Jackal's Dance (8 page)

Sean laughed. ‘Now I think of it, that American who was in number two looked a little glassy-eyed this morning. Had a quick cup of coffee and left.'

‘Probably hungover,' Dan responded non-committally.

‘You'll get caught out one day.'

Dan shrugged. Changing the subject, he asked, ‘Who's booked in for today? Anyone interesting?'

Sean ticked off names on his fingers. ‘Gayle Gaynor, remember her?'

‘The British actress?'

‘One and the same. Judging by Billy's list of special requirements she takes her fame quite seriously. Even requested specific brand names for her gin, tea, marmalade and soap. God knows what she
thinks she's coming to. Sounds like we're in for a real treat.'

‘How long is she staying?'

‘Six days.'

Dan pulled a face. ‘On her own?'

‘Leave it out! Your bed's still cooling down from the last one. Anyway, she's travelling with another star of the silver screen, Matt Grandville.'

‘Never heard of him.'

‘Yes you have. He was in that video we watched last week. You know, the one about the bank robbery? Played the enthusiastic young copper.'

‘Right.' Dan vaguely remembered the video but not the actor. ‘Younger than her then?'

‘Much. She'd be a good twenty years older.'

‘They're together? Like, me Tarzan, you Jane, me got clam digger, you got clam, together?'

‘Well, they're sharing the same bungalow. I mean, let's not make hasty judgments here.'

‘Heaven forbid!' Dan gave a ‘who me?' smile and grunted with amusement. He rarely laughed outright. ‘Who else are we to be blessed with?'

‘Two Americans. Male.' In response to Dan's raised eyebrows, Sean added, ‘Separate rooms.'

‘Bit suss.'

Sean shrugged. ‘A couple from South Africa – Afrikaans by the sound of them. Mr and Mrs Riekert.'

‘Is that it?'

‘Other than Felicity Honeywell.'

‘And just who is she?'

Sean sighed. ‘Cretin. Only the most successful
modern poet in South Africa.'

‘Poet!' Dan grunted again. Then recited, ‘There was a coo on yonder hill. It's no there noo it musta shifted.'

Sean laughed. ‘Okay, I'll bite. Who on earth wrote that?'

‘A Scotsman, forget his name, McGonagle or something. Great stuff. The man was a genius. Only poet worth a damn. Best recited by Billy Connolly.'

Sean shook his head and finished the mental check list. ‘Your mate Philip. Oh, and the Schmidt family are staying a couple more days. That's about it.'

Dan felt a surge of genuine pleasure. He'd forgotten Philip Meyer was arriving today. An author, South African by birth, who had made Australia his home, Philip was as close as Dan could come to a friend. For some inexplicable reason, he had hit it off with Philip from their very first meeting. In a way, the writer reminded Dan of Norman Snelling. The man had been to Etosha twice before, each time with his wife, Sue. On the last trip two years ago, Dan and Philip had destroyed a bottle-and-a-half of scotch before Philip confided that Sue had cancer. Three months later Dan received a short note informing him that she had died. It had been impossible for him to find the right words of condolence so he had not responded. Never expecting to see the author again it had been a pleasant surprise when the man's new reservation came in.

Sean stood up. ‘See you later.'

As he turned to leave, Thea Abbott, Billy's wife, appeared. ‘I've been looking all over for you.'

‘Well, here I am,' Sean said in that quiet voice he always used when speaking to her.

Dan glanced up from his plate sympathetically, knowing how the young ranger felt about Thea. He was probably the only one in camp who did, other than Sean himself. Couldn't blame the boy. Mrs Abbott turned most heads. Tall and slim, with a body that arranged clothes the way they were meant to look. Short dark hair, badly cut by Chester every six weeks to keep tidy but thick enough to withstand the African's attentions without too much damage, and cornflower blue eyes. Thea wore no make-up, didn't need it. Dressed, as usual, in the Logans Island Lodge livery, Thea's duties didn't include the normal outdoor activities of a ranger. As the lodge manager's wife, Thea's job was to back-up her husband.

Specifically, it was Thea's responsibility to supervise anything to do with housekeeping and the efficient running of lodge services. These duties included stock control, ordering supplies, devising menus, training new staff, handling complaints and generally making sure that guests were as well catered for as was humanly possible. She carried out daily bungalow inspections to ensure that all were up to the sometimes exacting standards of guests – linen immaculate, beds freshly made, complimentary toiletries replaced, washing and ironing requirements seen to. Thea's duties should have stopped there, but she often found herself meeting
guests at the airstrip on the mainland, supervising gardeners, organising repairs in the workshop, or any one of a dozen other jobs. Her days were crammed with activity from dawn until the last guest retired each night. She was good at it, better than Billy, who liked to give orders but seldom did anything himself.

Thea was smiling at Sean in easy friendship. Most people liked him straight off – he had that kind of face. ‘Could you do something for me?'

‘Sure.' Sean brushed long blond hair back off his shoulders. He sometimes wore it in a ratty little ponytail but, more often, secured with a rubber band – filched from the office, much to Billy's annoyance – at the base of his neck so it fluffed out like a permed rabbit's tail. Some days, like now, he let it flow free. It was cut short on the top and sides – Chester strikes again – where it lay flat and tidy. The back, when he wore it loose, was a tangled mess of gold curls.

‘The generator's out of fuel.'

‘Where's Billy?' Dan growled. Maintaining the lodge's power supply was no job for a woman.

‘In the office.'

‘That's okay. I'll see to it.' Sean moved away.

Thea went with him. ‘If you show me what's needed I won't bother you next time.'

‘No problem,' Sean said lightly. ‘I don't mind.'

Dan shook his head, disgusted. It wasn't that the generator was not Sean's responsibility, that had nothing to do with it. Billy Abbott was getting a bit above himself these days. He was seen less and
less around the complex, preferring to sit in his air-conditioned office and have Thea do the legwork. The African staff had little or no respect for him and any instructions Billy gave were carried out in slow motion. As a result, what was supposed to be the crème de la crème of Etosha accommodation had a few chinks appearing. If a foraging animal upset a rubbish bin, staff made no effort to clean up the mess until told. The swimming pool wasn't checked as often as it should have been. Little things, but when they were all added together, some guests wondered aloud why they were paying premium prices. To compensate, everyone else pulled more weight. Thea bore the brunt of it but Sean took it upon himself to monitor repairs in the workshop, Dan kept an eye on the craft and curio shop, Chester would chase up the general maintenance staff and Caitlin was always ready and willing to relieve any of them if needed.

Billy had no direct authority over the rangers. They were employed by Nature Conservation and their duties set by that body. That didn't stop him interfering in their day-to-day routines. All four, in addition to conducting tourists around the reserve, were expected to assist research biologists, veterinarians and park maintenance staff. The ambassadors of Etosha, they were always available, talking to guests, listening to guests, joining them for meals or at the bar afterwards and then, often after a late and boozy night, appearing bright and smiling well before sun-up for the next morning's game drive. So Billy's increasing interference was
not welcomed.

And that wasn't all. Everyone liked Thea. But the way Billy treated his wife bordered on indifference. Thea adored him. Billy barely acknowledged her presence. Dan wondered if the man spoke to her when they were alone together. In public he behaved as if she were around only to do his bidding.

They walked together to the workshop. It was only eight-thirty but the day was going to be a scorcher. Without a breath of wind the heat had already built up to such an extent that a damp sheen of perspiration glowed on Thea's forehead. Born and bred in England, she had a hard time coping with extremes of temperature.

Sean wasn't saying much and Thea hoped he wasn't put out by her latest call for help. She didn't think he would be – he always seemed happy to assist. Still, knowing how hard all the rangers worked she hated having to burden him with yet another problem, but the generator was the lodge's lifeblood. Without it, nothing worked.

‘How's the manuscript coming along?' Everyone knew Sean was trying to write a book. He didn't say much about it but had told Thea that it was set in a fictitious game reserve and based loosely on his experiences at Etosha. With five chapters completed, it was the hardest thing he'd ever attempted to do.

‘Stalled.'

‘What's the problem?'

‘I've created a character I don't believe in. He's too one-dimensional. Like a stick figure. I'm not sure how to fix it. Everything I think up seems flat.'

‘Maybe you should let someone read what you've written. Could be you're too close to it.'

‘Maybe.' Sean was doubtful. He fluctuated between belief that his efforts were reasonably good to being certain the whole thing was terrible.

‘Philip Meyer is arriving today. He might be able to help.'

Sean shook his head. ‘I wouldn't dare ask. He's a pro. Probably gets asked to comment on other people's stuff all the time. Anyway, what if it's no good? Or worse. What if it's rubbish and he's too nice to tell me? I don't know, Thea, maybe I'm fooling myself.'

‘You won't know unless you get input from someone else.'

‘I know. But who?'

‘Try me. I'll read it if you like.'

‘Would you?' The thought that somebody else could help had never occurred to him. Thea, in rare moments of relaxation, loved to read. Her opinion would be worth having, for more reasons than one. ‘On one condition, though. You must promise to be brutally honest.'

‘Clinically callous even. Take my word.' Thea laughed. ‘You may never recover.'

Somehow Sean doubted it. She was too considerate. ‘I'll get it to you in a day or so.' He needed time to find the courage. His main female character was based on Thea and, although he'd taken pains
to create a corresponding male hero who bore no resemblance to himself, Sean couldn't help but identify with the character. What if she made the connection?

The lodge's generator and battery bank were housed in a separate section of the block-built workshop. Thea wanted Sean to show her what to do but he shook his head, saying, ‘No job for a woman.' He laughed. ‘Sorry. That wasn't meant to be sexist. I'm afraid our generator came out of the ark. Modern ones are much more user-friendly. This old girl's an obstinate bitch. You just stand over there and look gorgeous.'

She knew he was teasing her. Thea didn't mind. From the moment she and Billy arrived in Etosha Sean's company had been special. At twenty-six, only two years older than her, he displayed a quiet self-confidence that she somehow found reassuring in the strangeness of new surroundings. Thea instinctively liked and trusted him. She learned that Sean had graduated from university with a major in resource management. He'd been working for Nature Conservation for four years, two of them at Logans Island Lodge. There was no doubting the young ranger's love for, and commitment to, the African bush. It shone from his hazel eyes whenever he talked about it.

She watched as Sean's strong, muscled arms worked the manual pump screwed into a two-hundred litre drum of diesel. He checked the oil. Low. The generator had become a greedy consumer of lubrication which probably meant it was about
to pack up. Sean added more. Billy should have been doing this but said he didn't have time.

At the thought of her husband, Thea's stomach churned with fear.
What would he say? How would he react? How could I have been so stupid?
Perhaps if she told Sean? Yes, she'd tell Sean. She needed to tell someone, get it out in the open.

‘There you go,' he said as the generator belched smoke and settled to a steady beat.

‘Thank you.' The throaty thump, thump, thump was a welcome relief. Caitlin would be returning from her game drive in about an hour with hungry tourists eager for a cooked breakfast. The British actress Gayle Gaynor and her companion would be flying in from Windhoek shortly. They'd probably need food as well. With the generator back on, Thea could stop worrying about power. ‘I . . . have you got a minute?'

‘Sure.' Sean smiled at her as he wiped his hands on a greasy rag. ‘What's on your mind?'

‘You must promise not to say a word to anyone.'

Sean liked her voice. Her British accent had the clipped tone of the middle-to-upper class. ‘I promise.'

‘I'm only telling you because . . . because I need to tell someone.' Thea's eyes were troubled.

Sean had never seen her like this. ‘What is it? What's wrong?'

She took a deep, steadying breath.

‘Can't be that bad.'

Her voice was small. ‘It is.'

‘Billy?' Sean queried.

Thea shook her head.

To Sean's surprise, unshed tears glimmered in her beautiful blue eyes. ‘Hey! What's the matter?'

‘I'm pregnant.'

Sean put down the rag and moved closer, placing his hands on her upper arms. ‘Thea, that's wonderful news. Congratulations. How does Billy feel?' The information sat, like hot lead, in the pit of his stomach.