by Frank Coates
‘My poor baby,’ she said, stroking the horses’s neck as she continued to hold her head in her arms. After a moment or two she stepped back and looked into Dancer’s eyes. ‘Why don’t we go for a little walk? Would you like that? Maybe it’ll cheer us up.’
She slipped a light saddle over her, and a few minutes later they were heading down the track towards the gate. Dana intended her outing to end there, but the sun lifted her spirits. She even imagined Dancer’s step had picked up as they followed the road to the gate then veered left to climb the ridge towards the treeline that demarcated the edge of their property and the beginning of the Aberdare forest.
At the highest point of their land she dismounted and walked to the shepherd’s hut under a large tree a hundred yards from the encroaching forest. It was a single room with a fireplace in the centre and a small bed. She had christened it the shepherd’s hut when they’d first moved to Zephyr and she didn’t yet understand enough Swahili to call it a banda. The Africans who used it when the ranch had carried a great deal more stock than she and Edward owned probably took shelter there from the rain. Nowadays, they were able to keep the stock within close proximity of the farmhouse, so the banda was no longer needed, but Dana liked it. It reminded her of the cubby house she’d had as a child and always gave her a feeling of security when she stepped inside it.
She slipped past the tanned hide covering the door and sat on the cot. It had a number of skins on it, including a zebra skin that she stroked, enjoying the coarse hairs against her palm.
She came outside again and, after the dimness, the bright light assaulted her eyes as she followed the smoky blue line of the mountains down the slope where, a mile or so further on, past a couple of low ridges, sat the house. The breadth of the vista always bestowed on her a feeling of peace and contentment. Now she let her eyes drop to the course of the river as it dodged among the thick green patches of scrub to the west.
She noticed a lone rider heading towards her. She felt some alarm: the intruder was on private property, and she was a long way from the security of her house.
She walked quickly towards Dancer and swung into the saddle to watch his approach before making a retreat. His high seat in the saddle indicated he was a horseman; as he drew closer, she was relieved to recognise Sam Williams.
She was thankful she’d at least put on a nice pink blouse that morning. She dismounted and patted the blouse’s collar to make it flat. Then she shook her head to get her hair to sit right.
‘Morning,’ he said, looking down on her from his saddle.
‘Good morning.’ She was at a loss for small talk.
‘Should I join you, or have you come up here to be on your own?’
She had left the house with the intention of being alone, but now that he was there with that slightly shy smile, she felt the need for company, a need she’d not felt since the races.
‘Please do.’
He dismounted and she led him to the shade beside the hut where a large branch had broken from the tree during the last big blow. They tethered their horses and sat on the log.
‘That’s a very unusual pendant,’ he said. ‘It’s a lion’s fang, isn’t it?’
She touched a finger to her throat. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘My first and only trophy.’
He nodded. ‘It fits with your character.’
She waited for an explanation, but he changed the subject. ‘I came by a few weeks ago. Just after Race Week,’ he said.
‘You did? I was at home, surely.’
‘I didn’t go to the house. I sat up here for a while. I love this place. Every time I pass here, I come to this very spot. It helps me think, and you can see everything.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I didn’t see you out. I reckoned if you were feeling up to having visitors you’d be out riding.’
She smiled. ‘That was very kind of you.’ She was touched by his thoughtfulness. ‘You know about Dancer … About what happened to her. I could see it in your eyes.’
He nodded.
She glanced towards the filly, nosing a clump of grass. Dana plucked a grass stalk and slowly began to shred it. ‘I’m grateful you didn’t report me to the stewards. I deserved it for my selfishness and stupidity.’
‘I’m the last one who could run to the authorities. I imagine you’ve already realised I’m not so perfect myself.’
‘A horse smuggler is nothing.’
‘Sometimes with a little gold in the saddlebags too. But I’m not sure Emperor Ras Tafari would agree that taking his precious Abyssinians from his country is nothing.’
She smiled in spite of her sadness. ‘How did you get into that business?’
‘Probably because I failed at everything else.’ He was smiling too.
‘No, seriously. How is it that an educated American gentleman comes to Africa and gets involved in a business that takes him to the wildest parts of the continent?’
She thought she must have offended him because he remained silent for a long time before saying, ‘My name is Wangira. Samson Wangira. I have an American elocutionist and six years in the States to thank for this accent. The fact is, I’m a Kikuyu, born and raised at the foot of Mt Kenya.’
He told her how he saved the life of a wealthy American businessman who later sponsored him to enter New York University; after that he learned about horses in the mid-west.
‘You accuse yourself of being selfish and stupid,’ he said. ‘You’re not the only one. I was too selfish to keep in touch with people — family and friends — who loved me in spite of my years of separation from them. Too selfish to keep in touch. And too stupid to appreciate the love of a good friend.’
He told her about his family and the nun who had helped him in his early education. He spoke with feeling about the Jewish man who had loved him but had never taken advantage of a young man’s gratitude. She became absorbed in his story and was surprised at how he was able to relate the facts with such honesty.
‘And now I’m in the horse business, in a manner of speaking.’
‘And I’m out of it,’ she said. ‘The horse business, I mean.’
‘Why? Because you’ve had some bad luck with your little mare here?’
‘Bad luck? She’ll never race again, and she was my best prospect.’
‘You once asked me about a stallion to put to Dancer for breeding purposes. Why not continue with those plans? You know she has the qualities to be a champion. She could still give you some champion foals.’
In her remorse she’d forgotten about that other side of her plans for Dancer.
‘Can you get an Abyssinian stallion for me?’
‘I can. It may take time to find the right one, but I can keep it in mind as I travel around. If you are prepared to wait. Let me put a business proposition to you. In return for the stud services of a stallion — to be provided — I would like to use your property to rest and agist my horses before driving them on to Nairobi.’
‘Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?’
‘Well, yes … but now it’ll be on the level.’
‘I’ll need to talk to Edward, but I don’t think there’ll be a problem with that.’
‘Good. As they say in America: we have a deal.’
He reached out his hand.
She hesitated before taking it. ‘On one condition.’
‘Yes?’
‘You allow me to give you dinner tonight.’
A smile slowly spread across his face, and he nodded. ‘I think I can agree to those terms.’
She accepted his handshake, feeling the hard strength in it.
Mary had done wonders. The roast lamb was succulent and her golden pudding and custard was a marvel on such short notice. Sam seemed to enjoy it.
‘There’s more,’ Dana said, nodding at Sam’s empty plate beside her.
‘Oh, please … I’ve already had two helpings.’
‘Will you join me in a port, then?’ Edward asked.
‘Thank you, but no. I don’t drink
these days.’
Edward had been introduced to Sam during Race Week as Sam Williams — an American. When he corrected that error, Edward, to his credit, and despite the whisky, remained a good host and seemed to be enjoying Sam’s conversation.
He warmed even further to Sam upon learning of Dana’s proposal to put one of Sam’s Abyssinian stallions to her eligible mare. In time he could see Zephyr becoming a stud for Abyssinian racehorses.
As Sam described the finer points of the Abyssinian breed to Edward, Dana took the opportunity to study her visitor more thoroughly. She watched his mouth as he spoke. It was very expressive. And his skin seemed so smooth she had the urge to stroke his arm. Yet he had the build of a man hardened by years in the saddle. She remembered the firmness of his handshake earlier that afternoon.
She interrupted them. ‘Before you go too much further, Edward … Faizal is about to retire, and I believe we should invite Sam to stay in our guest room tonight.’
‘No, please,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t go to any trouble. There’s a guest house in Naivasha.’
‘It’s obviously too late to ride anywhere,’ she said.
‘She’s right you know, old man,’ Edward agreed. ‘Leopards. The high country’s crawling with them at the moment. Must have been the dry that brought them all out.’
‘It’s settled then,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the bedroom set up for you.’
As she left the dining room she heard Edward say, ‘Never mind Dana. She loves to fuss. Let her sort things out while you and I chat. Will you join me in a port?’
Dana bristled at his condescending manner. Edward made a habit of it after a few drinks. She had become accustomed to it, but in the presence of guests it was particularly annoying. She nevertheless held her tongue and went to organise Faizal.
Edward was monopolising the conversation when Sam noticed Dana re-enter the room. He sensed she was annoyed by her husband’s manner, which didn’t surprise him. Edward had been quite rude.
‘Ah, there she is,’ Edward said. ‘I was just telling Sam about your little folly, dear. Did I say folly?’ He snorted. ‘I do beg your pardon, I meant filly, of course.’
Dana coloured.
Sam glanced at her, then turned to Edward. ‘Edward, I don’t think that’s —’
‘Sam’s far more sensible,’ Edward went on, ignoring his interjection. ‘His plan to turn your little hobby into a stud makes a lot of sense. Buying and selling horses rather than feeding them for no good reason. Now that your Dancer is only good for the glue factory, it’s a good thing he came up with the idea.’
Sam waited for Dana to respond, but although he noticed her lip tighten and tears well up in her eyes, she said nothing.
Edward’s bullying behaviour was not unusual among some backward African men, who treated their women as common chattels, but he’d not seen or heard of it among the whites. Somehow he’d concluded that although there was often an inequality existing between white couples, the women were at least treated with respect.
Edward continued his sarcasm until Sam had had enough. He abruptly stood. ‘Edward, thank you for the evening, but I think I’ll call it a night.’ He slid his chair under the table.
‘What? Already? What about a coffee? Mary! Coffee for Mr Wangira. Pesi pesi!’
Sam turned to Dana.
‘Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Dana. You’ve been most kind. And I look forward to working with you … and Edward, in the future. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take myself off to bed.’
Faizal was in the guest room, turning down the bed and placing a hot-water bottle under the covers. Sam thanked him as he left and then sat on the bed to remove his boots.
He wondered if Dana had been aware of the proximity of his leg to hers during dinner. He certainly was, and could almost feel the warmth of her thigh next to his.
He slipped out of his clothes and slid naked between the sheets.
Sleep eluded him.
A loose floorboard squeaked as she padded, barefoot, past Edward’s bedroom to the far end of the hall. The nightlight at the top of the stairs threw her shadow ahead of her, coming to rest on the door to Sam’s bedroom. She hesitated a moment, her hand on the handle. The fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck tingled as they did before a storm when the air was hot and alive with static, and the clouds gathered and rumbled. Every fibre in her body seemed acutely tuned to her surroundings. She had never before noticed the fine panelling on the bedroom door nor the ornamental moulding surrounding the door handle.
She turned the knob and, as she stepped into the room, she could faintly sense his maleness — a smell like dry straw and leather.
A memory came starkly to mind from her childhood. She was no more than ten when she came into the stable as a stallion mounted a mare. Her father shooed her away, but not before the raw sexuality of it had been etched into her mind. The placid acquiescence of the mare, the power of the stallion, and the wild look in his normally docile eyes strengthened her interest in matters of sex.
Sam’s male scent had thrilled her when she sat next to him at dinner, her thigh inches from his, occasionally touching it as if by accident. The parlour games that she and her friends and their husbands played during their parties were mere child’s play compared to what she was now contemplating. The games Dana invented to tease and titillate were an exciting prelude to the grand finale when partners moved off to bed for the night or, should the mood take them, only part of it, before swapping yet again.
On those nights there were few rules except for the firm agreement among all couples that there would be no fraternisation outside the dinner parties. The very temerity of her bold action now heightened her excitement, and she could no more stop than she could cease breathing. It was like the situation with the stallion: she was driven by a mindless, undeniable passion that drove her on to complete what she’d started.
‘Who is it?’ His voice came softly from the bed, which she could see in the moonlight through the open window.
But surely he must know it was her. It caused her to pause as she fleetingly lost her confidence. Perhaps she had misread the events of the evening as he held her gaze, and casually let their fingers touch while reaching across the table.
‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘I … I just wanted to apologise for Edward.’
He lifted himself onto an elbow.
The room thrummed with tension. There was a moment’s hesitation that seemed like an age before he spoke.
‘Come,’ he said, and she went quickly to the bed, but held back. This was a step too far, even for Dana.
He reached out and caught her hand, pulling her off balance. She fell on him and his mouth was on hers, smothering her with the force of his lips.
They clung together for breathless moments before he lifted her from him and swept the covering aside. She caught a glimpse of his rampant erection and a moment later, as he pulled her to him, felt it through her thin cotton nightdress.
‘I prayed you’d come,’ he said.
‘Don’t speak. Kiss me.’
His lips were full and firm as he explored her tongue with his, drawing back only to help her out of her shift.
She moaned and clutched his shoulders, feeling his muscles ripple and leap as he rolled her from him and threw his leg across her, pinning her to the bed.
‘I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you,’ she said. ‘I want you now. More than I’ve ever wanted anybody.’
His hands were moving over her breasts and he bent to take one nipple gently into his mouth, sucking and licking it. He let his hands slide over her body, into the ripples of her ribs and the valleys of her groin, then gently playing across her moistening labia.
His firm cock filled her hand and she stroked it lovingly. ‘Oh, I want this, Sam. I want you. Now.’
He swung his body over her with his knees between hers. She arched her back, lifting her hips towards him.
In the light from the window she saw
his eyes fill with passion. Then he lowered himself down and into her.
She stifled a cry of pleasure.
CHAPTER 24
The dawn air was sweet. A fragrant, earthy mist drifted across the high savannah as Sam and his horse melted into it. The last Dana saw of him was his hand raised in farewell. The vapour cloud of her breath hung in the air and Dana stood for a long time, her cashmere wrap clutched to her body, hoping the mist would clear so she could return his wave, but by the time it stirred in response to the sun’s kiss, he’d gone.
It was a liquid morning — her favourite — the kind of morning that promised a fine day, full of sunshine and warmth. She willed it on, though she loved savouring those moments too, as the sun climbed, setting fire to the land east of the Aberdares. Then slowly, slowly it made its imminent presence known in the golden shafts it sent spearing through the chinks in the mountains. She stood enfolded in her wrap until the first peep caught her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
She turned away and walked slowly towards the house and its weathered façade now gilt-leafed in the morning light.
She didn’t want the dawn to end, but she had not wanted the night to end either. When she awoke, snuggled into Sam’s broad back, she wanted to remain so forever, watching his shoulders move with the heavy breathing of sleep. His dark brown skin demanded she touch it and when she did she was surprised at how smooth it was; how firm and smooth. He’d stirred then and turned to her, lifting his arm to draw her to him and soon they were making love again, this time slowly, as in a dream.
‘Fancied a bit of black cock, did you, dear?’
Edward’s voice startled her.
She continued up the steps to the veranda. ‘Good morning, Edward,’ she said.
‘I shouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been rutting with the field workers as well.’
‘Edward, please. Don’t be disgusting.’
‘Well, why not? All dogs are the same colour in the dark, eh what?’