2 Game Drive (12 page)

T
he house was huge, elevated, and surrounded on all sides by a wide verandah. The long driveway leading up to it was lined on either side by an impressive row of yellowwood trees.

He stood in the shadow at the top of the stairs, watching me as I ascended the double stairway in the gathering dusk. He was so still and silent that I was startled when he spoke.

“Hello, Sidney,” he said, stepping forward to greet me, taking my hand in his. “Welcome to my home. Please, come inside. What will you have to drink?”

He led me through a stately entrance hall into a large and beautiful room, with massive carved pillars of dark wood that supported the exposed beams of the roof. Floor to ceiling windows—framed by long white silk curtains rustling gently in the breeze—were open to the verandah. Handsome yellowwood and stinkwood furniture, much of it clearly antique and valuable, filled the room, reflected in the gleaming dark wood of the floors. The walls were the color of old ivory and
lined with original works of art and antique mirrors.

He handed me a glass of wine, looking amused at my obvious wonder at this palace set in the middle of the bush.

“You are asking yourself why I live alone here like this, in such splendid isolation.”

“I am, yes. Your home is magnificent. So much of this furniture is antique.”

“Family pieces. My family history here dates back to the Dutch East India Company.”

“Really? Willem told me his ancestors were Boers. Were yours as well?”

“No. Entirely different group. The history of South Africa is long and complicated, Sidney, involving many different people, many different groups.”

“But all very interesting.”

“Interesting, yes. Dramatic, and often tragic. It’s a long story, darling, one that I will tell you some day perhaps, but I did not invite you here to talk about myself. I want to know instead about you, what your life is like, and what brings you to Africa.”

I was just about to reply when I sensed motion on my right.

A full-grown leopard had just entered through the tall, floor-length open window and was standing very still, watching me, silent and motionless, not twenty feet away. Only its tail was moving, the distinctive white tip twitching.

I froze, staring at the big cat.

“Ah, Sheba, you have come to greet our guest. Sidney, this is Sheba, my pet leopard. I raised her from a cub, after her mother was killed by lions. Don’t worry, she will not harm you. She is only curious. We don’t have many guests. Please, be seated. Here, close to me, so she will know you mean no harm. Sheba is very protective. Relax. You’ll be fine.”

I sat carefully next to him on the leather sofa facing the fireplace
but there was no way I could relax with a live leopard in the room. Henrik put his arm around my shoulders. A low fire crackled and popped in the fireplace under the great mantel. It should have been romantic, I guess, but as I watched the cat pace, all I could think about was Dennis.

The leopard circled the sofa
as I sat stone still beside Henrik. Apparently deciding I was okay, she stretched lazily in front of the fire before settling on the hearth rug. Then she began licking her paws, much like an ordinary housecat.

“You see, she senses that you are a friend. Don’t be afraid of her. She is really quite harmless.”

“Is she? Does she still have her teeth and claws or did you have those removed?”

“Oh, no. I would never do that. She has her full arsenal. I would never deprive her of the joy of the hunt.”

I sipped my wine, fighting the urge to drain it. My nerves were strung tight by this man and his cat. It’s not every day that you have drinks with a leopard ... or with a man equally as handsome as his beast, and likely as dangerous. I thought of Jay and what he would do and say if he were here. I recalled Winsome’s warning.

With a broad smile and a little bow, van der Brugge touched his glass to mine.

“To Africa, Sidney, and to you. I’m glad you like Sheba. I believe she likes you as well. I will take you with us sometime when she hunts and let you see what she can do. She is magnificent.”

The cat yawned just then, proving that she did indeed have all of her teeth. Then she rose, stretched, and padded back through the curtains, disappearing into the darkness beyond the porch.

I exhaled, realizing that I had been holding my breath for quite a long time.

“Mr. van der Brugge
—”

“Henrik.”

“Henrik, then,” I began again. His arm tightened around my shoulders. He was watching me carefully, an amused smile on his lips and in his dark green eyes. I almost lost my train of thought. I took a sip of wine.

“Go on.”

“Well ... who named this place ‘Leopard Dance’?”

“I did, darling, I did. In the very beginning
, I named it. I am fascinated with leopards. Though terribly dangerous, they are also beautiful. And the beast is a self-sufficient, solitary creature. Like you. And like me.
Ingwe
, they call the cat. That is a Zulu word. It means both king and leopard. One must be careful in the presence of
Ingwe
.”

Once again, Winsome’s words came to mind.

“Then there may be truth in what your drivers say.”

“And what is that, my love? What do my drivers say?”

“They say
, ‘He who dines with the leopard is liable to be eaten’.”

He laughed then, and smiled down at me, pulling me closer.

“That’s an old native saying, my dear, and it may be true. One must be very careful with a leopard.”

He smiled again. I shivered
, thinking again of Dennis.

A white-coated servant appeared in the doorway and bowed, saying something in Bantu.

Van der Brugge answered him, also in Bantu, then rose and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Come now, Sidney, Timothy says that our dinner is waiting.”

He led me into a splendid, candlelit dining room, and seated me on his right at a stately table overlaid in crisp damask and set with delicate china, heavy silver, and sparkling crystal. A massive arrangement of birds of paradise in a huge silver bowl dominated the center of the table. Another white-coated servant placed before us plates of prawns topped with a remoulade sauce, passed a basket of crisp herbed toast, and poured more wine.

“This is lovely,” I said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my dear. I’m very glad you are here.” He smiled. “I’ve wanted to dine with you ever since we met in Cape Town. Our chance meeting was quite a coincidence, wasn’t it? At the time, of course, I had no way of knowing that the lady who accosted me in the Mount Nelson garden and jumped into my arms on Table Mountain would be my guest at Leopard Dance. Your group’s visit was scheduled weeks ago, but I didn’t realize that you were a part of it until I saw you with the group on Table Mountain. Is this your first visit to Africa?”

“No. I visited Kenya once and have seen some of Northern Africa. But this is my first visit to South Africa.”

“Not all business? Surely some of these trips must be for pleasure.”

I smiled. “Actually, my business
is
pleasure, most of the time. I escort groups of tourists on trips throughout the world. It’s great for me because I get to see places I could never afford to visit on my own. I love to travel.”

“But isn’t it rather confining, being stuck with these groups all the time?”

“Well, yes, it can be, but I don’t mind. I like my clients. Most of them are really nice people who enjoy seeing the world as much as I do. It’s a wonderful job.”

“Well, we at Leopard Dance are very pleased to welcome you and your associates to South Africa. Everyone is happy to have you here. We need your business. Tourism remains the lifeblood of our country and, as a businessman, I hope that your group’s little introductory tour will be the beginning of a mutually beneficial relationship. As for myself, I will look forward to personally introducing you to my private Eden.”

His pitch was interrupted by shrill rock music blaring loud and then louder. The sound was coming from the front of the house, from the front drive. Van der Brugge flung his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair, and headed to the door to investigate. The volume of the music, which had been steadily increasing, was now really shrieking.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Sidney, I’ll just try to find out ...”

At that moment, there was a loud boom and crash at the front of the house and sounds of glass breaking. The house shook, setting the prisms of the chandelier tinkling.

Van der Brugge ran through the entry hall toward the sound. I followed, as did the waiter, the cook, and all the kitchen helpers. He flung open the massive front door, and we all froze in shock at the sight.

A silver Porsche convertible had crashed into the wide front steps. The car rested halfway up the stairway, its front end crumpled and air bag deployed. Smoke was beginning to rise from the engine.

The driver, a curvy platinum blonde in a low-cut dress, was apparently unhurt, laughing, and quite drunk.

“Hello, Henrik,” she shouted, slurring. “I heard you were having a fancy dinner tonight and thought I’d join you. Gonna introduce me to your little hottie?”

“Who is that woman?” I asked Timothy as van der Brugge ran down the steps toward the car. “Is she a friend of Henrik’s?”

“No, Miss,” said Timothy. “She is not his friend. She is his wife.”

“H
is
wife
?” shrieked Jay. “Really, his
wife
?
No kidding
?” He was laughing so hard his big shoulders were shaking.

I was back in Hut No. 1,
sitting cross-legged on my bed, telling him all the details of my dramatic evening. Nigel had driven me back home after the fiasco that my big romantic dinner had become.

“That is
hilarious
. His wife? You really know how to pick ’em, don’t you, Sid? I think your mom is right about that Marsh Curse. You really do have terrible luck with men.”

My mother has this notion that all the women on my father’s side of the family are doomed to have bad romantic relationships. She calls it the Marsh Curse. She may be right. My dad has seven sisters, and Mamma bases her curse theory on the fact that all my aunts’ love lives are marred to a greater or lesser degree by disaster. They have experienced multiple false promises, marriages, divorces, annulments, jiltings, and cons. Only one sister, Aunt Minnie, has managed to escape, and my mother says that’s only because she is too proper and prim to have ever had a beau.

I’ve had my share of unfortunate experiences with unsuitable boyfriends. And those guys, plus the lack of a ring on my left hand, have convinced Mamma that I’m headed down the same bewitched path as my aunts. As a front row spectator in the ongoing tragicomedy that is my love-life, I think Jay agrees with Mamma.

“It was not hilarious, Jay. It was
awful
. He peeled her out of that car, and before I could leave, she spotted me and started screaming. She called me all sorts of names and then lit into him. By that time the servants had managed to take charge of her and were hustling her into the house. Then van der Brugge stuffed me into his car, apologizing all over the place, and told Nigel to drive me home. He tried to insist that she is his
ex-wife,
not his wife, but I don’t think I believe him. His staff all called her his wife. Winsome was right. I should have listened to her warnings.”

“Yeah, you should have, Sidney, and I must have been asleep at the switch myself. I told you to go. I thought he was okay. I should have picked up on that guy. He fooled me, and I’m pretty good at spotting phonies. I hope the faulty judgment that plagues the Marshes isn’t rubbing off on me.”

“Jay,” I said, leaning forward on my elbows and staring at him intently as he lounged, propped up by pillows on the opposite bed, “before the evening exploded, he was making this pitch about being grateful for our business, needing our business. Something about all that was beginning to really bother me.”

“Why was that, Sweetie?”

“Well, Jay, where do you suppose van der Brugge is getting all his money? The tour operators I’ve met don’t usually live like this guy does. From what he said, he’s self-made. As far as I’ve been able to tell, and from what he said tonight, this safari lodge is his only current business. Now this place apparently does well—it’s well-maintained and staffed—but could a safari lodge really bring in that kind of cash? You know it must cost a lot just to run this place. I can’t think that the profit margin is huge, even when fully booked, and right now there’s hardly anyone here but us. Yet everything about the man suggests serious money. You should have seen that house, Jay. I mean, that house and all the stuff in it must have cost a fortune.”

“Yeah, and don’t forget the airstrip and the plane, too. You’re right. It doesn’t add up. The rates at this camp are about average. They’re not astronomical at all, and David told us that the lodge is not fully booked, even in high season. Maybe he’s got something going on the side, something shady. There’s a lot of slippery stuff that happens across and near these borders. You heard what Fernando said.”

“Yes, and Mabel, too.”

“Let’s just leave Mabel out of any discussion, Sidney. I don’t like her any more than George does, and he is about ready to murder her.”

“Mabel can be annoying, Jay—I have to agree with y’all on that, and I don’t like her insensitivity toward people—but I do agree with her on some subjects. What she said about the rhinos was right. ”

“I know, but I don’t care. Right or not, whatever she’s for, I’m against. Hold on now, don’t get huffy. Relax. I’m not against the rhino. Just against Mabel. She’s poison. I’m sorry, but that’s just how she affects me.”

There was a knock on the door then, and Felix’s voice forced me up and off of the bed. I opened the latch, and Felix stepped into the room, bearing a lovely dinner tray and a bottle of wine. He leaned his big rifle against the wall and set the heavy tray down on the table by the sliding glass wall on the river side. He waited as I opened the card.

Sorry your dinner with the boss didn’t turn out so well. I hear you’ve met the lovely wife. I expect this might be welcome. Bon App
é
tit!

—
Willem

“Now isn’t that nice,” I said. “Felix, please thank Willem for me. This is very kind of him, and I will certainly enjoy it. And thank you for bringing it to me.”

Even as I was thanking him, I wondered how word of the debacle at van der Brugge’s house had spread so quickly. Eyes and ears truly were everywhere, it seemed.
My pals were going to get a real kick out of this story. Connie would be sharing it over cocktails for years. I couldn’t blame her. Travel agents can be a gossipy bunch, and they love a good story. A tale like this one would be irresistible.

“Please do not set the tray outside when you finish, Miss, because of the animals. Ring the bell and someone will come pick it up, or just leave it inside until morning. Is there anything else you need this evening?”

“Oh, thank you, no, Felix. This is wonderful. Thank you.” I didn’t give him a tip. As with cruise ships, Leopard Dance had a strictly cashless policy. Tips for services were paid at the end of the stay.

“Very well, then, Miss. Goodnight.”

“Ooooh, this is yummy!” Jay popped a samosa—a deep-fried potato pastry—in his mouth.

The door hadn’t closed behind Felix before Jay was sampling. Besides the samosa appetizer, the tray held a steaming plate of bobotie, a South African curried meat casserole,
bread, a salad, and a dessert assortment of fruit and cheese with some little spiced wine cookies called soetkoekies.

South Africa has marvelous cuisine, with unusual dishes that reflect the various nationalities of her settlers and explorers. Bobotie is a traditional dish that probably has its early origins in Indonesia or Malaysia. It was served, as it customarily is, with geelrys, a slightly sweet, yellow rice dish, and a side of mango chutney. Bobotie is comfort food and
it tasted great. After my dinner party from hell, comfort was exactly what I needed. Jay was digging into my dish with the dessert spoon.

“Stop that,” I said. “Leave my tray alone, piggy
pants. You’ve already had dinner. I haven’t, remember? I’m starving. All I got out of Henrik’s fancy dinner was a shrimp!”

He opened the wine and poured himself a glass. “Cheers,” he said, snagging another samosa as I d
evoured my meal.

* * *

I heard the little plane overhead sometime after midnight. When I first woke, I thought it was just Jay’s snoring, but that really sounds more like a 747, not a small bush plane.

Wonder where he
’
s going? I thought, half-asleep, flipping over on my side. And did he take her with him?