by Rhys Bowen
Hands were shaken and polite how-do-you-dos muttered. When the larger man demanded, “What about a drink, then?” he spoke with a northern accent, reinforcing that this was not one of the Happy Valley aristocrats. I wondered why he was here. “I can’t stand here any longer with no drink in my hand,” he said. “We’ve had a long drive, you know.”
It took me a moment to notice that the attendant at the table was not a smartly dressed African servant but Jocelyn Prettibone, now wearing evening dress and looking extremely uncomfortable.
“Oh rather. What can I get you?” he asked.
Mr. Atkins, the man with the mustache, who was standing closest to the drinks table, stepped in to be served first.
“Make mine a pink gin and the memsahib will have a white lady.” The man barked the orders and I saw Jocelyn wince.
“Sorry, I’ve no idea what those things are,” he said.
“What sort of bartender are you, for God’s sake?” Mr. Atkins demanded.
“Actually I’m not a bartender at all,” Jocelyn said, his accent several degrees higher in social standing than the red-faced man’s.
“Are you taking the mickey? Aping your betters?”
“Gosh no,” Jocelyn said. “I’m actually here only because I helped Lady Idina out with her motorcar and she seems to have taken a fancy to me.”
“Has she, by George?” The man shot his wife a horrified look. “Snatching from the cradle now. I told you that pilot chap wouldn’t last two months.”
“Oh, no, crikey, not that way,” Jocelyn stammered. “Not like that at all. Just that she felt sorry for a poor lost chap in Nairobi and is letting me help out here, driving her around and things, until I get on my feet.”
“Well, you won’t get on your feet in a hurry if you can’t make a decent drink,” Mr. Atkins said. “What are you doing out here anyway? You don’t seem the type.”
“Got kicked out by the pater. Third son, don’t you know, and not much use at most things. So here I am for the moment.”
“For heaven’s sake, Harry, put the poor boy out of his misery and make us all a drink,” Pansy said, not unkindly. “Show him how to mix a cocktail. Then at least he can get a job in a London nightclub when he goes back home.”
I watched as Jocelyn tried to follow instructions and mix cocktails. It was amusing to note the various expressions from the assembled guests—amusement, frustration, annoyance and superiority. Definitely the last. I also had time to note that the whole party was frightfully well-dressed. The outfits came from Paris and the women were sparkling with impressive jewels. Any one of them might have been interested in what the jewel thief was bringing to Kenya, I thought. Then I glanced at Mrs. Rutherford and did a double take. What I had taken for a scarf around her neck suddenly moved and I saw that it was a live snake. A large, fat snake.
Darcy noticed at the same moment. “Good God. Do you always wear a snake as an accessory?” he said. “Is that sort of thing expected in Africa?”
Chops Rutherford chuckled. “It’s Idina’s pet python. Camilla has grown rather fond of it, but Idina doesn’t want to part with it. So I suppose I’ll have to catch her one when I’m next on safari.”
“A little snake, darling, so I can tame him like this one. Although Idina feeds hers on baby mice. I’m not sure I could do that. I’d feel too sorry for the mice.”
“Camilla is a great animal lover,” Chops said. “You can’t take her on safari or she won’t let you shoot anything! We’ve a lion cub in the house at the moment as a pet. I don’t know what we are going to do exactly when it grows up and starts eating the servants.”
“Get more servants, old man,” Tusker Eggerton chuckled, coming to join the conversation. “Ten a penny around here. And they are always breeding like rabbits.”
This statement seemed to be accepted by all of them. I tried to conceal my shock. I wondered if the African servants, standing in attendance around the room, spoke enough English to understand and what they thought of the settlers’ rudeness.
With Harry’s help Jocelyn was able to hand everybody a cocktail, with only one accidental showering of ice by Jocelyn. It was unfortunate that the ice showered over the testy Mr. Atkins and his Mrs. Simpson look-alike wife.
“The boy’s an idiot,” I heard the man say as they removed themselves hastily from the table, brushing the ice from his white evening jacket. “In all probability he’s Idina’s long-lost child from one of her affairs or marriages, come back to haunt her!” And those around him laughed nervously, knowing this might well be true. I studied Jocelyn and wondered if it was. Kenya did seem an unlikely place to send someone as hapless as he.
Darcy and I settled on gin and tonics. It seemed simpler that way. While they were being poured Idina joined us, looking absolutely stunning in emerald green silk pajamas, with a front so low-cut that it plunged almost to the waist and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She was certainly not wearing a brassiere. And around her neck a string of emeralds that sparkled in the candlelight. “You’ve started drinking without me, you naughty children,” she said. “Now I’ll have to down them quickly to catch up. A sidecar please, Jocelyn, my darling.”
Jocelyn shot Harry a quick look of desperation and Harry stepped in to whisper instructions.
“Ah, you’ve met the Tomlinsons and Atkinses?” Idina went up to both couples and bestowed kisses all around. “Lovely. Splendid. I bumped into them at the Muthaiga Club when I was last in Nairobi. They’d heard about my famous parties, naturally, and wanted to see for themselves.” She went over to the drinks table, accepted the cocktail Jocelyn offered her and downed it in one go, holding out her glass for a refill. “I’m sure Nairobi is too dull for words these days. Since old Lord D died. He was such a live wire, wasn’t he? Remember when he rode his horse into the dining room at the club? And leaped the tables? His son is a little too straightlaced for me.”
“We hear the Prince of Wales is staying with him.” Mrs. Atkins, the woman who resembled Mrs. Simpson, gave a knowing smile. “Is he not coming tonight? I sort of hoped it might be fun if . . .”
“I’m sure the Prince of Wales would have adored to come, darlings—been here like a shot—but he was reined in by a certain woman. She doesn’t like to share.”
They all laughed at this.
“And the new Lord Delamere is decidedly stuffier than his father. We hear he is keeping the prince suitably captive,” she went on.
“That’s an awful pity,” Mr. Atkins said. “We only came because Diana was hoping to meet the prince again.”
“We had such a jolly time in Nairobi when he was here a few years ago,” the wife said. “But he traveled alone in those days, didn’t he? And he knew how to party as well as any of us. Remember when he threw all those gramophone records out the window because he couldn’t find the one he wanted?”
“And he went off for a quickie with Beryl in the middle of dinner?” Her husband gave a dry little chuckle, such that I wasn’t quite sure whether he approved of this or not.
“And now he’s shackled by that dreadful American woman.” His wife sighed. “I wonder if it was his idea or Mrs. Simpson’s for her to fly out to join him?”
“He was pining for her, poor little boy,” Idina said. She had absently removed the python from Camilla Rutherford’s neck and was draping it around her own. The forked tongue flicked as the python regarded the company with its black beady eyes.
“The queen will be furious,” she continued. “Remember how she banished Beryl from England after she heard about the prince’s carrying-on with her?”
“And his brother,” Harry Ragg chimed in. “Don’t forget his brother George who came with him. He was another wild one, wasn’t he? I don’t hold out much hope for the future of the monarchy.”
“The Prince of Wales will shape up when he has to,” Idina said with confidence. “They always do. Lo
ok at dear old King Edward VII. He was the most profligate playboy but then was dearly loved the short time he was king.”
“Where’s Bwana Hartley?” Mr. Tomlinson, the stocky farmer, looked around. “You said he was going to be here. Sheila wanted to see him again, now that he’s become a lord, don’t you know. And we hear he’s the life and soul of the party, what?”
“Oh, you know our Bwana, do you?” Pansy asked.
“Oh yes. We’ve met on several occasions,” the man said. “Long ago now, when he was just another simple farmer like me.” He glanced at his wife. She gave him what seemed to be a cold stare. “Looking forward to seeing him again.”
“He should be here,” Idina said. Then her face broke into a big smile as the front door opened, sending in a blast of cold air. “Ah, here he is now, the naughty man, keeping us waiting.”
Bwana came into the room, looking somehow out of place in white tie, like a wild beast suddenly domesticated. I was still taking in what Mr. Tomlinson had said—that his wife wouldn’t come unless Bwana was there. It seemed that Bwana spread his favors over a wide circle.
“Sorry, Idina, my love,” Bwana said as he crossed the room to her. “I know I’m late. Please forgive me. But I have brought a case of your favorite bubbly in the back of the car, so I hope I am forgiven.”
“How could one resist you?” Idina gave him a more-than-friendly kiss. “And where is Angel?”
“Wouldn’t come. She wasn’t feeling well. She’s been off her food lately and really did look peaky tonight. So it’s just me. I’m sorry if that’s messed things up.”
“On the contrary, it makes our numbers even, which is splendid. Although of course sometimes it’s a little more fun if we have to share, isn’t it?” She went over to the bar where Jocelyn was still trying valiantly to be a bartender. “This lovely young man could always take Angel’s place,” Idina said, stroking Jocelyn’s hair. “I’m sure he’d look divine in makeup and a brassiere.”
“I say, steady on.” Jocelyn turned bright red. “I may look a bit poncey but actually I’m quite a normal sort of chap, you know. Fancy the girls and all that.”
“Isn’t he a peach?” Idina chuckled.
“Enough of that talk. You know me, Idina. I don’t share.” Bwana scowled at her.
“Sometimes you do, sweetheart,” she said. “I’d say you were very good at sharing. Always have been. Has Angel found out yet? And under her very nose.” She gave him a mischievous grin, her eyes flirting with him.
“You are a wicked and dangerous woman,” Bwana said. “Anyway, there are times when I don’t feel like sharing. There are certain delicacies that I want all to myself. I’m a bit greedy that way.” Babe giggled, Pansy glared at her, the new farmer’s wife, Sheila, looked coy but I saw to my horror that he was looking at me. I glanced across at Darcy but he didn’t seem to have noticed. Hadn’t I made it absolutely clear that I was not interested in his attentions? Surely that wasn’t the reason he hadn’t brought Angel with him!
He seemed to notice the rest of the crowd now and I saw him react with surprise. “Well, well, Tomlinson. You are the last person I expected to see here. Shouldn’t have thought this was your sort of thing.”
“It probably isn’t. But Sheila was curious.”
Bwana’s gaze turned to the farmer’s wife. “Hello, Sheila. Faring well, I see. Put on a bit of weight but haven’t we all?” And he patted at his own paunch. His gaze moved on. “Pansy? How are you, my sweet?”
“Oh, just peachy, thank you, darling. Never been better.” Her voice was icy and smooth.
“Harry, old man.” Bwana nodded to him.
“Come and have a drink.” Idina slipped her arm through his and dragged him toward the drinks table, maybe sensing tension ahead. A gramophone was wound up and dance music was played. Darcy whisked me to dance before anyone else could, for which I was truly grateful.
“They are a rum lot, aren’t they?” he said. “Most of them are middle-aged. You’d have thought they might have moved past this sort of behavior by now.”
I still wasn’t quite sure what they had meant about sharing. Sharing what?
“If you’re tired of booze there’s food in the dining room or if you prefer something a little more piquant you’ll find it in the library at the back,” Idina said.
I was realizing that I was hungry and wanted to see what the delicious things in the library might be, but Darcy held me back. “Don’t go through. It’s bound to be drugs.”
“Drugs?” I tried to peek through that open door, where some of the participants were now going.
He nodded. “Cocaine. It’s a major sport out here. In fact . . .” He put his mouth to my ear. “I was wondering whether Van Horn might be a supplier and not in the diamond business at all. Why else would he have come to a polo match? It’s not something the Afrikaners are fond of.”
“Oh, I see.” Of course immediately I found myself wondering whether the whole reason for this trip had not been a jewel theft after all, or whether Darcy was after bigger game—international drug smuggling. It had always seemed to me that a local policeman could track down a jewel thief better than Darcy could, especially when we were essentially trapped at Diddy’s estate.
Several of the couples had now gone into that back room and the door closed behind them. Darcy was still holding me close to him, dancing with me.
“Do you think one of them is the jewel thief?” I asked. “And do you think the jewel might change hands in there?”
“I don’t think any of them could afford that sort of stone,” Darcy whispered. “Besides, what would be the point out here in the middle of nowhere? You couldn’t wear a bloody great stone without attracting attention.”
“Angel does,” I said.
“Yes, I noticed that,” Darcy muttered, swinging me around as other people came too close. “If her stepson, Rupert, is our thief and brought the jewel out to her, there’s not much anyone can do about it, unless we get a search warrant or she wears the damned thing.”
“What if he’s not really her stepson?” I asked as the thought occurred to me.
Darcy gave me a look of surprise.
“Bwana said he hadn’t seen them in ages. What if they are imposters—jewel thieves who chose to come out here, knowing that Angel would buy the precious stone?”
Darcy digested this, then shook his head. “Frankly, my darling, she may be rich but I doubt she has the sort of money to buy that diamond. It’s one of a kind. Either the buyer is going to be a sheik or a film star or someone like Van Horn is going to have it cut into several new stones and sold that way.”
“That would be an awful pity if it’s a fabulously rare stone,” I said.
“I agree. But thieves generally don’t care.”
“So you don’t think that the stone is going to be passed on at this party?”
He shook his head. “If I were selling it, I’d do so in private. There would be no need to take a risk at a party like this. You drive to an estate, you do the deal and nobody sees.”
“Nobody sees what?”
I hadn’t realized we had drifted close to Chops Rutherford and his wife. “You’re talking about what goes on here? We all have conveniently bad memories the next morning. It’s only harmless fun, you know. But I don’t approve of what’s going on in that room now. Can’t abide the stuff myself.” He downed the contents of the glass he was holding. “It’s not natural. And what’s wrong with getting blotto on gin? Good stuff, gin.” The way he slurred his speech indicated he was halfway to getting blotto.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” his wife said, tugging at his arm. “One does need to work up a little stamina for what’s coming, doesn’t one?” She gave a nervous giggle then dragged her husband toward the dining room.
“Shall we get something to eat too?” Darcy asked.
“Oh yes. Good idea.” There was safety in food, I thought. We followed the Rutherfords. There was a fabulous cold meal on the table: trout in aspic, game birds, salads, fruits. We both helped ourselves to large plates and ate happily, washing it down with glasses of ice-cold white wine. I was feeling quite content by the time we rejoined the company. Idina emerged from that back room, now very animated and laughing loudly. “Such fun,” she was saying, “Such bloody good fun.” Then she clapped her hands. “Games! It’s time for party games.”
Bwana came out of the back room right behind her.
“How’s the dairy business, Bwana?” Mr. Tomlinson asked, almost belligerently. “Going well, is it?”
“Splendidly, thank you. I’ve got a damned fine bull, as you know.”
Mr. Tomlinson’s face, already red from years in the sun, turned several shades redder. “Of course I damned well know,” he said.
“But I’d say it was tit for tat, wouldn’t you?” Bwana said with a grin. “Damned fine milk cow?”
Tomlinson took a step forward. His wife grabbed at his sleeve and put herself between the two men.
“That’s enough, Dickie. Calm down. Where are these children of yours, Bwana?” she asked. “We heard they’d come out to visit.”
“And we wanted to see for ourselves what kind of creation you’ve spawned,” her husband added. “Didn’t we, Sheila?”
“Not sure I can answer that yet, old chap,” Bwana said. “Certainly not chips off the old block. Refused to come with me tonight after Angel told them about our little get-togethers.”
“That woman is a spoilsport,” Tomlinson muttered, clearly drunk or high on cocaine, or both by now. “A killjoy. That’s what she is. Time to show the young’uns a bit of life, that’s what I say.”
“I suppose she’s got a point,” Bwana said, grinning. “After all they don’t know me from Adam. I don’t want them to think their old man is a cad.”
“Even if he is,” Pansy muttered.
“Stop talking and let’s start playing,” Idina said, sounding now like a spoiled child. “So what shall we play?” she asked. “The sheet game? The feather game?”
