'But I understood that there was a woman in the party already.'
'Samantha, yes. That couldn't be avoided, unfortunately. But this ... to come as a working member of my party, having to take risks ... what was Mike thinking of?'
Perry tilted her face towards him. She was above average height, but he seemed to tower over her.
'He wasn't thinking straight, I suppose. He was desperate because his wife was ill and he chose the most sensible solution. Don't consider for a moment, Mr. Sinclair, that I wanted to come. I did this for Mike because he didn't want to let you down and I was the only person who understood this complicated equipment. Besides, I'm used to taking photographs in difficult situations.'
He looked her up and down and for the first time seemed to take in her appearance, her slender strength, her flashing gold eyes like those of an angry lioness, and the mane of her bright red-gold hair. She turned to the porter who was hovering near to them.
'Do you intend to keep me here all day, Mr. Sinclair? A train journey isn't the most restful way to spend the night, and, if you don't mind, I would like to go somewhere to have a wash. In fact I'd love a bath. And please don't tell me there won't be things like baths in the Kalahari, because we aren't there yet, and while civilized living is still available I intend to make the most of it.'
He grinned suddenly and his whole face was transformed. Now she could understand that the stories of his undoubted charm on television programmes had not been exaggerated.
'I can see you have plenty of spirit,' he said. 'And you'll need it if you join my expedition. Now let's get back to the hotel. I still have the use of my room there, though I was hoping to fly to Ganza immediately you arrived. But we can go back there and I can give you some idea of the kind of thing you're letting yourself in for. And we'll look at your equipment.' He glanced at her small cream case. 'Is this all you have in the way of personal possessions? Well, at least you seem to believe in travelling light.'
As Perry sank back on to the grey cushions of the sleek Alfa-Romeo that he had indicated when they came from the station, she felt confused and bewildered. But Fabian Sinclair had done one thing by his abrupt displeasure. He had made up her mind for her by some law of contradiction that now she was determined to be photographer for this expedition and to make a success of it.
The room into which she was shown was like any hotel room, bare of personality. If she had hoped to learn more about this man from any of his possessions that he had left around she was to be disappointed. A couple of well-worn suitcases were strapped and ready on the luggage stand. Nothing else. It was a small hotel, but there were adequate towels and a plentiful supply of hot water. After her bath Perry applied fresh make-up, carefully wiping the powder from the glass-topped dressing-table of the stark room in case he should come back. The very fact of her sex had annoyed him, so she must try not to leave any feminine traces around. When she came down he was waiting in the foyer and she gratefully ate the hot rolls and drank the coffee he had ordered.
'Now, let's have a look at this equipment,' he said. 'I'd be glad if you'd unpack that suitcase, Miss Maitland, and we'll go through it and decide what We can throw out and what else you'll need.'
'You mean you want to look at my clothes?'
'Yes, why not? Miss Maitland, please understand that I'm in charge of this expedition. It is my responsibility to see that you have everything you need, but don't take along anything that would be superfluous.'
Back in the room, he made her put out her belongings on the bed. Inwardly she seethed with indignation, but tried not to show it. Looking at the hard set of his chin and the serious expression, she felt he was still quite capable even at this stage of saying she must go back to Johannesburg. And she wanted to go on the expedition. Yes, in spite of the antipathy she felt for this man who seemed so used to having his own way, she would hate to go back to Mike and say Fabian had refused to let her take his place.
He passed over the fragile underwear without comment.
'These slacks are too thin,' he said, fingering a pair of navy trousers that she had considered quite suitable. 'Besides, you'll find the dark colour attracts the heat. We'll go to an army surplus depot and see if we can fit you out with some khaki pants and a bush jacket. You'll hardly be needing this,' he said a little scornfully, indicating a printed silk blouse.'
'I had thought if Paul Curtis were there we might have to change in the evenings sometimes.'
'If you're hoping to make an impression on Paul, forget it. He's coming with me to get away from admiring women, he told me.'
'I didn't mean that. I simply thought that after a day in the desert it would be good to have something pretty to change into.'
'Very well then, keep it, but don't run away with the idea that this is going to be a luxury trip. We may have to provide a few extras for Paul and his daughter, they're paying for them, but the rest of the party will have to put up with the bare necessities.'
In silence she repacked the silk blouse and the sandals that he had tried to make her discard. As she did so, her long gold-red silky hair swung forward and she pushed it back with impatient fingers.
'Oh, yes, and another thing... your hair.'
'My hair?' She stared at him with her hands still touching the soft silky coils that hung down in a shimmering wavy flow seeming almost alive on its own.
'I would advise you to have it cut before we go. You'll find it a great nuisance in the desert.'
'Cut?' she echoed.
'I assure you you'll find it much more convenient to have short hair.'
What a brute he was! No one had ever suggested such a thing to her before. It was her hair that distinguished her from other girls. It was the first thing anyone noticed about her. She was used to its being admired. She thought of it as her one vanity.
'There's a hairdresser next to the hotel. I'm sure he could accommodate you if you explained the urgency of your need.'
Was he determined, she wondered, that she should look as unglamorous as possible? Perhaps he thought she would distract the other members of the expedition.
'And how do you suggest I should have it cut? What style did you have in mind?' she asked bitterly.
But he did not seem to notice her sarcasm.
'Any way so long as it's short and neat. I know very little about women's hair-styles. You must admit that long hair is inclined to look untidy.'
Untidy! The beautiful hair that everyone admired, with its soft tendrils of curls around her forehead.
'I suppose you'd like me to have my head shaved?'
He looked surprised, even offended.
'No, of course not. Look here, don't be difficult about it. I have nothing against your hair. It's only that you yourself would find it much more comfortable if it were short in the desert heat.'
'Oh, very well,' she said. 'I'll go and have it done now.'
But here she struck a snag. The hairdresser was adamant. He held the glowing locks in his hands.
'If you gave me a thousand rand I wouldn't cut it. I'll thin it a little for you, yes?' he declared. And she was forced to agree. Fabian, she was sure, did not believe her when she told her story. After all, why should he? The hairdresser had said it had a vibrant beauty of its own, quite unique, but Fabian did not appear to notice it. There was one thing certain. Perry thought, as the small plane circled for take-off, she need have no fears that he would be - what had Mike called it? - 'a Casanova' on this trip. For he seemed to have nothing but contempt for her sex as partners on a desert expedition.
CHAPTER TWO
At dinner that night in the small hotel, Perry reflected that if anyone had told her a couple of days ago that she would find herself in this situation she would never have believed it. After the flight she had gone straight to her room and tried to catch up on the sleep she had lost the night before. She had hardly talked to Fabian in the plane, for the noise of the engine precluded conversation.
The other members of the party had a
lready arrived, but she had not yet met them. They were all to join forces at dinner that night and tomorrow there would be an early start. Tidying up for the meal, Perry defiantly wore the coloured blouse that Fabian had tried to make her discard. She did not think she was very vain, but she was used to wearing lovely clothes that fitted well and the khaki and blue denim outfits that she had bought that morning with Fabian's supervision left much to be desired.
On the stoep of the little hotel there were wicker chairs and tables and at one of these Fabian, already seated, was talking to a younger man. They rose when Perry arrived.
'You haven't met Ken Davidson. Perry Maitland, our photographer. Ken is looking after the mechanical side of the journey. He's definitely our key man.'
Ken laughed deprecatingly but was obviously pleased to be spoken of in this way. He was a pleasant-faced young man of about twenty-five with a rough mop of curly fair hair, blue eyes and a tanned ruddy face. He looked as if he spent a lot of time in the open air and was broad-shouldered and tanned, a very practical looking man, Perry noted with approval. If she needed help with her equipment, here was someone she could consult.
Fabian was drinking whisky, but Ken had a tin of beer in front of him.
'What's your drink?' Fabian asked Perry.
'I'll have a whisky if I may,' she replied, and was rewarded with a grin from Fabian.
'I might have known it! Anyhow, you have good taste, though I've always maintained that whisky is wasted on women.'
'A Scottish uncle was responsible for directing my taste,' she said, determined not to take offence, for after all she had to face the fact that she was going to spend several weeks in the company of this man who seemed to be living in the last century as far as the emancipation of women was concerned.
There could have been no greater contrast between the three men when Paul Curtis eventually arrived. He was entirely different on the one hand from Fabian, with his striking good looks and rather ascetic face, and on the other hand from Ken, good-looking as well in his own way, but simple, almost naive. Paul Curtis was the oldest of the three. World-weary, Perry thought, that was the word for him. But a man of immense attraction. How otherwise could he have maintained his hold on the British television public for so long?
Tall and slender, his silver hair was styled in a longish fashion and his safari suit of greenish grey material had obviously been made by a good tailor. There were deep lines etched on his handsome face, but when he smiled, as he did on being introduced to Perry, one forgot this, for his smile embraced you as if to acknowledge that you were at this moment the most charming person in his world. Yes, indeed, thought Perry, this man possessed a quite dangerous charm. He ordered a pink gin, giving explicit directions to the confused barman as if he had been in a London club.
'I see you carry the James Bond touch to darkest Africa, Paul,' Fabian chaffed him, but he seemed to take this in good part. Evidently he and Fabian understood each other. When they had almost finished their drinks, Perry noticed that Ken's attention had wandered and his gaze was riveted upon someone in the doorway. Turning, she realized that this must be Samantha, the missing member of the party. She was a girl of about eighteen, carelessly lovely. Perry noticed, with a rueful smile, her flowing honey-coloured hair that reached almost to her waist and hung in rather untidy locks around her face. She wore a long cotton printed skirt and black knit halter top that showed a beautiful evenly tanned back. Ken rushed to offer her the chair next to his and she gave him the benefit of a wide-eyed gaze from eyes of almond green before sinking down and ordering a tomato juice.
'I'm on the health kick,' she said. 'I hope you've included lots and lots of lovely nutritious food in your stores, Fabian.'
Fabian looked a little baffled. Perry noticed. While the rest of the party ordered steak or roast lamb, Samantha made a great point of inquiring what vegetables were available and finding that salad was unobtainable ate a large dish of pumpkin and tinned green beans. Paul had made an attempt to obtain a wine list, but finally went to inspect the cellar of the small hotel, the cellar being merely the name for the bar shelves. Perry was a little ashamed of the fuss he made before the nice simple people who ran the hotel. She thought there was a time and a place for everything, and really Paul was acting as if he was at the Ritz.
Ken ate a large steak with relish and washed it down with another beer, but Fabian, while accepting the wine, said, 'We've made certain concessions to your tastes in packing the stores, Paul, but I hope Samantha understands that vegetables will be scarce on this trip. We intend to shoot most of our meat. Ken is an excellent shot as well as a mechanic and he and I hope to keep the pot full. There won't be room for fads and fancies in the desert.'
Samantha made a little face.
'It sounds ghastly. But I've heard those quaint little Bushmen of yours have a way of finding all kinds of things growing in the Kalahari. I'm depending on that.'
'We'll see. September is not a good growing time. It's the time of the mock rains, the little rains. It's a time of drought before the real rains come. Often in this false spring things grow only to wither up when drought overtakes them again. When anything grows too early it withers in the harsh climate of the desert. Have you ever heard the Bushman's prayer? I can't remember all of it, but when I first heard it I thought it expressed so much about their life in the Kalahari.
'I am weak from thirst and hunger,
O Creator, let me live,
Let me stumble on a melon,
Let me find a nest of eggs.
O Creator, pierce the raincloud,
Let the food things be laid bare,
Let my digging stick uncover
Ant eggs hidden in the sand.
Let me come upon a pool.
Let me eat and drink, Creator,
Give me that which I must have.'
Lying sleepless on the hard bed in the room of the little hotel, these words came back to Perry, but she saw, not the handsome face of Fabian, vivid in the lamplight, but the face of the young man she had loved so many years ago. So much love she had given him, so much feeling ... the kind that is cruelly intense when one is very young, and it had all been withered by the harsh climate of Fabian's disapproval. Now that she had met him she could see how it had all happened. She could sense his charm and the strong influence of his character as it must have been to a younger man.
She herself could feel the strength of his resolve if he had made up his mind about something. He was a hard man and there would be no moving him, a man who would not understand affection to another, who would travel on his own, not needing a helpmeet or companion, not needing the more sentimental side of life at all. Had he ever been in love himself? she wondered. She doubted it. He had a reputation, she had heard, for courting the company of beautiful women while he was relaxing between expeditions, but his heart, she thought, would never be touched in these casual affairs. He would choose shallow, brittle women. That was the kind to suit him. She felt sorry for anyone of any sensitivity who expected love or tenderness for him. It was just not in his make-up, she was sure of that.
It was still dark and quite cool when there was a knock on her door the next morning and a smiling African waiter presented her with a tray of hot coffee and rusks. She sipped it gratefully and bathed hurriedly, reflecting that this would probably be her last proper bath for a long time. Her equipment had been packed in the leading truck, but she checked over the camera that she had retained so that she could take photographs en route.
Her face looked a little pale, but no wonder, for the khaki safari suit was not flattering at this hour in the morning. She found a vivid amber scarf, the colour of her eyes, and tucked this into the open neck. That was an improvement.
The small town in which they had spent the night was an outpost on the edge of the desert area and it would not take long in their powerful trucks to penetrate into the desolate surrounding country. There were two large trucks with the words FABIAN SINCLAIR, KALAHARI EXPEDITI
ON, painted on the side. Typical of the man, Perry reflected. Even in the desert, where no one would see, he must draw attention to his own importance.
A little to her surprise she had been instructed that she was to sit next to Fabian in the one truck together with the interpreter, an old Bushman called Samgau, who had lived for many years in the desert but now worked on a farm. In the other truck Paul Curtis and Ken Davidson were to take turns with the driving and Joshua, the African who had been brought as a cook and general handyman, would be there too. Samantha was supposed to be going to sit between Ken Davidson and her father, but she had other ideas. This morning she was wearing denim jeans, very faded, but of immensely fashionable cut, and a boy's cotton jersey shirt that clung alluring to her slender curved figure. Her costume might be boyish, but her walk was entirely feminine as she swayed up to Fabian and put one hand detainingly on the shoulder of his bush jacket, pouting up at him, her lips parted to show small white perfect teeth.
'I'm disappointed, Fabian. I thought you liked me. Don't make me go with Paul. We've seen enough of each other during the last few days and need a change. Perry won't mind his company. Let me come with you.'
Fabian grinned, shaking his head in mock despair.
'What do I want with a minx like you in the cab?' then, as she continued to stroke his shoulder, 'Very well, you can come in our cab this morning, but please remember that I'm in charge here, and in the desert it may be important to obey instructions.'
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
'What a darling you are, Fabian. Of course I'll remember. I'll do anything you ask.'
So long as it agrees with what you want yourself, thought Perry wryly. The girl was a minx, as Fabian had said, spoiled, full of youthful charm and very adept at getting her own way. Perry hesitated, not knowing whether she was expected to drive in the other cab now.
'What's keeping you, Perry?' Fabian said sharply. 'Get up into the first cab. You and Samantha are both slender enough to fit in there. I must have you there to show you the type of thing I want you to photograph.'
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