“Believe me, young lady, when I tell you that there is no place for you in his world of ghosts and nightmares — no place for your fresh beauty or your unmarred dreams, no place for your wonderful hope. He can bring you nothing, because he has lost everything. Don’t try to keep him, to tie him down, because if you succeed, if he weakens, he will hate you for it. Let him be. He is not unhappy; he is resigned. He has surrendered and acquired at a high cost a deep understanding of life.”
Coral was shaking now with anger and fear. Something inside warned her that her love was being threatened by a perilous shadow beyond her comprehension. The way Morgana spoke about Rafe, he might as well be dead. Oh, where was he? Why wasn’t he here? Why didn’t he appear suddenly and prove to this woman that she was wrong?
“How can you say you love him when you use such cruel and horrible words to describe him? I will neither believe nor accept what you say. This might be true where you’re concerned, but I can assure you that Rafe isn’t like that. I know he isn’t. One can’t talk, touch, love in the way he did with me last night if one’s soul is dead. The stranger you’re telling me about has no heart, no senses, nothing…”
Morgana’s eyes were now glittering, revealing her fight to remain calm and collected. “These hours he spent with you, they are but brief, transient moments out of life that he steals from time to time when the temptation to pursue the dream becomes overwhelming. They only last for as long as he can fool himself, only so far as he can shut away reality.”
“You talk of him as though he was old, an invalid, or…” She drew a deep breath, afraid to formulate what was on her mind “…or dead.”
“Inside he is all of those things,” the dancer insisted.
“No!” Coral tried to suppress the sob that died in her throat. “Rafe is a healthy, charismatic, and talented man with a soul who can love passionately and bring alive all his dreams and all hopes. Look around you.”
“If he is as you say, my friend, why is he not here today?” Morgana asked, her voice caressing, though she fixed her young adversary with burning eyes. “Why is he not waiting for you? He knew you would come. Still, he went and left me to deal with reality.”
CHAPTER SIX
As she dressed for dinner, Coral went over the events of the last few weeks in her mind. Almost a month had elapsed since her stormy conversation with Morgana. At first, she had not given much credit to the dancer’s words, putting them down to jealousy. She had thought that Rafe had gone off on one of those business trips he had mentioned to her over dinner. But as time went by and he did not reappear, Coral was forced to face up to reality: she had read too much into what seemed to have been only a passing fancy on his part. He had seemed so sincere; his wonderful words had made her dream of the future. Now she knew differently. Sharp knives cut at her heart as she recalled every moment of the last evening she’d spent with Rafe at Whispering Palms.
How could she have been so dim? She had always thought of herself as reasonable, poised, and self-confident. She was rapidly discovering that she was impulsive and emotional, and her self-confidence was being sapped away at a rate of knots. Her engagement to Dale had been a huge mistake — and he had betrayed her — and no sooner had she emerged from that painful experience than she had thrown herself headlong into the next disaster. Why was she always attracted to womanizers? And to think she had wanted to trust Rafe and even thought she might be falling in love with him. Would she never learn? There was definitely something wrong with her, especially where men were concerned. Either her judgment of them was poor, or else she had not the faintest idea how to handle them. Why could she not be more relaxed, more detached? Other women of her age flipped from one casual affair to another quite happily, taking in their stride the good with the bad and putting it all down to healthy experience. It was time she pulled herself together and got on with her life.
Coral had spent days trying to ignore her misery, throwing herself into work, taking more pictures for the documentary and making more notes for her articles. She often went down to the beach with her camera to capture a beautiful sunrise or sunset, but still found herself looking out for Rafe on the wide stretch of sand, scanning the ocean for the white dinghy. A part of her still longed to see him again, unable to forget the way he made her feel, while the other part rebelled and fought and hated him. None of it made any sense.
“I don’t like the looks of you, my child,” Aluna had remarked again and again. “You don’t tell Aluna much these days, but your old yaha is not blind. You can’t fool me — there’s a man behind all this, there’s always a man. Uach! Men, all the same…hunters! Women are their game.”
Then the invitation to Narok had come. Friends of her father’s whom she vaguely remembered had written to say how delighted they would be if she and “dear Cybil” would visit them for a couple of weeks at their coffee plantation. She had never been to the Rift Valley and the Masai Mara; it would give her the opportunity to see a different part of Kenya and to take some interesting photographs. It also meant she could get away from the coast and leave behind everything that reminded her of Rafe. Maybe then she would be able to forget.
She had welcomed the invitation even with the unpleasant prospect of spending so much time in her stepmother’s company. She was happy Aluna was also invited. Lady Langley had expressly mentioned her, writing:…and I do hope that your lovely yaha, who looked after us so well when we stayed with poor Walter, will be able to accompany you.
“I suppose they need an extra pair of hands in the kitchen,” Aluna had grumbled, but Coral knew that even though Aluna understood what her role would be on the trip, deep down the old servant was tickled to have been remembered.
Lady Langley’s Kongoni plantation lay splendidly perched on a ridge in the foothills, midway between Nairobi and Narok, at the end of a sandy road running through a belt of cocoa palms. All around it were open plains, rolling bush country, with a lake reflecting sky and hills just below. The house was a 1940s villa entirely built in old stone, with olive green shutters and multicolored creepers hugging its walls. From a very wide veranda, low steps led down to a large expanse of emerald lawn dipping toward a small private lake where pink pelicans basked in the sun.
The Kongoni estate consisted of five hundred acres devoted mainly to coffee growing and, like Mpingo and Whispering Palms, was one of a few working estates still belonging to settlers. In the last six years, after her husband’s death, Lady Langley had built a few bungalows in the grounds and quietly taken on a handful of paying guests she selected with care after discreet inquiries had been floated about. Despite Kenyatta’s assurances that everything was fine, much of the British expat community was becoming increasingly worried about the political situation in Kenya, and many of them were selling their farms and returning to England. Lady Langley had resolutely refused to do the same. She loved her life in Africa and had spent time creating her perfect home there with her late husband, and then building it up on her own. Like every Englishwoman, her garden was her pride and joy, and she had taken great pains to recreate a little corner of England in the exotic African landscape. Of the five hundred acres that made up the estate, the three of them that surrounded the house grew the most wonderful beds of English flowers, their nostalgic scent filling the dry African air.
Coral had immediately been taken with it and had been happy during the first few days to laze in a hammock while reading, listening to the chirp of birds and far away noises of the Kenyan bush. Sometimes she would borrow one of the many plantation Jeeps and stray down to the local market at the foot of the hill to rummage through rows of ramshackle stalls displaying pyramids of fruit and corn-cobs, baskets of fish and cassava, gourds of palm wine, and other exotica and oddities. Often Aluna would accompany her to this dusty vortex. Those times were the most enjoyable because she found herself drawn into the heart of a riotous circle by the bartering, colorful exchanges, and wayside gossip in which the old servant engaged. Coral had almost forgotte
n how hugely gregarious Kenyan society was, and it amused her to think how alien the Western idea of “personal space” was to these people as she watched the cheerfully packed groups chatting away, occasionally with someone interestedly peering over her shoulder to see what she was buying and asking where she was from.
Today, though, Coral had not ventured from the house after learning what was to come. “Quite a few interesting guests will be joining us for our annual dance tonight,” Lady Langley had announced that morning at breakfast, “among them one of the best hunters in this part of the world, an old friend of my husband and I who comes to stay from time to time when he has business nearby. You may be able to persuade him to act as a guide on one of those exciting private safaris. He can never resist the request of a beautiful woman.”
Coral put the final touches to her toilette, anointing her temples, throat, and wrists with her favorite scent while reflecting on her hostess’s words. She had always wanted to go on a safari. It would be so exciting; besides, she had her documentary to think of and was eager to make more progress with it in a different direction. What better way to gather material than on a safari? She remembered the irritation she had felt as a child when denied the pleasure of accompanying “grown-ups” on such exciting expeditions. Old-fashioned safaris were rarely conducted these days because of the lack of foot treks and the great cost, but from time to time one heard of fully-rigged safaris, operated by ex-hunters, with a camel train carrying everything from the morning coffee to the evening bath, just like in the early days. There was much else about the settlers’ old way of life that would now fade into the past, she reflected. With the coming of the new regime, the older generation would soon have to lose other things like their armies of servants, which they were going to find rather difficult. But still, a new and more realistic Kenya was a far more exciting prospect for the new generation. However, in terms of today’s safari, she did not think old-style expedition was the sort of extravaganza Lady Langley had been alluding to, but even a modest venture, Coral reflected, would suit her needs.
While looking through her wardrobe to pick a dress for the evening, her eyes had fallen on the sapphire gown she had worn for Rafe. Coral had quickly quelled an impulse to indulge in thoughts about what had happened, telling herself there was no point in mulling it over again. Rafe’s memory would have to join the rapidly mounting pile of dead flowers she had set in a recess of her mind.
The attire she chose instead was a black mini-dress. It was fairly risqué — sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a hemline high enough to expose the greater part of her legs to advantage. In an adventurous mood, Coral had bought it in New York’s Upper East Side, from “youthquake” designer Betsey Johnson’s new boutique, thinking that Dale would approve. Covered in minute sequins, the fabric shimmered with every one of her movements. Black became her, enhancing the sun-warmed tone of her skin and the golden glints of her hair that on this occasion she left hanging loose.
Coral normally shied away from eye-catching outfits and kept to the more conventional look that suited her personality and desire for comfort. But tonight she felt ready to put the naïve little girl behind and reinvent herself a little. Even her makeup was different: a rich burgundy lipstick gave her mouth an enticing gloss, and the tawny blush on her cheekbones made her face seem even slimmer, intensifying the blue of her eyes. Her mirror reflected the image of a confident and seductive woman, much to her surprise.
Coral panicked for one moment before leaving the room, assessing her image, wondering whether she may have overdone it. Her mother certainly would not have approved nor would Aluna for that matter, and she was thankful that her yaha had not appeared, probably too busy lending a helping hand in the kitchen. Coral gave the mirror a last glance, then, shrugging off any qualms, went to join the party.
Walking down the corridor toward the hall, she almost froze as she spotted Dale, standing at the foot of the main staircase, apparently engrossed in conversation with his hostess. What on earth was he doing here? Coral’s step faltered as she tried to conceal her shock. Dressed in a perfectly tailored dinner jacket, a glass of champagne in one hand while the other rested casually on the banister, he exuded wealth and power. She could fully recognize the attractive aura that had swept her off her feet once but that tonight left her cool. He was still extremely handsome, but there was something loud and vulgar about him that she had never noticed before.
Coral had often wondered what it would be like to see Dale again and how she would feel. Now she knew. As he lifted his head and she met the calculating, gray eyes assessing her with obvious approval, Coral felt nothing but indifference for the man she had once agreed to marry. Strange how one’s feelings could change so quickly; after all, it had been less than six months.
Dale’s gaze softened as she reached him. “Hi, Coral! What a surprise to see you — you look ravishing.” The broad American accent that had once set her pulse racing had not changed, but it failed to move her in any way.
“Hello, Dale,” she said in a casual voice as she held out her hand and smiled coolly at him.
Meeting her ex-fiancé like this was about the last thing Coral would have expected or wished for, but the obvious admiration she could read in the young man’s eyes and the fact that he no longer roiled her emotions made her wonder if this encounter could turn out to be rather exciting. Since the morning, she had sensed a sort of enchantment in the air, as though something important was about to happen, and instinct had made her dress up for the occasion accordingly. Tonight she felt reckless. It would certainly be flattering and fun to enjoy Dale’s attentions once more when he was powerless to hurt her.
Their hostess had tactfully joined another group of guests, and the couple was now facing each other in silence. Coral moved to let someone pass, and without warning, Dale slipped a possessive arm around her waist and walked her to the living room. Why was she surprised that his closeness did not affect her in any way? On reflection, it had never done so, at least not in the way Rafe’s touch did. Rafe…Her heart gave a little painful squeeze. Where was he now? That thought lasted but seconds. No, forget and move on. Dale was here, she knew him well enough, and this was her opportunity to innocently have fun and show him what he was missing.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested after a few minutes of conversation, laying his glass down on a table close by. “This room is too bright, too hot, and too crowded.”
Outside the air was crisp and cool. But for the multicolored bulbs that hung in the shrubberies and the gleam of the water below the sloping lawn, the African night was black, with the branches of great trees looming over the pathways. Ahead of them, over the far-off hills, the enigmatic half-moon seemed to be watching them. They walked down the cobbled footpath. Dale had tucked her arm through his, slowly guiding her toward the lake.
“I have a confession to make,” he said, suddenly breaking the silence and stopping abruptly.
Coral frowned and kept her response detached. “Do I want to hear it?”
He beamed. “It wasn’t really a surprise seeing you here.”
Coral gave an insouciant shrug. Strangely enough, it had crossed her mind that it wasn’t this small a world. She knew that Dale and his family had traveled to Kenya often and had many friends here, hence the fabulous collection of African paintings and bronzes that made up the exhibition where she had met him, but she wondered how he had wangled this meeting. No doubt he was burning to tell her.
“I rang your house in England, and your mother told me you had gone to Kenya. I then remembered that you had spoken of your father being a keen hunter. Josh Langley also loved to hunt, and he was a very good friend of my father’s. So I got in touch with Lady Langley on the off chance that she had known your father. I was in luck. I told her we had been engaged and that I had made a mess of it and wanted to make amends. I asked if she could help me by inviting us both to one of her house parties. She needed a little persuasion, but I got there at the en
d.”
He looked very pleased with himself, and Coral felt a fool. She did not like being manipulated, and the situation had obviously been managed shrewdly. Perhaps others would have been flattered, but she felt trapped. She clapped her hands. “Bravo,” she said her tone icy. “But why am I surprised. It sounds just like you.”
“I’m a go-getter, I’ve always been so, and that is why I always get what I want.” He leaned closer to her as they walked.
“This time you won’t,” she said, trying not to betray the tension she felt inside.
“Oh, Coral, I’ve been so stupid.” He pulled her to him, burying his face in the warmth of her neck. “Tell me it isn’t too late for us, baby,” he whispered, searching for her lips urgently.
Alarmed at such an unusual and unwarranted display of passion from him, Coral felt her body stiffen. “No, Dale,” she said firmly, pushing him away. “Stop, please stop…”
“I’m sorry,” apologized her partner, checking himself immediately. “You look so beautiful and desirable tonight — but you’re right, forgive me. I must tread gently.”
“That won’t make any difference. Even if I’d had any doubt before, which I hadn’t, what you’ve just told me makes it perfectly clear that we aren’t suited for each other. Let’s just enjoy the evening, shall we?”
“Give me a second chance, Coral. I know I’ve acted like an idiot. Let me redeem myself. For a start, I will fetch us both a drink while you wait for me on that bench.” He pointed to the wooden seat that stood a few feet away under a flamboyant tree. “Will champagne suit you?”
Coral nodded her assent and made her way down toward the edge of the lake. She would not create a scene, resolving to even be friendly with Dale tonight. After all, it was quite fun to be courted. During the last year, her ego had taken a cruel blow, but if Dale was going to be another of Lady Langley’s houseguests, she might decide to cut short her stay in Narok.
Burning Embers Page 14
