She dutifully re-filed the data sheets and said good-bye to Dr. Cunningham who, as an advisor to the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Management, had had a good deal to do with her invitation to come to the Great Zimbabwe Reserve. She had enjoyed the week she had just spent working with him here in Salisbury, and assumed that he had enjoyed it, too, though the elderly professor seemed happy to see Janet going off with the handsome Craig Sylo. No doubt he thought they made a suitable couple.
It was an hour later, to the minute, when Craig reappeared. “Ready?” he asked.
“More than ready,” Janet agreed.
“You’re checked in at the Monomatapa, right?” Craig said, stepping to one side as she entered the hallway ahead of him. His body was hard muscle; she brushed it as she passed. Still no electricity. She wished there was.
“Right,” she affirmed. Monomatapa was also the name of a line of African kings to whom early explorers and adventurers paid tribute. In return, the foreigners had been awarded (awarded themselves) the right to export the country’s gold. An estimated twenty-five million ounces of gold had been taken from ancient workings. The Christophers of the world existed even then, Janet thought sadly. They had laid the groundwork for mineral exploitation that had escalated alarmingly.
“I hear you’re from a long line of animal lovers,” Janet said, settling in the passenger seat of his Jeep, which was, as described by Craig, “Spartan but functional.” It was a change from Christopher’s plush Rolls and Mercedes sports cars. Janet was better suited to this less opulent life-style.
“Two years after my grandfather arrived from India, he had quite a menagerie—spent what little money he made on his animal collection, too. Some of his caring rubbed off on my father, then on to me. Like father, like son.” Like Vincent, like Christopher.
“You don’t look Indian,” she said. His naturally dark complexion was emphasized by a mahogany tan, but his features were decidedly British.
“India was part of the British Empire in my grandfather’s day, remember,” he said. “Granddad originally came from a small town outside of Bournemouth, England. The military was his last chance to better the gloomy lot that fell to the youngest of twelve kids—little or sometimes nothing to eat, an old man who was a drunkard, a mother old before her time and on her last legs, suffering from tuberculosis. Not much left at the end of that tunnel. The military gave him a sense of adventure, so when he got his discharge, he came out here to make his fortune.”
“Did he,” Janet asked, figuring she knew the answer, “make his fortune?”
“He died poor but well respected,” Craig said. He wasn’t mercenary enough to make it big.”
She couldn’t help comparing the Sylos with the Van Hoons. Petre Van Hoon, too, had arrived in Africa with little to his name, but he had quickly learned the tricks of exploiting people and land for substantial profit. Craig’s grandfather, more caring, naturally reaped less material reward. That, unfortunately, was the way the deck was stacked. It didn’t make the Sylos any less men than the Van Hoons. Quite the opposite.
Craig Sylo’s grandfather had been one of the men who was all for the founding of the Great Zimbabwe Reserve. Set up as a wildlife sanctuary of nineteen thousand square kilometers in 1900, the reserve didn’t fare as well as the Sabi Reserve, established in South Africa two years earlier. When Sabi and the Shingwedzi Reserves merged to form Kruger in 1926, the Great Zimbabwe Reserve had already lost a third of its area to land reform. Further shrinkage occurred in 1932 and 1944. In 1951, there began a twenty-five year program to convert a substantial segment of the remaining Great Zimbabwe Reserve acreage to productive farm and ranch land. By 1976, the wilderness area that remained was deemed inadequate to support elephants or big cats. The cats were relocated first, since their smaller size made them more manageable.
The country’s eruption into bloody revolution stopped the transfer of elephants before it started. As a result, the elephant population at Great Zimbabwe had, for years, been trapped in an area admittedly too small to sustain it. The wandering pachyderms were continually rebelling against their confinement, raising havoc with whatever man-made barriers were raised in an attempt to keep them from remembered trails and food sources. Farm crops were trampled and domestic livestock scattered through toppled fences.
Enticed by a sudden trickle of Great Zimbabwe ivory, channeled into the black market by disgruntled farmers and ranchers taking the matter of ruined crops and dispersed livestock into their own hands, poachers arrived en masse. Experts at exterminating wildlife for profit, they were quietly accepted by landowners as a means to an end. Speculators welcomed the prospect of swelling their existing ivory stockpiles. The Department of National Parks and Wildlife Management had its hands full.
Christopher, with his ivory cache, would be the first to point out that profit motivation was the government’s reason for finally rushing to the aid of the Great Zimbabwe’s long-neglected elephants. After years of scant attention to the acute poaching problem, some bureaucrat in finance had the sense to realize that tourists, with their needed tourist dollars, came to Africa to see animals. They didn’t come to see fields of corn or herds of docile cattle. They had those at home.
Even then, the government response wouldn’t have been as swift if the problem at the Great Zimbabwe Reserve had been an isolated one. After all, the cost of getting two hundred elephants relocated hundreds of kilometers away was a major expense in itself. The problem at Great Zimbabwe, however, was only the tip of the iceberg.
Game reserves like Wankie, which pulled in the bulk of the country’s tourist dollars, were losing animals to poachers at a disturbing rate, too. There weren’t enough park rangers to prevent it. Concentrating heavily threatened animal groups in one or two of the most visited reserves meant that rangers from depleted parks, like Great Zimbabwe, could be reassigned to those areas needing their services the most.
Janet had never found out what had happened to the animals in the territory her father had marked off for the Lackland Animal Preserve. Dr. Cunningham had scratched his head over that one. Sixteen years was a long time. When the men and equipment moved in to sink the initial shaft for the Van Hoon Deep Levels Mine, the animals moved out—that much was clear.
The doctor did know about Van Hoon Afrikaner Minerals, though. The company had its greedy tentacles everywhere. Zimbabwe’s asbestos, copper, iron, coal and chrome deposits made the country fair game. Unlike the large deposits of gold-bearing rock farther south, Zimbabwe’s gold sources were depleted. Great Zimbabwe, the ancient city supported by the gold trade, had been abandoned. Its ruins were a national monument located within the reserve.
“So you’re here to help in the transfer of elephants to Wankie,” Craig said. She nodded her head. His job was protecting those elephants until they were moved, but he was having little success. “I hope the poachers leave you a few to transfer.”
Christopher had mentioned the problem of poaching when Janet was at Lionspride, and Dr. Cunningham had verified the information. Craig wasn’t in Salisbury just to pick up supplies. He had to explain to his superiors why the job was proving more than he could handle. “We’re up against smart cookies this go-round,” Craig explained. “They know where I’m sending my patrols before I do. It doesn’t help that the locals are so glad to get rid of the elephants that they look the other way whenever one goes down. Poachers are clearing the land faster than we can. The government isn’t known for its speed.”
Christopher had tusks that came from dead elephants, Janet thought bitterly. He wouldn’t miss the chance of adding to his bloody collection. If only he were more caring—about animals, about her.
The top of her hotel appeared over the low-lying city buildings, the high rise a monument to the growing importance of tourist dollars in the country’s economy. A few years back, there were no such oases to give the modern traveler all the conveniences of home. Today, thousands of locals might be without plumbing, but Mr. John Q. Public
from Chicago got a hot bath, his evening cocktail, plenty of food, and a good cigar.
“Shall I get a table by the pool?” Craig suggested when they pulled up in front of the Monomatapa. They left the Jeep with an attendant who seemed surprisingly little pleased with the prospect of parking it. “It’s far too beautiful a day to be cooped up inside, wouldn’t you agree?’
“I certainly would,” Janet said, checking her watch. She spent a good deal of time checking her watch lately. “Give me fifteen minutes to stuff the rest of my things into a bag.” What seemed like century ago, Christopher had given her fifteen minutes to meet him in the lobby of another hotel.
“I’ll get the jump on things and order you a drink,” he said. “What’ll it be?” He belonged in a more rugged setting, whereas Christopher would have blended in perfectly here.
“A glass of white wine, please,” Janet said. “The house wine will be fine.” It was okay saying that to Craig. Christopher would wrinkle his nose in disapproval. In Christopher’s world, the only wine worth drinking was vintage and came from a bottle uncorked at the table.
“White wine it is,” Craig promised.
Janet took the elevator to her room. There was little to do when she got there. Expecting to be on a plane that morning, she had left out only the bare necessities the night before. It was reminiscent of the morning she had left Johannesburg, everything packed except her toiletries, robe, and negligee. The negligee continued to remind her of what might have been if she hadn’t insisted on love in the bargain. So did her perfume-scented pajamas. At Great Zimbabwe, she would wash her pajamas first thing.
She tried to call Tim and Roger but got no answer. Jill wasn’t in her room, either. Janet jotted down a short note on the hotel stationery and left it at the front desk. She needn’t have bothered. Tim, Jill and Roger were at the pool.
“Our Great White Leader decided to roost for a while?” Tim asked. Tired of waiting for drinks, he had gone up to the service counter. Roger and Jill were waiting impatiently for him to return with liquid refreshments. They saw Janet and waved. “Want to pull up a chair and join the peons for rest and relaxation?” Tim asked.
“Why is it I find myself refusing you once again?” she said. But the last time she had been expecting Christopher. Now Craig was waiting at one of the nearby tables.
“I don’t know,” Tim said, grinning from ear to ear. “Why are you refusing? I suspect you’re not up to the temptation of my fantastic body.” She laughed. She had needed someone as easygoing as Tim when she was very much younger, but fate had chosen Christopher for her, instead.
“Come on,” Janet said, heading for the couple by the pool. “I see two very thirsty people waiting none too patiently for their drinks. I might as well explain to all of you at once.”
Jill nodded hello, her short-cropped blond hair glistening in the sun. “Hi, stranger!” Roger said. “You decide to quit cramming dull facts and join the fun? It’s mighty cold where you and I come from. Enjoy this lovely sunshine while you can.”
“No time,” Janet said. “I just left you a note at the desk. I’m flying on ahead to Great Zimbabwe this afternoon.” She wished she was at the reserve already. She wanted a full routine to keep her mind occupied. “Someone offered me a ride, and I accepted.”
“A man?” Jill asked. She had the curiosity of a cat. It went with her green eyes and lissome figure.
“As a matter of fact, it is a man,” Janet admitted. She should have known what Jill would make of that.
“Christopher Van Hoon?” Roger and Tim chimed simultaneously, forestalling Jill.
Janet laughed nervously. She was sorry to disappoint them. She was sorry to disappoint herself.
“I don’t know what kind of fairy-tale romance you three are concocting for me,” Janet said indulgently, “but there’s absolutely nothing to it.” It pained her to admit it. “Nor has there ever been.” That was even more difficult. Saying it, though, helped the truth to sink in. Those wonderful times in childhood were imagined, conjured up from a world that never existed. She was finally exorcising those illusions. “You’ve had too much free time,” she chided her crew. “That will change tomorrow.”
Craig saw her and waved to let her know where he was in the crowd. Janet waved back. “Your pilot?” Jill asked. She and Tim were a couple, but still there was a tinge of envy in her tone. First Christopher Van Hoon, now this attractive man who had stumbled in from only God knew where, she was no doubt thinking.
“He’s in charge of the military encampment at Great Zimbabwe,” Janet said. She was a teenager again, explaining to her aunt why there was no need to worry about some boy. Then, as now, it was impossible to admit no one was interesting after Christopher. “He flew in for supplies and happens to have an extra seat. Dr. Cunningham told him I was anxious to get to Great Zimbabwe.”
“Janet, you could fall into a manure pile and come up smelling like a rose, couldn’t you?” Roger said.
“I won’t bother asking what that enchanting vulgarity is supposed to mean,” Janet said, but she knew what it meant, and so did Tim and Jill: she lost out on Christopher, but she immediately latched on to Craig.
“The gentleman is certainly attractive,” Jill said, insisting on teaming Janet with the captain. Janet wished she were right. There was nothing like one man to make a woman forget another. The trouble was that she hadn’t met anyone in sixteen years to make her forget Christopher. “Not as attractive as Christopher,” Jill added, “but he’ll do. Right? Christopher is in Johannesburg, isn’t he?”
“You’re hopeless romantics!” Janet admonished them. Craig had waited for her long enough, and this conversation was getting ridiculous. “I’ll expect you more clearheaded tomorrow. Right? Right!”
“You know we only wish you the best,” Roger said.
“I know you do,” Janet admitted. She was getting emotional. It was embarrassing, and she blamed Christopher. She had controlled her emotions better before her return to Lionspride. “But let’s not have me involved prematurely, okay?” She was pleased there was no tremor in her voice. “I just met the man, didn’t I?”
She joined Craig at his table. “Your crew?” he asked.
“You can see how disappointed they are that I’m leaving them to sun by the pool, instead of dragging them to Great Zimbabwe today, can’t you?” she said. Her wine was cool and pleasant.
Craig ordered a “Salisburger”. It arrived open faced with two large meat patties and all the trimmings. Janet ate a club sandwich. This meal was certainly different from the one at Lionspride! This one was more her style.
He had another beer and persuaded her to have a second glass of wine. Then, since Roger, Tim and Jill were still by the pool, she took Craig to meet them. They were dutifully restrained, except for Roger’s mischievous wink as Janet and Craig were leaving. Janet shook her head in mock disgust, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“You’ve thought of a joke you’re dying to tell me,” Craig said. He hadn’t seen Roger’s wink.
She needed a joke. There was the one about the black cat, the Englishman in a bowler hat, and an American tourist in Cairo, but she couldn’t remember the punch line. She tended to forget the amusing things in her life, retaining the unhappiness. “I’m afraid they think we’re a twosome,” she said. It was an embarrassing admission, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Maybe they’re psychic,” Craig suggested. His teeth were a brilliant white when he smiled. “Would that bother you?”
“Not if it doesn’t bother you,” she said. She didn’t know what she thought of Craig as a romantic interest. It was too soon. She did know he made her feel good. With Christopher, she always felt like crying.
“That means you’re not already promised to some lucky man in the States?” Craig asked, still smiling.
“Yes, that means I’m not promised,” Janet answered.
“Good,” he said. She didn’t ask him why it was good; she knew. She hadn’t disc
ouraged him, either. That was unfair to him. Still, if there was a chance.…
They reached the lobby, and Janet signaled the porter who had taken charge of her bag earlier. He brought her suitcase to the waiting Jeep. Craig helped her into the front seat with a touch that was comforting and self-assured. She could feel safe with this man, which was a relief. She never felt safe with Christopher.
The weather was beautiful but muggy. It was colder in her hometown. Seattle was having snow flurries, she’d heard, although the temperature seldom went below freezing.
“Dr. Cunningham said you stopped off in Johannesburg for a while,” Craig began. He was making small talk. “I suppose you saw a gold mine and all that.” She grimaced from the pain that comment caused her.
“It seemed the thing to do,” she managed. “Who knows when I’ll get back?” She had left Christopher twice. There wouldn’t be a third time.
“There’s more to see here,” he boasted. “I know Great Zimbabwe is on your list, but you shouldn’t miss Victoria Falls.”
She had seen Victoria Falls at thirteen with Christopher. She didn’t want to see them again. Luckily, there were no such memories of Great Zimbabwe held over from sixteen years before. There were only so many things they had been able to accomplish in that one short summer. “I’ll be too busy to play typical tourist,” she said, determined to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“We could go tomorrow morning,” he suggested, catching her off guard. “You can’t do much at the reserve without your film crew. We could see the falls and be back while your people are still settling in.”
“Actually, I’ve seen Victoria Falls,” Janet admitted. That was the best excuse for not going. It wasn’t her real reason for putting the place out of bounds, but her relationship with Christopher was too private to expose to a stranger. “I was in Africa when I was quite young.”
“Oh,” Craig said. His evident disappointment made Janet reexamine her reasons for refusing. She was keeping Victoria Falls, and her memories of it isolated like some holy shrine. It was a place of good times, as Lionspride had been. So much of her make-believe world had been spoiled that she was reluctant to destroy more. She was a fool. Whatever memories made Victoria Falls sacred, they were no more substantial than those that had gone up in smoke after renewed contact with Christopher. It was best to wipe the slate clean. She couldn’t straighten out her life if she didn’t clip all the strings that bound her to childhood love.
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