‘In case you’re still wondering,’ she said, ‘Richard’s gone to sort out some panic with the Nandi. There’s been a return of their favourite form of persecution, where things come out of the forest and leave them in a bit of a mess.’
‘The chemosit?’
‘You know? Ah, but you would, wouldn’t you, as a zoologist. Everyone thought it had stopped a few years ago, but it seems it hasn’t.’
‘Actually, someone told me on the train.’
‘Anyone interesting?’ She said it dreamily, distantly, as if not expecting an answer.
‘A Jackson somebody.’
‘Oh… yes. I know him. He’s the minister here.’
Rupert felt the warmth of her bare foot on his own. It was, he remembered, how it had started, at their house at the foot of the Ngong Hills just after he had arrived in Kenya ten years before. Living in a tent nearby, he must have seemed eccentric enough to warrant an invitation from Richard Hedley. The rapid path he had trodden then, even with hindsight, was no less inviting now. He could not prevent himself saying, ‘Your boy – when does he leave?’
‘As soon as he’s cleared the kitchen.’
They waited in silence, fingers touching tentatively across the table, until the door slammed and the footsteps were absorbed into the night. Rupert wanted to tell her about Jackson, but the risk of diverting her attention held him back.
Together they checked the muslin net above the bed. As it fell into place he saw through it an image of the woman as she had been and could be again for one last time.
He rounded the foot of the bed, expecting to encounter a pair of soft expectant eyes, but there was a noise outside and her expression turned fearful. The room was suddenly suffused by the pale light of a lamp from somewhere in front of the house.
‘Richard?’ he suggested.
‘Oh dear God, it must be. Don’t move. I’ll be back.’
There were animated voices from below. A minute later she reappeared.
‘I think you’d better come,’ she said. ‘This could interest you. Don’t worry, it’s not Richard.’
There were three Africans in the room below. Rupert could tell from their agitation that something of great moment had happened. He assumed it had to do with the train, but it did not, at least directly. He recognised the houseboy among them.
‘Mwangi,’ Catherine said, ‘you had better tell Bwana Murchison what the men say.’
‘They say that they have caught it, Memsahib. In the railway shed.’
‘Caught what, Mwangi?’
‘The chemosit, Memsahib.’
Catherine seemed puzzled. ‘What is it, Mwangi?’
‘They do not know.’
‘Surely they must know,’ she said impatiently. ‘Is it a leopard – or a hyaena?’
Mwangi addressed the men, translating.
‘These men say it is not a leopard or a hyaena.’
‘How big is it?’
‘Bigger than three men, Memsahib.’
Catherine moved to the window and stared out. When she turned back to them the strain of the decision told upon her face. ‘Tell the men Bwana Hedley will come when he gets back in the morning.’
‘Then Bwana Murchison must come.’
‘Bwana Murchison is very tired. Can the creature escape?’
‘The shed is locked.’
‘Then Bwana Murchison will come later.’
From the shadows Rupert watched the men file dejectedly from the room and out into the rain. He had listened without interest, experience telling him that in Africa truth gets embellished in the telling. But now they were gone he was curious.
‘I ought to follow,’ he said.
‘Nonsense. They’ve caught a hyena or a baboon perhaps.’
‘But Catherine, these men know what those animals look like.’
‘They’ve been drinking.’
‘I didn’t notice.’
‘Well, they have.’
‘I think I ought to go.’
Catherine’s anger suddenly surfaced. ‘Then you can tell me about it at breakfast.’
‘You won’t wait for me?’
‘You never would grasp opportunities, would you? Your one great failing. You fool!’ She was at the window, sobbing into the curtains that were clutched between her hands. He guessed that these were tears dammed up since she came, released because he, Rupert, had turned the key.
They returned to the bedroom, Rupert’s mind calmed by the drumming of rain on the roof, Catherine’s by a skirmish fought and won.
‘You’ve lost weight, Rupert. I can feel your heart beating. For a moment you took me away from this place. You can’t imagine how that felt.’
‘You didn’t make things easy for yourself.’
‘Lovers into enemies, is that what you mean?’ She paused. ‘Are you my enemy, Rupert?’
‘Just now I’m a friend.’
‘Not more? After what we’ve just done. What I let you do.’ She rolled over to face him. ‘You could stay. Just for a few days. Cancel the boat. There’s always someone wanting a berth.’
‘And how would I explain that?’
‘Tell them in London you’ve got the fever.’
‘No, I meant to Richard.’
‘I don’t know. Help him sort out these killings. Something like that.’
‘That’s for the police, surely.’
‘Police? I can tell you it’s not a matter for the police.’
‘The Church, then?’
There was a sudden clattering noise from somewhere beneath the window. Rupert said, ‘What the hell was that?’
‘Just an animal. Richard probably left some rubbish out. It always attracts them. I’ll take a look.’
‘You won’t see much. It’s pitch black out there – no moon at all.’
She moved to the window and parted the curtains. ‘One of the veranda lights is still on. There’s nothing there now.’ Slowly she drew the curtains together and returned to the bed.
‘Catherine, you’re shivering.’
‘It’s got colder.’
‘I wouldn’t have said so.’
‘You’re not always bloody right.’ She grasped his arm tightly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. Anyway, it’s quiet now.’
‘Yes, quiet. It’s either the rain beating down or…’
Images from the early evening crept into Rupert’s thoughts. ‘Like in the forest.’
‘Oh?’ She squeezed his arm more tightly. ‘Sometimes I think I’m losing my senses. Last week… I went there to get some orchids to paint. Climbing up, into the dripping branches – and then… silence.’
‘That frightened you?’
‘At first. While I thought I was alone.’
‘And then?’
The pain in Rupert’s arm was becoming unbearable.
‘Because nothing is what you expect. And if you expect nothing, what appears is…’ An animal-like snarl from below the window caused her to release her grip on his arm. ‘Oh, Christ!’
‘I’ll put on the light.’
‘Don’t touch it! Be silent.’ There was a long pause, then she whispered, ‘What can you hear?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘Listen harder.’
‘Really nothing. Not even the cicadas.’
‘That’s right. Not even them.’ She stroked his arm gently. ‘Go to your own bed now, Rupert. There’s nothing more for you here.’
‘Catherine, you’re still shivering.’
‘Dread and intoxication, all at the same moment. Strange bedfellows, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know what…’
‘One day you’ll thank me.’ The push into his back was as violent as her next utterance. ‘Now go!’