“Come to Egypt with me? You’ll love the pyramids, the Sphinx, Luxor, the desert. They’re something marvelous to behold. Come with me?” Though the loneliness in his voice gave her a deepening sense of kinship with him, she declined.
“Thank you, but I want to see more of this part of Africa, to know more about life here. I want to meet some people and talk with them.” Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Giraffes that had to be a couple of stories tall drank from a spring, all the while keeping watch for lions. Their guide drove up a narrow lane and stopped in the middle of the wildlife preserve. Nearby, a herd of elephants drank from a muddy stream, while some of them rolled in it.
“No danger,” the guide assured them, “elephants downwind, we upwind.” Jeannetta breathed deeply in relief, reached for her cassette, and recorded the sight.
“Clayton, isn’t it strange that the elephants don’t mind all those birds on their backs?”
“Not really,” he replied. “According to my guidebook, those birds pick off the insects that infest the elephants’ hides. The poor beasts probably love those birds.”
She closed her eyes and pasted in her memory all that she’d seen that day. As she opened them, a thousand gazelles swarmed by.
“You can bet there’s a hungry lion right behind them,” their guide explained.
“If you’re determined to put Mason Fenwick in your past and to brave what you know is going to be a hard life, why don’t you cast your lot with me? Marry me, Jeannetta, and I’ll take care of you. I guarantee you’ll never want for anything.”
Her eyes widened, losing their almond shape, and she worked at the lump in her throat. Had she heard him correctly? He gazed steadily at her, and she frowned deeply, squinting in an effort to understand.
“You couldn’t be serious. You’ve only known me for five days. If I accepted your offer, you’d probably spend the rest of your life berating yourself and hating me.”
She felt his fingers lightly on her arm and looked at him. His solemn gaze pierced her.
“Why do you think I’m a frivolous man? Let me tell you that I am not. I think before I speak or act, and I’ve given this some thought. I enjoy your company, and I’ve been more at ease when I’m with you than at any time since I locked Miles Chemicals and walked away from it for the last time. When my business went belly-up, my so-called friends had more important things to do when I called. Until we met, I’d been alone, in the truest sense, for the past eighteen months. You’ve changed that. And I’ll be honest. Because of me, a lot of women lost their beauty and aged prematurely. Their class-action suit drained my business, but no amount of money can compensate for what happened to them. If I make your life a little easier, a little brighter, maybe I can ease my conscience. Now, what do you say?”
“But you did nothing wrong, and you have no reason to feel guilty.”
He shrugged, looked out of the window, and spoke as though to himself.
“I should have carried out my own investigation before I packaged that cream under my logo and put it on the market. But that’s beside the point. We get on well, and we could have a good life together if you’d marry me. Your presence, your carriage, and the way you’re dealing with your problem uplift me.”
She had vowed that she wouldn’t cry about her condition anymore, so she sniffled and calmed herself. “You’re a terrific guy, Clayton, and I’ve enjoyed these past few days with you, but I have to find my own way.” She tried to hide her astonishment at his somber, almost sad expression. Even if he had meant that noble gesture, she wouldn’t accept it. If she couldn’t lose herself in Mason Fenwick, if she couldn’t have the essence of him, she wouldn’t share herself with any man.
She barely heard the guide’s warning of the dangers of being in the preserve after dark, for she had been enjoying the prospects of soon having a few moments alone in which to contemplate all that had transpired that day and to think about her life. Clayton grasped her hand, detaining her as they left the Land Rover, and she couldn’t help being conscious of the difference between the feel of his hands and what she felt when Mason’s fingers so much as brushed her flesh. Darts of electricity shot through her at the thought of how he made her feel.
“Look, Jeannetta. Don’t you feel as though our seeing this beauty together foretells something wonderful for us?”
She gazed up at the purple, red, and orange hues that blazed across the darkening sky as the sun neared its goal. Her free hand went involuntarily to Clayton’s arm, and he looked at her inquiringly.
“At times such as these,” she whispered, “I thank God for my eyes.”
She felt his arm encircle her waist in a gesture of comfort, and his warm smile made her wonder how many women would reject the proposal of such a man. Distinguished, well-mannered, a wonderful conversationalist, wealthy, and handsome.
“Until you tell me you’ll never marry me,” she heard him say, “I’m not available to anyone else.”
“Clayton, I’m sorry, but I...”
“Hush. You haven’t thought it over. Give me your address in Pilgrim, so I won’t lose touch with you.”
She did as he asked. “Better give me your sister’s name and address, too.”
She did, though she knew Laura would be scandalized at the thought that she had spent so much time in the company of a strange man of whom she knew nothing.
“Meet me for dinner,” he coaxed.
“I’ll call you,” she hedged. She liked Clayton Miles, but she hadn’t forgotten that a lapse in judgment had complicated her relationship with Mason—though she doubted she could have staved off the fire that had roared inside her from the moment she met Mason.
* * *
Mason found the foreign-exchange booth at the airport, changed dollars for Kenyan shillings, and phoned the Nairobi Hilton. Jeannetta Rollins was not a guest there. That left the InterContinental. If she hadn’t registered, he had some work to do. He phoned the hotel and, half an hour later, he’d registered there.
“Miss Rollins went on a tour of the wildlife preserve,” a bellboy told him, obviously fishing for a tip. A check with the tour agency enabled him to plan his day, and, after sleeping for the next eight hours, he showered, dressed, went down to the lobby, and sat facing the door.
Mason rose slowly, his heart slamming against the walls of his chest, when she walked through the door. He let his gaze sweep over her, searching every visible inch of her for evidence that she was no worse than when he’d last seen her. Her hair seemed longer, blown forward to frame her ebony cheeks. Nothing more. He relaxed for a minute, and then tensed. She had a man with her, but he’d deal with that later. Right then, his only concern was her health. He ignored the man and walked directly to her.
“Jeannetta, why did you leave? Didn’t you remember my telling you that I’d always be here for you? Didn’t you?”
Her obvious astonishment at seeing him—her audible gasp, dropped lower lip and widened eyes—held little surprise; she should have known he’d find her.
“Did you get my letter?”
He took it from the vest pocket of his linen jacket and showed it to her.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
Her hand went to her throat, and he stepped closer, ready to support her if necessary. Mason glanced at the man who remained beside her, and who cleared his throat—a bit insistently, Mason thought. He put a hand on each of Jeannetta’s shoulders and looked the man in the eye.
Clayton Miles smiled wanly and introduced himself. But the man’s smile lacked warmth. “I assume you’re Dr. Mason Fenwick.”
Mason nodded, but he didn’t move his hands from Jeannetta’s body.
“Am I to assume you’re not free for dinner?” Clayton asked Jeannetta.
Mason looked from one to the other. They hadn’t had time to develop close ties...or had
she known him before she left the tour? When Jeannetta half turned to face Clayton, Mason released her shoulder and stepped back.
“I enjoyed sightseeing with you, Clayton. Perhaps we’ll meet tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Don’t forget what I said. Good night, Dr. Fenwick. Good night, Jeannetta.”
Mason stared at the man’s departing back, trying to recall why he seemed familiar.
“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked Jeannetta, when he could no longer see Clayton. She agreed.
“I’ll be here in the lobby. Perhaps we can go to one of the French or Italian restaurants a few blocks away.” He tried to shove his emotions aside, but couldn’t. Butterflies darted around in his stomach, and need twisted through him as she stood there gazing at him with warmth and want blazing in her eyes.
“Can you imagine how I felt when I realized you’d gone? You could have left the note for me with the hotel’s concierge, but you mailed it to New York, expecting that I wouldn’t get there for another three weeks. It might have been too late then. Oh, Jeannetta, why couldn’t you trust me? Don’t you know that I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help you?”
Her bottom lip worked; she pulled at her hair and swallowed.
“You’re returning to medicine?”
He nodded. “I’m back at my old job, and I’m ready whenever you are. But you’d better hurry.” Her hand went to her collarbone, and her eyes widened before she lowered her lids, and a soft, dreamlike expression drifted over her beautiful face. He couldn’t deal with what he felt for her right then; first thing first. And his priority was restoring her health. A man shouldn’t operate on a woman with whom he was deeply involved. Nobody could argue with the reason but, in this case, neither of them had other options.
“I’ll wait here,” he said, and turned her to face the elevator. If she didn’t leave there, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t follow her straight to her bed.
* * *
Jeannetta showered and changed into a pink strapless dress and jacket, slipped into white sandals, picked up her straw bag, and raced down the stairs, too excited to wait for the elevator. She’d thought she’d faced a mirage when she saw him standing in the lobby. I’m going to enjoy this evening with him, she told herself, and I won’t worry about a thing. The bellboy grinned and bowed when she passed him on the stairs. She took her key to the desk, and the receptionist grinned knowingly. What is it with these people, she wondered. Since when did staff take such delight in getting into the guest’s private business? When they left the hotel, she wanted to scream to the doorman that she wasn’t spending the night in Mason’s room. The man had actually winked at Mason. They walked to the restaurant, and she mentioned her mild annoyance.
“Jeannetta,” he said, his voice filled with amusement, “they think you were playing around with that guy and that I came unexpectedly and caught you two together. These are boring jobs, and the guests are the only diversion.”
She couldn’t help laughing with him. “That explanation suggests that you’ve got a pretty healthy imagination, yourself.”
They chose the Italian restaurant, because Jeannetta found its soft lights and elegant decor enchanting. He seated her, motioned to the waiter, and sat facing her.
“Why did you leave without telling me?” he asked for the second time. He took her letter from his pocket and pointed to it. “You said here that you don’t want to wreck my life. Do you believe I could go on with my life as it was knowing what you faced? Didn’t you have any faith in what has happened between us? Surely, you don’t think a man can hold you as I have done and not care about you.”
“I left because I didn’t want to risk your having a failure with me, a tragedy that would haunt you forever. If a near-miss was enough to make you walk away, failure would destroy you. I believe in you, but I’m not sure that you do. After all, you said that medicine was behind you, a thing of the past. I don’t plan to waste time feeling sorry for myself—I’ll do and see all that I can, while I can.”
“You didn’t reply to the most important part of my question, but I don’t suppose dinner is the place to discuss something this serious.” His fingers strummed the table a couple of times. “Who is Clayton Miles?”
“I don’t know.” At his raised eyebrow, she explained, “I mean, I met him on the plane. He’s interesting, has good manners, and he’s very pleasant company.” She watched Mason carefully to gauge his mood, to determine whether he might be jealous. If so, she decided, he knew how to hide it.
“His name’s familiar. What does he do?”
“He’s a chemist.” She knew from the set of his jaw and the way he ground his teeth that she wouldn’t like his next remark.
“Why is he staying here?”
She glared at him. “This is where he had reservations.”
She realized that her glare didn’t carry much weight when he said, “Is that why you’re staying here?”
“My last name is Rollins and yours is Fenwick,” she told him, “and that should tell you what I think of your impertinent question.”
He didn’t give in. “I didn’t suggest anything. I asked you a question.”
“It will be a great loss if you hold your breath until you get an answer.”
They finished the succulent shrimp brought up from Mombasa, Kenya’s second city, and the waiter served their main course, which consisted of fried tilapia—a fish common to East Africa—overcooked zucchini, and broiled locally grown mushrooms. Jeannetta couldn’t figure out how the fish and mushrooms could be so tasteful and the zucchini, the only Italian dish on the menu, so awful. She said as much to Mason.
“Anybody can open a restaurant, decorate it in red, white, and green, and call it Italian. I wouldn’t be surprised from the taste of this fish if the chef hadn’t been working on a Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street in Harlem. This stuff is good.”
She nodded. “Kenya is famous for its fruits. I’m going to have an assortment. Some of every kind on the menu.”
He finished chewing his mouthful of fish, put his fork down, and assumed the posture of a man preparing to run. “Where are you planning to put it? You couldn’t possibly have any more space in there.” He pointed to her stomach.
“Alright. So I love to eat. Be a gentleman, and don’t rib me about it.”
He laughed, reached over, and tweaked her nose. “I like women who have a lusty appetite and aren’t ashamed of it. What I can’t stand is the woman who orders food, pushes it around on her plate and leaves it—as though that’s supposed to be feminine—then goes home and wolfs down a couple of peanut-butter sandwiches.”
“Not me. What you see is what you get.”
He leaned back in his chair, and she could only guess at the reason for his sudden seriousness.
“Yes. I’ve known that from our first meeting. And I like that about you. I like it a lot.”
Excitement ploughed through her as his voice dropped a few decibels, and grew dark and suggestive.
“I like everything about you. Everything. Right now I want to...”
She felt her eyes widen and her lip drop, and he must have noticed her impatience to hear what he wanted, for he suddenly clammed up, stood, and held his hand out to her. He walked with her halfway to the door, turned, and laid a bill on the table. When he rejoined her, he joked, “You’ve got me so damned befuddled that I forgot I’m supposed to ask for the check. Wait here while I go over to the cash register.”
They walked down Muindi Mbingu Street, crossed Kenyatta Avenue, turned into City Hall Way, and walked on to the corner of Uhuru Highway without speaking.
“Tomorrow, we ought to check out the Conference Center and some of the government buildings,” Mason suggested. “The first time I came here, it surprised me that Nairobi is such a modern city, at its center especially. What do you say we
meet for breakfast around nine and walk through the city, huh?”
“It wasn’t what I expected either,” she said. “It’s well laid out, with broad, paved streets and avenues, traffic lights, and modern stores. Our guide said that you have to go to the city market to find traditional wares.”
He squeezed her hand and urged her closer to him as they walked along. The clear bright moon cast their shadows before them as they turned off Uhuru and walked across the park toward the hotel. Jeannetta looked up at the sky that was bright as early morning, at the white swirls that played hide-and-seek with the moon, and she missed a step.
Mason dropped her hand and wrapped his arm around her. “It will be yours again, everything. All of it. I promise you. So don’t let this depress you.”
She looked up at him and smiled, the only response she could give him. Their brisk strides slackened into a stroll, and she knew that, like herself, he was reluctant to let go of these precious moments.
Kenyans went to bed early and got up early, so the streets were deserted except for the few tourists who walked back to their hotels after dinner, a movie or local entertainment. She felt his fingers tighten on hers as two strangers staggered toward them. He switched sides, putting himself between her and the men, who appeared to be foreigners, and they staggered on their way.
“How about an aperitif? It’s early yet,” he said, heading them toward the bar. “Jeannetta, I want you to go back to New York with me as soon as we can get a flight out. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
She rested her glass of tonic on the counter and made herself say those fatal words. “I’m not going with you, Mason. I’ve decided to take whatever comes. I don’t want to be on your conscience, and I won’t let you ruin your life for me. I have faith in you, but I don’t believe you’re sure. And even if you are, it’s as risky as it ever was, and if your reasons for walking away were valid once, they’re valid today. I won’t let you do it.”
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