A Spear of Summer Grass

17



The next morning I instructed the farmhands to plow the field of cannabis under and reroute the irrigation pipes to the struggling pyrethrum crop. Gideon shook his head and looked mournfully at me, but he would say nothing beyond, “This was not wise, Bibi.” He disappeared then, and I walked out to the fields to make sure the farmhands were doing as instructed.

I was standing propped against a tree and watching them when Rex strode up behind me. He was dressed for town with a lightweight suit and a freshly shaven chin.

“Good morning, Rex.”

He didn’t bother with a greeting. “I came to see if you were all right.”

“Surely you didn’t walk all the way from your farm dressed like that.”

He didn’t smile. “I’m on my way into Nairobi. I left the car on the road.” He paused, his eyes searching my face. “You haven’t answered. Are you all right?”

I smiled. “It would take a bit more than an oaf like Gates to rattle me. I’m just sorry I wasted two bullets making my point. Those rounds are damned expensive.”

His expression relaxed then, and he even attempted a small smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I hate you living here so unprotected.”

“I can take care of myself, Rex.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He stepped forward and laid his hands on my shoulders. “Delilah, things are changing. Things I can’t discuss just yet. I wish I could talk to you, tell you everything. But that just isn’t possible. I can only say that you are important to me, terribly important. And your safety is paramount.”

If that little speech was meant to comfort me, all it did was muddy the waters. And to add to the confusion, he suddenly bent his head and kissed me on the cheek, hard and quick.

He released me and turned on his heel, striding back in the direction he’d come. I stood staring after him, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Dora walked over. “What was Rex doing here?”

“Making certain we were all right.”

“By kissing you?”

“So you saw that, did you?”

“It was difficult to miss.” She gave a little sigh. “Delilah, he’s married.”

“I know that,” I told her, my voice sharp with indignation. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me.”

“I didn’t see you push him away.” I didn’t answer. “Would you have if he had continued?”

“I don’t deal in hypotheticals,” I said loftily.

“Delilah, really. You can’t go on like this, doing whatever you like with no thought to the consequences. One of these days someone is going to get very badly hurt in your little games.”

Her blood was hot for once. Her hands, her capable, quiet Dora hands, were balled into fists at her sides, and she was flushed.

“You shouldn’t let your temper get the better of you,” I told her. “It makes your complexion go blotchy.”

She took a step forward. “I mean it, Delilah. You can joke all you want and pretend nothing is serious. But other people have feelings, too, you know. And those feelings can run quite deep.”

I folded my arms. “Whose feelings are we talking about? Helen’s? Because Rex seems to be fairly far down on her list of people to do these days. And if he comes sniffing around me, maybe it’s because he’s a little lonely, have you ever thought of that?”

The colour in her face ebbed a little. “What are you saying? Have you started an affair with Rex already?”

“Of course not.” My teeth snapped hard on the words. She was pushing me past even my endurance. “And I don’t intend to. We’re just friends—not that it’s any of your business. But if I did, I don’t think it would be the worst thing anyone has ever done. They have an open marriage.”

“People always say they have an open marriage when they’re trying to justify their adultery.”

“What do you want from me, Dora? You know what I am. You’ve known me longer than anyone and you know I do as I please. Leopards don’t change their spots.”

I walked away from her then, leaving her to oversee the destruction of the cannabis field. I could feel her eyes boring into me as I left.

We didn’t speak the rest of that day, but in the evening a messenger came with a handwritten invitation from Helen. I shoved it back into the envelope but not before Dora had spotted the handwriting.

“Is that a summons?” she asked coldly.

“She’s having a party tomorrow and I am invited.”

“Just you?” There was an ugly note of triumph in her voice and I knew she was hoping that Helen planned to put me straight about any possible involvement with Rex. Of course, I wasn’t planning an involvement with Rex, but it was easy to see how our friendship could be misconstrued. True, he was older, but still handsome and with a vitality that could easily put men half his age to shame. And Rex was solid as Stonehenge. He was established, with an air of command that put him head and shoulders above most men. Kit paled in comparison, and although my afternoons with him were deeply pleasurable, even pleasure palls when it has nothing else going for it. As for Ryder...I pushed all thoughts of him aside, as I had been doing since he left on safari. There was no point in thinking about Ryder. No, Rex was a friend. Under other circumstances, he could have been more, but I was behaving perfectly well where he was concerned. It irritated me to no end that Dora refused to see that. I didn’t like having to explain myself to anyone, least of all a wet rag like Dodo.

I smoothed the envelope and slipped it into my pocket.

“Yes. Just me.”

* * *

The next evening Kit came to collect me before the party. I was still dressing when he arrived, tying on my black silk ribbon. I wore Moses’ bracelet to add a touch of the exotic, and I had varnished my nails a poison-green to match my beaded dress. My dancing shoes were walking sin—the highest heels I owned and designed to make a man look twice. Kit gave a low whistle as he stood in the doorway of my bedroom.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s bad manners to invite yourself into a lady’s boudoir?”

He held up the dangling ends of his bow tie. “I never was very good with these things. Help.”

“You’re thirty-five, Kit. How have you never managed to learn how to tie a bow tie?”

He shrugged. “Rebellion against the establishment. Besides, I usually wear a cravat. Much less fuss and you can always tie someone up with it,” he said, leering a little.

I slid the tie out from under his collar. “And you think you can’t have fun with a bow tie? Fine, I’ll teach you how to tie it. But pay close attention.”

I propped my foot on the dressing stool and slid my dress up slowly. I slipped the tie behind my thigh and brought the ends forward.

“Now, you see how one end is longer than the other? Bring that across, and over and up from behind. Like this.”

He put out his hand and I slapped it away. “Mind your manners. Pull the ends nice and tight, as snug as you can. This is where it gets tricky, so pay attention.” I shifted the short end into position and wrapped the long end firmly around it. “Pretend it’s a butterfly and hold the two wings together,” I instructed, pinching the two loops tightly in one hand. “Now, you see the hole back here? All you do is push this bit all the way through. Then drop your hands. The wings will fan back out and you just have to give them a little tweak. Nothing to it.” I turned my thigh this way and that for him to admire my handiwork.

He reached out again and I slapped his hand a second time. “Naughty, naughty.” I untied the bow and draped it over his shoulder. “Your turn.”

I spun him around to face the mirror and raised my hands under his arms to help him. It took him the better part of ten minutes to get it right and four more smacks to the hand, but he mastered it and stepped back, preening a little as he shot his cuffs over a sharp gold wristwatch I hadn’t seen before. The art business must have been improving, I decided.

“Quite dapper,” he said. “But I still say you’re a cold little tease to do that to a man and not lend him a helping hand.” He took my hand in his and laid it flat against his belly. He began to slide it lower down, his eyes never leaving mine.

Just as I touched the button on his trousers, I lifted my hand away. “But now you have something to think about during dinner.”

On the way out, I poked my head into the drawing room, but Dora was busy eating her heart out and sticking things into a scrapbook. She didn’t look up when Kit and I walked through, but I could feel her thinking about us.

“Good evening, Dora,” Kit said. There was a note of laughter, barely suppressed in his voice. Dora flushed deeply and murmured a greeting.

“Have fun with your glue pot,” I called as I slammed the front door. I fairly ran to the car and threw myself in. The night was warm and Kit drove fast, racing the moon as it rose high and full over the landscape. The house was ablaze with lights, and one of the native servants opened the door to us.

“Memsa will receive you in the bath,” he said, escorting us to Helen’s suite. I darted a glance at Kit, but he merely smiled. The servant tapped and opened the door without waiting. The famous pink quartz bathtub was filled nearly to the brim with rose-scented water. Helen was stretched out, her white breasts and knees rising over the foaming water, an aging Aphrodite.

“Darlings! I’m so glad you could come. Help yourselves to a drink.”

There was a drinks tray set up on her vanity and Kit poured us each a stiff gin. The Pembertons, newly back from the coast, were already there. Gervase was standing in the corner nursing his glass while Bianca sat on the closed toilet, fiddling with a silver syringe.

“Dear Bianca, always so clever with a needle,” Helen said with a malicious laugh. Bunny Stevenson perched on the edge of the bath, playfully flipping water at Helen’s nipples. She splashed water back on him, soaking his shirtfront until she subsided into gales of laughter. It seemed forced, that laughter—brittle and hectic—and I wondered if she had helped herself to Bianca’s drugs.

“Well, if I’d known we were dining in the bathroom, I wouldn’t have bothered to do my hair,” I said coolly. “The humidity will wreck it.”

Helen waved a soapy hand. “Never fear, darling. We’re finished up in here. Let’s have dinner, shall we?” She rose and the doctor handed her a towel. She didn’t bother to dry herself. She wrapped her wet body in a peignoir of pale pink silk dripping in marabou feathers. The damp patches turned the fabric transparent and clinging.

She put an arm through mine like a gossipy schoolgirl sharing confidences. “I am passionate about history. Did you know French queens and courtesans received their guests in the bath? And Regency belles used to dampen the chemises they wore under their dresses to show off their figures. I’m just paying homage to history,” she insisted before indulging in another fit of laughter.

I didn’t bother to answer her. I doubted she would notice. She ushered us into the dining room where I was surprised to find Mr. Halliwell looking only a little uncomfortable. Helen sidled up to him, pressing her breasts against his arm.

“I’m so glad you came, Lawrence. I was afraid that after last time, you might be afraid to,” she said. She pulled a feather from her sleeve and tickled him with it. I glanced at Kit, but he merely shot me a mischievous look, and I realised he must have known what sort of mood Helen would be in before we arrived. And not telling me about it was payment in kind for teasing him with the bow tie.

We had just started on the soup when the door opened. “I do hope I’m not too late.”

I looked up and for a split second forgot how to breathe. I had never seen Ryder in anything other than his bush clothes. He cleaned up well. His hair was slicked back and much darker. The always-present five o’clock shadow had been neatly barbered off, and he was dressed impeccably in a black evening suit with starched shirt. Only the gold earrings in his ears gave him away for the pirate he was. He slid into the chair next to me and I saw the tiny thread of dried blood just beneath his ear where he had nicked himself shaving. I had a sudden urge to put out my tongue and taste it. He swivelled his head then, and I dropped my eyes. The servants jumped to bring him a plate of soup.

The others greeted him, but I applied myself to my soup. After a moment, the conversations broke off into smaller groups, and he leaned close, his lips near enough to my ear to raise gooseflesh. “I hear you’ve had some trouble.”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Did you get your bag?”

He flashed me a brilliant smile. “And a tip big enough to buy another duka.”

“Good for you.”

But in spite of his successful trip, I detected an edginess to him. He seemed watchful, and occasionally, I noticed his eyes flicker quickly to Helen and around the table again, as if waiting for something. The atmosphere was heightened somehow with Rex gone, and I did not put it down entirely to Helen’s odd mood. The men drank heavily, particularly Kit, who seemed determined to drink himself into a stupor before the cheese course. Gervase began to recite some of his gloomy poetry, this one about a man in love with the corpse of a girl he once knew, and Bunny kept kissing Helen’s arms as she tried to eat.

Across the table from me, Bianca’s pupils were huge in the candlelight, and I thought of the Renaissance beauties who dilated their eyes with belladonna to make themselves more alluring. It didn’t really do Bianca any favours. She was talking more than usual, her colour high and her voice sharp. She caught me looking at her and peered across the table.

“What’s that you’re wearing? Is that native jewellery?” She rose up out of her chair and leaned across the table, putting one knee into her plate as she tried for a closer look. I held up my wrist and she shrieked a little. “How primitive! Do you mean to start a new fashion?”

I shrugged as Gervase put an arm around her waist and coaxed her back into her seat. “Maybe. I liked the line of green beads in it with my dress, and I thought it made for an unusual touch.”

“Very becoming,” Helen said. I was about to explain that the beads were unique to the Masai in Gideon’s village, but before I could open my mouth, Bianca had started throwing bits of her bread roll at Lawrence Halliwell.

I rolled my eyes at Ryder. “Food fights?”

He continued to eat calmly as a chop bone whizzed past his ear. “I would have thought that was right up your alley.”

I gave him a cool glance. “Not really. I prefer more grown-up kicks.”

He didn’t reply, and the food fight fizzled to a stop just as soon as it started. Bianca’s shrieking laughter turned maudlin, and by the time dessert was served, she had reached for her needle again, this time injecting herself openly at the dinner table. Helen remonstrated with her.

“Bianca, really! Don’t indulge too much. The numbers are uneven as it is. We shall want every woman at her best.” Bianca was either not in the mood to play Helen’s games or she was too far gone to pay attention. She rose from the table and began to dance one of her flamenco measures, clicking her fingers instead of castanets and flapping her shawl around like a great clumsy bird.

Helen shot me a conspiratorial wink, and before I could work out what she meant, the servants cleared the table and left the long expanse of polished wood bare. Helen rose and plucked five feathers from her sleeve. “There are five gentlemen and three ladies, so I’m afraid we shall have to be a trifle creative.”

She placed a feather in front of each man. “Each man will blow his feather across the table into the lap of the woman of his choice. She must go with the man whose feather first lands in her lap,” she instructed. “The guest rooms have all been made ready for you, and if you feel like inviting one of the remaining two gentlemen to watch or join in, feel free. Round two will begin with a sheet game in two hours!” she finished gaily.

She rang a little crystal bell and the men began to blow. Bunny was puffing his cheeks so hard I was surprised he didn’t have an apoplexy right there. He was blowing his feather towards Helen, and she was smiling benignly at him. Kit blew once on his and collapsed in a fit of giggling, far too drunk to finish. To my horror, I saw Gervase and the reverend engaged in a pitched battle aimed in the same direction—mine.

Just as Gervase’s feather hovered on the edge of the table, Ryder rose and dropped his feather in my lap. “She’s mine,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me from my chair.

“That’s cheating,” Gervase protested, but we were already out of the dining room and heading for the front door. He threw me into his truck and gunned the engine.

We drove for a few minutes before I turned to look at him. The moonlight rested on his features, but even that silvery light couldn’t soften them. He was angry.

“Why do I have the feeling that you’d rather have your hands around my throat than that steering wheel?”

He slammed on the brakes, sending up a shower of dirt and pebbles in our wake. He cut the engine, and the only sounds were the ticking of the hot metal and the soft cricket song.

“Do you want me to take you back?”

“Of course not. In fact, I quite appreciate the rescue. It was not at all the sort of evening I was expecting.”

“What did you think would happen?”

I weighed my options then chose the truth. “I thought she was going to tear into me because of Rex. She might resent our friendship.”

Ryder’s eyes were inky black in the fitful light. “Helen’s too subtle for that. Her best revenge would be to get you to one of her little parties and then tell Rex all about it. You were a fool to go.”

“How was I supposed to know?” I demanded. “And if you were so concerned about it, you could have warned me when you first arrived instead of waiting until things got going to mount your white horse and carry me off.”

“I had to know.”

“Know what?”

“If you wanted to be there. You didn’t seem uncomfortable. For all I knew, you were fully aware of what was about to happen and were more than happy to participate.”

“With Gervase Pemberton?”

“Don’t sound so scornful. It’s possible.”

“It is not possible. As difficult as it might be for you to believe, I do have standards. And Gervase definitely does not meet them. Neither does going off with random men. I prefer to get my kicks with people of my own choosing, thanks very much.”

“You can understand my confusion,” he returned nastily. “You’re sleeping with Kit. That doesn’t say much for your standards.”

“Oh, you are a fine one to preach to me. From what I hear, you’ve taken a turn on every ride in the colony. Clearly you knew what to expect tonight,” I finished triumphantly.

“Yes, I’ve been there before,” he admitted, and whether he meant to one of the parties or inside Helen, I wasn’t sure, and I definitely didn’t want to know.

“Sauce for the goose,” I reminded him. “And furthermore, you don’t have a claim on me, remember? I can go where I like, when I like, and I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

“Fine,” he ground out, his jaws clamped tight. “I’ll take you back there.”

He reached for the gearshift, but I had had enough. “Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered. I swung myself onto his lap, straddling him. I pulled his jacket down and off his arms and yanked off his bow tie. I opened his shirt and shoved it down to his wrists and left it there, binding him just enough to make him feel it. He opened his mouth, but before he even said a word, I had his trousers unbuttoned and my hand inside.

It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t gentle and anybody who watched would have thought we were trying to kill each other. Maybe we were. I pushed and rocked and clawed at him, frustrated as I had never been that there was bone and sinew and muscle between us, and he answered right back, bruise for bruise and scratch for scratch. Bodies suddenly seemed like too much trouble when all I wanted was to consume him—or let him consume me, I didn’t much care which. I wanted to be burned up until there was nothing left but a small pile of grinning, ashy bones. I wanted to take him apart with my bare hands until I got right down to the core of him, something perfect and whole that I could carry away in my pocket and never turn loose of.

I lit a cigarette as we drove back to Fairlight. He kept one arm tightly around me, so I put the cigarette to his lips while he took a deep drag. I smoked the rest of it, and when we arrived at Fairlight, I took the last puff.

“Delilah—”

“You’re not stupid enough to think we have to talk about this, are you?”

“No. I know nothing’s changed. You are who you are. And that wasn’t about me, not really. You were scratching an itch and I was weak enough to let you.”

The words were bitter, but his tone was smooth. My hand shook a little as I ground out the cigarette on the sole of my shoe.

He went on. “I’m leaving again in a few days to take a trip up to Lake Macheo for some shooting and fishing. I won’t be back for a week.”

As I got out of the truck my heel crunched down on something. The little Masai bracelet Moses had given me. It had gotten torn off, although which one of us had done it, I couldn’t say. I picked it up and slammed the door, leaning in the open window. The inside of the truck smelled like burned tobacco and my perfume and the salty, sweaty smell of us together. Handfuls of beads from my dress shimmered on the seat and floorboard like glittering confetti.

“Safe travels,” I said lightly.

He stared at me for a long minute then shook his head. “It can’t happen again, Delilah. It won’t.”

“For such a big man, you seem awfully afraid.”

“You have no idea.”

“Why? Why do I scare you so much?”

He put one fingertip to my heart. “Is this where you notch the marks? One scar for each of us until there’s nothing left to feel with? You’ve put walls a mile high and a mile thick and nothing is going to batter them down.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about walls.”

“Mine have cracks, princess. And that’s the trouble. If I let you, you’ll bring the whole goddamn thing down around my ears.”

“And you can’t have that?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I can’t. There are some women and some places that get under your skin, through the blood and right down into the bone itself. And they never leave. Africa has already done that for me. I don’t need you there too.”

“How poetic.” My voice was low and smiling, but I felt chilled. He was thinking in the same metaphors that I did. And a man who spoke the same language was a dangerous man. “Maybe that’s our problem, Ryder. We’re just too damned much alike.”

He didn’t say anything, and I realised there was no point.

I gave him my most dazzling smile. “Try not to think about me when you’re gone. Distractions can be deadly out in the bush.”

He lunged toward the door and I danced backward, fleeing into the house. It was too late for anyone to have waited up, so I got myself ready for bed. I didn’t bathe. I stripped off my ruined dress and kicked it into the corner. The bracelet went into the jewel box on my writing table—next to the cold cream I didn’t bother with. I crawled straight into bed, far too wakeful for sleep. I felt like I had gripped an electric wire and couldn’t let go. I lay awake for hours, watching the shifting shadows through the mosquito netting. I must have slept at some point. It was full daylight when I woke, and when I did, my skin still smelled like Ryder.