A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,137
he ever worked for, just for the possibility of keeping you close enough to see you once in a while. He’s willing to wait for you until the crack of doom, biding his time and eating out his own heart because all he wants is for you to love him back. So do it,” she said, her eyes bright. “Do it, Delilah. Love him back. He deserves that.”
She scrabbled at her eyes. “I’m an old fool, but I’m not wrong.” She rose heavily to her feet. “By the way, Gates is dead. Thought you’d like to know.”
The change of subject was so fast it gave me whiplash.
“What? How?”
“Fell off a ridge while he was poaching and broke his leg. Hyenas got to him.”
I shuddered, but only part of it was in horror. There was a tiny sliver of satisfaction that was so primitive and so savage, I ought to have been afraid of it. I remembered then my thoughts on the subtlety of a Masai revenge, of the laibon and of what Granny Miette had taught me about magic, the light and the dark, the healing and the harming, both sides of the same thin coin.
“So Fairlight is safe now.”
She smiled thinly. “Africa takes care of its own.”
After she left, I spent the rest of that afternoon sitting by the lake, watching the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows. I went to bed just as the moon rose. I could see a faint shape through the mosquito netting, a man hovering near the door, his features smudged as I looked out of the tail of my eye. When I turned to look at him directly, he vanished, and I knew that this time he was gone for good.
* * *
The next morning I walked to Patel’s and sent a telegram to Narok. That evening was Kit’s gallery opening in Nairobi, and I packed a bag with the things I had salvaged in order to spend the night. I had just locked the case when Helen arrived. She hugged me and pulled back to look at my face.
“My poor darling! Africa hasn’t been very kind to you, has it?”
“It’s had its moments. Let’s sit on the veranda and have a drink.”
I poured and Helen carried them out, exclaiming as she looked at Lake Wanyama. The light was glittering on the blue-green water, and in the shallows a marabou stork waded with stately intention. “Such a beautiful view! I think it might almost be better than ours.” Her tone was light, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, but I wondered if she were in pain. The sunlight wasn’t kind to her. It highlighted every line on her face. She had fought a hard battle against getting old or ugly, but time and disease were winning.
I chose my words carefully. “Rex said the same thing. He seems quite fond of the property.”
“He is,” she replied in the same cautious tone. “In fact, I thought it best you hear it from one of us. He’s making an offer on Fairlight. It’s a generous one,” she hurried on, “you needn’t worry that we’ll try to take advantage of your stepfather’s family. In fact, I think they’ll be pleased. Rex wants to rebuild the place. It’s always been such a fine house, and he’s always pictured himself living here on the lake.”
It seemed damnably cruel to talk about a future that Helen most likely wouldn’t share, but I didn’t have a choice.
“I’m surprised you want to leave the farm. I know how proud you are of what you’ve built there.”
She gave a short laugh and turned her head to me. “We can keep fencing if you like, but I think it’s best if we speak plainly. It’s time for you to leave Africa, my dear.”
There was nothing malicious in her voice, no new coldness in her tone. It was said as sweetly as if she’d been inviting me to a garden party. But I knew better.
“Is that why you burned Fairlight down? To get rid of me? Because you’re worried that Rex might be getting too fond of me?”
Her peal of laughter startled the stork. It launched itself with an irritable flap of the wings. “Oh, my darling child, is that really what you think? You must believe me when I tell you that so long as we live, Rex and I belong to each other. It doesn’t matter what else we get up to, we are partners. Our loyalty is only to