Shilo's Secret (5 page)

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, feeling rather inadequate and unprepared.

              She hated feeling this way … and it had happened many times before … especially in front of strangers. She was always so confident and self-assured. Something about this particular man and this particular place made her feel very insecure and extremely vulnerable.

             Lunch was a picnic in a hide, next to a small dam. They hungrily devoured fresh cold cuts; cut salad vegetables; delicate egg salad sandwiches; spicy chicken drumsticks and fruit washed down with cartons of fruit juice, bottles of water or cans of Cola. Then they had the opportunity to watch the water birds on the small lake with Stratt’s binoculars. They saw a flock of flamingos at the far end – a pink haze; a pelican swoop down and scoop his catch out of the water and a fish eagle circling on high. There was also a pair of spoonbills sifting through the mud in the shallows. Brightly coloured kingfishers and many cormorants, Egyptian geese and birds of shocking red, shimmering green and sapphire blue which darted in and out of the reeds. She could feel Stratt’s dominant presence behind her as she had her turn with the field glasses.

               
He bent over her right shoulder and whispered,” Look over there towards the shore. See those two rocks? … just to the right of that is what looks like a log on the sand … it’s a crocodile.”

              She felt a thrill pass through her, and was not quite sure if it was the allure of this vicious prehistoric carnivore, or the fact that this hulking man was bending over her, and she could feel his breath in her hair as he pointed into her field of vision.

                                                                    *

     In the early afternoon, they roared back into the car park, and Shilo immediately returned to the coolness of her room. She sat on the edge of her bed and wrapped her arms around herself in a self-piteous gesture and stared blankly into the mirror. She looked a wreck: her face was red and tender, and flecked with dust from the ride in the open air vehicle; her hair was windblown and again the dust had made it lose its lustre, her carefully made-up eyes were smudged and she was still wearing that detestable Stratt’s shirt. She slipped it off, and impulsively held it to her nose – it smelt very masculine with the tinges of a woody cologne, of wood smoke, of dust … it smelled of Africa, and it was … she had to admit …. Incredibly good. Then she folded it neatly on her lap. What was it about that brute of a man that got to her? Here she was, an heiress to millions, who moved in aristocratic circles that Stratt could only dream of, with power and wealth and social standing. And then there was Stratt, a lowly game-ranger who had a way with words which made her feel so insignificant, as if all of it did not matter to him: who she was or where she came from. No one had ever made her feel like that before. It was disturbing and unsettling.

    She shrieked as she sank into the hot Jacuzzi bath, not realising how painful it would be to cover her crimson, sunburned limbs with hot water. But the longer she remained submerged, teeth gritted, the more bearable the pain became. When she emerged from the tub, half an hour later, and gazed at her naked figure in the full length mirror, she was amazed to see how her lily-white limbs had metamorphosed into a deep, painful scarlet. She wrapped a towel around her dripping wet hair, and donned a soft cheesecloth creation, which hung loosely on her burning shoulders. She hated to admit that Stratt had, once again, been right.

                                                           *

   There was a knock on her door. Probably the white wine spritzer she had ordered from room service. When she opened the door slightly, Stratt stood there, obviously freshly showered in clean denims and an emerald green golf shirt bearing the lodge logo on the chest pocket. He carried a silver tray with her drink on it.

“I suppose you came for your shirt,” Shilo said meekly.

“No, I brought you your drink … and I also brought you this,” he said, holding up a brown paper packet. “May I come in?” He need not have asked as he was already pushing past her into the room. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward,” he said, “but you need some urgent pharmaceutical attention.” He placed the drink on the night table and then withdrew two bottles from the bag. “These are called Macrosun,” he said pointing to the small, brown bottle, “they are to help with the pain of the sunburn and to reduce some of the symptoms of possible sun stroke. Take two now and two tonight before you go to bed, and then follow the instructions on the bottle. And this…” he continued, “will have immediate effect. Sit down.”

   She could not believe his audacity at the instruction and looked at him suspiciously, not knowing what to do or what his intentions were. She sat on the bed again. She watched in the mirror as he climbed on the bed and knelt directly behind her. She could sense the closeness of his hulk of a body. He took a dollop of the transparent blue gel in one hand, and lowered the straps of her dress off her shoulders with the other. He spread the cream on her shoulders and upper arms with amazingly gentle fingers. She was astounded at how such a huge, rough man, with such gigantic, unrefined hands, could be so gentle. His fingers caressed her tender skin as the ice-cold gel soaked in.

“This is getting in the way,” he said, as he took the towel turban off her head, allowing her wet tresses to fall down her back.

  Then he moved closer until she could feel him pressing against her back, and she could feel his warm breath on her hair, could smell the same masculine cologne she had smelled on his shirt, as he bent towards her and as he slid his hands down to the bottom of her arms. He then massaged her neck and moved his hands around to massage her burnt chest area. Her hands came up instinctively and touched his as if to stop their progress, but dropped again. It was so soothing … and she hated to admit it… terribly erotic. His fingers swept the top of the rise of her breasts and her heart was pounding as her eyes met his momentarily in the mirror. She realised he had been watching her reactions all along. She blushed. Thank God it could not be seen through the sunburn.

“Right,” he said suddenly, “now you do your legs.”

He set the jar down on the table next to the bed and turned to leave.

“Stratt?” she called softly, “Thank you.”

He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth: a warm, welcoming smile. “It’s only a pleasure, Madame. At Malebane, we aim to please. You won’t be able to go into the sun for several days … but if you want, or rather if you are prepared to get up at three tomorrow morning, I’ll take you on a night ride to the waterhole.”

“I don’t know…” she stammered, hating how insecure and indecisive she sounded.

“Tell me tonight,” he said, “and see if your aunt and sister want to come along too.”

   As Stratt walked back to his room, he smiled to himself. Miss Prissy had really enjoyed his massage … he had seen her reactions: her closed eyes, her faint smile and dreamy look. And she had actually been quite civil to him this time … she had even thanked him. Maybe there was hope for her yet. And he had enjoyed touching her … although he had only meant to tease her like he had on the game drive … but he had become aroused as his fingers had caressed her, as he had seen the dark smudges of her nipples beneath the thin material of her dress … although that had not been the original intention. She must have felt it too, when he had moved closer.

                                                                             *

    At about five-thirty, after three stiff whiskies, a young girl entered the pub. She must have been about nineteen or twenty (much the same age as Shilo), but she was fairly plain. Her pale cheeks were pinched from the cold and she sported a woolen cap over her straight mousy hair.  She was wearing a long corduroy skirt and scuffed suede boots. She had on a bulky jacket over her polo neck jersey.   He watched carefully to make sure she was alone, and after merely greeting the barman and ordering a cider, she too moved from the counter to a booth, and watched the television news while she sipped her drink. She was definitely not waiting for anyone as she never checked her watch and did not once glance at the door while patrons came and left. He ambled over.

“Are you alone? I am, and I would love some company, especially from such a pretty, young thing like you. May I join you for a drink?” he asked.

At first she seemed surprised and a little reluctant, but flattered all the same, and after a few more complimentary remarks, she finally gave in and he settled himself opposite her in the dimly lit booth. Things were just going so well tonight.

      The rest was so easy. She was going to walk home, so he offered her a lift. She was obviously very impressed with the BMW and sympathized with the stories of his recently deceased wife. She did not even see it coming. He pointed at something to the left, and when she turned to look out of the car window, he picked up the hammer and bashed it into her skull.

     He loaded her into the trunk, and drove out of Pennington-on-Dee into a quiet lane in a forest on the outskirts. There he draped her, face first, over a tree stump, so that the blood from her head wound drained onto the snow.  He looked at her for several minutes, and then left.

   Twenty minutes later, he was speeding southwards towards London, belting out ‘Oh Sol La Mia’ at the top of his voice. The woman had found him so becoming, so appealing. Why didn’t Shilo want him as badly?

CHAPTER 3

   That night the lodge guests, who numbered nearly twenty in total, were treated to a campfire and a traditional South African
braaivleis
(7)
. Michaela and Shilo sat with several others around the roaring pyre on tree stumps and logs. Africa at night was spectacular. The night sky was so clear, so deep, with a trillion stars winking back at them from the hazy blur of the Milky Way. The moon seemed unusually large and a giant thorn tree was silhouetted against it: a sentinel over the camp.

   It was also extremely dark outside of the circle of light created by the campfire and electric lights from the lodge, so eerie with a thousand unidentified noises screaming from the
veld
and a hundred pairs of reflective eyes lurking in the undergrowth.

   Shilo was in a great deal of pain. Although the medication had helped, she still felt achey, had cold chills and bouts of shivering even though the night was warm. Across the campfire area, under some trees adorned with fairy lights, she could see Stratt and two other men chatting idly. Aunt Dorianne, who had not suffered from the sun as Shilo had, as she had on her large-brimmed hat and long-sleeved shirt, was in excellent spirits. She had befriended another divorcee from Ireland. They sipped sherry after sherry with Philip and found everything hilariously funny.

   After they had all eaten their fill of spicy sausage called
boerewors
(8)
,
lamb chops, baked potatoes cooked in aluminum foil on the fire, stiff African
pap
(9)
and tomato and onion sauce and an abundance of assorted salads, Stratt fetched his guitar and began to sing some traditional camp fire songs and some popular ballads. Shilo was impressed and surprised at his smooth yet sensual voice. It was a cross between Brian Adams’ huskiness and the rhythmic smoothness of Paul Simon.

   It was during a rendition of “Lady in Red” that she realised that he appeared to be singing directly to her. His eyes, even though they were engulfed in his shadowed face, seemed to be gazing at her through the gloom. She shuddered. It couldn’t be true. She quickly lowered her eyes but when she looked up once more, his eyes were still upon her and she recalled the sensual massage of a few hours before, and scolded herself over and over for enjoying it so much... Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, what could possibly happen between you and some commoner from one of the colonies? She forced the thought from her mind and decided to start a conversation with her sister. She thought that this would be a subtle indication to Stratt that she was not paying any undue attention to his cheesy ballad.

“Michaela?” she started.

“Sssh!” her sister snapped, “I’m enjoying this … it’s almost like he’s singing to me.”