Authors: Tamara Cape
Kerry sat with her head between her knees. The unusual position put a strain on her lower back. She kept still, conscious of every breath, the rise and fall of her chest. There was no movement from the driver
’s side. She prayed that the cat was still there.
She felt his hand at her ear, brushing the hair to one side. His voice came as a soft whisper.
“Quick look . . . branch parallel to the ground, left side.”
She straightened up and took the binoculars. The focus needed no adjusting. She found the branch – and suddenly she was eyeball to eyeball with the big cat. It lay on its belly, legs and tail hanging down. The leopard looked majestic in the yellow light of Africa
, at home in its leafy domain set against the clear sky. A sight to stir the blood. The cat’s look was one of lofty distain; it was aware of the car, but did not yet perceive it as a threat. Kerry watched the beautiful head move as the tongue snaked out to lick a forepaw. She thought of the trade in poached skins . . . and for what? To satisfy the inflated egos of vain women with more money than sense, who refused to acknowledge the obvious: that the spotted coats were only beautiful on their natural owners.
Concerned that even a whisper might disturb the cat, Chad scribbled a note on a scrap of paper.
Swap places – and no funny stuff this time!
Kerry nodded to acknowledge his message and slowly began to slide across. When she was directly over him, she couldn
’t resist a mock collapse – which she checked just as her breasts touched his chest. His expression reflected the double shock of her deliberate act of disobedience and, she suspected, the unexpected bodily contact. She completed her move to the driver’s seat, gripped by convulsions of silent laughter.
“Bitch,” he mouthed, but there was merriment in his eyes.
When Chad had taken his photographs he decided against driving any closer to the leopard. “We’ll leave him in peace.”
They spent a quiet few minutes savouring it all.
The perfect finale to their trip.
Kerry mimicked his words. “Remember the sun
’s position, the breeze, the background insect noise and bird calls – for when you have to paint it.”
Chad grinned, pleased that she had remembered. “Don
’t worry, it’s all in here.” He tapped his head. “Right,” he declared. “As you’re in the driver’s seat, you can take us home.”
Kerry had not expected this.
“Are you sure?”
“Go on – you
’re not going to meet a double-decker bus. But try to keep us out of the Zambezi. The crocs are big and always hungry.”
SEVENTEEN
They brought chairs onto the
stoep
and sat facing the vast river – a scene Kerry cherished as much as the view from the ridge in the Western Reserve. Oddly, despite the nearness of so much water, her nostrils were filled with the dry sweet warmth of Africa.
Chad disappeared to fetch celebratory drinks. As daylight faded, a bushbuck timidly emerged from cover to feed not fifty paces away, while overhead a flight of egrets – white against the darkening sky – passed downriver.
Nowhere else, in Kerry’s experience, could the simple act of sitting quietly reward you as well as in an African game area.
“
Take your driving test asap,” Chad said on his return, his voice carrying a hint of the humour generated at the leopard tree. He poured from a chilled bottle of Grand Cru. “What if the pilots fall ill? Who’s going to take over?”
“Chad, don’t be silly.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I want to continue with my present job much longer.”
“Oh?” He gave her an interested look.
They touched glasses in a silent toast. Kerry took a sip of the cool wine.
“I’m a team person, largely anonymous, in a big corporation. Right?”
“Right.”
“I have ambition. To channel whatever talents I may have to more personal ends.”
“Takes courage –”
Kerry made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
“This trip has been an eye-opener. Wildlife photography, aerial photography, I intend looking into. I
’ve even begun to take an interest in the Art world . . . can’t imagine why.” She broke off and looked at him directly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps I could do PR work for a gallery. My communication skills are good and I’m used to dealing with the public.”
In the distant sky over Zambia lightning flashed. The
sundowner cruise boats passed upriver. Passengers waved from the bar area and Kerry and Chad waved back.
“You’ll miss the flying, should you stop.”
“You’re wrong. It caused mum’s death – I could walk away from it.”
“And the writing?”
“Top priority.
My confidence has grown. I’m ready.”
Kerry knew she should go and prepare the evening meal. After the non-event of their lunch in the car, they needed something substantial. But the tranquillity of nightfall by the great river was extraordinarily special.
Chad was in talkative mood and topped up their glasses.
“Have you studied good books – studied, not just read?”
“Of course. To carry the reader along, there must be plenty of conflict and drama.”
“Well,” Chad drawled mischievously. “You should have picked up a few ideas over the last week or two.”
Kerry smiled. It was true – so much of what had befallen them could go into a story.
“Want to say goodbye to the
Olsens?” he asked.
“Tomorrow – now we must eat.” Kerry got to her feet. “What’s the schedule for our return?”
“No surprises. Same route down as up.”
Kerr
y experienced a tight feeling in her throat. There was no doubt the African bush country had a hold over her. She felt sad at the thought of returning to civilization.
“When will you start painting?” She asked dully.
“Immediately . . .”
“Go ahead, say it. Immediately I’m gone.”
Her companion fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment.
“Kerry, let’s not kid ourselves. Our arrangement was for three weeks. The time will soon be up, but I want you to know I’ve enjoyed your company. Apart from one or two hiccups, we’ve got on pretty well.”
“Same for me,” Kerry sighed wistfully. “I’ll miss these game reserves so much. Will there be time to visit Anna Grobler before I leave?”
Chad looked at her in surprise. “Didn’t I mention it? I saw her when I flew down to
Jo’burg. She insisted I bring you out to the farm. Something’s up. She wouldn’t say more.”
***
To her relief, Kerry had discovered early that Chad was an easy man to cook for. He was undemanding, appreciative and never left a scrap on his plate. “I’ll eat anything that doesn’t eat me first,” he had told her, with a twinkle in his eye. She suspected it went back to his student days. Tight budgets. Basic meals the order of the day.
In the lodge’s small kitchen she set about creating something from their remaining supplies. She had planned wisely, bought only what was needed. She would not cook again until they reached Chad’s cottage at
Kyalami.
Damn! The tin-opener was slipping on the rim of a tin of mushrooms. Well, Chad could open it, while she saw to everything else.
He was not in the lounge. The door to his bedroom was ajar. An oddly stifled reply greeted her call. Kerry knocked and pushed open the door.
Naked, save for a pair of shorts, a red-faced Chad held an exerciser gadget in a crouched pose that reminded her of Rodin’s,
The Thinker
. The hard muscles of his upper back, shoulders and biceps were taut, and the veins of his forearms stood out like lengths of cord.
He relaxed his grip and stood up, breathing deeply. Kerry noticed his brow was damp with perspiration. She had never before seen him shirtless. There was a marked contrast between his tanned limbs, face and neck and the parts of his torso the sun rarely reached. A fine mat of hair covered his chest, dropping in a centre line to his navel and beyond. His stomach was flat, and the swelling upper-body strength coupled with the brawny solidity of thigh and calf added up to a man
with greater physical presence than any other she had known.
Kerry found it difficult to
drag her eyes away. She apologized for intruding.
“So, this is what you get up to? I’ve often wondered.” She had noticed that each evening he disappeared for twenty minutes before they sat down to eat.
Chad showed no embarrassment. “You have your journal – I have this.”
“
Carry on – don’t mind me.”
He laughed lightly. “Good male bodies are
made
. It takes physical work plus proper nutrition to build muscles –”
“Or you can cheat with steroids.”
He nodded. “Pumping iron has never appealed to me, so I use a Bullworker.”
Kerry let her eyes linger. She felt like a judge at an agricultural show. God, was she turning into a voyeur? She couldn’t help thinking of their struggle in the car at the leopard tree.
“Remember this talk when you come to write about men.” Chad’s tone was serious now. “Women writers often give their male characters fabulous bodies – then
spoil
it all by saying it comes from playing squash three times a week. Games like squash don’t build muscles – they get you fit. There’s a difference.”
“Good point. Any other pearls of wisdom?”
“On our pet subject – African wildlife – you’ve got to be accurate. I’ve seen some sloppy howlers in print, some from big-name writers. Never mention deer, antlers, water buffalo, scorpion bites or huge poisonous snakes. Our largest snake – the python – is non-venomous. One mistake can spoil a whole book for a reader.”
Kerry was warming to the subject. “One clanger I
’ve seen again and again in books is the misspelling of the first name in Johnnie Walker scotch.”
Chad laughed. “And what do you deduce from that, my dear Watson?”
“That the writer was not a serious whisky drinker.”
“Absolutely correct.”
The South African put on a faux English accent. He walked around the room head down, puffing on an imaginary pipe, in a parody of Sherlock Holmes. “But you have overlooked an important point.”
“What
’s that, my good fellow?”
“The opposite could be true – an
over
indulgence caused the error.”
Chad
windmilled his arms to relax the muscles. He adopted a boxer’s crouch and flicked out a few jabs in Kerry’s direction.
“Are you planning to put me in your book?”
“Books.” She smiled. “I’d be stupid not to draw on some of our experiences. You fancy yourself as the fictional hero type, don’t you?”
“Why not?”
Chad grinned and reached for his shirt. “He always gets the girl.”
Kerry stood speechless for several moments. What the hell was going on behind those inscrutable eyes?
She had no chance to find out. The first whiff of trouble reached her.
“
The stove!” Her nostrils flared in alarm at the acrid aroma. She tossed the can and tin-opener to him. “Open this, please – and hurry.”
EIGHTEEN
Throughout the trip Kerry had experienced little difficulty in getting off to sleep. Active days spent in temperatures around the hundred
mark would tire even the hardiest workhorse. When her head hit the pillow, there was a short period of awareness, then Africa’s insect-and-frog night chorus faded in a quick slide into oblivion. Sometimes the great adventure continued in her subconscious with tensions and dangers so real she awoke before dawn in a warm sweat, with the single sheet kicked off the side of the bed.
Tonight was different. For one thing there was the complication of a full moon. Its power – like that of the sun – seemed so much greater in Africa than elsewhere. It flooded her room with a pale half-light – the
thin curtain might as well not have been there. She could easily distinguish every feature and object around her. Another thing she had to contend with was her own mind. Tonight it refused to switch off; it was just as fresh and inquiring as it had been early that morning.
What she was grappling with – not for the first time – was her relationship with Chad. Now that a
leopard had finally been found and photographed, it was the only thing that mattered to her.
This evening the electricity had sparked between them
yet again. They were eating bananas and oranges to round off a mediocre meal which she had rescued from disaster with not a moment to spare. Despite her problems in the kitchen, their mood was friendly and talkative at the close of what – after a disappointing start – had turned into a most productive day.
“You threatened a fitting punishment had I scared off the leopard,” she said. “Naturally, I’m intrigued.”
Chad popped a segment of orange into his mouth and chewed.
“I’m not sure you’d want to hear it.”
“Tell me. I’ll keep on bugging you till you do.”
He sat back and regarded her, his eyes steady across the table.
“Remember our first meeting? When you learned I was an artist you thought I wanted to paint you. The idea stuck in my mind. So when I thought the leopard was probably gone –”
“You thought of painting me?” Kerry found the idea flattering. “That’s hardly a punishment.”
“Naked?”
Kerry felt colour rush to her cheeks. She remembered his appraisal of her legs
earlier in the day. How silly of her not to have anticipated something like this. His mischievous eyes held hers until she turned away.
“I’d never have agreed.”
“We’ll never know, will we?”
“So that’s how you get your kicks,” she retorted, bristling, sensing another battle of sorts building
between them. “How many of your girlfriends displaying their charms have you got on canvas?”
“You would have been the first,” he said casually. “Not that I’ve lacked opportunities. Several women have indicated that they’d be willing models should I wish to try my hand at nudes.”
“And you turned them down?” Kerry found it hard to keep an inflection of disbelief out of her voice.
“Not only that – I’ve refused hard cash commissions to paint wives and . . . lady friends.”
“Mistresses?”
“Whatever. It’s not considered polite to ask.” The artist’s mouth narrowed. “People have the right to hang whatever they like on their bedroom walls. In my opinion a tastefully done nude is as good as anything.”
“Granted. What interests me is your spurning what I imagine most straight male artists would consider dream commissions. The phrase “nice work if you can get it” comes to mind.”
Chad’s lips twisted into a wicked smile. “Are you questioning my sexuality? I thought that had been established long ago.”
“Of course not . . .” Kerry faltered. “I didn’t mean to imply –”
“It’s a matter of self-preservation, of reputation. Imagine what goes through the buyer’s mind. Did the fellow with the brushes join his naked wife on the chaise longue? Whether he did or not is irrelevant. If a guy ponders on it long enough, he
believes
it. Then there’s the woman, the model. She, naturally, confides in her girlfriends who – out of jealousy or whatever – wonder aloud to
their
friends whether her charms got a rise out of old Toulouse behind the easel.”
“Charmingly put,” Kerry was with him now. “So rumours start –”
“Only two know the truth, but twenty-two
think
they do.” Chad laughed. “I’ll stick to animals.”
***
Sleep was no nearer. Kerry lay enclosed by the mosquito netting which hung like a frail tent from an overhead support. Occasionally she heard the hum of an insect as it fought the net fibres in a vain attempt to reach her. The night temperature was such that windows had to be left open. Any breeze was desirable, even if it carried unwelcome visitors.
There had been no more talk of nudes or punishment. However, the exchange had stimulated their senses and led to a reluctance by both to separate and retire to their rooms.
Kerry could no longer deny to herself her feelings towards Chad. It wasn’t purely a physical attraction – although goodness knows that was strong enough. Gradually she had come to realize that his often hard and forthright colonial exterior was misleading. Under the surface lay a man of warm generosity and humour who had given her so much and whom she admired in many ways. Hanging over everything like a dark noxious cloud, however, was his one unforgivable failing – his use of women solely as objects of pleasure – first spoken of by his friend Anna Grobler and which he himself had not tried to cover up or deny.
Kerry had been absolutely right to spurn him the first night in the Western Game Reserve. Nevertheless, a mutual attraction continued – overwhelming desire never far below the surface. Rightly or wrongly, she wanted Chad Lindsay, wildlife painter par excellence, making love to her as part of the glorious memory. She
had chastised herself for it, damned what she saw as a weakness – but it was no good. He only had to look at her in that way of his and she was gone.
There had seemed so much time. Whether her illness and hospital stay had derailed their progression to intimacy, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that in the morning they would begin the drive south and it had not happened. She could only conclude that Chad had taken no to mean never – or at least not this trip.
She seriously questioned the sense in seeing him again.
How many women, old girlfriends and new, would he bed before her next stopover in South Africa?
***
A new sound carried to her through the open window: snapping, breaking vegetation – different from the slapping palm fronds above the roof.
Elephants? No, the sounds were too delicate. Whatever was out there was close to the lodge. And moonlight bathed the whole area so it resembled a gigantic theatre stage.
As Kerry slipped naked from under the mosquito net she heard a soft drumming on her door – a finger-tip knock. Her first thought was to dive back into bed. Then she realized Chad’s presence at her door could be linked to the outside sounds. She quickly slipped on her short kimono wrap, knotted it at the front and opened the door.
He stood there in the pearly light wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He signalled for her to follow. She asked no questions: instinctively, she recognised the need for complete silence. They padded soundlessly on bare feet to his room, the cotton of Kerry’s robe cool against her body.
Moonlight flooded through the window – his room was front left, hers front right
; each facing the Zambezi. The curtains had been parted six inches. Kerry looked out. She could make out the features of the terrain. She listened and the sounds came as before: straining, snapping vegetation. Much closer now.
Chad tapped her shoulder and pointed left – and in the same instant she saw it.
A big kudu, clearly visible in the moonlight, stood no more than ten paces away. She watched the handsome antelope reach up, neck stretched, to pluck shoots from a tall bush, his magnificent spiralled horns laid back along his neck.
Kerry felt the breeze caress her face and throat. Goosebumps rose as her whole body tingled with excitement.
She guessed the animal was working his way along the strip of bush from the river, after drinking there under the full moon. She knew kudu were browsers and only males carried horns – their length and unique curvature ensuring their status as a prized hunters’ trophy down through the years. They were shy animals and fleet of foot – no easy target – yet here was one completely unaware of their presence, going about his business almost within touching distance.
The kudu moved on and was lost from sight at the side of the lodge. Kerry was bubbling with excitement.
“Fantastic sight! The horns are amazing –”
“Kerry . . .” Chad’s voice was tight and husky. Even in the half light it was clear he was not of a mind to talk about the kudu. It seemed that while she had been engrossed in what was happening outside, his thoughts had been on her.
His arms snaked around her waist, drawing her to him. His mouth descended to claim hers – first tentatively then with crushing force. A wave of sensual feeling swept over her. She responded, her tongue meeting and moving against his. This was what Kerry had wanted, longed for, believed would never happen. They kissed, their bodies moulded together. In no time the clean freshness they had brought from their beds gave way to a warm musky mix of awakening male and female sexuality.
She was lost. There was no turning back this time. The current of her desires carried her on – Chad carried her on, his mouth at her throat, eyes, ear-lobes,
a hand in her hair caressing her slender neck, the other roving up and down her spine and over the swell of her buttocks. As the hunger of his desire mounted, low groans escaped Chad’s lips. Kerry found herself responding in kind.
Yet, something was holding him back. His was not the dominant performance of the experienced seducer that she had expected. The next moment he gave voice to his fear.
“Kerry . . . you’re not going to deny me again?”
She reacted by breaking free of his embrace, taking his hand and pulling him to the bed.
That one small act vanquished all his inhibitions. Now they were united in thought and purpose.
***
Later, as they were about to begin again, Kerry scrambled off the bed, drawn back to the window by some unknown force.
“Let’s go outside . . . the riverbank. No clothes, just a blanket.”
“Are you crazy?” He outlined the dangers they would face: scorpions, snakes, perhaps an angry hippo joining them.
“Coward!”
She baited him. “Where’s your spirit of adventure, Africa man?”
He made a grab for her. “You deserve to have that lovely bottom spanked.”
Kerry eluded him with some deft footwork. She stood naked in the moonlit bedroom, gripped by an overwhelming sense of her own sexual power.
“Well, I’m going,” she taunted.
With a bounding rush he intercepted her.
“You’re going nowhere,” he growled. “Trust me – this is
not
the place to engage in
al fresco
sex. Leave it to the animals.”
Kerry saw the sense of his argument and made no further move. A moment later she burst into a fit of laughter.
“Imagine filling in an insurance claim. Nature of illness: Malaria. Where contacted: while making love at two in the morning by the side of the Zambezi, attacked by squadrons of mossies. Suffered multiple bites to bum region which soon resembled the surface of the moon – all mountains and craters.”
“You’re putting ideas in my head,” Chad said, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her to his bed.