A Spear of Summer Grass (30 page)

She scrabbled at her eyes. “I’m an old fool, but I’m not wrong.” She rose heavily to her feet. “By the way, Gates is dead. Thought you’d like to know.”

The change of subject was so fast it gave me whiplash.

“What? How?”

“Fell off a ridge while he was poaching and broke his leg. Hyenas got to him.”

I shuddered, but only part of it was in horror. There was a tiny sliver of satisfaction that was so primitive and so savage, I ought to have been afraid of it. I remembered then my thoughts on the subtlety of a Masai revenge, of the
laibon
and of what Granny Miette had taught me about magic, the light and the dark, the healing and the harming, both sides of the same thin coin.

“So Fairlight is safe now.”

She smiled thinly. “Africa takes care of its own.”

After she left, I spent the rest of that afternoon sitting by the lake, watching the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows. I went to bed just as the moon rose. I could see a faint shape through the mosquito netting, a man hovering near the door, his features smudged as I looked out of the tail of my eye. When I turned to look at him directly, he vanished, and I knew that this time he was gone for good.

* * *

The next morning I walked to Patel’s and sent a telegram to Narok. That evening was Kit’s gallery opening in Nairobi, and I packed a bag with the things I had salvaged in order to spend the night. I had just locked the case when Helen arrived. She hugged me and pulled back to look at my face.

“My poor darling! Africa hasn’t been very kind to you, has it?”

“It’s had its moments. Let’s sit on the veranda and have a drink.”

I poured and Helen carried them out, exclaiming as she looked at Lake Wanyama. The light was glittering on the blue-green water, and in the shallows a marabou stork waded with stately intention. “Such a beautiful view! I think it might almost be better than ours.” Her tone was light, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, but I wondered if she were in pain. The sunlight wasn’t kind to her. It highlighted every line on her face. She had fought a hard battle against getting old or ugly, but time and disease were winning.

I chose my words carefully. “Rex said the same thing. He seems quite fond of the property.”

“He is,” she replied in the same cautious tone. “In fact, I thought it best you hear it from one of us. He’s making an offer on Fairlight. It’s a generous one,” she hurried on, “you needn’t worry that we’ll try to take advantage of your stepfather’s family. In fact, I think they’ll be pleased. Rex wants to rebuild the place. It’s always been such a fine house, and he’s always pictured himself living here on the lake.”

It seemed damnably cruel to talk about a future that Helen most likely wouldn’t share, but I didn’t have a choice.

“I’m surprised you want to leave the farm. I know how proud you are of what you’ve built there.”

She gave a short laugh and turned her head to me. “We can keep fencing if you like, but I think it’s best if we speak plainly. It’s time for you to leave Africa, my dear.”

There was nothing malicious in her voice, no new coldness in her tone. It was said as sweetly as if she’d been inviting me to a garden party. But I knew better.

“Is that why you burned Fairlight down? To get rid of me? Because you’re worried that Rex might be getting too fond of me?”

Her peal of laughter startled the stork. It launched itself with an irritable flap of the wings. “Oh, my darling child, is that really what you think? You must believe me when I tell you that so long as we live, Rex and I belong to each other. It doesn’t matter what else we get up to, we are partners. Our loyalty is only to each other. You just don’t matter enough for me to bother with.”

Oddly, I believed her. “Then why the push to get rid of me? Was it Kit? Did you resent the fact that he preferred me?”

She lifted a hand and studied her nails with lazy interest. “Did he? I always thought Kit was like a tomcat—only interested in what was right under his nose at any given moment.”

“You’re probably right. So what was it? What turned you against me? What made you so eager to frame me for Kit’s murder?”

Her hand stilled. “Do you know or is that a shot in the dark?”

“Oh, definitely a shot in the dark. Most of this is. But I had a lot of time to think it over in prison and I believe I’m right. You decided Kit had to die and you were happy for me to swing for it. And now you’d like me to leave Africa because I’m the one person who knows you killed Kit. I’d just like to know why.”

The laughter pealed again. “So many shots and so few of them true! Where shall I begin, pet? You and I both had our fun with Kit. Oh, it stung when he first started seeing you, I admit. He didn’t have as much time for me, and I didn’t like that. But it wasn’t long before I realised Kit wasn’t going anywhere. He liked variety too much, and that’s my specialty,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. “He was a lovely boy, don’t you think? But venal, with a very small heart, always grasping at what didn’t belong to him.”

“Is that why you gave him presents?”

She lifted one foot, balancing the heel carefully on the toes of her other foot. “I didn’t give those to him. Rex did.”

“Why on earth—”

She flapped a hand at me. “Can’t you guess? Blackmail! Kit discovered that Rex had been stockpiling weapons at a little fishing cabin he keeps up at one of the lakes. He threatened to go to the authorities with what he’d seen if Rex didn’t come across with some money. Rex gave him what cash he could lay his hands on, but Kit wasn’t terribly particular. He was just as happy with the wristwatch and the gramophone.”

“But most of the settlers are stockpiling weapons. Why would the government care if Rex is?”

She gave me a narrow smile. “Because most of the settlers aren’t contemplating kidnapping the Duke and Duchess of York to make their point.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not a bit of it. Rex had thought of abducting the governor, but as soon as he heard about the proposed royal visit, he realised how much better this would be! So much publicity for the cause of independence.”

“It’s madness.”

She shrugged. “Well, of course it is. But you know men and politics. Listen, I’ve been married for the better part of two decades. I know exactly how to manage Rex. All I had to do was go along with his idea and tell him how brilliant it was, and somehow in the year between now and the Yorks’ visit, I would have figured out a way to change his mind.”

“But then Kit happened.”

Her mouth turned grim. “Kit happened. He began making demands on Rex and Rex panicked. Believe it or not, Rex isn’t half as strong as he pretends to be. He relies on me—more than anyone ever realises. We are each other’s support, and he needs me.”

I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself, but it made an odd sort of sense. Most men wouldn’t have tolerated Helen’s blatant catting around. Rex almost seemed to take a strange sort of pride in it.

“So Kit threatened to expose him and demanded money,” I prompted.

“And truth be told, there isn’t much, not after building the house and furnishing it and importing all of Rex’s breeding stock. Besides, I knew Kit. He wouldn’t stop until he’d bled us dry. He had to be taken care of.”

It was a sinister phrase, gentle and nonspecific, but lethal.

“You decided together to take care of the problem?”

“No, the idea was mine. The best ideas always are,” she added with a ghost of a smile. “All Rex had to do was pull the trigger and leave the rest to me. I knew Kit slept heavily after an afternoon in bed. We just needed to wait until the two of you had been together and then seize the moment.”

I thought back to the evening she and I had spent together—the long moments she had been alone in my rooms, powdering her nose and pilfering my jewel case.

“Did Rex know you intended to frame me?”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you—too many shots in the dark and most of them were misses. No one ever intended to frame you. I took that bracelet because it was Masai. I thought the authorities would centre their investigation on the natives instead of the whites. I was horrified when they identified the bracelet as yours.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed it or not, but she had no reason to lie to me now. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself. I told her as much.

She nodded. “It’s cathartic. Rather like the confessional except none of those boring churchmen to set you a penance.” She paused then looked me squarely in the eye. “We had a plan to save you, you know. Rex was keeping careful tabs on the situation in Nairobi. If they had charged you, I would have made a confession to killing Kit myself.”

“Why you if Rex pulled the trigger?”

Her smile turned beatific. “Because I’m the one with a life to give. There isn’t much of it left, but it would have done the trick.” She raised her glass in a salute and drained it down. Her mood turned brisk. “Any more questions?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of some after you leave, but I don’t expect I’ll get a chance to ask them.”

She rose and I followed suit. “Then I take it you’re heading back to civilisation like a good girl?” Her tone was arch but not entirely unfriendly.

I didn’t answer her directly. “Tell Rex he isn’t getting Fairlight. I made an offer myself this morning, but I was too late. It’s already been sold.”

Her eyes widened. “But who—”

“It belongs to Ryder.”

She laughed in spite of herself and threw up her hands. “I might have known. That man always does manage to get what he wants.”

I walked her down the veranda to the steps. “I don’t know where I’m going yet, Helen. But I know this—you took the life of someone who might not have been perfect, but who didn’t deserve to die. And you ruined the life of an innocent man who was my friend. I know I can’t go to the authorities. They’d laugh me right out of Government House. So you and Rex are safe from the law. But you aren’t safe from me. For as long as you draw breath, I will remember what you did to those two men, and I will pray you burn for it. And when you die, wherever I am in the world, I will remember and I will go on, Helen. Rex and Gideon and Africa and everything you love and everything you hate will go on without you. And we will all be the better for it. That is a thing I know for sure.”

I turned on my heel and went into the house and closed the door softly behind me.

25

That evening I was in Nairobi. It was the opening of Kit’s show at the gallery, and the owner had requested my presence. I dreaded it. The press would be there, asking ghoulish questions and sticking their noses into everybody’s business. But it was Kit’s last hurrah, and I felt I owed him at least that.

I had gone straight to the Norfolk to check in. They gave me the tiniest room imaginable, no doubt to discourage me from coming back, but I didn’t mind. It was for Kit. I bathed and dusted myself with rice powder to whiten my skin. I brushed a tiny bit of jasmine oil into my hair to make it gleam, and painted on a deep crimson mouth to match my nails. The white silk dress I had worn to my first party in Africa had burned, but I found another in a little shop near the hotel and I bought it for Kit. He had always liked me in white. I fastened a tiny sprig of stephanotis at each earlobe in place of earrings and tied the black silk ribbon around my wrist.

When I was ready, I took a cab to the gallery and found the place already in full crush. So many flashbulbs popped when I stepped out of the taxi I was nearly blinded, but Mr. Hillenbrank rushed out to escort me in.

“Miss Drummond! It is such a pleasure to have you here tonight for the unveiling. I was hoping you might do the honours?”

I murmured something appropriate and let him take charge of me. He towed me around the room, introducing me to various people. I was only half listening to the names and the faces were a blur. I hadn’t had an answer to the cable I sent Ryder, and I kept thinking of the contents. Just three short words, a scrap of language, but I had thought it enough to bind him to me.

MARRY ME. STOP.

A hundred things could have happened. The cable could have gone awry. They could have crossed, the cable arriving in Narok after he had left. Or Tusker could have exaggerated, I thought with a chill. She could have declared things he didn’t really feel. I pushed that thought aside and walked the gallery, looking at Kit’s paintings. There was one of Gideon, tall and proud, and I felt my heart roll up into my throat as I looked at my friend. I swallowed it down, hard, and it sat like a lump.

Just then a shadow fell over my shoulder. “Enjoying the show, Miss Drummond?”

I turned. “Inspector Gilchrist. I am surprised.”

“Why? Aren’t policemen permitted hobbies?” He peered at the painting. “Is it a good likeness?”

“The best.” I took a deep breath. “Inspector, I know—”

“No, you don’t,” he said firmly. “And whatever you think you know, forget it. He has friends in very high places, Miss Drummond. Very high places. You got lucky this time. But if you cross him again...well, don’t, is my advice.”

I opened my mouth to tell him about Helen then closed it again. What was the point? She was guilty of something dark and terrible—and very soon she would pay for it. As to Rex, at least Gilchrist knew to be watchful of him, and I suspected that without Helen’s careful planning, he would slip up one day, too badly for any of his connections to save him. Africa would take care of her own.

I smiled at Gilchrist. “Very well. But I have friends, too, Inspector. And I hope you’re one of them.”

He put out his hand to shake it. “I think if I were going to back a horse, I would always back you, Miss Drummond. You might be a long shot, but I suspect you always come through.”

With that he bent and kissed my hand and melted away into the crowd.

I was happy to see how many of the paintings bore tiny cards stating that the work had been sold and identifying the buyers.

After a few more toasts and a dozen more introductions, Mr. Hillenbrank moved to the centre of the gallery, bringing me with him. He made a lengthy speech about Kit, his enormous talent, his zest for life. At this last bit, several ladies in the crowd tittered and several more lifted discreet handkerchiefs to dab away a tear or two.

Mr. Hillenbrank carried on as if he heard nothing. “But Kit Parrymore was more than just a talented artist. He was an artist of tremendous potential—potential he only came close to unlocking with his very last work. Around you are hung samples of his youth, his exuberance. But with this painting, he came very close to maturity. With the help of its subject, I give you
Delilah Drummond.
”

At his signal, I reached for the cord. It hesitated at first, and I had to tug quite sharply to make it move. Then all at once it fell away, a puddle of crimson velvet on the floor at my feet. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. I turned to look at the painting.

Kit had captured me, all of me. I was child and woman, fully present and already gone, entirely his and no man’s at all. My painted self held every contradiction, and it held them in such perfect harmony it was like seeing a symphony spelled out note for note on the canvas.

My glance moved to the card pinned to the wall beside the painting.
Delilah Drummond.
And neatly typed below it in bold letters on a clean white card, PROPERTY OF J. RYDER WHITE.

Mr. Hillenbrank was at my elbow. “I am particularly pleased to have sold that piece before the show,” he said with a quiet air of satisfaction.

“Is he here?”

“No, but we received a cable only an hour ago from Narok. The gentleman was most particular about the wording on the card. He must be quite an ardent collector.”

I reached up and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a scarlet impression of lipstick behind. He coughed and looked immensely pleased.

“He is not a collector at all, Mr. Hillenbrank. But he is a hell of a stayer.”

With that, I stepped aside then as the crowd moved forward to get a better look. I walked straight out of the gallery and into the street. Around me Nairobi heaved and swelled and parted, like the vast rushing waters of a river in spate. Women carried baskets on their heads and a group of children ran laughing as a baboon chased them for their fruit. Men roasted sweet corn to sell and called out their peddler’s wares in high, piping voices. A dozen languages met and mingled on that street, and the air smelled of spices and smoke and the warm flesh of the African earth. A high, droning noise sounded far overhead. I shaded my eyes and looked up to see a small plane silhouetted against the sun. I took the black ribbon from my wrist and waved it high overhead, signalling. Ryder was coming home.

* * * * *