Drowning (9 page)

For what felt like
an hour but was probably more like thirty seconds, I paced the room, my stomach churning as I came to the realization that there was only one thing I could do.

I desperately needed Vince to believe my story. But if he searched online, he would discover the truth.

Five pages into Google—yup. He’d sounded like a man who would search five pages in, just to prove his point.

I pulled on some shorts and the sandals. Then, flashlight in hand, I left the room.

The passage was in complete darkness, lit only by the wavering beam of the flashlight and the faint shimmer of moonlight that brightened the windows. And I had no idea where Nicholas’s bedroom might be.

I peered into the darkness, pushing my hair away from my face. Straight ahead was the dining room. Then the wide corridor branched to the left and the right. Which direction? Guessing right first, I made my way as quietly as possible along the tiled walkway.

Ahead of me, on the left and the right of the passage, were two white-painted wooden doors, both closed. Could one of these be his? Or would it be more likely that a master bedroom would be located at the end of the corridor?

I tapped quietly on one of the doors, just to check.

“Nicholas?” I said softly.

No reply. I could hear nothing except the faint trilling of the cicadas from outside the large window further down the passage.

I continued on my way, past the spill of light from the window, and back into shadowed darkness. Ahead of me was another door, right at the end of the corridor. My flashlight beam lit up the darkness of an open doorway and then trembled over the muscular form and tanned limbs of the man standing outside it, clad only in a pair of black silk boxers.

“Erin,” Nicholas said, his voice low but hard. “I heard a noise. I was just coming out to see what it was. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “I—I need to ask you a favor, though.”

“A favor? Come on in.” He stepped aside. I was intensely aware of his nearness as I walked past him and into the darkened room. I was careful not to brush against him, nor to give any signal that might cause him to misconstrue the reason for my visit. Thank God he didn’t know that just a few hours ago I’d made myself come thinking of him and me together. Now I felt shamed by what I’d done—by how vividly and explicitly I’d imagined him as a lover.

I heard the flick of a lighter, and lowered my flashlight as a gas lamp on the table near the fireplace began to burn. Its flame illuminated the king-sized four-poster with its bedcovers rumpled, the luxurious-looking black leather sofa, the modern, glass-topped desk and director’s chair, and the tall standard lamp in the corner. On the floor in front of the sofa was a large Persian rug.

He gestured toward the sofa, and as I sat down, I noticed the blank expanse of a massive wall-mounted screen on the opposite side.

“That is one enormous television,” I said. “In the bedroom?”

Now, the hardness was gone from Nicholas’s voice and it was filled with amusement. “War criminals have been sentenced for more minor offenses,” he responded, seating himself at the other end of the couch.

“Sorry.” I found myself smiling. Amazingly, my nervousness had eased, even if only temporarily. “I didn’t mean…”

“If it makes you feel any better, I hardly ever watch the damned thing. It came with the house, like everything else. I’ve been meaning to get it moved into the lounge and replace it with a bookcase.” He shifted to face me and I heard him take a breath. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected company?”

“I need to ask you a favor.”

“Fire ahead.”

“A very urgent one.” Now I drew an audible breath. “And a very unusual one.”

“What is it?”

“Nicholas…” I shook my head as if reaching a reluctant conclusion with myself. Asking the favor without explaining the situation wasn’t going to work. I’d have to give him a bit of background.

“My husband and I, as you know, were having a fight at the time when we crossed the bridge,” I said.

“Go on.”

“He’s a—possessive person. That’s what our fight was about. And I’d prefer it if he didn’t know that I’ve been spending this time with a handsome, available man.”

Nicholas’s teeth glinted. “You can count on my discretion in that regard. As I said, once you’re gone, I won’t ever contact you again if you don’t want me to.”

“What I need goes beyond that.” I sighed again. God, this was hard work, and surprisingly embarrassing, too.

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve told him you’re married. I’ve told him I’ve been dealing mostly with your wife.”

“My wife?” Surprise filled Nicholas’s voice, and in spite of the aching awkwardness of the situation, I found myself laughing. He sounded serious when he spoke again, though.

“What are you afraid of, Erin?”

“Nothing, really,” I said quickly. “I made up Mrs. de Lanoy. To—to make sure that he wouldn’t worry about me being here, on my own, away from him.”

“You’re weaving a tangled web.”

“I am, and it gets worse.”

“Go on.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the darkened screen. “This is far more interesting than television could ever be.”

“I Googled you,” I whispered, and I was glad of the muted light because I could feel my face flaming.

“You did? And what did you find?” I didn’t miss the sudden sharpness in his voice.

“Well, I Googled the lodge, actually, but your name came up. On the fifth page, there was a piece by an Australian journalist, written about six months ago. It was the only thing I could find online that hinted at the fact you might not be happily married.”

Nicholas laughed. “The one by Angela? Yes, she sent me the piece to read before she posted it online. It did mention that fact, I remember.”

“Could you possibly contact her—look, I know you don’t stay in touch with your lovers, I know you’ve told me all of that—but as a huge favor to me, could you ask her to pull that piece? Just for a few weeks, until we’re well away from here.”

His brow creased. “You don’t think you’re being paranoid?”

“I don’t.” I was twisting my fingers together, a nervous habit I thought I’d left behind in my teens but which I’d found myself doing more and more frequently over the past few months. “He—my husband Vince has done this before. Googling, I mean.”

Nicholas was quiet for a while. “And have you done this before?”

“Done what? Asked someone to remove content…?”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean given him a reason to Google
.
”

“Never. Well, not until today, when you…” Now I was surprised my face wasn’t lighting up the whole room with its embarrassed glow. “There have been times he’s accused me of flirting but it’s just his insecurity.”

Nicholas was quiet for a few moments.

“This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He looked at me for a few moments longer. Then he gave a small nod.

“Give me a sec.”

He got up, walked over to the phone on his bedside table, and spent a minute searching through the contact list before dialing. I’d assumed he would go outside to take the call, or somewhere private at least, but he didn’t. He stood by the window while he spoke. It would be late morning in Australia, I calculated, so at least he wouldn’t be waking her up.

“Hey Ang, Nicholas here,” he said, when the call was answered. “Yes, it really is me. No, I’m not in Sydney. How are things going with you?” He waited, listened. “Glad to hear it. Yes, fine on my side. I have a question to ask you, though. The piece you wrote on your blog—would you mind pulling it for a while?”

He paused, smiled. “It’s as a favor to somebody else. No, not that kind of somebody.” He laughed. “Perhaps,” he said. “A boy can dream. Thanks. Could you possibly do it now? You’re a star. Have a good day.”

He disconnected and replaced the phone on the table.

“Done. Or it should be in the next few minutes.”

His words lifted a huge weight of worry from my shoulders. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“It’ll still be cached. Somebody who knows how to look for it could find it. Nothing ever disappears from the Internet entirely.”

“I don’t think Vince is that computer savvy. I’m sure this will be fine. Really, thank you.”

I got up, but before I could leave Nicholas crossed the room and stood by the door. He looked down at me. In the flickering lamplight I saw his blond hair was tousled and every line of his sculpted body looked perfect. It scared me, how badly I wanted to touch him—and now that he’d already pleasured me so intimately, my inhibitions seemed to have weakened. It seemed natural for me to want to step forward into his embrace.

I knotted my fingers tightly into the edges of the T-shirt to give them something else to do.

“Erin, listen to me. You’re in a bad situation here,” he said in a low voice.

“I…” My voice was suddenly hoarse.

“You’re married to a jealous man,” he told me.

I looked down. “I know. I can handle it. A little jealousy is…”

“A little jealousy is not Googling the place where your wife has been stranded because you suspect her of infidelity. A little jealousy wouldn’t bring you to my bedroom at midnight, begging for my help in deleting an old Internet article.”

“I can handle it,” I said again.

“You’re already guilty,” he said, and I blinked up at him as the reality of his words hit home. “If it’s gone this far, your husband has already judged you. In his mind, you have been unfaithful. Nothing you can say or do is going to convince him otherwise. And it’s a pity… because you’re a beautiful woman.”

I didn’t know what to say. His words had silenced me. After a short pause, he continued.

“Clearly, despite his unreasonable behavior, you are being faithful to him. He should be proud of you. Hell, if nothing else, he should be frantically worried about you, stranded here after almost drowning.”

“I didn’t tell him I almost drowned.”

“Why?” His eyes were pale and piercing. “To save him the distress? Is that why? Or was it because you wanted to spare him the truth that you had another man’s lips on yours? Another man’s hands on your body?”

He stared at me, and I knew he could see the answer in my face.

“Christ,” he said forcefully. “You kept the fact you were resuscitated from him because you didn’t want him to imagine somebody else touching you?”

“I… he probably wouldn’t have minded, but…”

“Erin, that is not a normal reaction.”

“You don’t understand.” Now I could feel tears prickling my eyes.

“Clearly, no.”

“Most of the time our marriage is perfect. We’re soul mates. It’s just occasionally he gets insecure. This was one of those times. He’s a wonderful, special, loving man.”

“I’m sure he’s a prince,” Nicholas said dryly.

“Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. He’s a better, more faithful husband than you would ever be,” I spat.

His eyes narrowed and I knew my comment had struck home. Before he could answer, I turned and marched out of the bedroom.

I woke early the
next morning, still angry about what Nicholas had said the previous night. I decided to go for a quick walk and then spend the day right here, in my room. I did not want to speak to Nicholas. Not today, not for the rest of my stay here.

Not for the rest of my life.

Even the thought of what he’d said made me bristle with anger. What right did he have to criticize my husband? No doubt, this was all part of his seduction technique. Plan B, to be used if the straightforward approach failed. Drive a wedge between the lady and her man by making out that he’s a jealous bastard who’s going to think the worst of her no matter what.

Carefully avoiding the unpleasant truth that this was exactly what I’d been thinking just before I had first kissed Nicholas, I yanked on my sandals, pulling the straps as tight as they would go. Yet again, my only underwear was drying in the bathroom, so I put on the snuggest of my borrowed tops, with a longer-sleeved one over it, and a pair of cotton shorts. Then I strode out of my bedroom, my sandals flapping with every step.

Realizing that it was still fairly dark, I wondered briefly whether doing an indoor gym session might be a more prudent idea than venturing outdoors into an area where one of the Big Five species roamed—albeit a timid one. Where had Nicholas said the gym was? In the east wing? That would be on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom.

I walked quietly down the corridor, and to my surprise I heard the sounds coming from the gym long before I reached the door.

The squeak of trainers on a polished floor. A series of hard, smacking thuds.

Grunts and rapid breaths, indicating somebody was doing an intensive session.

It could only be Nicholas—but what equipment was he using to make that noise?

I tiptoed to the doorway and peeked round the open door.

The gym was a big, airy space with white walls and equipment arranged neatly around its perimeter. Just one light was turned on—a low-wattage lamp by the entrance desk—but despite its weak, orange glow, there was enough light for me to see the details of what was happening inside.

Wearing only a pair of trainers, a pair of well used boxing gloves, and the dark shorts I’d seen him in last night, Nicholas was working out on a piece of equipment that he hadn’t told me about. It hung in the center of the room—a heavy, red punching bag.

He had his back to me and he was battering it with vicious force, snapping out a series of lethal-looking punches before stepping back, rebalancing, and launching some powerful roundhouse kicks. Then, closing in, he bludgeoned the bag once again. His muscles were coiled and bulky under his sweat-soaked skin and he was panting for breath. The kicks and punches he was throwing looked so hard and brutal that if they had landed on a live opponent, I did not doubt they would have done serious damage.

Even though the powerful movements were hypnotic to watch, I felt as if I was intruding on his privacy by standing here and looking in. The focused fury of this workout felt somehow personal. I thought this was more than just fitness training. It was as if he was revealing a side of himself in the gym that he’d never shown to me before. An angry side, that sent a shudder of fear through me.

As he attacked the bag yet again, putting all his weight behind the blows, I could hear his breathing coming in tortured gasps. He was pushing himself to his limits with this workout. I had the feeling that
at this moment, Nicholas was existing in a private world of his own making—a world where he was being forced to fight for his life, or for his sanity. I thought that even if he were to move round to face me, he might not notice me.

Finally, I tore my eyes away. I retreated as silently as I’d arrived, but as I walked back down the passage, a tortured cry stopped me in my tracks. Ragged sobbing followed.

Holding my breath, I tiptoed back to the doorway to see Nicholas slung over the punching bag, his shoulders shaking as he cried like a baby.

The sight made my heart contract. I longed to comfort him, to put my arms around him, to soothe his deep pain even though I could not understand it. But I couldn’t. Instead, I turned away and crept back through the house to the front door. I unlocked it and stepped outside into the morning which, though still cool, had now turned from dark to grey.

An hour later, I returned to the house at a slow jog, having walked the entire track. My legs were pleasantly tired, my feet in their inappropriate shoes felt sore, but thanks to the exercise I felt as if I’d finally achieved some much-needed mental balance. Plus, I’d encountered a herd of impala behind a stand of thorn bushes who hadn’t noticed me until I’d been a few yards away. Amazed and laughing, I’d watched as they’d snorted in panic at sensing my presence and, a moment later, the small herd had hightailed it through the scrubby grass.

On my way up to the house, I stopped to admire a colorful tree with a wide canopy of branches covered in red-gold blossoms. This must be a coral tree, I decided—I’d read about them in one of the brochures at Kevin’s and Byron’s hotel. Peering more closely, I was charmed to notice a stick insect crawling along one of the smaller branches. He was so well camouflaged that I’d never have seen him if I hadn’t spied the movement. His body looked exactly like a long, thin twig. Even his legs looked like miniature sticks. Gazing past him, I caught my breath at the beauty of the view—the muted greens and greys of the landscape still shrouded in mist while, on the horizon, the edges of the scattered clouds were turning golden. It was so
peaceful and yet so wild. I longed for my camera. I wanted to capture a close-up of that insect among those coral blossoms, with the glowing sky as a backdrop.

Reluctantly, I turned away from the magical sight. As I walked up to the front door it opened, and I stopped in my tracks when I saw Nicholas in the doorway, his face hard. His hair was still wet from the shower and he was wearing a khaki shirt and shorts. My heart barely had time to skip a beat at the sight of his presence before I saw that in his right hand he held a long and lethal-looking Remington.

“Erin. I’ve been looking for you.”

“With that gun?” After seeing him forcing himself through that punishing workout, and now carrying a firearm, I was unsure what his motives might be.

His lips softened into a reluctant smile at my words, and with that, I saw the Nicholas I knew return. “I wanted to tell you I’m going to repair the boundary fence, so you’ll be on your own here until Miriam arrives and I’d like you to keep the doors locked until then.”

“That’s no problem. How do you know the fence is broken?”

“Game rangers in the Kruger Park were patrolling and they called me a few minutes ago to say the wires looked slack. They can’t get through to see what the problem is because the tracks on their side are still too deep under water.”

“When you say broken, do you mean it’s damaged to the extent that all the elephants and lions could get through?” Visions of my walk having turned into an involuntary race for my life flashed through my mind.

“Yes. They could already be roaming in this secure area. And, more seriously, poachers could gain access. In fact, the fence could have been damaged by poachers. The rangers said they heard shooting in the park last night. These criminals are always heavily armed and extremely dangerous. So I need to go and sort it out urgently.”

“Thus the gun?”

“It’s a safety precaution. A very necessary one, I’m afraid.”

“Are you going on your own?”

“I am.”

“Do you need a hand?” The minute I’d said the words, I could have kicked myself. Why did I keep doing this? What was it that made me continually seek out the company of this self-confessed womanizer, despite my own stern warnings to myself not to?

“I’d appreciate some help. It’s likely to be hard work, though.”

“I’m not afraid of that.”

He glanced at the pale pink, cloudless sky. “And hot work, too. Bring a hat with you, and sunscreen. I’ll see you out by the car.”

Without waiting for an answer, Nicholas turned and strode in the direction of the garage, pausing only to pick up a thermos flask and a bottle of water from the kitchen counter.

I was ready in a couple of minutes, sunscreen liberally slathered over my skin. I climbed into the passenger seat of the Land Cruiser and we set off, following the paved driveway for a few hundred yards before turning left and joining a bumpy dirt track that wound its way deep into the bush.

“Where’s Joshua this morning?” I asked.

“Joshua and his team have already left to start sandbagging the river bank. If they get enough done today, the new bridge could be started tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? So soon?

He glanced at me and I hastily arranged my features into a smile. “That’s great news. Let’s hope it all goes well.”

Inside, though, I couldn’t help feeling a stab of disappointment.

“And I had a message from another farmer that your hired car was washed up near a ravine twenty miles south of here. I’ve notified the police. If they can get to it safely—which is doubtful—they’ll be able to see if there is any salvageable equipment inside. If not, they’ll at least be able to take photos.”

“That will be helpful. The insurance company has been asking for proof of the accident.”

Thinking again of that rainy afternoon, I couldn’t help but imagine what would have happened if I had been trapped inside… if Nicholas had not been in time to save me before the powerful force of the water
had sent the car bobbing into the center, pulled downstream by the rushing water.

They would have been looking for my body now. Unsalvageable for sure.

I shivered, staring ahead at the rolling hills, and perhaps Nicholas sensed my discomfort, because he said, “So, if the bridge hadn’t been washed away, what would you be doing now?”

Grateful for the distraction, I told him, “I’d be staying in the Royal Africa Hotel. Which, I think, is an hour’s drive from here.”

“The Royal Africa? That’s a premium place. The owner, Hennie Pretorius, is an acquaintance of mine. It’s more like an hour and a half away, though. Much further south.”

“An acquaintance of yours?” Fear stabbed me again. “Nicholas, in case Vince asks, would you mind…”

He sighed. “Would I mind phoning Hennie and asking him not to mention me to your husband?”

“Yes.”

Without further argument, he took out his phone and dialed.

“Hey, Hennie, Nick here,” he said. “Yes, all’s good. I’m phoning about a guest who’s staying with you now. Vince Mitchell, a photographer from New York.”

He waited, listened, smiled. “Difficult customer? That doesn’t surprise me. Listen, I’ve got his wife staying at my lodge. She was stranded here when the river flooded.” There was another pause, and then he laughed. “Very lucky?” he said. “Yes, yes, as always. Do me a favor. Don’t mention me to Vince Mitchell. And if he asks you, tell him I’m married.”

I could hear Hennie laughing, too, before Nicholas disconnected.

“Thank you,” I said.

Nicholas put his phone away.

“So, back to my original question. What would you be doing now if you hadn’t been stranded here?” he asked.

“Since it’s just before dawn, I’d more than likely be out shooting.”

“Hoping to photograph the Big Five?”

“Some shots of them would be great,” I agreed, “but that’s not what we traveled here to do. Vince was booked for a
Vogue
fashion shoot in a safari setting. And, to be honest, although I’ve done whatever pays the bills in the past, my forte is more on the creative side than on larger wildlife. Colors, shapes. An unusual flower. An insect going about his business. Cloud formations just before a storm.”

Nicholas nodded. “I like the sound of that. That’s seeing nature as it really is… that’s what it’s all about. More so than just capturing the biggest and the fiercest.”

“What would you be doing now?” I asked him. “Out in the bush, shooting? Just like me except with a gun instead of a camera?”

“No. I’m not a hunter.”

“You’re not?”

“I can shoot, but I don’t hunt for fun. I’ve used this gun a few times in the past here, each time to put an injured animal out of its pain. So, no, Erin, I wouldn’t be in the bush. In fact, I wouldn’t even be here. Yesterday I had three meetings lined up in Nelspruit, followed by a flight to Johannesburg and another four meetings there. And after that I was going to fly to Somalia.”

“To Somalia?” I stared at him, incredulous. “Isn’t that very dangerous right now?”

Nicholas shrugged. “I was going to do a two week shift with Doctors without Borders, running an emergency medical center there while the resident medic took leave. I used to work for Doctors without Borders full time at one stage. I still like to do the occasional shift.”

“And all the meetings?”

“Those were business meetings.”

Business? Why didn’t he want to give me any other details?

“You’re a puzzling man, Nicholas,” I remarked after a short pause.

“I don’t try to be.”

“Is that another wildebeest beyond that bush?”

He leaned across. “I can’t see one. Oh, wait. Yes, I can. There he is. You really are incredibly sharp-eyed, Erin.”

Through a gap in the branches of the bushes beyond where the wildebeest grazed I caught sight of the rising sun—a crimson orb laced with filigree clouds. Oh, for a camera; to try and capture this suffusion of color, and the twisted, unique silhouettes of the trees that framed it.

“I’m interested to know where you come from,” I told Nicholas, tearing my eyes away from the incredible sight. “What made you who you are. And—it’s a personal question, I know—but how did you end up here, after being a paramedic?”

He glanced at me, amusement in his eyes. “You mean how I could afford to buy the place?”

“Well, yes.”

“Family money,” he said, and in his words I heard distaste. “And as for where I come from and what has made me who I am… that’s not something I like to talk about.”

“Oh,” I said, nonplussed.

“Tell me about yourself, rather. How you came to be a photographer.” He slowed the car to ease it over a deep rut in the road.