The river lord

by Kay Thorpe

  `I've brought you some coffee,' she said tentatively at his elbow, and he half turned to glance at her, face losing nothing of its hardness in the process. Dark hair covered his chest down to the waistband of his jeans, thick and faintly curly in the humid atmosphere. Keely registered the sudden tightening of her stomach muscles and had to acknowledge the sensation for what it was—attraction : purely physical, of course, but undeniable even so. She caught herself up on a surge of self-disgust. How could she manage to feel anything at all towards a man who had treated her the way he had treated her the night before ! He was a swine and a brute, and she'd better remember it. She doubted very much if he would let her forget it anyway.

  Put it down there,' he said, indicating a handy ledge with a brusque jerk of his head. 'And when you've given the others theirs get back below.'

  With satire she said, 'You wouldn't like me to go and stand in the corner too, by any chance? I'll obey orders, Skipper, but only when they're rational ones. You're just being vindictive because you didn't get your own way for once. I won't get back below unless you can find a good reason why I should.'

  `I can find several. The main one being that what I've got to say to you would be better said in private.' There was irony in the look he gave her. 'Unless you'd rather take what's coming to you right out here with everybody looking on.'

  Her pulses quickened again to a mixture of anger and trepidation. 'Aren't you being a little ridiculous? I'm not some kid you can bring into line with that heavy father routine !'

  `I know you're not.' The smile still sketched his lips, though entirely without humour. 'It isn't a fatherly hand you're going to get. Are you going to take that coffee round before it gets cold?'

  Biting her lip, Keely did so. Stupid oaf ! Did he really believe she'd meekly submit to any treatment he thought fit to dish out? Just let him try it !

  Jason was with his uncle on the after deck sorting through some of their equipment. He straightened to take his coffee with a word of thanks, glance going beyond her to the man at the wheel. 'No change?'

  `Very little.' Keely had already decided that come what may she would handle Greg Stirling herself. The Colbys had enough on their plate without taking on more. Anyway, the situation had to be resolved some time, one way or another. And Greg was not about to get the upper hand, in any respect!

  She ignored him on reaching the hatchway again, but was tinglingly aware of his signal to one of the hands to take over the wheel. He followed her down, pulling the hatch

  Closed after him and resting his weight against the bulkhead at the foot of the cabin steps to eye her with grim purpose.

  `Might as well put that down,' he said, indicating the tray she still held. 'It's only plastic.'

  She didn't budge. 'Now look,' she said bitingly, 'I realise you think you're God Almighty around here, but you don't frighten me ! This might only be plastic, but it's the hard kind and I'm not scared to use it. Come anywhere near me and I'll ...'

  She stopped there because he was grinning; actually grinning, though with a certain glint in his eyes which belied amusement. 'I don't intend coming near you. Not right now.' The mockery deepened at the expression on her face. `Yes, I know what you thought. Tempting, but too temporary. I aim to make a more lasting impression.' He paused, gaze travelling slowly down over her and back again. 'Remember what I told you last night about what I'd expect if I brought you along?'

  Keely felt her breath dry suddenly in her throat. 'You didn't bring me,' she got out. 'I brought myself.'

  `It amounts to the same thing. When you came aboard, you accepted the terms. You don't wriggle out of it now.'

  `Don't I though !' the dryness had gone, to be replaced by a taut contempt. 'What kind of a man are you?'

  `I thought we'd already decided that.' His tone hardened, just a fraction to lend extra emphasis to the words. 'I'm the kind who expects a bargain to be kept.'

  But I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it !'

  `I gave you fair warning. You took the risk. You might not have meant it; I certainly did. Why quarrel with it? I'll guarantee you a fair exchange.' His stance was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was nothing lazy about the grey eyes. `Who knows, we might even get to like one another.'

  `Not in a million years !' Her voice quivered, more with

  fury than fear. 'If you think I'd even contemplate your miserable bargain, you louse ...'

  `Don't call me names, honey,' he said softly. 'It isn't ladylike. You'll get used to the idea. You'll have to. This cabin might not be big enough for three grown men, but it's more than big enough to hold the two of us.'

  He couldn't be serious, Keely told herself. He couldn't ! `And what about the Colbys?' she demanded. 'Think they're just going to stand by and let you ... do as you think fit?'

  `You mean have my way with you?' he supplied on a jeering note. 'That's strictly for the Victorians, sweetheart. These days it's a shared experience. And the Colbys won't be consulted. Jason might take it a bit hard, but once you've indicated your preference for my company they'll neither of them be in any position to complain. You're well over the age of consent.'

  `Indicated my preference !' She forced a laugh, making it as scathing as she could. 'How do you intend getting me to do that?'

  `Simple. If you don't I turn right round and take us all back to Manaus, and to hell with the whole expedition ! That means not only do you not get any story to account for your extra time out here, but the Colbys don't get what they're after either, seeing I'm the only one who knows where we're going.' He pressed himself upright again with a sardonic twist to his lips. 'Think about it.'

  Keely sank nervelessly to a seat on the nearest berth as he disappeared from sight through the hatch on to the deck. How on earth did she get herself out of this !

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEY reached the place where they were to spend the night at sundown, slipping quietly into a semi-concealed backwater which widened to the size of a small lake filtering off in among the trees. There was a wooden landing stage with an outboard tied up alongside, and beyond that a cleared area already encroaching on the rambling house built partially on stilts which occupied it.

  Lights appeared at the end of the jetty, and a man accompanied by two half-caste women bearing oil lamps came to greet them.

  `Good to see you again, Greg,' he said in English. 'I got your message. Your rooms are ready.'

  `We have an extra,' the other put in, shaking the outstretched hand. 'Can you find room for Miss Weston, Paul?'

  `Naturally, if two of you don't mind going in together.' He ran a comprehensive glance over Keely, lifted a speculative eyebrow back in Greg's direction, and receiving no response apparently decided to let matters take their own course. 'Come on indoors. No point in standing around out here.'

  The night had turned surprisingly chilly after the sun had vanished, but not enough to deter the mosquitoes which sang around their heads. There was a smell on the air of rotting vegetation overlaid with a sticky sweetness. Sound was all about them, so incessant that it became a natural background, yet oddly removed like something from another sphere of consciousness.

  Inside the house there was light and warmth and colour,

  the furnishings draped with woven Indian blankets, bare wooden floors scattered with gaily worked rugs. There were flowers in the large living room with its timbered walls and reed-blinded windows, blood-red blooms trailing from a shallow bowl; but nothing could disguise the sense of creeping decay, inevitable in such a climate as this.

  Retarding it alone must be a continual effort, Keely reflected in the small bare bedroom to which she had been shown by the younger of the two women in order to, tidy up before they ate. What made a man like this Paul Connelly choose to live out his remaining years in such a fashion? He wasn't by any means old; certainly no more than the mid-fifties. A singularly attractive man too with his silver grey hair and craggy weather-lined features. Yet he was so obviously content. She wondered about th
e two women. They spoke no English at all, apparently ran the house for Paul, but were just as obviously on terms above those of mere servants. The one called Mari who had brought her to this room was no more than twenty-five, lithesome and lovely, her attitude that of one well satisfied with her lot. The other was older and comfortably plump; her response to Greg's greeting in her own language had been almost motherly.

  Greg. That brought her right back to what she had spent the last few hours trying not to think about. Since that bald announcement of intent in the cabin he hadn't come near her, nor had he shown any indication of doing so. He hadn't been serious, she told herself now. He couldn't have been serious. Otherwise why was she here in a room of her own when Paul had more or less asked him what arrangements he wanted made? Had he really intended to force her into keeping that so-called bargain this would surely have been the ideal opportunity to bring it out into the open with Jason and his uncle—to force her hand, so to speak. The choice would have been hers and hers alone : call off

  the expedition or go along with his demands. Not that she would have been left with any choice, of course. No expedition was important enough to be worth that kind of degradation.

  No, the whole situation had been deliberately played up to make a fool of her. He must have been laughing like a drain all day inside, knowing how she must be feeling. He was a swine, but she'd already known that. What she had to avoid from now on was any further provocation. Next time she crossed him he might just get mad enough to do as he'd threatened. It wasn't going to be easy to avoid him on a boat the size of the Dorita, but if it meant the difference between going on and going back then she would find a way. Meanwhile she could relax and enjoy the last outpost of civilisation they would come across for the next two weeks.

  Dinner was a surprise in itself, the main dish a particularly delicious fish of a flavour Keely had never tasted before. Paul smiled when she commented on it, his eyes faintly twinkling.

  `Piranha,' he said. 'With the teeth removed they make good eating. Worth the risk to fingers and toes, wouldn't you say?'

  `No, I wouldn't.' She gave a small involuntary shudder which widened his smile. 'I'm glad you didn't tell me before we ate.'

  `The name should make no difference to the taste,' he came back tolerantly. 'They're a dangerous species, but the stories are usually a mite exaggerated. You might see more than one nine-toed fisherman up river, but I've never personally heard of anybody being killed by piranha. Providing you don't jump right on top of a shoal you could even swim in most parts of the river. The thing is to keep moving, not to float or idle. Of course, the caymen might take a fancy to you, or a passing anaconda. Then there's a giant catfish which can half swallow a man's leg before it realises it's

  attached to anything. Or what about the candiru? Now there is a nasty specimen ! Makes ...'

  `Can we talk about something else?' put in Jason on a note which drew a satirical twist to the lips of the man sitting opposite him. 'I don't find the candiru very amusing.'

  `Shouldn't imagine many do,' Greg's glance towards Keely held a taunt. 'Still want to go on?'

  Just for a moment his choice of words seemed to hold a double meaning, but the grey eyes were devoid of anything beyond mockery. He was simply rubbing salt into the wounds, she told herself; making sure she didn't forget for a moment who had the upper hand on this trip. The saner side of her said to take care, but she couldn't totally resist retaliation. She looked back at him coolly. 'Of course. It would take more than one "nasty specimen" to put me off.'

  If the jibe had gone home he gave no sign of it, though from the way Paul suddenly looked from one to the other of them it had registered with him.

  `You'll find it hard going,' he said into the momentary silence. 'The rains are early this year. You're not going to try taking the boat all the way up?'

  Greg shook his head. 'We'll transfer to canoes before we reach the rapids. There's a village half a day along where we can get all we need, including extra men. I was there for three days last trip. They'll be agreeable.'

  `How long before you reach the place you're looking for?' `Another couple of days after that. Less to come back, naturally. We won't be fighting the river.'

  `All we aim to do this trip is verify existence,' put in Mark Colby. 'And collect a few samples, of course. If necessary we come back again next year, with a fully equipped team. If there's one totally new species in there it's quite possible there are more. This is just an exploratory detour from our main objective in coming out to the

  Amazonas ... which is already completed.' He smiled a little. 'Perhaps all I'm really looking for is the personal glory in bringing a legend to life. The story of the Fire Flower has intrigued me for more years than I care to remember.'

  `And why not? It's a romantic concept.' Paul's voice was light. 'I'm almost tempted to come with you myself, except that my practical streak asks what difference one flower more or less is going to make to the world. But then I'm not a botanist. Tell me you'd found one of Fawcett's pre-Inca cities and I'd have less hesitation.'

  `If you'd kept on looking you might have found them yourself,' Greg said mildly, and drew a smiling shrug encompassing the women sitting either side of him. `Ah, but then I'd never have known Shangri-la!'

  Keely wanted to ask how long he had lived out here in the jungle, but something in his face stopped her. Whatever his reasons for opting out of the world they were no one's business but his own.

  Conversation ranged freely during the rest of the meal. Afterwards, Keely made a movement to help Mari and Jassy clear the things from the table, but Paul shook his head.

  `You're a guest. It isn't done. It's an early night for all of you, I imagine. You've got a first light start in the morning.'

  She was glad to respond to the suggestion, tired from the rigours of the previous night. She took her leave of the others collectively, responding to an instinct which bade her ignore the silent plea in Jason's eyes. There were too many complications already on this trip; encouragement of any kind there would simply be adding to them. Much as she liked Jason, she was not attracted to him. Not in any way that counted. She closed her mind to the sudden fleeting comparison.

  It was only when she started to undress that she realised just how incomplete her present wardrobe was. Not once

  had it occurred to her to add a nightdress to her list of essentials. On the other hand, she didn't suppose it was all that essential. Night on the river was cool, but not here in the house. The bed coverings would be adequate to her needs.

  The sheets felt crisp against her skin; clean-smelling and very white in the moon-streaked darkness once she had turned out the lamp. There came a sudden avalanche of rain, crashing through the jungle wall outside with a sound like a muted Niagara, all but drowning out the other sounds of the night. Lying there, she fought the imagination which peopled the room with creeping shadows, and tingled her skin to the brush of insect feet. Ridiculous to be afraid of a few creepy-crawlies—except that poisonous ones were not exactly unknown. What if a snake got in, or a tarantula! The thought of eight hairy legs moving slowly over her body the way they had done over Sean Connery in the James Bond film brought her out in a cold sweat.

  She got up hastily from the narrow bed and wrapped the top sheet tightly about her like a cocoon before lying down again. Better, even if the protection afforded was mostly illusionary. Only her feet felt vulnerable now.

  The quiet opening of the door froze her to a rigid stillness lasting long enough for Greg to enter the room and close it again behind him. She came up on one elbow as he stood looking across at her, grabbing for the solitary blanket with a hand gone suddenly nerveless and pulling it around her.

  `What do you think you're doing in here?' she demanded on a rising note of apprehension. 'Get out !'

  `Still full of fight?' he observed. 'Good ! Passive women leave me cold.' He moved then, unfastening his shirt as he came towards the bed. 'Slide over, green eyes. And take off that damn
ed winding sheet. You're not about to die.'

  Keely clutched the blanket tighter, her eyes never leaving

  the tautly mocking features. 'You're not coming in this bed,' she said between clenched teeth. `I'd rather share it with a rattlesnake !'

  'There aren't any rattlers in this neck of the woods.' He sounded amused. 'And it's a bit late to start changing your mind now. I asked you at supper if you wanted out. You said no. I'm not going to pretend I was all that sorry.' He threw the shirt on a nearby chair and sat down on the edge of the mattress to remove his shoes, caught her sudden movement as she attempted to roll off the other side and threw himself across to grab her and yank her back again, flattening her wrists above her head so that she could barely move at all. 'Don't be a little fool! The way you've wound that thing round you, you wouldn't even get up again without help !' His teeth gleamed briefly in the semi-darkness. `Gift wrapping, is it?'

  She glared up at him, anger still swamping fear for the moment. 'Take your hands off me !'

  `Oh, now don't disappoint me. From you I expect a little more originality!' He watched her fingers curl as she fought to free her hands from his grasp and gave a short laugh. 'A regular wildcat ! Half a chance and you'd rip my face to ribbons !'

  `I'd like to do worse than that,' she , threatened. 'If this is your idea of a joke ...'

  `Who's joking?' His voice was softer all at once, and infinitely more dangerous. 'You had your chance to turn me down. You didn't take it. In my book that means no holds barred. And if it's convincing you need ...'

  There was a small thud as he eased off his remaining shoe, and then his weight was crushing her beneath him, his mouth seeking hers. The other night there had been brutality in his kiss, but this was something else again. His lips were demanding and yet without hardness, moving slowly and searchingly and with increasing sensuality, over-