he said. “We were told he had that sort of reputation. I’m sorry. I should have noticed that he left the room after you did. Don’t worry, I’ll shadow you every second from now on. And if he tries anything again, I’ll kill the bastard.”
When I told him my response he burst out laughing. “That’s my girl! Good for you, Georgie.” He pulled me down to the bed beside him. “I can see I’ll have to be careful in making my advances in future. You are clearly a formidable foe.”
“You don’t ever have to worry,” I said. “Your advances will always be welcome!”
Chapter 14
SUNDAY, AUGUST 11
AT THE POLO FIELD. YIKES.
I am absolutely dreading this. I know I’ll make a fool of myself. Why can’t I learn to be more assertive and just smile sweetly and say thank you, but I prefer not to play. And yet Diddy is our hostess and she is so jolly insistent.
At ten o’clock on Sunday morning, wearing breeches and boots that were both too small for me and one of Darcy’s open-necked shirts, I mounted one of the polo ponies, a bay called Squibs who seemed to have an evil gleam in his eye. They are called ponies but this one looked an awfully long way from the ground. We followed Diddy’s mount down her driveway as she led a string of ponies for the other participants. There was already a lively scene when we arrived at the polo field. Bunting had been draped across the gateway. Several motorcars were parked and their owners, dressed in smart riding gear, were standing around a table, drinking what seemed to be champagne and cocktails—at this hour in the morning. African servants, dressed immaculately in white uniforms, hovered in the background, ready to wait on us.
Diddy was greeted and Darcy and I were scrutinized with interest as we dismounted and tied up the ponies.
“You’ve brought more players—jolly good show.” The speaker was one of the men w
ho had been on the plane with us. Tusker Eggerton, if I remembered correctly. The one whose wife was now, if rumor be correct, fooling around with Bwana. There was no sign of any wife at the moment. Diddy introduced us all around.
“Splendid. Glad you’ve come. We definitely need fresh blood to improve the quality of our polo,” the other man from our flight said. His name was Chops something—Chops Rutherford, that was it—and his wife was smartly kitted out in her riding gear, ready to play polo with us. “I’m afraid we can’t start until His Royal Highness gets here.”
“The Prince of Wales is coming to play?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Chops’s wife said. “Loves his polo, so he said when we dined with them last night at Tom Delamere’s.”
“The lady friend is not so keen,” Chops muttered. “She proclaimed it to be boring but he begged her to come along and cheer for him. I suppose I shouldn’t say it, but he’s like a little boy when she’s around. She bosses him terribly.”
“Be careful what you say. Georgiana is related to him,” Pansy Ragg interjected, coming over to join us with her husband in tow.
“Oh, of course you are,” Chops’s wife, whose name I was desperately trying to remember, said to me. “I read about your wedding in the newspapers. What exactly is your family connection?”
“We’re first cousins once removed, I believe,” I said.
“Good God, then we’re supposed to be curtsying or something,” she said.
I laughed. “I’m afraid not. Since my grandmother was not a prince, her offspring didn’t keep the HRH.”
She laughed too. “That’s a relief. I never quite know what to do when one meets royals informally. Although he’s jolly nice, isn’t he? Easy to get along with.”
“Yes, he’s really nice,” I agreed. “I’ve always been awfully fond of him.”
“Here they are now,” someone said, as an open-topped Rolls-Royce came through the gateway.
“Anyone seen Babe?” Tusker said, scanning the scene with a scowl on his large red face. “Is she still in that damned pavilion fixing her hair? Damned bad form not to be here when the prince and Delamere arrive.”
The big motorcar came to a halt and I was surprised to see that a young man was driving. He too was dressed ready to play polo and he came around to open the rear door for the prince and Mrs. Simpson. I had heard of Lord Delamere and always thought of him as an older man—a grand old gentleman, unofficial leader of the colony.
“Who is that?” I whispered to Diddy.
“That’s Tom Delamere—the new Lord Delamere. His father died and he’s taken over the ranch. Awfully nice chap. I’ll introduce you.”
There was actually no need. The prince spotted me. “Why, it’s young Georgie,” he said, his face breaking into a big smile. “What a lovely surprise. Wallis tells me you’re out on your honeymoon. Congratulations.”
This, of course, made me the center of attention, which I hated. I was introduced to Tom Delamere and his wife. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bwana Hartley come out of the pavilion, followed, after a suitable pause, by a young lady with brassy blond hair and a shirt that was a little too tight and opened a little too low. As she emerged into the sunlight she gave a small self-satisfied smile, like a child who has just raided the biscuit barrel and doesn’t think anyone else has seen. Babe, I thought, and glanced around to watch Tusker’s red face turn two shades redder. I looked around some more, but I couldn’t see Bwana’s wife. His children weren’t there either. I did, however, notice Pansy Ragg shoot Babe a look of pure venom. I also spotted an older man, dressed rather formally, sitting on the veranda of the pavilion with a drink in his hand.
“That man on the veranda?” I asked Diddy.
“Never seen him before in my life,” she replied. “He looks rather lost. Someone’s visitor I suppose. I’d better go up and talk to him.”
I watched her exchanging pleasantries with the man and then she came back. “He’s visiting from South Africa, so I understand. He rode up from Gilgil in Freddie’s car. A Mr. Van Horn. Very strong Afrikaans accent.”
Clever Freddie, I thought. Now he and Darcy will be able to see any interactions with all the local residents. Cyril had now arrived too, but refused to play. “Such a brutal game, polo. All that clashing of mallets.”
“Darling, you have no compunction in shooting large animals,” Diddy said. “And yet you think polo is brutal.”
“Put it down to being innately lazy,” Cyril said. “Besides, if I am on a team against Bwana I am always tempted to clobber him by mistake.”
“Don’t you like Bwana?” I asked.
He gave me a pitying look. “Dear girl, who does? The man is poison. He sued me once over a column I’d written about him—all truth, you know . . . well, slightly exaggerated, but he won and I had to pay him damages. It’s been mutual loathing ever since.”
“If you’re not playing you can go and keep Mr. Van Horn company,” Diddy said. “Freddie felt sorry for him stuck all alone at the hotel in Gilgil and brought him along.”
“Then I shall be delighted,” Cyril said. “Cape Town. So civilized.”
“He’s from Johannesburg,” Diddy replied with a chuckle.
I watched Cyril slide into the seat beside Mr. Van Horn. Then my attention was turned to the arrival of another motorcar and a collective whisper went around the crowd. “It’s Idina.”
The object of my mother’s loathing climbed out of her car. She was certainly not the vamp I had expected. In fact she was an ordinary-looking middle-aged woman, wearing trousers and an open-necked shirt with a red bandana around her throat. But when she was greeted and her face broke into a smile I could tell why men found her fascinating. You often hear of eyes sparkling. Hers really did. They positively flashed with sex appeal. Fascinating.
“Darlings, I’m sorry I’m late. Awfully bad form, I know,” she said. “But we had a touch of trouble with the motor today. Wouldn’t start for some reason. But my new chauffeur eventually got it working, didn’t you, sweet boy?”
Her chauffeur had also come out of her motorcar and my jaw dropped open when I saw that it was none other than Jocelyn Prettibone. Pansy Ragg was the first to go over to him.
“Well, you’ve landed on your feet, haven’t you?” she said. “Lady Idina’s chauffeur? How did you manage that?”
“Rather lucky, what?” he said. “She was in Nairobi yesterday and I was hanging around the club, hoping to meet someone who might offer me a job, and she asked me if I could drive and I said of course I could and she said she had a terrible hangover and was in no condition to drive herself home. So I drove her and she said she liked the look of me so why didn’t I stay and make myself useful around the place. So here I am.”
He gave a delighted grin.
“You better watch yourself,” Pansy said. “Idina eats little boys like you for breakfast and spits out the bones.”
“Heavens, she doesn’t look the carnivorous type,” Jocelyn said. “Besides, she apparently has a chap living with her. A strong and rugged bush pilot. I wouldn’t be in the running.”
“So where is Langlands?” someone asked Idina. “Don’t tell me you’ve chucked him already?”
“He’s off flying somewhere.” Idina waved her hand indifferently. “And of course I haven’t chucked him. I haven’t even broken him in yet!” She had a delightful laugh.
When she was introduced to me she took both my hands. “I know all about you,” she said. “Your mother has been as naughty as I have. Rather naughtier, I think, because I’ve confined my bolts to Englishmen whereas I believe your mother has spread her favors liberally across the globe.”
She said this in no way maliciously but rather with a twinge of envy in her voice, so I had to smile and agree she was right. “Her current chap is German, is he not?”
“You’re quite well up on
things in Europe, Lady Idina,” I said.
“Oh, Idina, please, or I’ll have to call you ‘Lady’ too and it’s so tiresome, isn’t it? Well, one does pop home from time to time, or to Paris. And one hears gossip.”
“Except you won’t have heard the latest on my mother. The German has broken off the engagement. His father died, he’s taken over the business and his mother disapproves of Mummy.”
“Goodness, so he’s a mama’s boy at heart. Then she had a lucky escape.” Idina paused, grinning. “One thing I can say about all my husbands is that they have left their mothers nicely far away.” She gave my hands a squeeze. “You will come to my party tonight, won’t you? I’m counting on you. You’ll have such fun. We always do.”
I found myself agreeing that I would. She wasn’t the sort of person one could say no to—just like the queen.
The gentlemen had tired of small talk and were keen to get on with the polo. I was assigned to the prince’s team, along with Diddy, Darcy, Freddie and Harry Ragg. Be grateful for small mercies, I told myself. At least I wouldn’t have to risk tackling the heir to the throne and inadvertently knocking him from his horse. Squibbs bucked and tried to bite my toe as I mounted. I had been right in thinking him to be bad tempered. My heart was beating rather fast as we went out onto the field and lined up facing the other team. Four chukkers of seven minutes. I just hoped I could survive that long.
The referee’s whistle blew. Ponies surged forward. There were great thwacks as mallet hit ball and shouts of “Good shot. Well played,” from around the field. My strategy was to hover in the background and hope that the ball never came near me. Squibbs had other ideas. He hurled himself into the fray and no amount of tugging on the reins would stop him. We were heading straight for two members of the opposing team. I actually closed my eyes, felt my arm jerk and heard a thwack.
