Drowning

by Jassy Mackenzie

  “Good news first,” Nicholas said. “Your husband has contacted the police and been notified you’re safe. The not-so-good news is that we still have no cell phone signal here.”

  So Vince knew I was okay. Thank God he didn’t have to worry about me anymore. Although that meant he also knew I was here. If he’d seen the way Nicholas had greeted me… well, we would be heading for another explosive argument, for sure. But luckily he hadn’t, and inside, I felt the blend of relief and trepidation that I realized I’d become accustomed to over the past few months in my recent marriage to Vince.

  “Let me introduce you to Joshua and Nelson,” Nicholas said, turning to the two men. “Joshua Mkholo is Miriam’s husband, and he heads up the team who looks after this estate. Nelson Ntshweng is our grounds manager.”

  Rising from his chair, Joshua greeted me warmly, his teeth flashing in his dark-skinned face, and gave me a handshake I didn’t understand, where the grip changed three times from a normal handshake, to an “arm wrestling” angle, and back again.

  “The African handshake,” he explained, beaming. “Here in South Africa, it is our traditional way of greeting. Pleased to meet you, Erin.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I responded. By the time Nelson shook my hand I managed to get the handshake right—at least, I hoped so.

  “Joshua and Nelson are both fans of the Orlando Pirates soccer team. They are playing an important match later on, so you won’t get a word in edgeways tonight. I haven’t been able to so far,” Nicholas joked, as the two men resumed their animated conversation. “Something to drink? Water? Fresh orange? Wine?”

  “I’d love a glass of white wine.” He was drinking red. He poured me a glass of sauvignon blanc so crisp and aromatic that it practically danced on the tongue.

  “I really appreciate your hospitality,” I told him, taking a seat next to him and near the pleasant warmth of the brazier.

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “And I’m very grateful you rescued me.”

  “You were lucky. Joshua spotted the other vehicle crossing about twenty minutes earlier—that would have been your husband’s, I suppose. Joshua drove straight back to the lodge and told me the river was beginning to flood the bridge. We were actually on our way down when we saw your car go over.”

  “My life didn’t flash before my eyes,” I told him. I took a sip of wine and added, jokingly, “Do you think I did something wrong?”

  It was the first time I’d seen Nicholas laugh. His teeth gleamed white in his tanned face, giving him a rakishly attractive air, and his pale eyes sparkled. Laughing along with him, I couldn’t help feeling a thrill of pleasure at having been able to tickle his humor.

  “I don’t know, Erin, but I certainly wouldn’t advise giving it another try. Getting to that car took years off our lives.” As he stretched forward to put his wineglass down, his sleeve rode back and I noticed for the first time a deep, ugly graze on his left bicep, the area surrounded by bruising.

  “I was wondering about this lodge. It looks like a very luxurious hotel, apart from the fact I seem to be the only guest. But Miriam told me it is privately owned.”

  “That’s right.” Standing up, he used tongs to test the smoldering coals, sending a shower of sparks into the air, before placing meat on the grill. “It was originally designed as an upmarket guest lodge. The previous owners intended it to be a safari destination where international tourists could pay to hunt the big five—lion, leopard, rhinoceros, buffalo, and elephant—in an enclosed area. Canned hunting, they call it.”

  He turned toward me and, lit by the flickering flames from the brazier, his face showed his disgust. “Unfortunately—or rather, fortunately, they ran out of money soon after going into business. I bought it, but I’ve never used it for its intended purpose.”

  “Neither guests nor hunting?”

  He offered a wry smile. “Neither of the two. The estate itself is in two parts. The inner section where we are now, which is fully fenced, covers about eight hundred acres. I’ve removed the predators from this area, which now contains limited game. Some zebra, warthogs and various antelope, as well as six black rhino; the only one of the Big Five I’ve allowed in here.”

  “And the other part?”

  “The outer section is ten times that in size, and it actually flanks the Kruger Park itself. That border isn’t fenced, although the roads are closed to tourists, so the big game, the elephant, the leopards, all the predators, can come and go as they please between the park and here.”

  “Oh, wow,” I gasped, and was then struck again by the unfairness of having ended up in this wildlife Mecca with all my camera equipment lost in the raging river.

  “Tell me, how did you get onto that flooded road in the first place?” he asked, as if reading my mind. “There’s a far better tar road ten miles to the west of here, which is where most visitors go.”

  “Vince chose this route,” I told him. “He thought it would be more direct, and there might be photo opportunities along the way. The weather changed all that, of course. We weren’t supposed to take the bridge at all, but Vince made a wrong turn and we spent an hour getting lost before retracing our route.”

  “These back roads are tricky, even with the help of a GPS,” Nicholas agreed. “You mentioned photos. So who’s the photographer?”

  “We both are,” I told him. “My husband’s the famous one, though.”

  “Is he now?”

  “Yes. Vince Mitchell. You’ve probably heard of him. He’s an award-winning fashion, celebrity, and advertising photographer.”

  I could see Nicholas didn’t know about him. He shook his head, smiling quizzically, which left me feeling slightly embarrassed. At any rate, everyone in photography circles had heard of Vince. He was the rock star of commercial photography, and, although still in his twenties, had already made an international name for himself. In fact, the reason why we were traveling to the Kruger Park was because Vince had been commissioned to do a fashion shoot, which would appear in the March issue of Vogue.

  “I’m still trying to make a name for myself,” I continued. “Although I won’t have much luck on this trip, since all my equipment was in the car.”

  “That’s a blow. It’s insured at least, I hope?”

  “It is, yes.” I couldn’t help wondering, though, what the insurance company would make of the accident. I had no way of contacting them. I couldn’t even send them pictures of the car, or any proof of the accident, since I had no idea where the Yaris was now. I had a feeling this was going to turn into a logistical nightmare.

  Flames leaped from the coals, licking at the sizzling fat that dripped from the sausages Nicholas was cooking and sending a delicious aroma wafting my way. Swiftly, he moved them to the side of the grill and waited until the flames had died down before placing a number of thick, juicy-looking game steaks in the center.

  “And have you been married long?” Nicholas asked.

  “Just three months.” Following a whirlwind courtship which had been almost as short. Sometimes I felt as if the past six months had been a dream. In May this year I had attended the Vince Mitchell exhibition at a gallery in Chelsea where, for the very first time, I had met my husband-to-be. Watching Vince speak about his craft, surrounded by the framed images of his latest collection, I’d been more than impressed by the looks of the lean, dark-haired, trendily dressed artist, and blown away by how he articulated his passion and vision.

  Afterwards, when the crowd of fans surrounding him had finally thinned, I’d shyly approached him to ask some questions about his work. He’d looked me up and down with his deep, intense eyes and had pressed his lips together, giving a small nod before replying.

  “Come on,” he’d said. “Let’s go talk about this over a whisky.”

  To my amazement, I’d found myself bundled into a cab together with Vince’s publicist and the manager of the gallery, and we had headed off to a trendy club in Tribeca. Three hours and about five drinks la
ter, the manager and publicist had left and we’d started dancing crotch to crotch on the crowded floor, where I had added “phenomenal mover” to the lengthening list of Vince’s admirable qualities.

  A short while after that, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, I had been certain I’d found my soul mate. I’d gone back with him to his Soho loft apartment, where we’d had coffee and he’d shown me more of his work. He’d told me I had a classically beautiful face and perfect cheekbones and that he’d love to take photos of me in the nude sometime. And then, as dawn had broken, we’d gone to bed.

  “You nervous?” Vince had asked, his wiry fingers easing my panties down over my thighs as he leaned forward to accept my kiss.

  “No,” I’d whispered, but it was not the truth. I’d done some reckless things in my past, but I’d never slept with anyone the first time I’d met them. This was unfamiliar territory for me, and I felt overawed by Vince’s celebrity status. There was no way I could say no to him, but what if I didn’t live up to his expectations? What if I became just another of his conquests?

  His mouth met mine and the kiss quickly deepened. I forgot my fears, pressing myself against his toned body as I submitted to his sweet plundering.

  “What turns you on?” I asked when we finally broke the kiss, my hand moving to his crotch and caressing the steely hardness I felt under his briefs. “Show me, Vince.”

  He’d smiled, pushing me down onto his wide bed. He propped himself on one arm for a moment to stare down at my now-naked body, and pushed a stray lock of hair away from my face.

  “You’re gorgeous, babe,” he’d murmured. “Exquisite. You’re gonna photograph like a dream.”

  Then his body covered my own, his muscles taut, his skin smooth.

  “I’ll show you what I want,” he’d whispered, his lips brushing my ear…

  Nicholas’s response interrupted my thoughts.

  “Three months? So tell me something else, Erin. Do you and your husband always travel in different vehicles when you go on holiday? Like the Royal Family?” he teased.

  I gave a small shrug, staring at the crimson coals and blue-gold flames in the brazier and hoping I’d be able to fix what had gone wrong between Vince and me, and get our relationship back to the way it had been on that perfect, amazing spring night when we’d first met.

  “No. Not always,” I replied softly.

  CHAPTER 4

  There ended up being eight of us for dinner, including Miriam, all seated around the table under the lapa. It was a merry gathering and to me, it felt like a celebration of life. Conversation and laughter flowed around the table as freely as the beer and wine, although Nicholas cautioned me that, given my brush with death the previous day, I should restrict myself to no more than two glasses of alcohol. The first glass went straight to my head, and as I sipped at the second while savoring the tasty food, I realized that I hadn’t felt so relaxed and at ease for a long time.

  When morning came, it would most likely bring the return of cell coverage and with that, my worries and obligations would once again descend. But this night somehow felt like a holiday. More than that… it felt like a gift.

  I was thoroughly enjoying conversing with Nicholas. In response to his questions, I told him about my love of art, and he surprised me with his knowledge of the subject. It turned out that we shared a liking for surrealism, Salvador Dali, and spent a good half an hour discussing the geometric, modernist works of Escher.

  To my relief, he didn’t question me any further on my relationship with my husband—but nor was he very forthcoming about his own history. The closest I got to finding anything out about Nicholas was when I asked him if he’d studied art. He shrugged and said, “Not formally. But I’ve spent a lot of time on my own, with only books for company.” Then he steered the topic away from himself again.

  I couldn’t help watching the way his pale eyes blazed when he spoke about a subject he loved, and I found myself a couple of times having to stop myself from putting a hand on his arm when we laughed together. As natural as the gesture would have been, I was still mindful about what had so recently gone wrong between Vince and me. I had to learn to behave in ways that didn’t hurt or anger my husband—even when he was not present.

  But, thinking of that, I couldn’t help imagining how I would be reacting to Nicholas if things were different… if I were single… how readily the spark of excitement I felt in his presence would kindle into desire.

  Mortified at the direction in which I was letting my mind wander, I suppressed the idea hastily, relieved nobody would ever be able to know my wicked thoughts. It must be the influence of the wine, I decided, and pushed my half-full second glass away.

  A lull in the now-mellow conversation allowed me to appreciate the silence of this mysterious place. Apart from the occasional crackle of the dying fire, all I could hear in the stillness surrounding us was the trilling of crickets and cicadas.

  “The sky’s cleared at last,” Nicholas said. “Erin, there’s a platform a short way up the hill that’s a great lookout point. Do you want to see the Southern Cross? It should just be visible by now.”

  “Oh, yes, please.” I leaped to my feet, nearly tripping over the leg of my chair. Then, stepping with more caution, I walked carefully with him up the paved track.

  We left the flickering lights of the lapa behind and followed the winding path up a steep, rocky hill. My too-big sandal caught on something I couldn’t see, causing me to stumble.

  “You okay?” Nicholas asked. In the darkness he reached for my hand and found it. His fingers closed around mine, his grasp firm. His touch sent a tendril of warmth through me. “Nearly there.”

  Another minute and we were standing on a small tiled platform surrounded by a waist-high wall. I rested my hands on it, the smoothly plastered surface cool against my palms, and looking up, I caught my breath at the brightness of the stars. The Milky Way was spread out above me in clear, dazzling detail.

  “You can’t see it now, but the ground slopes away on all sides from this lookout point,” Nicholas said quietly. He was standing close behind me. “It’s worth coming up here in the daytime. The view is magnificent.

  I found I was acutely aware of his presence and thought I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I caught my breath as I felt his hands touch my shoulders. Gently, he turned me to the right.

  “Those two stars there, the ones near the horizon.”

  “I see them.”

  “They are the pointer stars, Alpha and Beta Centauri.” His breath tickled my hair. “Draw an imaginary line between them, and now follow that line upwards to those four stars. Those form the Southern Cross, and from there and the pointers it’s easy to calculate due south.” His warm palms smoothed sensually over my shoulders and I clutched the wall more tightly.

  A sinful surge of heart-racing excitement dizzied me. I’d been slow to realize Nicholas’s invitation up to this lonely lookout zone had little, if anything, to do with his desire to educate me on the placement of the southern constellations.

  This was a seduction. I could sense it in my heartbeat, suddenly fast and strong. I could feel it in every prickling fiber of my body. Worse still, I found that raw desire was flooding through me; the feeling both powerful and primal. For a moment it washed all logical reasoning away. I stood, immobile, the pulsing heat in the pit of my belly as pleasurable as it was forbidden.

  I could not respond to him… I could not let myself fall.

  But nor could I move away.

  As if sensing my dilemma, he spoke.

  “Erin.” His voice was like a caress. His fingers smoothed a stray wisp of hair away from my face before moving down, brushing so lightly over the throbbing tips of my nipples that if I had not sensed otherwise, I might have thought the gesture to be accidental. As it was, I caught my breath at the intense stab of pleasure that this brief touch offered. His fingers smoothed down my forearms to caress my hands.

  “You are a beautiful,
very desirable woman. I am intensely attracted to you. And, since we’re both going to be together for another few days, maybe even a week, I would like to make a suggestion to you.”

  I swallowed. “From the context, it sounds more like it might be an indecent proposal,” I said. My voice was slightly hoarse.

  “Oh, yes. Nothing decent about what I have in mind.” He sounded as if he was smiling. “Erin, I want to take you to bed. I want to satisfy you sexually. Lots of times, in lots of ways. To make you come, and watch while you do.”

  His body was pressed against mine now, steely and strong, but it was the explicitness of his words that left me suddenly without breath. His thumb rested on the two gold bands on my wedding finger.

  “Nicholas, I’m…” My voice was unsteady.

  “You’re married, I know. I’m fine with that. In fact, it’s what I prefer. You don’t have to worry about me pursuing you, or trying to stay in touch afterwards, because I don’t do that. What I’m proposing is just a few days of raw, lustful, passionate sex. We’ll keep it as discreet as you want. Play according to your rules, both in bed and out of it. And then, when the bridge is mended, you go back across it, to your husband and your life, and this will remain our secret.”

  His words, spoken in that low, caressing voice, were hypnotic. It would be so easy… so tempting, to abandon my morals. I wouldn’t even have to say yes to agree. I could sense he was waiting for any signal. The relaxing of my body against his. The upward pressure of my fingers, twining through his own. Any sign, however subtle, that I had succumbed to the powerful lust I felt for him. And, by doing so, offered tacit agreement to his audacious suggestion and to the shameful pleasures it promised.

  Any signal, because I had done nothing yet.

  I had done nothing yet.

  And I could not. This was a test. Was I, a newly married woman, going to succumb so easily to the physical charms of another man—albeit one to whom I was intensely, viscerally attracted?