Burning Embers

by Hannah Fielding

  “Yes, they use poisoned arrows that they make themselves with vulture feathers and giraffe intestines,” Rafe volunteered. “The poison is taken from a local tree called the acokanthera frisiorum. There is nothing quite as venomous as that bush, and there is no antidote for its poison. The fruit looks much like an olive.” Rafe shifted in his seat, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “These people you’re talking about are called poachers not hunters, and their trade is illegal.”

  “Oh, illegal stuff and nonsense. There is no such thing as the word ‘illegal’ in Africa,” Dale sneered. “Rhino horns are exported, the crocodile’s skin fetches a fortune, giraffes are killed because their tails provide some sort of twine used for making arrows. Everybody’s out there making a quick buck. It’s an organized business, I tell you, and long may it last, I say. Let’s not be, plus royalistes que le roi, as your French proverb goes.” He eyed Rafe pointedly. “The customs officials on the coast know all about these practices and turn a blind eye.”

  “All you have said is true, but that doesn’t make it legal or right,” Rafe said quietly. Though his eyes were shielded from her, Coral could feel the tension underneath his calm exterior.

  “We should be going,” said Frank. “I have to get back to the clinic — patients are waiting.” He smiled in the nicest possible way but seemed anxious to get going. “Sorry if you feel that I’m breaking the party up.”

  “Not at all,” said Lady Langley, jumping up from her chair. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you. I hope that it’s not too much out of your way. I’m not used to these early mornings and feel rather tired. I’ll be glad to put my feet up.”

  Rafe turned to Coral. “Would you care for a ride in the park? We didn’t get a chance this morning, but we may get lucky and come upon some lions. Not surprising we haven’t seen any yet, though. Lions prefer to come out in the late morning, and they usually hunt at dusk.” He was smiling at her, the burnished eyes intent on her face.

  She smiled at his efforts to be friendly. “I’d love that. I don’t have many more days here, and even though this morning was extraordinary, it would be nice to get some shots of lions. People do seem to love those creatures, and somehow an article on Kenya wouldn’t be complete without them.”

  They rode in the Land Rover, Rafe and Dale at the front and Coral and Cybil in the back. The sun hung high in a cloudless sky. They drove through groves of giant acacias with wide boughs in some places, flat tops of green filigree through which the sunlight filtered. In other places, trailing branches leaned over and brushed along the side of the vehicle as they passed. On each side of the road was a world of flickering shade and light teeming with insects and little furred creatures of the bush.

  Suddenly, on the edge of a bank fringing a marshy depression, they saw a leopard. It was a colossus of an animal in a fearful rage, his hind leg caught in the powerful jaws of a snare fastened to a tree by a long chain. Rafe pulled the vehicle to an abrupt stop and seized the stun gun. Before anyone could stop him, Dale had also grabbed Rafe’s rifle and was out of the Land Rover.

  “This pile is for me,” he said as he advanced toward the beast. The feline at first retreated, growling fiercely.

  “Watch out!” Rafe shouted as Dale lifted the rifle to aim and tripped over a small tree trunk. As Dale fell to the ground, the rifle flew out of his hands and went off with a bang, wounding the animal. The leopard snarled and sprang out in a mighty rage. He caught Dale’s arm just as Rafe, who was not far behind with the stunning pistol, shot the cat on the bridge of the nose, getting him right between the eyes. The magnificent creature dropped like a rock.

  “Stay where you are, both of you, and don’t move!” Rafe sharply roared to his two petrified passengers. Dale was sprawled on the ground, unconscious. First reclaiming his rifle, Rafe picked up the young American and brought him back to the Land Rover. He examined the mauled arm. “Not too bad,” he grunted, “a very small price to pay for such rash and reckless behavior. Stupid man! He’s obviously got a death wish!” Rafe muttered to himself as he took out the first aid box from the boot and started to attend to the wound.

  “The animal only grazed him,” he told Coral and Cybil who were both trembling as they went about helping Rafe place Dale comfortably into the vehicle. Coral took out a small bandage from Rafe’s pharmacy kit, and both she and Cybil addressed the wound.

  “He’ll be fine in a couple of days. I’ll get Frank to look at this, just to be on the safe side. Coral, come and sit in the front. Cybil, you look after Dale. He’ll soon wake up and will need reassurance; it must have given him a massive shock.” Rafe gave a devilish grin. “Maybe this will teach him not to be so cocky in the future.” Coral noticed Cybil’s face fall; she seemed on the verge of protesting the seating arrangement but did as she was told.

  The leopard was still out cold on the ground, and Coral had never seen such a beautiful animal. His fur was very pale in color, almost silver; his throat was spotted with a circular band of black patches that hung like a necklace around the base of his collar. Rafe hesitated, then, to Coral and Cybil’s horror, he calmly approached the wild beast. He examined the leopard carefully and slowly proceeded to free the creature from the steel trap and undo the chain that held him captive. Ambling back to the Land Rover, he got in without a word, slammed the door shut, and turned on the engine.

  Underneath the calm exterior, Rafe was seething. “Snaring is an indiscriminately cruel and cowardly method of killing,” he said. “Thankfully, it looked like this leopard hadn’t been caught long, and he’ll recover to roam again freely. And now, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Let’s go home.” Turning to Coral, he smiled again. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to provide you with a lion, but I promise to make it up to you. I still have a few ideas up my sleeve.” His eyes twinkled with infinite mischief.

  * * *

  That night Rafe couldn’t sleep. He sat in the dark in an armchair in his room, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes as images of the day flooded his brain. Coral had been full of surprises. It was difficult not to watch her as she went about her work, so masterful with her camera, and he found himself wanting to share in her experience even if it was just showing her where to get the best pictures. He had never seen this side of her before, so professionally immersed in her craft. She was dazzling. Her energy had radiated through, making her complexion luminous and her eyes glittery. He had kept his gaze fastened onto her, taking in her beauty.

  Rafe had always found her body irresistible, and now he had discovered another part of her that was even more compelling. He checked himself; he must not dream the impossible dream. She could never be his, entirely his forever. It was not fair; it was not right. A great portion of his life was behind him while all of hers was still in the future.

  He must keep repeating this in order to stop himself from straying. But he was aware of the potency of feelings between them and how suddenly their emotions were developing. In his mind’s eye, he replayed the way she had watched him as he came toward her out of the lake, the silent passion in her eyes, the way she had trembled in his arms when he had pulled her up against him, and the warmth of her as she returned his kisses.

  The temptation to give in to their mutual attraction was so strong that he feared his fiery French blood would rule and he would surrender to the passion that burned in his gut. He couldn’t…He mustn’t… Though he was used to having his own way with women and might seem to others an incorrigible womanizer, he could never live with himself if that happened. It wouldn’t be fair to Coral. He suspected it before, but now he had no doubt that this had gone way beyond a physical craving for her. He had never been a jealous man, even with his wife, but he couldn’t bear Dale’s attention to Coral. The insufferable young man irritated him; at times, he would have gladly made mincemeat of his smug face. Rafe had to admit that, for the first time in his life, he was experiencing the bitter pangs of jealousy.

  And then there was poor,
loyal Morgana to think of. For so long, her kindness and loving nature had been the tonic he needed to obscure his pain. Whenever he had been troubled by the nightmares of his past, he had always been able to forget them momentarily in Morgana’s arms. But of late it had been impossible. Rafe found himself avoiding the dancer and, since he met Coral, rebuffing her advances. He couldn’t stomach the thought of being with any other woman than Coral, and this new and painful feeling stunned him. His life was ruled now by a tyranny of mood swings when he was around Coral: from exhilaration and teasing playfulness to melancholy when the darker side of him took over and he couldn’t help being a little gruff. No wonder the poor girl couldn’t make out what was happening. He loved Coral with an intensity he never thought possible. For the jaded cynic in him, the obstacles to their love seemed insurmountable unless he could let go of the past. For the romantic dreamer in him, a tiny portion of his heart still believed in rainbows.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Two days later, Coral and Cybil were sharing an uncomfortable breakfast alone together. The other guests had gone out for the day, and Lady Langley had gone off to the local market. Neither of them was speaking much, and the atmosphere was decidedly cool. Cybil was clearly still bristling from the attention Rafe had paid to Coral during the balloon ride and furious that he had lumbered her with Dale in the back of the Land Rover on the way home. The young woman in turn was puzzled. It was clear that Rafe had some kind of feelings for her, so why did he still allow her stepmother to flirt with him? Rafe certainly seemed to show a keen interest in her work, and the atmosphere between them was constantly charged with undercurrents of passion. At times, she had almost felt he loved her. As she was lost in thought, Rafe walked into the dining room looking very pleased with himself. He had just returned from taking Dale to Nairobi to catch a plane back to the United States.

  “What’s up, Rafe? You can’t stand the man,” Cybil had said when he had announced his intention to accompany the American to the airport.

  “I want to make damn sure he’s on that plane,” he had replied. “Dale’s a show-off, the most dangerous kind of daredevil, the type who doesn’t have an ounce of common sense in his handsome, thick head. He had a close miss with that animal the other day, but I doubt it’ll have taught him a lesson. Who knows what he may dream up next, and I don’t want to be around when that happens.”

  Now free from the Dale’s presence, he addressed Coral with a dazzling smile. “Care for a plane ride around the jungle this afternoon? We may find that lion that has been eluding us so cleverly.”

  Before Coral had a chance to answer, Cybil butted in, “I’d love to! It’s been ages since you’ve taken me on one of your airplane jaunts.” She crinkled up her nose, smiling at him in a teasing, intimate way.

  “You were not asked,” he replied, ignoring Cybil’s obvious dismay at such a brutal answer. “Besides, it’s a two-seater.” Turning to Coral, he smiled again. “Shall we go?”

  “What should I wear?”

  “Your favorite scent and a smile.” His dark brows jerked upward.

  Coral shot him a mocking look. “I’ll see what I can do to oblige.”

  Cybil cleared her throat noisily. “Well, actually, I’ve just remembered that there’s something I really must get in Nairobi today, so I couldn’t join you anyway,” she spat, and turning on an elegant heel, she stalked out of the room.

  Coral went up to her room to collect her camera equipment. Rafe was treating her like the queen bee of his harem this week. Well, if it amused him to think so. She had to admit he had been bending over backward to help her gather material for this documentary. Of course, she suspected he had an ulterior motive, but it was up to her not to fall into his trap. After all, her mother had always said that no man could take from a woman what she didn’t willingly want to give.

  They set out an hour before lunch. The small two-seater was already waiting for them, gleaming in the field. After Rafe had chatted to a couple of officials on the tarmac, he helped Coral up and clambered after her into the plane. Coral had never flown in a light aircraft before, but her job had made her acutely aware of the many incidents in which these sorts of machines had gone down in the jungle. This was not a reassuring thought. Still, the great distances and the bad roads in Africa did not lend themselves to quick and easy travel, so a number of people used airplanes instead of cars. This did little to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

  “A little nervous?” Rafe viewed her with concern as he leaned over to check that she was properly strapped in.

  Coral shrugged. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “There’s always a first time.” He chuckled.

  It seemed to Coral that Rafe’s eyes, his smile, even his voice were full of innuendo today. It would be a difficult task to keep this wild animal at bay. But did she really want to? Coral stole another glance at him. He wore a beige bush shirt and tight-fitting jeans, and his hair had been cut, which gave him a boyish air that was rather touching. “Here, wear these.” He handed her a set of headphones with a microphone. “So we can have a friendly conversation,” he added, grinning when he noticed her raised eyebrows.

  They took off straight into the sun, leaving a trail of red and blue dust behind them. It was a fine afternoon with no hint of cloud. Coral felt the excitement mounting in her as they rose over the Rift Valley, higher and higher into the sky. This was different than flying in the balloon, even more powerful and exhilarating. She took in with disbelief the spectacular panorama of plains, snow-capped mountains, escarpment, lakes, and ridges that went on for miles, all thousands of feet below.

  A multitude of animals now came into view: giraffes, zebras, impalas, and hartebeest stopped grazing and watched, bunched together, as the aircraft approached and flew over, startling them into sudden flight. In whatever direction the plane turned, creatures were to be seen in astonishing numbers and varieties.

  “I’ve noticed how much you like your job,” Rafe remarked as Coral started to take out her camera.

  “Hmm…” She busied herself with one of the lenses. “The best way for me to express myself is through the camera. I’ve always liked beautiful things, and what can be more beautiful than the world around us? Every day, one comes across beauty, scenes that lift up one’s spirit: a breath-taking sunset, a mother nursing her child, a tree standing alone in the wilderness, the expression on the weathered face of an old African wise man, the delight on the face of a child eating an ice-cream. With my photographs, I can hold and freeze the beauty of one moment forever.” Coral fitted a new lens on the front of her camera and peered through it for a moment, testing the aperture. “Of course, there is also ugliness and unhappiness around us, and sometimes I’m able to capture that too, in the hope that it’ll wake up a few numb consciences. I am presumptuous enough to assume that I may be able to make a difference.” She let out a little self-deprecating laugh. “Can you understand that?”

  “I understand perfectly,” he answered.

  “What about you? Where did you learn how to fly? I didn’t know you were a skilled pilot.”

  Rafe grinned at her behind his pilot’s goggles. “Ah, my dear, there are many skills of mine that you still ignore.”

  Coral brushed off his flippancy. “Really, where did you learn how to fly?”

  He shrugged wearily. “Oh, here and there, I guess.” Rafe was still eluding her questions.

  “You’re a hunter, aren’t you? Someone mentioned that you conduct hunting safaris.” Coral was facing away from him, busy taking shots of a mustering of storks that were gathering around a lake before beginning their long flight to Europe.

  “I have hunted. I don’t anymore.” It was like drawing teeth.

  “Why?”

  “Hunting has deteriorated in the last few years. It’s not a fair sport anymore. Too many Dales in the world, I’m afraid — bloodthirsty poachers who kill game for trophies, regardless of whether the animal is rare or not. There was one millionaire party th
at shot twelve lions in two days. They didn’t walk, they raced over the plains in small trucks, and what they caught up with they shot. Stories like that make me sick. These sorts of people will be the ones to finally cause the extermination of the great herds that used to roam freely all through this continent.”

  “You didn’t hunt for trophies?”

  “No, not really, but sometimes I had to for clients I took out on safaris. It was part of the job description. You couldn’t really object. These people came to Africa to hunt, and they intended to do so.”

  “Where was this, in Kenya?” Coral was determined to dig deeper.

  Still, she had barely finished her question when Rafe cried out, pointing at what from afar appeared like a yellow patch on a mound on the edge of a clearing in the distance. “There they are! Your lions!” He sounded just as excited by the sighting as she was. “I’ll bring you as close as possible so you can get some good shots.”

  As he spoke, the little plane began to plunge. He brought the aircraft down so low that they nearly touched the tops of the acacias. Coral had the distinct view of a pride of lions with their cubs, lying on a small rise in the clearing, sunning themselves under the heat of the early afternoon. As Rafe flew over them, the male got to his feet. He was a magnificent animal, powerful and strong. The huge beast casually looked upward, walked a few paces, and flopped down again in the shade of an acacia, his mane waving in the breeze. “I’ve got a good one of him,” Coral said with a triumphant little laugh.