of his finger. He gave a long sigh and opened his eyes. They were blue, and yet so unlike Ryder’s. Ryder’s were the sea, unpredictable and changeable. Rex’s were a steady, cool northern sky.
“She’s not long for this world, you know,” he said suddenly. “She can’t keep on at this pace. Her heart or her liver will give out. She’s already on medication for both. No one here knows, but the doctor in Nairobi is keeping her alive.”
“Rex, I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it. She’s like a child, you know. A spoiled, lovely child, a glorious, magical creature I can’t quite believe has ever been mine. I don’t know what I shall do with myself when she is gone.”
Again, I covered his hand with my other one, and this time he didn’t pull away.
“You’re a sweet child,” he said, touching my hand to his cheek. A sudden glimmer of life came back into his eyes. “You should stay with us. I think you would be happy in a new, free Kenya.”
I chose my words carefully. “I thought you were giving up on that dream.”
He smiled, and something stirred behind his eyes as he dropped my hand. “I do have one card left to play. It hasn’t been formally announced yet, but I have it on good authority that the Duke and Duchess of York will be paying us a visit next year.”
“Will they? And will that really help your cause?”
“It’s early days yet, my dear, too early to say,” he said dismissively. “But the king’s second son could be a powerful ally, and I have hopes the duke may be persuaded to see reason where others have failed. If we are successful, well, the future could be a dazzling one for us.”
I opened my mouth, but he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But yours is remarkably soothing company, Delilah. You have been a wonderful comfort, my dear,” he finished lightly. He rose. “I must go, but if at any time you need me, you have only to say.”
He didn’t say another word, just gave me a sad, meaningful smile and went on his way, closing the door softly behind him.
* * *
That night I awoke suddenly, although I couldn’t say why. The crickets were singing in the garden, but the nightjars had gone quiet. I waited for a sound, but there was nothing—no crashing in the bushes that meant a hippo was wandering through, no shrill laugh from the hyenas. Nothing but the high, insistent chirp of the insects and a feeling that something was wrong. I lit a cigarette and waited. The full moon was veiled in cloud and the only light was the glow from the tip of my cigarette, winking like a firefly. Still I waited, but nothing happened and after a while I stubbed out the cigarette and rolled over in the dark.
It was the shouts that awakened me the second time. Omar the cook raised the alarm, shouting for Pierre, who shouted for me. I threw on my clothes and shoved my feet into my boots without stopping to fasten anything properly. I ran outside and found them, lying in the complete stillness that only death can bring. Their throats had been torn and their feathers were scattered around the little chicken run.
“What did it?” I demanded. “An animal? Une animale?”
Pierre pointed to the locked run, replying in unsteady French. “An animal cannot walk through fences, madame.”
He was right. I inspected the perimeter of the run and there wasn’t a single hole or bent section of wire. It was solid as the day it had been constructed. I dusted off my hands and instructed the cook to pluck them and salvage what he could to feed the farmhands.
He backed away, holding his hands in front of himself as if to push me away.
“What is the trouble?”
Pierre looked from the cook to me. “No one will eat the chickens, madame. They have been touched by bad magic.” The words in French had a chilling grace. Mauvaise magie.
“Bad magic? Don’t be daft. The damage was done by a human with a key and a grudge and I think we all know who that is.”
Pierre shrugged. “A man can command bad spirits to do his bidding.”
“No spirit did this. It was a man,” I insisted. But Pierre and Omar would not be budged. They refused even to touch the chickens, and I had to find one of the