“I thought you were off to find elephant.”
“I was. But we only got as far as Kampi ya Moto before I told Blix to turn the lorry round. I had to see about a girl.”
I felt myself flush. “Did you read that in a book?”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to be presumptuous. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Do you have other plans for dinner?”
“I should lie and say I do. That would teach you.”
“It might.” He smiled. “Or I might hang around for another day and ask you again.”
Presumptuous as he was, I found myself liking Mansfield. He set us up in the darkest corner of the dining room, and as the courses came and went, he refilled my glass before it was half empty, and leaned over to light my cigarette as soon as I thought to reach for one. His solicitousness reminded me of Frank, but he didn’t have a whit of Frank’s coarseness.
“I loved your stories from the other night. I think I would have been another person entirely if I’d grown up here, as you did.”
“What was the matter with your lot?”
“I was too coddled, for one thing. Too cared for, if that makes any sense.”
I nodded. “I’ve sometimes thought that being loved a little less than others can actually make a person, rather than ruin them.”
“I can hardly imagine someone not loving you. When I move to Kenya we’re going to be great friends.”
“What? You’ll pick up and settle here, just like that?”
“Why not? I’ve been drifting for years, wondering what on earth to do with my inheritance. This seems such a clear direction.”
The word inheritance seemed to flutter over the table. “I’ve never known how to handle money,” I told him. “I’m not sure I understand it.”
“Nor do I. Maybe that’s why it sticks to me like glue.”
I picked up my brandy and rolled the globe of the glass in my palms. “Only trouble sticks to me with any regularity…but I’m learning to think that can shape a person, too.”
“You’re going to force me to say it, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“That you have a wonderful shape.”
—
After dinner he trailed me to the veranda and lit my cigarette with a heavy silver lighter that bore his initials, MM, in a deeply stamped scroll. This was obviously part of the spoils of being a Markham from Nottinghamshire. But I could tell he’d grown up with beauty, too. And culture. He had perfect manners and the kind of optimism that came when you knew that if life didn’t go exactly your way one moment, you could change its mind the next.
As he bent to light his own cigarette, I watched the smooth movement of his hands, feeling there was something awfully familiar about him. Then it struck me. It was Berkeley he reminded me of, in his compactness and dark, slim composure. His easy cultured manner. They were cut from the same cloth.
He looked up. “What?”
“Nothing. You have lovely hands.”
“Do I?” He smiled.
Beyond the pink terrace, the veranda flared out, flat and cool and dark. Fireflies skimmed its surface with plaintive, flickering pulses of desire. “I love it so much here. It’s one of my special places.”
“I have a room,” he said, looking not at me but at the winking tip of his cigarette. “It’s the most charming thing you’ve ever seen. A separate little bungalow with someone’s nice books everywhere and a table made of ivory tusks. Would you like to come for a nightcap?”
Denys’s cottage. He was never there any more, but it made my throat tighten to think the place could belong to anyone else, even for a night.
“That’s sweet of you, but I’m afraid I have to say no. At least for now.”
“I’m being presumptuous again, aren’t I?”
“Maybe so,” I told him. “Sleep well.”
—
The next afternoon Markham asked me to ride out to Njoro with him by car.
“The roads are terrible,” I warned him. “It will take all day.”
“Even better then.”
He didn’t lose his sunny quality even when one of the tyres on the auto blew out on the road with a sharp report, loud as a shotgun. He’d clearly never changed a tyre, so I did it while he watched, as amazed as if I’d pulled the spare from my pocket instead of the boot.
“You’re a remarkable woman,” he said.
“It’s really quite easy.” I poked around for something to wipe my grimy hands on, and finally had to settle for the knees of my slacks.
“Honestly, Beryl. I’ve never met anyone like you. It makes me want to do something rash.”
“Like learn to change a tyre,” I teased.
“Like buy a farm for you.”
“What? You’ve got to be joking.”
“Not at all. We should all get back what we’ve lost if we can. And anyway, it wouldn’t only be for you. I’d love to have that sort of life.”
“We’ve only just met.”