An Image of You

by Liz Fielding

  Chapter Six

  ‘What a very impetuous young woman you are, Georgette. Have you no thought for your safety? You’re in the middle of the bush. There could be anything out there, waiting to eat you up for lunch.’

  George looked nervously around, but there was nothing out there to raise her pulse-rate the way Lukas did.

  ‘So? What do you suggest we do?’

  ‘I’m sure we could think of some way to pass the time.’ He moved closer to her on the seat. ‘Before we try the engine again.’

  ‘Let’s change places.’ She moved rapidly to open the door, anxious to get out of his reach. But Lukas snapped out a hand and caught her arm.

  ‘Certainly not.’ He leaned across her and closed the door. ‘Unless, of course, you’re prepared to concede that you need a man to get you out of trouble?’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’

  He laughed. ‘I thought not. So, entertain me. Keep my mind off the terrible danger you’ve got us into.’

  ‘I am not a music-hall turn, Mr Lukas,’ she said coldly and, her hand shaking, she gave the key a desperate turn. After a heart-stopping effort it fired. George slipped into gear and without another word moved off, this time taking it more gently.

  After a while she gave him a sideways glance from under her lashes. ‘What excitement have you planned for this afternoon?’ she asked.

  Lukas regarded her with steady amusement for a moment and George held her breath, but he had apparently abandoned the attempt at a flirtation and returned to the business at hand, explaining the shot he had arranged earlier. He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on, George, get a move on, do.’

  George put her foot down, but Lukas was apparently untroubled by the shaking, hanging on without any show of discomfort. He was out of the Land Rover and walking almost before she had applied the brakes, shouting orders, making everyone jump.

  ‘Thought we might have had a bite of lunch before starting again,’ Walter muttered to George, as he heaved himself out of his camp chair.

  But no one had lunch until a difficult shot of Peach taking a bush shower was successfully completed. Lukas wanted one of the little black-faced vervet monkeys to be in the shot, peeping out of a tree at her. Bait to entice it to the right spot had been laid, but the monkey was, on the whole, quicker than the camera lens.

  ‘We could tie a piece of apple to some cotton,’ George suggested after a half a dozen attempts. ‘That might hold him.’

  Lukas shrugged. ‘The greedy little beast might fall for it.’ The monkey watched suspiciously as the bait was laid once more. This time he was more cautious, but in the end he couldn’t resist the temptation. He flew down the tree, made a grab for the apple and froze in astonishment as it was jerked out of reach. Then he turned and fled, gibbering at them in rage from the safety of a high branch. But it had been long enough.

  For the first time since their return to camp Lukas smiled. ‘Good work, team. Now, how about some lunch? I’m starving.’

  By the time she had cleared away everyone had already helped themselves to lunch from the buffet and settled around the table to eat. George put some food on a plate and went to join them. By common consent the seat next to Lukas had been left vacant for her. He looked up as she sat down and smiled.

  ‘All packed up?’ She nodded. ‘Excellent. We’ll get off as soon as we’ve finished lunch.’

  ‘Off?’

  ‘To Nairobi. I’ve decided to take the shot of Kelly with the deer this afternoon.’

  George raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you plan to do that? Lasso one?’ Kelly, next to her, giggled. Lukas, on the other hand, allowed only the faintest quiver of his bottom lip to betray amusement.

  ‘What a pity I hadn’t thought of that. I would have enjoyed watching your attempts to round one up for us.’

  ‘So?’ she snapped. She was feeling scratchy, at odds with herself, and she knew it. Repression was, she decided, bad for you. She made an effort to pull herself together. ‘Where do we get the deer from?’ she asked, rather more pleasantly.

  Lukas smiled appreciatively and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what was going on inside her head. ‘There’s an animal orphanage at the Nairobi National Park. It’s been arranged with them—’

  ‘Can we all come?’ Peach interrupted.

  ‘Not this time, sweetheart. There’s not enough room in the plane.’

  ‘Just make sure you take the film into Nairobi. There should be some to pick up as well.’ Walter told him.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Lukas grinned.

  ‘And bring the newspapers.’

  ‘And the post.’

  Half an hour later they were taking off from a dirt strip alongside a game lodge just inside the nearby National Park. George used the time to write a quick note to her father to tell him that she was surviving, and to the most permanent of her ‘house guests’, Bob Turner, reminding him that he was to get in touch with Miss Bishop at her father’s office if he was desperate for anything. She addressed the envelopes and sat back to enjoy the scenery.

  ‘I’ll put those with the rest of the post, shall I?’ Lukas offered.

  ‘They’re not stamped.’

  ‘I’ll see to it.’ Somewhat reluctantly she handed them over and he looked at the addresses. ‘One to Daddy.’ He looked up. ‘And one to the boyfriend?’

  ‘Bob’s a friend, certainly. Man, rather than boy.’ She was disturbed to find that she felt a definite satisfaction as Lukas’s face darkened perceptibly at this information. And amusement. She didn’t think that any image Lukas had of Bob was likely to coincide with the original. At sixty-two, he sported long hair—from those parts of his head that still had hair—wore a weird assortment of sixties velvet, being particularly addicted to flared trousers, and had a pierced ear from which hung a large piratical hoop.

  Lukas dropped the letters into his pocket. ‘We’re almost there,’ he said.

  George looked down in fascination as the pilot banked the light aircraft over the game park. ‘Look, there are some giraffes.’ Almost before she could take it in they were down and rushing along the dirt runway. The five of them crammed into a waiting car and were driven to the nearby orphanage where they were met by the director.

  ‘Everything’s ready. We’ve screened off the far paddock to give you a bit of privacy. Bambi’s already there. You can use this office for changing, make-up, or whatever. That door’ll take you into the paddock.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lukas glanced around. ‘Well, we’ll get on.’

  The orphanage director tore his eyes from Kelly. ‘Oh, right. There’s a box of titbits for Bambi. If the young lady holds something in her hand Bambi will follow her anywhere.’

  And she did. Kelly walked across the paddock, a thin white sarong tied carelessly across one shoulder, a shallow basket with the essential spare parts balanced on her head by one graceful hand, Bambi following to heel, and the Ngong Hills as a backdrop. Lukas was clearly pleased with the result. He glanced at his watch.

  ‘What we need now is transport.’ The director was happy to oblige. The donation to his funds for the use of his paddock and deer had been generous. George’s eyes narrowed as she saw how generous.

  ‘Rather more than you paid the villagers for their help,’ she said as they climbed into a somewhat battered Peugeot.

  ‘It was what they asked for, and I was hardly in a position to say I’d go elsewhere. It’s a good cause. I thought you supported good causes.’

  ‘I do,’ George retorted. ‘I just happen to think people are more important than animals.’

  Lukas grinned. ‘Really? I thought you would have known better. The population of some of our animal species is already at crisis point. I hadn’t noticed that problem with people.’

  George glared. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ He reached across and patted her hand patronisingly. ‘Now, what are we all going to do in Nairobi?’

  ‘You can drop me at the Norfol
k,’ Kelly replied. ‘I want to phone John and have a bath.’ Mark and Suzy had similar plans.

  ‘That’s it, then.’ He pulled up outside the hotel. ‘You can take the post and the films. Make sure you pick up everything. I’ll collect you later.’ George made a move to follow them, but Lukas stopped her. ‘Don’t go.’

  She looked at him blankly. ‘I could do with a bath as well.’

  ‘If that was an invitation I could be persuaded to change my mind.’ His face was deadly serious. ‘And I’d scrub your back,’ he offered hopefully. George twitched away from his gaze, well aware that bright spots of colour were burning her cheeks. ‘No? Pity. In that case I insist you help me with an errand of mercy instead.’

  George was immediately remorseful. ‘Michael! You’re going to visit him.’

  ‘You’d forgotten! I find it hard to believe that someone with your heightened sense of patronage would have forgotten a person in need.’

  She shook off his hand and slammed the car door. ‘We’d better get some grapes.’

  ‘The fruit market is just down the road.’ Grinning happily at her discomfort, he pulled up outside the market and found a coin for the parking meter. ‘Come along, sourpuss. It’s no good sulking just because you’re not the only one with good intentions.’

  ‘That’s unfair!’

  ‘Well, smile, then. Take off those silly glasses, and enjoy yourself. Then I’ll try to stop teasing you.’ George suddenly felt foolish. She was being shrewish. Had been ever since Lukas had hinted at a mild flirtation. And she knew why. Slowly she reached up and removed the tinted glasses. She folded them and slipped them into her bag.

  ‘Is that better?’ Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. ‘Is …?’

  ‘Much better.’ Lukas plucked her hat from her head and dropped it in a nearby bin.

  ‘Hey!’

  He ignored her protest; instead he removed the band fastening her plait and ran his fingers through her hair to loosen it, shaking it free before capturing her face in his hands.

  ‘Lukas! Let me go!’ she demanded, only too conscious that several people had slowed down to watch, enjoying the unexpected sideshow.

  He smiled, then bent to place a kiss firmly on her mouth. ‘There,’ he said, with satisfaction. ‘That’s much better.’ He released her before she could protest.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ she demanded.

  ‘It was you or the hat. Frankly, I prefer you.’

  ‘That’s not what …’ She stopped.

  ‘Yes?’ He was laughing at her. Shakily she tugged her fingers through her hair. ‘I must look a mess,’ she said lamely.

  ‘You look quite beautiful.’ He gazed at her for a moment. ‘I should be surprised, but somehow I’m not. Now. Grapes.’ He took her hand and led her across the road and up the steps into the market where George came abruptly to a halt.

  ‘What flowers!’ she exclaimed, stunned by the exotics mixed with the humbler carnations. ‘And the scent! I didn’t think tropical flowers had a scent.’

  The stallholder held out the white blooms. Lukas nodded and indicated some roses. ‘Red?’ he asked her.

  ‘They won’t last.’

  Lukas raised a mocking brow. ‘What does? Enjoy them while they do.’

  She bit her lip, feeling foolish. Lukas was clearly a practised flirt. ‘Perhaps it would be better if …’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted, holding out a bunch of grapes for her inspection. She nodded.

  It was too ridiculous. It was nothing but a game for him. ‘Nothing. Why don’t you get him some tangerines as well?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  * * *

  Michael was propped up, his leg covered by a cage. The table across his bed was covered in small glass jars full of the specimens he had collected and he was busy writing when they arrived.

  ‘Lukas! Good of you to come.’ He eyed George with interest.

  ‘We finished early at the orphanage, so we thought we had better come and bring you some grapes.’

  ‘Bless you. The grapes are most welcome. But so is the vision of loveliness you have brought with you.’

  ‘You’ve been in here too long, Michael,’ Lukas tutted. ‘This is George. She is not a vision of anything. She is an assistant.’

  Michael looked over his spectacles at George and then at Lukas. He laughed. ‘Yes, well. Anyone can see that. But I don’t recall ever rating a bunch of red roses.’ His gaze returned to George. ‘You’re my replacement, I take it?’

  ‘Georgette Bainbridge. How do you do?’

  He took her proffered hand. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

  ‘We’re interrupting your work.’ George glanced at the specimen collection and looked quickly away again. ‘I’m surprised they allow you to have those in here.’

  ‘Oh, they’re all right. They’re dead.’ He looked at Lukas. ‘They wouldn’t let me have Dido.’

  ‘Dido?’ George looked from one to the other.

  ‘I’d forgotten Dido.’ Lukas smiled thoughtfully. ‘She is a quite delightful little hunting spider that Mike found in the mess tent.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Lukas. She isn’t little. She’s a fine specimen. They’re looking after her for me at the snake farm. You could go and see her if you like.’

  ‘No.’ George was rooted to the spot. She took several deep breaths while the two men watched her with amusement.

  The bottles, with their leggy contents, seemed to be coming nearer and nearer. George felt an urgent desire to run. Only Lukas and his laughing mouth kept her glued to the spot. He placed an arm around her shoulders and unconsciously she moved closer to him. Michael noticed the movement with a twitch of his lips.

  ‘Well, I’d better let you young things run along and enjoy yourselves. Think of me, stuck in bed, with nothing but the odd dead spider to keep me company. I say, Lukas. You could bring Dido to visit. I’m sure they’d allow that.’

  ‘Forget it. I’ll see you soon.’

  George lifted her hand a few inches. ‘Bye.’

  Lukas led her stiffly to the car park and sat her in the car. ‘I thought you weren’t afraid of spiders,’ he grinned.

  George swallowed. ‘I’m not. In theory. In practice, I might just be a little bit … terrified.’

  ‘Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.’ He started the car. ‘Unless you’d rather go on and meet Dido?’

  ‘The drink will do just fine,’ George said firmly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We’ll go to the club for a sundowner. I think we’re just about respectable enough to eat on the terrace there.’

  They sat on the terrace of the Nairobi Club, sipping their icy drinks and regarding one another silently. George examined the planes and angles of her companion’s face in the rapidly fading light with undisguised interest. At last Lukas grinned. ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s an interesting face. I should like to take a portrait. If I may?’

  ‘Only if you promise to hang it beside that of the Princess Royal. What else?’

  She put her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. ‘It’s not a British face. The cheekbones are too wide. You’re too dark.’

  ‘Does that matter?’ he asked, a sudden watchfulness shadowing his eyes.

  ‘No.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Thirtyish. Thirty-three or thirty-four?’

  ‘Thirty-two. I’ve had a hard life.’

  ‘Have you?’ She picked up his hand, lying on the table between them. It was strong and tanned and sprinkled lightly with dark hair. She turned it over. The fingers were long and tapering, the palms free of calluses. ‘Not manual labour. In what way hard?’ She looked up and too late saw the dangerous glint of laughter, and the teasing curve of his mouth. She dropped the hand as if stung, but he caught her fingers and pulled her hand across the table towards him. ‘Let go!’ she demanded.

  ‘It’s my turn,’ he said with a hurt expression. He sat forward and gazed into her eyes, her fingers clasped between his. ‘An interesting face. I should like to tak
e a portrait, if I may?’ he asked with the utmost seriousness.

  ‘Perhaps.’ She was discouraging.

  ‘A very English face. Peachy skin. Dark blue—no, violet eyes. And that high, almost medieval forehead.’ His thick dark brows drew together slightly and he paused, his face suddenly intent. ‘Very much in the style of a Raphael madonna.’ He carried on, but she had the feeling that it was formality; the fun had suddenly gone out of it. ‘Young. Twentyish?’ he suggested.

  ‘Twenty-two.’

  ‘That old?’ He feigned surprise.

  ‘I’ve had an easy life,’ she replied in an effort to keep it a game.

  He lifted her hand to examine it, and before she could retract it had dropped a kiss into the palm. ‘Certainly not a lot of bricklaying.’

  The appearance of smoked salmon enabled George to reclaim her hand and attempt to still the fluttering in her abdomen. Twice George caught Lukas staring at her with a disquieting expression as he ate his food. The waiter cleared their plates and they sat in silence, waiting for their cutlets. The atmosphere between them was no longer light. A dangerous undertow was tugging George out of her depth.

  They both started to speak at once, and stopped. ‘Please. You first,’ Lukas invited politely.

  Still George hesitated. Perhaps she had just imagined the recognition in the unwavering grey eyes. But Lukas was waiting and she plunged in, suddenly unable to bear the tension a moment longer. ‘You’ve remembered, haven’t you?’ She faltered before the intensity of his gaze.

  ‘I knew the day you arrived that we had met before. But I have to admit your disguise was good. Every time I started to think about it you did something tiresome enough to distract me. It was very clever, Georgette.’

  ‘So. What made you finally remember?’

  ‘As soon as I heard myself describing your forehead as medieval. That was what struck me on the last occasion we met.’ He allowed a smile to widen his mouth. ‘Prior to the bag of flour.’ She had expected him to be angry, but instead he seemed rather to be amused by her predicament. ‘I was fascinated by your face. I wasn’t in the least bit interested in those poor girls parading for my attention. I had an image of you hammering in my head. It was so clear that all I could think of was asking you to sit for me. To get you out of those clothes and—’