his hair curled a little at his neck, and the bareness of his neck and the sweetness of that curling hair nearly did me in. He dipped the handkerchief into the stream and passed it over my face, wiping away the blood and the sweat, diluting my tears. “It’s all right, princess,” he said softly.
If I had leaned into him, he would have held me then. But I didn’t lean. I just sat on a rock, letting him clean me. “You’re a fool,” I told him. “You should have shot from cover as well.”
He didn’t say a word. He merely crouched at the stream and washed the blood from the handkerchief, wringing it out until the water ran clear.
“You put yourself between the buffalo and us to give us a chance to get away if it charged,” I accused.
He swivelled on his heels. “That’s my job. The clients’ safety comes first.”
“And if it’s a question of us or you, it must be you?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, that’s the job.”
“It’s a damned stupid way to earn a living.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette case. He extracted two cigarettes and lit them, drawing deeply until the tips glowed hot. He handed one to me and I took it. It wasn’t black and sleek like my Sobranies, but it would do. My hand shook a little, and he pretended not to notice. The cigarette case was slim and silver, sterling from the look of it. A tip from a wealthy client, no doubt. Most likely a woman.
“Why do you do this? Haven’t you any education?” The words were needle-sharp and chosen to prick.
He pulled thoughtfully on his cigarette. “I have as much education as any man needs.”
“Not if you have to risk your life just to haul stupid rich people around to shoot at animals.”
“Well, the rich are the only ones who can afford to pay me.”
He was smiling and I threw the remains of my cigarette at him. He ground it out slowly under his heel and reached a broad hand to help me up. I took it.
“Come on, princess. It’s time to get you on the road.”
I rocked a little on my heels. “I think I’m going to faint.”
“Don’t you dare,” he ordered through gritted teeth.
He made to loop an arm around my waist, but I batted him away. “I can walk on my own, thank you.”
I pushed off and made my wobbly way back to the truck, scrubbing uselessly at the bloody streaks on my white dress and shoes. I looked like a walking wedding night.
Dodo rushed from the truck as I approached. “Delilah! Darling, are you all right?”
“Quite,” I said with an artificially bright smile.
And then I slithered to the ground in as graceful a heap as I could manage.
I came to a few minutes later, my cheeks stinging and gasping for air as something toxically alcoholic was being forced between my lips. I shoved it away.
“I am awake, thank you,” I said coldly. Ryder shrugged and took a swig from the flask he’d been shoving in my mouth.
“Your loss. It’s single malt.”
I rubbed at my cheek. “Did you hit me?”
He shrugged. “It seemed called for under the circumstances.”
He moved away then, leaving Dora to help me up. “I have a vinaigrette somewhere, but Ryder said he could bring you to faster.”
“I’ll just bet he did,” I said, testing my jaw. “It’s going to bruise.”
“Not at all,” Dora assured me. “It was really just a tap, I promise.”
I took her word for it, although the pain in my cheek said otherwise, and I heaved myself into the truck. I turned to speak to Ryder.
“Get us to Fairlight. Get us there as quickly as humanly possible. And then go. I think I’ve seen quite enough of you for now.”
He smiled. “Pity you feel that way.”
I thought of the extremely arrogant bet he’d made at the club and felt a stab of satisfaction that at least I was making him eat his own heart out.
“Really? And why is that?” I asked sweetly, prolonging the pleasure of the moment and his humiliation.
He turned to face me. “Because I live at Fairlight.” He leaned closer, so close I could see the yellow flecks in the blue of his eyes. “Howdy, neighbour.”
6
We drove on in silence. Dora slept, mouth open, snoring gently as she cradled her flask. I made no move towards the luncheon basket and neither did he. He seemed content to drive forever on roads that stretched off to nowhere. The murram gave way to straight dirt, but that didn’t slow him down. My grandfather always swore it was better to drive as fast as possible on a dirt road because you were halfway through the next bump by the time you felt the first. Ryder seemed to believe the same. We flew down the road, raising a cloud of dust that must have been visible for miles across the savannah.
Ryder didn’t say a word, but his silence was comfortable. He wasn’t upset in the least. My silence was different. Mine had sharp edges and a thorny underbelly, and my biggest annoyance was that he didn’t seem to notice. I had planned to punish him with it, but if he didn’t even care, there wasn’t much point. I finally sighed and asked the inevitable.
“How much farther?”
He shrugged. “Nobody measures miles in Africa. Journeys are measured in time – a two-day walk, a four-hour drive. But it depends on the roads. When the rains have come, it can take two days to get to Nairobi. It’s dry just now, so we’ll only be another half hour or so.”
I resorted to my stocking flask then, taking discreet sips at first, but subsiding eventually into the deep pulls of an accomplished drinker. I felt only a little better as we approached Fairlight. There were no gates – or rather, there were, but they were rusted, hanging limply from broken hinges.
“I do hope this is not a sign of things to come,” I muttered darkly, but Ryder said nothing. He wore a grim smile I did not like, and I soon realised why.
The estate was, in kindest terms, a wreck. The fences were broken, offering a gap-toothed smile to the savannah beyond, while the house itself was long and low, squatting with its back to the drive. It was built of solid stone and handsome enough, but the trim was chipped and peeling and the boards of the veranda were warped. I alighted from the truck without a word and stood, overcome by the awfulness of it all. From the overgrown bushes to the torn curtains at the windows, the entire place lacked care. I thought of the sketches in Nigel’s diary and could have wept. It was like being shown a photograph of a winsome orphan one meant to adopt, only to arrive and find the child had rickets and a snotty nose and was dressed in rags. I felt my shoulders sag as I stood, rooted to the spot.
Of all emotions, disappointment
