The Hunter (27 page)

Her lasciviousness turned him on as he knelt above her. When he had finished he slid down the bed and brought her to climax with his tongue. She screamed his name.

‘Do you want a shower?’ he asked as she reached for her cigarettes from the bedside table. He wanted one almost as much as he wanted her again. There was blood on the bedsheets, from his wound and her hand where she had stabbed Patrick.
What a night
, he thought.

‘Later. Order some food and booze. I’m not finished with you yet.’

Brand thought he might just have a heart attack before the night was through. He picked up the phone and dialled room service; he’d need something to keep his strength up.

*

Anna Cliff switched off the TV. The movie was soppy, a romance with Julia Roberts. A sad fact of life was that everything did not always work out in the end and few stories had a happy ending. Her husband was out gambling and all she’d learned about her sister was that she was dead and had tried to commit fraud before she’d been burned alive.

She finished the last of the bottle of white and contemplated ordering another. She felt dreadfully sad and, at the same time, angry.

Anna had showered and put on her pyjamas to watch the movie, but she didn’t feel like going to bed yet. She went to the wardrobe where she’d hung the sundress she was going to wear the next day. She put it on and went to the bathroom, where she brushed her hair and applied fresh makeup. From her suitcase she took the one pair of high heels she’d brought with her.

Walking down the external corridor towards Brand’s room, she felt panic flutter in her chest. What if he rejected her? They were of an age, but Brand was a single safari guide. She remembered enough guides and professional hunters from her youth in Zimbabwe, and knew of their legendary prowess with women. Brand would have his pick of single young women; what would he want with a middle-aged married housewife?

Anna felt her resolve begin to crumble. She should turn around, go back to her room, order that second bottle of wine and drink herself into a stupor.

From the walkway she could see over the gardens and the pool bar; men in suits and much younger women in scant nightclub clothes laughed and drank, and a couple of them danced slowly, sensually, to a subdued beat from somewhere in the warm African night.
Screw it
, she thought. Peter was always working late and his new receptionist, Sandy bloody Hann, had gossiped to her about the stripper who had been for four appointments to discuss her boob job. Sandy had been laughing about the patient, but Anna knew Peter cheated on her regularly so she was sure there was more to the dancer’s regular visits than her breasts. She thought she might kill the tart if she ever found out who she was.

Hot flushes coursed through her and she could feel the redness that she knew was colouring her cheeks and the skin across her breasts. She was frustrated and angry – at herself, her husband, and her sister, who had tried to fake her own death. She and Brand had shared a moment on the houseboat. He hadn’t kissed her, but she was sure he’d been close. Perhaps the tall, dark, handsome guide would give her what her husband no longer would.

The door to Brand’s room loomed large in her vision. Anna’s heart stopped as the door opened. A tall, thin girl of mixed race came out. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and carrying a handbag in one hand and a pair of matching heels, dangling from their sling-back straps, in the other. The woman closed the door gently, as if not wanting to disturb the man inside. The woman saw Anna there but ignored her and walked past, briskly.

Brand would be smelling of the perfume that still hung, just a trace, in the night air, not yet overpowered by the moist, rich scent of the garden.

She took a deep breath, brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her dress as she sucked her tummy in.

Anna knocked on the door. ‘Hudson?’

21

I
had Bryce Duffy, handsome, young, presumably penniless safari guide on my left, and Andrew Miles, handsome, older, former fighter pilot and rich aviation enthusiast on my right. We – the two boys and me and three of the Americans who hadn’t yet gone to bed – sat around a fire in the Balule camping ground.

With both the men fetching me drinks, I was getting increasingly drunk. That wasn’t good for my rehab regime, but I felt I’d earned the right to unwind a little. I was worried about Lungile, but there was nothing I could do for her. She wouldn’t rat on me, but I was sure Fortune would. My biggest fear was that when I got to civilisation again there would be an identikit picture of me on the front page of every newspaper and Linley Brown would be South Africa’s most wanted woman.

OK, perhaps I was being a bit paranoid; South Africa’s police should be more focused on catching violent bad guys than a girl who robbed open houses, but I also knew that the media here, as elsewhere in the world, was a fickle beast. Salt and Pepper, as Lungile and I had been dubbed, had captured the media’s imagination, and I had a feeling that even if I wasn’t front-page news, I’d at least make it to page three or five.

What I needed was to get out of this country, fast. I thought of my passport, in the house in White River. Andrew returned from the cooler box in the trailer with a fresh bottle of sauvignon blanc. He refilled my stainless-steel goblet.

‘Do you fly outside South Africa?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, often. Why, where do you want to go?’

I crossed my legs and leaned in closer to the fire. ‘I’ve always wanted to see Kenya.’

‘The great wildebeest migration in the Masai Mara?’

‘Yes, and more of east Africa,’ I said. It was the truth; Kenya and Tanzania and the mountain gorillas of Rwanda had been on my bucket list for as long as I could remember. I used to dream about running away to Kenya when I was a little girl.

‘When do you next get leave? I have to ferry a twin-engine aircraft up to Nairobi. A friend of mine from Kenya flew his plane down to Nelspruit for some specialist work to be done on the avionics then took a commercial flight home. It’s ready to go back whenever I’m ready. I’ve got the time after this safari.’

I was taken aback. Herb was talking to Bryce about leopards, but I could sense Bryce was half paying attention to the client and also straining to eavesdrop on the conversation between Andrew and me. Both discussions stopped when a hyena let out a loud whoop and a cackle of laughter very close to the camp. Bryce excused himself and got up to investigate; the Americans trailed after him, leaving Andrew and me alone by the fire.

‘To tell you the truth,’ I said to Andrew, ‘I don’t think I’ll be working with Bryce for much longer.’

‘Why not?’

‘I think I made a mistake taking this job. It’s not for me.’ I stared at the flames and swallowed hard, trying to hold back my emotions which, annoyingly, were bubbling up again.

‘What’s wrong, Naomi?’

I wiped away a half-formed tear. ‘Nothing.’

‘Why do you need to get out of South Africa?’

I sniffed and looked at him, forcing myself to regain my composure. ‘I didn’t say that.’

He gazed at me. ‘You weren’t dressed for a safari when we met you and Bryce is an accomplished bush cook. You’ve hitchhiked into this trip and now you’re looking for a way out. Perhaps I should call Bryce’s bosses and see if they know anything about their new cook.’

I put a hand on his forearm. ‘No need to go worrying people at this time of night, Andrew. Let’s just say I’m a bit of a drifter and Bryce was kind enough to give me a lift.’

‘I can see why he would have stopped to pick you up off the side of the road.’

If only you knew
, I thought. ‘What are the immigration formalities like at regional airports in South Africa, if you’re taking people out of the country?’

Andrew shrugged. ‘Depends on where you are; ditto the destination country. What sort of trouble are you in, Naomi?’

Andrew seemed like a genuinely nice guy, though I was still somewhat suspicious of why he was being so generous to me. In any case, I couldn’t tell him the truth. I was going to have to spin him some story he’d believe, but not the whole truth in case he decided to wash his hands of a criminal on the run.

‘There’s a guy . . .’

‘Bryce?’

‘No, no. Another guy. I was living with a man in Johannesburg and he became abusive. He hurt me, and threatened to hurt – to kill – people close to me if I ever told the truth about him. I stayed in the relationship for too long, thinking I’d never be able to escape with my life, but I did. I ran away, from him, from my job and my family. I had to disappear, but I’m worried he’s out there looking for me.’

Andrew exhaled a long breath. ‘Did you go to the police?’

‘He
is
a policeman. I took out a restraining order against him, but he stalked me. I called the cops, but he paid them off, I think, to drop the case. I’m scared of him, Andrew, very scared.’

My story was partly made up, but the fear was there, always just below the surface. If I waited in South Africa too long for a replacement passport or emergency travel document I ran the very real risk of the South African police catching me. I needed my money, but I figured that I could get that from anywhere in the world once I had access to a computer and a decent internet connection.

‘Why don’t you leave the country?’ he asked me, his hand still in place.

‘I don’t have enough money. I have money owing to me, but it’s going to take some time. I want to leave, though. I’ll only feel safe outside of South Africa.’

‘Why did you ask about immigration formalities?’

‘Um,’ I said, peering into his kind blue eyes, ‘I lost my passport. Or, rather, it was stolen. I think by my ex-boyfriend.’

‘You really are scared, aren’t you?’

I sniffed again and nodded. ‘Yes.’ It was my turn now. ‘Andrew, why are you being so kind to me? You don’t even know me.’

He stared into the flames. He didn’t look at me as he started to speak a short while later. ‘I had a daughter, she’d be about your age now. She had some troubles – a bad boyfriend, like yours – and he got her involved with drugs. But as well as all that she suffered from depression. They broke up and she went off the rails. She . . .’ He coughed to cover the choke in his voice. ‘She killed herself. The doctors told my wife and I it wasn’t our fault, but I’ve never got over the feeling that I could have done more to help her, that I could have tried harder.’

This continent surrounded us with beauty at every turn, and enshrouded us with sadness with every breath.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. It sounded pathetic.

He sat up straight and looked at me again. ‘You know that I’d be putting us both at risk if I flew you out of the country without a passport.’

‘I know. Forgive me, I had no right to even suggest you do something like that. It’s just that . . .’ I felt the helplessness plucking at me again, unravelling me.

‘Come stay with me in Cape Town. I’ll keep you safe until you can get your new passport. I’ll go with you to Pretoria when it’s ready and take you to the airport.’

‘I couldn’t put you through that. And I don’t want to put you at risk. He said he’ll kill me and anyone – any man – he ever sees me with. I won’t do that to you, Andrew.’

He frowned. I knew he wanted to help, but I could see he was also weighing up the risk of confronting a psycho cop. I stood. ‘Sorry, Andrew. I need to go check on the dessert, and I need some time to think.’

I moved away from the fire towards the camping trailer which served as our cooking preparation area. I looked back and saw Andrew staring at me.

The chirp of the scops owl and the
good Lord, deliver us
of the nightjar were replaced with a maniacal cackling and whooping noise. ‘Over here!’ Bryce called, and shone his bright torch beam over to the fire and back to himself. He was standing at the fence.

Andrew’s attention diverted from me to Bryce. ‘What is it?’

‘Hyenas,’ Bryce said, directing his light over the fence and into the bush. ‘They’ve caught an impala! Come quick!’

I joined the group. Andrew was beside Bryce already, peering into the gloom. ‘There, look, Herb,’ Andrew said. ‘Sheesh, they’re ripping it apart.’

I followed the light and saw two hyenas engaged in an obscene, bloody tug of war with the carcass of an impala doe. The hyenas’ tails were sticking up like feather dusters as they jostled back and forth. A third joined in the scrummage and with a sickening tearing of sinew and cracking of bones the impala was suddenly jointed. One hyena whooped with joy as it ran off with the head.

‘My God,’ said Herb, ‘it’s sickening, but mesmerising at the same time.’

He’d nailed it. Tourists came to Africa full of expectations of seeing animals killing each other, but the wildlife documentaries on pay-for-view TV painted unrealistic pictures of life in the bush. Most people could go a whole life visiting national parks on holidays without ever seeing a kill take place, but the Animal Planet and National Geographic channels made it seem like something was chasing and catching something every five minutes; it was the same as watching cricket highlights instead of sitting through a test match. Even now, for all the gore, we had missed the actual kill.

‘Did they catch that impala?’ Herb asked Bryce. ‘I thought hyenas were only scavengers.’

‘I’m sure they did. They could have stolen it off a leopard, but hyenas are also accomplished, opportunistic hunters.’ Three more hyenas loped into view through the thorny bushes, ready to try and score their share of the fast disappearing impala. One of the hyenas stopped and did a one hundred and eighty degree turn and started running. ‘Check!’

I followed Bryce’s torch beam as it tracked the running hyena, and saw that a second impala had started to run. It had taken refuge in the long golden grass and, thinking the hyenas were occupied, was making its move. Without a call of any kind the hyenas not engaged in eating the first doe also turned as one and split into a flanking attack. The impala was run down within seconds, before our eyes.
Animal Planet, eat your heart out
, I thought to myself.

My own heart was pounding with a mix of fear and adrenaline. On one hand I wanted the beautiful doe to escape, but on the other I was charged with the excitement of seeing this perfectly tuned killing machine in action. The hyenas caught her and brought her to the ground before re-enacting the earlier grisly bout and ripping her to pieces.

‘Oh, my Lord,’ said one of the Americans.

Bryce turned to me, grinning like a mad man. ‘Did you see that?’

‘I did. Amazing.’

‘Yes, wasn’t it! You’re good luck for me, Naomi,’ he said.

Carnage followed me, it seemed. Still, I took his words as a bushveld compliment; kind of a carnivorous come-on. ‘Thanks.’

‘I mean, I know hyenas hunt, because I’ve read about it, but I’ve never actually
seen
them in action. Wow.’

His boyish excitement was infectious. He stood there grinning at me, but his smiled waned when he saw my lower lip begin to tremble. I felt stupid and weak, as I had with Andrew. I did not want to drag Bryce into my predicament any more than I had already, but I suddenly realised that nor did I want to take off with Andrew in an aeroplane and never see Bryce again. Shit. I was falling for him.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’

I went from sad to angry. Bryce looked over his shoulder and saw that Andrew, Herb and the others had moved down the fence line away from us, tracking the back and forth of the hyenas’ dual feeding frenzy. Bryce switched off his torch and put his hands on my shoulders. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

I shook my head and felt the tears start to roll down my face. ‘I’m not your problem, Bryce. I’ll leave as soon as I can.’

He pulled me to him, and I buried my face in the manly, salty smell of his khaki shirt. It felt good to be held by someone I knew wasn’t about to hit me or use me. ‘I’m in trouble, Bryce, real trouble.’ I cursed myself even as the words tumbled out.

‘I guessed.’

I prised myself away from him, reluctantly. ‘I’m so tired. I think I just need to lie down.’

He ran a hand through his mop of curly black hair. ‘Hell, we don’t even have a tent for you.’

‘I can sleep in the Land Rover.’

‘No, no, you can use my tent. I’ll sleep outside, by the fire.’

‘But what about the animals?’

He waved a hand. ‘We’re fenced in, and besides, I’ve slept in the open plenty. You need some rest, and you can tell me what this is all about tomorrow. I’ll get dessert, and I’ll make breakfast, like I was going to do all along.’

I put a hand out and touched him on his chest. I felt the hard muscle of his pecs. He was gorgeous. I felt bad about asking Andrew to help me get away, but all I wanted to do now was lie down and sleep. It seemed the excitement of the hyena hunt had drained the last of my energy. I had been running too long, even when I’d been thieving, and now I just needed to stop.

‘Come.’

I followed him to his tent and he cleared out his gear, which he hadn’t yet unpacked. He went to the trailer and retrieved a sleeping bag. ‘I always carry a spare. I’ve had kids wet the bed in these things. Not nice.’

I smiled at his simple generosity. I had pulled a gun on him and now he was just being plain nice. ‘Thank you.’

I borrowed a cake of soap and a towel from Bryce and went to the ladies’ ablution block to shower by the light of a paraffin lamp. When I was finished I headed back to the campsite via a circuitous route along the perimeter fence, glancing out at the moon-shadowed bush while I thought about what to do next. I weaved my way between tents and caravans full of snoring people and arrived back at our stand with the camping trailer between me and the remains of the fire. All the tourists had gone to bed and only Bryce and Andrew remained, each standing with a drink in his hand, staring into the glowing embers. They hadn’t noticed me, but I could hear them, and knew instantly they were talking about me.

‘She’s not feeling well. I think the hyenas unsettled her a bit,’ Bryce said.