A Pride of Lions (16 page)

“Johnny says it will rain again tonight,” he told me as we walked down the path back to the camp. “The insects are worse than ever!”

“You want to be careful of snakes too,” I warned him, grinning. “They creep in everywhere when it’s wet!”

“Thank you for telling me!” Hans Doffnang shrugged his shoulders. “Janice has also warned me of all the horrors I can expect. But she did this with no kind motive, I suspect.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“She knows that she is badly behaved and that I disapprove of her,” he replied earnestly. “She resents this. She reminds me of a story I once heard of the old Boer, President Kruger.”

I laughed. “And what was that?” I asked him.

Mr. Doffnang spread his hands in self-effacement. “Mr. Kruger had a very narrow view of women, I think,” he said. “Yes, even more narrow than mine!”

“Is that possible?” I teased him.

“But yes!” he said, astonished that I should think otherwise. “He was invited to this dinner, you see,” he went on. “And next to him sat this lady in a dress that had bare arms. He would not speak to her because of it and, because he was a great man and she wished to talk to him, she got up out of her chair, went home and changed her dress, and returned to the dinner.”

“And then I suppose he deigned to speak to her?”

I put in.

Mr. Doffnang smiled benignly. “He did.”

“Well, if I had been her, I’d have walked off and left him flat!” I exclaimed.

“Would you?” he asked sadly. “Would you
indeed,
Clare?”

I was surprised that it seemed so important to him. It was hard to decide exactly what I would have done, after all. What person of my father’s blood did not consider Paul Kruger to be a hero? So I might have stayed.

“For him I might have thought it worth it,” I admitted at last. “Why for him?” he pressed me.

“Because he was a great old man,” I said warmly. “He was narrow-minded, even bigoted, but he was
great
!”

“And I am not?” he said sadly.

I stared at him. Perhaps he was, in his own way, I thought. He was world-famous for the buildings he had designed and built, or he would not be here now. With the money they were spending on the Chui Safari Lodge, they could choose any architect they pleased.

“But why should you care what Janice does?” I asked, squinting at him into the sun.

“That is not the point,
meisje.
Not the point at all! That is, does she care what
I
think of her? Would she change her dress to talk to me?”

“I don’t know,” I said frankly. “To tell the truth, I think it rather tiresome of you to ask it of her!”

Mr. Doffnang blinked at me. “Tiresome?” he repeated.

“Well, why should she pass some stupid test you’ve devised for her?” I demanded.

“But it is no test!” he denied, hurt. “I do not know what she thinks of me. To be honest, I thought she preferred Hugo Canning to me. Perhaps this would be the best answer. If she were Mrs. Doffnang, she would have to braid her hair and not play poker any more. It would not be good if she did these things in the small village where I live in Holland.”

To hear Hugo’s name coupled with anyone else hurt badly. “I still think it’s some kind of test!” I said sulkily.

Mr. Doffnang shrugged. “Perhaps she thinks so too.” A worried frown appeared between his eyes. “I had not thought of that.”

We had reached the entrance to his tent and, with a vague wave of his hand, he went inside, firmly zipping up the opening behind him.

“It would seem,” said Hugo, who was standing, waiting outside my tent, “that Hans Doffnang has other fish to fry!”

For a moment I didn’t understand him, but then I remembered that I had told him that Mr. Doffnang had wanted me to do some work for him that evening. I decided to put a brave front on it.

“He’s changed his mind,” I said off-handedly.

Hugo smiled in sheer triumph. “I had a feeling that he would,” he said.

I blushed. “I don’t know why you should think so!” I muttered.

“Perhaps it was wishful thinking!” he retorted.

But that I couldn’t believe. “But it’s true, Hugo. I am very busy,” I assured him desperately.

He came right up to me, looking carefully at the shadows on my averted face. “I think perhaps you have done enough today. How is the arm now?”

“Better,” I said. It was true too. Whatever he had done to it that morning, it had had a wonderful effect. Now the long gash no longer ached or throbbed. If anything, it was inclined to itch and prick when I moved too quickly.

“Then there is nothing to stop you helping me with the radio,” he said smugly. “I went out and looked for the
Mzee
to see where he had got during the night. There was no sign of him locally. I want to find out where’s he got to.”

“But we all heard him last night,” I reminded him.

“That’s what bothers me,” he admitted. “The last time I heard him roar was about three o’clock this morning. There was no rain after that, and yet I can find no sign of any tracks at all.” “Perhaps he walked along the edge of the river,” I suggested. “I don’t think he’d risk the crocodiles at night,” Hugo answered seriously. “He probably spent the day somewhere watching me looking for his spore and laughing up his sleeve. He’s a cunning old devil!” He grinned suddenly. “Did you know that the Africans are having bets as to who emerges as the winner,
Mzee
or me?”

I giggled, delighted. “What are the odds?” I asked.

“I rather think they’re running against me! And they’re probably right at that. I’m not sure I didn’t underrate the beast by bringing it here. He’s had a good look round my headquarters by now!”

“But there’s nothing he can do!” I protested.

But Hugo wasn’t so sure. “I think it was a mistake,” he repeated. “I’ve given instructions that no one is to go outside the compound of the camp alone, at least until we know where he is.”

The radio was already in use when we went into the
boma
where it was housed. A number of Africans were crowding round it, listening to the news from the various parts of the thousands of square miles that made up the Tsavo National Park. They stepped back at our entrance, smiling shyly at us. Hugo strode over to the microphone and placed the earphones on his head, murmuring his thanks to the helpful black hands that twiddled the knobs, tuning in to Aruba station.

“Is the
Mzee
with you?” Hugo asked abruptly.

“Not yet,” a cheerful voice came back. “We’re expecting him, though. We had a car coming through from Nairobi and he was on the main Nairobi-Mombasa road. It was just a flash, but the driver is quite sure it was him.”

“How many miles away?” Hugo demanded.

“Hard to say exactly. Reckon he’ll be here tomorrow at the

latest.”

Hugo ground his teeth. “Then I’ll be there to meet him! ”

“Does it matter so much?” the voice asked. “The rest of the pride has been successfully scattered.”

“If he’s back tomorrow, they’ll be back with him,” Hugo said flatly. “I’ll see you then!”

“You’d better bring some of your people along. We’ve got quite a few off sick just now.”

“All right,” said Hugo. “We’ll be there in full strength.” He turned round and glared at me. “And you needn’t think you’re going to escape!”

“Me?” I squeaked, much excited.

“I’ll need everyone I can get!” he grunted. “Even you!” he added with a grin. “With or without Mr. Doffnang’s permission!”

CHAPTER NINE

HANS DOFFNANG was not pleased at the prospect of having to do without me for an indefinite period of time.

“Am I not right that you are here to aid my work here?” he demanded crossly, when I went to ask him if I might go with Hugo.

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“That is what I thought too!” he grunted.

“But,
meneer,
it would not be for long. And it won’t only be me that Hugo will want. He wants to take Mr. Patel too.” I smiled faintly. “He may even want to take you!”

Mr. Doffnang’s eyes widened. “
Me
?”

“Why not?”

“I am no lion-catcher!”

I laughed at his dismay. “I’m not sure that I am either,” I confided, “but I wouldn’t miss it for anything!”

“But what about me?” he complained. “How am I expected to manage?”

Happily, Janice came to my rescue. “Cheer up, Mr. Doffnang, I shan’t be going,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll stick around here and fill in for Clare with you.”

“
What
?” exclaimed Mr. Doffnang. “What does she say?” he appealed to me.

I looked at him thoughtfully. “I think you understood perfectly well,” I accused him.

“That’s right,” said Janice. “He did. We understand each other very well indeed.”

Mr. Doffnang grunted disagreeably. “So? If we do, what can you do for me? Do you speak Swahili well enough to translate for me?”

Janice remained completely unruffled. “I expect we’ll get along,” she said.

“But it is intolerable!” Hans Doffnang snorted. “Get along! Do you not realise that the Chui Safari Lodge is to be a world-famous hotel? Everywhere, men will say that it is a masterpiece!
My
masterpiece! And all you can think about is some wretched lion! Who will remember
him
in the years to come?”

Janice gave me a kind glance. “She will,” she informed him loftily. “She’s made that way!”

Mr. Doffnang sighed. “I suppose you will go whatever I say,” he said with resignation. “You had better be off, then. Patel can go too. I shall manage alone!”

It was not a very happy note to leave him on, but Janice who had come with me was not in the least concerned about him.

“Nobody’s indispensable!” she remarked.

“No,” I agreed doubtfully, and frowned at her. “I should have thought you’d want to come with us?” I said. “Won’t you get some fine photographs?”

“Could be!” She laughed aloud. “I shall do much better here!”

The others were already waiting for me when I had finished pushing a few things I thought I might need into a shoulder bag and had strapped on one of Janice’s cameras, which she had asked me to take with me, just in case, as she put it.

Hugo had three
askaris
with him, in the back of the Landcruiser. Katundi had the middle seat to himself. He had carefully put the rifles and the anaesthetic darts down on the floor at his feet. It was to be his special job to look after them until they were needed, and he was very conscious of the dignity that such a responsibility conferred on him.

“Shall I ride in the other truck?” I asked Hugo.

He grinned at me. “I kept the front seat for you,” he answered.

I still hesitated. Although the back of the truck was still caged, there was only Mr. Patel and a single
askari
riding in the front. They were far less crowded than the others.

“Get in!” said Hugo.

The long drive to Aruba passed without any incident at all. Hugo was intent on his driving and I was able to sit back and watch him, without worrying too much about the uncertainties of our relationship. For once I didn’t pick mentally at every feeling and at each emotion as it came and went. For today, at least, I didn’t care if Hugo was serious or not. My whole mind was on the lion and whether he would beat us in the end by keeping his pride intact despite us. Part of me rather hoped that he would.

It was lunchtime when we reached Aruba. Katundi opened up the cold box and handed out some cold drinks all round. Most of the men drank beer, while I stuck to a peculiarly tasteless lemonade.

“We’ll have to stop the night,” Hugo said. He beckoned to Katundi. “You’d better see what accommodation is available,” he instructed him. “You can put Patel and me together, but Memsahib deJong will need a
boma
to herself.”

Katundi, nodded, giving me a sly look.
“Ndiyo,
Bwana.”

The look was not lost on Hugo. “I really think he’s disappointed!” he teased me. “I hope Patel won’t mind playing gooseberry!”

I refused to rise to this, though I could feel myself blushing. “Why should he?” I said reasonably.

Hugo touched my cheek with his forefinger. “Why indeed?” he agreed.

The local
askaris
came over to discuss what Hugo intended to do next.

“The Minister is staying at Aruba,” they told him. “He is out just now, looking at the new road, but he will be back shortly.”

“And what has he to say about the
Mzee?”
Hugo asked shortly.

But the
askaris
knew nothing. They were accustomed to the renowned coming into the Park and, although they were interested that the Minister should find everything going well, they considered the lion to be the affair of the senior wardens.