A hotel with oxygen tanks in its pantry and a selection of ladies’ summer clothing? “Thank you,” I said.
“Mr. Nicholas said you should eat something, if you can. Breakfast will be served in half an hour, in the dining room down the passage. Or I can bring a tray to you in bed if you like.”
Mr. Nicholas? I blinked at Miriam, wondering who he was. The man who’d held my hand last night? Then, as her words sank in, I realized that I was ravenous.
“I’ll come to the dining room. And could I possibly use a phone? I need to make some urgent calls.”
“I hope Mr. Nicholas can arrange it,” she replied. It didn’t sound like a very positive response. Perhaps the lines were still down, but in that case somebody must surely have a cell phone I could borrow.
Giving me another friendly smile, Miriam walked to the door and left the room, closing it gently behind her.
I planted my feet on the floor and stood up slowly. My long dark hair had dried in twisted clumps and I could feel grit in it, and on my scalp, as well as a few grains of sand in my mouth. Taking off the shirt, I found that moving and breathing were painful. My chest felt as if it had been pounded by a hammer and I had visible bruising on the inside of my left breast. From the seatbelt, perhaps? Surely not, if Bulewi had managed to undo it.
A khaki toiletry bag lay on top of the pile Miriam had brought. In it, I found a toothbrush and toothpaste, a small hairbrush, a mini shampoo and conditioner, and a travel pack that contained designer-brand body wash, scent, and skin care.
So, here I was, in what according to Miriam was an up-market lodge that was now in private hands. There was no phone in my room, I’d had my wet clothes removed while I was unconscious, and I was minus all my personal possessions, which were presumably somewhere at the bottom of a flooded river. A phone did not seem to be readily available, and I would have to await the mysterious Mr. Nicholas’s pleasure if I wanted to make any calls. What was this place? Hotel California?
I could only hope that I would be able to call Vince first thing that morning to tell him where I was, and to stop the runaway train of disaster that had been set into motion yesterday.
CHAPTER 2
Half an hour later, I was showered, with my hair combed but still damp, because the outlet for the hairdryer was not working—more power saving, I supposed. I was dressed in my own freshly laundered underwear, a large T-shirt, and cotton shorts that were approximately my size. I put on a pair of oversized sandals and fastened the straps tightly.
Then I followed the delicious aroma of coffee down the wide, tiled passage, and into a huge dining room with enormous glass doors at the far end. Through them, I could see grey sheets of rain fading into dull green haze.
Several tables of varying sizes were set out in the room, but only one was covered with a starched white cloth. I took a seat on one of the comfortably cushioned wooden chairs just as Miriam appeared through a side door, carrying a jug of coffee.
She placed in front of me a large porcelain mug with an artistic rendition of a zebra on it before pouring.
“Hot or cold milk?” she asked.
“No milk, thanks.”
Miriam topped up my coffee before asking, “Would you like scrambled eggs? Bacon? An omelet? Or we could do you a Continental meal. Toast, fruit, cheese, preserves?”
“I’d love some toast, and some cheese and fruit, thanks. Is there any way I could quickly speak to Mr. Nicholas?”
“Of course. He’s outside, talking on the radio in the truck. Do you want me to tell him to come here when he’s finished?”
“I’d better see him now, I think.” After all, what if he was about to leave? I desperately needed to connect with reality, to sort out the disarray that was now my life. Call Vince and tell him I was okay. Contact the embassy to arrange a new passport, and the insurance company to report the loss of my equipment.
“Come this way.”
My mind whirling with all the logistical issues, I followed her into a massive, airy kitchen with endless granite surfaces and two gleaming gas stoves, and then out into a scullery. She opened the back door, letting in the coolness of the rain.
A narrow covered walkway led to the side entrance of a large triple garage a few yards away. I edged my way up the covered walk, keeping close to the wall and doing my best to avoid the chilly, gusting downpour.
Parked inside the garage was the dirtiest Toyota Land Cruiser I had ever seen. Its white paintwork—well, I presumed it was white—was almost totally obscured by dried mud. The hubcaps were caked in the stuff, with occasional tufts of grass clinging to them. Great slashes of mud streaked up the vehicle’s sides, covering the rear windows. The back of the car was a solid mass of dirt.
For a room that was home to such a filthy car, the garage itself was extremely neat. Only two broad, muddy tracks soiled its pristine floor. The strip light in the ceiling was on, although it made little difference in the general dark gloom of that rainy morning. I could hear the crackle of a radio coming from the car, and saw that the driver’s door was open.
Stepping carefully to avoid the tracked mud, I made my way toward the open door, and as I did so I recognized the voice I’d heard the previous night.
“No. The road is totally impassable. Do you copy? The bridge has been washed away.”
Strong, deep, authoritative, the words clipped but the accent impossible to place. Not quite British, but definitely not the local South African I’d heard spoken here. A blend of both, perhaps.
The radio crackled again, the speaker saying something I couldn’t make out, and he replied, “We’ll have to fly those down to them. Get a search and rescue operation under way as soon as the storm is over.”
As I reached the open door, the man in the car turned his head and looked straight at me.
I was dazzled by the blaze of his light, extraordinary blue-green eyes. The palest turquoise, burning in the sculpted gold-tanned planes of his face. Blinking, I took in his strong bone structure, a trace of stubble along the firm line of his jaw. His tousled sandy-blonde hair looked to be in need of a cut, although for some reason its disarray only added to his attractiveness.
Under his faded blue T-shirt, his shoulders looked broad and powerful.
Mr. Nicholas was astoundingly good-looking, in an utterly masculine and somewhat rugged way. God, my camera would love him, if only it weren’t at the bottom of a flooded river.
Briefly, I wondered how old he was. Crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes suggested a certain maturity. Early thirties, perhaps?
How exactly had I landed myself in a luxury game lodge owned, or managed at least, by this demi-god? For a moment, I wondered if I was unconscious in the hospital somewhere and this was all an elaborate dream.
I wasn’t dreaming, of course not. This was real. In fact, he was looking me up and down, too; his gaze traveling over me in a way that was both assessing and approving. I watched him take in my deep blue eyes and freshly washed dark hair, and saw that he noted how my borrowed shorts, too summery for this chilly rainstorm, exposed a fair amount of my legs, slender and still pale from the winter weather I’d left behind at home.
In his left hand he held the crackling radio receiver, and he lifted it to speak again into the mike, “I have to go. I’ll be back in five. You copy? Over.”
He put the radio down and turned back to me.
“You’re looking a lot better this morning. How are you feeling?”
Reaching out, he took hold of my right hand, and I tensed for just a moment as he held it in his warm, firm grasp. The fingers of his other hand pressed on the inside of my wrist in a practiced manner. His touch was just the way I remembered it. I had never imagined, though, that the stranger sitting so patiently by my bedside in the darkness last night had been this man. That fact made me feel surprisingly short of breath. If I’d known… if I’d been able to see him, I don’t know if I would have held his hand so innocently.
“I’m fine, thank you. Apart from
feeling rather shaken up. And my chest is bruised.”
“Pulse is a touch faster than normal,” he observed, gently releasing my wrist. “Nothing to worry about, though. As far as the chest goes, I’m to blame for that. By the time I pulled you out, your lungs were flooded and your heart had stopped. I had to do CPR for a while before you came back.”
I stared at him, looking into those piercing, unusual eyes as his gaze burned into mine. I couldn’t help feeling astonished by what he had just said. My heart had stopped? My heart? No way. And he’d had to do CPR… I had a sudden vision of this man bent over me, pounding at my chest with the heels of his hands, crushing my lips with his own as he forced the life back into me. The image was shocking, but at the same time it made me feel strangely warm inside.
“Thank you,” I said, in a rather shaky voice. “I had no idea… I didn’t know my condition had been so serious.”
“It was. I’m a trained paramedic, but even so I thought I’d lost you.”
Suddenly, I wondered if his voice had been the one I’d heard in my dream; the mystery lover by the lake who had shouted ‘Don’t leave me!’ Could that have been a fragmented memory from my resuscitation? I thought it likely, but felt too shy to ask.
Seeing that I was temporarily stumped for words, he said, “I haven’t introduced myself. Nicholas de Lanoy.”
“Erin Mitchell.”
“Where are you from?”
“New York.”
“Well, Erin, all I can say is you New Yorkers are made of tough stuff.”
He put the radio receiver back in its bracket, and I stepped aside as he got out of the car and slammed the door.
“Is there anything you need right now?”
“Actually,” I said, “I came to ask you if I could use a phone—it’s urgent.”
Walking with me back down the narrow covered corridor, Nicholas kept to my left, shielding me from the spraying rain.
“Unfortunately, the answer is no. All our cellular comms went down in the storm, and as I told you last night, the landlines aren’t operational either. I only have one radio connection, which is a direct link to our local police station. I’ve already reported that you’re here, so when your husband gets in touch with the police, he’ll find out you’re safe.”
“Would I be able to get a ride to the police station?”
“Also not possible. The flood washed away the bridge, so the only road leading into this estate is now impassable. There are rough tracks going through the valley into the Kruger Park, but those lowlands are completely underwater now. So, Erin, you are my guest here until conditions change.”
“But… oh, okay, then.” If there was no way out, there was no way out. I’d just have to explain this to Vince in a way that didn’t make him angry all over again. And I certainly wasn’t going to let my husband know about Mr. de Lanoy. The way things were between us now, telling him that I was stranded on an estate belonging to such an attractive man would be completely foolhardy.
“There’s a very well-stocked library and a gym,” Nicholas said, guiding me to my seat in the dining room and pulling out my chair for me. “We have a freezer full of food, a vegetable and herb garden, fruit trees, and an excellent wine cellar. You’ll be comfortable here for now, and I’ll come and find you the minute we have cellular connectivity again.”
“Thank you,” I said, overcoming my confusion for long enough to finally remember my manners.
“It’s my privilege to be able to offer hospitality to such an attractive visitor.” He stared down at me and the hint of a smile creased his delicious mouth. I had the feeling that if he’d taken my pulse again at that moment he might have advised me to lie down immediately. But he didn’t. He turned and strode out of the dining room to carry on his radio conversation with the police, leaving me alone with my coffee and, briefly, at a loss for words.
CHAPTER 3
The stresses of the past twenty-four hours had been more draining than I’d thought. After breakfast, and despite the large mug of strong coffee, I could not keep my eyes open. Refusing Miriam’s offer of a guided tour around the lodge, I stumbled back to my bedroom to find that another uniformed housekeeper had just finished making up my bed and was wheeling out a laundry cart containing the muddy, soiled bedding.
Mindful of my underwear shortage, I removed my bra and panties before climbing gratefully between the cool, crisp sheets. My eyelids felt leaden. The sound of the rain had abated to a soft hissing.
I hoped Vince had contacted the police by now, who would have informed him I was safe.
He would want to know where I was. Probably, the police would have told him that I was at Leopard Rock estate. They might even have mentioned Nicholas’s name to him, which gave me a sick feeling inside and ruled out the easiest explanation, the one I’d been tempted to give my husband: that after being washed off the bridge, I had landed up in an all-female commune, or possibly even a nunnery.
Still, I could always emphasize to Vince that I had barely seen Mr. de Lanoy, that he’d been sorting out flood damage in another part of the estate and I had been cared for by his wife. That would be a workable explanation.
With that problem solved, my eyelids became too heavy for me to resist and I closed them. I would think of Vince now, as I fell asleep. Then, when we saw each other again, I could tell him I’d done so; that as I’d floated away I’d had him in my mind. His whipcord-lean body and sharp, angular cheekbones. His dark eyes and shiny dark hair, cut and styled to perfection. The way his lean-fingered hands looked as they cradled his camera. How, the first time we’d kissed, he’d stared deep into my eyes and then…
The blaze of pale blue eyes meeting mine and the warm touch of a strong hand keeping me from the darkness and my own confusion… the sense of a powerful, masculine presence by my side. Watching those sculpted lips as he’d spoken to me in that deep, compelling voice…
Hey—hang on a minute. I was supposed to be thinking about Vince here. How exactly had Nicholas de Lanoy managed to sneak into my mind instead? I tried to push him out but his presence wouldn’t leave me, and in the end, I gave up the battle and drifted away with the memory of Nicholas’s fingers on mine.
I surfaced from my sleep as if coming up through water, pushing my way through the tangled reeds and tendrils of my dreams, lingering in the sun-warmed shallows where my skin was caressed by its gentle touch. I stretched, feeling it lap over my breasts and flow under my thighs, lifting me, buoying me up…
“Erin. Erin?”
I blinked, the familiar deep gold of the voice pulling me back to reality even while I knew I was hearing it only in my dream.
Then I opened my eyes to hear knocking at the door.
“Come in,” I mumbled.
The door opened and Miriam bustled inside.
“Good evening,” she said.
Evening?
I sat up, staring at the dull gold light coming from beyond the pale curtain on the western window.
“I’ve slept all day. I’m so sorry,” I told her. “I wanted to take you up on your kind offer to be shown around the lodge.”
“Whenever you are ready,” she said. “And now, Mr. Nicholas has said you should get up, so I have come to take you outside to the lapa. I will wait while you get dressed.”
Giving me a cheerful smile, she retreated outside, closing the door gently behind her.
The lapa? What was a lapa?
I peeked quickly through the western window on my way to the bathroom. The setting sun blazed, red and intense, through the dissipating storm clouds. On the horizon I saw the craggy silhouette of a mountain flanked by rolling, bushy hills whose slopes looked somehow dark and forbidding in the fading light.
I dressed quickly, putting on my own jeans, and chose a long-sleeved, clingy black jersey top from my limited wardrobe in case it was cold. Who did these spare clothes belong to anyway, I wondered. More than likely, I decided, there was in fact a Mrs. Nicholas and I would meet her this evening.
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I was feeling more like myself again. Clearly, my body had now recovered from the near-death experience, and my mind felt sharper, too.
With a spring in my step, I left the bedroom and followed Miriam to the lodge’s front entrance. Low-wattage bulbs were set in torchiers at intervals along the walls, giving the place a medieval feel. The front door was an enormous, carved slab of wood and I wondered what kind of giant tree it had come from. Outside, the air felt astonishingly fresh and pure. It was cool, but not actually raining. More lights, at ground level, showed the way along a tiled path.
Ahead, I saw the flicker of a flame. The lapa turned out to be a paved open-air area with a high thatched roof supported by sturdy wooden poles and beams. A large fire was burning in a brazier, and on the other side of the lapa, Nicholas was tending another, smaller fire, this one under a barbecue grill.
Stone-topped surfaces along the left side held an array of glasses and drinks, a large bowl of salad, and loaves of crusty bread. Comfortable chairs were placed around a large oval wrought-iron table. Two of the seats were occupied by men I hadn’t seen before, who were having an animated conversation over their beers.
“Good evening, Erin.” Nicholas put down his tongs and walked over to me. I wondered for a surprised moment if he was going to take my pulse again, but instead he placed a hand lightly on the small of my back before leaning forward and brushing his lips against my cheek in greeting. He might have intended the gesture to be casual, but it didn’t feel that way at all. It was as if he’d trailed fire across my skin. When he took his hand away from my back, I could still feel its heat there.
The thought suddenly occurred to me that Nicholas had already seen me naked. Yesterday, he must have undressed me, peeled off my sodden, muddy clothing, perhaps toweled my body dry before clothing me in the oversized T-shirt I’d been wearing when I’d awoken. Now I sensed that there was a strange, slightly uneasy intimacy with the man who’d saved my life.
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