Kiss of Hot Sun

by Nancy Buckingham

  I watched his face as he worked, intent upon the job in hand. His fingers deftly twisted the improvised bandage around my leg and fixed it. Then stretching the material of my slacks to the fullest extent, he worked the trouser leg down again.

  “There,” he said, patting my ankle gently. “How does that feel?”

  “Fine,” I told him. But I was lying. The leg felt a mite better, but it did not feel fine.

  Philip had a drink himself then, and afterwards he stayed kneeling, staring down into the flowing water.

  “I reckon the best thing is to follow the stream. We’re bound to get somewhere in the end.”

  It was surprising how much hope that idea gave me. For the first time since the firing of the shots, I began to think it might really be possible for us to get clear away.

  I lifted my head and looked upwards, back at the mountain we had descended so wearily. Now that we had reached the floor of the valley we could see right to the top, past the hump that had obstructed our view from the ledge.

  Way up something glinted in the sun. Something bright. It took a few seconds before I guessed what it was—the chromium wheelhubs of the car.

  And then, way back along the road, I noticed a tiny black shape. It moved slightly as I watched. A man, walking. A man walking away from us!

  I touched Philip’s arm and whispered just as though I might be overheard. “Look! Up there.”

  His eyes took the long focus, searching the wild expanse of mountain. Then he too caught the movement.

  “Yes, it must be. Who else would be walking in this heat?”

  “He’s moving away, Philip. Does that mean he’s given up?”

  “Let’s hope so. I suppose he’s lost track of us. We’d better keep absolutely still until he’s out of sight.”

  So we stayed just where we were, not daring to move. The quiet air, quivering with heat, played tricks on us, making the tiny figure on the road above dance uncertainly. Sometimes we thought he’d finally gone and then he would flicker back into existence again, moving with infinite slowness.

  At last the distance had swallowed him. Our enemy was out of sight. We could get going.

  Or rather, we were free to get going. When I tried to heave myself up, I found that despite Philip’s careful bathing and bandaging, my leg was still in a pretty bad way.

  But I wasn’t going to be a burden to him any longer—not if I could help it. I grit my teeth and fought back at the fearful thumps of pain. I swear I didn’t give so much as the smallest gasp as I stood up. I even forced a smile.

  I might possibly have got away with it too, if Philip hadn’t anticipated trouble. He was watching me far too closely to miss the obvious signs.

  “Pretty rough, is it?” His voice was soft, full of anxious sympathy. “Hold on tight to me, and put as little weight on that leg as you can manage.”

  And so we went back to the three-legged routine. A step with my good leg and a sort of hop with the other. Philip matched me, steering me through a maze of boulders that littered the dried-up river bed. Because he had to pay attention to the ground immediately ahead he couldn’t see my face, and that was a blessing.

  A soft patch of ground almost toppled me over and I let out an unguarded cry.

  Philip halted. “Come on, I’m going to carry you.”

  “But... but you can’t. I mean, we don’t know how far...”

  “It’ll give you a rest for a bit, anyway. Up with you.”

  I was ashamed to be such an encumbrance but Philip just hoisted me up, protests and all, slinging me across his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

  I’d never been a skinny-lizzie. As a boyfriend of mine had once crudely put it, I was a hundred and twenty pounds of solid woman!

  Philip carried my weight without a murmur. On such rough ground he couldn’t avoid stumbling, and once or twice I began to slide off his shoulder. He had to stop and hump me up again.

  Doubled over, hanging limply, my vision was restricted. An upside-down view of caked river mud, and a close-up of Philip’s dirt-streaked back. I could see the beads of sweat forming, clinging to down-soft hairs before they shook free and hurried away along the brown channel of his spine.

  Philip didn’t speak much, barely more than an occasional grunt to ask if I was okay. As for me, I was glad enough to grab at this chance to rest. And anyway, humped over his shoulder, talking was a pretty jerky, breathless business.

  Even in this odd and uncomfortable position, the steady jogging motion was curiously soothing. I found myself nodding off, half-way to sleep, in a sort of suspended dream world.

  The sudden shade came as a shock. The air was immediately cooler, the savagery of the sun gone. I struggled to full consciousness. “What’s happened?”

  “We’re in a sort of gorge,” Philip panted, “where the river has cut through the rock.”

  I twisted my head to look sideways and up. A wall of rock rose high above us. I craned my neck the other way and saw the same thing there.

  Philip pushed on for another fifty yards or so, and then stopped. Gently, he began easing me off his shoulder.

  “We’ll take a breather.”

  The difference in temperature between this shadowed place and the glaring outside world was staggering. We had flopped down beside the stream. I at once slipped off my shoes and dabbled my toes in the flowing water.

  “Good idea.” Philip copied me, hitching up his trouser legs and pulling off his shoes and socks.

  It was blissful to be sitting here in deliciously cool shade. Harsh reality took some time to return.

  Philip was lying back limply. He looked grey with exhaustion. I had to face the fact that, however much he might protest, we couldn’t go on like this. He would pretty near kill himself if he attempted to lug me any further.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I knew what I had to say. I said it quickly, before I could weaken.

  “You go on alone, Philip. I’ll be okay here, and you can get help.”

  It sounded like false heroics. But really it was the only answer.

  Philip wouldn’t listen. “No, I couldn’t possibly do that, Kerry.”

  I pitied him. I suppose it’s always tough for a man to accept physical defeat. But Philip must accept it now if we were to stand a dog’s chance of getting back to safety.

  Nobody except Giles had the faintest idea where we might be. And where did Giles stand?

  Was Philip’s guess right? Had Giles sent that letter as a trick? Had he craftily manoeuvred to get us out here in the wilds where we could be ruthlessly shot down?

  I still refused to believe it. But even if Giles was on the level, if that note meant what it said, then he was desperately afraid for his own skin. Was he likely to come searching for us? Was he likely even to report us missing? Would he risk the story coming out of how we got to be lost in this remote place?

  I faced Philip with a brutal frankness. “You can’t carry me any further,” I said quietly, “and you know it. You’ve just got to leave me and go for help. It’s the only hope for both of us.”

  “But Kerry...”

  “Please Philip!”

  “How the devil can I leave you alone here?” he asked me reproachfully. “We’ll rest for a bit and then I’ll be all right.”

  “No.”

  At last I got him to see the light. Or at any rate he understood that I was adamant.

  After a pause he said thoughtfully: “We must find a spot where you aren’t in full view of... of anyone coming this way.”

  There were plenty of hiding places in the gorge. Cracks in the rocky sides as big as caves; clusters of boulders making ideal niches where I could stay concealed. It would really be impossible for one man to make a thorough search of them all.

  Philip took his time about finding the best position. Finally he selected a pile of rocks forming a rough horseshoe. Lying or sitting in the hollow centre, I should not be visible to anyone coming through the gorge. But it was conveniently close to the s
tream, and that was important. We had nothing to store water in, and if Philip was gone for some hours I should need a drink.

  “I must be sure I can recognise the place again,” Philip said as he made me comfortable.

  “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll give you a shout.”

  “But you might be asleep,” he pointed out. I knew what he really meant was that I might not still be conscious.

  I wanted to ask him how long he thought he’d be gone, but I said nothing. It would seem as if I were putting pressure on him to hurry. I knew anyway that he would drive himself to the limit to avoid keeping me waiting a single unnecessary minute.

  There was no further excuse for Philip to delay going. He gazed down at me unhappily. “I’ll be as quick as I can, but...” He stopped short, and then said abruptly: “For God’s sake don’t show yourself if you hear anyone coming...”

  Suddenly he was kneeling beside me, his hand stroking my hair. Leaning forward he kissed me softly upon the lips.

  And then he was gone, scrambling away over the rocks. I strained to hear his footsteps until I could no longer be sure the faint sounds were not just in my imagination.

  It was utterly quiet in the gorge. Now I was resting the pain in my leg had subsided to a dull throb that I could forget for seconds at a time. My thoughts flitted butterfly-like, sheering away timidly from the unpleasant and the frightening; hovering gently over the memory of Philip’s kiss.

  I drifted into a sort of golden delirium. I was building gossamer castles in the air, a hazy future in which Philip was the one solid fact.

  Philip...

  A distant noise cracked the silence. It pierced my mind, startling me without having any particular meaning. But a repetition, and then a third time, brought home its significance with a vengeance.

  It was a gun again. A tremor shook me violently.

  We had watched our unknown enemy go off in the opposite direction. But he could easily have turned back. He’d not been weighed down like Philip with my dead weight, and would have covered the ground far more quickly. And most likely it was territory he knew well anyway.

  Three shots! Was there a hope that Philip had escaped unhurt? And if by some miracle he had, then there would be more shots, and more. In the end he would be tracked down and killed.

  My tortured mind pictured Philip’s body lying among the scattered boulders of the dried-up river bed.

  There was absolutely nothing I could do. Nothing! With my leg injured, I doubted if I’d get even fifty yards. And in any case, as soon as I emerged from hiding the gunman would be able to pick me off at his leisure. Not that I’d care, now that Philip was dead.

  I didn’t notice the passing of time until I saw that the sun was sliding an edge of harsh light down the opposite wall of rock, inch by inch. Soon, I calculated, the scorching rays would touch the floor of the gorge and begin creeping towards the stream.

  I shrunk back, cowering deeper into the shade. I was terrified at the thought of being exposed to the sun in the full blasting heat of afternoon. My thin clothes offered no protection at all.

  I’d have to change my hideout, I decided. The only certain shade that I could see was behind me, right up against the wall of the gorge and far away from the stream. I’d take a long drink first, and then somehow get myself to the new position. Once established there, I’d have to sit it out until help came.

  But help wasn’t coming, so what was I thinking of...?

  In spite of myself, the instinct for self-preservation had taken over. In spite of myself, my mind churned with feeble plans.

  I tried to stand, to walk, but the pain was too much—I very nearly passed out. I had to crawl down to the stream. On hands and knees it was only marginally easier, but I managed somehow.

  A drink ladled to my lips in eager shaking hands. And then a rest before beginning the long haul to my new hiding place. Just a very short rest...

  It was the kiss of hot sun on my shoulder that woke me. Shifting automatically from its burning touch, I was all at once gripped by a violent, uncontrollable spasm of shivering. I observed this unaccountable behaviour of my body with a curious detachment. I held up an arm, and could actually see the fingers trembling. It was only when I raised the arm still further and touched my cheek, that I realised I was in a fever.

  My fuddled brain snapped into clear focus. I wasn’t going to stay here, an easy target for the mysterious gunman. Whatever it cost in effort and pain, I would find shelter. This became the sum total of my ambition—my only goal.

  It probably took me fifteen minutes to crawl to a place where a cleft in the rockface offered space enough; but it seemed like hours, or even days.

  The floor of my mini-cave was soft, a sandy texture. It was cool and felt slightly damp. Exhausted by my efforts I lay staring out across six feet of level ground to where a huge boulder partially blocked my view.

  In one of the ruts left by my dragging legs a small horny beetle lay stranded on its back. I watched, half-mesmerised by its feeble waving legs. The little insect’s life-and-death struggle became important to me. I began murmuring foolish words of encouragement...

  The touch on my forehead was gentle. A soft stroking movement, almost a caress.

  “Philip!”

  I reached up to keep the hand there, wanting the soothing pressure to go on and on and on. But even before I touched the podgy wrist I knew it could not be

  Philip. Philip was dead.

  I was fully awake in an instant. Fear clawed my spine, obliterating the insistent pain in my leg.

  Guido Zampini was bending over me solicitously.

  Almost before the question was in my mind, I had an answer. His right hand held a gun, and though he saw my eyes were open, he still made no attempt to conceal it.

  He sat back heavily against the big boulder, the gun in his lap. His light grey suit was filthy, dark-stained with sweat.

  “My poor Signorina Lyndon, you are hurt,” he said in breathless jerks. “I have been observing your struggles.”

  I said nothing. Just lay there and stared at him.

  Idly, he began to twirl the gun on a fat forefinger. “Fortunately, you will not have to suffer much longer.”

  I shouted in a sudden burst of fury, as if violent words might wound him: “You killed Philip Rainsby! You killed Philip!”

  He gave a sigh. “So much trouble it would have saved, if I had.” Frowning down at the gun, he went on: “Regrettably I am out of practice with this toy, though my first bullet did locate the tyre of your automobile. That should have been sufficient, but Signor Rainsby is an excellent driver.”

  I dared not let myself hope. “But I heard three more shots just now.”

  “All missed, alas. He is a very agile young man.”

  In my relief I think I must have smiled at Zampini. He smiled back, but shook his head slowly from side to side. “It is of no avail, Signorina Lyndon. I cannot permit either of you to live now. You know too much about me.”

  But I was triumphant, forgetting my own danger. “You won’t get away with it. Philip will bring help.”

  “I think not.”

  Quite lazily, without warning, he fired the gun twice. The bullets spun harmlessly off the rock high above me.

  I gaped at him.

  Zampini smirked complacently. “That will bring him running back to find his beloved.”

  Sickened, I understood what Zampini meant. If Philip heard shots now, he would know I was the victim. He would come back to find me, however slight the hope that I would still be alive.

  Because I loved him, I prayed he would not come. I prayed that he was beyond the sound of those two shots.

  Zampini seemed to follow my thoughts. “He will not be as far off as you think, my dear young lady. The gorge narrows further along and progress is very difficult.”

  I didn’t reply. It was a little while before I realised that I was deliberately staying silent in order to listen the better. Above the buzz of insects
and the faint ripple of the stream, I was straining to hear the first sound of Philip’s approach.

  The sun was now flooding the whole gorge so that only a few pools of shadow remained. The hiding place that Philip had selected so carefully was still in shade. If only I’d had the sense to remain there; if only I’d trusted Philip’s judgement and not moved my position, then Guido Zampini would never have found me. He wouldn’t now be sitting over me with a gun, and Philip would be safely out of his reach.

  Zampini, settling himself down to wait, was nibbling his fingernails. As I watched him the idea began to grow that he was not quite as sure of himself as he pretended. I had never noticed this nail-biting before—was it a sign of nervous tension?

  To bring Philip back, he had fired two aimless shots into the air. It occurred to me suddenly that he might more profitably have used them for shooting me, as Philip was meant to believe. Why was Zampini keeping me alive now if he intended to kill us both eventually?

  The only answer I could see was that he was afraid to kill me—yet. If he were to murder me now, and Philip got clear away, then Zampini would have my death to answer for, on top of his other crimes. But if Philip came back for me as Zampini confidently expected, then it would be easy enough to deal with us both together. Zampini had a gun; we had nothing. He would shoot us and push our bodies deep into a rocky crevice. And nobody would ever discover us. Our disappearance would remain a mystery and Zampini would be free from suspicion.

  He was sitting quite still now, somnolent in the heat, his massive shoulders propped against the boulder. Astute though I knew him to be, I wondered hopefully if he would fall asleep. For such a fat man today’s exertions must have been pretty tiring.

  Uncannily, Zampini seemed aware of my every turn of thought. His dropping eyelids lifted, and one of them slowly closed again in a knowing wink.

  In the surrounding barrenness a tiny movement registered in my brain. It jumped out at me like a familiar name on a printed page, and was at once engulfed again in the general stillness. My eyes searched for it, scanning and re-scanning close up and away across the gorge. But there was nothing to be seen. I glanced quickly at Zampini’s face. He seemed not to have noticed my tense alertness.