A Pride of Lions (7 page)

Hugo smiled. “I’ve been here quite a while,” he agreed. “I’m glad you like it. There are certain hazards to gardening in the bush, but I find the results well worth while. We can grow pretty nearly anything in this country, so why not?”

One of the hazards, however, was an enormous and now abandoned termite nest in the middle of the front lawn. It rose to the lofty height of about four feet, blood-red and shot through with cleverly engineered passages and a number of entrances and exits. Hugo was amused by my interest in it.

“A family of mongooses have taken it over,” he told me. “They like the air-conditioning that the termites put in.” He laughed. “I didn’t like to turn them out even though it hardly improves my efforts at a lawn.”

The mongooses surfaced, chasing each other in and out of the ex-termite hill. They seemed to know Hugo pretty well, for one of them ran up his trousers and hid round the back of his neck, observing me with a pair of bright eyes from just behind his ear.

“This is Rikki,” Hugo introduced me. “Not a very original name, I’m afraid!”

He walked off into the house, carrying the mongoose with him. An elderly and rather portly dog greeted him with a lazy thump of her tail. From the top of a bamboo screen a vervet monkey peered down at us, swearing at the mongoose with such energy that his small black face was completely contorted with fury. Then, in a flash of olive and bright blue, he had darted across the room and out into the garden.

“Please sit down,” Hugo said to me. He clapped his hands together and an African came running into the room.
“Laiti chai
,” he said briefly. “How do you like it?” he added to me. “Milk? Lemon?”

“Just ordinary,” I said.

“Milk and sugar?”

“Milk,” I nodded.

The room was extraordinarily comfortable and I wondered why Hugo should bother to come down to the camp for his main meal. The floor was of polished hardwood on which had been casually thrown a few Indian rugs. The chairs were covered in real leather and were deep and comfortable. The one I had chosen had a clear view down to the river and I could see Karibu doing her best to knock over one of Hugo’s precious banana trees. She was making a good job of it too, stacking the fruit to one side before stripping off the leaves and demolishing the tender inside of the main part of the tree.

“Do you mind her doing that?” I asked Hugo, when I could bear it no longer.

“I do,” he said, “but I don’t actually froth at the mouth if she leaves me the bananas. The trouble is that the monkey takes them if he can and then I’m left with nothing!” He didn’t seem to mind very much. He sat back in his chair and watched the light playing on my face until I was embarrassed.

“I think perhaps I ought to be getting back,” I said diffidently.

“Why?” he questioned simply.

I had to admit that I didn’t know why. The pleasure of being in his house was having an extraordinary effect on me. It wouldn’t be wise to come here often, I thought.

“I’ll show you something that I bet you’ve never seen before!” he said suddenly. He jumped to his feet and went into the kitchen beyond, coming back with a hen’s egg in one hand. Carefully, he laid it on the polished floor a few feet from the fireplace. “Come on now, Rikki, do your stuff!” he said proudly to the mongoose.

The African mongoose is, of course, much smaller than the Indian kind. It is sometimes called a dwarf mongoose and they are very small animals. Rikki curled himself round the egg, but it was far too big for him to exert sufficient pressure to crack it. Finally, he lined it up beside the wall, turned his back on it and, with his back legs, shot it against the bottom of the fireplace in a movement so quick that I wasn’t sure I had really seen it. Turning with a single, lithe flick of his body, he followed the egg to the wall, pulled apart the now cracked shell and began to sup up the raw inside.

Hugo and I laughed together. “Don’t you regret that the new Lodge is so near to you?” I asked him curiously.

“No. Why should I?”

I shrugged. “It’s been all yours for so long,” I said

inadequately.

He looked at me sharply. “The more people who come here to see the animals, the better chance they have of survival. One has to be realistic.”

I felt snubbed, knowing that my own attitude to the animals was completely romantic. I hated to hear financial considerations being weighed against the lives of the unique beasts that still strode across East Africa. They have been banished from so many other places, surely, whether they paid hard cash into the treasury or not, they ought to be sure of a home somewhere in the world.

“Realism seems to me rather selfish,” I burst out.

“It’s the only way of saving them in the long run,” Hugo returned. “But I think it’s going to work. Since Independence there are more National Parks, not fewer, as was complacently forecast. The tourist industry is bound to have a lot to do with that.”

“I suppose so,” I agreed meekly. Perhaps I didn’t sound entirely convinced, for Hugo looked amused and I felt that prickle of embarrassment again that I found so disturbing.

Hugo did himself pretty well. There was a choice of cakes as well as bread and jam. The tea, I remember, was excellent. “Would you like to walk down to the river?” he asked when we had finished. He glanced down at my feet. “You seem to have some good strong shoes,” he commented.

“I shall need them, clambering up and down that path to the site,” I answered wryly. “The road is useless! It only has to rain hard once and the whole surface will be washed away.”

Hugo grunted. “I tried to tell Hans as much before I went to Malindi. Perhaps telling him in Dutch will have more effect?”

I sighed. “I don’t think so—”

“Then he’ll have to learn from experience,” Hugo rejoined cheerfully. “Cheer up, he’ll probably listen to you once he’s suffered the disaster!”

“It seems a bit hard,” I said.

“Poor Clare! You’ll have to harden your heart, you know, if they don’t all make mincemeat of you between them. If I were you, I’d get away from them whenever you can at week-ends.” “How?” I retorted quizzically.

He considered the point carefully. “You can make a start by

flying over the Park with Johnny and me next Sunday,” he suggested. “We’re going to check up on these lions.”

I flushed with excitement, but even so I hesitated. “Wh-who else is going?”

“No one,” he said.

“I thought Janice—”

“Janice has her own work to attend to,” he said flatly.

I swallowed. “I-I’d like to,” I stammered, “if Johnny doesn’t object.”

“It isn’t his place to object,” Hugo returned positively. “Come along and I’ll walk you home.”

I didn’t enjoy the walk along the bank of the river very much. I was sure that there was a crocodile lurking behind every drooping weed and, because I didn’t want to give Hugo any excuse to laugh at me, I felt obliged to put on a brave face and make the best of it. By the time we walked into camp I was exhausted from the effort. It was nearly dark and a firefly danced in front of us, a scarlet trail of light in the oncoming darkness.

“How long have you known Kate Freeman?” Hugo asked me suddenly.

I was surprised by the question. “Ever since she came to Kenya,” I answered. “I knew Luke before that—though my parents know him better! I suppose I know Martin best in the family. He’s—he’s more my age.

“That’s what I understood,” he said grimly.

“Don’t you like Martin?” I hazarded timidly.

“Yes, of course,” he snapped back gruffly. I was astonished. He didn’t
sound
as if he liked him much! “I suppose you see a lot of him?”

“Sometimes. When he’s home.”

He took a deep breath. “That’s what Kate says,” he confirmed. “It all sounds very suitable,” he added nastily.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The idea that Martin and I should be anything to each other beyond being friends was very funny. I had known Martin for ever!

“Madly suitable!” I agreed smugly.

Hugo looked downright cross. “What’s so funny about that?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What exactly did Kate say?”

“She said you were very good friends,” he grunted.

I took my courage in my two hands. “And do you mind about that?” I asked him humbly.

For a moment he looked outraged. “Certainly not!”

I turned away, a little hurt. I didn’t know why he should be so interested, but I had to admit myself flattered.

“We are good friends,” I heard myself saying. “But only friends. Kate knows that. I can’t think why she should have given you any other impression—”

“No,” Hugo agreed dryly. “Neither can I!”

We gained the camp just as the last of the light was fading. A damp mist was rising over the river and some thick black clouds were gathering across the sky, veiling the stars.

Janice was strolling through the middle of the camp as we came into the lit-up area. Her relief at seeing us was obvious.

“I thought you might have got lost!” she said to me immediately.

I shook my head. “I don’t get lost very easily,” I murmured. She smiled sweetly. “Don’t you? How can you be so sure?” She came closer, putting a friendly hand on Hugo’s shoulder and smiling up at him. “Have you been entertaining her? How sweet of you! You’re so kind to us all, Hugo dear, and we’re being such a nuisance to you!”

“It’s quite nice to have company,” Hugo replied stolidly.

Janice laughed. “Perhaps. But this time you’ve managed to upset Mr. Doffnang! You forget that Clare is his tongue and his ears! He’s been absolutely miserable without her!” She shrugged her shoulders with elegant care. “I did my best, of course, but I’m afraid he thought it was a pretty poor thing!” Much of my pleasure went out of the evening. I hated the thought that I might have been neglecting my work in any way.

“You haven’t been annoying him, have you?” I shot out at her.

She raised her eyebrows. “Not deliberately,” she assured me. To my surprise, Hugo looked no more than amused. “I’ll leave you both to sort it out between you,” he said.

I watched his retreating back, unaccountably feeling that he had, in some way, left me in the lurch. “Johnny speaks a little German,” I said flatly. “Why couldn’t you have asked him?” Janice looked very meek and demure. “Oh, but I did! Only he thought the translation might sully my delicate ears! What in

the world have I done to offend the famous Dutchman, do you suppose?”

I thought she probably knew only too well. “He thinks it’s wrong to mix business with pleasure!” I said dryly.

Janice gave me a penetrating look. “Cheek!” she muttered, well pleased. “You can tell him from me that while Hugo is around I have better things to do!” She laughed, sounding faintly conceited. “He doesn’t have to worry about
me
! You tell him that, Clare. In fact, you’d better tell him at once!”

I wondered at the ecstatic look on her face. Perhaps it was only the yellow, faltering lights that gave her such an odd expression. Her very fair hair and her eyes were lit up with excitement.

“Not me!” I said. “I’m off to have a shower before dinner.”

“But you’ll tell him when you see him, won’t you? You will, won’t you, Clare?”

I felt suddenly weary of the whole affair. “I’ll tell him,” I agreed. I shook a particularly insistent insect out of my hair and went running down the path towards my tent.

I was unaccustomed to awakening to a grey dawn. It had rained all night long and was still dripping through the trees and off the thatched coverings to the tents. Perhaps it would rain all day? I thought with an unaccountable feeling of depression. I hated it to rain in the daytime. My clothes felt damp to my touch as I pulled them on and there was a grey haze hanging over the whole camp which the sun was unlikely to dispel before lunchtime.

Hans Doffnang was already seated at the table when I went across to eat my breakfast. He smiled at me politely, half rising to his feet as I came in.

“You were right about the road,” he said heavily. “I have been to look at it this morning. It will have to be re-made before we can use it further.”

He looked about as gloomy as I felt.

“Oh well, if it had to happen, it’s better right at the beginning than at some other, more important stage,” I answered with resignation.

“It should never have happened at all!”

I felt sorry for him. ‘You weren’t to know,” I consoled him. “Building projects inevitably get held up in the rains here.”

“But not my projects!” he responded gently. “I should have been told of the dangers.”

I gave him a quizzical look. “They probably didn’t think the short rains would amount to much,” I told him. “Often they don’t. Only the long rains failed this year and so the ground is drier than ever. The top soil falls away under the weight of the water all too easily when it is a little more than dust. Then too the water sluices down underneath it and it falls away in great chunks. We often have landslides during the rains.”

“We’ve got one now,” he said gloomily.

“Oh well,” I comforted him, “when the rain stops, we’ll go and have a look. I daresay we can think of something to give it a firm surface. A few culverts will probably do the trick.”