‘I suppose one can’t blame him,’ said Amelia, though her air of disapproval was plain. ‘I saw her at the gymkhana and she’s perfectly lovely. What is it they say in romantic novels – eyes like limpid pools? She has those, all right. But even so, she’s enormously pregnant. No one expects a chap to live like a monk these days just because his wife’s blown up like a barrage balloon.’
‘Well perhaps Leon Courtney’s just an old-fashioned gentleman.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. You know as well as I do that there’s never been any such thing. But anyway, darling, do tell all about Eva. It’s very strange. I thought I could detect a Northumbrian lilt in her voice – Daddy used to go shooting up there and we’d all go up with him, so I know the accent from the staff and gamekeepers and so forth. But I’ve heard that she’s actually a German, is that so?’
‘Well,’ said Idina as the two women moved fractionally closer together, like conspirators sharing a deadly secret, ‘the real British East Africa hands, like Florence Delamere, who’ve been here for years and years, can still remember the first time Eva pitched up in Nairobi, about a year or so before the war. Some ghastly German industrialist arrived in town on the most lavish safari anyone had ever seen, accompanied by a magnificent open motor car in which to go hunting, numerous lorries to cart all his baggage and two huge aeroplanes, made by his own company.’
‘Good lord, what an extraordinary show,’ Amelia said, clearly impressed by such a display of power and wealth.
‘Absolutely,’ Idina agreed. ‘Of course, the whole town turned out to see the flying machines, but by the end of the day there was just as much talk about the ravishing creature who was parading around on the industrialist’s arm, making no bones whatever about being his mistress and calling herself Eva von something-or-other.’
‘And that was the same Eva I saw today?’
‘Indeed she was. And guess who was the white hunter acting as the Germans’ guide?’
‘Goodness, was it Leon Courtney?’
‘The very same. Anyway, Eva and the industrialist – apparently he was the absolute picture of the bullying, bullet-headed Hun – went back to Germany, and that seemed to be that. But then, really very soon after the start of the war, she was mysteriously back in Kenya, having parachuted down to earth from a giant Zeppelin.’
‘Oh, don’t! That’s just too extraordinary!’ Amelia laughed.
‘Well, that’s the story and I’ve heard it from enough people who were here at the time to believe it. Apparently, the Zeppelin crash-landed deep in the heart of Masailand. And it was shot down by …?’ Idina paused, teasingly.
‘No! Don’t tell me! Not Leon again?’
‘Absolutely … and out of the wreckage, looking as pretty as a picture and as fresh as a daisy, steps the lovely Eva and falls, swooning into his arms!’
‘Lucky girl. I’d happily swoon into his arms right now, if he’d have me.’
‘Well, he won’t, so you’ll just have to find another man to swoon at!’
‘Are you sure?’ Amelia asked, wrinkling her porcelain brow with a little frown. ‘It really is too bad to give up without a fight. After all, Leon’s rich as well as divinely handsome. Lusima must be one of the biggest estates in the country.’
‘He paid cash for the land, you know,’ Idina said. ‘Half a million pounds for a hundred and twenty thousand acres, didn’t have to borrow a penny. I know that for an absolute fact because I heard it from the chap who conducted the sale.’
‘Half a million? Cash?’ Amelia gasped.
‘Absolutely. I once plucked up the courage to ask Leon where his money came from it, but he was very coy. First he described it as “war reparations” and then he said it was payment for various patents that had belonged to Eva’s father.’
‘Perhaps he’s a gangster and it’s all the proceeds of his evil crimes!’ said Amelia, excitedly. ‘I rather like the idea of being – what’s the phrase? – a gangster’s moll.’
‘I’m sure you do, duckie, but whatever else he might be, Leon Courtney’s not a criminal. My guess is that it’s something to do with the war.’ Idina’s eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. ‘I tell you what, darling, I shall set you a challenge. I’m going to change the placement I’d planned for the dinner table tonight and put you next to Leon. If you can find out where he got his gold by the time we retire to leave the men to their brandy and cigars I shall be very impressed indeed.’
‘Done!’ said the Hon. Amelia. ‘And I’ll seduce him, too, just you watch me, wife or no wife.’
Idina arched an eyebrow and concluded their little chat: ‘Now, now, darling, let’s not be greedy.’
Thanks to the combined efforts of Idina Hay and her formidable housekeeper Marie, the kitchen staff at Slains had been trained to produce French cuisine that would not have shamed the dinner table of a château on the Loire. The wine, notoriously difficult to keep in good condition in the tropics, was of equally high standard. Leon had long ago learned to pace himself when drinking at altitude, but the woman sitting next to him, who introduced herself as Amelia Cory-Porter, seemed determined to force as much Premier Cru claret as possible down his throat. She was attractive enough, in an obvious, uninteresting way, and covered in far too much make-up for his taste. She was also very clearly determined to get something from him, but Leon was not yet sure quite what that might be.
At first he’d thought she was flirting, for everything he knew about women told him that if he made a pass at her she would very happily oblige. But as the starter of confit duck breasts served with a salad of vegetables from Slains’ own gardens gave way to superb entrecôte steaks served in a pepper sauce, he realized that Amelia was not after his body – or not at this precise moment anyway – but was instead angling for information. It was, of course, good manners to show interest in one’s dining companions and any woman with half a brain knew how to make a man feel as though he was the wisest, most fascinating and witty fellow she had ever met. But Amelia was not flattering, so much as cross-examining him, working her way through his life and becoming more intense in her questioning as she went on. His war service seemed to be of particular interest to her. Leon had done his best to fob her off by saying he never talked about the war, adding that in his experience any man who did was a bounder who was almost certainly lying. ‘Unless, of course, he’s a poet,’ he’d added, hoping she might, like many an idealistic young woman, be distracted by thoughts of Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon and the other bards of war.
Amelia, however, wasn’t distracted for a second. She was like a terrier with the scent of a particularly juicy rabbit in its nostrils. ‘I heard the most extraordinary story about how you’d shot down a giant Zeppelin, single-handed. Do tell, that sounds so brave, is it actually true?’
‘That sounds pretty improbable to me,’ Leon said. ‘Damned hard thing to shoot down, a Zeppelin, just ask any pilot. Now, I’ve talked far too much. You must tell me everything that’s happening in London, what’s new and interesting and so forth. Eva will be thrilled if I can pass on any news of home.’
Leon had been telling the truth, up to a point. It really was extremely hard to down a Zeppelin with machine-gun fire, which was one reason why he had never done any such thing. And Eva would indeed be keen to hear about the
