by Frank Coates
‘I’ve seen quite a few kids on drugs,’ Riley said. ‘Kesi was definitely affected, but it may have been from something else.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He looked as if he may have been waking from a strong sedative rather than street drugs.’
The lodge management had placed a notice in every bungalow to advise guests that a state of emergency had been declared in the nearby town of Nakuru. It was short on detail, but said that guests were advised to remain in the safety of the lodge until the present short-term situation was resolved.
‘Until the present short-term situation is resolved,’ Charlotte said from her seat on the edge of the sofa, a copy of the memo in her hand. ‘What does that mean?’
Nobody answered. Riley was fiddling with the TV remote, trying to get some news. Although the guests’ TV room could comfortably seat about ten, Kazlana paced the floor, unable to relax.
‘Try KTN,’ she suggested.
The screen flickered to reveal a scantily clad group of women and men climbing rope ladders and crawling through large plastic barrels.
‘Survivor!’ Riley said in disgust.
‘KBC then.’
A Swahili soap was on the national broadcaster. He flicked through the subscription channels—CNN, Discovery, MTV—then sank into the chair beside the TV. ‘If there’s nothing on the local channels, pay TV won’t have it.’
‘Let’s try the radio,’ Kazlana said.
‘Here is the main story again. Counting continues in polling booths around the country. The presidential results of Thursday’s national elections indicate that the opposition candidate for president, Mr Raila Odinga, is polling well ahead of President Mwai Kibaki.
‘In a stunning turnaround since the most recent opinion surveys, the figures indicate Mr Odinga has a lead of some 1.5 million votes.
‘Meanwhile, in the Rift Valley electorate, tensions are at boiling point as police and administration police try to control the continuing violent protests over land rights in the Naivasha and Nakuru regions.’
Riley watched Kazlana fumble in her purse for a packet of cigarettes. She held a match to the Marlboro and inhaled. The episode that afternoon came back: Kazlana’s closeness; the strong emotions liberated by their conversation about personal loss; her perfume. And, yes, the tantalising suggestion of tobacco on her lips. He suppressed a groan.
‘The problem is not knowing,’ Charlotte said. ‘If it is just an isolated event, then surely the police will handle it.’
‘It’s not that easy,’ Kazlana said. ‘I’ve seen all this before, in 2002. Every cause. Every small insult. Every family feud.’ She took a long draw on her cigarette. Riley watched the smoke hang at her open mouth for an instant before she sucked it in. ‘What’s the word? Opportunism? Some of them don’t even need a cause.’ She exhaled a stream of delicious blue smoke. ‘Thugs. Thieves. Rapists. When something big happens in Kenya, the police can’t handle it. And the thugs, the thieves and the rapists know it.’
‘Surely there are decent people around to keep the nasty elements in check?’ Charlotte said.
‘There are. But out in the bush, on the open roads…’ She shrugged. ‘There’s nobody around.’
‘I think we should listen to Kazlana, Mark,’ Charlotte said, turning to him.
Riley said he wasn’t so sure. ‘The situation is still evolving—we could get out now. But if the trouble gets worse, we could be stuck here for days. Weeks.’
The thought of being confined to the lodge for so long when he should be doing something constructive on his article as well as the novel put him in favour of an early departure.
‘You’re in the safest place you can be,’ Kazlana said. ‘Nobody’s going to come storming into a national park. Even lynch mobs are afraid of lions. Anyway, the park rangers are armed. Nobody comes in here.’ She thought for a moment. ‘If you wish, I can fly you out. Leave the Land Rover. You can come back and collect it when it’s safe.’
‘Fly out?’ Charlotte’s eyes widened and her voice rose in pitch. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea at all,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Why not?’ Kazlana asked.
Charlotte didn’t answer.
Riley hadn’t been able to understand Charlotte’s odd refusal to take the joy flight Kazlana had offered. Now he understood. She’d shown no timidity in dealing with rioting students, she wasn’t intimidated by the aggressive touts that preyed on bewildered tourists, especially females, nor the maniacal drivers on the treacherous Rift Valley roads, but self-assured, sophisticated, intelligent Charlotte Manning was afraid of flying! Suddenly she seemed delightfully vulnerable, and somehow infinitely more interesting. Instead of the consummate, know-it-all professional, she appeared more…human. Riley looked at her with different eyes.
‘Why not?’ Kazlana repeated.
As Charlotte floundered about for a reply that might make some kind of sense, Riley cut in.
‘I agree with Charlie. It’s a generous offer, Kazlana, but we’re okay here. And it’s all likely to blow over in the next day or so.’ He exchanged glances with Charlotte. ‘I say let’s stay put.’
Kazlana shrugged. ‘As you wish. But I have to leave. After Antonio comes back from visiting his brothers, I’m taking him back to Wajir, then I’m off to Nairobi.’ She stood and wished them good luck.
At the door, she turned back with a final warning. ‘Be very careful if you leave the park. The highway’s not a safe place. The thugs erect roadblocks and if you stop you’ll be robbed.’ She looked pointedly at Charlotte. ‘Or worse. And if you try to run it, you’re liable to become a moving target for someone’s home-made pistol or handgun.’
CHAPTER 28
Mark was waiting at the junction of the pathways to their respective bandas. ‘I thought it might be you picking your way down the path in the dark,’ he said, offering his arm.
Charlotte took it. ‘Thank you. It is a little tricky in high heels.’
In the lodge’s foyer he lifted from her hair a jacaranda blossom that had fallen there in the darkness.
‘Violet,’ he said, holding it against her cheek before placing it in her hand. ‘It’s beautiful. The colour suits you.’
It was such a gentle gesture, Charlotte was momentarily taken aback. ‘Um, well…’ she stammered. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m no expert, but I reckon that colour’s just about a perfect match for that blue-grey blouse you’re wearing.’
She was at a loss how to reply. He seemed so different. The touch of his hand on her hair. The jacaranda flower. She looked down at her sleeveless top with its high neckline. She was glad she’d chosen it, a variation on the very practical jeans and tee-shirts she’d been wearing.
The head waiter arrived and swept them towards their table. When they were seated, Charlotte felt her stunned silence needed to be filled and mouthed the first thing that came into her head.
‘I’m…wondering what your impressions of the countryside are? I mean, now that we’re out of Nairobi for the first time.’
It was a lame attempt, but it worked. Mark gave it some thought and Charlotte was able to gather her composure.
‘It reminds me of the outback in some ways. Except for that,’ he said, indicating the distant roar of a bull hippo.
‘I’ve never been to outback Australia,’ she said. ‘I went to Melbourne once, for a conference, but I had no time for sightseeing. Bradley didn’t like me to be away for too long.’
‘Bradley?’
She felt annoyed with herself. She hadn’t meant to bring Bradley into the conversation. ‘My fiancé. Ex-fiancé.’
‘Ah, a boyfriend. Tell me about him.’
‘It’s a long and boring story. You don’t want to spoil your dinner, do you?’
‘Don’t you want to talk about it?’
She shrugged, smiling self-consciously. ‘Oh, it’s not so bad, I suppose, nor so unusual. Boy meets girl. Girl gets bored. Girl runs away to Africa. The end came q
uickly and it felt right.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s done.’
‘Was he a control freak, this Bradley of yours?’
She smiled. ‘Maybe. He’s no longer mine though.’
‘How long were you together?’
‘Four years. We broke up four months ago,’ Charlotte said.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been tough after being together so long.’
Charlotte wondered about that. Was it tough when she and Bradley broke up? At the time, she’d been quite upset, but, upon reflection, that was probably more to do with the inconvenience she’d caused everyone.
‘How amazing,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I’ve only just realised that, in my mind, I’d left Bradley quite some time before the actual separation. It was almost…well, subliminal.’
‘How does that happen? Presumably you loved him at the outset. How do you one day realise you’re no longer in love?’
She thought it a curious question from a thirty-five-year-old. ‘It happens.’
He offered to top up her wine glass, but she placed her hand over it.
‘You said you knew things weren’t working between you and Bradley,’ he said, clearly not willing to leave the subject. She was starting to feel as if she were being interviewed for one of his investigative articles. ‘How did you know?’
She took her time before answering. She hadn’t discussed the end of her relationship with anyone before. Or thought about it much herself, she was realising.
‘This may sound a little callous, but I think a person’s love life is a little like a balance sheet—a balance sheet of emotions. There are pluses and minuses as you go through your lives together. You can carry a deficit for a short time, but if it’s not corrected, sooner or later the relationship becomes bankrupt.’
‘Hmm…That’s sad.’
‘It is. In fact, it’s quite painful for a time. And then someone else comes along and sparks your interest and you move on.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Moving on…I reckon that’s a really healthy sign.’
He seemed more reflective and somehow more at peace. She studied him as he filled his wine glass. Her instincts in these matters were seldom wrong. Mark was different that night—very different.
Riley stayed to chat to the head waiter at the desserts buffet before following Charlotte back to the table.
‘Something’s brewing, all right,’ he told her. ‘Things in the Rift Valley are apparently very threatening. Three Kikuyus were beaten to within an inch of their lives in a town further up the highway.’
‘Perhaps we should make a dash for Nairobi?’ she said.
Riley nodded. ‘It’s probably for the best. And the sooner the better.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Okay. Will you tell Joshua?’
She said she would find him in the morning. ‘He’ll be very disappointed. He was quite excited about going back to the Serengeti.’
‘I’m disappointed too. I probably won’t get there at all now.’
‘What will you do about your book?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I guess I can write the book without seeing every site the Maasai occupied. And there’s plenty more to keep me busy. For one, I’m going to complete this NGO article. I can’t let Omuga’s death stop me.’
‘Omuga? Isn’t he the man you interviewed about the orphanage?’
Riley winced. He’d wanted to keep the more sordid details of his story from her. ‘I didn’t want to upset you,’ he said, before recounting the basic facts of the murder.
Charlotte commiserated, and chided him for his feelings of guilt about his incompetence. ‘How were you to know?’ she asked.
He had to agree he couldn’t have foreseen the murder, but felt guilty regardless.
‘You must finish your article,’ she said. ‘Which is all the more reason for us to get back to Nairobi as soon as possible. And which reminds me, thanks for understanding my reasons for not wanting to fly out with Kazlana.’
Riley was tempted to act dumb, but nodded. ‘That’s okay. More wine?’
‘Thank you. Just a little.’
‘And thanks for keeping it to yourself,’ she added as he topped up their glasses.
‘I didn’t know you were afraid of flying.’
‘It’s silly, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know. Fear’s one of the most primitive emotions; it’s not always possible to overcome it. But if it begins to affect your life too much, then yes, it’s silly not to try to do something about it.’
‘Oh, I’ve tried, all right. Therapy, hypnotherapy, pills, alcohol. Nothing seems to work and it makes me so cross. I say to myself, You can beat this, but as soon as I get on board I become a mental and physical wreck. I’m so afraid, I literally can’t think.’
‘But you still fly.’
‘I won’t let it dominate my life any more than it already does.’
‘Sometimes things just are what they are and can’t be changed.’
Charlotte smiled at him. ‘That sounds very philosophical, Mr Riley.’
‘Maybe.’
‘And, if I may say so, it also sounds like you’ve got it all together.’
‘Me? Not likely.’
‘How so? Here you are, a published author, working on book number four.’
‘After crashing out—twice.’
‘Why weren’t those books successful? Do you mind me asking?’
‘No, I don’t mind.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘I guess it’s a little like what you said about flying. You can’t think because of your fear. For a long time, I couldn’t think because of my anger. I don’t want to go over all that old ground again and I must apologise for getting so maudlin the other night—but I think that’s been my problem for the last five years.’
‘There’s no need to apologise,’ she said, placing her hand on his.
The gesture touched Riley. When she removed her hand, he wanted to reach out and take it again.
‘And you weren’t maudlin,’ she added. ‘Grief is a healthy part of the healing process.’
‘Maybe you’re right. I feel I’ve had enough grief. Maybe it’s time to feel better about myself.’
‘That makes two of us.’
Riley waited for her elaboration, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a long pause in the conversation.
‘I’ve really enjoyed our dinner tonight, Charlie,’ he said.
‘You keep doing that…’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘Calling me Charlie.’
‘Do I? I’m sorry. Just a habit. Shortening everything, I mean.’
He didn’t want to admit that in his mind he’d been calling her Charlie for weeks.
‘My father used to call me Charlie,’ she said.
He nodded, wondering if he should apologise again.
‘I think I’ll call it a night,’ she said.
‘Me too.’
She placed her hand on his once more. ‘Thank you again for being so understanding.’
This time he reached for her hand, but she was on her feet, collecting her purse.
He rose with her, and together they climbed the path to her bungalow. He waited at the door until she found the light switch. It clicked, but nothing happened.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘The globe must be blown.’ She moved from the entrance to the sitting room, feeling along the wall to find the light switch. ‘There’s another light here somewhere.’
‘Can I help?’ Riley followed her inside.
A familiar perfume came to him out of nowhere: Beautiful. It instantly took him back to Melissa and their first night in Bali when she’d worn her new duty-free purchase. It scented the room then as now. But the feelings rising in him now were no longer about the past.
He found Charlotte’s hand on the wall and covered it with his. She made no move to draw away from him. He slid his hand up the smoothness of her arm to rest on her shoulder. He felt it ri
se as she took a deep breath. In the darkness he moved his face closer to hers. He sensed her proximity and felt the soft warmth of her breath on his face. His lips brushed her cheek, tingling, and he moved them along the firm line of her jaw. His head swam.
He waited for the jolt of guilt that invariably supplanted desire. But the irrepressible sensation of woman—a sensation he’d denied himself for so long—came so forcefully from the darkness that it caused him to breathe in sharply. It was all the more amazing because, after the initial memory induced by the perfume, it was Charlie rather than Melissa who filled his consciousness, enveloping him.
Euphoria swept over him. Nothing seemed to be beyond his capabilities. His feeling of hopelessness about his writing vanished. The mental cage that had imprisoned his emotions for five years was broken open. He allowed the elation to linger for a moment, and then again became aware of the sensation of Charlie, so close, so enticing. He moved his lips slowly down to her neck, where he nuzzled her and took her intoxicating fragrance into his soul.
‘Mark,’ she whispered.
Her voice drew him back to the bedroom, the darkness. ‘Mmm?’ he asked.
‘Mark…I think I should use the light on the coffee table.’
‘What?’ He took a step back. ‘Oh, good idea. I’ll get it.’
He stumbled across the room, knocking his shin against the solid wooden coffee table. ‘Oh! Jeez!’ he spluttered, swallowing the words he would have preferred to use.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, I’m…I’m okay.’
He fumbled and found the switch. The room, almost identical to his own except for the position of the coffee table, appeared in the soft glow of the table lamp. He rubbed his shin where a bump was already forming.
‘Can I get you some ice for that?’ she asked.
‘No. I’ll be fine. Just a bruise.’
He searched for something else to say to ease his embarrassment. He had completely misjudged the situation with Charlotte. Of course he had. There was nothing between them. The touch of her hand in the dining room had been just an expression of sympathy; what any woman would do under the circumstances.
‘Well…’ he said with a bright smile, ‘I’d better let you get to, um, bed. I’ll just…um, go.’
