by Nancy Morse
“Not at all. I’ve slept on surfaces a lot harder than the sofa.”
Julia glanced away shyly, and ventured, “What happened to the clothes I was wearing?”
“They were a mess, so I washed them,” he replied.
“No, I mean, how did they…that is, who…?”
“I did.”
Her cheeks colored and her lashes swooped down with embarrassment.
It had been easy enough for him to remove the clothes she’d been wearing, but not so easy to ignore the sight of her naked flesh. To mask his discomfort, he asked, “What were you doing traveling alone?”
“I wasn’t alone. I had a guide. When we overturned, he went on ahead for help. But he didn’t come back.”
“How’d you overturn?”
“We were climbing a steep grade and all of a sudden the ground gave way and we started to slide sideways. Before we knew it, we were on our side.”
“The ground is like that in places from lack of rain. Dust dry. Incapable of sustaining the weight of a man much less a motorcar. With the added effects of equatorial sunlight, tires perish almost as fast as stones puncture them. An experienced guide would have known that. How long was he gone?”
“Two days.”
Amazement brightened his blue eyes. “That would explain the sorry shape you were in when I found you. Two days is long enough for him to have found help and returned. Where’d you hire him?”
“In Nairobi. The hotel manager referred him to me.”
Jonathan snorted derisively. “The next time you go on safari, hire a guide who knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m not on safari.”
“Then why are you here?”
Julia hesitated. “I came to find someone.”
Jonathan’s pulse quickened. “Anyone I know?”
“I doubt it.”
He gave her a long, hard look, but there was no indication in her eyes that she was joking.
“So, what are your plans now?” he asked.
“I guess I’ll have to find another guide.”
“You’re not thinking of going back out there, are you?”
“Why not?”
“Because you almost died.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Right, thanks to me.”
“That’s why I’d like to hire you to take me to Tanganyika.”
“What?” Jonathan’s blue eyes flashed.
“I could pay you.”
“I’m a coffee farmer, not a pay-for-hire guide.”
“You haven’t heard my offer.”
He shook his head adamantly. “I don’t need to.”
“Didn’t you say you need cash to keep your farm going until next season? How does five thousand dollars sound?”
His gaze tightened on her face. “Why’d you come here?”
“I told you. To find someone.”
“Who?”
“A man named Roger Thorpe.” She saw his eyes light up with interest and asked eagerly, “Do you know him?”
“I know he’s not the kind of man a woman like you should be looking for.”
“How would you know what a woman like me should be looking for? You know nothing about me.”
“Look, Julia—” he began.
“How do you know my name when I haven’t told you?”
He stared back blankly and answered carefully. “I took the liberty of looking at your passport. I like to know who’s sleeping in my bed.”
Julia looked away from his searching blue eyes. Why did he have to ask so many questions? It was growing hotter by the second. The color melted from her face. The hot air scorched her lungs when she drew in a deep, unsteady breath. Her legs felt suddenly rubbery, her head light. Before she knew it, she was falling.
Jonathan’s hands flew out to catch her. Her colorless complexion filled him with anxiety. She was still weak from her ordeal and not herself, which would account for the strange air of unfamiliarity she imparted. Her eyelids fluttered, and he asked anxiously, “Are you all right?”
Placing her hands on his tautly-muscled forearms, she eased herself away from him. “I—I’m fine.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you. It’s me. It’s things you couldn’t possibly know.”
“Try me,” he urged.
How could she explain that, in a way, she was on safari? Only it wasn’t wildlife she was hunting; it was clues, hints, anything that would lead her to a man named Roger Thorpe and, hopefully, to the stranger that was herself.
“Tell you what,” he said. “It can wait until dinner. Why don’t you go back to the house and get some rest? Ask Kibbi to make you some lemonade.”
She smiled weakly. “I love fresh-squeezed lemonade.”
The tiny grooves etched into the sun-browned corners of his eyes tightened as he watched her walk off down the narrow path that led back to the house. He expelled a ragged breath as the memories came flooding back—memories of watching her lick lemonade from her lips, of the deep, throaty laughter that had the power to infect him with sheer happiness, the unconscious habit she had of lowering and then raising her gaze when she wanted to make a point, the shadow of her lashes against cheeks that were tinted golden from the glow of a campfire. But the most unforgettable thing about her was her casual disappearance and how it had wreaked havoc on his emotions.
He’d let her rest for now, but she had a lot of explaining to do. Like why she claimed not to know how to shoot when he’d been the one to teach her. Why she looked at him with eyes that showed no hint of the past they shared. How could she pretend there had been nothing between them, as if he were a stranger she had only just met, while everything inside of him was screaming for recognition?
Chapter Five
Julia weakly thanked the turbaned Indian cook who placed the plate down before her. With the tip of her fork she poked at the cooked carrots and roast potatoes on her plate and said with a sigh, “I don’t know where to begin.”
From across the kitchen table Jonathan’s deep, sardonic voice suggested, “Why not try at the beginning?”
“That would be two years ago when I woke up in a hospital bed with no memory of anything prior to that moment.” She took a bite of coconut bread that was still warm from the oven. “It was as if someone had erased everything. I had no memory of who I was, no recognition of any of the people who came and went, no hint of whatever it was that put me there.”
Jonathan slowly lowered his fork, the impact of her revelation stunning him. “What did the doctors say?”
“That I had sustained a blow to the cranium resulting in a concussion and amnesia. They all felt that I would regain my memory in time, but it has been two years and it hasn’t come back.”
This was worse than anything he could have imagined. He leaned forward with an anxious expression on his face. “Couldn’t anybody tell you anything?”
“Only facts about myself. I have a doctorate in animal science from Purdue. I was an animal researcher with the New York Zoological Society. When I wasn’t working at the zoo, I was traveling to remote places to photograph wildlife. They showed me pictures in Natural World Magazine that I had taken.” Her gaze dropped to the pale wood of the table, and she softly admitted, “But I didn’t recognize any of them.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The war was over and it was safe to travel again, so the editor at Natural World sent me to photograph the migration of the herd animals for the magazine. The desk clerk at the Norfolk Hotel in Nairobi confirmed that when I was here two years ago I had asked him where I could hire a private guide. He told me he recommended someone and even recalled seeing me talking with the guide in the hotel lobby. Evidently, the next day I set out for the Serengeti.”
Yes, yes, he thought impatiently, he knew all that. He knew about her first trip here to photograph the migration of the great herds. He knew of her work
at the zoo. He knew that her ancestors went back hundreds of years. He knew the softness of her skin and the sound of her breathless sighs.
She went on in a low voice. “From what I was told, I was found by one of the Masai villagers who took me to a local guide. The guide brought me to the French mission hospital. From there I was put aboard the train to Mombasa and then a boat to London where I recuperated for several weeks before flying back to New York.”
Her hand went up to absently touch the cross she wore about her neck, fingers caressing the red glass that sparkled in the lantern-light as she spoke. Noticing that his eyes followed, she explained, “The stone came from the hilt of a great sword dating back to the ninth century and has been in the Rowan family for generations, handed down to the second son in the family. My father had no sons, so I inherited it. There’s a Latin palindrome on the back. It translates to ‘We go in circles at night and are consumed by fire’. Apparently, I was found wandering around in circles at night when I was last in Africa. As for the fire part, I have no idea what it means for me, but one of my ancestors believed the stone carries a curse because the men who possessed it before him lost their wives to fire. The stone disappeared for several centuries and was discovered by my great-grandfather among the belongings of one of our ancestors. It must have been hidden to protect the Rowans from the supposed curse. In any case, he had the stone set into this cross and it passed to my grandfather, and then to my father, and now to me.”
Jonathan wasn’t nearly as interested in the legend of the stone as he was in sparking an ember of remembrance in her mind. “What happened to your guide?”
The dim glow of the lantern shadowed the pain on her face. “I was informed that about a year ago he had a fatal run-in with a lion. Some animal the locals call Black and Tan. Can you imagine? They actually name killer cats here. In any case, whatever information he may have had is gone.”
She was growing increasingly uncomfortable under his relentless stare. His eyes were all over her face like hunters stalking prey, and his voice, with its deep-toned persistence never rising far above a whisper, seemed to suggest that he had a right to be asking questions.
He had an unsettling effect on her, something strangely akin to excitement. She sensed an undercurrent of danger about him, yet she didn’t feel in any danger from him. Rather, the danger came from the unspeakable void somewhere inside of herself. She was feeling vulnerable and unbearably alone. She already knew that his arms were strong and well-muscled, and she suddenly found herself wishing that she could feel them around her right now, to take comfort in their strength and to put herself in his safe keeping.
She lowered her gaze, embarrassed by her thoughts. “No one could tell me about my time here in Africa, so I came back to retrace my steps in the hope that it will help me regain my memory. I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to help me. After all, you don’t know me.”
A lean muscle jumped in his jaw. “How did you learn about Roger Thorpe?”
“Wait just a moment,” she said, rising. “There’s something I want to show you.”
When she was gone, Kibbi turned to Jonathan, astonishment shining in his dark eyes. “That is the strangest story I have ever heard. Do you think she is telling the truth?”
Jonathan was asking himself the same thing. He had listened hard to her story, straining to catch a telltale trace of a lie in her voice, but there had been none. Gravely, he concluded, “She’s too scared to be lying. It explains why she introduced herself to you this morning, and why she acted like I’m a stranger. To her, I am.” His thoughts were awash with anger and confusion. He felt sick inside.
Kibbi shook his head sadly. “To not remember what happened to her is one thing, but to not remember you? My friend, this must be very hard for you.”
The torment of not knowing what had become of her was almost insignificant in light of this new pain that surged through Jonathan. If it was facts she wanted, he could give her some, like the fact that they’d been lovers, that she disappeared from his life, and that he never got over it.
“Will you tell her?” Kibbi asked.
Jonathan swept a sandy lock of hair from his forehead and heaved a sigh of frustration. “I don’t know. Telling her might jar her memory, or it could make her condition worse. In the morning I’ll call the mission hospital and speak to one of the doctors about it. If what she’s saying is true, she’s been through hell. God, what happened to her out there? Why did she go off on her own that afternoon? Why couldn’t I protect her?”
“Jonathan, you must not blame yourself for this.”
“She came to me for help in getting to Tanganyika. I should have been more careful. I should have—”
His words ceased abruptly when Julia returned and sat down. She slid a frayed newspaper clipping across the table to him. “Look at this.”
It was an article torn from the East African Standard about the controversial ivory trade and a large stash of elephant ivory rumored to be hidden in Tanganyika. He recognized it instantly as the same article she had shown him two years earlier, but he said nothing, pretending instead to be seeing it for the first time.
“A few weeks ago I was going through some old things in my closet and that clipping fell out from between the pages of a guidebook. I must have torn it from the newspaper when I was here previously. It’s dated the day after I arrived in Nairobi. I can only surmise that I must have thought the ivory hidden in Tanganyika would have made a better story than the wildlife migration. There aren’t many women photographers, and it has been a constant struggle to prove myself. A story like that could have opened many doors for me. Anyway, you can see where I wrote the name Roger Thorpe. I have to find him.”
“Who told you about Thorpe?”
“I don’t know.”
It was me, he wanted to shout. I told you about him. I sat at this very table and watched you scribble that bastard’s name on the clipping. He suppressed the urge to lean across the table, grab her wrists, and force her to look into his eyes and remember him. Instead, he said flatly, “I think you’re wasting your time.”
Julia’s cheeks were flushed, the yellow light of the lantern glittering in her eyes. “If I were as cynical as you are, I would pack my things and go back to New York tomorrow. But I can’t do that. Don’t you see? I have no idea what happened to me during the first twenty-six years of my life. Those years are there. I have to find them. I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to lose a part of yourself.”
“Right,” he muttered, “what would I know about losing anything?”
“I’m sorry. I know you stand to lose your coffee crop, and maybe there are other things you’ve lost in your life. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“Forget it. It’s not important.” What was losing this season’s harvest compared to losing her? “It still doesn’t mean you’re going to find what you’re looking for.”
She slumped back in her chair and looked imploringly at Kibbi. “Is he always this skeptical?”
Restraining a grin, the Masai responded, “Usually. But skeptical does not always mean bleak. In spite of what you see and hear, there is always a little bit of hope somewhere inside of him. Besides, skepticism is a minor shortcoming.”
“Never mind my shortcomings,” Jonathan complained. “What’s so important about Roger Thorpe?”
“I don’t know. It’s something in here.” She pointed to her head. “And here.” She placed a hand over her heart. She didn’t want to explain about the dream and the intimacies that were too real to be her imagination. “There was a man in my life. I can only guess that I met him here in Africa because I’ve questioned everyone back home and no one knows who he is. I must have loved him very much. Maybe it was Roger Thorpe. Why else would I have written his name? It must be him. I have to find him. You said you know of him. I’ve offered you five thousand dollars to help me find him.”
It was me! The words tore through Jo
nathan’s brain. Me you loved. Not that miserable bastard who’s not worthy of you. Me! But he didn’t say any of that, reining in his frustration for her benefit. “Thorpe may be involved with that ivory stash. Are you prepared for that?” He could tell by the look on her face that this only added to her confusion.
“I don’t want to think that a man I love could be capable of that kind of thing,” Julia said, “but I have to find out.”
“It’s a dangerous thing you’re talking about doing. Whoever is guarding all that ivory will stop at nothing to keep its whereabouts secret.” No more dangerous now than it was the first time, he thought. She’d gotten through his defenses then. Despite the wall he’d built around his emotions, there was nothing stopping her from getting through again.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who lets events take place around you,” she said, rising to his challenge “With all this supposed poaching going on, am I to assume that you just mind your own business and tend your coffee crops?”
He answered stoically, “I do what I have to do.”
She snatched the newspaper clipping from his fingers and stood up, her gaze never wavering from his. “So do I. Good night.”
The silence caused by her abrupt departure was broken by the sound of a match striking into flame as Kibbi lit a cigarette. His face was tense with worry. “Will you do it?”
“I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it. Thorpe is into some nasty business. He’s no poacher. He gets the Abyssinian raiders to do the dirty work. He’s a businessman who makes the deals with the foreign buyers and reaps the monetary rewards. I’ve been trying to link him to the poaching ring for years, but he has friends in high places who no doubt receive a piece of the action.”
“Are you thinking about doing this for her sake or for yours?”
“Both.”