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‘I’ve taken lots of family photos,’ she said, hesitantly, making sure to keep her face quite serious. ‘The dogs. My sister’s babies.’ She stole a glance at Lukas. His face was set and hard as he took in her answer. ‘They are very good. Everyone says so.’
‘Dogs and babies.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘I see. Anything else?’
She pretended to think. ‘I took a photograph of the Princess Royal once.’
‘Oh?’ he said, rousing a little more interest.
‘Yes. She came to open a new wing at school. Of course she was just Princess Anne then … I sent her a copy that I printed myself. She wrote and thanked me.’ She counted to three silently. ‘At least her lady-in-waiting did. I kept the letter in my scrapbook. It’s very hot, isn’t it?’ She fanned herself with her hand.
They were descending now and it was a lot warmer. The air had changed from the sharper clarity of the high plateau and there was a warm mustiness about it.
‘It would have been cooler travelling if you hadn’t wanted to eat,’ he replied with some justification. ‘And it will get a lot warmer than this. Nairobi is six thousand feet above sea level, and we’re dropping down three thousand feet.’
‘How long will it take to get to the camp?’ she asked, looking around her and spotting with surprise and pleasure a herd of gazelle grazing near the road.
‘That depends on the traffic.’
‘On what?’ She gasped, her attention re-directed towards Lukas. ‘What traffic?’ The road stretched away straight and clear before them. They were passed only by an occasionally overloaded taxi being driven at a ridiculous speed, and saw the occasional truck driving towards the capital.
‘Not cars or lorries. I was thinking of the odd elephant who didn’t want to get out of the middle of the road.’
‘You’re joking!’
Satisfaction that he had managed to dent her confidence was written in every line of his darkly tanned face. ‘I once had to back five miles down the side of an escarpment, just because an elephant decided it wanted to walk in that direction,’ he said softly. ‘But not more than a couple of hours, I suppose.’
‘Where was that?’
Lukas glanced across at her. ‘The elephant?’ She nodded. ‘Down on the Zambezi.’
Not here. Relief swept over her. ‘And were you taking photographs for a calendar there as well?’
A sudden grin transformed his face. ‘I could have done. There were a lot of very pretty girls.’ Then the smile faded. ‘I was there taking some publicity photographs for Save the Children. They were trying to raise money for polio vaccine.’
‘Oh.’ George was silenced.
Lukas frowned. ‘That surprises you?’
‘No. I hoped that was what you were doing here.’
‘I see. Well, I’m sorry. You’ll have to take it up with your father … it’s his calendar.’ He glanced at her with a slightly puzzled look. ‘It beats dogs and babies any day of the week.’
Knowing the lengths she had had to go to produce the portraits of her nieces and nephews, George didn’t doubt it, but that was not what he meant.
‘Babies and dogs are harmless,’ she countered sharply, and regretted it before the words were half out of her mouth.
‘Some babies, and some dogs,’ he said coldly, and they drove on in silence for a while until they reached a bridge. Lukas pulled over, climbed down and held out a hand to assist her.
‘Why have we stopped?’
‘I’m indulging you in a little sightseeing,’ he said, although there was something about the glint in his eyes that belied that statement. ‘You did want to do some sightseeing, didn’t you, George?’ Hesitantly she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her down. For a moment they stood in the baking sun, and George was acutely aware of Lukas’s scrutiny, and his warm fingers holding on to her hand. Glad of the protection of her glasses, she broke away from his piercing look and glanced about her.
‘Well? What are we supposed to be looking at?’
‘That,’ he replied, pointing to another bridge a little way up the river. ‘It’s the Tsavo railway bridge.’ She nodded uncertainly, wondering what could be so special about a very ordinary steel railway bridge.
‘It’s lovely. Thank you for showing it to me.’ She turned to climb back up into the jeep. He had kept hold of her hand, tightening his grip.
‘Surely you’ve heard of the man-eaters of Tsavo?’ he asked. ‘Or didn’t you do your homework before you came on this trip?’
‘I wasn’t told until yesterday that I had to come.’
‘Told?’ He shrugged and didn’t wait for a reply. ‘They were a pair of lions who killed and ate more than a hundred men working on a railway bridge.’
‘Good gracious,’ George said with polite interest.
‘That’s the bridge. I thought you’d be interested.’
‘Oh, I am. I love those old stories. They exaggerate so wonderfully.’
He laughed. ‘You think I’m exaggerating, do you? It held up the railway for over a year. There’s an excellent book about it. A personal account written by the chief engineer. I’ll lend it to you if you think you’ll have the time to read it.’
She gave him a long measured look but the hard profile gave nothing away. ‘Thank you.’ Lukas allowed her to pull herself free and she climbed back into the jeep, still not quite sure what Lukas was driving at.
‘They dragged one engineer right out of a railway carriage,’ he said as he pulled himself into the seat alongside her. ‘But most of the victims were Indian workers asleep in their tents.’ He laid the slightest emphasis on the word tent. He said no more, but gently let out the clutch and drove on. ‘Of course lions aren’t necessarily the most dangerous animals in the national park. There are some very nasty dudus.’
‘ Dudus ?’
‘Insects, bugs, creepy crawlies. It’s the Swahili word.’
Feeling cold and clammy, George wiped away the sweat that was gathering under the unaccustomed spectacles. Aware that Lukas was regarding her discomfort with some pleasure, she made an effort to pull herself together. ‘Oh, just look at that road sign. “Beware. Elephants.” Just like ponies in the New Forest.’
Lukas turned to her impatiently, but before he could make some caustic remark his focus shifted and he slowed the jeep.
‘What is it? Why are we stopping?’
‘Quiet. There are elephants ahead. They’re probably just going to cross.’ He gently eased the jeep into reverse in case the herd decided to investigate them.
‘Don’t be silly …’ George started, sure she was being made a fool of. But suddenly she could see them. Just on the edge of the road, merging into the green-grey scrubby trees, she caught the dangerous lifted curve of ivory and the slow movement of great ears. ‘Oh, but that’s incredible.’ Then, aware of his scrutiny, said inanely, ‘You mean they cross just where there’s a sign? How clever.’ Then she abandoned her tiresome alter ego and, longing for her camera, turned to reach her bag in the back, cursing herself for not loading some film before she left.
‘Be still!’ Lukas hissed between his teeth, catching her arm and forcefully propelling her back into her seat.
‘But I just … oh, look there’s a little one …’ Then one of the largest animals turned to face them. She stepped forward, waving her great ears.
‘And quiet! This isn’t a zoo!’ George subsided immediately, not needing to be told twice that the animal was threatening them. She had to content herself with watching the herd silently cross the road, and just for the moment she was glad she wasn’t on her own despite the humiliating way that Lukas gripped her arm. Above the smell of hot oil and dust she could detect the faint scent of his cologne and she tore her eyes from the herd to regard her adversary.
The contrast with their previous meeting was startling. On that occasion he had been all smooth and manicured charm in an expensive dinner-jacket and snowy dress-shirt. His dark, almost black hair, despite its dousing with flour, had been fresh from a stylist who knew his job. Now, too long for elegance and damp with the heat, it had resumed a wayward curl. Sweat trickled down the side of his face and damp patches stained the sleeveless jacket he wore open over a short-sleeved shirt.
George wondered where he had come from. The name—Lukas—the faint trace of an accent, suggested eastern Europe.
He turned and caught her staring. For a moment he held her gaze, then abruptly he let go of her. ‘They’re almost across.’
She rubbed her arm where his fingers had bit into the flesh and blushed, feeling foolish. She jumped as one of the beasts turned and bellowed at them, raising its trunk, before turning and disappearing with the rest.
When they had gone Lukas slowly moved forwards. George peered somewhat nervously into the bush on the side of the road as they passed, but there was nothing to threaten them. The elephant had gone. She sat back against the rock-hard seat. ‘They’re so big,’ she breathed. ‘Does that happen often?’
‘I suppose so. But you were lucky to see it. And it’s an ancient elephant crossing. The sign was put there to warn humans, not instruct elephants. You’d better have your camera ready in future, just in case your luck holds.’
‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed,’ she promised. And my toes. And my eyes … She giggled and was aware of an irritated exclamation from Lukas, but she didn’t care.
‘It’s quite difficult to take photographs with your fingers crossed. But I’m sure you know that.’
The sun rose higher, and the heat increased in direct proportion.
For the first time, George wondered what exactly lay ahead of her. She had been too tired the day before to worry about it, and her confrontation with Lukas had given her no time for thought. But, as well as Lukas, out here were snakes and spiders and lizards and, apparently, lions.
The thought caused a crawling sensation at the base of her spine. She desperately wanted to turn and check that there was nothing in the jeep with them, waiting its moment to grab her by the neck and drag her away. She broke into a sweat as she considered that this was full daylight. Whatever would it be like at night?
She kept her face determinedly forward, refusing to give in to nameless fears.
‘Hold on!’ The warning came barely in time. She was half jolted from her seat as Lukas swung the jeep off the road into the bush and over the railway line. There was a group of huts, a tiny store, a flurry of chickens and a glimpse of almost naked children staring with solemn black eyes as they swept past.
‘Say goodbye to civilisation,’ Lukas said with a grin, as they bounced along the road. Road! George caught her breath as the jeep slammed into a rut and bounced out again, lifting her clear of her seat. Lukas seemed not to notice, but then he had the steering-wheel to hold on to. She clung to her seat as they bounced along, leaving clouds of red dust in their wake.
A deer flew across the road in panic, practically jumping the jeep’s bonnet, and George let out a small shriek.
‘It’s only an impala,’ Lukas mocked. ‘You get used to them. You’ll see all sorts of creatures if you keep your eyes open. Foxes, jackals …’
‘Lions?’ she asked crossly.
They hit another rut and he didn’t answer. George allowed herself a little inner feeling of satisfaction. He must be mad, thinking he could scare her with man-eating lion stories. She wasn’t scared of lions. Dudus were something else.
‘We’re nearly there.’ He slowed the jeep and George could see, in the distance, a greener patch of vegetation. ‘The camp’s on the other side of the river.’
The ‘river’ lay in a deep gorge carved out by rainy season floods, but now was nothing more than a few small trickles of water meandering between broad sand banks and only occasionally widening into pools. Lukas approached the bank with care. ‘It’s a good job for us the rains weren’t bad. Otherwise we would have to cross by dinghy.’
‘I’ve no objection to getting my feet wet in a good cause,’ George said flippantly and immediately wished she hadn’t.
‘That’s a statement you may live to regret, George.’ Lukas smiled at some private thought as they tilted down the seemingly vertical drop. George hung desperately on to the jeep’s dash until they reached the bottom, where they splashed through the small streams. Then he attacked the far bank. For a moment George thought they were not going to make it. She held her breath as the jeep seemed to hang suspended without the power to get to the top. But suddenly they were there. Wherever ‘there’ was.
‘Welcome to Kathekakai,’ Lukas said expansively, indicating the few tents with a wave of his hand.
‘Kathekakai.’ She said the word slowly, rolling it around her mouth. It had an almost magical sound, conjuring up witch doctors and ritual dances. ‘What does it mean?’
‘Place of Dread. Or Place of Killing—take your pick,’ Lukas said matter-of-factly.
George stared at him, trying to decide if she was being wound up again. But he had climbed down from the driving seat and was striding towards a large open-sided mess tent where several people were sitting. Feeling suddenly very alone, she scrambled down and ran after him, trying not to think what might be in the dry grass.
There were about half a dozen people sitting around a table, playing cards. They called out a greeting to Lukas, but their attention was caught by George. Lukas turned and caught her arm to pull her forward.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I present George Bainbridge,’ he said with a flourish.
There was a sudden silence and a man, thick-set and middle-aged, who had his back to her, turned, stared for a moment then suddenly grinned.
‘Good God. It’s a girl.’
‘I’m relieved you know the difference, Walter,’ Lukas said drily.
‘Oh, I’ve always known the difference, dear boy.’ He came towards George and held out a hand in welcome. ‘Take no notice of Lukas. I believe he practises being horrible in front of a mirror.’
A striking brunette, who had looked up at George’s arrival, looked away again. ‘I think I’m up. Four kings and a run of hearts.’ She laid some cards out in front of her.
George felt a pulse beating in her neck. There had been a casual insolence, a dismissal of something without interest, about the girl’s attitude. She made a very special effort to focus her mind on why she was here, in this Place of Dread, fixing her thoughts on the youngsters living in cardboard boxes and how much they would love to feel this sun, how lucky they would think her. She allowed her face to relax into a smile and stepped into the shade of the tent. ‘It seems there has been a bit of a mix-up. I’m Georgette Bainbridge. Everybody calls me George.’
‘Are you related to Sir Charles?’
‘She’s his daughter, Walter.’ And George sensed rather than saw the look that passed between them. ‘Is there anything to drink? What would you like, George?’
‘Mineral water?’ she asked, and was promptly handed a glass of ice-cold water.
‘Thank you.’ She drank it down in thirsty gulps and almost felt the steam rising. ‘I’ll get my things from the jeep, if someone will show me where to put them.’
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