Burning Embers
Page 29
Coral woke up three hours later, feeling much better but anxious to see Rafe. As she was dressing, she noticed a silver frame on the dressing table and picked it up. It was a color photograph of two men on the beach, holding a shark between them, broad grins lighting up their features: her father and Rafe. Coral stared at the photograph. They looked happy, and the great affection between them was obvious. A lump rose in her throat. How she had misjudged Rafe! Would he ever forgive her?
Rafe was still sleeping when she joined Morgana and Dr. Giles in the sick room. Rafe had suffered a couple of spells of nausea, but he’d also had a few good hours of uninterrupted sleep, they told her. The effect of the sedative had worn off, so he would be waking up any time now.
“I’ll take care of him now, Dr. Giles,” said Coral, taking her place on the chair next to the bed.
“Call me Frank.”
“All right, Frank.” She laughed shyly.
“He will need to be rubbed down,” Morgana said. “I will do that. I know how to do it.” She spoke calmly but firmly.
Before Coral had time to say anything, Frank agreed with her, “Yes, my dear, I have watched you. You’re good. You should be a nurse.”
Immediately Coral tensed, finding the idea of any other woman touching him unbearable, let alone Morgana, who had been his mistress. Coral was on the verge of arguing when she met Frank Giles’s kindly gaze which held hers for a few seconds, silently commanding her to acquiesce without discussion. “Rafe is at a most vulnerable stage,” he explained. “He must not catch cold and must also remain calm.” Coral got the message.
Rafe stirred. Coral went over to the bed, and he smiled weakly. “Coral,” he whispered. She bent down and kissed his feverish lips tenderly. The red patches on his cheeks were standing out like daubs of paint on the deathly pallor of his skin. Coral’s heart ached, realizing he was a long way from being well. Still, she smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
Frank approached the bed and took his pulse. “How are you today, old chap? You slept better than you have for two weeks. I think we’re on the way to recovery.”
“Really?” Rafe’s voice was faint, almost inaudible. He sounded like a sad little boy, and Coral turned her head so he would not notice her tears, but he caught her hand. “Why are you crying, rosebud?”
“I’m not, I’m not.” Coral dashed the back of her hand across her face.
“There’s nothing to cry about,” Frank said. “Come now, we decided there’d be no emotions, no excitement.” He took Coral’s arm, his steady hand directing her firmly to the door. “We’ll leave Morgana to look after him.”
“Can’t I stay?”
“No, not today, my dear. Not today. Let’s go to the kitchen and heat up some soup. I’m sure Rafe will welcome it after his wash.”
Coral swallowed hard as she felt her throat constrict. A wash? Morgana would be propping up Rafe to wash him, she would be holding him, he would feel her against him, and she would run her hands all over his skin…The color rushed to her face. She felt guilty and ashamed as her imagination conjured up pictures of the two of them together and forced them away. This obsessive jealousy must stop. Rafe was fighting for his life, and all she could do was make up stories in her head that would be no help to anyone.
When Coral returned to his room twenty minutes later with a cup of steaming beef tea, Rafe was alone, sitting up against cushions and smiling. She seated herself next to him. “You definitely look better. Obviously Morgana’s hands accomplish miracles,” she said, hating herself for being so transparent even as she said the words.
Was it the light, or did she detect the old gleam of irony glittering faintly in his tired eyes? “Jealous?” he asked.
“Yes, very.” They both laughed.
“Haven’t I told you before that you’ve got nothing to worry about?”
“Yes, you have.” Coral caressed his face tenderly. “I’m a very possessive woman, Rafe. I can’t bear anybody else touching you, particularly when it’s someone you’ve been intimate with.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, turned it over, and kissed her palm. “Everything else in my life now is in the past. For years, I’ve lived for the moment. I had sex for sex’s sake, for the thrill alone. I was reckless with my life. Now I want more; I want to live with the woman I love. I want you, Coral. I need you. I’ll never leave you,” he said, huskily.
He was agitated and breathless. Coral could see the beads of sweat reappearing on his forehead, and his skin felt damp. It was all her fault. She should not have encouraged this sort of conversation, and she again felt as if she had failed him in some way. Panic bubbled up inside her. What if he did not make it? What if she lost him forever?
“Shush, my love,” she said, trying to master the small quiver in her voice. “I know…I know all this. It’s just me. I’m incorrigible; don’t take any notice. Now you must try to sleep and not think. It’s bad for you to tire yourself.” As she spoke, she took away the pillows that propped him up, helping him back into a lying position and smoothing his hair back. She pulled the covers up and gave him a small hug, feeling him tense and shiver at their closeness, wondering anxiously whether this was the effect of the fever or whether his body was responding to her embrace. If it were the latter, she hoped that this was a sign that he was on the way to recovery.
Weeks of nausea, fever, and the dreaded shivers passed. Some days were better than others, but Coral never left Rafe’s side or lost hope. She had resolutely put aside ill feelings of Morgana, whose only concern was to nurse Rafe back to health. Frank Giles returned to his clinic in Narok, confident that the two women would work together to help Rafe pull through, but he visited twice a week to monitor his patient’s progress.
And progress there was. Rafe was a good patient. His urge to get better showed, and Frank had been adamant from the start that it was an important factor for a cure — half the battle won. Coral noticed Rafe’s senses seemed to sharpen every day as he submitted to his daily shot, drank his beef tea, ate all he was given, and slept a great deal. After a while, the danger subsided; Rafe had turned the corner. From then on his condition improved markedly, and Coral watched with hope and relief as he gained strength day after day.
At last, convalescence was at hand. Coral and Rafe started off by sitting together on the veranda of Whispering Palms when it was cool, then gradually took short strolls in the garden until they were able to have an hour’s walk in the early evening. Tacitly avoiding all stressful conversations, they did not indulge in anything that would interfere physically or mentally with Rafe’s total recovery. Morgana appeared rarely now. She had taken up her dancing again at the Golden Fish and slept late in the morning, keeping largely to the guest house, and quietly disappearing for the remainder of the day. Coral silently admired the woman’s selfless love and devotion to Rafe. The dancer had nobly accepted that the happiness of the man she loved was not to be found with her and had proudly subsided into the shadows.
One beautiful sunny day, Coral was lying in a hammock in an especially lovely spot in the garden while Rafe was sitting restlessly on a seat opposite her under a bower of white gardenias. Coral was aware of him watching her and was afraid that the magnetic stirring that welled up within her whenever he was near might be too overwhelming, so she was trying to keep a prudent distance between them. Frank Giles had given strict instructions: no emotion, and no mental or physical strain until Rafe’s recovery was complete.
They were chatting casually and laughing; it was so easy to laugh in the sunshine when they were together. Suddenly there was a loud twittering over their heads, disturbing the lovers from their dream world. Startled, Coral sat up abruptly, still a bit jumpy and protective around Rafe since her malevolent experience of the mishiriki.
“What’s that?” she exclaimed, leaping out of the hammock and instinctively moving over to Rafe and nestling in his arms.
He hugged her, obviously trying to ignore the rush of emotion suddenly assailing him a
t her contact, and laughed. “Nothing to worry about my love,” he said. “It’s only a honey-guide bird. Come, let’s follow him. He may lead us to a beehive on the estate that I wasn’t aware of.” At the perplexed look on her face, he explained further. “I agree it’s a most peculiar phenomenon, and I must admit I’ve never come across it myself, but I’ve read about it. The bird will screech and twitter over your head until you follow him. You see, it feeds on beeswax, larvae, and wax worms in bee colonies. Consequently, it needs someone to open up the hive, and it knows that humans are fond of honey. Legend has it that it gets very annoyed if you don’t share the honey with it and, if cheated of his share, will seek revenge and lead you to a snake or some other dreadful and dangerous creature.”
“How horrible.” Coral frowned. “It’s such a pretty thing.” She watched as the little, gray-winged creature emerged from the leaves above, flicking its white tail feathers and showing off the vibrant yellow streaks in its plumage.
They followed the honey-guide for about twenty minutes and finally arrived at a very old and impressively large acacia tree. “It must be here,” Rafe said as they approached the tree, surrounded by a lot of buzzing bees. “You stay here. I’ll investigate.”
“Be careful. You’ve not come prepared for this. Bees can be vicious when protecting their property.”
“No, quite the reverse, I think. I read somewhere that they are actually very docile.” He moved nearer to the spot where it seemed the bees were coming from.
To their surprise, Rafe did find the beehive nestled in the huge trunk of the acacia tree; it was honeycombed from the outside, and loads of bees swarmed inside it. “There is definitely a colony of very happy bees living here,” he said cheerfully. “This hive is about fifteen inches tall and deep.” As he moved closer to examine it, he got bumped a little by the insects, but to the young woman’s amazement they did not hurt him. “Fancy us never suspecting its existence,” he chuckled, coming back to where Coral was standing. “It may just be a temporary hive. I’m sure we would have noticed it if it had been there long. I will have one of the workmen open it.”
At twilight that day, Rafe and Coral sat on the patio where a couple of months earlier Rafe had served her dinner, the last evening they had spent together before her journey to Narok. The rays of the sun had begun to slant among the palms. The saw-like noise of cicadas that had sounded ceaselessly all day had stopped, and the shrill piping of frogs living among the ferns by the little pools of water in the garden had picked up the strain. Coral loved this patio. She and Rafe often came here to relax after their daily walk or in the evenings, like today, to have dinner. Now their private little place seemed to dream in the moonlight. It was peaceful and still, and the flowers, most of which were asleep, gave off their sweet scents as they intermingled with the brine of the sea air. After dinner, Rafe leaned forward and lit the candles on the table. She saw the gleam of his eyes and the dazzling quality of his smile. Coral thought how well he looked, and her heart filled with joy, not only for his sake but for her own. He had been through hell. Please, God, let her give him all the happiness he deserved.
She looked up, noticing Anatole France’s saying on the fountain. Rafe followed her gaze and gave the familiar smile she knew so well. “We chase dreams and embrace shadows,” he murmured.
They had talked a lot during the last few weeks, but there were still so many unanswered questions between them, and though Coral would have liked to press for some answers, she was afraid to do so.
“A penny for your thoughts,” he asked as his stare glided back to her.
Coral felt the warmth abruptly rush up her cheeks. She shook her head but knew he was aware of her thoughts; he had always been able to read her so well. When Rafe cocked his head, she noticed a muscle tensed at his temple. His expression tonight was devoid of sarcasm but tinted with sadness instead. “The time has come for me to answer all your questions, isn’t that so?”
“Rafe…” she whispered, not knowing what to say or even what she wanted to say.
“I know. Sooner or later I’m going to have to rummage among those painful old memories.”
Coral continued to stare at him, and he took her hand, covering it with his own. “I’m not going to be able to run away forever…Since we’re going to be sharing the rest of our lives together, it is only fair that I should level with you, tell you things as they were…as they are, and clear up all your doubts about me.”
“Rafe, I love you. I’m not interested in —” she started, but he pressed two fingers to her lips, his face grave. His sudden contact made her dizzy. They hadn’t touched intimately for so long.
“Shush, my love,” he said. “Sooner or later I will have to face up to it all again.” His laugh was hollow. “Frank says that it’s the only way I’ll truly rid myself of my ghosts.” He took a sip of scotch, his expression bleak.
It shocked Coral to see him so troubled. She was afraid to say anything at all; the last thing she wanted was to press him and make him relive whatever haunted him so much. Still, she needed to know. If she did not, his past would always be a barrier between them; in time, it would create resentment. She gave him a small, encouraging smile.
Rafe’s face relaxed a bit, and he reached out for her hand again. “We’ll go very slowly, if you don’t mind,” he said with a disarming smile that made him look very young. He rubbed his shadowed jaw. “Let’s start with Anatole France’s wise words that puzzle you so much… We chase dreams and embrace shadows.” He cleared his throat. “When I met Faye, I was very young: twenty-two and at medical school in Paris. That year, unusually, I went back home to Conakry in French Guinea for the Easter holidays. She was there with her father, Stanley Bradshaw, a rich English settler in Tanganyika and a philanthropist who had invested on a large scale in various Pasteur Institutes and other non-profit foundations around Africa.” He took another sip of scotch. In the flickering candlelight, his face had taken on a dreamy, faraway look.
“At the time, I thought she was the most bewitching creature I had ever seen. She was very tall and willowy. She had a perfect oval face, features like a Madonna with magnolia-pale skin, jet black hair, and eyes as dark and treacherous as night. She was beautiful and spoiled to the core. I was young, impulsive, and blind. I fell hopelessly in love, but that was only the beginning.”
He had spoken with a husky edge in his voice. Coral paled and instinctively turned her face away from him as the burning stab of blind jealousy pierced her heart like a hot poker. How could she be jealous of a dead woman? Nevertheless, a dead woman who had left a scar so vivid he still trembled when he spoke of her. Now, not only did she have to put up with sexy women running after him, but she had to compete with a beautiful dead wife with whom he had been hopelessly in love. None of it made sense.
Rafe’s observant eye had not missed the young woman’s reaction. “Look at me,” he said, gruffly. His tone softened as he read the distress in her eyes. “Oh, Coral, don’t misunderstand me. All this happened a very long time ago. I was young and didn’t know better. If I’m upsetting you, then maybe we should stop this conversation right now, but I do owe it to you to be open and frank about everything that happened. I love you, Coral, truly I do. I love you with the experience of a man who’s been burned by life, but only singed. Then you came along, with your innocence and your pure and giving love. You made me have a second look at my life, at who I was, at what I was becoming. I realized the mess I was making of it all. You gave me hope, a reason to want to be a real human being again.”
As usual, that look of his that touched her caressingly, and now so passionately, drove all doubts and fears from her mind. “I’m all right, really I am,” she reassured him. “It’s just my jealous and possessive nature, I suppose.” She smiled at him.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’ve told you that before. But you’ll learn to trust me. I will make you trust me.”
“Is Faye the reason why you gave up medical school?”
Coral looked quizzically at Rafe. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Was there something wrong with Faye?”
Rafe paused for a moment, looking intently at Coral with a sadness she had never seen before. He took a deep breath and continued.
“We got married in Tanganyika. It was a huge wedding, of which I remember practically nothing. I was in a daze all through the ceremony and for most of the luxurious honeymoon Stanley arranged for us in Hawaii, which made the awakening so much more brutal and cruel. It was not long before I realized that Faye was depressive — the term used by Frank was manic depression. She had certainly been highly strung since childhood but as she grew up, things became worse. That’s how I first met Frank. He had been the family doctor and had been treating her for a few years, keeping her moods under control with medication. To begin with, it wasn’t too bad. As time went by, it transpired that Faye would never have children.