Bonds of Matrimony (12 page)

intend to live my life in the future, with or without you. Is that understood?'

She nodded, unable to think of anything to say in her own defence. 'I think I'll go to Isiolo now,' she brought out in a rush.

'Good idea!' he approved. He ruffled her hair with his fingers. 'And don't look so hurt. You deserved every word of it, and you know you did!' He shook his head at her. 'I'll bet your mother never took your father to task for what he did away from her side, so why should I take it from you?'

'But that was different—' she began.

'Was it?' he drawled. 'Well, however it was, I prefer a gentle, uncritical wife who's not forever telling me what I can or can't do. That shouldn't be hard for someone with your Greek blood!'

'My mother may have been Greek, but I had a very English upbringing! And I'm not your wife, not in any way that matters.'

'All the more reason to take care you don't provoke me!' A muscle jerked in his cheek, betraying his amusement. 'It will be good practice for you, for when you do want to please your husband! Even English wives prefer to be on good terms with their menfolk and don't try to antagonize them at every turn!'

'Indeed?' she said in frosty tones.

He smiled then. 'Yes, indeed.' he nodded. 'It would be a mistake for you to imagine that Englishmen demand less of their wives than other men. They expect as much in the way of loving obedience as anyone else, and they are just as capable of exacting it from recalcitrant wenches who set themselves up as arbiters of their own destiny! So you've been warned!'

Hero suspected he was teasing her, but she wasn't going to hang around to find out. As it was, she was uncomfortably aware that no matter how fast she walked back to the house, he kept pace with her with a nonchalant ease by merely lengthening his stride. He was waiting for her too, when she came out of the house again, clutching her letter to Betsy in her hand. He opened the door of the Land-Rover for her, giving her a quick hug as she pulled herself up by the wheel. 'Drive carefully!' he bade her.

She lifted her chin, refusing to meet the challenge in his eyes. 'I always do," she told him. 'I prefer being in the driving seat, and that's where I intend to remain!'

And she set off in a cloud of dust, laughing to herself as she saw, in the driving mirror, Benedict trying to get the dust out of his face. She had had the last word after all!

Isiolo was the same as ever. The shopkeepers came out of their dukas to greet her, full of smiles and inquiries as to how she was enjoying married life. Even in the pink, Beau Geste fort that was the bank, the teller filled the security bag she had with her, checking it against the listed instructions Benedict had given her, with some half-whispered comments on her new state in life.

'I see your husband is also paying your wages!' he said finally as he handed her back the locked leather bag. 'It is good to know there is a man again at Uaso. It is no place for a woman alone.'

Hero could only stare at him in complete bewilderment. 'No,' she agreed blankly. 'If the rains come this year, everything will be fine!'

She could hardly wait to get out of the bank to look at Benedict's letter - and there, as large as life, on the list of the people he would be paying for trucking the topsoil back to the fields, was written her own name, with what seemed a staggering sum of money written after it. It was ridiculous! But she could not deny that it was also rather nice of him.

She did the rest of the shopping in a dream. Usually, she would have been interested in the curious articles he had commissioned her to buy, but this time she accepted all the odd-looking packages, throwing them with abandon into the back of the Land-Rover. In an hour she had completed all her purchases, including some makeup for herself, and was driving back down the street, past the Sacred Heart of Jesus Church, past the bank and back along the semi-desert track that would one day go all the way to Ethiopia, though at the moment there was only the sign 'Adisababa 1010' to point the way. Even quite recently, one had still required a permit to go any further because of the frontier dispute with Somalia, but now the road barrier, where then one had signed in and out of the area, was deserted and there was only the sign to give one pause before one set off for the desolation of the northern frontier district.

It was hotter than ever. Hero began to wish that she had stopped for a cup of coffee with the priests at the church. They would have told her all the local news and have pumped her gently about her own affairs, but, because she had not been married in church and was almost sure that they would already have been told about that, she had avoided seeing them, telling herself she would go back later with Benedict and leave it to him to

explain why they had got married in a register office.

Her heart thumped uneasily as she thought about her husband, and she didn't see the three Turkana warriors standing on the road, their spears in their hands, until she was almost upon them. She braked hard and the Land-Rover skidded to a halt. She wish she was not alone as she waited for them to come up to her. They had no cattle with them, nor any of their other possessions, and she could only hope they were not a war-party out for vengeance for some imagined wrong which they would take out on her.

They came quite close, weighing their spears dangerously in their right hands. Hero lifted her own hand in a gesture of peace, licking her dry lips and hoping they wouldn't scent her fear. She had been told that their sense of smell was as unspoiled as any wild animals and, looking at them, she could believe it.

'Jokera,' she forced out the traditional Turkana greeting.

Three left hands went slowly into the air, 'Ijok.'

She waited in silence while they stood there looking at her, their eyes as impassive as black stones. Then they gestured towards the Land-Rover, showing her that they wanted to get in. One of them who spoke a little Swahili made a halting explanation to the effect that they wanted to see the new bawana mkubwa at the farm. He would rescue them from the great drought that was killing their animals and would shortly kill the weakest of their people.

How had they heard about Benedict already? How did anyone hear anything in Africa? She glanced uneasily at their spears and nodded her consent to their climbing into the back of the vehicle. 'I can't promise the bwana will be able to do anything for you,' she warned them.

'He will see us when he sees we come with you!'

She shook her head. 'That doesn't mean he can help

y
^ou
.'

The Turkana men settled themselves on the back seat, moving her packages on to the floor in front of them. They managed to look very dignified, although it was probably the first time any of them had ever been in a car. 'He will see us because you are his wife,' the one who spoke Swahili said, moving his spear a few inches closer to her head. He used the more derogatory term of mwanamke, implying that the marriage was an irregular one, instead of the more usual mke. Hero tried to tell herself that it was because the man's Swahili was not very good, but she couldn't help wondering if he didn't know as much about her marriage as she did herself, for she doubted that he had intended to insult her.

When they reached the farmhouse, she nearly fell out of her seat in her anxiety to find Benedict, but in the end she didn't have to, for he stepped off the verandah to meet her, holding her close against his side.

'Visitors?' he asked, his voice so normal that she almost laughed.

'Turkana,' she whispered.

He gave her a push towards the house. 'Go and wait inside, Liebling. I'll find out what they want and find them somewhere to spend the night.'

She was surprised to notice that night was almost upon them. 'But how will you understand what they say?' she asked him.

He gave her another firm push towards the house. 'I'll

manage!' he said.

She went with a marked reluctance, aware of the superior masculine smiles the Turkana were giving Benedict. They, too, would be glad to see her go, for their discussions were not for women's ears - what did women know of valuable cattle? Their ivory lip-plugs which they slipped in and out of holes made in their lower lips, made their faces look like masks when she turned to take a last look at them from the verandah. Even their ostrich-feather headdresses and leopard-skin cloaks, which did little to hide their nakedness, added to the illusion. Usually they were worn only for ceremonial occasions, which showed how serious they were about their meeting with Benedict. Hero couldn't ever remember any of the Turkana coming to the farm before and she thought it was another pointer to the importance Benedict had and which he wore so lightly.

She went into her bedroom, throwing her sweat-damp hat on to the bed. The door into the dressing-room was open and she shut it with a bang, locking it for the first time, her heart pounding against her ribs as she did so. After the way he had kissed her she thought she was more than justified in taking any precautions she could. Supposing, just supposing, that he should decide to take his revenge for the way she had thrown the dust up in his face? She had the uncomfortable feeling that she might have been unwise to take such a liberty with a man like Benedict Carmichael.

It took her a long time to change out of her jeans and shirt and into a dress as she liked to do in the evenings. She tried out her new make-up and spent a good five minutes brushing the dust out of her hair. Even so, she didn't hear Benedict come into the house, nor did she hear him go into the dressing-room. But she heard his hand on the knob of the door that led into her room and his angry exclamation when it didn't give to his touch.

A moment later and he had walked in through the other door and was holding out his hand to her for the
^ke
y.

'I prefer it locked,' she exclaimed.

He held his hand a little nearer and she placed the key on his scarred palm, watching with apprehensive eyes as he unlocked the door and put the key away in a drawer in his room.

'But, Benedict, what difference does it make?' she pleaded, running after him to the open doorway.

'There will be no locked doors between us, now or never! Ours may not be the usual kind of marriage, but the door stays open and I shall walk through it whenever I please. We're man and wife, Hero, as I've been trying to tell you all day, and no wife of mine is going to shut any doors in my face.'

But he didn't mind shutting it in hers, with a finality

that sent her spirits on a long, slow dive to her boots.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Betsy stood on the very edge of the verandah, a look of displeasure on her face.

'Heavens, what a dump!' she said.

Hero kept her temper with some difficulty. 'It wasn't always as bad as this. There used to be roses and a whole host of other flowers. There was bougainvillea over that arch, for instance. It was a glorious splash of colour against the sandy backdrop. And nothing can detract from Mount Kenya. Just look at those foothills, and the

gorgeous greens of the highlands, and the twin peaks shining white with snow! You must be very hard to please if you don't find that beautiful.'

'My dear, I simply can't imagine how you've stuck it all these years! I'd be a raving lunatic if I had to spend more than a week or so here. What do you do all day? And who are those dramatic-looking savages who appear to be living in that banda over there?'

Hero looked where she was pointing. 'They came to see Benedict,' she explained. 'They're worried about the effects of the drought. He was going to take them home today, but he had to fly down to Nairobi to pick up you and Bob instead.'

Betsy turned and looked at Hero's serious face. 'I thought you wanted us to come?' she said. 'You sounded desperate enough for anything in our letter.' 'Of course I wanted you to come! I've been looking forward to it. But

I wasn't sure you'd come. You never

have before.'

Betsy's lips curled into a smile. 'Benedict wasn't here before!'

Hero blinked. That was what she had been afraid of, she thought wryly. 'You didn't tell me you met him last year. Why not?'

Betsy threw herself into the nearest chair, pulling her hat well down over her eyes. 'You wouldn't understand, love. Isn't it enough that I was willing to loan him to you for a while? When is he taking you to England, by the way?'

'Why don't you ask him?' With an effort, Hero managed to sound bored.

'Poor Hero!' Betsy cut across her thoughts. 'He's too much, isn't he? Never mind, pet, I'm here now, come to rescue you. You can safely leave Mr. Benedict Carmichael to me!' She gave Hero a faintly malicious grin and closed her eyes. 'Did you think I came to see you? Well, I didn't. I came to look after my interests as far as Benedict is concerned. Remember that, my sweet! The gentleman is strictly on loan as far as you're concerned! I wasn't going to have him escape my net two years running and I knew your farm was just the thing to make him stay.' She yawned slowly. 'It's all worked out beautifully!'

Hero managed a yawn as well. 'Time will tell,' she said, as she set off for the shed where her lorry had been garaged overnight.

'You're late!' Benedict grunted as soon as he saw her coming.

'Am I? Are you waiting for me?'

'I am!' His bright eyes looked her over thoughtfully.

'I thought Betsy might keep you chained to her side all day.'

She shook her head. 'She isn't interested in me,' she told him.

'No, probably not,' he agreed.

She peeped at him through her eyelashes. 'Why did you wait for me?' she asked. 'Do you want me to do something else today?'

'No,' he said. 'I wanted to speak to you about something else. You don't learn easily, do you?' He put out a hand and pulled her close against him, running his fingers through her hair as though he liked the feel of her short, dark locks. He even smiled when she tried to shake her curls back into some kind of order. 'You're my wife, and a casual nod to me at the breakfast table isn't what I expect from my wife when we have guests here watching everything we do. Don't you think you could bring yourself to offer me a nice affectionate kiss every now and then?'