Jackal's Dance (12 page)

Martial eagles were making something of a comeback, although sighting one was still reason
enough for excitement. Listed as vulnerable in the Red Data Book of endangered species, the massive bird of prey had been ruthlessly hunted by farmers in their belief that it killed their sheep and was, therefore, the enemy. And it was true, martial eagles did have a penchant for prime lamb as part of their diet. But, in recent times, it had become more widely accepted that they actually did more good than harm, keeping the rock rabbit, rat and mice populations under control. The largest by far of the eagle family, the females could weigh up to six kilograms. Its ermine white belly decorated with dark brown spots, brilliant yellow eyes and pale feathered legs, the bird in flight was majestic indeed.

Caitlin settled herself against the laundry wall and raised the binoculars, sweeping them over the sky. Today, when she had the time, just to be contrary, the martial eagle was nowhere to be seen.

Billy found her there. ‘How was the drive? You came back rather early.'

‘Not much about and they were complaining of hunger.'

Billy's eyebrows flicked up and down, a sign that he was about to throw his weight around. ‘Our publicity material states that we offer a three-hour game-viewing drive. That's what the punters want. That's what we must give them.'

‘It's not my fault that they were more than ready to come in.'

He cleared his throat. ‘And you didn't sit with them at breakfast.'

‘A girl can take only so much.' With some effort
Caitlin kept her voice neutral.

‘They expect you to join them. I had to do it.'

Okay! So now we know where you're coming from.
‘And I was missed?'

‘That's not the point. I decide on any changes to the routine.'

‘Tell you what,' Caitlin rose, ready to move away. ‘You try taking out a group like that. Or is that not in the rule book either?'

Billy ignored Caitlin's sarcasm and frowned after her retreating figure. He didn't like criticism. In fact, not only did Billy not like it, he more often than not managed to convince himself that it was unwarranted. Caitlin McGregor had no reason to censure him. She had no idea of the responsibility involved in running the lodge. Besides, not being a qualified ranger he was not allowed to take tourists on game drives. She knew that. Shaking his head, Billy returned to the sanctuary of his office.

Caitlin allowed her irritation to dissipate in its own time. That man had the uncanny knack of getting under her skin just by being there. He was the one flaw in an otherwise perfect life. A life she'd dreamed of from the age of seven when her parents took her to see
Born Free.
She fell so in love with the movie that she begged her mother for a video copy of it for Christmas and spent hours in front of the television watching it over and over again. At that time, living in Scotland, Caitlin had been enthralled by the untamed vastness that was Africa. From then, through her schooling, a Bachelor of Science degree, majoring in animal
husbandry at Edinburgh University, Caitlin cherished the dream that, one day, she too would work with animals in the African bush.

As soon as she could, Caitlin joined an overland adventure safari heading for South Africa. Jammed in a truck along with sixteen other ‘stinkies' as they were commonly called throughout Africa, by the time she arrived at the bottom of the continent, Caitlin knew that Africa was for her. It didn't matter where. South Africa, for so long ostracised because of its politics, was experiencing a tourist destination bonanza. As a result, related businesses were springing up all over the place, including a thriving game ranger, eco-tourism, nature conservation training industry. Just where the jobs would come from to cope with all the eager, certificate-waving graduates, no-one knew. Or even cared. It was boom time for the game reserves – newspapers said so. Rangers would be needed – advertisements said so.

Without thinking it through, Caitlin dived headlong into the best ranger training course she could find. With formidable university qualifications to back her up, she breezed through, emerging a qualified game guide only to discover that, even if jobs were available, the new South Africa had adopted an employment policy promoted under a banner by the name of affirmative action. Translated, it meant that regardless of qualifications, a bloody good reason had to be given if a prospective employer wished to take on a white face. Caitlin applied for dozens of positions. Her
credentials were not in doubt, enthusiasm never in question. The bottom line was that she was not South African and not the right colour. Stunningly, obviously and undoubtedly the wrong colour. She had the milky white, clear complexion only those who grow up in a cold climate ever achieve. Her shoulder-length curly hair was completely natural. Strawberry blonde. Eyes green, like a cat's, but flecked with gold.

Caitlin took the rejections personally. It wasn't so much a women's liberation ethic which drove her. She had always felt a keen sense of competitiveness with men. But Caitlin knew a brick wall when she saw one.

Her quest for work carried her through Botswana, where the hairy-chested, khaki-clad white hunter image fronted for a highly developed and lucrative game-viewing industry. ‘Our clients,' she was told by more than one Okavango concession operator, ‘need to feel secure in the bush.'

‘I can shoot.'

A small smirk usually accompanied the next words. ‘I'm sure you can, Miss McGregor. But killing the animals is not something we like to associate with our camps.'

‘I've faced danger in the bush. I didn't panic. It's in my certificate.'

‘Most admirable.'

‘I can drive. I'm a qualified game ranger. What's your objection?'

‘You are a woman.'

‘That's sexist!' she accused.

‘Perhaps.' A small shrug. ‘What can I say? Women rangers are just not popular.'

Down but not defeated Caitlin travelled west to Namibia, hoping that its relatively new status as an independent country would mean a shortage of trained African rangers and thus more jobs to go around. Having been a German protectorate up until the First World War, Caitlin was optimistic that Namibia would retain a more European flavour and less of the rigid rules which were the legacy left by Britain.

She realised quite quickly that this was not the case. Certainly, Namibia's past, when the country was called German Southwest Africa, was very much in evidence. Food, beer, buildings and a more relaxed atmosphere between the races was reminiscent of Germany's influence. But, since 1921, Namibia had been administered by South Africa. Seventy years of their paternalistic style of government had left its mark. The ‘women-should-be-seen-and-not-heard' syndrome introduced by the flood of Afrikaans-speaking settlers at the end of the First World War, despite total independence since 1990, meant that Caitlin stood no better chance of breaking into what men perceived as their world.

She was just plain lucky. Through a remarkable set of circumstances she was offered a ranger's job at Logans Island Lodge in Etosha National Park. The previous incumbent had been diagnosed with lung cancer and had returned to Windhoek for medical care. His replacement, due to start work in
a few days, had been seriously injured in a car accident the previous day. Caitlin had had the good fortune to turn up unannounced at the Division of Nature Conservation. Desperate for somebody, anybody, she was taken on probation with no-one, least of all Caitlin, expecting the job to last. Accepting the position, Caitlin knew that she had three months at best to convince those who held the power of hire or fire that she was not only up to the task but better than anyone else. While she resented the necessity for this, she was determined to do it.

She had to admit that, aside from Billy who took every opportunity to criticise, the others had treated her fairly. Dan raised his eyebrows when they first met but made no comment. Since then, he had behaved with the same polite reserve he showed to everybody. Sean simply welcomed her and reacted with pleased approval at the extent of her knowledge. Thea, Billy's wife, seemed happy to have another woman around, but the routine was so busy the two of them rarely had time for more than a few words. And Chester, easygoing and friendly to everyone except Billy, was no different with Caitlin other than having a weird fixation with her hair. He wanted to cut it and stuff a cushion with it. This revelation caused Caitlin to remember a long-forgotten desire to see how it would look if she let it grow.

Caitlin, more so than the other three rangers, was already a walking encyclopaedia when it came to bush knowledge. Perhaps being born outside
Africa she'd had to study that little bit harder. More likely, though, that Africa was her passion. Whatever the reason, Caitlin's beloved book collection consisted one hundred per cent of flora and fauna references. The others were observation knowledgeable but Caitlin lived and breathed the reasons why.

She always tried to give that little bit of extra information on game drives. She inevitably had her hand up when extra duties were required. The African staff liked her because she went out of her way to be cheerful, considerate and helpful. The other rangers responded to her easygoing nature. Tourists felt safe with her because she was so professional.

When the probationary period was over, the Division of Nature Conservation had no hesitation in offering her a permanent position. Caitlin was in. She had, at last, fulfilled a childhood dream. Even so, the fact that she was a woman went against her.

Caitlin would have preferred to work solely with animals. The opportunity to do so was provided regularly by the various research programs conducted throughout the park. A lot of the time the hands-on tasks were punishingly physical, and Caitlin could see that Sean, Chester and Dan were better equipped to handle them. Not that she wasn't fit. She was. No day went by without at least thirty minutes of exercise. Caitlin was in superb shape. She lifted weights, jogged, ate sensibly and didn't touch alcohol or cigarettes. Despite that,
when one of the vets needed help, they rarely asked her. Undeterred, Caitlin continued to volunteer to assist them, determined to get there eventually.

Thea Abbott drove past and waved. She was on her way to the airstrip, dust billowing behind the vehicle. Caitlin remembered that the British actress, Gayle Gaynor, was booked in for a few days. Another difficult tourist, no doubt.

‘O
h my God! Will you just look at that!' Gayle Gaynor brushed dyed, white-blonde hair back from her forehead with brilliantly red-tipped fingers. ‘I mean, darling, it's so . . . barren.' A chic bob contoured her well-defined jawline and curled obediently under a delicately pointed chin.

Their four-seater Piper Cherokee buzzed the kilometre-long dirt airstrip from a height of no more than three metres above its surrounding vegetation – a necessary precaution to scare off any animals that might wander onto the demarcated landing area – before gaining altitude to come around again, drop the wheels and touch down. They were now on final approach. The pilot, a man in his early thirties, ignored the woman sitting in the right-hand seat. Johannesburg to Etosha had taken just over five hours, which was, in his opinion, five hours too long. Gayle Gaynor, darling of the silver screen to millions of fans, was a pain in the arse. She'd done nothing but bitch about everything – the pre-dawn start, clear air turbulence, her lack of comfort, even delays on the ground at Hosea
Kutaro international airport near Windhoek where they had to clear customs and immigration. That poor bastard in the back seat had copped an earful as if every little inconvenience was his fault.

‘What in God's name do the poor animals eat?' Gayle asked no-one in particular with a rendition of her throaty screen voice.

Matt Grandville leaned as far forward as his seat belt would allow and murmured soothingly, ‘You're looking at the saltpan, Gayle. There's plenty of grass on the other side. And don't forget that article we saw. They might have had good rains this year but they're still recovering from a drought.'

Gayle tossed her sleek hair. Its natural colour, without chemical enhancement and the expertise of a London hairdresser, was a glorious honey colour, streaked with silver. Noticing the silver some five years ago had sent her scurrying for professional help. ‘I know, Matt sweetie. I can read.'

Matt stifled a smile, sat back and braced himself for the landing. He hated small planes and was inclined not to trust any pilot under the age of forty-five. Gayle, very well aware of his misgivings, typically chose to charter a flight from Johannesburg rather than catch the scheduled South African Airways airbus to Windhoek and drive north to Etosha. The reason given, that people always stared at her, didn't hold water. Gayle loved to be recognised. She also had to be in charge. Her insistence that they fly privately was more about ‘I am Gayle Gaynor and I can do whatever I want' than anything else. Matt felt the familiar tightening in his
gut as the small aircraft floated down to a perfectly executed landing.

Back in England, in Gayle's cosy seventeenth-century Hertford cottage, which for the past fifteen months Matt had shared with the actress, the idea of escaping a dreary winter and doing something completely different seemed such a good idea. A film director friend of Gayle's had recently been in Namibia and returned raving about Etosha and Logans Island Lodge. Gayle decided she and Matt should spend a week there. At first Matt rejected the idea. Although he couldn't afford the trip Gayle, as usual, brushed aside any objections as if nothing but her own wishes counted. In a fit of uncharacteristic generosity, she offered to pay for both of them and turned a deaf ear to any further objections. And, as was her way, once she got an idea into her head Gayle talked about Etosha nonstop until Matt was actually looking forward to the trip.

The planning was left to Matt and took on all the nightmare qualities that might be associated with the pre-production requirements of filming
Ben Hur.
Whenever he showed irritation over Gayle's constant changes to a schedule that was hard enough to put together, due in no small measure to communication difficulties between London and Windhoek, she was quick to sweetly remind him who would be paying for the trip. It was Matt who had to inform Logans Island Lodge that the star drank Gilbeys Gin with Angostura, had to have sans gas Perrier and Harrods Blend
No. 14 tea, insisted on Baxters chunky marmalade and used only Johnson & Johnson's baby soap. It was Matt who dealt with the charter plane company in Johannesburg and he who had to keep their itinerary on track when Gayle changed dates for the fifth time.