An Image Of You. Liz Fielding

a little one …’ Then one of the largest animals turned to face them. She stepped forward, waving her great ears.

      ‘And quiet! This isn’t a zoo!’ George subsided immediately, not needing to be told twice that the animal was threatening them. She had to content herself with watching the herd silently cross the road, and just for the moment she was glad she wasn’t on her own despite the humiliating way that Lukas gripped her arm. Above the smell of hot oil and dust she could detect the faint scent of his cologne and she tore her eyes from the herd to regard her adversary.

      The contrast with their previous meeting was startling. On that occasion he had been all smooth and manicured charm in an expensive dinner-jacket and snowy dress-shirt. His dark, almost black hair, despite its dousing with flour, had been fresh from a stylist who knew his job. Now, too long for elegance and damp with the heat, it had resumed a wayward curl. Sweat trickled down the side of his face and damp patches stained the sleeveless jacket he wore open over a short-sleeved shirt.

      George wondered where he had come from. The name—Lukas—the faint trace of an accent, suggested eastern Europe.

      He turned and caught her staring. For a moment he held her gaze, then abruptly he let go of her. ‘They’re almost across.’

      She rubbed her arm where his fingers had bit into the flesh and blushed, feeling foolish. She jumped as one of the beasts turned and bellowed at them, raising its trunk, before turning and disappearing with the rest.

      When they had gone Lukas slowly moved forwards. George peered somewhat nervously into the bush on the side of the road as they passed, but there was nothing to threaten them. The elephant had gone. She sat back against the rock-hard seat. ‘They’re so big,’ she breathed. ‘Does that happen often?’

      ‘I suppose so. But you were lucky to see it. And it’s an ancient elephant crossing. The sign was put there to warn humans, not instruct elephants. You’d better have your camera ready in future, just in case your luck holds.’

      ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed,’ she promised. And my toes. And my eyes … She giggled and was aware of an irritated exclamation from Lukas, but she didn’t care.

      ‘It’s quite difficult to take photographs with your fingers crossed. But I’m sure you know that.’

      The sun rose higher, and the heat increased in direct proportion.

      For the first time, George wondered what exactly lay ahead of her. She had been too tired the day before to worry about it, and her confrontation with Lukas had given her no time for thought. But, as well as Lukas, out here were snakes and spiders and lizards and, apparently, lions.

      The thought caused a crawling sensation at the base of her spine. She desperately wanted to turn and check that there was nothing in the jeep with them, waiting its moment to grab her by the neck and drag her away. She broke into a sweat as she considered that this was full daylight. Whatever would it be like at night?

      She kept her face determinedly forward, refusing to give in to nameless fears.

      ‘Hold on!’ The warning came barely in time. She was half jolted from her seat as Lukas swung the jeep off the road into the bush and over the railway line. There was a group of huts, a tiny store, a flurry of chickens and a glimpse of almost naked children staring with solemn black eyes as they swept past.

      ‘Say goodbye to civilisation,’ Lukas said with a grin, as they bounced along the road. Road! George caught her breath as the jeep slammed into a rut and bounced out again, lifting her clear of her seat. Lukas seemed not to notice, but then he had the steering-wheel to hold on to. She clung to her seat as they bounced along, leaving clouds of red dust in their wake.

      A deer flew across the road in panic, practically jumping the jeep’s bonnet, and George let out a small shriek.

      ‘It’s only an impala,’ Lukas mocked. ‘You get used to them. You’ll see all sorts of creatures if you keep your eyes open. Foxes, jackals …’

      ‘Lions?’ she asked crossly.

      They hit another rut and he didn’t answer. George allowed herself a little inner feeling of satisfaction. He must be mad, thinking he could scare her with man-eating lion stories. She wasn’t scared of lions. Dudus were something else.

      ‘We’re nearly there.’ He slowed the jeep and George could see, in the distance, a greener patch of vegetation. ‘The camp’s on the other side of the river.’

      The ‘river’ lay in a deep gorge carved out by rainy season floods, but now was nothing more than a few small trickles of water meandering between broad sand banks and only occasionally widening into pools. Lukas approached the bank with care. ‘It’s a good job for us the rains weren’t bad. Otherwise we would have to cross by dinghy.’

      ‘I’ve no objection to getting my feet wet in a good cause,’ George said flippantly and immediately wished she hadn’t.

      ‘That’s a statement you may live to regret, George.’ Lukas smiled at some private thought as they tilted down the seemingly vertical drop. George hung desperately on to the jeep’s dash until they reached the bottom, where they splashed through the small streams. Then he attacked the far bank. For a moment George thought they were not going to make it. She held her breath as the jeep seemed to hang suspended without the power to get to the top. But suddenly they were there. Wherever ‘there’ was.

      ‘Welcome to Kathekakai,’ Lukas said expansively, indicating the few tents with a wave of his hand.

      ‘Kathekakai.’ She said the word slowly, rolling it around her mouth. It had an almost magical sound, conjuring up witch doctors and ritual dances. ‘What does it mean?’

      ‘Place of Dread. Or Place of Killing—take your pick,’ Lukas said matter-of-factly.

      George stared at him, trying to decide if she was being wound up again. But he had climbed down from the driving seat and was striding towards a large open-sided mess tent where several people were sitting. Feeling suddenly very alone, she scrambled down and ran after him, trying not to think what might be in the dry grass.

      There were about half a dozen people sitting around a table, playing cards. They called out a greeting to Lukas, but their attention was caught by George. Lukas turned and caught her arm to pull her forward.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I present George Bainbridge,’ he said with a flourish.

      There was a sudden silence and a man, thick-set and middle-aged, who had his back to her, turned, stared for a moment then suddenly grinned.

      ‘Good God. It’s a girl.’

      ‘I’m relieved you know the difference, Walter,’ Lukas said drily.

      ‘Oh, I’ve always known the difference, dear boy.’ He came towards George and held out a hand in welcome. ‘Take no notice of Lukas. I believe he practises being horrible in front of a mirror.’

      A striking brunette, who had looked up at George’s arrival, looked away again. ‘I think I’m up. Four kings and a run of hearts.’ She laid some cards out in front of her.

      George felt a pulse beating in her neck. There had been a casual insolence, a dismissal of something without interest, about the girl’s attitude. She made a very special effort to focus her mind on why she was here, in this Place of Dread, fixing her thoughts on the youngsters living in cardboard boxes and how much they would love to feel this sun, how lucky they would think her. She allowed her face to relax into a smile and stepped into the shade of the tent. ‘It seems there has been a bit of a mix-up. I’m Georgette Bainbridge. Everybody calls me George.’

      ‘Are you related to Sir Charles?’

      ‘She’s his daughter, Walter.’ And George sensed rather than saw the look that passed between them. ‘Is there anything to drink? What would you like, George?’

      ‘Mineral water?’ she asked, and was promptly handed a glass of ice-cold water.

      ‘Thank