The man at Kambala (3 page)

`Why should I? I'm more comfortable in pants. They . . .' She broke off abruptly. 'You don't know what you're talking about. I'm no different from any other girl my age !'

`No?' A smile creased his features. 'How about asking Steve York for his opinion on that score?'

She said loftily, 'I'm not in the least bit interested in his opinions on any score. And as you seem intent on pulling Dad's character to pieces when he's not here to defend himself, I'll leave you to it.'

She strolled over to the cookhouse with a coolness she was far from feeling, peered into the steamy interior to have a word with the African working there, then went back into the house and her own room. There, for the first time in years, she stood in front of the mirror and really studied her reflection, putting a hand to her short hair and flicking up the ends, running the tip of her tongue over lips which hadn't seen

lipstick for heaven knew how long, straightening the collar of her shirt. Gradually there grew in her the suspicion that Ted might just be right. She did look more like a boy than a girl. She didn't know why that realization should bother her, yet it did a little. Not that it made any difference, she told herself firmly. She refused to change her habits simply to please Ted Willis — or anyone else for that matter. Trousers and short hair were more comfortable out here. She had found that out early on. And if her father didn't mind her looks why should anyone else?

Night came with its usual swiftness. Sara wandered through to the living-room at seven, and found it still empty. She browsed through a couple of magazines from the outdated pile on the rack for a few minutes, but found herself too restless to concentrate. She was glad when Kimani Ngogi came up the steps from the compound to join her.

`When did you get back?' she asked as the young Kenyan mixed himself a drink. 'I never heard the car.'

`About an hour ago,' he replied. 'We abandoned the search about four.'

`You found nothing then?'

`Only a couple of darts they'd dropped. They've either moved out of the district altogether, or they're lying low in the hope that we'll think just that.'

`Ted thinks they're coming in across the boundary each night.'

`I don't think so. Not this last time. The kill was too far in. No, I'd say that someone is slipping across with transport at night and taking the horn from them. We

did see signs of a vehicle at one point, but it led to nothing. They could quite well have been made by that camping party who came in a week ago. They were in that sector for a couple of days.

`So what happens now?'

`That's up to the new boss.' The aquiline features were impassive. 'I'd say that he'll go strictly by the book. He told me I should be concentrating on my own job, not chasing about doing someone else's.'

On the face of it, Sara supposed that Steve York was right. Kimani was here as a member of the Department's research staff, and as such his present duties were clearly laid down: to record the changing distributions of animal concentrations within the area. He had been on Mara for two months, and might be here another two. Certainly chasing poachers was not what he was paid to do.

`What's your opinion of him?' she asked.

'Why should I have one?' he returned equably. 'He's here to do a job of work like the rest of us. How he does it is his affair, and the Department's.'

`You can forget the Department. Bwana York runs his own little show.' She smiled with determined cheerfulness. 'I suppose it would be uncharitable to hope that he breaks his neck between now and dinner time'

`Futile,' corrected the sardonic voice from the other doorway, and Sara jumped. 'Walls have thin ears.'

`And eavesdroppers rarely hear any good of them-`selves,' she came back on a creditably steady note. 'I hope you don't expect an apology.'

`From you it would be the last thing I'd expect.' He

moved into the room, nodded pleasantly to Kimani and helped himself 'to whisky. 'Cheers,' he said in Sara's direction.

She gave him a look meant to wither and turned her attention ostentatiously back to her magazine, trying her best to ignore the lean figure as he lowered himself to a chair close by. There was a moment when she thought he was going to say something else, then Ted came in and his attention became refocused. In the following half hour he proceeded to ply the other two men with questions regarding station procedure, quick intelligent questions designed to put him in the picture with the minimum of delay. Watching him covertly from over the top of the magazine, Sara could sense his dissatisfaction with some of the answers, and she bitterly resented the criticism of her father implicit in his attitude. A man of his kind would always think that his own methods had to be best, but it didn't necessarily follow. Her father had run this station for almost four years, and there had never been any complaints.

At eight Maswi brought in the fish rolls and curry, slapped them on the table and departed wearing a doleful expression. He and Njorogi were brothers, yet as different as chalk from cheese. Sara had a feeling that very soon now the former would talk the latter into going home. No one could stop them, of course, but it meant a long trek for someone to take them back to their home village the far side of Narok.

Seated in what was usually her father's place at the table, Steve York looked big, over-confident and almost aggressively masculine. Sara ate through the meal in silence, listening to the conversation going on
around her without making any attempt to join in. Ted glanced at her quizzically once or twice but made no comment. For all the notice Steve York took of her she might not have been there at all. He was too interested in what Kimani had to tell him about his findings over the last two months, already involved in station affairs up to his neck.

`In the morning I'll have a go at picking up this trail you were following today,' he said to Kimani over coffee on the veranda. 'If you're right about them coming in across the boundary to pick up the stuff at night then those tracks might help to pinpoint the spot. Of course, it may turn out that they were made by those campers you were talking about, but at least it's a chance.' He glanced across to where Sara lounged in her chair with her feet slung up on the rail, added pleasantly, 'Is there any more coffee?'

She refrained from telling him to get it himself with an effort, and heaved herself to her feet to take his cup, meeting the grey gaze levelly. If he thought he was relegating her to her proper place in the scheme of things here he was mistaken. Come the morning he would find out how far his tactics went with her. She had already made her plans for the following day, and didn't intend to change them.

Both Kimani and Ted shook their heads when asked if they would also like another cup. She refilled Steve's and handed it back to him without a word, then dropped down the steps and strolled off into the darkness of the compound with an air of nonchalance.

The fawn was already bedded down in the shelter made for it in the far corner of the pen. It raised its tiny
head when Sara approached and regarded her without fear, nostrils quivering. She stroked the soft nose and throat, thinking that she might soon start choosing a name for it. She never did that normally. It didn't do to become too attached to the young animals and birds she looked after; the wrench of parting was grim enough as it was.

The crickets were loud, the air full of familiar scents and smells. Sound carried for miles in these parts, each one separate and identifiable. She could hear splashings from the direction of the hippo pool above the rapid, the far-off barking of zebra out on the plain and, very much nearer, the persistent wailing of a solitary hyena. Sara recalled the sheer irrational terror of those first nights when she had lain awake trying to identify the different cries, calls, screams in her mind with something real and alive. Oddly enough the roar of the lion had always' comforted her. She could recognize that, visualize the animal from which it had emerged. Only the unknown was frightening. There were still night noises she couldn't place, of course, but the fear had gone. These days it was silence she found unnerving.

As if in answer to her thoughts a pair of lions began roaring at each other across the river, and were immediately joined by another pair, further away but still distinct. The fawn jumped, its heart fluttering wildly beneath her soothing fingers. She talked to it quietly, and it grew calm again. When she left it was almost asleep, although the lions were still sounding off in chorus. Sara wondered if either pair belonged to the pride she had watched out on the plain a couple of days
ago. There had been about twenty animals altogether, including half a dozen cubs of varying ages. It always fascinated her the way all the lionesses in a pride would feed any cub without regard to ownership or responsibility. Theirs was the true community spirit, achieved by instinct, not design.

She was standing with her back resting lightly against one of the corner posts still listening to the night when the sense of another presence impinged itself upon her consciousness. When she turned her head Steve York was lolling a few feet away in a similar pose watching her. Out here they were beyond the muted circle of radiance stretching out from the house, and in the darkness he seemed bigger than ever. An odd sensation swept over her, leaving her suddenly uneasy and on edge. Instinctively she sought refuge in attack.

`Is it necessary to keep a fatherly eye on me here in the compound too? Or did you have some other reason for following me?'

He didn't move. 'Such as?'

Sara pushed herself away from the post and stuck her hands in her pockets. 'How should I know? How long have you been watching me?'

`A couple of minutes.' He put a cigarette to his lips and flared a lighter, briefly illuminating the faint smile on his lips. 'I wanted to talk to you.'

She eyed him obliquely. 'About what?'

`You.' He paused, blew out a thin stream of smoke. `I've got a sister your age staying with some friends in Nairobi. How would you like to go down there yourself for a couple of weeks? Jill would be glad of your company, and it would be a change for you.'

Her heart jerked. 'I don't need a change. If you're just looking for a way of getting me out of your hair, why not say so?'

`If that's all it was I'd hardly be so ready to park you on the Milsons,' was the dry reply. 'It seems to me that a change of scene would do you good.'

She said tautly, 'You've been talking to Ted.' `A bit. The circumstances called for it.'

`They're not so special.'

`NO?' He studied her across the three feet of moonlit space. 'When did you last wear a pretty dress, or grow your hair long, or listen to any conversation which wasn't exclusively male?'

`I don't just listen,' she said. 'I normally contribute. And my hair and clothes are suited to the kind of life I lead.'

`I know. That's the whole point. Stuck out here you're being denied an essential part of your growing.. up. You need contact with others of your own age-group. Boys as well as girls.'

`With the eventual aim, I suppose, of finding thyself a husband and settling down to a life of domestic bliss.'

His mouth pulled into a grin. 'There are worse things.'

`Are you married?'

`No, but it's different for a man.'

`You mean you're allowed to be individualistic and I'm not even supposed to want to be, don't you?'

`You haven't had much chance to know what you do want to be.' His gaze was speculative. 'You could be a very pretty girl, Sara, if you stopped playing the little

tough. Don't you ever think about what you're missing?'

`At the moment I don't seem to be missing anything. I'm sure thousands would give their right arm to have Steve York take such an interest in their welfare. I don't want to go to Nairobi, and you can't make me.'

I didn't say I could make you. It was just a thought.' His voice had gained an edge. 'But let's have one thing straight from the start. If you're going to stay here on the station you're going to have to learn to behave like a rational adult. You've been a tomboy long enough; it's time you started to listen to reason. I'm going to have enough on my plate without worrying myself silly over you!'

Fists clenched at her sides, Sara watched him stride purposefully away towards the house. Enough on his plate, had he? He hadn't even started yet !

IT was dawn when Sara awoke. She got out of bed swiftly and pulled on the jeans and shirt she had worn the previous night, put on a sweater over them and donned a pair of comfortable old riding boots into which she tucked the legs of her pants.

The sky was already a clear pale blue when she got outside, the tops of the trees showing golden against the slanting rays of the rising sun. Detail grew about her as she began the climb to the top of the bluff behind the house, the rock beneath her fingers taking on warmth and colour. Something moved in the undergrowth below; there was a glimpse of yellow-spotted fur, and then it was gone. Hyena, thought Sara, hitching the binocular case more firmly over her shoulder. They often came prowling round the compound like that, attracted by the smell of food. Once a pair of them had even dug their way in and tried to find a way into the store-hut. The tracks had been there the next morning to prove it, along with the damage.