It began to rain on our way back. By the time we reached the edge of Karen’s lawn, we were slick and streaming, our boots caked to the knees with red Kikuyu mud. Laughing at the sight of each other, we came around the veranda, beginning to loosen our wet things. There sat Blix, unshaven and covered with dust. He’d raced ahead of the rain, apparently, and now had an uncorked bottle of brandy at his side.
“I’ve arrived just in time. Hello, Beryl. Hello, Tanne, dear.”
Karen said, “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”
“It is still my house.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Their teasing had a wicked edge, but under the surface there was more. Some part of whatever had stitched them together was still alive and well. That was obvious even to me.
Karen and I went in to change, and when we reappeared, Blix had settled himself more comfortably and was smoking a pipe. His tobacco smelled exotic, like something he’d found only by belly-crawling through the far reaches of the continent. “You look well, Beryl.”
“So do you. Dr. Turvy must be earning his keep.”
“He’s got you enlisted in that silly game?” Karen turned to Blix. “Where have you been this time?”
“Uganda and then back through Tanganyika with a Vanderbilt—after rhinoceros. I nearly lost him, actually.”
“The Vanderbilt or the rhino?”
“That’s funny, darling. The Vanderbilt. Two lethal-looking males charged straight at him. The man’s very lucky I had the right gun on me.” He turned to me. “A rhino isn’t something you want in your back yard. It’s like a massive snorting locomotive encased in unconquerable hide. When threatened, it will crash through anything, even steel.”
“Weren’t you afraid?”
“Not really.” He smiled. “I had the right gun.”
“If you sit at the Muthaiga Club long enough,” Karen said, “you’ll hear any number of hunters making their kills again. The stories grow bigger and more harrowing with every telling. Bror is the only one I know who makes mountains into molehills instead of the other way round.”
“Except for Denys, you mean,” Blix corrected.
“And Denys. Yes.” She didn’t seem remotely flustered at hearing Denys’s name roll from her husband’s lips. And Blix had said it so easily I couldn’t imagine that Denys was Karen’s lover. Still, the whole dance was fascinating. “Did you see him out there?” she wanted to know.
Blix shook his head. “They say he’s gone west, into the Congo.”
“What’s that country like?” I asked him.
“Very, very dark.” He sipped at his brandy. “They have every kind of snake there, and some say cannibals.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” Karen narrowed her eyes.
“No, inspire you. Tanne scribbles stories all the time, did you know, Beryl? She’s quite good, actually.”
“I’ll tell you one by the fire some night.” She waved away his praise. “I’m more of a storyteller than a writer in any case.”
“Denys mentioned you loved stories here.”
“Oh, we do,” she insisted. “And Bror is awfully skilled at them as well. Perhaps he’ll play Scheherazade for us tonight.”
“If I don’t have to pretend to be a virgin,” he said, and we all laughed.
—
That evening we had dinner on the veranda. The Ngong Hills went plum coloured and almost hypnotically still as Blix treated us to more tales from his Vanderbilt safari. One rolled easily into the next. He had dozens and dozens of them and didn’t fall silent for more than a few minutes at a time as Karen’s cook, Kamante, brought us a string of dishes. There was lightly breaded chicken in a cream sauce, roasted vegetables with herbs, a corn pudding studded with mushrooms and thyme, ripe cheese, and oranges. Blix kept our glasses filled, and by the time we reached the final course, I was floating because of the wine, and also surprised at how very much I liked these two. There wasn’t anything simple about them, and I preferred that, and trusted it. My life wasn’t simple either.
When a hooked moon had risen into the sky, and we’d had our pudding and our Calvados and our coffee, Blix said good night and began his journey back to town.
“Isn’t he a little too tight to be driving?” I asked her.
“I don’t think he can drive any other way.” She was silent for several minutes, looking out into the dark. “He’s asked me for a divorce. That’s why he came.”
I knew from Cockie he’d asked more than once, but also that it would be cruel to let on. “Will you give him one?”
She shrugged. “How would it be to have two Baronesses Blixen in the colony? There’s not room, you see. One would be elbowed out and forgotten.”
“I can’t imagine anyone forgetting you,” I said. I wasn’t flattering her. I truly couldn’t.
“Well, we shall see.”
“How is it you’ve managed to stay friends?”
“We were friends before we were anything else. It was his younger brother Hans I was taken with. This was long ago, in Denmark. Bror became my confidant when Hans married another.” She paused and shook her head so that her long silver earrings tinkled.
“Younger brother? He couldn’t have offered you a title then?”
“No. Only love.” She smiled darkly. “But it wasn’t to be. And then Bror thought of this, a new start in Africa. If only it hadn’t brought a mountain of debt.”