A Spear of Summer Grass. Deanna Raybourn

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 is the most difficult to hide. Rage, hatred, envy – those are easy to mask. But disappointment strikes to the heart of the child within us, resurrecting every unsatisfactory Christmas, every failed wish made on a shooting star. And I made no attempt to hide it. The journey had been tiring, the company less than enjoyable, and the various stresses of the day had finally taken their toll.

      I turned to find Ryder watching me closely. “You might have warned me.”

      “It seemed kinder to let you hang on to your illusions for a little while longer.”

      I gave him a chilly look. “I’m afraid I haven’t any cash on me. You will have to ask Dora for what we owe you. Good day.”

      He gave a snort. He strode forward and took my arm. “Come with me.”

      I had little choice. The hand on my arm was firm and for a moment it was delicious to give myself up to being bossed around. He led me up to the veranda and around the house to where the property overlooked the edge of a large green lake. The sun was dipping low to the ground, brushing the last of its warm rays over the shimmering surface, and turning the waters to molten gold. A flock of flamingos rose suddenly, flashing their gaudy feathers in a pink farewell as they departed. Across the lake a hippopotamus wore a crown of water lilies draped drunkenly over one eye and munched contentedly as a light breeze ruffled the lake water. I took a deep breath and saw, for just an instant, the Africa I had thought to find. Then, in a violent burst of crimson and gold, the sun shimmered hotly on the lake and was gone, sinking below the horizon, leaving only purple-blue shadows lengthening behind.

      “There’s no such thing as evening in Africa,” he told me. “Now the sun is down, you’d best get inside. There’s no moon tonight, so the lions will be out.”

      I turned to face him. “Are you saying that just to scare me?”

      “No, I’m saying it to save you. You strike me as the type of woman just stupid enough to go for a walk in this country and get herself eaten.”

      I thought for a moment then shrugged. “You’re probably right about that. Thank you for this,” I said, waving a hand toward Lake Wanyama. “It is truly lovely.”

      “Africa is a complicated place, Miss Drummond. It’s the most beautiful place on earth and the most dangerous. Don’t forget that.”

      “I won’t,” I promised.

      He hesitated. “You have staff in the house. They aren’t worth much, but they do know how to find me. I have a boma about ten minutes’ walk from here. If you need me, send one of the houseboys. Do not try to find me on your own under any circumstances.”

      I nodded. “Understood.”

      “Good.”

      Still he did not leave, and the strange twilight created an atmosphere that was oddly intimate. “It was kind of you to show me the lake at sunset.”

      A quirk of the lips was the nearest he came to a smile. “I just didn’t want to see you give up so fast. It doesn’t suit you.”

      And with that he turned and strode away into the gathering darkness.

      Dora called to me then and I joined her on the front veranda. An assortment of servants had emerged from the house and were shuffling towards the pile of baggage, haphazardly taking as little as possible before scuttling into the house with it.

      “Is there any sort of organisation?” I asked her. “Anyone in charge?”

      She shrugged. “I asked, but they don’t seem to understand English.”

      “Of course they understand English. You there, yes, you with the turban.