Out of the Shadows

by Melanie Mitchell

  She nodded and smiled again. “Actually, I’d love to go. Let me tell Titus and Naomi.”

  * * *

  ON THE WAY to the airstrip Ben stopped briefly at his compound, explaining that he only needed a moment to change and suggesting that Leslie wait in the car. In less than five minutes he returned, fashionably dressed in black slacks and a blue dress shirt and wearing a beige linen sport coat. Leslie stared as he climbed into the vehicle. Only once before had she seen him wearing anything but khaki slacks and tan or white shirts.

  “Goodness!” she exclaimed teasingly. “You do clean up well!”

  He grinned. “The occasion warrants it. I’m having lunch with the most beautiful nurse in all of Africa.” On impulse, he leaned over to kiss her lightly on the lips before starting the Jeep. Because he had turned away to put the vehicle into gear, he missed the blush and look of pleasure that crossed her face.

  During the short flight, Ben explained the purpose of some of the dials and gauges on the instrument panel. He showed her how to monitor the altitude, attitude and pitch of the small plane, and she quickly became enthused with the idea of learning to fly.

  As they neared the city, Ben radioed ahead and requested the control tower’s permission to land at the busy airport; soon they were on the ground. Outside the bustling terminal, Ben found a reputable-looking taxi and told the driver to take them to Mombasa Island.

  Ben cracked the taxi’s window to let in fresh air. “I thought we could go to the Imperial Hotel. It’s one of the venerable hotels built when the British were constructing the railroad. It’s truly a landmark. Plus, they have a terrific chef.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Leslie replied as she gazed out her window. As they drove toward the harbor, Ben explained the rest of his plans. “My meeting is scheduled for four o’clock. That will give us a couple of hours to eat. I don’t want you to have to sit through it, so I was planning on dropping you off with the Gustafsons. They’re another missionary couple who knew my parents. The meeting will only be an hour or so, and then I’ll pick you up and head back to the airport.”

  She nodded and continued to stare out the window. “That will be fine,” she replied, more interested in the sights of Mombasa than Ben’s plan. Old mosques, Hindu temples, and churches were interspersed with modern buildings of glass and steel. Colorful, bustling bazaars dotted the narrow streets, and people of all races and cultures moved through them at a leisurely pace. The South Asian influence was evident, and she was captivated by the Moorish architecture. Domed buildings were beset with wide arches. Many of the window eaves were heavily decorated with plaster filigree, and colorful tiles adorned doorways. In odd contrast, the attire of the people seemed somber. Indeed, many of the women were modestly dressed in traditional Islamic black veils, which covered them from head to toe.

  The Imperial Hotel was a huge white stucco structure on a palm-lined beach. The grounds were gorgeously landscaped with deep green lawns and huge shrubs laden with pink, red or white flowers. Two beautifully marked peacocks and several peahens wandered around, adding a perfect finishing touch to the exotic setting.

  They dined on a shaded veranda overlooking the gardens on one side and the blue waters of the harbor on the other. Despite the heat and humidity, large overhead fans comfortably cooled the air. The table was covered with white linen and set with silver utensils. Fragrant pink and red flowers rested in a crystal vase in the center of the table. They arrived a little before two o’clock, after the normal lunchtime and before afternoon tea, so the dining area was almost deserted.

  Throughout lunch Ben entertained her, sharing more tales of his African exploits. At his suggestion, Leslie chose an entrée of curried fish over rice, which was spicy and delicious. Over a dessert of custard with a light cream sauce and dark coffee, the conversation slowed. Leslie felt drowsy and slightly detached, thoroughly enjoying the beauty of her surroundings and the company of the man across from her.

  Ben watched Leslie as she dreamily stared past the manicured lawns toward the sea. Moving slowly, he reached across the table to catch her hand, which was resting beside her china cup. Without moving her gaze, she turned her hand over to hold his.

  The warmth of his fingers sent tiny tingles up her arm, which spread until her entire body felt flushed. Finally, she focused on their intertwined hands and then lifted her eyes to his face. His expression was unguarded, and she saw what she could only interpret as longing in his pale green eyes. She was certain she recognized deep affection, but she was reluctant to probe further into his emotions because she was unwilling to fully examine her own.

  Suddenly anxious to break the mood, she removed her hand from his. As an excuse for the retreat, she picked up the dainty cup that contained the remainder of her coffee and finished its contents. Sensing her withdrawal, Ben looked away. He gestured to the waiter and presented cash to the man. After the waiter departed, Ben took a final sip of coffee and glanced at his watch. “We’d better get you to the Gustafsons, so I’ll be in time for my meeting.”

  Ben gently placed his hand on the small of her back as they walked in silence through the cool lobby of the hotel. He was encouraged when she leaned toward him, tacitly welcoming his touch. A uniformed doorman requisitioned a taxi, and, inside the car, Ben consulted a piece of paper before giving the address to the driver.

  “Sam and Charlotte Gustafson are Bible translators who worked with my parents. They have two sons, one on either side of me in boarding school. Their oldest son, Greg, returned a few years ago and runs an HIV program in Tanzania. You’d like him.”

  “Are you sure they won’t mind us just dropping in?”

  “Yes. I promise they’ll relish the visit, and Charlotte will talk your ear off.”

  Less than ten minutes later, the taxi pulled up next to a dainty, peach-colored house surrounded by a walled garden. Ben asked the driver to wait and helped Leslie exit the car.

  “Excuse me.” A man’s voice stopped them as they were mounting the front steps. “Whom are you seeking?”

  The couple turned in response to see a small, thin man of indeterminate age on the porch of the house next door. He was dressed in white, loose-fitting pants and shirt and had swarthy skin and straight black hair.

  Ben nodded slightly to address the older man with the formality befitting South Asian culture. “Your pardon, sir. I am Ben Murphy. My companion and I are in Mombasa for the day, and we wished for a brief visit with Mr. and Mrs. Gustafson.”

  The man nodded politely and answered, “I regret to inform you, Mr. Murphy, but Mr. and Mrs. Gustafson are not home at this time. They have gone to a conference in Switzerland. I do not expect them back for another week.”

  “Oh, I see,” replied Ben. He digested this revelation then nodded to the man in white. “Thank you for your time, sir.” He turned back to the waiting taxi and gestured for Leslie to precede him inside. Both Leslie and the driver waited in silence as Ben considered their options. Finally, he glanced at the driver and gave him the address of an office building in the Old Town.

  Once en route, he turned to Leslie. He stared at her for a moment, then abruptly said, “Take down your hair.”

  It was more of an order than a request. She frowned. “What?”

  He motioned to her head. “Your hair. Take the clip out of your hair and leave it loose.”

  Bewildered, Leslie nonetheless complied. In silence, she removed the tortoiseshell clip and combed her fingers through her wavy hair until it fell in a heavy mass well past her shoulders.

  Ben nodded, pleased with the effect, but a scowl marked his brow and the corners of his mouth. He studied her for a moment and then reached across to touch the neckline of her bodice. Leslie recoiled in surprise and quickly put a hand up to hold the dress against her chest. Exasperated, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  He gestured toward her dress.
“Unbutton the top two buttons.”

  She gaped at him. “What?”

  With growing impatience, he explained, “Look, Leslie. It really isn’t safe or acceptable to leave you alone anywhere, so I’ll have to take you with me. But you don’t look right.” Seeing her injured frown, he quickly added, “I mean, you look great, but you don’t look right for this meeting.”

  She shook her head again. Her expression indicated a lack of comprehension.

  “We don’t have time to go into it now, but you know I have something of a reputation. You’re different from the women I’m usually seen with.”

  Leslie understood that part, but his explanation had not helped his cause. Sarcastically, she replied, “Look, Ben, I’m sorry if my appearance doesn’t exactly fit your precious reputation—”

  Ben stopped her. “Leslie, this is serious.” He gripped both of her arms above the elbow and explained in quiet tones he was certain the driver could not overhear. “It’s not my reputation that concerns me. I don’t want anyone we meet today to connect you to a certain visiting nurse. Honey, there’s probably nothing to worry about, but it’s best that nothing be out of the ordinary.” Abandoning the serious demeanor, he gave her his lopsided grin. “Look, I would not bring a gorgeous missionary nurse with me... So you need to turn into a gorgeous something else.”

  She was flattered by the offhand compliment. Willing to hear him out, she looked at him skeptically. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  He answered immediately. “First, we need to alter your appearance.” At his instruction, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her bodice and several of the buttons at the bottom of her skirt. He contemplated her face again. “Do you have any darker lipstick?”

  She shook her head and pulled a small silver tube containing pale coral-colored balm out of her pocket. “No. I just have this.”

  He nodded. “Okay. It’ll have to do. Apply it fairly heavily.” After she had finished with the lipstick, he eyed her critically. “That’s better. But you need to do something more to your hair. Can you poof it a little?”

  “Poof it?” she practically squeaked.

  “You know. Make it bigger.”

  Sighing, Leslie leaned her head down and brushed her hair forward with her fingers to add fullness. She then threw her head back and smoothed her hair slightly. He nodded approvingly.

  “Oh, here, give me your watch.” He held out his hand, and she removed the chunky black Casio that was decidedly more functional than fashionable. Obediently, she handed him the watch. He perused her appearance again and then nodded with satisfaction.

  “Okay. You look great. Now we need to work on your character. What’s your middle name?”

  Caught off guard again, she gave him another worried frown. “Ann.”

  “Hmm,” he responded. “No, that won’t work.” He thought a moment. “Meredith Woodward.”

  “Who is Meredith Woodward?”

  “Actually, Meredith Woodward was my ninth-grade English teacher. I had a ferocious crush on her. But, today, you’re Meredith Woodward, and you’re vacationing in Kenya with your family. Let me think.” He contemplated possibilities. “Okay. You’re from Birmingham, Alabama, and—”

  “Birmingham?” she interrupted.

  “Yes. The accent is similar, and it will take you farther from the nurse from Texas.”

  She threw up her hands in resignation. “Okay,” she sighed. “I’m Meredith Woodward from Birmingham, vacationing with my family. Where are we staying, if I might ask?”

  “You’re staying at the Mara Serena. It’s a well-known lodge in the Masai Mara, and very expensive.”

  “Fine.” She sighed again. “Anything else?”

  He gave her a grin. “Act like you adore me.”

  “What?”

  The driver reacted slightly to her exclamation, and Ben frowned at her, indicating that she needed to keep her voice down. In hushed tones, he expounded, “You know. Look at me longingly... Be kinda touchy-feely... Giggle a lot.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Giggle?”

  “Sure. Act like a flighty, witless female. Pretend you’re in a play. Look, it’ll be fun.”

  She shook her head but then replied, “Okay, Ben. Whatever. You want adoring and witless, you’ll get adoring and witless.”

  “Okay, good,” he said of her declaration. But as Leslie watched his response, she caught something in his expression. Although he seemed relieved that she’d agreed to the charade, he could not completely hide a trace of worry.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BECAUSE IT WAS SUNDAY, the lobby of the office building was deserted except for a security guard sitting behind a high desk. Like many residents of Mombasa, he appeared to be of South Asian descent. Ben led Leslie to the desk and spoke to the guard in a language she didn’t recognize. It was more abrasive and much less melodious than the local tongues. The guard made a call and, after apparently confirming their appointment, he hung up the receiver. He pointed to the elevators behind the security desk and gave Ben instructions. Ben responded politely.

  As they turned toward the elevator bank, the guard smiled shyly at Leslie and said, “Welcome, miss. Have a nice visit.”

  Ben had warned Leslie to avoid speaking too candidly in the building, because there was a possibility microphones were scattered about, but she could not curb her curiosity. As they entered the elevator, she asked, “What language was that? It wasn’t Swahili, and it didn’t sound like the local dialects.”

  “Urdu,” Ben answered. “It’s one of the most common languages of Pakistan. But most of the Pakistani people who live here speak English, too.”

  “Oh” was the only response Leslie could make before the elevator stopped. A young man of about thirty was waiting as the door opened directly into a reception area. He was well dressed in a gray suit with a colorfully patterned silk tie.

  The man smiled broadly. “Ah, Ben!” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “It’s very good to see you again.” He held out his hand. His black eyes were small and seemed somewhat disproportionate for his face. Despite that, he was a very good-looking man.

  Ben clasped his hand warmly. “Kareem, my friend,” he responded. “It is my distinct pleasure to visit with you and your esteemed uncle again.”

  Kareem turned to consider Leslie. “And who is the beautiful lady you have brought with you to brighten our dull afternoon?”

  The intense stare the man turned upon Leslie was disquieting.

  Ben answered smoothly. “This lovely lady is a new friend of mine, Miss Meredith Woodward. We met a few days ago, and she consented to keep me company on the long trip to Mombasa.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I warned her that I had a meeting this afternoon, but she informed me that she wouldn’t mind waiting while we conduct business.”

  Kareem bowed slightly to Leslie. “How do you do, Miss Woodward? I am Kareem Rasheesh. It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He held out his hand as he had with Ben, and his gaze seemed less formidable.

  Leslie placed the fingers of her right hand in his, and when he lifted it to his lips, she affected a giggle. Trying to follow Ben’s instructions, Leslie raised her hand to partially cover her exposed throat in a gesture of shy embarrassment and smiled sweetly. With a slightly exaggerated Southern accent, she answered, “And I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Rasheesh.”

  Leslie continued in her soft drawl, “I sure do hope y’all don’t mind me tagging along with Ben. I promise I’ll just sit out here in the waiting room and not bother a single thing.”

  Kareem’s eyes were riveted on the hand that rested on her sternum, and it was a moment before he responded. “There is no problem at all, Miss Woodward. My uncle and I welcome you to wait here.”

  He reluctantly returned his attention to Ben, and w
hile they exchanged a few more words of greeting, Leslie studied their surroundings. They were standing in a reception area that was sparsely but expensively furnished. In the center was a small desk made of some intricately carved dark wood, possibly ebony. The desk held a telephone, a closed laptop and a notepad and pencils. Leather chairs and low tables were grouped on both sides of the desk, resting on beautiful Oriental rugs.

  With one hand, Kareem indicated the chair farthest away from the door to the inner offices. “Miss Woodward, please have a seat. I trust that our meeting will not take long.”

  Leslie sat down obediently, then crossed her legs. Ben felt a surge of irritation when Kareem watched intently as Leslie’s dress parted where it had been unbuttoned, exposing one leg to midthigh before she discreetly pulled the skirt across it. Ben cleared his throat and said with excessive respect, “Kareem, we must not keep your uncle waiting.”

  Slightly reprimanded, Kareem nodded and led Ben to the door at the end of the reception area. Following a few steps back, Ben glanced at Leslie and gave a slight frown of consternation. She wrinkled her nose in response, and he winked before turning to accompany Kareem. The inner door closed behind the two men, and Leslie was left alone.

  Time crawled. There were no books or magazines to look through, so she was forced to simply sit quietly. She could hear the men’s voices through the closed door, but she wasn’t able to discern what was said. Once, the discussion grew heated, with angry words being exchanged, but the voices quieted quickly. Since Leslie didn’t have her watch, she was unsure how much time passed, but she surmised that nearly an hour had gone by when the door finally opened.

  Kareem emerged first, followed closely by Ben. Both men were smiling while continuing a conversation that had apparently started inside the office. A third man was a few paces behind Ben—he seemed to be listening absently to the exchange. Happy to have an excuse to move, Leslie stood, drawing the attention of all three men.