A Lion by the Mane Page 10

  ‘There has been an accident. Doctor Martin is dead.’

  ‘Dead!’ His voice betrayed that he was badly shaken. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘It appears he went off four days ago and didn’t return. Two Rangers brought in his body this morning – mauled by a lion.’

  ‘What!’ shouted Chris. ‘Never! Russell Martin knew more about animals than anyone in the Republic. It’s inconceivable that he would die in that manner.’

  Margaret was bewildered. ‘We saw him . . . Jan saw him, and had no doubts.’

  ‘Well, I have! Nobody will convince me a man like Russell would end his life at the mercy of a lion. He must have had a heart attack . . . something like that. I’ll concede his body may have been mutilated by some animal after death. There’ll be a post mortem, of course. Craig Barker hasn’t accepted Jan’s theory?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know what he thinks. We had only just arrived when they brought in the body. It was a nasty shock, Chris, and everyone is a bit jumpy now.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Margaret. I had known Russell for over fifteen years, ever since he took over Myala, and I had a great respect for him. I suppose you are alone because Craig and Jan are out looking for evidence.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, thankful for the lie he put into her mouth. There was such a long pause, Margaret thought he had gone.

  ‘Of course, this makes things very awkward for you. I suppose you haven’t had time to sort out what you intend doing?’

  His words took her off guard. Events had chased one another so fast since her arrival at Myala it had not struck her yet that her own plans had suffered a severe set-back. Would the new Warden be willing to have her here? If Craig should get the post, she had grave misgivings about their relationship remembering his eagerness to carry her from the truck that morning. It was one thing to work cheek by jowl with a man of fifty-two who thought of nothing but animals; quite another to be the constant companion of a lusty twenty-six-year old when there is no other woman for miles around. Certainly it would be impossible to stay there alone with him until a man arrived to replace Dr Martin.

  ‘Margaret, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Margaret! Margaret Ward, are you there?’

  She realized she hadn’t switched the transmitting button and hurriedly did so. ‘Sorry, Chris, I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Normally I’d leave Jan to return on an inter-city flight, but under the circumstances, I think I’ll come up to Myala in the Trilander in the morning. You can return with us, if you wish.’

  ‘Oh no!’ The frantic protest was out, and she tried to dilute it by saying, ‘Please don’t worry about me. I’m sure you have other commitments.’

  ‘Not at all. I feel very responsible for you after all Jan has put you through. If he had let me fly you up there, as arranged, this would never have happened. I am only thankful you are both unhurt. Is it too much to hope the supplies escaped damage?’

  That stumped her, so she didn’t answer.

  ‘Margaret?’ said Chris sharply and on impulse she replied: ‘Chris, are you still there? I can’t hear a thing.’

  Thirty seconds later after ignoring his urgent messages and repeating her avowal that she couldn’t hear him, she gently switched off the machine and returned to her room all churned up inside. Curse Jan! The wretched man now had her lying on his behalf – why, she couldn’t say – but some instinct told her if Chris arrived up here to interfere in this affair it would be Jan’s complete downfall. He had to be allowed to cope with it alone.

  The men returned shortly after seven when dusk was settling over the long grass and strange trees which hid the wild beautiful creatures of Africa. Margaret had been sitting on the veranda watching and listening as the day of man drew to a close and that of the animal quickened into a battle of instinct and guile, attack and defence. For the first time since her arrival, excitement leapt inside her at the thought that, out there, not many hundred yards distant, were lions, elephants, rhinos and endless varieties of animals which were less universally known, but which possessed a charm and fascination for any ecologist.

  Already, the vast distance was tuning-up vocally and her blood pounded with the unfamiliar savagery of it. The going of the sun had endowed the landscape with shadows and nuances which might, in some people, induce unease and a dislike of being alone, but Margaret found it cast a spell over her and she strained her eyes in the half-light to keep the image before her as long as possible. If things had happened according to plan she might have been relaxing here with Craig and Dr Martin while they discussed their work . . . and Jan Schroeder would have walked out of her life the same day he had hurtled in. She wished desperately that it had been so. Since encountering Dr Eggerton at that party at home her plans to travel half across the world to Myala had gone smoothly, until an orange car had shot into a driveway and sent her flying. Since then, Jan had wrought havoc in her life while remaining completely indifferent and uncaring of the fact. Helen had been right to say the odds were against Margaret. Instead of her taming the lion, he had begun to make her equally wild!

  The arrival of the jeep brought the return of another problem. What was she to do about her conversation with Chris? Deeming it wise to tell Jan at least part of it – the houseboy was sure to inform the men Chris had called – she decided not to mention the probability of Chris’s arrival tomorrow. Jan had enough to cope with for tonight. The moment was delayed by the men wanting a shower and a meal after their heavy day, and over dinner they were a silent group. The breach between the men had not been repaired by the hours spent in the bush; the violent confrontation had not been forgotten – probably never would be. Their manner told Margaret they had had no success in their search and she wondered what the next step would be. Jan looked physically and emotionally drained. Unless he got some sleep he would knock himself up completely and be unable even to face that meeting with Chris which she dreaded.

  Over coffee she broke into the half-hour silence by saying, ‘That leg of yours needs a new dressing, Jan. Come along to the laboratory in a minute and I’ll fix it.’

  He dragged his eyes from the distant visions they pursued. ‘Right,’ he said economically.

  This diversion provided Craig with the opening he needed and he stood up. ‘I’ll say good night. No doubt you both wish to turn in early, and I have some paper work to do.’ He paused in the doorway, cup in hand. ‘I’ll get on to the authorities about Russell. Can’t leave a body too long in this climate.’ He raised a hand and was gone.

  Jan was anxious to get the medical treatment over quickly and the minute Margaret finished her coffee they walked along to the laboratory she had inspected earlier in the day. It was beautifully equipped, and she stifled a sigh on entering. It would have been exciting to work here with a man like Dr Martin, but there seemed no alternative but to return to Cape Town with Chris until the situation at Myala was resolved. Maybe it would be possible to take up residence here at a later date. Disappointment stabbed her again. This was the first set-back in her career; it had progressed so smoothly until today. Too smoothly? suggested an inner voice. Isn’t it time you suffered a few reverses to shake your complacence? The inner voice was soon drowned by her natural one saying, ‘Sit up on that bench, will you? It won’t take a minute.’

  When he had been stretched on the floor of the Dakota, it had seemed quite impersonal; now, handling the thigh of a man smouldering with anger, and in a position which necessitated standing a bare foot or so away from him, became an embarrassment. To cover it she adopted her best ‘nursy’ tones as she admonished him for overdoing things.

  ‘You are putting an impossible strain on these stitches, Jan. Dr Gavascar did a good job, but it was a wide gash and no matter how tough you think you are, your flesh will only stand so much before it tears again. You must rest!’

  ‘All right, all right, don’t embark on a lecture, Maggie. I’m going to bed as soon as you have finishe
d. I don’t think I can take much more; the whole place is swimming around me.’

  She looked up with exasperation. ‘Did you wind your mother round your little finger when you were young?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You have the knack of dragging sympathy from a woman when she is at her most annoyed with you.’

  ‘Have I? Your frustrated mothering instinct coming to the fore again?’

  Oh, she had walked right into that one! It would be better to concentrate on swabbing the puckered flesh slashed by black sutures and keep a still tongue in her head.

  ‘I don’t think I held that much sway over my mother,’ he said. ‘With seven children to cope with she was kept pretty busy and I, being the youngest, always had one of the older ones keeping an eye on me.’

  ‘I have one sister, that’s all. What’s it like being one of a large family?’ She kept her head bent over her task.

  ‘Hectic.’

  ‘Are your brothers like you?’

  ‘Not a bit,’ was the quick reply. ‘Randell, the eldest, is an eminently respectable director of a wine importing firm – his own. George is a barrister – very upright, honest and law-abiding.’ He stopped there and she looked up.

  ‘You and Chris I have met. Who is the other one?’

  ‘Kip . . . Chris’s spiritual twin.’

  ‘Is he a business man?’

  ‘He owns Doringdraai; a farm he bought and developed practically single-handed. The family all said he’d never be able to make a going concern of the broken-down place, but he did – of course.’

  ‘Why “of course”?’ she asked immediately.

  ‘Because he is Kip. And is your sister like you . . . cool, competent and damned inquisitive?’

  She countered that with, ‘I spoke to Chris on the radio this afternoon,’ then wished she hadn’t. ‘Don’t look like that . . . I didn’t tell him anything.’

  ‘You must have said something.’

  ‘I had to explain about Doctor Martin since he would be bound to hear about it. Luckily, he assumed you and Craig were out hunting for clues and I didn’t disillusion him. Apart from that, we discussed how I was feeling, how lucky it was that we both escaped unhurt from the aircraft, what I planned to do now, and . . .’

  ‘Oh, good lord above!’ exclaimed Jan with dawning realization. ‘Russell’s death puts you in a hell of a spot, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Since it was by personal invitation from Doctor Martin that I came, I feel I can hardly stay here after what has happened.’

  ‘Of course you can’t stay. You’d be raped by young Craig at the first opportunity. Oh, I don’t know,’ he amended thoughtfully, ‘perhaps you wouldn’t.’

  The tensions of the past few days suddenly found relief in her laughter. The ludicrousness of his pondering the controversial loss of her virginity in the midst of the disaster surrounding them kept her laughing merrily with the bandage half-wound round his leg. He watched her with pleasure, and had to thrust back the stirrings of desire. By the overhead light, the sheen of her hair lay darkly against creamy skin, and her eyes held beckoning emerald lights which had not been apparent before. The lips curved in amusement were soft and moist. Most fatal of all was the sharp, clean scent of cologne which, to an exhausted and dispirited man, brought an overwhelming desire to gather her close and seek sweet solace.

  Her amusement tailed off when he said brusquely, ‘I can finish this myself. Go on off to bed!’

  ‘I have to clear up first,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I’m capable of throwing away a couple of swabs and a bandage wrapper. It doesn’t take a veterinary degree to do that!’

  She dropped what she was doing and walked to the door. ‘Good night, then.’

  ‘Good night,’ he said. ‘And Maggie . . . thanks for not telling Chris.’

  She smiled bleakly. ‘All part of my general competence!’

  After four hours of dream-troubled sleep Margaret was awoken by noises outside. Fitful moonlight was drenching her room and she glanced at her travelling clock. One a.m. Surely Craig wasn’t still working! The beginnings of a headache sent her across the room to her handbag for aspirin, and a glance along the veranda showed her there was no light in any other room. For a brief moment she remembered Craig saying that, once a lion had tasted human flesh he became an addict, but dismissed the notion of the king of beasts prowling round the bungalow as fanciful nonsense.

  She returned to her bed and reversed her pillows in the hope of finding a cool surface for her throbbing head. As was usually the case, once her sleep was broken it took her a long time to settle again and the bitter disappointment of having to leave Myala so soon after arriving lay as heavily on her as heartburn. Destiny was cutting into the gem of her life with a vengeance since she had been in Africa. Perhaps there was something about this country which made it impossible for those in it to lead peaceful, uneventful lives. Maybe the wild grandeur of its landscape and animal life reflected itself in the human habitants. Was there any other country in the world which contained such a mixture of pride and prejudice, conflict and endeavour, truth and misunderstanding? Jan, perhaps, typified the land of his birth; restless, stubborn, idealistic, always striving – but intensely loyal to what he believed in. Would she have to return to England to find contentment?

  There, suddenly, was the sound of movement once more, and it could not have been a killer-lion using such a light, stealthy tread. Knowing she would remain apprehensive until she found the cause, Margaret slipped her feet into mules beside the bed and crossed to the door by the light of the moon. Every room was still in darkness and not a sound could be heard apart from the cries and squeals which were part of the nocturnal hunting pattern in a Game Reserve. She shivered in the warm night. Death stalked out there for the weak and timorous!

  Next minute, she detected a faint movement as a board groaned further along the veranda and she instinctively drew back into her doorway. A man walked down the steps and into the shadowed area beyond the bungalow where he spoke in low tones to a companion. From the way he had descended Margaret thought he had been carrying something heavy. If the meeting was harmless why was it necessary to conduct it in the darkness, and so furtively? The ensuing silence suggested they had moved away and she lost no time in flitting along to Jan’s room with every intention of waking him.

  It was an almost impossible task for he slept heavily and completely, and no amount of shaking had any effect on him. After repeated pokings and proddings from Margaret, he eventually rolled over towards her and fought his way up into half-wakefulness. She bent to his ear.

  ‘Jan . . . wake up, it’s important!’

  For the following fifteen seconds it was like battling with an octopus. In his semi-comatose state, his hands had felt her smooth softness, and the rest came naturally. Just as she was wondering how it would all end he seemed to get the message and surfaced completely.

  ‘Oh . . . it’s you!’

  ‘At last!’ she breathed, recovering from the wrestling match. ‘When you knocked at the window of my room at the Greek restaurant I obliged by opening my eyes immediately. What does it take to wake you up?’

  ‘An unwilling woman,’ he grumbled softly. ‘I know why you didn’t come, now tell me why you did.’

  Her news had a quicker effect on him than she imagined it would. He was out of bed and into a pair of shorts before she had time to register that he really did sleep as nature made him. ‘Stay there!’ he commanded her in an undertone, and vanished swiftly.

  He was gone so long she had curled up on the bed leaning back against his pillows when he slid quietly into the room.

  ‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know. There was no one in the immediate vicinity and, from what I could see, every man is in his bed.’

  ‘I’m positive I saw someone.’

  ‘I believe you. Beyond the Rangers’ quarters is a jeep loaded ready for a journey. The man I want is planning to slip away from
here at first light. When he does I want to be ready.’ He began pulling on a shirt and buttoned it while he looked around him. ‘It was here on the table, I swear it was!’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘My gun. The bastard must have been in and taken it. Hell and damnation! That puts me at a disadvantage right away.’

  ‘Jan, are you sure you know what you are doing?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ he said firmly. ‘Go back to your room and rest.’

  ‘How can I!’

  ‘By making a real effort.’ He turned her round and pushed her towards the door. ‘Lock your room and I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.’

  ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘Watching over that jeep. Now, get going!’

  It was one of the most anxious nights she had experienced. Inactivity at times of tension is the hardest thing to bear, and Margaret tried everything she knew to still her nerves while she waited for the dawn. The hours snailed past as she recited to herself all the symptoms of foot and mouth disease, distemper, and various swine fevers. Then she mentally conducted a Cæsarean birth on a mare, spayed a bitch, and removed a cancerous growth from a cat. All this kept her mind off Jan sitting out there in the darkness, but so exhausted her that she fell asleep fifty minutes before the first lightening of the various shades of dawn.

  The roaring engine deceived her into a memory of an orange Lotus, but the reality of lying in bed pushed her eyelids up in a panic. That was no luxury car, it was a jeep, and the sound was fading away in the distance. It was barely any lighter than before as she stumbled down the steps and looked wildly around. Where were the Rangers’ quarters? The faint sound of voices from the right gave her her answer, and she ran in that direction. Huts loomed up as blacker shapes and the voices grew louder. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the swiftly paling light by the time she turned the corner and saw a group of excited Africans gathered round something on the ground. A quick flash-back to the travesty of a man who had once been Russell Martin brought bile rising in her throat, but she had to see what was causing their consternation. As one by one they became aware of the white woman in a brief cotton gown, they fell back with the words dying on their lips until all that could be heard were the agonized gasps of the man lying in the dust, bent double.