A Touch of Betrayal (2 page)

Alexandra reached for her carry-on bag. This was too weird. She had to find another way out of her predicament.

“Mama Hannah,” the man said, setting the little woman in Alexandra’s path, “you look great. The same as ever. How’s Jessica? Did she and Rick really get back together? And what’s this about Tillie? She’s pregnant?”

“Grant.” The old woman cupped the man’s stubbly cheeks in her two hands. “So handsome. My
toto
. . . all grown up. You don’t look very sick. Not as I feared.”

“Just a touch of the old bug. A little fever, that’s all. You didn’t need to come all this way.”

“I wanted to see you. And Jessica and Rick should have time together . . . time alone.” Bright brown eyes turned on Alexandra. “Who is this? Grant, you did not tell me you had found a woman. She is such a beautiful girl.”

“Her?” He glanced at Alexandra as if seeing her for the first time.

“He’s been
analyzing
me,” she explained to Hannah as the two women shook hands. “But I don’t think he’s actually looked at me. My name is Alexandra Prescott. I’ve just arrived from New York, and my limousine failed to pick me up.”

“Are you afraid?” Hannah asked, searching her face.

“No. I’m just . . . just a little irked. I’m tired.”

“I also am tired. Come along, Grant,” Hannah said. “Pick up the bags. Take us to your car.”

Alexandra tried to hide her smirk as Mr. Pompous meekly gathered up two of her wheeled bags and the old woman’s small suitcase. She felt sure Hannah wouldn’t allow any nonsense. Whoever this Grant was, it appeared he could be trusted to take Alexandra as far as the Hilton Hotel.

As they began walking toward the wide exits, she let out a deep breath. This was not so bad. She had expected an adventure in Africa, inspiration for the line of exotic fabrics she was designing. She had looked forward to a change from the routine of city life, and she eagerly anticipated a break from the onslaught of another New York winter. The travel agency had let her down, but she had learned to be flexible.

And she sensed that God was with her. He had provided the derelict and his African mother—a pair of odd angels, to be sure. All the same, Alexandra was going to be all right.

O
NE

As Alexandra stepped out into the African night, a sense of the mystery of the great continent prickled up her spine. No, there weren’t any cannibals jumping around a fire or leopards creeping through the jungle or sahibs riding by on elephants. In fact, compact European cars cruised paved streets that led to a distant skyline of glittering lights. It might have been New York—except for the palm trees rustling in the warm breeze, the fragrance of tropical blossoms, the Swahili cries of vendors hawking newspapers and roasted corn on the cob. And overhead . . .

Alexandra stared up in wonder at the multitude of stars, billions of twinkling crystals. Constellations she had never seen before lay across the velvet expanse like expensive, Tiffany-designed brooches and necklaces. The Milky Way carved a creamy path through the midst of the heavens. And all of it hung so close, just over the tips of the palm fronds.

“Better close your mouth or you’ll start catching flies.” Grant took Alexandra’s attaché case out of her hand before she could reply. He slung it into the back of a rusty Land Rover and slammed the door. “In Africa, those could be tsetse flies. First thing you know, you’ll fall into a deep sleep—and it’ll take more than the kiss of a handsome prince to wake you up.”

“Grant!” Hannah touched Alexandra’s hand. “He has always been a naughty boy, that one. I promise you will not find tsetse flies in Nairobi. They live in the bush country.”

“That’s a relief.” Of course, she would be heading out on a safari into the bush country in a matter of days. She was scheduled to tour game parks, visit the coast, and even climb Mount Kilimanjaro. But tsetse flies certainly hadn’t been in the brochure.

“Hop in the back, Miss Prescott,” Grant said, tilting the front seat forward. “Just push some of that stuff out of the way.”

Alexandra set one foot into the Land Rover and stared in disgust at the heaps and piles on the backseat—tattered books, reams of dog-eared papers, blackened banana peels, stray socks, tape recorders, and enough empty candy-bar wrappers to fill two trash cans. The smell made her gasp. Who was this guy? Some kind of international, roving garbage collector?

She cleared a space between a box of cassette tapes and a wadded-up coat. Then she sat down carefully, her knees tucked together and her toes aligned. She wouldn’t be the least surprised if something came crawling out to sit on her lap.

“Oh, Grant, my
toto
,” Hannah said as she climbed into the front seat. “You are worse than ever with your things. And what have you been eating? Kit Kat bars? Will you survive on those? No wonder the malaria attacked you so easily. You must become strong. Don’t you know that your body is the temple of the Lord?”

The man beside her leaned over and planted another kiss on the old woman’s leathery cheek. “I’m a bachelor, Mama Hannah. I like it that way. Eat what I want, when I want. Sleep when I’m tired. Mind my own business. You know what I mean?”

As he started the Land Rover, the African woman shook her head. “I never mind only my own business.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

“Jesus Christ gave you and your three sisters into my hands long ago. How can I stand back and watch you live in this way?”

“Mama Hannah, I’m thirty-three years old.”

“By now you should have a wife. Children.” She looked over the back of her seat and studied Alexandra. “What do you think about this, Miss Prescott? Should this boy not find a good woman to marry?”

Alexandra cleared her throat. “Well, I—”

“Mama Hannah,” Grant cut in, “you’ve been hanging around with my moon-eyed sisters too long. I’m happy for Tillie and Jess. I really am. But I don’t want you doing any matchmaking for me, okay? I have a lot more important things to focus on. Did I tell you about the group of Ilmolelian clan members I’ve been talking with over near Mount Kilimanjaro? Ilkisongo area. Intriguing bunch. You’ll be fascinated.”

“He changes the subject,” the old woman said to Alexandra. “Do you see how he does that? This boy is very smart. I cannot understand why a woman would not want to marry him.”

Alexandra mustered a smile.
She
could understand perfectly. What woman in her right mind would hook up with this derelict? Sure, he had an obvious tenderness for the African woman. You could even say the man had a nice pair of eyes and a disarming grin. But his clothes . . . and this car! She had heard enough sermons to know it was wrong to judge a person by outward appearance. But she had dated enough men to trust her intuition just a little. If this Grant fellow didn’t care about his health and his appearance— what would he care about?

“Miss Prescott, you have come a long way from New York to Kenya,” Hannah said. “I wonder what you will do here.”

“Business,” Grant answered in Alexandra’s place. “She’s a fabric designer. Getting ideas from the wilds of Africa.”

“I am certain you will make beautiful designs,” Hannah said.

“I suggest you study the animals closely while you’re here,” Grant continued. “Scrutinize the fauna. Really look. The lines of a zebra’s hide. Fascinating. The babies are brown and white, you know. Please don’t give them black stripes. African elephants have big ears, huge tattered appendages. Don’t draw in the tiny little flappers that Asian elephants have. In fact, you ought to visit my sister Fiona. She lives with the elephants over in the Serengeti. She could show you a thing or two.”

“Your sister lives with elephants?” Alexandra asked. She was beginning to assemble a very odd portrait of this family. A derelict brother. A crackpot sister. And a mother—the sanest of the lot—who couldn’t possibly be their mother.

Grant glanced back over his shoulder as he drove. “Elephants,” he repeated. “Of course, Fiona wouldn’t let you near her campsite. Hates people as much as I like them. She’s sort of the eccentric type.”

“Unlike you,” Alexandra said under her breath. Aloud she added, “What exactly do you do, Mr. . . . ?”

“Thornton. Grant Thornton.” He gave her that lopsided grin. “I wander around mostly. Talk to people.”

“Grant, tell her what you
really
do,” Hannah ordered. “We are here in the city now, and your guest must think very badly of you.”

“Yep, Nairobi. City of eternal springtime.” Ignoring the old woman, he steered the Land Rover around a large traffic circle. “Ten carjackings a day. That’s the downside of Nairobi, Miss Prescott. That and a few random murders, the occasional student riot, and a crumbling city infrastructure. Potholes in the roads, unreliable water and electrical systems, a political structure in the throes of government reorganization. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds like New York.”

“The urban jungle.”

“So what’s the upside?”

“Flowers—bougainvillea, frangipani, hibiscus. Food— African, Indian, Chinese, Italian. Weather—no sleet, hail, snow, tornadoes, or hurricanes. Even the earthquakes keep it down to the occasional tremor or two. Best of all, I guess, would be the people. Asians, Arabs, and Europeans are interesting. But it’s the Africans who turn my wheels. In one country you have four different ethnic units, more than forty indigenous groups, and just as many languages, customs, beliefs, and rituals. The place is a candy store for a guy like me. A real candy store.”

In spite of the odor of overripe bananas and the sticky substance on the soles of both of her shoes, Alexandra was curious. “So, what do you really do here?” she repeated. “I mean . . . to earn a living.”

“I just told you.” He pulled the Land Rover to a stop in front of a round tower that rose into the night sky. “Hilton International. Swimming pool. Shopping arcade. Communications center. Western civilization. Hang on, I’ll get your bags.”

Before Alexandra could climb over a pair of hiking boots and out the door, the African woman reached around and touched her arm. “May God bless you,” she said softly.

“May he bless you, too. Hannah, you mentioned Christ earlier. Are you a Christian?”

The brown eyes softened. “I am. And you?”

“Yes, I am.” Alexandra impulsively slipped her arms around the old woman’s neck. “I feel better knowing there’s someone in this country who shares my faith.”

“There are many believers in Kenya. But it is not we who must give you courage and strength. It is our Lord himself.”

Warmth flooding her heart, Alexandra looked into the woman’s dark eyes. “Pray for me,” she whispered.

“Hey, are you two going to gab all night?” Grant poked his head through the open door. “Come on, Miss Prescott. I’ve got things to do.”

“Wander around and talk to people?” Alexandra stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Thank you, Mr. Thornton. I’d offer to pay you, but—”

“But you haven’t exchanged your money yet. That’s okay. You’ve been an interesting specimen.”

“Specimen?” she repeated, bristling.

He laughed. “Okay, I’ll stop analyzing you for a minute. I’ll look you up and down, man to woman. Yep, you’re a beautiful blonde with legs that ought to be banned. If I weren’t already committed, I’d ask you out to lunch.”

“You said you were a bachelor.”

“I’m not married—but I’m not available. My work, you know. Keeps me busy, challenges me. I’m happy. What else does a man need?”

“Let me think now. Why
do
people get together? Could it be . . . love?”

He let out a low whistle. “Don’t try to trip me up, Miss Prescott. I’m a sucker for a clever woman.”

“Flatter me all you want, Mr. Thornton. You’ll be disappointed. I’m only in Kenya a couple of weeks. Besides, I prefer a man who woos me with flowers—not one who sticks me to the floor of his car with spilled Coke.”

He was chuckling as she picked up her attaché case. A bellhop had already begun loading her bags onto a large, brass-trimmed cart. From the open glass door of the lobby she could smell the familiar scent of luxury hotel—clean floors, leather chairs, air-conditioning.

“Thanks for the ride,” Alexandra said, extending her hand.

Grant took it and gave a firm squeeze. “My pleasure. Oh, and if you need another ride or anything, you can look me up in the town of Oloitokitok. It’s near the Amboseli Game Park. The folks there will give you directions to my camp. It’s the Maasai Oral Mythology Project. Ask for
Bwana
Hadithi, the story man.”