Burning Embers Page 5

  “I remember,” she said docilely. “I never tired of the wonderful African legends you told me while I lay cozy and safe in my bed.” She smiled wistfully. “Good old Aluna.” Coral went over to the old nanny and hugged her affectionately.

  “Drink this while I talk. It will help you sleep.”

  “Ooh, one of your fragrant infusions. Which one is it? Have I tasted it before?” she asked as she slid between the sheets and took a sip of the steaming brew. “Mmm…very fruity and warming.”

  “It’s made with stewed fruit and spices.”

  Coral snuggled down a little deeper under the eiderdown. “You’ve my undivided attention, Aluna,” she announced, leaning back against the propped-up pillows.

  The yaha took her place in the tattered armchair next to her young mistress’s bed and began her tale, just as she used to long ago.

  “At the beginning of all things, the sun married the moon. They traveled together for a long time, and the sun would go in front with the moon following behind. As they traveled, the moon would sometimes get tired, so the sun would carry her. One day the moon forgot to stay behind the sun and passed in front of him. The sun became angry, so the moon was beaten by the sun in just the same way women are beaten by their husbands when they forget their place.” As she listened to the familiar story, Coral smiled to herself, remembering how Aluna had always been so old-fashioned about the duties of a wife; how shocked she would be if she knew what the feminist movement was up to in the West. She could feel herself drifting off to sleep already, lulled by Aluna’s low and soothing voice.

  “But the sun did not realize that he had married one of those women who fight their husbands. When the moon was beaten, she fought back, and wounded the sun on his forehead. The sun also fought, and scratched the moon’s face and plucked out one of her eyes. When the sun saw that he was scarred, he was very embarrassed and said to himself, ‘I am going to shine so brightly that people will not be able to look at me and see my scars.’ And so he shone so hard that people could not look at him without squinting. That is why the sun shines so brightly. As for the moon, she felt no embarrassment, and so she did not have to shine any brighter. And even now, if you look closely at the moon, you will see the marks on her face that the sun gave her during their fight.”

  Aluna finished her story. While Coral was drifting off to sleep, she was aware of the older woman’s movements: she took the cup from her hand as it rested delicately on the eiderdown, gently removed the extra pillows, smoothed out the covers a little, tucking them in at the side, and then stood there a while watching her. Coral opened her eyes one last time to see an expression of immense tenderness come over her yaha’s ebony features. Aluna switched off the bedside lamp and tiptoed out of the room.

  * * *

  Coral awoke early the next day and decided she would go down to the beach for a quick swim. From the open window of her bedroom she could see the shimmering sea that appeared almost white in the slanting morning light. The sky was metallic blue; the glare was exceptional: clear, pure, and sharp as a razor. An absolutely unique landscape awaited her out there, and she was burning to be a part of it.

  She wore a blue polka dot bikini and, to avoid getting any sand in her hair, swept up her golden mane in a top-knot held in place by two wide tortoise-shell combs. She shoved a towel, a book, and some dark glasses into an old beach bag that was lying in one of the corners next to her cupboard. Coral was ready. She was almost at the front door when Aluna called her back. “The sand is already hot at this time of day. You’d better take your sandals with you.”

  Her yaha was right; she had forgotten how scalding the sand could get. She climbed the stairs two by two. “What would I do without you, my dear Aluna,” she said with a little laugh as she took the sandals from her yaha’s hands and buried them in her bag. She blew the old woman a kiss and was off again in no time.

  Coral crossed the garden at the back of the house that led down a narrow path to a gate. The three-mile-long beach greeted her in a sweep of dazzling dunes. She loved the freshness of these early morning hours, the unadulterated atmosphere, the daily rebirth of nature.

  She walked along the wide, deserted shore, humming, digging her bare feet as deeply as she could into the soft, sugar-white sand, enjoying the warmth that soothed her toes and traveled up her legs, spreading heat through her body. A sense of anticipation, of almost reckless abandon, possessed her, and she ran down the last few slopes that lay between her and the calm aquamarine ocean before immersing herself in the cool, transparent shallows.

  She could not have said how long she swam. When she finally emerged from the water, the sun was already high and hot. She stretched herself lazily on her towel and watched the seabirds whirling and squawking in the azure sky. Coral’s eyes closed as an elemental sense of serenity swept over her.

  Once more she let her thoughts roam back to those first hours of the previous morning and to the handsome stranger who, after being so chivalrous, had mysteriously disappeared into thin air. Was he from this part of the world, or was he only passing through? Would she ever see him again to thank him for his kindness? She supposed not and felt a faint pang of regret at that thought.

  The seabirds fell quiet, leaving only the whispering sound of the sea. Determinedly pushing him out of her thoughts, she wiped her mind clear and relaxed.

  All of a sudden there was a yap, and before Coral knew it she was startled by a dog hurling itself at her, licking her face with unbridled enthusiasm. She started with surprise and leapt up in one go. It was a beautiful Australian shepherd, remarkably well kempt. Startled too by Coral’s reaction, the dog took off like the wind. Puzzled, the young woman launched herself after it, wondering where it had come from and to whom it belonged. In her mad dash, Coral forgot to put on her sandals, and she tripped, banging her foot against a sharp piece of coral. She cried out as she fell to the ground, a stabbing pain shooting through her heel. Coral groaned plaintively, eyes squeezed shut, holding her sore foot tightly in her joined hands. After a few moments, the pain began to subside, and she could see that blood was trickling from the cut. She grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her foot, hearing the Australian shepherd bark nearby.

  “Shush, Buster,” said a man’s voice — one that she found slightly familiar.

  Coral looked up. It was him — the kind stranger who had filled her thoughts since she had arrived — standing there, stroking the hound mechanically and watching her with raised eyebrows.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked when she recovered from her surprise.

  He chuckled. “I’m looking at you,” he answered in a voice tinged with gentle irony.

  “Why are you looking at me in that silly way?” she said, uncomfortable to find herself in this ridiculous position.

  He laughed again, a low throaty sound. She noticed that his eyes this morning were the color of burnt sugar and they twinkled with contained mischievousness.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “What does it look like?” she snapped.

  “Let me have a look.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Coral threw him an insolent look.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said, still viewing her with amusement. He smiled good-humoredly, and then his whole face lit up with laughter. “To answer your question, yes, in a previous life I spent three years in medical school.”

  “I see,” she said uncertainly. She raised her eyebrows. “Why did you give up?” She had forgotten the pain and was looking up at him curiously.

  “Oh, I wanted something a little more energetic, more adventurous, I suppose.”

  “Mmm…” Coral felt self-conscious again.

  “And now that we have established that I’m not a practicing physician, but that I have some degree of medical knowledge, do you think you can entrust me with your foot?” He had not abandoned his mischievous attitude, standing there, legs a little apart and arms folded, obviously entertained.

  She nodde
d her consent reluctantly. He bent down to examine her foot, taking it in his hands. His palms were not smooth or soft. They were those of a man who was in the habit of using them — strong, masculine hands. Their warm, rugged touch subtly stirred her senses. Frowning, he inspected the sole of her foot, crouching on the sand, head bent. Coral watched him silently. The shock of black hair swept back from a wide forehead was strewn here and there with silver threads. The breeze had ruffled it a little, which gave him a boyish look that contrasted with the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes and slightly deeper ones etched in his brow.

  “You must have stepped on a piece of coral. Such pretty feet should not be left unprotected against these nasty fragments scattered along our beaches. You’ve cut yourself, but the wound isn’t deep. I will take you back home.” Again, she noticed the smooth, lyrical purr of his accent, which was becoming unnervingly attractive.

  “There is no need for that,” she assured him hurriedly. “I’ll manage on my own, thank you. Mpingo is not far off.”

  Suddenly she was anxious for him to go, eager to be left alone. She found his quiet and steady gaze disturbing and feared he might discover the inner turmoil he created in her, especially now when she felt at a disadvantage.

  “Show me,” he instructed.

  She recognized the brisk tone of voice that had struck her the day before. Though perhaps a little arrogant, its sense of strength and security was not unpleasant. “Go away,” she said faintly.

  “Do you really think I could abandon you here when you’re hurt?” he asked in earnest.

  She did not answer but lifted herself up while he stood there in front of her, neither moving nor taking his gaze off her, seemingly mesmerized. Buster sat near him, growling quietly, his ears pointing toward the sky.

  Coral was just about to stand when he bent down gently and, before she had time to protest, swiftly lifted her, one arm under her knees, the other around her waist. She sucked in her breath at this unexpected contact.

  His arms were strong and muscular. She could feel the steely grip of his fingers against her ribs, just underneath her breast, as he held her tightly against his broad chest.

  “This really isn’t necessary; it’s just a cut. I can walk perfectly well on my own if you’d give me a chance,” she complained, trying to wrestle out of his firm grip.

  “It’ll be faster if I carry you. Now keep still,” he murmured. Coral’s lips were no more than an inch away from his clean-shaven cheek, and she could faintly detect the fragrance of the soap he had used that morning. Her indignation gave way to butterflies in her stomach.

  His stride was smooth as he walked silently, staring ahead with a faraway look in his burnished pupils. In profile, his eyelashes seemed extra long and thick. She restrained her desire to lean her head against his shoulder, only turning her face slightly toward him. A lock of her hair brushed his temple. He lifted his chin a little, and she noticed his jaw tighten and felt the pressure of his fingers increase a bit on her bare skin, sending a tremor through her body. Was he aware of these strange new sensations that were flooding her?

  He relaxed, and his palm slipped down to her waist, where it rested steadily as they approached the property.

  It did not strike her at first that he was taking her to Mpingo without any directions on her part, so absorbed was she by the intensity and confusion of her emotions since she had set eyes on him the previous morning. Moreover, his touch and his proximity aroused her senses with an acuity that startled her, and some sort of instinct told her that the mute signals of her flesh had leapt from her body to his, blossoming into a desire similar to her own.

  Presently they reached the rear of the property. Freeing one of his hands, he unlatched the gate and, looking down at Buster who was hovering around them restlessly, ordered him to sit and wait. The hound obeyed and, with his head tilted to one side, watched his master go.

  “Thank you,” Coral said, breaking the silence for the first time since they had started back. “You can let me down here, you know.” She spoke in a low voice, rather demurely, and he smiled as if charmed.

  “We’re not quite there yet,” he said softly. “You surely are an impatient young lady.”

  She had no time to reply for Aluna was hurrying toward them, obviously in a panic. “Missy Coral, my poor Missy Coral, what has happened to you?” she cried, rushing down the path to meet them. “I saw you coming from the nursery window. Are you hurt?” As she drew closer, her attention shifted abruptly from her young mistress to the man who was carrying her. Suddenly the fond concern turned into fury as she hurled herself toward him. “You?” she cried out, her eyes wild, her features distraught. “You? What are you doing here? How dare you! Haven’t you brought enough pain and disaster to this house? Leave my missy alone. Leave her alone, I tell you! You were born under an evil star, and wherever you go you bring doom and catastrophe in your wake. My missy is taboo to you, do you understand? Taboo! If I catch you lurking around here or anywhere near her, I will kill you myself with these bare hands, and I swear to you that no witch doctor, however powerful, will be able to help you this time.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Coral was seated comfortably in an armchair on the veranda with her leg resting on a pile of cushions that Aluna had fussily placed on a low stool in front of her. The cut on her foot now clean and bandaged, the pain had diminished, and by the evening there really would be little trace of her injury.

  On her return, she had spent an hour trying to coax out of the sullen and silent nanny an explanation for her extraordinary behavior that morning but without success; the servant’s lips remained tightly sealed.

  “Who is this man?” Coral had asked. “How do you know him? What was all that about bringing sadness to this house?”

  “What I would like to know,” Aluna had retorted roundly, ignoring her mistress’s questions, “is how he has managed to meet you already, when you only stepped off the boat yesterday? The man is the devil, I tell you. You listen to me, child, you stay away from him and the likes of him, or he will drag you down into a bottomless pit from where you may never return.”

  “Surely the poor man can’t be as bad as you make him out! He’s only been kind and courteous to me. He needn’t have helped me back here. I’m sure he had better things to do. Who is he, anyway? What is his name? We never got down to that, thanks to your silly nonsense.”

  “You’re not listening to me, child!” the native woman had cried, grabbing Coral by the shoulders and shaking her lightly. “This man will hurt you. Everything he touches turns to ashes. I have seen it happen, and that’s why I’m warning you.”

  “Well then, tell me about him. Tell me all. I’m entitled to know what I should be guarding myself against.”

  “Birds are entangled by their feet and men by their tongues. There are things that are better kept buried. Time and chance reveal all secrets in due course.”

  They had left it at that, but thinking back on Robin Danvers’ words and the yaha’s irrational behavior on the previous evening, Coral was seriously starting to believe that the young manager had been right, and that fantasy and reality were inextricably intertwined in poor Aluna’s mind. She promised herself to keep her ears and her eyes open in the future. Surely in no time she would stumble upon the truth.

  Her gaze swept over the garden, which was exploding with color. In the sunny afternoon it had the dazzling brilliance of fireworks. To the left, the flower-surrounded lawn sloped gently to the jungle, a tangled mass of braided vines in varied shades of green. There bloomed the most magnificent orchids amid a noisy chorus of tree frogs, cicadas, and the myriad life of a tropical forest. To the right, twisted canopies of shrubs and huge flowering trees abounded — plumeria and African tulip and monkey pod bearing red, yellow, or feathery white blossoms — filling the place with color to rival the most daring Matisse. Behind this vivid screen, the rare mpingo trees stretched as far as the eye could see. Facing her, beyond the pond where dragonflies and
lizards darted among the chalice lilies, the dramatic alley of jacarandas formed a startling ocean of purple-blue flowers.

  A silver-gray TR6 Triumph convertible was now making its way up the driveway. It stopped in front of the house, and the driver, a slim young woman in her early twenties with long black hair and olive skin, nimbly hopped out. She walked up to the bottom of the veranda stairs and stood there, her hand resting on the marble banister.

  “Hello there,” she said with an engaging smile as Coral gingerly left her seat.

  “Hello,” answered Coral politely. “Are you looking for someone? I’m afraid there is no one at home except for me.” She hesitated for a split second before adding, “Mrs. Sinclair is away and will be back in a couple of days. I am — ”

  “Coral, darling, you obviously don’t recognize me.” The young woman climbed the stairs hurriedly. “I’d have known you anywhere… you haven’t changed that much.”

  Coral looked hard at the visitor, and in a flash, she remembered the rather chubby, brown-eyed little girl with long black plaits that Sandy Lawson had once been. With a cry of fond recognition, she forgot the discomfort of her foot and rushed toward her childhood friend.

  “Of course, Sandy, Sandy Lawson!”

  “How clever of you to remember.” Sandy laughed. “I like to think that during all these long years I haven’t been totally forgotten. After all, I lived more at Mpingo than at my own home.”

  “How could I forget, Sandy dear? We were inseparable!” They embraced with enthusiasm. “You have changed, though, I would say quite beyond recognition, except of course for your beautiful black hair. You were rather…well, chubby, if I remember rightly.”

  They both laughed. “You remember rightly,” Sandy said. “It took loads of hard work and determination to shed that lot.” Sandy still had voluptuous curves, but Coral noticed that her trouser suit belted at the waist showed off a substantially slimmer silhouette.