by Tamara Cape
“No,” she said to the nurse. “Leave us to talk for a few minutes. Thank you.”
Chad’s usual attire – shorts and polo shirt – had been replaced by the tan lightweight suit he had worn at their first meeting in the Johannesburg hotel. It hung well on his big frame. The top button of his shirt was undone and a tie hung limply below. It certainly looked like he had dressed for business. It brought home to Kerry that, whether dressed for the heat, dust and sweat of the bush country or in more formal attire, Chad Lindsay was an attractive hunk. And to cap his good looks, he had a physical presence – an easy, confident power which emanated from his solid physique – unlike that of any other man she had known.
“I brought these up from Jo’burg,” he said, holding the bunch of proteas forward. “There’s fruit in the bags.”
Kerry loved proteas, but she was in no mood to be fobbed off by a peace offering.
“Chad, I’ve done a lot of thinking,” she began boldly, her heart a-flutter. “I feel let down and furious. I don’t see how we can continue to tour together.”
The South African’s jaw dropped. “What is this? What’s got into you?”
“You know perfectly well. Running off to your girlfriends every chance you get –”
“Ah, so that’s it.”
She had never seen him look so hurt: not when she had refused to sleep with him, nor when the car had broken down, nor even after the warden’s death.
“So . . . what do you intend to do – bus it to Harare or Bulawayo and return home?”
“Something like that.” The truth was she had given no thought to her next move.
“Kerry, you’re being foolish. We’ve been through too much together for it to end this way.”
There was no pleading in his voice. It was clear from his measured response that he was leaving the ball in her court. It was her decision.
Looking her straight in the eye, he added, “How can you think me such a rat to go womanizing behind your back?”
“Chad, you can lay off the sweet-talk. I know what you’re like – remember? And I know about those kinky messages on your answerphone.”
For a moment Chad’s eyes froze in surprise. Then his expression melted into a wicked grin; finally he laughed.
“Anna been opening her big mouth, has she? It never ceases to amaze me what women – even relative strangers – find to talk about. Kerry, you can’t blame me for messages left by others.”
Kerry felt her will softening. Chad did not have the look of a guilty man. Had she been mistaken? Ill, lonely, depressed after the warden’s death, she had brought this confrontation upon them, talked herself into a hole from which escape might not be possible. Most hurting of all was the thought now dominating: a lonely airport lounge, the wait for a flight home.
Chad saw her shoulders slump, her head turn away in confusion and despair. He dropped the flowers and fruit in a heap by her bedside, sat on the bed and took her hand.
“Everything in my note was true,” he said gently. “A lot happened in Jo’burg. Good news. We’ll talk later. I’ve been on the go all day, and you need rest. Hear me out before making alternative travel plans.”
With that Chad leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. Then he was gone, leaving Kerry alone with her guilt, shame and anger – now self directed.
***
A nurse arranged the proteas in a stout vase, then cubed a juicy mango for Kerry – one of the fruit selection Chad had brought from South Africa. Kerry perked up. The trials of a difficult day were behind her. One thought, one feeling, dominated and stayed with her until she sank into a deep sleep – the soft touch of Chad’s lips against her fevered brow.
When she woke after a refreshing four hour sleep, she realized her fever was down – though she still felt weak. The doctor on his rounds confirmed she was on the mend.
Chad arrived and the first thing she tried to do was apologize. But he raised a hand, cutting her off.
“It’s forgotten.” He changed the subject, much to Kerry’s relief. “Let’s look ahead. The doc reckons you’ll soon be out of here. Tomorrow I should have the car back. I still have days booked in the park, and I’ll use them. Then we’ll head up to Vic Falls.”
Kerry felt herself gripped by the old excitement. It was time for a change. Western had lost its early gloss – problems seemed to arrive one after the other. She was so looking forward to seeing the world-famous Victoria Falls.
Chad had been in irrepressible mood since his arrival.
“Now, I’ve waited long enough,” she told him. “What was so important that made you rush back home?”
“I’ve saved the best for last,” he said with a mischievous grin.
His opening revelation left Kerry aghast. Chad had met the cousin of a Middle Eastern prince – an Arab billionaire! She listened enthralled as he described being escorted to the man’s hotel suite, generally reckoned to be the plushest in the city, if not the country. He talked of the luxurious furnishings, the trolleys and trays of canapés, fruit and drinks on offer.
The prince had sent his cousin to South Africa specifically to see Chad. That was why Chad had felt obliged to interrupt his field-trip. Sitting in the top-floor penthouse suite he had listened while the Arab told of a chance meeting between the prince and a wealthy Italian industrialist at a London casino. The Italian was ebullient over some recent art purchases. The prince had accepted an invitation back to the businessman’s apartment in Mayfair. There, in private, they discussed possible joint ventures in the oil-rich state and in Europe.
It sounded plausible to Kerry. She knew that Middle Eastern royalty, unlike their European counterparts, did not stand aloof, but were actively involved in setting up trade and defence deals.
After their business talk ended, the prince had insisted on seeing the Italian’s newly acquired paintings. There were a couple of 17th Century landscapes and a view of Venice by an imitator of Tintoretto – none of which interested the Arab.
Chad paused and Kerry knew from the look on his face that he was coming to the point at last.
“There was also an African wildlife canvas of an old Cape buffalo bull, isolated from the herd and surrounded by hungry lions. The Arab claimed his cousin, the prince, was struck dumb – speechless – with admiration. Such was the detail, the prince told him, you could see the buffalo knew he was doomed, but was steeling himself for the fight.”
“Who was the artist?” Kerry was sure she knew, but wanted to hear him say it.
Chad smiled and continued the story. According to the prince’s cousin all Arabs were hunters at heart. The prince hunted with lanners and peregrines in the desert. Certain animals they loved with a passion: the thoroughbred horse, the camel – so much a part of their culture – and the big hunting cats, admired for their power and merciless killing expertise: the same qualities the great Eastern moguls of the past had shown. The prince – a man who had everything – wanted nothing more in the world than to own the picture. He offered the Italian whatever he had paid plus a fat profit. The offer was politely turned down. He offered double. The Italian did him the honour of considering this, but again declined. The prince then knew not to raise the offer further. The other man was wealthy enough in his own right not to need his money. The Italian would never let the picture go, now that he knew it was coveted by others. Pride of possession would not allow it. It was what drove people to seek the rare, the unusual, the beautiful, the world over.
“There was one other way the prince could obtain satisfaction –”
“Find the artist!” Kerry cried.
Chad’s face remained deadpan. “He made discreet enquiries . . .” Now the South African smiled hugely. “And the trail led to Johannesburg.”
Kerry squealed in delight. “You sod! Why did you keep me in suspense so long?”
“Punishment. For doubting my word.”
“And what was the outcome of your meeting?”
“He wants paintings . . . and more
paintings.” Chad regarded her intently, his eyes alive with thought and imagination. “Have you any idea how royalty lives there? He showed me photos. Unbelievable! Breathtaking! Buck House looks like a dog’s house in comparison.”
Kerry nodded in agreement. “I’ve seen the king’s palace in Jeddah. And its floating equivalent, rather inaccurately dubbed a yacht. Be specific, Chad. What are you saying?”
Chad Lindsay considered for a moment. His face had turned serious.
“This is between us – right? Anna’s not party to all my business.”
“Oh, Chad, you don’t have to tell me. It’s just such incredibly good news.”
“It’s no ordinary commission. His palaces have a lot of wall space. He wants a dozen paintings – with a chance of doubling that if the first batch pleases him. Moreover I can name my own price, within reason. Already there’s money in the bank: he’s given me a healthy advance to show his good faith.”
Much to Kerry’s amusement, Chad threw up his arms and began an impromptu celebratory jig around the foot of her bed – a performance that reminded her of an Olympic athlete on finals day when all the hard years of preparation, training and pain pay off. She had to muster all her self-control to stop herself leaping out of bed to join him.
“I’m so happy for you,” she said. “And this could be just the start. Word will spread amongst the kings, princes and emirs.”
***
For a time after he had gone she feared the fever had worsened. One of the nurses told her it sometimes happened with tick-bite fever. You thought it was gone, only for it to return with a vengeance – hence its other name, relapsing fever. It worried her, but gradually her body cooled. She put the scare down to the excitement generated by Chad’s wonderful news. She had to get better. That was all that mattered now. Determined to regain her strength, she tucked in to her midday meal, and afterwards polished off a banana and an orange.
Chad returned in the afternoon to report that he had the Fiat back. He was satisfied – the repair bill had been lower than anticipated. He handed over her journal. She had asked him to search her bag in Main Camp for it.
“You didn’t read it? You promised!”
“I was tempted,” he smiled wickedly. “Tell me about it.”
“Thoughts and impressions. Mostly jotted down last thing before bedtime. Practice – I intend doing some serious writing in the future.”
“A book, you mean?”
“Eventually – perhaps short stories and travel writing to start. You sound sceptical.”
“Surprised. It’s quite a change from your present work.”
“I’ve always had a yearning to try. I’m a voracious reader and can recognise good writing when I see it.”
“You’ll find the competition fierce. The success of the Harry Potter series has everyone imagining they can do the same.”
Kerry had been counting on his support. Instead he seemed to take special delight in mocking her.
“Chad, I’d intended seeking your advice. But I can see that would be a waste of time. Let’s just drop it.”
She showed her hurt and displeasure by avoiding his eyes; but she could feel them boring into her.
“I know that look,” he said. “You’re serious – you mean business.”
“I said, let’s drop it.”
“Maybe I was a little hasty. Creative types are my kind of people. I know one or two writers, how they operate.”
“It’s not rocket science, Chad. How they operate is by lifting a pen or working a keyboard.”
“Come to think of it, you’ve seen a lot more of life than most –”
“My, my, you’ve changed your tune.” Kerry couldn’t resist the dig. “Not so long ago you classified me as positively virginal.”
He acknowledged her small victory with a smile.
“Kerry Stevens, if you weren’t ill,” he told her huskily, “I’d be tempted . . .”
He didn’t finish. The look on his face and his blunt words shocked Kerry. Since her refusal to sleep with him on their first night in the game reserve, Chad had avoided physical contact between them. Last night when he’d kissed her, he had not been driven by desire. Affection yes; sympathy yes.
But now his mood was different. She could see the raw desire burning in his eyes.
Its effect left her feeling weak and weightless, like she was floating on air. Part of her longed for him to crush her in his strong arms and make love to her. But the dominant part knew he would not do it.
He would bide his time, wait for a more opportune moment.
Lover Boy Lindsay had signalled his intent.
TWELVE
The next two days passed slowly for Kerry. She spent her time reading, writing in her journal and resting. Late afternoon Chad would visit, sit with her and talk about his day. He might describe a herd of buffalo at a waterhole, a road-kill puff adder or a sighting of something smaller like a scorpion or dung-beetle. She would ask about leopards and see his eyes darken and his smile fade.
After he had gone she would record everything in her journal while it was fresh in her mind. She had missed so much. She felt like a prisoner wrongly convicted, missing the freedom of the outside world.
On the last afternoon before her discharge, Chad told her that both the police and chief warden had accepted his explanation of the storm being the cause of their being on the unauthorised road. No action would be taken against him. Senior park officials would be holding an internal inquiry. Chad had indicated his willingness to attend. A decision on that would be taken later.
***
The drive to Victoria Falls was a leisurely affair. The Fiat was running well and Kerry was happy to be on the road once more, free, seeing more of Africa.
Mindful of what she had been through, Chad took things easily. He stopped twice at roadside shops. Beneath shady trees they sat sipping cool fruit juices.
“Have you given any thought to the prince’s pictures?” Kerry asked during one of these breaks. “Any particular animals he wants?”
“Cats mostly, but anything dramatic. He’s left it up to me.”
“Our lion, After the Fight?”
“Yep, I’m aching to start on it. He wants leopards too.”
Kerry chose not to pursue this line. Leopards were a sore point with Chad.
“Were you surprised by the Arab interest in your work?” she asked.
“A little, I guess. They haven’t put much money into Western art, unlike the Japanese. But, like I said, they love their animals.”
Although she’d had nothing to do with Chad’s working life, just being with him at this high point thrilled Kerry. Her own work was so different. There was a certain satisfaction that came from a job well done, but nothing compared to the personal rewards a talented individual could reap. She was determined to test her ability with the pen over the coming year. Story lines, plots, settings and characters were increasingly occupying her mind.
***
At the town of Victoria Falls they stopped to pick up provisions. Kerry wrote a postcard to her father and, at Chad’s insistence, purchased a floppy hat. The October heat was unrelenting. Kerry noticed that many African women carried colourful umbrellas, not as protection against rain – for there was none – but to shade themselves from the fierce sun.
A few miles outside town they entered the national park and found their lodge close to the Zambezi River. It was a low tile-roofed cottage painted olive-green, which toned in with the surrounding vegetation. It was similar in design and colour to Chad’s home near Kyalami. In front, a strip of ground thirty yards wide had been cleared of bush. The cleared strip ran from the lodge’s stoep to the riverbank sixty yards away. Beside the lodge, palm trees reached well above roof height and the ground was littered with their hard round nuts which resembled balls of sun-dried dung. Blocks of tangled scrub bush bordered the cleared ground, ensuring that each lodge had privacy from its neighbours.
After they had unloaded the car, t
hey walked to the river. In spite of the proximity of a vast volume of water, the cleared ground was bone-dry.
Through her dad’s love of fishing, Kerry had known many rivers. She had never seen a more impressive one than this – or one as beautiful. There was no sign of man’s hand in the vast panorama before their eyes. Several tree-filled islands – some belonging to Zambia, some to Zimbabwe – made judging width difficult. However Chad assured her that the Zambezi’s width here a few miles above the Falls was at least a mile. He explained that its source was hundreds of miles away where the borders of Angola, the Congo and Zambia met. It was Africa’s greatest west to east flowing river.
They waited until late afternoon, when the air was marginally cooler, before visiting the waterfall. Kerry had feared that after Chad’s fabulous news of his meeting in Johannesburg the rest of the trip might pale into insignificance. The magnificence of the Falls soon banished that thought. Below a perfect blue sky, nature presented a true feast for the eyes. Across a wide front the river dropped sheer in white foamy sheets into a narrow gorge. A fine mist spray rose high above and the roar of the falling water was like thunder.
Best of all, in Kerry’s opinion, was the ease with which it could be viewed. The spray had nurtured a small rainforest through which ran a pathway to the side of the gorge.
A pair of bushbuck moved as if by magic through a sunny glade in the rainforest. Here among humans, Chad suggested, they had lost their normal shyness and felt safe from their natural predators.
They followed the path out of the rainforest and along the rim of the gorge. The roar was unceasing. Kerry was thankful she wore the hat for even now close to sundown the heat was oppressive and she was not yet back to full strength. Chad seemed untroubled by the sun. His well-muscled legs ate up the ground with ease, and several times he had to check his stride and wait for her to catch up.
By the time they returned to the car Kerry felt exhausted, yet she could remember few more exhilarating experiences.