Burning Embers

by Hannah Fielding

  Coral did not react immediately. What was Morgana up to now? Was she playing some sort of sick game? She surely did not look well herself, but Coral did not trust her. “If you’re fishing about our relationship, I think you should know that Rafe and I have nothing more to say to each other. He’s all yours, my dear,” she said, pleased that she managed to sound cool and detached.

  Morgana shook her head. “You don’t understand.” There was a faint tremor in her voice. “Rafe has caught some sort of fever. Dr. Giles says it’s likely to be one of his bouts of malaria. He has had it often before, but this time he’s not fighting it and is letting himself go.”

  Coral shrugged in feigned indifference. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

  “Miss Sinclair, this isn’t easy for me. I have come to you because I love Rafe more than life itself.” The dancer seemed to be trying to remain calm, but there was an audible catch in her voice. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t love me. Well, anyhow, not in the same way. It is you he’s calling out for in his delirium, you he wants, you he needs at this time next to him, or I am afraid he will let himself die.”

  “Surely you’re exaggerating.” Coral was still not convinced but was beginning to feel unnerved.

  “Before Allah I’m telling you the pure truth and I’m not exaggerating,” she said, wringing her hands, her voice starting to sound shrill. “Would you like Dr. Giles to talk to you? He hasn’t left Rafe’s side for a week — that is how serious the situation is.”

  Coral leaped up from the sofa, trembling and a little unsteady as she went to the door. There was no use trying to fight him with her mind when her heart urged her to run to him. “I’ll get my bag. I’m coming with you. Do you have a car?”

  “No, I came walking.”

  “Then we’ll drive.”

  “Thank you,” Morgana said, welling up with tears of relief. “Thank you, and I’m sorry if I have caused you grief in the past. I have always known that Rafe loved you, and I was jealous. Since he met you, he has slipped away from me.” She suddenly looked humbled. “I only hope my words were not the reason that brought about your split.”

  Coral smiled at her. Coming back toward the other woman, she laid a friendly hand on her arm. “No, Morgana. You can put your mind at rest. You played a very small part in all this,” she said. “I’m young and inexperienced, I suppose. I’ve never met anyone like Rafe. He is my first true love. I didn’t understand him, and I’m afraid I’m a lot to blame.”

  She went up to her room, her head buzzing, hoping that Morgana had been exaggerating. In this part of the world, people tended to make a mountain out of a mole hill. Her mother called it “their drama in everyday life.” Still, Coral needed to see for herself. If there was any truth in what she had heard, then she must be at Rafe’s side. Her hands were suddenly cold and clammy, her heart heavy. Dear God, make him all right. She would never be able to live with herself if something happened to him.

  * * *

  When they arrived at Whispering Palms, Frank Giles was in the kitchen, making tea. He looked like he hadn’t had much sleep lately.

  “Hello, Coral,” he said, coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray. “Nice to see you again. You’re just in time for some tea.”

  “How is Rafe?”

  “Not so good, I’m afraid,” he said, shaking his head. “Rafe first caught malaria in Tanganyika, and relying on time and his experience of treating it with quinine, developed a system of immunity to it that stood him in good stead for many years, although it failed him this time when his morale was low. Silly man, he seems to have lost the will to fight.” He smiled sadly at Coral. “Still, we’ll soon get him back on his feet, won’t we?” He grinned at both of the women standing in front of him. “He doesn’t know just how lucky he is to have two such beautiful ladies looking after him.” Frank was trying to sound cheerful, but Coral could easily sense the anxiety in his voice. “I’ll take you to him. He has some spells of awareness, but most of the time he’s asleep or unconscious.”

  Rafe was lying listless on his bed, his thin waxy face half-covered under the blanket, beads of sweat on his forehead. Coral looked at the still face, avidly scanning familiar features. The man she loved with all her soul was lying there between life and death, and she was powerless to save him. She had read about these tropical fevers that took over the body and killed without mercy. Controlling her anguish, she reached for the damask towel that lay in a bowl of water and vinegar on a small table next to the bed, and wiped his brow with a fleeting caress, while Rafe mumbled something in his sleep. He seemed so vulnerable, so helpless and lonely; she wanted to take him in her arms and sooth the pain away, protect him from the troubles that appeared to surround him.

  “It’s good for him to sleep,” Frank said. “Soon the shivers will recur and the fever will go up. He will perspire and then feel better for a while. Malaria is a nasty disease that can be kept under control nowadays, although it’s the wicked plague of Africa that has killed many people over the years and unfortunately still does. Come, let’s sit down and drink our cup of tea.” He flashed her a reassuring grin. Coral was not duped. She knew he was trying to conceal his concern behind a façade of cheerfulness.

  Morgana had quietly retired, and Frank and Coral were left alone with Rafe in the room. “Is he going to pull through?” The expression on her face left no doubt about her feelings for Rafe.

  “He’s a strong man,” Frank said, regarding her kindly. “There’s no reason why he shouldn’t. He has a lot to live for.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “We had a fight. I was horrid. I said some dreadful things to him,” Coral said, happy to be able to unburden herself at last. “I’ve been very childish, I’m afraid, and I’ve spoiled everything. I listened to gossip and never gave him the benefit of the doubt or a chance to defend himself.”

  “Malevolent tongues have always pursued Rafe, unfortunately. When his wife died, people were only too pleased to spread evil rumors about him that were totally untrue.”

  “Would it be overly inquisitive of me to ask what those rumors were and why they happened?”

  “I’m really not in a position to tell you everything. The family did not want her to see a psychiatrist. Suffice it to say that I was the physician who treated Rafe’s wife, and I am bound by professional secrecy. But you can take my word for it: Rafe was the perfect husband, and he nearly lost his life in trying to save hers.”

  “Was he not carrying on an affair with my stepmother at the time?”

  Frank shook his head and gave a little laugh. “Rafe has a very strong sense of right and wrong. Only after Faye’s death did he give in to Cybil. She pursued him from the first day she came to Tanganyika, but he remained faithful until he was widowed. They had a very brief affair. Cybil tried every trick in the book to make him marry her, but she eventually gave up and came to Kenya, no doubt to try her luck with another unsuspecting man. It is pure coincidence that they should have met again here, and contrary to the local gossip, he did not take up with her where he had left off, despite all your stepmother’s attempts. She is very persistent.” He sighed.

  “But Cybil told me that she and Rafe are still lovers and they have been all along.”

  “That is pure wishful thinking on her part, I can assure you. Rafe is fond of her. She did help him through a difficult patch after Faye’s death, and he is grateful to her, but in no way does he love her, nor has he had any contact with her other than as a friend since she left Tanganyika. She is a wicked woman if she told you otherwise, but then that does not surprise me.”

  Coral hesitated before asking her next question, wondering if Frank knew about Rafe’s claim on Mpingo. “Why did he leave Tanganyika and come to Kenya?”

  “That is a long story that Rafe will have to tell you himself. In all fairness, the only thing I can say is that he was a good friend to your father despite the nasty rumors that were spread at the time —” Frank raised an eyebrow “— and to whi
ch, I’m sure, your stepmother contributed, knowing her, as she did after Faye’s death to drive Rafe into her arms. Rafe gives the impression of being a cynical playboy from time to time, but he is far from it. After Faye’s death, I thought he would never come back from that dark place. He did, but not as the same man. He withdrew into himself with misplaced guilt, and that’s why he has learned to wear a mask, to protect himself.”

  As she listened to Frank, Coral thought back over everything she and Rafe had been through, and suddenly the pieces started to fit together. She could also imagine how Rafe and her father had become friends, and how Walter Sinclair came to regard Rafe as a son.

  “Did you know my father?”

  “I met him socially a few times, but I was not closely acquainted with him. He was a character though. Very charismatic but maybe a little too easy to influence, particularly where women were concerned.”

  Rafe stirred. A tremor shook him, and then the uncontrollable shivers came, raking his body with terrible spasms, waking him from his stupor. Frank and Coral rushed to his side. Rafe dragged his gaze from Frank Giles’s face to Coral’s. She smiled at him and touched his burning brow. “I’m here, Rafe,” she whispered, trying to hold back her tears, “I’m here, and I’ll never leave you again.”

  Rafe winced as if the light was hurting his eyes. He tried to open them and look at Coral, and momentarily his face lit up as he reached out his hand. But then his features contorted with pain and his eyes shut again.

  “I’m afraid it’ll be too much for him to speak,” Frank said close to Coral’s ear.

  “It’s all right, my love,” she replied, stroking his feverish forehead lovingly, “you’ll be back on your feet in no time. But hang on in there; you’re very precious.” She could not repress her tears anymore, and they spilled freely down her cheeks.

  Frank placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You must keep your nerve and your strength, my dear,” he said gravely. “Rafe needs you to be strong.”

  * * *

  The light hurt him; an intolerable ache raged through his head that rattled with startling explosions as though a rifle were being fired against his ears. Coral…Coral was there; his angel was back. Was he dreaming? He wanted to look at her, drink in the beloved features, but the pain was unbearable. His lids were heavy; they shut down over his burning pupils.

  Rafe’s temperature was rising. During the brief moments of consciousness, he was aware of Coral at his side, of her cool, soft touch as she caressed his face gently with one hand while with the other she held his. He could hear her sweet voice murmuring loving words that tugged at his heart strings, infusing him with her strength and love, willing him to fight this vicious fever and hold on. He wished he had the energy to explain everything to her now, to tell her about all the things he had bottled up inside him for so long because it hurt to let them out, but the strain of thinking was too much for him. He felt weak and tired, and the pain was so great.

  At night he woke up many times. He tossed and turned restlessly, screaming her name, reaching out for her blindly as his mind struggled through the hallucinations of delirium. He plunged in and out of dark abysses, his brain hammering inside his head while he gasped for air, finding it difficult to breathe with pains in his chest. In the first hours of the morning, after Frank had given him an injection, he finally fell into a deep sleep, holding onto Coral’s hand.

  * * *

  Rafe slept all day with Coral sitting next to him, helping him up, holding him against her when bouts of recurrent chills shook him, or gently pushing his shoulders back into the pillows when the fever agitated him. From time to time, she would urge upon him spoons of hot tea or press a water-soaked cotton cloth to his parched lips to refresh him.

  In the evening, Coral rang Aluna and told her that she would be staying with some friends for a couple of days and would come over in the morning to take a change of clothes. Morgana reappeared briefly to ask if they needed anything and if Coral wanted to have a rest while she took her place at Rafe’s side. Coral thanked her but said that she would remain. She would sleep on the couch that she had pulled next to his bed.

  Instead, Coral spent most of the night watching Rafe and trying to get a grip on her anxiety. She had never encountered this kind of sickness before, and the fact that the man she loved was now fighting so desperately devastated her.

  At six in the morning, Frank insisted that Morgana relieve Coral. “You must rest. It will be a long haul to convalescence, and you don’t want to fall sick yourself. Rafe needs you, so be reasonable.” His tone was kind but firm.

  “What if he wakes up and doesn’t find me?”

  “Don’t worry; he’ll sleep for another four hours at least. His pulse is regular, which it hasn’t been for the past weeks. The sedative I’ve administered is strong, and he seems to have reacted favorably to it.”

  “Will you call me if he wakes up?”

  “Yes, I promise you. Have a lie down. You can get at least four hours’ sleep before he awakens. Morgana will show you to the spare bedroom.”

  “Then I think I’ll go home and have a shower. I need a change of clothes. I’ll be back within the next hour, and then I promise to have a snooze.”

  Back at Mpingo, Coral was confronted by Aluna, who followed her up to her bedroom, questioning her suspiciously about where she had been.

  “You were not with your friends, I’m sure. You were with that Frenchman, weren’t you?” Aluna was cross, and it was no use being evasive or lying to someone who knew her too well. Reluctantly, Coral explained what had happened.

  “This is the work of the mishiriki.” Aluna warned. “You must not interfere or the spell will reverse itself onto you.”

  “Look here, Aluna, I’ve had enough of all your ignorant rubbish,” Coral said irritably as she packed a small suitcase, throwing pell-mell into it some clothes and other essentials. “Listen, I’m very fond of you, but all this talk about sorcerers and wizards doesn’t have any effect on me because I don’t believe in it, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “You saw it for yourself.”

  “What I saw was the very elaborate stage setting for a theatrical performance, arranged by an evil and clever man to manipulate naïve and ignorant people. I was upset and confused at the time, and it clouded my judgment. Everything is much clearer now.”

  “Your father was not an ignorant man, and he believed in it.”

  “Yes, and I’m afraid it might have been his undoing.”

  Aluna suddenly left the room for a minute and returned, holding a small battered leather-bound book. “Here, he kept this next to his bed. Read it and maybe you’ll understand what I mean.”

  “I really have no time for this nonsense, Aluna. I’m in a hurry.”

  “Take it, child, and read it at your leisure.”

  “All right, all right.” Coral shoved the book into her bag.

  “When will you be back?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. Don’t worry about me. I’ve told you before, I’m old enough to take care of myself. Will you please tell Robin to send a telegram to my mother saying that I’ve postponed my journey to England? I’ll let her know as soon as I’ve got a new date for my return.” She closed the case and ran down the stairs. On her way out, she crossed Cybil on the staircase.

  “Where are you going in such a rush and with such a large case?” her stepmother asked as Coral breezed past her.

  “Out — now!” came the concise answer. Cybil was the last person she wanted to see or talk to at the moment.

  The older woman ran after her and caught her arm. “You’re going to Rafe, aren’t you? He’s ill. I’ve been there, but they wouldn’t let me see him. That belly dancer woman and Frank are guarding him like Dobermans,” she burst out.

  Coral flinched. “Let me go,” she rasped as she wrenched her arm out of her stepmother’s grip. She hurried down to the car.

  “You hate me, don’t you?” Cybil went on as she ran after her.
She caught up with Coral in two strides. “It’s I who should hate you. Rafe loved me before you came on the scene.” Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her green eyes glittered dangerously. She took a step closer, leaning over Coral. “Yours is just a youthful infatuation — you’ll outgrow him. He’s everything to me, and he loves me even if he’s distracted at the moment.” Her voice rose harshly. “No one knows him as I do…You’ll be the end of him! You’ll destroy him! Leave us in peace… Go back to England and never come back!” She shouted out the last phrase as Coral pushed her aside and got into the car.

  Coral turned on the engine and wound down the window, trying to keep calm in the face of such malevolence. “I think you really believe that, Cybil. I don’t hate you, my dear. I pity you,” she said coolly and drove off.

  Rafe was still asleep when Coral reached Whispering Palms. Morgana took her to the guest room. “I hope you’ll be comfortable,” she said to Coral as she placed some clean towels on the bed. “The bathroom is next door. The cupboards are empty; you can keep your belongings there if you like. Should you need anything, I am in the guest house.” Morgana gave a wan smile. “I moved out from here some months ago,” she explained and quickly departed.

  Coral felt sorry for the young woman. Morgana obviously loved Rafe very deeply. She recalled her argument with Rafe that evening as they were coming back from the lake. He had said that Morgana was kind and loyal. Coral couldn’t understand it at the time, but he was right, and mortification overcame her as she remembered how she had accused the dancer of being vulgar and calculating. Coral was learning the hard way, and quickly.

  After she had unpacked, Coral showered and stretched out on the bed. She breathed in the fresh sea air coming through the window and listened to the breeze whispering through the palm trees in the garden. A sense of release swept over her. She took out the book that Aluna had given her — her father’s bible, she assumed. It was in French. The title was L’Exteriorisation de la Sensibilité, une Étude Experimentale et Historique, and Coral flicked open to the contents page and read the first four entries: Psychology Esoteric, Hypnotism, Reincarnation, and Occult. She smiled. It was just like her father to have such a book next to his bed. He had been a great believer in the occult and black magic. It used to drive her mother crazy. She wondered if these strange beliefs had finally gotten the better of Walter Sinclair and had eventually affected his health — that and the excessive drinking which could not have helped. Since her unnerving experience at the hands of the mishiriki, Coral had picked up some books on auto-suggestion and the paramount influence it had in affecting health or disease, happiness or unhappiness. Acts of black magic could apparently be lethal provided the elements of belief — fear, a feeling of wretchedness, and auto-suggestion — were already combined in a person. Where her father was concerned, had these things been present in his mind at the time of his death? If he truly imagined that Rafe and Cybil wanted to do away with him and had used a witch doctor for that purpose, could he have conjured up all sorts of imaginary signs and contributed to his own death? She read a couple of pages of the book that had so obsessed Walter Sinclair and soon drifted off to sleep.