Burning Embers

by Hannah Fielding

  “That’s not the same.” Her blush increased as she recalled the events of the previous night. A confusion of emotions tore through her: a mixture of embarrassment and excitement, of modesty and anticipation. Red lights flashed in her mind, a warning against the turn this conversation was taking. She should put a stop to it immediately before it skidded down to a level of no return, but she was spellbound.

  “Why the inhibitions? Why the hang-ups? You have the most ravishing body, enough to drive men crazy. You should be proud of it, revel in its beauty, indulge it, please it.” Rafe’s voice was a teasing provocation, and yet it was smoldering, charged with all sorts of sensuous intonations.

  Coral forced herself to face him, but she was unable to cope with those indiscreet, burnished eyes boring into the very depths of her soul, and she had to turn away. Despite being fully dressed, she felt stripped bare, exposed to the core, more so because she was aware of Rafe’s body so close to hers. He had awakened a physical sensibility in her that no man had even got close to generating, and she knew that he was aware of it.

  Suddenly, there was a rush of air above them as a white-headed, full-winged eagle dropped out of the sky. It swooped down upon the lake, large talons clawing forward, and snatched a fish from the water, its strong muscular legs dragging it across the surface to the shore without pausing. Startled out of her meditation, Coral sucked in her breath.

  “That’s the African Fish Eagle,” Rafe whispered, “one of fifty species of eagles that inhabit various parts of Africa. He is the king of all birds of prey in this dark continent.” In silence they watched the formidable predator rise back up high into the air, its broad, powerful black wings completely extended as he glided majestically back to his perch, carrying his prey.

  “I wish I had my camera with me,” Coral said wistfully.

  “We can come back another day. His nest must be quite close. These creatures never venture far from their territory. There,” he said, pointing at one of the more distant trees stooping over the lake. “Look, there he is.” Indeed, there it was, upright, perched on a branch, lordly and sublime, its keen, bright eyes surveying the terrain as though it owned the whole land. Then, in a burst of fluttering wings, it abruptly flew off into the sky, patches of snow-feathers shining in the vibrant light.

  “Let’s sit in the shade for a while,” Rafe said, taking Coral’s hand and steering her toward a flame tree in riotous flower. He stretched himself out fully on the soft grass and put his hands behind his head, totally relaxed. Coral hesitated before seating herself next to him. Drawing her knees up, she encircled them with her arms and rested her chin on top of them. “Don’t you want to lie down?” Rafe asked. Coral felt self-conscious as he regarded her with undisguised anticipation.

  “No,” she said, making sure her tone was final. “I am very comfortable right here, thank you.”

  He laughed deep in his throat. “I promise to be a good boy.” She shrugged and turned hastily away from him, trying to hide how flustered she felt. “All right, you win,” he said with a conciliatorily grin.

  “What an unusual looking bush,” Coral said, pointing at a sprawling shrub where masses of mauve, deep purple, and white flowers bloomed.

  “It’s known as the morning, afternoon, and evening tree. Its heady scent can sometimes make you drowsy. Tropical plants flourish in this spot with a special luxuriance, probably because of the high rocks around the lake. It’s a sun trap, and the space is confined and sheltered from the wind. I don’t even think many wild animals come tramping around here. At least, I’ve never seen any. It’s strange, though, I would have thought that they’d use it as a drinking spot.”

  “You seem to know the place well. Do you often come here?” Coral was relaxing now, as she steadily watched him. Rafe looked back at her, and there was a pause before he spoke.

  “Do you have any hobbies? I mean, apart from photography and writing, which I presume are not only a job to you.”

  Coral smiled. “Back home I ride. I also like to swim, but I’m not very fond of swimming pools, and the weather in England is not too conducive to water sports. Consequently, I only swim when I go abroad.”

  “Do you travel often?”

  “Sometimes, for my job and usually when I’m on holiday, but nothing like the amount I would like to be doing. Have you done a lot of traveling?”

  “Yep.” His brief answer suggested that he did not want to be quizzed on that subject. However, the only effect it had was to sharpen Coral’s curiosity.

  “Where?” Rafe had closed his eyes, his long, dark lashes deliberately excluding her. She repeated her question. “Whereabouts have you traveled?”

  “Oh, here and there, too much, too often,” he said, his face unrevealing.

  “Is that why you came to Kenya? And is that why you bought Whispering Palms, to settle down here?” she pushed, feeling that for once she had the advantage.

  “Aren’t we inquisitive?” he said, not annoyed but with an edge of irritation. He jumped to his feet and brushed off the grass from his jeans. “It’s getting late, and they’ll be wondering where we are. Lunch is usually at one thirty here, and we mustn’t keep our hosts waiting.”

  “Oooh!” She was disappointed, her lips taking on a pouting mien. “Is it really time to go?” The small dimple in her check appeared. “I was enjoying our little conversation,” she teased.

  His head lifted, and his black pupils fixed her with an intense stare. His brow furrowed as he seemed to debate his response. He strode back to her and crossed his arms. Coral met his frown with bold defiance.

  “If you like stories, let me tell you the African legend of the Curious Monkey,” he said, towering over her. His voice was low and calm, but behind the words and the cool composure she could discern a hint of agitation. “Once upon a time, a dog was comfortably asleep in the jungle next to a fire. He was the first dog to ever be born into the world, and he was a happy dog. All he ever did was sleep, until a monkey happened upon him.” Rafe leaned against the flame tree, his arms still folded, and shot Coral a wry look as he started to relax into his story.

  “The monkey was, of course, curious, as monkeys are, and he scampered down from his tree to examine this strange new creature. He looked at the dog from every possible angle and flew off to tell all the other monkeys about his strange encounter. Soon all the animals of the jungle heard about the creature, and along with the monkey, they came to where it was sleeping, debating amongst each other what kind of creature it was. The monkey asked all the animals if they knew what it was, until only the tortoise was left. The wise old tortoise knew what the creature was, as she had been around since the beginning of all creation. ‘That’s a dog,’ said the tortoise, and when he heard his name, the dog suddenly awoke.

  “He sprang to his feet, looking with bewilderment at all of the animals around him. The dog was furious that he’d been woken up, and he charged at the other animals, barking and scowling and snapping his jaws. The only animal that didn’t run was the tortoise — she didn’t have to. ‘You won’t catch me, dog,’ she said and withdrew into her shell, ‘but from this day on, you are condemned to chase any creature you look at.’”

  Rafe walked over to Coral and squatted down next to her, his forearms resting on his knees as he looked straight at her. “And that, my dear Coral, is how the saying came to be: ‘Better to let sleeping dogs lie.’”

  In the car on the way back, Rafe was silent for such a long time that Coral sneaked a glance at him. His face was set, a small vein pulsing at his right temple just visible. Apparently sensing her scrutiny, his eyes crinkled into a smile, which she found rather sad. “Hey, rosebud,” he said in his usual amused tone. “Don’t look so alarmed. I’m not a mad dog, even if I do growl from time to time.” They laughed, and she assumed she had imagined the sadness.

  * * *

  The pattern of the next week followed a simple routine. Coral would wake up early, before the heat, and swim a few lengths of the pool. The ai
r at that time of day was a little chilly but invigorating. The rest of each morning was set aside for exploring the area round the Kongoni estate, the afternoons for dozing and reading.

  She had taken some colorful photographs of local foodstuffs in the market and some rather interesting ones of the indigenes. Natives enjoyed posing for the camera, which made her task much easier, though she was always careful to ask their permission. In some places in Kenya, especially the rural areas, superstition still suggested that the camera was a stealer of souls. But most often the locals would beam as they held up a paw-paw or happily sat playing dominos over an upturned barrel as she snapped away around them. Coral always made sure she took some extra money with her to show polite appreciation with the customary token payment afterward, plus sweets for the children who kicked a ball around in the streets.

  Still, she had not as yet been able to take any pictures of the flora and fauna of the bush. One day as she was driving to town, she had nearly run over an antelope that was crossing the road. It was a truly magnificent animal, crowned by curved, smooth horns and bearing a coat of grayish-blue with a bright white strip down the back. She had been driving slowly so she was able to brake in time, but with a mighty bound the beautiful creature had fled into the bush before she had time to get out her camera.

  Coral had not seen Rafe again after the morning at the lake. She had gathered by the conversation of the other guests at the plantation that he had gone off on some special errand or jaunt — no one was quite sure where, as he had been very mysterious about it. Once, she had tried to go back to the magical spot where they had last been together, but she was unable to find it. Did she miss him, she asked herself? Of course she did, despite her determined efforts to blot out his image every time it careered into her brain. Rafe was not for her. She had let him take her to the lake that day and of course felt that familiar thrill she experienced whenever he was near, but that was merely lust, she told herself, and she had already allowed herself to be too vulnerable to his attentions. His reputation was that of a compulsive womanizer, but she did not need other people’s opinions to know what she was up against. Rafe was a hunter; he liked women, and they drifted to him like butterflies to a lavender bush. He reveled in the courting, the teasing, and the mutual seduction, and she knew full well that all he wanted was to coax her into an affair. But she could never be his mistress, one of the many Morganas and Cybils that hopped in and out of his bed at the mere snap of his fingers. The thought of that alone made her feel ashamed; it would be too degrading. Aluna’s words came back loud and strong: “My missy is taboo to you,” the old yaha had screamed at him that morning not so long ago, and she was right. He was wrong for her, and that must be the end of it.

  It was early afternoon, and Coral was sitting in a rocking chair on Lady Langley’s veranda, engrossed in a book. The weather was cooler; a fresh breeze was blowing from the north.

  “Hello, kiddo.” Dale had just strolled onto the terrace, his face lighting up as he saw her. “Care for a drive? It’s a beautiful afternoon, not too hot. Maybe we can wander a little into the bush or visit one of the reserves?”

  The offer was tempting. Coral did not particularly relish the idea of spending a whole afternoon with the American tycoon, but if Dale drove, at least it would give her the chance to take some good photographs and enable her to get on with her articles. Inspiration had dried up, and she was very behind with her work. In a couple of weeks she would have to return to Malindi, and this fine opportunity might never present itself again. Although the specific goal of her trip to Kenya had been to assume her inheritance, she had now committed to bringing back some good material for the forthcoming documentary, and she knew her firm was counting on her to deliver.

  “Thank you, Dale,” she said, lightly jumping up from her chair. “I think that’s a marvelous idea. Give me five minutes to gather up my camera and bits and pieces. I’ll be straight back.”

  They drove for miles in brilliant sunshine. Dale’s monotonous voice talking about his many successes as a businessman provided a steady background of chatter, leaving her to concentrate on the task at hand. The man certainly liked the sound of his own voice, and that suited her fine. Coral’s camera clicked away as they passed giraffes, wildebeest mixing complacently with zebras, and a group of native women in single file, every one of them with some object poised on her head, hips swaying in rhythm with her chanting as she walked along. They even came across a rare black-maned lion, stretched out majestically on the grass as he sunned himself sleepily, watching the world go by. Coral urged Dale to stop the car so she could get a better view of him. The huge beast stared at them for a second, then the yellow eyes closed, the jaws opened in a wide yawn, and he turned his beautiful head disdainfully, drumming the ground with his long, powerful tail.

  “What a wonderful sight!” said Coral, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  “Umm. We caught one of those a couple of years back. Come to think of it now, it was quite easy,” Dale mused as though lost in happy memories.

  Coral frowned. “What do you mean you caught one of those?”

  “My father and I went on a hunting expedition some time ago with a few friends. Our guide was a brilliant hunter. We used some sort of wheel trap. The way it works — ”

  “I don’t want to know,” she interrupted him briskly and glared at him. “It sounds horrible. How could you be so cruel?”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” he said with a snort. “It’s the law of the jungle.”

  “It certainly is not,” she retorted hotly. “More like slaughter. It’s cruel and unsporting. There is no excuse that could stand against such exploitation. It’s people like you that give a bad reputation to hunters.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sentimental twaddle,” he drawled, his lips curling upward into a derisive smirk. “It’s like these parks,” he went on. “They’re useless — just zoos in reverse. It’s us who are caged in our cars and not the animals. How more ridiculous can one get? Who wants to just look at animals, eh?”

  “I’ve had enough,” she snapped. “Let’s go back.”

  Coral was fuming. The more time she spent with Dale here in Kenya, the more she wondered how she could have considered linking her life to his. She didn’t remember thinking he was a pompous lightweight when she was dating him. Had he changed — or had she? Perhaps he was feeling insecure and was trying to woo her back in his own clumsy fashion. Either way, it had been a close miss. Some guardian angel must have been looking after her. Actually, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Dale had never really meant anything to her. Had she ever had the chance to really get to know him? The glitz of New York had dazzled her, sweeping her away in the whirlwind that had engulfed them both during the two exciting weeks of the exhibition, and somehow the long-distance nature of their relationship had kept the illusion going for a year and a half afterward. How very naïve of her! Still, she had been a little over-protected in England. Dale had been her first proper boyfriend; before him, she had barely had a few dates. The embarrassing fact was that at the ripe old age of twenty-five, she was inexperienced — green, some would say. The word rosebud came to mind, and Coral smiled wistfully, wondering what Rafe was up to. Probably in bed with some woman, she thought, and immediately willed him out of her mind.

  It was late; night was falling. They had reached the main road, and Dale was burning up miles, driving faster and faster. “Slow down, Dale, for heaven’s sake, you’re going to get us killed!” Coral firmly clutched the edge of her seat as the young man accelerated, rocking the Land Rover from side to side.

  “Don’t worry, baby, I’m an excellent driver. I’ve traveled all around the States and tackled roads much more dangerous than this, I can assure you.” He forced the pace further as he turned on his headlights.

  He was showing off, and she couldn’t bear it. “Slow down, Dale, I nearly ran over an antelope the other day not far from here, at the crossroads, I think,” she warned
, but Dale was not listening.

  Coral had barely finished speaking when a shadow shot past the lights at an extraordinary speed. There was a bang and then a thump as the car was thrown out of control from one side of the road to the other. It bounced once, twice, somersaulted again, and landed on its roof, wheels in the air.

  A few minutes elapsed before Coral managed to shift uncomfortably, her head spinning and aching. Apart from the shooting pain across her eyes, she did not think she was hurt. The last thing she remembered was telling Dale to slow down. Dale…Where was he? Coral was lying on her back and tried to move to rid herself of the seatbelt that was pinning her chest against the ceiling. After several attempts she managed to free herself, turn on her side, and wriggle out through the open window. That task proved easier than she had imagined. Her slender frame slid smoothly through the gap, and soon Coral found herself lying on the ground. Getting up was more difficult. Her legs wobbled, and there was a strange buzzing in her ears. Dale was lying a few meters away, one headlight throwing a weak beam across his face.

  Coral was shivering, and drops of a gluey substance were now trickling from her forehead. Still a little unsteady on her legs and feeling slightly queasy, she managed to make her way slowly toward his immobile figure and painfully drop to her knees beside him. He was breathing regularly. “Dale,” she called slowly, her voice trembling, “Dale, can you hear me?”

  There was a groan as he tried to move. He opened his eyes. “What happened? Where am I?” he asked, his speech low and indistinct.

  “We’ve had an accident. Don’t move — you may be hurt. I’ll try to get some help.” Coral staggered back onto her feet and paused, wondering which way to turn. Apart from the car’s single headlight, the night was black and silent. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to assess the extent of the damage. The windscreen was broken and one of the back doors on the driver’s side was completely bashed in. Dale’s door was open; she assumed that was how he had been propelled out of the car. The Land Rover was probably a write-off, but at least they were both alive. What could have caused such a disaster? Coral turned her painful head just as a wan moon swam out from behind a cloud, and then she saw the outline of an enormous bulk lying on the opposite side of the road. It was obviously an animal, but she couldn’t deal with that now. There was no time to waste: Dale was lying there practically unconscious, and she had to find help.