Drowning (3 page)

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.

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.

“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.