He jumped up, knocking over his glass of cognac, and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, wet and smelling of the high-priced brandy. He shook his head as though to clear it, and she’d have sworn that he had difficulty focussing on her. He walked away from the bar, then went back and stood over her.
“Run that past me again. Slow and clear so I can understand it.” He spoke in a low, strained voice that shook from frustration or anger, she didn’t know which. When she reached out to touch his arm, he moved beyond her reach.
“Well?”
“I’m not going back with you.” She took a bill from her purse and would have laid it on the counter, had he not stopped her.
“You’re my guest. I invited you to have a drink with me. Remember?”
Breath hissed from her lungs when she saw the sadness, the distress, mirrored in his obsidian eyes. “Mason... Oh, Mason...”
“Come on,” he interrupted in barely audible tones, “I’ll walk you to your room.”
They neared her door, and he stopped. “How can you deliberately do such a thing? You think you’re brave, but not even Hercules would have volunteered for what you’re choosing. Why, when it’s unnecessary?”
How many times did she have to tell him that, with a
50 percent chance of failure, she wouldn’t let him ruin his life on account of her?
“What changed your mind, Mason? Pity? You told that woman who’d been your patient that you were no longer a doctor, that you’d put it all behind you. And you knew right then what was wrong with me. I’m not the only person who’s needed your services these past two or three years. What about them?”
“That’s unfair. I went through hell after that last operation, reliving those times that I had heedlessly tweaked the devil’s nose, and acknowledging for the first time how lucky I’d been. What scared me was the thought that I’d been playing God. My chief told me last Monday that he never enters that operating room without praying first. That never even occurred to me.”
“But you did it successfully so many times. Did you lose your nerve?”
He shrugged his left shoulder and tilted his head to one side.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I know I can help you, and I want to. I have to. Let me help you.”
“I’m out of sorts. Seeing you here unexpectedly, and realizing what you’ve done... Let’s talk at breakfast.”
He walked her to her door and stood looking down at her. His wistful expression tugged at her heart, and she reached out to him.
“Jeannetta. Honey, come here to me.”
She had told herself that she wouldn’t let him wrap himself around her heart with his loving. But I need him, she thought, as she went mindlessly into the powerful arms that enfolded her in his adoring embrace. Her right hand caressed the side of his face, and he pulled back enough to gauge her feelings. He must have seen her hunger, for he pulled her to him with trembling, unsteady hands, covered her open mouth with his own, and let her feel the force of his longing. His tongue, bold and hot, swept every crevice of her welcoming mouth as if to learn it all over again. Her moans seemed to elevate the heat in him, because his left hand went to her hip, and he molded her to him, letting her feel his virile strength. She raised her arms to him, wanting to give him full access to her person, to let him have his way. Her hands slid to the back of his head, holding his mouth to hers while she sucked his tongue; she felt the shudders that raced through him when he grabbed her buttocks and rose heavy and strong against her. Blood pounded in her brain, and hot currents of desire stormed through her trembling body.
Should she drag him into her room or...? She loved him all the way to her soul. How could she make love with him and then carry out the plan that she knew would hurt him? She pulled his tongue into her mouth, held him as tight as she could, and loved him with every ounce of her strength. He stepped back, held her off, and gazed into her eyes.
“What is it? There’s no reason to feel desperate, honey,” he soothed. “We’re in this together, and we’ll come through it all right. Together.” She relaxed in his arms, exhausted by her emotions.
“I think I’d better tell you good night,” he said with obvious reluctance. “I’d rather not, and you know it, but I... You said you’re exhausted, and I won’t want to risk a mishap.” He brushed his lips over her cheek. “Nine o’clock in the dining room.”
Jeannetta sat on the side of the bed, her head in her hands. She’d made the right decision; any other would cripple Mason for life, and she refused to do that. She packed, phoned the airport, and went to bed. The next morning, she phoned Clayton Miles, thanked him for his kindness, and hung up before he could answer her. She left her note to Mason with the desk clerk. At a quarter past nine, she was on her way to Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe.
Chapter 7
He had spent the night scrambling the sheets, tossing and dreaming. At dawn, he dragged himself out of bed, more tired than he could remember, dressed, and decided to watch the sun rise in Kenya before meeting Jeannetta for breakfast. He strolled along Uhuru Highway for a couple of blocks until the changing sky announced the coming sun, and leaned against the trunk of an old coconut tree to witness its rise. How could he make her understand the horrifying experience of having the certainty that a person’s life can be snatched away by your error? She didn’t want to accept that, prior to that near-fatal incident, he’d never thought of it in that way, because he’d never considered his fallibility where his work was concerned. He’d been cocky. All-powerful. But he’d gotten a dose of the humility that every surgeon must eventually drink. The sun was up in full, and he’d hardly noticed it. He walked back to City Hall Way, past the elegant government buildings, hardly aware of his surroundings.
“Got a couple of shillings, rich mister?” a boy of no more than seven asked him. Mason fished around in his pockets, careful not to expose any bills in the event the boy had accomplices, and gave the child some coins. To his amazement, the boy handed him a used toothbrush and, when he questioned him, explained that it was fair exchange; he didn’t beg.
“I can show you around the town for some more shillings,” the boy told him. Mason thought about it for a minute.
“What are you doing out here in the street so early?”
“Best time to find tourist. Make money. First bird gets biggest worms. I show you around.” They walked along City Hall Way, and Mason had to admit that the boy knew the town and its buildings and monuments.
“How old are you, and what’s your name?”
“Jomo. Almost eight.”
Mason couldn’t associate an American boy of that age with such sophistication.
“Do you go to school?” He was curious about the boy, but he had a hunch that if he got too close, he’d lose his shirt.
“Second grade. We go to marketplace now.” Here was the Kenya of the common man. Hundreds of traders prepared their wares for the day’s sales. Women hung colorful baskets, woven mats, wood carvings of animals, eating and cooking utensils, ornaments, hides, and an assortment of other goods. Jomo stopped at a stall and grinned.
“This is my grandmother, rich mister. You buy something from her?” Mason bowed to the woman and bought several wooden bracelets on which were carved heads of giraffes, lions, and other animals.
“I can take you to see the Masai for a hundred shillings,” the boy urged. “For some more, my cousin will take you to see Kilimanjaro.”
“What do you do with your money?” Mason had no intention of going miles away from Nairobi into Masailand with the boy, but he didn’t doubt that Jomo could get him there and back.
“I save to buy a wife. I need many shillings.” After questioning Jomo, Mason learned that the boy was a member of the Kikuyu tribe. He flinched as his gaze locked with Jomo’s grandmother’s piercing, unnerving eyes.
&n
bsp; “Go back to your hotel,” she said. A tremor of apprehension skipped down his spine, and he couldn’t doubt that behind her gaze lay special knowledge.
“Why?”
“Go back.” He forced a smile, thanked her, and asked Jomo to walk with him to the InterContinental. He gave the boy the equivalent of ten dollars and watched the happy youngster accost another tourist. Skip saved to become a doctor, and Jomo saved to buy a wife. He could imagine the life that the enterprising little boy would have if he’d been born in the United States. He decided to leave his purchases in his room and to freshen up before meeting Jeannetta for breakfast. When he stopped at the desk for his key, the receptionist handed him an envelope. His heart plummeted when he saw her handwriting, and he didn’t open it until he’d closed the door of his room. Déjà vu!
Dear Mason, because I love you with every fiber of my being, I won’t let you do it. Nothing that you have revealed to me will make me believe that you’re willingly going back to medicine. I’m not happy with my decision, because I know I’m letting myself in for a bad time. But as I see it, I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of losing my life either totally or partially and, if either happens, you’ll lose yours altogether. I’m not convinced that you’re ready for it; I know I’m not. Thanks for wanting to help. This is final. Jeannetta.
He crushed the note into a ball and slammed it across his bed. Now what? He sat down and reached for the phone, and his gaze fell upon the crushed note. He picked it up, pocketed it, took it out and reread it. She loved him. He had thought she did, but she had at last told him. He needed that love, needed it desperately. But if he didn’t find her and get her back to New York in a hurry, she’d never be his, her pride wouldn’t let her go to him unless she was a whole person. He packed, ordered a car, and went to the dining room. To his surprise, Clayton Miles joined him.
“I tried to find you,” Clayton said. “I wanted to tell you that she was about to leave.”
“Thanks. Any idea where she went?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to check out. Around here, money buys more than goods and services.”
“Tell me about it.” He extended his hand. “I hope to meet you again.” He stopped the chambermaid in the hallway.
“I’m trying to find out where Miss Rollins went,” he said, holding a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Did she leave anything behind? Any papers? Maps?” The maid opened the door.
“I haven’t cleaned in there yet. You look around.”
He found travel folders in the waste basket, and the phone numbers of the Zimbabwe Embassy, Kenya Airways, and the Princess and Sheraton hotels in Harare. She’d bought a ticket to Harare, Zimbabwe. At six-thirty that afternoon, he boarded a flight to Harare and, this time, he vowed, she wouldn’t get away from him.
* * *
He called the Sheraton first and hung up before the operator connected him to her room. No point in tipping her off. He got to the hotel after midnight, slept fitfully, and rose early the next morning. He wanted to call New York, check on his business, Mabel, and Skip, but he had to give priority to Jeannetta. Steve would take care of Skip and, if necessary, Viv could handle the business while Lincoln guided the tour. He headed for the dining room and stopped. She stood in the lobby at the tour desk with her back to him, inquiring about a trip to Victoria Falls on the Zambezi River.
He walked rapidly to where she stood. “Jeannetta!”
She whirled around. Her bottom lip dropped and her hand went to her chest.
“Mason! How did...?” He took her in his arms and swallowed her words as his mouth covered her trembling lips. He didn’t care if they had an audience, or whether the culture frowned on public expressions of affection. When she attempted to resist him, he deepened the kiss, holding her closer. Her groan of capitulation sent rivulets of heat cascading throughout his tall frame, and he had to struggle for control of himself. He eased their passion with light kisses on her eyes, cheeks, and forehead. And with his arm around her, he walked her to a cove near the elevators, away from the gaping onlookers.
“You ran away from me again. Didn’t you know I’d find you? I’ll always find you, Jeannetta. You can’t tell a man you love him so deeply and kiss him off in the next sentence. At least, not this man. Come back with me and let me help you. We’re losing precious time.” His gaze swept her features, caressing, adoring.
“If you’re going to talk about that, please go back where you came from. I want to enjoy my vacation, and I don’t want to spend it worrying about the future.”
“There’s no use denying the truth. When the curtain falls, and—believe me—that could happen any day, it may be too late, and I may not be able to help you.”
She attempted to move, but he’d placed her between himself and the wall. He felt her soft, sweet hands on his chest and had to stifle the urge to crush her to him.
“You didn’t follow me this far to depress me, did you?” So she was in the denial phase, a problem he’d had with many of his patients. He’d use another tactic.
“Then let’s spend the day together, enjoying being with each other. What tour are you taking?”
She told him.
“Sounds interesting. Mind if I join you?”
* * *
Jeannetta longed to get out of the minivan and touch the giant rock formations. Reddish, sandlike rocks of various shapes and sizes clung together, as though created by a master mason, to form massive, eerie shapes—some as high as thirty feet. The rocks sat in a wide area of reddish-colored sand. She dug the toe of her shoe into it, scooped up a handful, and watched it sift slowly through her fingers. Mason fingered the keys in his pockets. She’d done the same thing when they passed a building site in Istanbul, and he wondered at its fascination for her.
“These rocks are thousands of years old,” the guide explained, but their rough appearance denied it. Jeannetta pulled Mason’s sleeve.
“Look.” They gazed at a male monkey meticulously grooming his mate, and Jeannetta turned away when the female expressed her loving gratitude. But the experience made her feel as if she’d been cheated, and she welcomed Mason’s arm tight around her, stopped and turned to him. She sucked in her breath at the message of deep caring in his eyes and let him take her weight for a minute. He held her steadily, and she knew she could trust him; she had never doubted that, but she didn’t want to expose what she feared might have become his Achilles’ heel. And she didn’t want him to tempt fate again because, this time, he might not win. They walked on behind others on the tour, arm in arm.
“I didn’t bring a camera,” Mason said when a flock of black birds with red beaks and red-and-yellow combs flew overhead. She wished for her recorder but had to settle for what she would remember. His arm slid around her waist and, as she nestled against him, it occurred to her that he might have begun to read her thoughts.
“Close your eyes, imprint them on your brain, and tell yourself to remember them,” she said and she could have bitten her tongue when she saw his startled look; she was glad that he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder and advised her to think pleasant thoughts.
She grinned, glad for his light mood. “Now we’re cooking together for a change. Look over there.” She pointed to several cheetahs prowling behind a high fence. “They’d be handsome if they didn’t have such small heads,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed, “but with a large head, they probably wouldn’t be the world’s fastest animal.”
The guide announced lunch, and shepherded them to a nearby restaurant with outdoor seating, that featured grilled meats, fresh fruits, and iced coconut milk.
“We’ll have an hour at Victoria Falls before sundown, when it’s most spectacular,” the guide promised. “It’s only a half-hour flight, so we have plenty of time.”
Jeannetta stood wi
th her back to Mason, enjoying the feel of his arms around her and experiencing the mile-wide Victoria Falls as they exploded into the Zambezi River. Hundreds of rainbows in every conceivable combination of colors straddled the river, a halo for the falls. She turned her face to his chest and wept.
“You alright?” he asked as the little plane headed back to Harare.
She nodded. “I hope I didn’t upset you back there, but it was so beautiful, so breathtaking, that I couldn’t stand it.”
“I’ve never seen a more riveting sight either. The urge to sink to my knees and pay homage to it was almost irrepressible.”
Mason disliked lying, but he figured that, in this case, the truth would do more damage. When she had wet the front of his shirt with her tears, the bottom had dropped out of him. He looked down at her, asleep with her head resting on his shoulder, and placed a protective arm about her. If only he could make her understand what she’d pay for her stubbornness. She stirred against him, and he leaned over and traced her forehead with his lips. He admitted to himself that she’d found a niche deep inside of him, and he wished he knew how their story would end. The plane circled the airfield to land, and he checked her seat belt, accidentally rousing her.
“You make a great pillow.” She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, and sputtered out her next words. “That’s the best sleep I’ve had in ages.”
He looked at her and, since he didn’t much feel like joking, he let his eyes answer her. She looked away.
“I can guarantee you an even better sleep, one you’re not likely to forget soon,” he boasted.
“But first...”
He didn’t object to her needling him. She had backed away from their passionate exchanges as often as he.
“Yes. But first...if you’re guilty, don’t accuse,” he admonished her.
“Humph. The only thing I’m guilty of is being sensible.”
He released a mirthless laugh and followed her down the short aisle and off the plane. The hotel van awaited them and, as they drove past one of the famous jacaranda trees blooming with purple flowers, Mason asked the driver to stop.
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