A Secret, a Safari, a Second Chance

by Liz Fielding

  First warm and then wake-up-cold.

  Refreshed, she wrapped herself in a bathrobe, filled a glass from the water cooler and leaned against the deck rail, just soaking in the view.

  Nymba.

  The name hadn’t been a coincidence. This really was the site of her parents’ boma. It was where, after a morning at the village school, under the eyes of a girl called Ketty, she had played, done her homework and taken care of the orphaned animals that had found a home with them.

  The air was dry, warm, rich with the familiar scents of woodsmoke, wild basil, long hot days that baked the earth. Thrumming with the sound of cicadas.

  A glossy starling landed on the deck rail, with a flash of metallic green wings, looking for crumbs, then took off as, high in the treetops, a monkey shrieked an alarm.

  It was taken up by others along the riverbank and she leaned over the rail to see what had caused the fuss.

  A family of elephants splashing and rolling in the mud took no notice, but the zebras and impalas, edgier and ever alert to danger, had lifted their heads to sniff the wind.

  After a moment the noise began to die down and the animals lowered their heads to the water. If a predator had been slinking through the shadows, it had moved on. Maybe.

  Out in the river, a hippo emerged just sufficiently to show the rounded half-hoop of her eyes. A family of warthogs, tails erect, trotted by and there were birds, too. Egrets, several different kinds of starlings and little yellow weaver birds busy at their nests filled the trees around her. Eve could have watched for hours, but she didn’t have time to linger.

  She had been given the itinerary at Reception and it was time to go down for afternoon tea before being taken on the evening game ride.

  Her hair had dried so quickly into natural curls that it would need serious time with the straighteners before she could wind it into a chignon, but she’d been happy to leave them behind. The semi-permanent colour was fading out, too. In the bright sunlight she could see the glint of red shining through.

  It didn’t matter.

  Kit Merchant was seven thousand miles away and, after a couple of weeks of only leaving the cottage to shop for groceries, she could relax.

  She applied copious amounts of the body lotion that her mother had sworn was a better insect repellent than anything on the market, and factor fifty to any bit of skin that would be exposed. Her hair might be temporarily brown, but she had the skin of a redhead and she took the extra precaution of adding a heavy zinc sunblock to her nose and cheekbones before dressing in a pair of the khaki pants and long-sleeved shirt that had once belonged to her mother.

  She had found them washed, neatly pressed and layered with lavender, along with her broad-brimmed hat and ankle boots, when she’d been clearing cupboards in the cottage. The discovery had provoked tears, but they were standard bush clobber with useful pockets and fitted as if they had been made for her. Wearing them made her feel very close to her mother.

  She swept her hair into a hairband, picked up her hat and headed across the walkway to the main building.

  She’d already seen the thatched, open-sided central area where the reception and offices of the resort, along with a comfortable sitting area, were located.

  The thatch extended over part of a stone terrace where tea was being served at a long table and a white-jacketed waiter drew back a seat for her.

  She chose orange pekoe tea and, since the earlier arrivals were all staring at her, introduced herself.

  ‘Hi, I’m Eve Bliss.’

  They all responded with their names.

  ‘You’re American?’ someone asked.

  They were a mix of English, American and Japanese and in England everyone thought she was American. In America she easily slipped into her mother’s New England accent but was often asked if she was English or Australian.

  ‘My mother was American,’ she said. She didn’t talk about her English father, who had deserted them for a younger, less assertive assistant.

  ‘And you speak the language,’ someone else—Faye—said.

  Was that why they were staring? Because she’d exchanged a few words with the waiter?

  ‘It’s not the local tribal language. Swahili is a lingua franca that’s used all over east Africa. I picked it up when I lived here as a child. Have you been here long?’ she asked. ‘What have you seen?’

  It was enough to turn the conversation away from her as they piled in with stories of their encounters with elephants, lions, a rare glimpse of a rhino. She listened with interest, making the appropriate noises as she tucked into the tiny sandwiches, scones and cakes that arrived on a tiered dish, along with a pot of tea.

  Fortunately, she didn’t have too much time to indulge her sweet tooth before they were collected for the evening game drive.

  * * *

  Eve didn’t make it to dinner. Didn’t see the stars from her sky bed or hear the cough of a lion. She didn’t see or hear a thing until she opened her eyes to discover that the gauzy space she had fallen into was filled with a pearly pink predawn glow.

  She lay there for a moment, putting together the where, the how...

  Nymba. She was at Nymba and one sociable gin and tonic after the game drive had been enough for the jet lag she’d been fighting off all day to finally catch up with her.

  She’d bailed on dinner—falling asleep with your face in your food was not a good look—and held herself together just long enough to tuck the mosquito netting around her bed before she closed her eyes and knew no more.

  Right now she wanted nothing more than to take her time as the world awoke around her, but her itinerary started with an early morning river trip and she dragged her unwilling body under the shower. More or less awake, she tied back her still-damp hair and applied factor fifty to her skin and sunblock to her nose and cheekbones. Sunglasses usefully covered slightly puffy eyes and, hat in hand, she made her way along the treetop walk and down the steps to the terrace.

  Breakfast wouldn’t be served until after the early morning game viewing, but there was a buffet set up in the shade of the thatched roof, with pastries, juice, coffee and boiling water for tea.

  She wasn’t the only one desperate for a wake-up glass of orange juice. A man with the crumpled look of someone who had slept in his clothes drank down the glass he’d just poured and refilled it before realising there was someone behind him.

  He turned, jug in hand, paused for a moment, no doubt startled by the picture she presented, before offering to fill the glass she’d picked up. ‘Sorry, I’m hogging the juice...’

  Eve felt the blood drain from her face.

  It couldn’t be.

  Kit Merchant was supposed to be holding the fort in Nantucket.

  Just as he’d been supposed to be aboard his yacht in the Southern Ocean.

  Not.

  As she hesitated, he gave her his full attention. ‘Are you okay?’

  Thanks to the sunglasses and thick white streaks of sunblock, he hadn’t recognised her, which should have been off-the-scale okay, but she had the answer to the Which would be worse? question she’d asked herself back at the auction.

  She knew it was wrong, that she should be relieved, glad even. To have him look at her the way he had that night... Well, that was the worst idea in the world.

  He was waiting for an answer.

  ‘Y...yes. Sorry. It’s a bit early for the brain to be engaged.’ She jammed her hat on her head, waiting for him to put down the jug and move away so that she could catch her breath. Fill her glass.

  He hadn’t recognised her. It was okay.

  He wasn’t ready to surrender the jug but turned to fill her glass. Unfortunately, her hand was shaking so much that he reached out to steady it.

  His hand around hers did not help.

  ‘Not to mention jet lag,’ she added.

>   ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll bring this over for you.’

  He didn’t wait for a response, but deftly relieved her of the glass and led the way to a table set between two armchairs overlooking the river.

  He set down her glass and, since her legs were not exactly cooperating, she sat down.

  ‘Can I bring you anything else?’ he asked.

  No, no...

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. And she would be. She just needed a minute for her heart to stop dancing a crazy tango, for her breathing to recover. She’d thought she was safe. Hadn’t brought a top-up hair rinse with her—she’d planned to do that in London on the way back.

  What on earth was he doing here? How long would he stay?

  She was just congratulating herself that he hadn’t joined her, was beginning to recover from the shock, when a waiter arrived with a tray containing two large cups of coffee, pastries, plates and napkins.

  ‘Have you got everything you need?’ Kit asked, as he sank into the chair beside her.

  Eve unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth. ‘Rather more than I can manage in five minutes.’

  ‘Five minutes?’

  ‘I have a canoe waiting.’ Escape for a couple of hours while she figured out what she was going to do.

  ‘That explains the warpaint,’ he said and, just as he had once before, extended his hand and said, ‘Kit Merchant.’

  She’d had her minute. It wasn’t nearly enough...

  With no choice but to take it, she responded with what she hoped was the firm grasp of a woman in control of her limbs, if nothing else. ‘Genevieve Bliss. Eve,’ she added.

  ‘Our very generous auction bidder. Laura asked me to look out for you.’ He frowned. ‘Why didn’t we meet that night? I thought I’d thanked all the winning bidders personally and I wouldn’t have forgotten you.’

  Which had to be the very definition of irony...

  ‘I tripped over the hem of my dress,’ she said. ‘You might remember catching me.’

  ‘That was you? You rushed away before I could make sure you were all right.’

  He was still holding her hand and she forced herself to let go and reach for her juice.

  ‘I thought I’d been beaten at the last moment,’ she said, hoping that the glass wouldn’t rattle against her teeth as she took a sip.

  ‘I hope you’re glad that you won. Despite the jet lag,’ he added, when she didn’t immediately answer. ‘That is one seriously tough journey.’

  ‘It helps if you stay over in London for a day or two.’

  ‘Is that what you did?’ Kit reached for his coffee. ‘I’m catching a touch of British in your accent.’

  He’d said that, too. That night...

  ‘I’ve been working there,’ she said, without confirming her nationality one way or the other. ‘I took a journey break to sort out a few things.’

  A friend had suggested putting her flat on a rental site since she was going to be away longer than expected.

  ‘Lucky you. This is a business trip and I didn’t have time to indulge my love of London.’

  Her stopover had mostly involved cleaning and packing away stuff to leave wardrobe and cupboard space free, arranging for a cleaner to come in between visitors, but she murmured her sympathy.

  Kit rested his head against the back of the chair. ‘This is so peaceful.’

  If she’d thought about it, she would have assumed that the Merchant family were closely acquainted with all their resorts, but Kit hadn’t been part of the business. ‘You haven’t been here before?’

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a self-mocking smile. ‘It’s landlocked.’

  He was inviting her to laugh at him, or maybe with him, it was hard to tell.

  ‘There’s a river,’ she ventured.

  ‘Are you suggesting I join you on your canoe trip?’

  ‘N-no.’ The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was flirting with him. ‘I’m sure it’s full.’ But he looked exhausted. He had looked tired at the auction... ‘Maybe you could go this evening. We all need to slow down once in a while.’

  He followed her gaze to look out across the still calm of the oxbow lake, reflecting the pink sky, but she suspected his thoughts were on a distant sea.

  ‘How is your father?’ she asked.

  He came back from wherever he had been, lifted a shoulder. ‘Stubborn, difficult, opinionated.’

  ‘Getting better, then.’

  The smile returned, this time deeper, provoking memories that she’d tried very hard to forget.

  ‘He’s recovering, but he’s going to have to change his diet, take more exercise, avoid stress. My mother is going to be very busy.’

  ‘And happy to be so, I’m sure.’

  Martha had been full of the Merchants on the way home from the auction; they were one of those couples who had fallen in love in high school and never looked at another person.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s the kind of marriage you don’t often see.’ He glanced across at her. ‘The kind built on friendship and respect, that is strong enough to endure the rough times. The kind that you hope for.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KIT, TALKING ABOUT his parents’ love for one another, had spoken from the heart and Eve had to swallow down a large lump in her throat.

  ‘I hope you find that for yourself,’ she said, trying not to think about his tenderness towards Lucy. They had worked together, had an enduring bond in their love of sailing, of her brother, something solid on which to build a future...

  A single night of passion, no matter how life-changing the result, was not a basis for any kind of relationship. In the lonely dark she might have longed for the touch of a man who had, no matter how briefly, lifted her heart, made her laugh, made her body sing, but with the dawn came reality...

  Sitting beside him in the golden heat of an African dawn was something else entirely.

  ‘How long do you think it will be before you can return to racing?’ she asked.

  Not an entirely disinterested question.

  ‘It may never happen.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ That wasn’t a selfish ‘sorry’. Sailing was his life. ‘This must be so hard for you.’

  He glanced at her. ‘I’ve had a good run and now I’m needed at home. Needed here...’

  ‘Is there a problem?’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, it’s none of my business.’

  They were a couple of strangers having a polite conversation and if her pulse rate was unnaturally fast, she’d got over it once and would again.

  If there was a problem, he’d be locked away with the staff while he was here and, needed at home, on his way in twenty-four or, at the most, forty-eight hours.

  She just needed to keep her head down and her hat on in the meantime.

  Kit leaned forward, picked up the plate of pastries and offered them to her. ‘You should eat something, Eve. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.’

  She’d been struggling to lose the last of the weight that had clung on after she’d given birth to Hannah, finished breastfeeding, but her stomach gave a little gurgle of excitement at the sight of an almond croissant.

  He heard and grinned. Blushing with embarrassment, she said, ‘I missed dinner last night.’

  ‘Then I must insist, in the cause of health and safety, that you eat something before you face the wildlife.’

  Once it had become obvious that he didn’t recognise her, she’d begun to relax a little. They had met as strangers and yet right from the first moment the connection had been so intense, so immediate. And it was still there.

  While they’d been talking the rest of the guests had gathered, quickly downing juice, coffee and grabbing a pastry. Now they were beginning to disperse on their chosen method of game watching an
d it was time for her to move, too.

  ‘If I don’t go now my canoe will leave without me,’ she said, ‘but I’ll take this to keep me going.’ She picked up the croissant, biting into it as she forced herself to her feet, forced herself to walk away.

  ‘Watch out for the crocodiles,’ he said, rising with her, in an instinctive gesture of courtesy.

  ‘It’s a little-known fact,’ she told him, gathering the pastry flakes from her lips and sucking them from her finger as she took a step back, ‘that more people are killed by hippos than crocs.’

  ‘Really. And you’re going out there in a canoe?’

  ‘It was on the itinerary I was given when I arrived. I’ve no doubt they would have changed it if I’d asked, but it’s unbelievably peaceful on the water.’

  ‘Peace and quiet sounds rather wonderful just now. Are you sure there isn’t room on your canoe for a late arrival?’

  Laughter reached them from the compound where guests were piling into the large four-by-four game-viewing vehicles. Relaxed, having fun, their only concern whether they had their cameras fully charged...

  Kit had arrived tired and irritated, certain, with time to reflect on the long flight, that his brother had played him. The last thing Brad wanted was a reconciliation between Kit and their father and he’d used this meeting as a means of getting him out of the way.

  He rubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself up, focus on why he was here, but it had been a bad few weeks and he felt drawn to the peace and quiet of Eve’s canoe.

  Or maybe it was just Eve.

  She had taken a step back, distancing herself from him at his suggestion that he accompany her in the canoe. Not exactly a textbook reaction to an invitation from him. But then his invitations had always been rare; he was always the one creating the distance, but as Eve’s tongue swept a stray crumb from her lower lip a kick of heat shot through him and he put the plate down before the rest of the pastries hit the floor.