Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  Sean and Chester arrived. Then James and Mal, deep in conversation. The Schmidt family were next, Walter complaining loudly about the heat. They were followed by Matt Grandville. ‘Gayle not joining us?’ Caitlin asked.

  ‘She’s having a little nap,’ Matt said. ‘We had a very early start today.’

  Johan tutted his disapproval.

  Thea came up the steps. ‘Is Billy here?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him,’ Chester told her.

  ‘I’ll just go and find out if he’ll be joining us.’

  Sean watched her leave again. She seemed somehow distant, making him wonder if she’d told Billy her news.

  ‘What about the university group? Will they be wanting lunch?’ Caitlin wondered.

  ‘No. I’ve just come from there. They’re pretty well self-sufficient.’ Sean had been to the camp site to inform Professor Kruger that he and his students could return to their base in the bush any time they liked.

  Confrontation with a more than usually out of sorts Billy had followed.

  ‘You had no right to tell him that.’

  ‘Why? The elephant’s dead.’

  ‘Head office wants to stop the professor camping wherever he likes. What’s wrong with his students using the camp site?’

  ‘At a guess, I’d say money,’ Sean replied dryly.

  ‘For what we give the campers this place is dirt-cheap.’

  ‘And the bush is free,’ Sean countered. ‘I know from experience that varsity students are perpetually broke. Besides, Eben Kruger can get one hundred per cent of their attention in the bush. There are too many diversions here.’

  Billy gave a thin smile. ‘Well, he’ll have to learn how to deal with that. This year will be his last under canvas in the park. From now on he’ll have to toe the line and stay at one of the camps.’ Billy sounded smug. ‘He’s lucky it’s been allowed this long.’

  Sean had left Billy’s office in a sour frame of mind. The world was becoming too regulated, characters like the professor were a rarity. If the bloody bureaucrats had their way, this earth would be populated by obedient do and don’t stick figures, cloned and classified on some global database. Sean liked the crusty old professor. His bark was ten times worse than his bite, he loved his life’s work with a passion and had forgotten more than most people ever knew about the animals of Africa.

  Although his charges might disagree, Eben had a soft side. When Sean informed him that it was safe to return to their original camping area, the professor had been ready to pack up and get going. The students howled him down. They pleaded with him for one night in relative comfort. The professor grudgingly agreed but Sean had seen an indulgent twinkle in the older man’s eyes.

  Lunch with a newly arrived batch of tourists was inevitably a session where the rangers answered myriad questions. Chester, Caitlin, Sean and Dan were well used to the process and patiently replied as though they hadn’t said the same thing a hundred times before. Thea didn’t return but Sean noticed her carrying a tray of food to the office for Billy.

  Young Jutta Schmidt transferred her fawning interest from Sean to Matt. Although the game ranger remained wildly romantic to a girl who had spent all her life in Stuttgart, a British actor was even more so. At an awkward age, when her ripening body was still governed by girlish thoughts, any obvious attempts to flirt were clumsy and drew amused tolerance from the others. Her father appeared oblivious to his daughter’s romantic hit on Matt, continuing to grumble about the food and service. Erica, with no sensitivity or understanding of Jutta’s fledgling maturity, sharply told the girl to behave or she wouldn’t be going on the afternoon game drive. Sean did a head count of who wanted to go. ‘Ten,’ he said. ‘We’ll need two vehicles.’

  After lunch, guests were free to do whatever they liked until four o’clock, when everyone was to assemble outside the dining room with cameras, binoculars and a jersey or jacket for after sunset.

  Caitlin and Sean walked together to the workshop.

  ‘Not a bad bunch,’ Sean commented.

  ‘The Schmidts are a pain in the arse,’ Caitlin said. ‘I took them out this morning.’

  ‘Any of the students coming this afternoon?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘They might appreciate it. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Want me to go down and ask?’

  ‘Thanks, Caitlin. Would you? I’ll get the vehicles ready.’

  James and Mal lingered in the bar area for another half-hour after the others had left. Beyond the landscaped gardens and waterhole the endless white pan stretched away to infinity. The view was spectacular. ‘Think of all those poor souls on Fifth Avenue,’ Mal mused, rubbing a hand over his bristly crew cut. ‘I could stay here forever.’

  ‘You always say that. Wherever we go, you want to stay forever.’

  ‘Well, this time it’s true. Don’t tell me you intend living in New York for the rest of your life?’

  ‘So, do you think they believed us?’ James asked, changing the subject abruptly.

  ‘I don’t care whether they did or not.’

  ‘But do you think they did?’

  ‘They seemed to.’

  Their story was that Mal was an advertising executive, James in public relations and the two of them were in Africa on behalf of a client who specialised in outfitting safari adventurers. Responses to questions about their work came easily. They were seeking concepts to develop the right corporate image. It was close enough to the truth – they’d worked on similar projects in the past. No-one needed to know that neither had a client who even remotely came close to kitting out safaris.

  ‘One of these days we’re actually going to meet one of these supposed clients of ours,’ Mal joked. ‘Then we’re screwed.’

  James pulled a face. ‘Don’t even think it.’

  ‘Might be the best thing that could happen. Nowhere to hide. You’d have to come out then.’

  ‘Mal . . .’ James glanced around nervously.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Mal threw up his hands. ‘What do you want to do now?’

  ‘Sit by the pool. Read. Have a swim. Relax.’

  Mal couldn’t resist one last dig. ‘Sure you don’t want to wander around looking for concepts?’

  But James would not be drawn. ‘I’ll do that on the game drive.’

  Philip, Dan and Felicity strolled over to the low electrified fence that separated the lodge’s grounds from the waterhole. The fence did not surround the island, only the lodge and bungalows. It was there to protect guests from flesh-eating predators and to keep large and destructive animals away from the gardens and swimming pool.

  At this time of day they did not expect to see any animals but, as Dan said, ‘You never can tell.’ He explained, for Felicity’s benefit, that about twelve kilometres north-east of Logans Island a spur of land jutted out into the pan. Grazing animals who found themselves on it, rather than go the long way around to reach the western edge, often crossed the pan. It was the reason a waterhole had been constructed in front of the island. ‘They get to know there’s permanent water here,’ he said. ‘It’s beneficial to them and our guests are given a chance to view the animals up close. It’s not as popular as the other man-made holes but, in any given day, you’re bound to see a few.’

  A lone male kudu with only one spiral horn was at the water’s edge drinking. They watched it for a while before Dan had to leave for the camp site. The kudu, seemingly unbothered by an audience, ambled away towards the mainland.

  ‘Dan tells me you’re a poet.’

  Felicity grinned. ‘Couldn’t you tell?’

  ‘Ellie and jelly?’ Philip laughed. ‘Not really.’

  ‘I am a poet.’ Felicity turned serious. ‘But one who is considering a career move.’

  ‘Oh! To what?’

  ‘Fiction.’

  ‘Tough business.’

  Felicity nodded. ‘But it’s got to pay more than a witty ditty or two.’

  ‘I always thought that p
oets looked down their literary noses at popular fiction.’

  ‘True.’ Felicity squinted in the pan’s afternoon glare. ‘But even highfalutin literary types have to eat.’

  He said nothing but his eyes were interested.

  Felicity shrugged. ‘Changed circumstances,’ she said lightly.

  Philip nodded his understanding. ‘What genre?’

  She took a deep breath and blew out air. ‘Good question. It’s why I came up here, to try and figure out precisely that.’

  ‘What do you like to read?’

  ‘A good psychological mystery. One that keeps you guessing right to the end.’

  ‘Then that’s what you should write.’

  Felicity cocked her head, a question in her eyes.

  ‘I’m an author,’ Philip admitted. ‘Most of us end up writing the kind of thing we enjoy reading.’

  ‘Makes sense, I suppose.’ Felicity sounded reflective. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘You must have respect for your genre,’ Philip went on. ‘If you don’t a reader will pick it.’

  ‘What’s yours? Genre, I mean.’

  ‘Adventure romance. Up until now, with an historical bent. This time I’m trying something different. An African-based story set in the present.’

  Felicity nodded. ‘Thanks for the advice. It’s certainly given me something to think about.’ She raised one hand to shield her eyes. ‘Are you here for research?’

  Philip nodded. ‘Research and nostalgia. I was here two years ago with my wife. Sue died of cancer a few months later.’ He looked sad for a moment, then smiled at Felicity. ‘Changed circumstances, I think you called it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Mine isn’t dead, though it’s not for the want of my wishing he were. That puts a different perspective on it.’

  ‘I thought you said nothing and no-one is better off dead.’

  ‘The ravings of a terminally rose-tinted mind that more often than not ignores practical reality.’

  Philip’s eyebrows rose. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The Turd is another matter,’ Felicity explained.

  ‘The Turd?’

  ‘Martin Anthony James Honeywell, forty-eight, market research analyst, all-round ladies’ man and soon to be ex-husband. What I said earlier doesn’t apply to him. He’s the one outstandingly notable exception.’ Her words were bitter but the tone in which they were delivered held a degree of humorous self-deprecation.

  ‘Taking a wild guess here but do I detect a touch of dislike for the man?’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  Philip’s sudden laugh took Felicity by surprise.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  He looked away over the pan. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I was just thinking how odd it is to be having this conversation with a complete stranger. Do you think that being out here strips us of inhibitions?’

  It was Felicity’s turn to look amused. ‘That’s pretty deep. I might write a poem about it. Ibsen suggested that nature hypnotises us and has power over our moods.’ She smiled. ‘Look what happens on board ships. People falling in love left, right and centre.’

  ‘Yeah. They’re the ones not leaning over the side vomiting.’ Philip was grinning.

  Felicity laughed. ‘That’s probably the most romantic thing I’ve heard this decade.’

  ‘Stick with me, baby,’ Philip said, Bogart-fashion. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’

  They turned away from the waterhole and walked slowly back towards their bungalows. ‘See you later,’ Philip said when they reached Felicity’s.

  She waved and went up the steps. Disappearing inside, Felicity was rhyming:

  The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la

  Contain little bastards that sting, tra la.

  ‘Careful, girl,’ she cautioned. ‘He might not seem like The Turd, but keep your knickers on. You’re doing just fine and dandy all on your own.’

  Philip was humming an off-key version of ‘Me and Bobby McGee’, something he unconsciously did when life was looking good. His bags had been brought from the car. He went straight to the bathroom mirror and stared critically at his reflection. ‘Should have had a haircut before I left Oz.’

  Caitlin found Eben and his students working through a communal plate of crumbling sandwiches. ‘I understand you’re spending the night with us.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ grumbled Eben.

  ‘Anyone want to come on tonight’s game drive?’

  No-one responded and Caitlin realised suddenly that, for most of them, the cost would be prohibitive. ‘Our treat,’ she offered in a rush of generosity. Billy would be furious if he found out.

  Hands went up. Only Eben, Josie and Angela declined. ‘Be at the dining room at four,’ Caitlin said. ‘We’ll have you back by eight or eight-thirty. And bring something warm.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to come?’ Megan asked Josie and Angela, once Caitlin had gone.

  ‘I’ve seen enough of the bush to last me a lifetime,’ Angela announced with surprising candour. ‘I need to talk to you, Prof.’

  Eben looked up from under his bushy grey eyebrows and nodded.

  ‘Josie?’ Megan asked.

  She shook her head. ‘All I want is a nice long shower and a chance to sit quietly. Angela and I can do tonight’s supper.’

  Megan shrugged. ‘Okay. Just four of us then.’

  Fletch watched Caitlin walk away. He thought she’d be a couple of years his senior. She was tall with an athletic figure. Her strawberry blonde hair was very curly and worn shoulder length, offsetting the cat-like green of her eyes. That one, he decided, was something else.

  Troy followed his gaze. ‘Tasty,’ he pronounced.

  ‘Very,’ Fletch agreed.

  ‘Fetch, Fletch.’

  Both laughed

  Angela heard them. How could they discuss the ranger as if she were a meal or a dog?

  Troy noticed her look of disgust and erroneously assumed that he and Fletch had just been classified as politically incorrect. Before he could say anything in self-defence, Angela turned and walked towards her tent. He found himself wondering, regretfully, what went wrong with what had started out as a very promising sure thing. Angela Gibbs was getting to Troy in a way no female ever had. And it was starting to drive him crazy.

  When Matt returned to the bungalow, Gayle was groggy but awake. Sitting on the bed wearing panties and bra, she threw him an angry look. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked sourly.

  ‘Lunch.’

  ‘Thanks very much. I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I might be hungry too.’

  ‘You were dead to the world.’

  ‘Someone who cares would have woken me.’

  ‘I thought you’d appreciate the sleep.’ Matt was toeing a diplomatic line here. If he intimated that Gayle needed sleep because of their early start she might construe it as a snipe at the fact that she wasn’t getting any younger. If, on the other hand, she thought he was criticising her drinking, it would probably set off another gin spree. Either way, Matt was unlikely to win. So he did the only other thing he could. Sitting on the bed he leaned towards her. ‘You look like a little girl when you’ve just woken up.’

  ‘Mattie!’ Gayle was suddenly purring with pleasure.

  ‘You do. All pouty and sleepy.’

  ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, telling the truth.

  ‘How much do you love your baby?’

  ‘You’re my little girl.’ He kissed her. ‘My beautiful baby girl. I love you more than life.’

  ‘Mattie!’

  Matt could tell from the timbre of her voice that she was already aroused.

  He eased her down, his hands holding hers high, arms outstretched. Lying beneath him, hair spread over the pillow, her body hot for his, Matt found it easy to dismiss the twenty-two years difference in their ages. She had a magnificent figure, well toned and firm. Creases on her neck and arms the only indication that she was
two years off fifty. They were only lines. They didn’t matter to Matt. Gayle’s eyes were a little red-rimmed, the flesh under them slightly puffy, but she was still outstandingly beautiful. ‘I want you,’ he whispered, his mouth seeking hers.

  ‘How much do you want me?’ Gayle teased when she could.

  ‘More than anything or anyone I’ve ever wanted.’

  ‘Hands, now,’ she instructed.

  Matt let go and felt her nails dig into his back through the thin cotton material.

  ‘Shirt,’ she demanded, helping him out of it. Desire stirred the instant her tongue found his nipple. Matt’s fingers gently massaged her full breasts. Gayle moaned.

  His hand moved slowly, slipping inside her panties, feeling the silky pubic hair already moist with the heat of arousal. Matt gently stroked then, pulling her panties halfway off, moved down and buried his face into her, his tongue seeking and finding, tasting and sucking until he had driven everything from her mind but here and now. He felt her shudder and swell. She came with a low growl, fingers in his hair clutching, tensing and finally relaxing as her body pulsated the last lingering relief. Matt’s lips moved up to her breasts and Gayle made soft mewling sounds of pure pleasure. He could tell that this one was for her. Not that he minded. With Gayle, it was either all take or all give, and when she gave it nearly blew him away with pleasure.

  She was squirming under his lips. ‘Feel me,’ she breathed. ‘See if I’m ready.’

  Gayle’s panties hit the floor. Matt slid fingers into her. Soft, warm and welcoming as she always was. She was fumbling with his belt and fly. Then her hand closed around him. ‘Ahh, God, yes,’ she whispered.

  He gently eased her grip and sat up. Shoes, socks, jeans and underpants joined her panties. Gayle’s bra quickly followed. Both naked now, he took her back into his arms. ‘Tell me what you want.’

  Gayle didn’t hesitate. ‘Three-in-one, lover.’

  Her voice in his ear sent a shudder through him. He couldn’t come now. What she wanted required intense self-control.

  ‘Now,’ she breathed.

  Matt entered her.

  Gayle would call the shots. A few minutes in the missionary position and she’d demand to be on top, sitting astride him watching his face. When she judged that his control was slipping, she would ease off and turn on hands and knees. Matt would take her doggy-fashion but, instead of bringing things to a natural conclusion he would tuck his knees between hers and lift her up so that she sat on his lap, facing away from him. Gayle loved that. She would go wild. At home, she had a full-length mirror strategically placed so that she could watch them.