by Liz Fielding
‘Be still!’ Lukas hissed between his teeth, catching her arm and forcefully propelling her back into her seat.
‘But I just … oh, look there’s a little one …’ Then one of the largest animals turned to face them. She stepped forward, waving her great ears.
‘And quiet! This isn’t a zoo!’ George subsided immediately, not needing to be told twice that the animal was threatening them. She had to content herself with watching the herd silently cross the road, and just for the moment she was glad she wasn’t on her own despite the humiliating way that Lukas gripped her arm. Above the smell of hot oil and dust she could detect the faint scent of his cologne and she tore her eyes from the herd to regard her adversary.
The contrast with their previous meeting was startling. On that occasion he had been all smooth and manicured charm in an expensive dinner-jacket and snowy dress-shirt. His dark, almost black hair, despite its dousing with flour, had been fresh from a stylist who knew his job. Now, too long for elegance and damp with the heat, it had resumed a wayward curl. Sweat trickled down the side of his face and damp patches stained the sleeveless jacket he wore open over a short-sleeved shirt.
George wondered where he had come from. The name—Lukas—the faint trace of an accent, suggested eastern Europe.
He turned and caught her staring. For a moment he held her gaze, then abruptly he let go of her. ‘They’re almost across.’
She rubbed her arm where his fingers had bit into the flesh and blushed, feeling foolish. She jumped as one of the beasts turned and bellowed at them, raising its trunk, before turning and disappearing with the rest.
When they had gone Lukas slowly moved forwards. George peered somewhat nervously into the bush on the side of the road as they passed, but there was nothing to threaten them. The elephant had gone. She sat back against the rock-hard seat. ‘They’re so big,’ she breathed. ‘Does that happen often?’
‘I suppose so. But you were lucky to see it. And it’s an ancient elephant crossing. The sign was put there to warn humans, not instruct elephants. You’d better have your camera ready in future, just in case your luck holds.’
‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed,’ she promised. And my toes. And my eyes … She giggled and was aware of an irritated exclamation from Lukas, but she didn’t care.
‘It’s quite difficult to take photographs with your fingers crossed. But I’m sure you know that.’
The sun rose higher, and the heat increased in direct proportion.
For the first time, George wondered what exactly lay ahead of her. She had been too tired the day before to worry about it, and her confrontation with Lukas had given her no time for thought. But, as well as Lukas, out here were snakes and spiders and lizards and, apparently, lions.
The thought caused a crawling sensation at the base of her spine. She desperately wanted to turn and check that there was nothing in the jeep with them, waiting its moment to grab her by the neck and drag her away. She broke into a sweat as she considered that this was full daylight. Whatever would it be like at night?
She kept her face determinedly forward, refusing to give in to nameless fears.
‘Hold on!’ The warning came barely in time. She was half jolted from her seat as Lukas swung the jeep off the road into the bush and over the railway line. There was a group of huts, a tiny store, a flurry of chickens and a glimpse of almost naked children staring with solemn black eyes as they swept past.
‘Say goodbye to civilisation,’ Lukas said with a grin, as they bounced along the road. Road! George caught her breath as the jeep slammed into a rut and bounced out again, lifting her clear of her seat. Lukas seemed not to notice, but then he had the steering-wheel to hold on to. She clung to her seat as they bounced along, leaving clouds of red dust in their wake.
A deer flew across the road in panic, practically jumping the jeep’s bonnet, and George let out a small shriek.
‘It’s only an impala,’ Lukas mocked. ‘You get used to them. You’ll see all sorts of creatures if you keep your eyes open. Foxes, jackals …’
‘Lions?’ she asked crossly.
They hit another rut and he didn’t answer. George allowed herself a little inner feeling of satisfaction. He must be mad, thinking he could scare her with man-eating lion stories. She wasn’t scared of lions. Dudus were something else.
‘We’re nearly there.’ He slowed the jeep and George could see, in the distance, a greener patch of vegetation. ‘The camp’s on the other side of the river.’
The ‘river’ lay in a deep gorge carved out by rainy season floods, but now was nothing more than a few small trickles of water meandering between broad sand banks and only occasionally widening into pools. Lukas approached the bank with care. ‘It’s a good job for us the rains weren’t bad. Otherwise we would have to cross by dinghy.’
‘I’ve no objection to getting my feet wet in a good cause,’ George said flippantly and immediately wished she hadn’t.
‘That’s a statement you may live to regret, George.’ Lukas smiled at some private thought as they tilted down the seemingly vertical drop. George hung desperately on to the jeep’s dash until they reached the bottom, where they splashed through the small streams. Then he attacked the far bank. For a moment George thought they were not going to make it. She held her breath as the jeep seemed to hang suspended without the power to get to the top. But suddenly they were there. Wherever ‘there’ was.
‘Welcome to Kathekakai,’ Lukas said expansively, indicating the few tents with a wave of his hand.
‘Kathekakai.’ She said the word slowly, rolling it around her mouth. It had an almost magical sound, conjuring up witch doctors and ritual dances. ‘What does it mean?’
‘Place of Dread. Or Place of Killing—take your pick,’ Lukas said matter-of-factly.
George stared at him, trying to decide if she was being wound up again. But he had climbed down from the driving seat and was striding towards a large open-sided mess tent where several people were sitting. Feeling suddenly very alone, she scrambled down and ran after him, trying not to think what might be in the dry grass.
There were about half a dozen people sitting around a table, playing cards. They called out a greeting to Lukas, but their attention was caught by George. Lukas turned and caught her arm to pull her forward.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I present George Bainbridge,’ he said with a flourish.
There was a sudden silence and a man, thick-set and middle-aged, who had his back to her, turned, stared for a moment then suddenly grinned.
‘Good God. It’s a girl.’
‘I’m relieved you know the difference, Walter,’ Lukas said drily.
‘Oh, I’ve always known the difference, dear boy.’ He came towards George and held out a hand in welcome. ‘Take no notice of Lukas. I believe he practises being horrible in front of a mirror.’
A striking brunette, who had looked up at George’s arrival, looked away again. ‘I think I’m up. Four kings and a run of hearts.’ She laid some cards out in front of her.
George felt a pulse beating in her neck. There had been a casual insolence, a dismissal of something without interest, about the girl’s attitude. She made a very special effort to focus her mind on why she was here, in this Place of Dread, fixing her thoughts on the youngsters living in cardboard boxes and how much they would love to feel this sun, how lucky they would think her. She allowed her face to relax into a smile and stepped into the shade of the tent. ‘It seems there has been a bit of a mix-up. I’m Georgette Bainbridge. Everybody calls me George.’
‘Are you related to Sir Charles?’
‘She’s his daughter, Walter.’ And George sensed rather than saw the look that passed between them. ‘Is there anything to drink? What would you like, George?’
‘Mineral water?’ she asked, and was promptly handed a glass of ice-cold water.
‘Thank you.’ She drank it down in thirsty gulps and almost felt the steam rising. ‘I’ll get my things from the je
ep, if someone will show me where to put them.’
‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand,’ Walter said, then, as an afterthought, ‘Where’s she sleeping?’
‘There’s only one spare bed,’ Lukas reminded him without expression.
Walter stared, then shrugged. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Lukas.’
‘She’ll be safe enough. Lukas has exquisite taste in women,’ the brunette put in, invoking a loud shushing from another girl, and a fit of giggles from a youth.
‘Come on, George.’ Lukas took her arm and marched her across the camp. Stonily he took her bags from the back of the jeep.
‘I can manage them,’ George protested as he carried them across to the nearest tent. He held them in one hand as he unzipped the tent fly and then, ducking inside, he dumped them on one of the two camp beds. After a moment’s hesitation George followed. She gasped as she took in a lungful of the stifling air inside.
‘Dear God, however do you sleep in this?’ she demanded.
‘It’s not so bad at night, but we keep the tents closed to keep the bugs out.’
She hoped he hadn’t heard the involuntary choking sound from her throat as he unzipped the rear and held open the flap for her. But he glanced back. ‘Are you all right?’ She nodded. Apparently without conviction. ‘Just remember to zip up after you and nothing can get in.’
‘I won’t forget,’ she said, unable to suppress a shudder.
‘There’s a little wash area out here. The mess boy brings some water in the morning and evening.’ He looked in the metal jug. ‘There is some here if you want to freshen up. The shower takes a lot of water-carrying for the boys, so there’s a rota and a time limit. And I’m afraid the models get priority. We’ll have a programme meeting as soon as you’re ready.’ He turned to go, then paused, his back to her. ‘I’ll try and rig up some sort of screen in here if you like.’
‘Thank you. If you’ll just give me a minute to wash my face …’
He let the tent flap fall and disappeared. With relief George pulled off the hat and subsided on to the bed, her knees almost touching the one that Lukas slept in. The space was very hot and very small. The two of them standing up had completely filled the tent, and George wondered how long it would be before Lukas remembered where he had seen her before. She couldn’t sleep in her glasses, or keep her hair in a bun day and night. The sooner he rigged up a screen, she thought, the better.
Chapter Three
George stripped and washed, grateful to get rid of the dust that seemed to penetrate every crease. Her skin felt tight from the long hot ride in the jeep and as she searched in her bag for a moisturiser her hand fell on the sun-block that Miss Bishop had bought. She unscrewed the lid and grinned. It was the pale green stuff. Oh, lovely Bishop, she thought, hugging her mentally. She lavished on her moisturiser and then carefully stroked the green zinc oxide down her nose.
She glanced in the mirror. ‘If you were vain, Georgette Bainbridge, this would be good for your soul,’ she sternly told her reflection.
She stuck her hat back in place. Lukas was right, it was a truly dreadful hat. She couldn’t even remember where it came from. She might frequent the charity shops, but that didn’t mean she had no taste. She replaced the glasses, squared her shoulders and pinned a smile firmly to her mouth, and with her pale green nose as high as it would go she emerged into the brilliance of an African noon.
At her appearance the buzz of conversation died away. Clearly they had all been discussing her arrival. Lukas made a move towards her and then checked mid-stride, clearly struck dumb by the green nose. Walter was the first to recover.
‘Well, here is the surprising George,’ he smiled, showing even capped teeth, white against a suntan, which in turn set off his silver hair to perfection.
‘Surprising?’ She forced a giggle. ‘Oh, because I’m a girl!’
Walter raised an eyebrow very slightly, but otherwise was unaffected. ‘Let me introduce you to everyone. I’m Walter Burnett, artistic director of this fiasco. Suzy is our wardrobe lady.’ George shook hands with a bird-like woman in her late forties, who smiled absently.
‘Welcome.’
Walter carried on. ‘Mark is our make-up artist. And Kelly, Peach and Amber are the reason we are all here. Come and sit down. We were looking at the sketches.’
George sank into a wooden folding chair beside Walter and glanced through the sketches of the planned photographs. The pictures certainly came under the heading ‘glamour’, but artistic glamour, she noted with relief.
‘Which one will we be shooting first?’ she asked.
‘We’ve found the perfect site for this one.’ Walter pulled a sheet from the bottom of the heap.
George looked at a rough sketch of Kelly stretched out upon a rock. ‘Suzy is in charge of wardrobe?’ she asked. ‘Whatever does she do?’
Walter laughed. ‘Well, there’s the beautifully draped native cloth, and some beads … It is this photograph with the beads, isn’t it, Lukas?’
George jumped as Lukas put his hand on her shoulder and leaned across her, turning automatically to face him. He looked down into her eyes and grinned. ‘Yes. This is the one with beads.’ He pulled out the chair next to her and sat down, leaving his arm draped across her shoulder.
‘They’re not beads,’ Suzy said, looking up from some sewing. ‘They’re nuts, cogs, that sort of thing. Spare bits of cars and motorbikes. That’s what the calendar is advertising.’
‘Spare parts?’
‘Surely you knew that?’ Walter asked curiously. ‘Your father is our client.’
George felt stupid. ‘I don’t have very much to do with the business,’ she muttered.
‘I don’t think George altogether approves of us,’ Lukas said with amusement. ‘She thinks we should be taking earnest photographs for the National Geographic.’
‘What’s so funny about that?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing. Do you usually paint your nose green?’
‘If I feel the circumstances demand it.’
His eyes glinted. ‘What circumstances have driven you to it this time, I wonder?’ She opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her. ‘Not now. I don’t feel that strong.’ He turned to Walter. ‘You’ve found a site for this shot?’ And the business of sorting out a new programme after the hold-up kept them busy until lunch.
George, once everyone had helped themselves from the cold buffet, stood uncertainly, balancing her lunch in one hand and a glass of mineral water in the other. The others had settled themselves in little groups and she felt excluded. She caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye and something hurtled passed her face, snatching a tomato from her plate. She let out a yell.
‘Perhaps you’d better sit down. The monkeys think you’re offering them a free dinner.’ He pulled out a couple of chairs and sat down beside her.
‘Sorry, it startled me.’
‘And that was just a monkey,’ he teased. ‘What’s the matter with the food?’ he asked, after a moment, realising she was not eating.
‘I’m not very hungry,’ she said, letting the fork fall on her plate. ‘I had rather a large breakfast.’
‘Not that much. You left most of it.’ He carried on eating. ‘Just make sure you drink plenty of liquid.’
‘I will.’ She sipped at her glass of mineral water, half wishing Lukas would join the others and leave her alone.
‘It’s difficult, isn’t it, George?’ She started at his words; it was almost as if he could read her mind. ‘Coming into a team that is already working together.’
‘Oh, yes. I suppose it is.’
‘We’ve been working on this project for quite a while, off and on. Relationships are already formed, friendships made.’ He indicated the groups under the trees chatting easily together. ‘They’re a good bunch, but they don’t know you. I don’t know you.’
George knew he was getting at something, but couldn’t quite put her finger on what. ‘I realise that.’
Lukas nodded. ‘Good. In that case you’ll understand my concern that your arrival doesn’t cause any problems. It’s tough enough doing one of these jobs, without unnecessary upsets.’
She was now completely at a loss. ‘I just came to do a job. I have no intention of upsetting anyone …’
‘A job you know precious little about.’ He ignored her protest. ‘I don’t know why it is that you bother me so much, George. At first glance you look too stupid to be trouble. Perhaps that’s it. You seem to have taken such pains over it. The nose is perhaps a bit over the top, though, don’t you think?’ He ignored her sharp intake of breath. ‘I was expecting a professional, you see, but if your father has sent you I have no choice but to respect his wishes. After all, he’s the piper.’ He stood up.
George clamped down hard on the impulse to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Instead she affected a puzzled expression. ‘What makes you think I’m not a professional?’ she asked quietly.
Lukas shrugged. ‘Because you don’t have to work. You can pick and choose what you do. That’s the difference, wouldn’t you say, between an enthusiastic amateur and a professional?’
‘Perhaps,’ she conceded.
‘A working lunch?’ Walter intervened, helping himself to another drink. ‘Don’t let Lukas work you too hard, George. He can be a slave-driver when he’s got the bit between his teeth.’
‘Hard work never hurt anyone,’ Lukas said, with an emphasis that George felt was directed straight at her.
‘So they say. But it doesn’t do to take chances, dear boy,’ Walter said smoothly. ‘But we’d better get going if you’re hell-bent on shooting this afternoon.’
‘Of course we’re shooting this afternoon. There are better things to do with life than sit around under a fever tree and waste time. Come on, George, let’s see what’s under that hat of yours.’ He walked swiftly away, leaving Walter with eyebrows raised in genuine surprise.