A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,34
Farraday. They own a place a little farther up in the hills. He’s trying to ranch cattle but the poor brutes keep dying off. British, of course. They came out here and set up as the reigning pair and so far everyone is happy to let them.”
“I know them. Friends of Mossy’s—although I think Helen is a bit younger. Rex danced with me at my coming-out party. Quite dashing and perfectly tailored.”
“Still is, although how he manages in this heat, I cannot understand,” Kit said, his mouth a little rueful. I dropped a kiss to keep it from turning outright petulant. He reached for me, but I danced away and went to change the record.
“Keep talking. Who else is here?”
“There’s a doctor named Stevenson, a missionary named Halliwell who lives with his sister, a very upright and tightly buttoned sort. She won’t approve of you at all.” I pulled a face and he went on. “Then there’s Gervase Pemberton and his Spanish wife, Bianca.”
“I know them, too. He’s cadaverously thin? Claims to be a poet? I met them in Paris. Is she still pretending to be a dancer?”
“God, yes. It’s horrifying. If I have to sit through another one of her fan dances, I’m going to fling myself into the mouth of the nearest crocodile. He damaged his lungs during the war, so they came here to live off a bit of family land that no one wanted. She’s bitter and he’s grim. They’re perfect for one another.”
“Sounds like it.”
His eyes sharpened. “Did you bring that pet cousin of yours along? What was her name?”
“Dora. Yes, I brought Dodo. Why?”
“I always thought I’d like to take a crack at her. Prim girls sometimes conceal the most surprising secrets.”
I laughed. “Not Dodo. She’s a virgin, you know. And a very good Christian.”
“Oh, never mind, then. I do prefer a girl who knows how to participate,” he said with a leer at my bottom.
He reached out again and this time I let him catch me. When I was buttoning up afterwards, we fell to talking about the locals again.
“What do you know about the fellow who drove me out here? Ryder White. He may well be the most uncouth man I’ve ever met.”
I expected Kit to agree but his expression turned sober. “Uncouth, but entirely sterling of character—one of the best. I hate him.”
“Because you can’t measure up?”
“Precisely. The natives adore him, and he’s bedded all the best-looking women for a hundred miles. I don’t need the competition.”
I thought of Ryder’s violent defense of one woman in particular. “I presume you know the Wickendens? I watched Ryder horsewhip Anthony Wickenden in the Nairobi train station yesterday.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Did he, by God? Wish I’d been there to see it. I might have gotten in a few licks myself. Jude Wickenden is the handsomest woman in Africa by a long shot, at least until you arrived,” he corrected quickly. He nuzzled my neck by way of apology for the slight. “She was married once before and her husband disappeared into the bush during the war. She went to live with an aunt who happens to be crazy as a bedbug. When Jude had the fellow declared legally dead, the aunt threatened to shoot her. They live in the same house now, but they don’t speak. The old woman still goes out into the bush looking for the husband who disappeared.”
I thought of all the young men who hadn’t come back from the war in Europe and I understood. “Sometimes it’s difficult to accept that they’re gone without a body to bury.” I thought of the shreds of Johnny’s uniform and pushed them out of my head.
Kit shrugged. “She’s Jude’s aunt, not his. You’d have thought the old girl would have taken Jude’s part. Still, poor Jude was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Wickenden’s a drinker.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“But I’m a delight when I drink,” he said, raising his glass and pressing a lingering kiss to my neck. “Wickenden’s a mean one. Slaps her around, which she says she can handle herself, but this last time he worked her over pretty hard. Left bruises in all the wrong places. Ryder takes it upon himself to look after her. He loves to play Lancelot to damsels in distress.”
He raised his glass then and drained the last of the gin. His eyelids began to droop. The heat, the liquor and the exertion had taken their toll. His hand went