Burning Embers Page 9

  Robin had returned from his trip to Nairobi a few days before, and together they had visited Timothy Locklear, her father’s solicitor. Locklear informed them that Walter Sinclair, while leaving his daughter the bulk of his estate, mainly the house and its property, had also made provisions for Cybil, giving her a handsome annual income and a home in Mpingo — a cottage on the grounds — for life. Would her father have been so magnanimous to his wife if he had thought she had been unfaithful? Coral thought it unlikely, but then again, Walter Sinclair always did have a generous heart.

  She did not often see her stepmother who was almost always absent or, on the few occasions when she was around, stayed conveniently out of Coral’s way. Coral had developed a busy social life. When she was not out on the town with Sandy and her gang, she would hop into her father’s old Buick and explore the countryside, taking photographs that she would use for her articles on Kenya.

  Sometimes, on a beautiful day, equipped with a straw hat, a snorkel, mask and flippers, sunglasses, and a towel, plus her camera in case she stumbled upon a particularly stunning scene, she would take a small rowing boat in search of a solitary bay. There she could peacefully retire, far from the masses that invaded most beaches.

  Today was one of those particularly fine days — a sapphire sort of day, when the sky and the ocean blended. Coral ran down to the beach after a light breakfast. The sea was divinely calm and transparent, looking like cool liquid silk, and she spent most of the morning going in and out of the water to avoid the glaring sun. She could see the beaches of an island that had intrigued her since her childhood glittering across the smooth expanse in the distance. It did not look so far away, and Coral felt like this was the perfect time for an excursion. Fully armed with her usual paraphernalia, she set out in her rowing boat to the isolated reef.

  Once at sea, the wind was refreshing. Wearing sunglasses to protect her eyes from the blinding glare, Coral rowed, filling her lungs with the clean air, enjoying the briny smell of seaweed and the taste of dry salt on her lips. Seagulls whirled around the boat, hoping to be fed, then swooped and dived, only to arch out of their fall to seize the small fish darting through the water.

  It was not long before Coral reached her deserted island, which now appeared overgrown with a jungle greenery of tall palms and luscious shrubs. She pulled her boat onto the beach next to a heap of mossy rocks that appeared to mark the entrance to a cave. Pools of turquoise water dotted the stretch of tawny sand, creating curiously shaped coves and secluded creeks. This was a place to relax, she thought as she threw herself onto the shore, thrilled with her discovery.

  Coral lolled about in the warm, clear shallows. Here and there the seabed sloped into cool, deep water, revealing a mysterious universe where she was surrounded by the gem-bright treasures of the sea. With amazement and wonder, she watched multicolored sea creatures nibble at the reefs, schools of brightly striped angelfish and others wildly spotted or recklessly patterned, swimming among vivid anemones and striking coral bouquets as if straight out of an artist’s canvas.

  The sun was still high when Coral decided to start back, but first she would quickly explore the rocky section of the shore where she had moored the boat. On closer inspection, the tall crags concealed a narrow entrance — they were the outer shell of an extraordinary cave. When Coral made her way inside, she found it was deserted. Scattered rays of sun filtering through the crevices reflected off shallow pools of water on the floor and gave it the eerie majesty of an empty cathedral.

  Unexpectedly, this fragile illusion was shattered by the distant sound of voices. Startled, Coral stood still and listened. A woman’s laughter floated toward her. Could there be anyone else on this island? What was there on the other side of the rocks? She heard the voices again, the words more distinct this time. She guessed they were speaking in English. The laughter chimed back to her through the rocks, a coquettish peal that sounded familiar.

  Coral splashed through the puddles in the cave and climbed over the haphazard heap of stones, making her way toward the place she suspected the voices were coming from. Soon she reached an alternative way into the cave. It was another narrow passageway that opened up on a different stretch of golden beach. Coral craned her neck and peeped through a wide crevice just inside the entrance, almost losing her balance as she recognized Rafe on the sand in the company of her stepmother. Fate seemed determined to put him in her path again.

  From her hiding place, Coral had a perfect view of him as he stood facing Cybil, leaning against a white dinghy. She had never before had the opportunity to look him over in detail; that day on the beach, when she had hurt her foot, he had been wearing a T-shirt. Now she could assess at leisure the hard, toned physique with its well-proportioned lines. The black swimming trunks that clung to him emphasized his masculinity. This sudden exposure of his tanned body came as a shock to her system, creating a strange, hollow feeling in her stomach.

  The couple seemed to be in deep conversation. She strained her ears. “Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves,” her mother used to say. Nevertheless, she was curious to know what they were talking about and, from her position behind the crevice, could make out most of it.

  “You had an open marriage,” her stepmother was saying.

  “That isn’t true; she never played around.”

  “More fool her if she didn’t, but don’t give me that. Everybody talked about her, and you know it.”

  He sighed and let himself slide onto the ground in full view of Coral. She nearly lost her balance as she watched him stretch out his lean body on the sand. “What the hell, anyhow,” he said, lying back with his arms behind his head. “I know she did, and I witnessed it on at least one occasion. Still…it’s all in the past now.”

  “D’you still love her?”

  His expression hardened. “Love? Love in my book is another name for sex. Women too often confound the two, which is very tedious, and from that stems all the problems.”

  Cybil laughed. “So you don’t love me?” She sat down next to him and laid a caressing hand on his wide chest. The movement drew Coral’s attention to the fine strands of hair curling on his torso and narrowing down to his navel in a silky, dark line.

  “Oh, don’t start all that again, Cybil. You’ve always known the score. I never once in word or in action gave you the slightest encouragement besides showing you how much I enjoyed our games. You’re a very sexy woman, Cybil, a superlative mistress in between the sheets, but out of the bedroom…” Rafe pushed her hand away.

  “You don’t really mean that,” she snapped. “What’s the matter with you? Walter is out of the way now. You have no excuse.”

  “Just drop it, Cybil,” he said firmly.

  “I can guess what the matter is,” she went on stubbornly. “It’s that girl — she’s got under your skin, hasn’t she? I know you met her on the ship. She’s not just a painting to you any more, is she?”

  There was a pause while he played with the sand, letting it sift slowly in between his fingers.

  “Well? Tell me, am I right?”

  “I’ve told you to drop it, Cybil,” he said quietly, still fiddling with the sand.

  “Am I to understand that in his old age, the cold-blooded womanizer has turned into a romantic fool?” Cybil stretched herself out close to him — much too close — showing off the curves of her body that a skimpy bikini had difficulty concealing.

  “No, Cybil,” he answered in a smooth, husky drawl, “I’m not saying that.” He shrugged. “I simply don’t feel like talking about it.” He sat up quickly, looking irritated and scanning the scenery. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about anyway, and why out here?”

  Cybil carried on as if Rafe had not spoken. “It’s those baby wide eyes, blushing schoolgirl’s look, and not much else between her ears that you find appealing, I suppose. You’d soon become bored. Anyhow, she hates you now. That servant of hers made sure of that. Trust the old witch to make mischief. I heard part of the
ir conversation one afternoon.” She laughed. “Coral must hate me too, though I must admit she’s very good. She hardly shows her emotions. Perhaps she doesn’t have any, she’s so damned aloof. For all I know, she’s as cold and indifferent as she seems.”

  A shadow passed over Rafe’s eyes. “You really don’t like her, do you?” He picked up a bright pink shell on the sand. A sardonic smile flashed across his face. Muscles flickered under the golden skin of his lean thighs as he stretched out his legs and leaned back on his arms. “Do I detect signs of jealousy, Cybil?”

  She laughed again, throwing her head back, a note of hysteria evident. “Jealous, darling! What…of that girl who wouldn’t know what to do with a man if he were served up to her on a plate?” She pouted. “That’s selling me short.”

  By this time, the light had finally dawned on Coral. It was her they were discussing so casually out there on a sunny afternoon. Anger rampaged through her, and it was only the fear of humiliating herself that kept her from storming out from her hiding place and showing them just how cold and aloof she was.

  While they had been talking, a breeze had started up. Cybil shivered. “It’s getting cold,” she said sulkily as she jumped up from the sand. “I’d better be on my way. I’d hate to be caught up in a storm, as you don’t seem in the mood to rescue me. We can talk another time when you’re in a better mood.”

  He shrugged absentmindedly and watched with empty eyes as she put on her robe, stepped into a motor boat that was moored down the shore next to a coconut tree, and roared off in a cloud of foam.

  I should get out of here too, Coral thought as she turned on her heel to make her way back through the cave. She nearly slipped, smothering a cry and grasping the rock with both hands to stop herself from falling. After that, she placed one foot in front of the other more deliberately, choosing her path with care. Coral had not gone far when steely fingers closed around her arm, pulling her back with a force that made her gasp.

  “And where d’you think you’re going, little damsel?” she heard Rafe’s voice say. Coral pivoted and met curious, golden eyes watching her with contained amusement.

  “Let me go!” she gasped, struggling to escape the iron grip.

  “Not before you tell me what you were doing here. Eavesdropping, were we?”

  “Take your hands off me!” she hissed, lifting her free arm and swinging it forward clumsily in an attempt to free herself. Rafe swiftly caught her wrist. His eyes had suddenly turned very dark, and they glittered dangerously.

  “Oh, no, my girl, not this time you’re not!” he rasped as he brought down her two wrists, immobilizing her. “Do you always go around hitting men, or is it just me who brings this nastiness out in you?”

  “I was trying to get free, you idiot, I wasn’t trying to hit you. And do you always go around creeping up on people from behind?”

  He stared into her eyes, a disturbing gaze that stunned her. His body was so close that she could almost feel the rise and fall of his chest against her as his breathing quickened. His eyes traveled all over her face as if trying to find something. Suddenly his hands relaxed on her arms, but he did not move. Coral closed her eyes for a moment, her fury stumbling into something else. Warmth flooded her as his strong palms slid up to her shoulders, and she opened her eyes. She felt slightly dizzy; his mouth was so dangerously close, and she arched toward him a bit, instinctively wanting to increase their contact. This is madness, warned a distant part of her mind, but her body began to respond of its own accord, in spite of what she had learned about him. She was hovering on the edge of a ravine. She knew she should stop him, but his touch was inflaming her senses to the extent that she felt utterly powerless. She felt him stiffen and saw sadness creep into his eyes. Had he read her mind?

  “Coral…Coral, I’m not who you think I am,” he murmured. His words seemed to sober her up, to draw her back to reality. Who was he then? Why was she not running from him as fast as she could? Wasn’t he a loathsome womanizer?

  She pulled away from him abruptly, escaping the plea she could read in his dazed eyes as he still held onto her shoulders.

  “No, I know who you are,” she managed to say firmly, pushing him away with both hands, still trembling and panting for breath.

  “But, Coral, you don’t understand…You don’t know everything about me,” he whispered, his voice thick, his eyes searching hers urgently.

  Oh, those eyes, those treacherous womanizer’s eyes. She must not let them influence her. She must not succumb to their tantalizing spell.

  “No,” she said unsteadily. “No, Monsieur de Monfort.” Her voice rang in her ears, sounding like a high-pitched caricature of her own. “You are quite mistaken. I know enough about you to know that you only care about your own gratification, and I want nothing else to do with you, not now, not ever.” With that, she turned around and unsteadily started on her way back through the rocks.

  Suddenly Coral stopped, petrified, as she recognized the long gray reptile with chevrons on its back, seemingly asleep, that was coiled on the rocks a couple of feet away. Her scream never materialized: it was choked in her throat while she watched with wide-eyed horror as the puff adder reared itself up, inflating its thick body, preparing to strike. She heard the famous hissing sound dart out, and then two strong arms snatched her up, throwing her to one side. Rafe was straddling the snake, gripping it about eighteen inches below the head. Coral watched him, her body shivering with fright as he fearlessly hit the flat head again and again, smashing it with a big rock. With a pang of remorse, she noticed that even though she had escaped unharmed from the venomous creature, its nasty pointed fangs had not spared her rescuer. Two deep scratches bleeding freely in Rafe’s left thigh and two others on his right hand bore witness to his courage.

  “You’d better go home,” he said gruffly, without looking at her. “D’you have a boat?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she managed to say in a shaky voice. “How will you return?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he answered bitterly. “I’m a big boy. I can apparently take care of myself.”

  “But you’re hurt,” she whispered. “You can’t row back in your present condition. Besides, that adder was venomous, and you must see a doctor immediately. Won’t you come in my rowing boat?”

  “Thank you for the kind concern. If you ask me, the quicker I’m shot of you, the better off I’ll be. Serpents are not the only dangerous creatures around here.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a toneless voice. “I’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t I…?”

  “Just go now,” he murmured. “I’ll be all right.”

  She noticed he was very pale, and his features were drawn. He must be suffering. “Let me at least bring you my towel,” she offered. “I could tear strips out of it and cover those wounds. They mustn’t become infected.”

  He shook his head and wearily passed his hand over his forehead and through the shock of black hair. Suddenly he appeared vulnerable to her, and she attempted a step toward him, but he stopped her with a firm gesture of his hand.

  “If you really want to help, Coral,” he said with a weary sigh, “just go now.” He managed the shadow of a smile. “Don’t worry… I’ll be fine.”

  As Coral rowed back to the mainland, she debated whether to send out help to him. She lingered anxiously on the beach, praying for him to return safely. Finally, she saw the white dinghy in the distance, a bright form moving across the ocean against the indigo sunset. She breathed a sigh of relief, and only then did she make her way home.

  * * *

  During the days that followed, Coral suppressed the urge to see Rafe again. She felt terribly guilty, and her mind would not rest until she was sure that nothing untoward had happened and he was not suffering some ill effect from the snake’s scratches.

  On her return to the house, she had looked up snakes and snakebite in her father’s Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the information she found only reinforced her worry. Subsequent
ly, she tried discreetly to find out the Frenchman’s news from Sandy and her friends, but again without success. In a moment of panic, she considered asking Cybil whether she had seen Rafe lately, only to dismiss that alternative almost as soon as it crept into her confused mind. Finally, when she was at her wits’ end, thinking that the worst had happened, it was Aluna who unwittingly brought her the information she was seeking.

  Coral was dressing for a party. Aluna had brought in the clothes she had just ironed and was putting them away in the cupboard, chattering in her usual manner, when the faraway drumming of the tom-tom rolled out of the darkness.

  “How I hate that sound,” Coral whispered, clenching her teeth.

  Aluna stopped hovering and concentrated, reading the rhythms like Morse code. “That’s the tom-tom of the snake worshippers. They are preparing for the sacrifice.”

  “What snake? What sacrifice?” asked Coral, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “The Frenchman, he killed their god, Koleo. Now he must die.” Aluna’s dark eyes flashed, and to mark the effect of her words, she was pointing toward the window with a long finger. “He has desecrated the spirits of the ancestors who take the sacred form of the snake in this world…The Frenchman is finally going to get his punishment,” she gloated, still listening to the beating of the drums. “They could find no medicine to neutralize the poison. They even sent for the medicine man. They’ll never be able to save him.” She gave a satisfied laugh.

  Coral felt her blood run cold. “I hate it when you talk in this way. I would have thought that with all the books Daddy gave you to read over the years, you would have realized this magic and wizard business is ignorant rubbish and not worthy of your intelligence.”