Death in Kenya (9 page)

What have I let myself in for? thought Victoria in a panic. What does he mean? That someone in the house is a murderer? Eden's wife— She's dead now. He's free. I should never have come …

The car ran out of the belt of shadow and past two tall Masai warriors, each carrying a serviceable spear; the red-gold of their lean, ochre-smeared bodies and elaborately plaited hair, and the clean-cut lines of their haughty aquiline features, reminiscent of ancient Egypt. Recognizing the car, they saluted gravely: a courteous salute tinged with gracious condescension, such as might have been accorded by the delegates of a powerful state to a member of a small and friendly nation.

‘They don't change much either,' commented Mr Gilbert, following up a private train of thought. ‘The Masai are the only ones who have looked at the things of the West and decided that they prefer their own ways, and have stuck to them. Who can say they are not right? The modern African youth with his European clothes and his inferiority complexes is not impressive, but it has never so much as crossed the minds of the Masai that they might be inferior to anyone.'

‘Boot's on the other foot!' said Drew laconically, and Greg Gilbert laughed.

Victoria said: ‘Father used to employ Mkamba. I can still remember most of them by name. They used to carry bows and arrows in those days – poisoned arrows, too!'

‘They still do,' said Mr Gilbert with a grin. ‘And that despite the fact that it is strictly against the law! I should say that at a conservative estimate several tons of arrow poison are manufactured yearly in this country. Talk about the “Secret Arrow Poison of the South American Indians!” – this has it licked into a cocked hat, for the simple reason that it's no secret. All you need is a saucepan, a box of matches and grandmother's recipe. The ingredients are growing all over the landscape, and——'

He broke off and hurriedly wound up the car windows as a black and grey sedan raced towards them and shot past, enveloping them in a choking cloud of dust.

‘Ken Brandon,' said Drew briefly.

‘Oh. How's he taken it?'

‘On the chin,' said Drew.

‘He's a spoilt brat. These conceited, mannerless young egoists bore me to distraction. Hector is pretty hot on the subject of motes in his neighbour's eye, but young Ken is the outstanding beam in his own.'

‘You mean in Mabel's,' corrected Drew dryly. ‘Ken is Mabel's sun, moon and stars, and always will be. She is devoted to Hector, but she'd probably have walked out on him if he'd laid a finger on her darling boy. She may be half Hector's size, and a dear, but she's quite capable of standing up to him.'

‘I still don't think that excuses him,' grunted Mr Gilbert. ‘Or his son! What Alice must have gone through with that boy is nobody's business!'

‘It isn't ours, at any rate,' said Drew shortly.

‘There,' corrected the S.P., ‘you are wrong. It happens to be mine. Anyone or anything that had to do with Alice DeBrett is, at the moment, my business. And that,' he added gently, ‘includes you.'

‘Um,' said Mr Stratton thoughtfully, and refrained from further comment.

Five miles and eight minutes later a square, weather-beaten notice board bearing the single word
‘Flamingo'
came in sight, and the car turned off the lake road on to a rough track that crossed a stretch of barren, rock-strewn ground bordered at the far side by a thick belt of trees and a glint of water. The wheels bumped in and out of deep dust-filled ruts and over and around boulders, roots and hummocks of parched grass, and leaving the hard sunlight, ran under the freckled shadows of pepper trees and giant acacias, to emerge on to a wide smooth sweep of ground before a long, rambling, thatch-roofed house whose bow windows and deep verandahs looked out on the glittering expanse of Lake Naivasha, blue and beautiful in the full blaze of the noonday.

What appeared at first sight to be half a dozen dogs of assorted shapes and sizes rushed out to greet them, barking vociferously, followed by two African houseboys wearing green robes and scarlet tarbooshes, who hurried out to remove suitcases and assist the travellers to alight. A door at the far end of the verandah opened, and an arresting figure walked towards them and stood waiting at the top of a shallow flight of stone steps. The Lady Emily DeBrett of
Flamingo.

Em had worn a dark coat and skirt for the funeral, but she had discarded them immediately upon her return, and had changed back into the scarlet dungarees and vivid blouse that were her favoured wear. Her white closely cropped hair was adorned with a wide-brimmed hat of multi-coloured straw of the type that tourists buy in such places as Ceylon and Zanzibar, and there were diamonds in her ears and on her gnarled and capable hands and imposing bosom. She should have presented a grotesque appearance, but somehow she did not. She might, instead, have been the Queen of some barbaric kingdom. Hatshepsut of Egypt. Old Tzu-hsi, the Dowager Empress of China. Or Elizabeth the First, old and raddled and dying, but still indomitable: still royal.

Em had at no time been demonstrative, but she greeted Victoria with an unusual display of affection which contained, despite herself, a strong suggestion of relief.

‘It's so good to see you, dear,' said Em, embracing her. ‘And so good of you to come. I am sorry not to have been able to meet you at the Airport; but then Drew will have explained everything. We need not talk of that just now. How well you look. And how like your mother! You might be Helen all over again. Come along into the house. Drew will——'

She stopped as her gaze fell upon Greg Gilbert, and Victoria felt her stiffen. ‘Greg! I didn't know you were here. Did you want to see me?'

‘I'm afraid so,' said Mr Gilbert, leisurely mounting the verandah steps. ‘I'm sorry about this, Em, but needs must. One or two things have cropped up. I won't keep you long. Eden here?'

‘You are not,' announced Em with deliberation, ‘going to worry Eden with any more questions today. And that is that! I like you, Greg, but there are some things I will not put up with, even from my friends. If you must worry the servants again, I suppose I can't stop you. But you can leave Eden alone. He can't tell you any more than he has already told you. None of us can!'

‘I'm sorry, Em,' repeated Mr Gilbert quietly. ‘I'm not doing this for choice.'

Lady Emily's bosom swelled alarmingly until the seams of her scarlet blouse appeared to be in imminent danger of parting. And then all at one she appeared to deflate, both physically and mentally. She stretched out a hand to him and spoke in a voice that was no longer measured and autocratic, but pleading:

‘Greg, you can't! Not now. Not today. Surely it can wait?'

Mr Gilbert did not reply, and after a moment her hand dropped and she turned away and spoke to Victoria:

‘Come dear, you will want to see your room. Drew, you will find drinks in the drawing-room. Help yourself. Greg had better stay to luncheon as he's here. He can ask his questions afterwards.'

The invitation could hardly have been less pressing, but Mr Gilbert said placidly: ‘Thanks, I will,' and followed them into the house.

*   *   *

The room that was to be Victoria's was large and comfortable, with windows that looked out on to a wide strip of lawn, a blaze of bougainvillaea and a view of the lake. Em sat down on the edge of the big old-fashioned bed as though she were very tired, and said: ‘I hope you will be comfortable here, dear. And happy.'

Victoria said warmly: ‘Of course I shall be, Aunt Em! It's so lovely to be back in Kenya. I can't tell you how grateful I am to you for all your kindness.'

‘I have not been kind,' said Em heavily. ‘I have been selfish. But I needed someone to help me, and I did not want a stranger – some secretary who would spread gossip about
Flamingo
to half the Colony. I thought if I could only keep it to the family…' Her voice trailed away, and she shivered.

Victoria came quickly across the room and put her arms about her aunt's sagging shoulders and hugged her. ‘It wasn't selfish of you, darling. It was wonderful of you to want me. If only you knew how nice it is to feel wanted again!'

Em patted her hand absently and was silent for a moment or two, and then her fingers tightened suddenly about Victoria's wrist and she looked up into her niece's face with eyes that were bright and intent and full of anxiety. She said harshly, and as though she were forcing herself to speak: ‘You must choose for yourself, Victoria. I did not – I was not honest with you when I wrote. I did not tell you everything. Perhaps I was afraid that you might not come. But you are Helen's child, and you must have your chance to decide whether you will go or stay. No! – don't interrupt! Let me say what I want, and then it will be your turn——

‘I shall not blame you if you decide not to stay. Remember that. I sent you a cable to try and stop you, but it must have missed you. I do not know how much Drew Stratton will have told you, but I suppose you know that Eden's wife was murdered. There is a rumour that the remnant of a Mau Mau gang are hiding out somewhere near here, but the police cannot be certain that it is they who are responsible, because – because there have been strange things happening in this house for some weeks past. Not very serious things, but – but worrying, of course. It has meant that all my servants are under suspicion, which is not very pleasant. So if you would prefer not to stay, I shall quite understand.'

Victoria said: ‘But of course I'm going to stay, Aunt Em. If you'll let me. Or even if you won't. Just try to get rid of me!'

Em's fingers relaxed their hold, and she said approvingly: ‘Good girl.' The emotion and the strain vanished from her face and she stood up briskly and said: ‘Luncheon will be ready as soon as you are. You will find us in the drawing-room.'

The door closed behind her, and Victoria turned to stare thoughtfully at her own reflection in the looking glass: a slim, remarkably pretty girl in a leaf-green frock.

‘Yes of course I'm going to stay!' said Victoria, speaking aloud in the silence. ‘I belong in Kenya. And as for Eden, that's all over and done with – so don't let's have any more nonsense about it!'

She nodded severely at her reflected face, and went off to the bathroom to remove the dust of the lake road.

6

There were four people waiting in the large, casual, beautiful drawing-room: Em, Greg Gilbert, Drew Stratton and Eden.

Eden had been standing by the window talking to Drew when Victoria entered, and he had turned when he heard the door open, and stopped in the middle of a sentence, looking at her.

There was a brief moment of silence, and it was Eden who spoke first; his voice an echo from a day six years ago when he had spoken to a girl in a yellow dress who held an armful of roses.
‘Vicky——!'

Victoria closed the door behind her and said lightly: ‘Hullo, Eden. I hope I haven't kept you waiting, Aunt Em?'

Luncheon was an uncomfortable meal, full of odd, abrupt silences and patches of forced conversation. No mention was made of the funeral or any of the happenings of the last three days, and it was not until coffee had been drunk in the drawing-room and Zacharia had removed the empty cups, that Mr Gilbert at last referred to the errand that had brought him to
Flamingo.

‘I'm sorry about this,' apologized Greg, ‘but owing to one thing and another I'm afraid I shall have to ask a few more questions.'

‘I thought every African on the estate had already been questioned
ad nauseam,
' said Eden bitterly. ‘What more do you think you'll get out of them?'

‘Not much,' admitted Greg equably. ‘But then I'm not really interested in them at the moment. I merely want to know a few more things about last Tuesday. Your movements, for instance.'

‘My
what?
' Eden's handsome face was suddenly white with anger and he said furiously: ‘Are you by any chance suggesting that I might have murdered my own wife? Because if you are——'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Eden!' Em's voice was sharp and commanding. ‘Of course he doesn't mean any such thing! We all know how you feel, but I presume that Greg has got to ask this sort of question, so at least let us get it over quickly, and without losing our tempers.'

Greg said pacifically: ‘No one is accusing you of anything. But if we can tie up everyone's movements on that day it will at least help to fill in the background. So let's start with yours.'

The colour came back to Eden's face and he thrust his hands into his pockets and turned away to stare blindly out of the window at the sunlit garden. He said: ‘You already know exactly where I was and what I was doing that day. You've heard it all before.'

‘Roughly, yes. “Exactly” – no.' Gilbert broke off and looked at Drew Stratton. ‘Thinking of going anywhere, Drew?'

‘Yes,' said Mr Stratton, preparing to leave. ‘I can't see that I am serving any useful purpose by staying. See you later, Em, and thanks for the luncheon.'

Mr Gilbert said: ‘Just sit down again, will you? I was coming to see you later, but if I can get what I want now it will save me a ten mile drive. You too, Miss Caryll.'

Em said haughtily: ‘There is no question that you need ask my niece. She was not even here, and she knows nothing about this.'

‘There is one question at least that I think she can answer,' said Greg quietly, ‘and I would like her to stay.'

He turned back to Eden before Em could speak, and said: ‘You went to Nairobi on Tuesday, didn't you?'

‘Yes. To see Jimmy Druce about a Land-Rover he wants to sell. We had luncheon at Muthaiga. You can check up with him if you like.'

‘We have. And you left here about ten o'clock. Can you by any chance remember if all the verandah cushions were present and correct when you left?'