Zambezi Seduction

by Tamara Cape

  Kerry could not help comparing the men. Dirk was younger, but he had a bulky coarseness to his body which to some extent showed in his facial features. Chad, with his slimmer hips and more finely sculpted head, was the better looking of the two. The former beauty queen would have had the pick of many young men, so it was safe to assume that Dirk had qualities not immediately apparent. Perhaps he was Anna’s first love, theirs a schoolroom romance that had survived the progression into adulthood and the claims of other suitors.

  “Guys – look after yourselves,” Anna instructed. “I want to talk to Kerry and show her the house.” She added with a smile, “I think she is interested in how we live out here in the sticks.”

  The farmhouse lacked the cool freshness of an English home. In this season of clammy heat, a musty warmth was all pervading. Gentle breezes stirred the torpid air outside but lacked the strength to force entry through the open windows.

  In the kitchen Kerry met Anna’s mother who was working with other women putting the finishing touches to various salads. Tomatoes, chives and avocados lay on chopping boards. Steam rose from a large bowl of baked potatoes which an African maid carried outside to tables near the barbecue area where men were gathered cooking meat over charcoal.

  Anna led Kerry through a hallway into a large sitting room. Her mother called after them.

  “Don’t be long. We eat soon.”

  A wide bay window dominated the room. It looked onto a vegetable garden full of ground-hugging pumpkins, water melons and squashes. On one side stood a peach orchard; a carpet of fallen pink blossom littered the ground. On the other side was a livestock dam fed by borehole water. A scattering of prickly-pear cactus grew around the dam. Beyond it the thousands of hectares of growing maize began.

  The room was furnished old-style, the design more practical than elegant. Several chairs were made of an attractive pale wood. Anna told Kerry it was African yellow-wood, now so rare and expensive it was almost impossible to obtain. The chairs had been in her family for generations. Kerry imagined the chairs and sofa being made by some Boer craftsman in bygone days.

  Bookcases lined one wall. An obsolete central fireplace dominated another. Lamps and tall display cabinets filled with old china and antique bric-a-brac stood in the corners. The room looked old and timeless. Kerry doubted whether it had changed much in two or three generations.

  She had been so engrossed in the view from the window and the contents of the cabinets that she had overlooked the pictures hanging on the walls. Anna drew her attention to them now. The subject matter – African wildlife – had Kerry striding across to look.

  “Chad’s work,” Anna confirmed. “He held his first Johannesburg exhibition soon after we met. I went along out of curiosity and was impressed. I told my father . . .” The Afrikaner girl laughed. “What a stubborn man. A typical farmer – hates the city and had no interest in art. I practically had to drag him and mother to the exhibition. You can guess the rest. Having sworn that it was all a waste of time, he was immediately smitten. Ended up buying four paintings.”

  Kerry smiled, seeing it clearly in her mind.

  “What’s more,” Anna went on gaily. “Dad was so taken by the pictures, he told friends – men with money, who go hunting every year. Soon every painting was sold.”

  “So you were a big help to the struggling artist,” Kerry said.

  “That showing made his name,” Anna explained. “It drew excellent press reviews and dealers and gallery owners clamoured for more. He would have made it without the Groblers, but I’m happy we did our bit. Since those days he’s been a good friend.”

  Anna motioned towards two easy chairs by the window.

  “Come – time is limited and I’m anxious to hear about your trip. Did you see a leopard?”

  “On the very last day.” Kerry recounted the highlights, one by one. It had been the holiday of a lifetime, she confessed, for which she owed Chad so much.

  What the Afrikaner girl said next stunned Kerry.

  “He thinks the world of you, you know.”

  “What?” Kerry was too shocked to offer a more intelligent reply. How ridiculous. Anna had not heard the arguments or felt the coldness and tension between them.

  “He almost skipped the chance to meet the Arab because of you. He was against returning to Jo’burg. It needed all my powers of persuasion to convince him that tick-bite fever wasn’t going to kill you. I’ve never seen him more agitated and upset. While he was in the hotel suite discussing the deal, I was in the lobby under orders to phone the top florists in town.”

  “The proteas were beautiful, thank you,” Kerry said in a small voice. After a moment’s thought she went on. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. We had fun, but there was friction too. You, better than I, know what he’s like. When I’m gone, he’ll be up to his old ways in no time.”

  The South African slowly shook her head, her honey-blonde hair trailing across her shoulders. She sat forward her gaze fixed on Kerry.

  “That same day I gave him other messages from his answer-phone. Some from women I know he’s been involved with. He tore up the paper right before my eyes.” Anna’s lips parted into a lovely smile. “Knowing him as I do, I’d say . . . I’m sure he’s in love.”

  “No way!” Kerry blustered, feeling her face colour. “Remember your warning when we first met? He’s a confirmed bachelor whose work is everything. He uses women and never mentions the word marriage.”

  “Ja, I spoke the truth. But a man can change – why not?”

  “Anna, thank you for telling me this. It’s pointless us arguing. Whether Chad has changed or not doesn’t really matter. In a few hours I’ll be gone –”

  “Can you not extend your leave?”

  “That’s impossible. In any case he’s anxious to begin painting and wouldn’t want me around. I may meet him again – I’ll be back in Jo’burg – but it’s by no means certain.”

  She cut off further talk on the subject. “Enough about Chad and me. This is your day. We’d better get outside before your friends send in a search party.”

  ***

  Kerry ate well – plenty of salad and a large portion of boerewors, a delicious farm-made sausage spiced with roasted coriander seeds and ground cloves and nutmeg.

  She obeyed a rule of hers to abstain from alcohol on flight days. Both alcohol and flying dehydrated the body. On the plane tonight she would drink only mineral water – the wine served with dinner she would take home.

  In contrast to the party – still in full swing – they left Sterkfontein quietly, without fuss. Kerry had found it impossible to sustain the spirit the happy occasion demanded. The reality of this being the last day of her Southern African adventure weighed heavily with her. And Anna’s heart-to-heart talk had left her with much to ponder.

  ***

  Back at the cottage she took a last look around as Chad carried her bags to the car. She would miss this secluded spot under the gum trees.

  The South African watched her. He was ready.

  “Where’s Clarence?” she asked.

  “There’s a chair he likes to rest under. Want to say goodbye?”

  Kerry nodded. It seemed a crazy thing to do. More likely it was a clear indication of her reluctance to leave.

  The small snake went into his usual routine when disturbed – coiling defensively, his scales rubbing together making a fair impression of a scary hiss.

  “Ideal pet,” Chad said fondly. “A quail egg a month and he scares the hell out of any unwelcome guest.”

  “As I know to my cost,” she reminded him.

  She could delay her departure no longer. Better to say goodbye now rather than under public gaze at the airport.

  He had anticipated her move. When she stepped towards him, he closed the gap and hugged her. His clothing smelt faintly of wood smoke from the barbecue. She felt the solid warmth of his body against hers.

  “Chad . . .” Words caught in her throat. Her eyes became moist, blurring he
r vision.

  He rocked her gently from side to side as if comforting a frightened child.

  “I owe you so much,” she managed.

  “You owe me nothing. We get out of life what we put into it. You put in plenty.”

  His lips found hers. She responded positively. To her, it was a final reaffirmation of the bond that had carried them through the rough and the smooth. Now they could part on good terms.

  Then, without warning, Chad’s behaviour changed. His tongue sought access, invading her mouth by force. He groaned and his hands wandered. One encircled her breast and she felt the pressure of his arousal. Her legs grew weak and a flood of desire threatened to engulf her.

  It was their last night by the Zambezi all over again.

  No . . . no . . . no . . . She managed to keep her mind clear. She felt like an exhausted swimmer battling a tidal race. It was madness. She had often thought of the farewell, and this wasn’t in the script.

  They had agreed there would be no more. She had to stop it, otherwise her word counted for nothing. Was that how she wanted to be remembered?

  Kerry arched her back and struggled to free herself. His arms and hungry mouth released her reluctantly. He towered over her, eyes filled with wild desire. She had already felt proof of his body’s need of her.

  “You broke your promise,” she accused. Oh, why had it come to this? The last thing she wanted was her holiday to end in a squabble.

  He shook his head angrily. “I’m a man – not a child you can boss around. It was unplanned; it just happened.”

  His hurt look softened and a wicked smile played around the corners of his mouth.

  “Too bad we’re not travelling together. We could join the Mile High Club tonight. Perhaps you already have – you’ve certainly had the opportunity.”

  With his words, the heat of desire within her was replaced by the heat of anger. She loathed being talked of in such a way, even if it was partly in fun. She guessed it was his parting shot – his way of getting back at her for ending their affair.

  Nothing was to be gained at this late hour by attempting to score cheap points. If he had any feelings for her, he would let it rest.

  Silence reigned. It seemed that he had reached the same conclusion.

  After subjecting him to a long withering look, Kerry asked, “Can we go now, please?” She kept her voice even, so it reflected none of the confusion of hurt, sadness, eroticism, swirling memories . . . and the sudden chill of loneliness flooding through her.

  TWENTY – ONE

  On her first stopover in South Africa following her return to work, Kerry contacted nobody. She was reluctant to involve herself with Chad and his friends, fearing that the earlier intimacy and acceptance of her as an outsider would be gone. She remained in her hotel room – although she was far from idle. With her notes scattered about her she wrote the opening pages of her novel.

  The next visit followed a similar pattern to the first, despite her vow during the drive from airport to hotel to contact him. Chad was constantly in her thoughts. She had visions of him working on the leopard paintings in his small studio. How was he eating? Who was he seeing? Did he ever think of her? These and a dozen other questions repeated over and over in her mind. She remembered their lovemaking in the moonlit room by the beautiful river. So real were the memories, inevitably her body would respond – leaving her unsettled, trying to block the more sensual thoughts from her mind.

  By now she knew finally and irrevocably that she loved him. Every day she berated herself for being so defiant and cool towards him at the end of the holiday. They hadn’t spoken on the way to the airport. After finding her a baggage trolley, he had pecked her on the cheek and beaten a hasty retreat. The old Chad Lindsay independent streak showing itself again.

  Ring me, he had said. You know where I am. That was something, of course. But it placed the onus on her to make the next move. Was it arrogance, or just how Chad did things? Anyone else and she wouldn’t have entertained the idea, for she held to the old-fashioned notion that it was up to the man to lead and make clear his intentions and up to the woman to accept him or not.

  Chad Lindsay, though, lived by his own code. Quite possibly he’d never had to learn the conventional approach to courtship. A man of his dashing appearance and sex appeal would, as often as not, be the pursued rather than the hunter. Hence his flippant remark: “You know where I am.”

  She loved him – yet something in her mind-set prevented her from making the call. Only once – when they were in bed together – had he said he cared for her. Any woman who believed everything a man told her in bed was a fool, and Kerry didn’t believe herself a fool.

  She remained cooped up in her hotel room, her mind slipping back and forth between the world she was creating on paper and the real world – Chad’s world, which began a few paces away outside her door. The worst part was knowing he was so close. Every time footsteps or a phone sounded, her heart skipped a beat. The disappointment hurt like a knife in her side – but still she could not bring herself to make that call. The man wasn’t living in the wilds of the Kalahari. He had a car and a telephone. He could find her, if he really wanted.

  ***

  By the time of her third stopover in the city since her trip with Chad, the events of the holiday seemed in the distant past. Nevertheless she found it impossible to shut the South African out of her thoughts. She congratulated herself on the good judgement she had shown in ending the sexual dimension after one night. It had not been an easy decision, but with his subsequent behaviour confirming her worst fears, she was convinced it was the right one.

  She wavered over whether to phone Anna Grobler or Camilla Olsen. She felt no particular bond to either woman – yet she had enjoyed warm moments with each. She might not see Chad again, but that was no reason to shut their mutual friends out of her life. Anna was too close to Chad. And there would be a fair chance of an argument given the Afrikaner girl’s crazy notion that Chad was in love with her, Kerry.

  That left Camilla. Kerry phoned her from the hotel after breakfast. The Dane sounded delighted to hear from her. After establishing how long Kerry would be in town, she insisted they meet for lunch that same day.

  “Oh, wait . . .” she stalled. “I’d forgotten . . . I’m expecting a plumber today or tomorrow. I’ll phone him, find out when he’s coming and call you back in ten minutes.”

  True to her word, Camilla phoned exactly ten minutes later.

  “Fixed up,” she said happily. “He’s coming tomorrow. So today I’m free. Pick you up outside your hotel at 12.30?”

  “Looking forward to it.” Hearing the Dane’s voice had given Kerry a lift.

  Camilla Olsen arrived in a cream VW Golf, her head half-hidden behind a huge pair of dark shades. Kerry jumped into the car and they exchanged air-kisses and began talking at once.

  Camilla proved to be a competent driver and soon they were on the northbound lane of the M1 motorway.

  “Thought you’d like to get well away from the city,” Camilla said. “See some trees, breathe clean air.”

  Kerry suspected the move was for the Dane’s own peace of mind. Leave the traffic and crime – the muggings, robberies, rapes and car-jackings for which Johannesburg had become notorious in recent years. Once they left the motorway, it wasn’t long before Camilla stopped the car outside a French restaurant within sight of the Sandton Centre – one of the northern suburbs’ best-known landmarks. Hereabouts was a world of leafy avenues, health clubs, hair and beauty salons, shopping malls and supermarkets – all geared up for Christmas.

  Kerry watched a hoopoe flit over the road and into a garden awash with sunlit colour. The gardens and verges were now a lush green. Summer – a new wet season – was well underway.

  They were shown to a back table. The temperature-controlled room was pleasantly cool. They ordered gin and tonics, lots of ice and sliced lemon. The restaurant filled and the waiter came early to take their order. Neither felt like a starter
. They each plumped for a seafood salad – crabmeat with Kerry’s, while Camilla went for a side plate of giant Mozambican prawns cooked in garlic butter.

  “One thing shared by the British and Danes is a taste for the sea and its riches,” Camilla said, laughing gaily. She really did appear pleased to see Kerry again.

  “Do you miss the sea?”

  “I do – so much. In Denmark it is always there, like the sun and moon. Here one must travel nearly four hundred miles to find it.”

  Kerry was only half listening. She found it extremely odd that Camilla had not once mentioned Chad Lindsay – not on the phone, in the car, or here as they enjoyed their drinks. Had their roles been reversed, Kerry would have brought his name up straight away. It was all the more peculiar given the Danish blonde’s behaviour at Victoria Falls. There her inquiring mind and eagle eye had focused assiduously on Kerry’s relationship with the artist. Were they now engaged in a bizarre game to see who could last longest without saying his name? What seemed much more likely was that Camilla had no need to ask because she’d had contact with Chad since their return from Zimbabwe.

  Mindful that Camilla had to drive her back to the hotel, Kerry was reluctant to suggest that they order wine. However, so keen was she to loosen the Dane’s tongue, when the wine waiter appeared she suggested a half-bottle. They agreed on a Cape Chardonnay.

  Kerry found that she had lost her appetite. She picked at her food, although its presentation and taste were excellent. She could not relax. She watched the other woman shell each prawn and dip her hands in the fingerbowl afterwards. She and Camilla should be friends: they shared many interests and clearly liked one another. But Kerry was so aware of the unspoken name, she felt an underlying tension between them – as if they were strangers meeting for the first time.

  Camilla ate greedily. Kerry pushed her half-eaten meal to one side. Camilla gave her a speculative look, picked up her fork and made a spearing motion towards Kerry’s plate.

  “May I?”

  “Help yourself.”