by Carol Gregor
'Geoff Peters from the American Press Service. Murray Boulter of Reuters,' he introduced them. 'They're having a little trouble believing I'm only here to take animal pictures. I told them it was pleasure as well as business, but they didn't seem to believe me.'
The fatter of the two men snorted. 'The day you go on a pleasure trip, Fenton, is the day I turn in my press-pass. There's something fishy behind all this --'
'If that's what you want to waste your time thinking,' Cal said smoothly and caught her hand in his, drawing her towards him. 'It's late. I was worried,' he said in an undertone, and his voice was sharp and serious.
She felt bewildered by the touch of his hand holding hers, by his new affability and seemingly genuine anxiety.
'I went out for a drive this afternoon in the Land Rover. It's a good job I did. There was a slow puncture on the front nearside wheel.'
'What did you do?'
'I changed it. I had to, to get back to town. Then I went back to the garage and made them give me another spare. They didn't want to. They had to get one from another garage, but I told them we were leaving at dawn. I just sort of sat there until they had to do it.'
His eyes stripped over hers in astonishment. Tonight they didn't seem a bit bleak, she thought, just grey and impossibly handsome. She swallowed and pulled her hand away, frightened that he would feel how her pulses were suddenly racing beneath his look and his touch. Cal's glance lingered on her for a moment, then he knocked back his drink. 'You see, boys,' he said, winking at his companions, 'a stunning redhead who can change the tyre of a Land Rover. I think I've finally found the answer to my dreams.'
'But are you the answer to hers?' the tall man drawled. He looked at Frankie. 'He does tend to stand in the way of flying bullets, this man of yours.'
She suddenly felt sick, standing like an exhibit, in the middle of a lie, with Cal talking about her as if she were his property, and she turned to the man with venom. 'You don't need to tell me anything about flying bullets, I know exactly what they can do! Especially to people who make a habit of hanging out in dangerous places. People like my father!' She shot a bitter glance at Cal, exhausted from her long day and furious at the confusion he was causing her. 'My father was a foreign correspondent, like you,' she bit out, her gaze stripping round the table. 'He covered the war in the Middle East. For years he was lucky. He dodged bullets and side-stepped mines. But in the end he walked into a car bomb, and that was the end of him.' Her glittering gaze came to rest on Cal, who was watching her closely, but as her eyes locked with his he looked quickly away and reached for his drink.
'Calm down, sit down, and eat something,' he commanded.
'No, thank you. It would stick in my throat!' she said, and, turning on her heel, she began to walk away.
As she did, she heard voices erupt in an excited chorus behind her.
'Good God!' she heard one say, 'That's O'Shea's girl you've got there! You've got the cheek of the devil --'
And another said, 'Of course, you were there, weren't you, Fenton, when it happened?'
Then there was Cal's voice, ;sharp and forbidding, cutting through the babble, and then she walked on, too tired and drained to care about anything except reaching the room and falling into the blessed oblivion of sleep.
It was later, much later, when she woke up to the sound of slurred voices outside the bedroom.
'You lucky blighter,' one of them was chuckling. 'Has she got any sisters—?'
And another interrupted, 'Fat lot of use you'd be to any woman tonight, Peters, after your skinful.'
Then she heard Cal's voice saying, 'If she had, I'd make sure I kept them away from the likes of you.'
There was more talk, more bursts of laughter, then she heard a hand on the doorknob as a voice said, 'Sweet dreams, Fenton—if you get any sleep at all, that is.' She heard Cal laugh, low and huskily under his breath, amid a burst of raucous guffaws; then he came in. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, listening.
'You're not asleep, Frankie. Stop pretending.'
'I was. I still would be if it wasn't for that racket outside!' She kept her eyes tight shut.
She heard him come over and sit on his bed, facing her.
'You're mad at me.'
'Of course I'm mad at you! Talking about me as if I'm some—I don't know—bit of stuff you've brought along for a ride.'
He leaned over to snap on her bedside-light. She opened her eyes and sat up, swiftly checking her pyjama buttons for decency.
'That's a somewhat unfortunate turn of phrase, under the circumstances.' She saw his eyes glint in the low light, his lips crook, and to her consternation she felt a wriggle of response to him under her skin. He was such a handsome man, and clearly experienced in using his charms for whatever ends suited his purpose.
'You're drunk!'
'Nonsense, I'm as sober as a judge. It's just useful to pretend to be, with old soaks like those two.'
'Just like it's useful to pretend I'm your latest girlfriend?' she said scornfully.
'Do you honestly believe simple-minded souls like those two would believe anything different? Man plus woman only adds up to one thing in their book, especially when the two concerned are sharing a room. Anyway,' he added brusquely, 'I wanted them off my back.'
'And just what does that mean?'
'What I say. I don't want them sniffing around my every movement, hoping they get on to a good story.'
She scoured his eyes. 'Is that because you are? On to a good story?'
'If I was, I wouldn't be saying.'
'Not even to your girlfriend?' she taunted. 'Your wife? Or is she only good for one thing?'
He sighed and his expression hardened. He stood up, and began to unbutton his shirt. 'Forget it, Frankie. It's late, and I'm tired. I don't see that there's any crime in saying you're a stunning redhead, since it's patently true—and I always believe in making use of the resources to hand.'
A flush of warmth went through her. A stunning redhead. Her eyes were riveted to the progress of his fingers down the line of his buttons. Dark hair curled at the opening of his shirt. She blinked and pushed back her hair. 'And what would you have done if it had been a boy you were travelling with? Said the same sort of things?'
His teeth gleamed as he grinned. 'I don't think they would have believed me. They're old hands. We've been around together a long time.'
'You mean they've seen your women come and go?'
He shrugged. 'They know enough to know I'm a normal red-blooded male.'
'Oh!' She flung herself back on the pillows. 'I really hate all this!'
'I don't know why you're getting so worked up.'
'Don't you?' She shot up again, eyes sparking. 'Then I'll tell you.' She put up her hands and began to tick off her fingers. 'In my first job, dear old Mr Holden, Aunt Jenny's trusted solicitor, spent his days peering down my dress and patting my knees. In my second job, my boss harassed me so much that I finally had to leave --'
'Well, what do you expect with looks like yours? Have you ever studied yourself in a mirror? That's what life's going to be like for you, so you'd better learn how to handle it with a bit of grace.'
'What I expect is to be allowed to get on with my life in peace! It isn't much to ask. I thought this job, at least, would be different!'
He froze in the act of pulling off his shirt and his eyes ripped over her. 'Have I made a pass at you?'
'No,' she conceded grudgingly.
'Well, then, stop complaining.'
'But you still treat me as if I'm your property. All those things you were saying tonight --'
'Oh, for God's sake!' He finished ripping off his shirt and threw it impatiently over a chair. He stood bare-torsoed with his hands on his hips, staring down at her. 'I said those things just to keep those two old hacks quiet, since they clearly weren't willing to believe I was just here to take pretty animal pictures. If I'd had a young lad with me I'd have devised some other story. I'd have said he was my go
dson and I'd always promised to take him camping in the bush, or something. It isn't worth all this fuss!' He bent down and began to unlace his shoes. Then his eye caught the camping gear and boxes of stores, and he abruptly changed tack.
'You got everything?'
'I think so,' she said, still sullen. He eyed her darkly, but all he said was, 'Did you really change that tyre?'
'Yes.'
'Without help?'
'Yes. Of course.' It had been a terrible struggle, and there had been times when she had feared she didn't have the strength to turn the wheel-brace, but she wasn't going to tell him that.
'Then I take my hat off to you.' He took off his shoes and socks and headed barefoot towards the bathroom. But by her bed he paused and looked intently down at her.
'Frankie, I'll tell you straight. If you're going to give me this sort of trouble all the time, I'd rather send you back to London right now.'
'And who'd do your driving?'
'I'd find someone.'
She swallowed, then summoned enough spirit to meet his glare with a direct look. 'I won't cause you any trouble if you'll simply stop treating me as an object. So far I've either been an unwelcome bit of baggage you've had to cart along for the trip, a pretend wife, or a stunning redhead who's the answer to all your dreams. I don't like any of those roles, I'd rather be myself. And if I can't be that, then I'll go home tomorrow, and gladly!'
He looked at her for a long, long time, until she felt her heart lurch up hard into her chest at the dark steel of his look.
'You certainly drive a tough bargain.'
'That's what they said in the market today.'
'I thought I was the employer.'
'You are. But these days employees have rights, too; haven't you heard?'
'I'm hearing it now. Loud and clear.' He was still looking darkly at her. She wanted to swallow, but she didn't.
'Well.' she challenged him.
He sighed. 'What can I say? I'll do my best,' he said, 'but I can't promise more than that. Because the truth is, Frankie, I don't want you here. I don't want anyone here. As I've already told you, when I'm working, I like to work alone. And anyone else is just a millstone round my neck.'
CHAPTER FIVE
'Frankie.' Something was shaking her.
'Mmm?' She swam up through sleep. Cal was gripping her shoulder impatiently.
'Wake up.'
'What?'
It was still dark in the room, but he was already washed and dressed. She could smell a faint tang of shaving foam and toothpaste.
'Time to get up. I want an early start. I'm going to open up the Land Rover.'
She blinked her way awake. Her watch said five. Fumbling, she went to the bathroom and washed. It was astonishing, she thought, how deeply and peacefully she had slept, how miraculously rested and refreshed she felt, considering that unpleasant scene last night. Perhaps she'd been unfair on him, she thought with fresh benevolence as she scrubbed her teeth, and she nodded sagely to herself in the mirror. After all, it was obviously just as much a strain for him to travel in tandem like this as it was for her.
She went back out, pulling off her pyjamas, and began to dress. She put on a pair of pants and looked round for her T-shirt. At that very moment the door opened, and Cal marched in. She turned, surprised, a slight figure in the skimpiest white briefs. He took in her naked form, her high breasts and slim hips, at a glance. Then he snapped his eyes away, picked up a box of supplies, and walked out.
It was over in seconds, leaving her shaken and angry. How dared he just barge back in like that? she thought. He should have knocked! He should have realised she would have been dressing! Yet as she quickly pulled on her shorts and T-shirt she knew there was another strand to her anger. It was the blankness, the utter uninterest she had seen in his face as he had looked her over. Last night he had called her a stunning redhead, yet this morning he had surveyed her as coolly as if she were a lump of wood. He'd seen her virtually naked and it had not caused him as much as the blink of an eye.
But that was because she wasn't a woman to him, she realised. She was just a slip of a girl. And maybe not even that. She was an assistant, someone simply to be instructed, or used, or ignored, as circumstances dictated. Oh! He was the most infuriating man!
Angrily she crammed her few clothes into the basket and rolled a towel over the top to keep everything in place. Nothing seemed to penetrate his mask, his tough self-sufficiency, yet the more she saw of him the more she felt the urge to try to break through his reserve to find the man beneath.
There was a polite knock at the door.
'It's a bit late for that!' she snapped.
A puzzled waiter came in with a tray of coffee and rolls. 'Mr Fenton, he ordered this breakfast,' said the man, eyeing her warily.
'Oh. Thank you. Put it in there, would you?'
Cal walked in as the man walked out.
'You could have knocked --' she burst out, but he put up a silencing hand.
'Leave it,' he snapped. 'I don't want another scene.'
Her mouth shut mutinously. He poured coffee—just one cup, she noticed, for himself—and drank it in one draught before picking up the tent. In the doorway he paused, as if her angry vibrations were rays that pierced his back. Then he turned and looked at her, his grey eyes cold.
'Look,' he said angrily. 'Where we're going there are no doors, no walls, no bathrooms—nothing. So you might as well shed that convent modesty of yours right now.'
'It's nothing to do with the convent. It's just normal!'
'These aren't normal circumstances.' He sighed impatiently. 'Look, Frankie, understand this. I've lived alongside all sorts of people, in circumstances you couldn't even begin to imagine. The sight of a normal, naked girl isn't going to shock me, or inflame me to uncontrolled lust!' He grinned grimly. 'Especially not at this unearthly hour of the morning.'
'Good! That's fine for you, then, isn't it? But what about me? What about how I feel? Last night you said you'd try and treat me as a person. But this morning you didn't even bother to show me the most basic courtesy!'
His eyes flickered over her with clear dislike.
'All right, I apologise. I could have knocked, I agree. I just happened to be thinking about something completely different at the time. I'm not used to travelling with someone else, as I've already explained, and I'm sure my manners leave a lot to be desired.' His mouth set angrily. 'God dammit, I knew a woman would be nothing but trouble!'
Frankie lowered her eyes. He had a point. He hadn't wanted to bring her. It was she who had persuaded him, protesting that she could easily do as good a job as a man. And now she was throwing exactly the sort of female tantrum he had obviously foreseen and dreaded.
'Well, maybe we've both got a lot to learn,' she said, with grudging grace. 'I'll help you load the Land Rover.'
They left the city just as it was stirring to life, and were soon driving through the kind of landscapes that she had dreamed of. The bush stretched away in all directions, green and brown and studded with flat-topped acacias. Hornbills with long tails perched on rocks at the side of the road, and distant hills broke the horizon and beckoned them on.
She drove carefully and was aware of Cal slowly relaxing into his seat next to her, although whether it was because of her steady driving, or because they were finally shaking the dust of the city from their feet, she could not tell.
'Damn,' he muttered once.
'What is it?' She glanced across at him, his regular profile and long limbs sprawled gracefully in the seat.
'I forgot to get another torch. We ought to have a spare, for emergencies.'
'I bought one. And spare batteries.'
'You did?' He turned with surprise, then smiled, and again her heart dipped strangely because he was unbearably handsome when his face relaxed into warmth. 'Well done.' She basked like a cat in his approval.
'I tried to think of everything, but it's not easy when you've never done this before.'
'If your quartermastering is as good as your driving it'll be fine.'
Again her heart warmed. Two compliments in two minutes! She suddenly wanted to sing.
'But I bet there's something you did forget.' His eyes glinted at her.
'What's that?'
'The beers.'
'Oh. No. I mean yes. I forgot them.'
'Don't worry. We'll get some somewhere. There's nothing like a cold beer to drive the dust from your throat at the end of the day.'
Later, on the long, hot drive Cal made her stop by a ramshackle roadside store, jumped down and came out with a heavy box of cans and bottles. She helped him fill the cool-box, and he lifted the rest into the back of the Land Rover.
'Should you be doing that, with your bad shoulder?'
He grimaced and rubbed it. 'Probably not. It's a damn nuisance.'
'Will it be all right again, in time?'
He opened two cans, and they leaned against the side of the vehicle, swigging companionably. 'I may have to have it reset. The Haitian doctor wasn't exactly out of Harley Street.' He looked round at the huge horizon and the white clouds that floated like giant saucers in the sky, and deftly deflected the conversation away from his injuries. 'I love Africa. It does wonders for the soul.'
'Soul?' she echoed doubtfully. Could such a thing exist in a hardened creature like Cal Fenton? 'Are you really only going to be taking wildlife pictures, Cal?'
He gave her a long, sideways look. 'I'm going to be taking wildlife pictures.'
'That's not what I asked.'
'I know. But that's my answer.'
'Then you've answered the question.' By omitting the 'only' he had confirmed what Frankie already knew: that there was far more to this journey than he had disclosed, or was willing to disclose, to her.
'Well, then, your curiosity must be satisfied.' He looked down at her. 'You really are your father's daughter, aren't you? All these questions.'
'I like to know what's going on,' she admitted.
'Well, what's going on right now is that we carry on driving down into the plains so we can get well into the reserve and set up camp by nightfall.'