CHINA Chapter 1 Dr. Petra Vossler pulled her jeep into one of the parking places reserved for Kurt Vossler, president and owner of Vossler Engineering Corporation. The five parking spots weren't marked in any way, and except for their location right beside the private elevator that went to the top floor of the Vossler Building, there was no indication of rank or privilege. Kurt Vossler was a proud man, but not one who felt the need to flaunt his power. He expected people to recognize his achievements and respect him for them. No one ever parked in these spaces without permission; it was simply understood. Petra used her key to activate the security system and then punched in her access code. The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, and she crossed over from the functional cement world of the workers into the luxury and prestige of the corporate executive. The offices didn't really suit the no-nonsense sort of man her father was, but corporate image was everything. Petra understood this, but like her father, she wasn't always comfortable with it. The carpet in the elevator was a deep pile of burgundy, the walls brass and teak with inlays of mirror. Petra kept her face neutral, knowing that cameras and microphones were part of the elevator's security system. A minute later, she exited on the top floor. Olive Bond was there to greet her. "Dr. Vossler, welcome. Mr. Vossler asked that you wait for him in his private office. He'll be there in five minutes." "Thank you, Olive. It's been a while. I hope your husband and the twins are all well," Petra said as they walked across the spacious reception room to the president's office. "Yes, the family is fine. Jason bought another store, and the boys will be going off to university this fall. Sam plans to study computer science, and Mike wants to take a law degree, then a Masters in business. I think they intend to form a new company and build it up as they go." "Good for them. Do they still build computers on the side?" Petra stopped at the door to her father's office and allowed Olive to open it for her. "Yes, in fact they have enough money from their business and scholarships to put themselves through university. But they feel PCs are old technology now and they want to move into other areas. They're hardworking boys. Jason and I are very proud of them." Olive stepped into Kurt Vossler's private office and held the door for Petra to follow. Petra Vossler was a beautiful woman. She was of average height, her hair was the rich colour of mahogany, and her eyes were chocolate brown, like her father's. Like her father, too, she was intelligent and successful, but there the comparison ended. Kurt Vossler was tall, aloof, and a tough business competitor. His only child was more like her late mother: friendly, vivacious, and concerned about social issues. Her doctorate was in Social Science. Kurt Vossler had never indicated to anyone how he felt about his daughter's choice of career. The Vosslers didn't talk about their private lives. Even Olive, who had worked as Kurt's private administrative assistant for the last five years, could write what she knew about the family in a single paragraph. On the other hand, Petra knew enormous amounts about the private lives of the people who worked for Vossler Engineering, as did Kurt. Despite the fact that he was a rather stiff and distant man, he had never forgotten Olive's birthday, and always wished her a happy anniversary. And the year that Jason had been in a terrible car accident, Kurt had cancelled all his meetings, taken her and the boys to the hospital, and seen to it that Jason got the very best of care. Kurt Vossler seemed to be a very intimidating and arrogant man. He wasn't. He was very loyal to his employees and took a personal interest in their lives, but he was also a proud and reserved man, and business came first. Olive asked if Petra would like coffee and then left, closing the door with a soft click. Petra stood by the window, looking down over the city of Kitchener, Ontario. Her father had emigrated from Germany as a young boy, a number of years after World War II. Like so many in Europe, he had lost his family in those dark years. His father, a soldier, had been killed in the war, and his mother had died during the Allied bombings of Dresden. Kurt had come to Canada to live with a distant cousin and to start a new life. Kitchener had been settled by German immigrants in the nineteenth century, and at one time had been called Berlin. That name had been change during World War I, and the town renamed after the famous British general in order to show loyalty to the Commonwealth. Petra sighed. Life was all about new starts. A little over four weeks ago, her father had suffered a mild heart attack. That information had been kept very quiet. Kurt Vossler was Vossler Engineering, and the company's worth would plummet if it were known that the owner-president was seriously ill. The door to the office opened and Petra turned to smile at the tall, handsome man who stood there. At sixty-five, Kurt Vossler looked far more fit than many fifty-year olds. But as Petra walked across the room and hugged her father, she could see grayness in his skin and stress lines around his eyes that hadn't been there last year. "Hi, Dad. How are you feeling today?" "Not so bad, honey. Those pills I put under my tongue work well, but I get tired more quickly now," Kurt said. Petra smiled affectionately. Her father knew better than to try to keep things from her. She'd always had a way of worming the truth out of him. The two sat down in the conversation area overlooking the city, and Petra took her Palm Pilot from her shoulder bag. "Well, you went over the resumes, who do you recommend?" Kurt asked, settling down to business. "Quin Venizelos," Petra said. Kurt grimaced. "Dad, she's the only one with the brains and drive to fill your shoes. If you name her as your successor, the investors will feel confident in the company. I hope you're not hesitating because she's gay," Petra said. "My own daughter is gay. That's not an issue." Petra busied herself arranging the resume data of the regional directors on her Palm Pilot. "It could be an issue with the stockholders," she said. "Business doesn't care who, what, or how many an executive sleeps with, as long as the profit growth is in the double digits. Sexual morality doesn't belong in the boardroom," Kurt said. "Then what's the issue?" Petra asked, placing her PDA on the table and looking directly at her father. "She's a strange one. Wild." "Brilliant," countered Petra. "Unpredictable." "She has an amazing success rate." "I don't like her," he said. "I'm not surprised." Petra laughed. "She seems to be a lot like you: focussed, a risk taker, and determined." "She runs our Pacific Rim division as if it's her own private company. She never asks permission; she notifies me of what she's done. She's a loose cannon," Vossler said. "Has she ever made a poor decision? Have you ever had reason to question her loyalty?" Petra asked. "No," her father said. "The Pacific Rim is our biggest growth sector by far, but it's a huge market, so I can't completely give the credit to Venizelos." "Agreed. But you have to admit that having someone who speaks Mandarin and Cantonese and is familiar with the various cultures is a great advantage—not to mention the fact that she speaks three other languages reasonably well, and has degrees in engineering and business." Petra suspected he enjoyed debating with her because she always came prepared for battle. She also surmised he felt better when he saw, if only for a few minutes, the spunky, impetuous, independent girl he had known before Val's accident. "She's more than qualified and has the experience to back up her studies. So I ask you, Petra, why hasn't she formed her own company? Why has she stayed with me?" "Is that what's making you hesitate?" Petra rested her chin on the arm she draped over the back of her chair. "She's a dark horse. I don't know what makes her tick. Also, she has a temper, and apparently no fear. I just don't know, Petra. What about Wilson, or Schumann?" "They're damn good administrators, but they haven't got the drive or the vision to take Vossler Engineering into the twenty-first century. Venizelos has," Petra said. For a few minutes, Kurt sat staring out the window, looking as if he were weighing all the factors. "I trust your judgement, but I'm not willing to hand this company to someone I hardly know. She's always worked in the Far East. She shows up for our stockholder and policy meetings like a damn typhoon, gets what she wants, and disappears back to her own half of the world. I don't understand the woman at all, and I don't think she's a bit like me." Petra tried not to smile. "We could send out some feelers. See if we could pick up somebody good from another company," she suggested. "But that could take some time." Kurt nodded. "We'll do that as a backup measure. In the meantime, 1 want you to go out to China and get to know Quin Venizelos. Then we'll decide." "Dad, I do have my own career." "It's summer. You teachers don't work in the summer." "I'm a professor, and I do research in the summer and teachers—" Vossler waved a hand to stop her favourite tirade about how hard teachers worked and how little the public appreciated their efforts. "You'll go?" he asked. Normally, Petra would have argued that her own life and studies were too important for her to simply drop them and leave at a moment's notice. She knew that stress was definitely not good for him at this stage of his recovery. "All right, I'll go, but you owe me big for this one." Chapter 2 A week later, Quin Venizelos stood outside the Customs arrival gate for first-class passengers. Outwardly, she was an island of calm in a sea of noise and activity. Inwardly, she was seething with anger. Thirty thousand metric tonnes of cement would be poured in the next few weeks, and instead of being there to supervise, she was babysitting the boss's daughter. When she received Kurt Vossler's e-mail, she considered rebelling and telling him to go to hell. Then, common sense had prevailed. Normally, Vossler gave her a pretty free hand in running the Pacific Rim division. He set the goals and she made sure that they met them. So for Vossler to send his daughter out and ask Quin to give her a tour of China, there had to be a good reason. Quin knew that Kurt Vossler had suffered a mild heart attack over a month ago. Quin knew a good deal about the Vosslers and Vossler Engineering. She made it her business to know, hiring people to provide her with inside information. She didn't see this as spying. It happened all the time in the corporate world; information was power. Quin worked on the other side of the world from the company's headquarters. As a woman and a stranger, she could easily be left out of the old boys' loop. She made sure that never happened by always having the information before anyone else. The other division heads came to her to find out what was going on, and that was the way Quin wanted it. So she e-mailed Vossler that she'd be honoured to show his daughter China. It might be a waste of time, but it never hurt to have the president and owner owing you a favour. If Vossler was in serious shape, Petra Vossler would be the next owner. It was an ideal time to show the woman what she could do for the company and establish a working relationship with her. Quin considered what she knew about Petra Vossler. She was the only child of Kurt Vossler and Sophie Mueller. Kurt had married late to n woman much younger than himself. In Petra's eighteenth year, Sophie had died of cancer. Kurt had never remarried, nor was he known to play the field. When a companion was needed for an event, he tended to bring his daughter. Petra Vossler was twenty-nine, and had a doctorate in sociology. She had written a book on the formation and structure of immigrant communities within North American society that was well received by the academic community. She was a lesbian and had been in one long-term relationship. Her partner had died in a car accident three years ago, and Petra hadn't dated since. Like her father, Petra was a discrete and private person. There were questions that Quin hoped to get answers to. Petra had worked in various positions in the company from when she was a young teen, yet she didn't hold a current position with the company. Instead, she taught at Waterloo University. She did sometimes draw a salary from the company as an occasional employee. Quin knew this because she had hacked into the company's accounting system. What she didn't know was what Petra did for the company. That worried her. * * * Petra waited for her luggage to arrive with the other five first-class passengers. She was looking forward to meeting Quin Venizelos at long last. The woman was a legend. Her father was a Greek sailor who married a Canadian missionary working in China. Her parents both died in a typhoon, and Quin was raised by her Chinese godparents in Toronto's Chinatown. She excelled at school, both in sports and academics, and went through university on scholarships, one of them provided by Vossler Engineering. During her summers, she worked for Vossler and took a junior administration position with them upon graduating with her engineering degree. Five years later, she headed their Far East division and was in charge of their largest contract, the designing and building of the dam at Mao Ping. Her father was right. Quin Venizelos was a powerhouse. She had taken a successful Canadian company and made it a world contender. That Venizelos had remained with the company was a mystery, and one that Petra intended to solve. An employee placed her suitcase next to her. Declining any further assistance, Petra wheeled her suitcase and laptop through the doorway into the arrival lobby of the new Hong Kong airport. She picked out Venizelos right away. She was tall and fit with short-cropped blonde hair. Her features were more strong than pretty, but she was still a beautiful woman. Petra had seen photos of her, but in real life there was a vibrant energy about the woman that turned heads. Her presence seemed to demand respect, and when the blue eyes turned and targeted Petra's, the force almost made her miss a step. Petra understood now why her father was very hesitant about handing any more power over to this woman until they knew her better. "Ms. Petra Vossler?" Quin asked, coming up to stand in front of Petra. Petra took a step to the side so that she wouldn't be forced to look up at Quin. She was very careful not to step back. Already the power games had begun. "Yes." She smiled. "You're Quin. A pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Petra," Petra said, neatly forcing Quin into a subordinate role. Petra knew her message had been received when she saw Quin smile knowingly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Kurt Vossler's daughter had teeth and could use them. Round one to the Vosslers. It was going to be an interesting few weeks. "Here, let me take your suitcase. The company plane is standing by, and we should be in Beijing in two hours. Did you have a good flight?" "A long one," Petra said, "Six-and-a-half hours from Toronto to Anchorage, Alaska, an hour to refuel, and an eleven-and-a-half-hour flight to Hong Kong." She had hoped that they would be spending a night in Hong Kong before taking another flight on to Beijing. She would have to be careful; jet lag would mean she wasn't at her best in duelling with this competitive woman. "That's about par for the course. I'm sorry to be rushing you, but we're well into the second phase of construction at the dam, and I can't spare too much time away from the site," Quin said. "Of course," Petra said. She stayed at Quin's side while they manoeuvred through the wide causeways and shopping areas of the impressive new international airport. A smile curled the corner of Petra's mouth. Tired or not, she was enjoying this encounter with Quin. Petra could hold her own in the game of manoeuvring for a power position. She was not Kurt Vossler's daughter in name only. The Dash 8 owned by Vossler Engineering was basic but functional. While they sat on the runway waiting for the pilot to do his final chock nnd for their control tower clearance, Quin made coffee, and offered Petra a tray of delicate sandwiches made from lobster and shrimp, served with watercress. They talked of the weather and mutual business acquaintances, keeping the conversation general as they felt each other out. To Petra's surprise, Quin chose to sit next to her during take off. Their arms were nearly touching, and Petra could feel the heat of Quin's tanned skin. To say the very least, it was stimulating. Petra looked out the window, ignoring her companion. Quin had a reputation for conquests, in and out of the boardroom, both men and women. She'd have to be on her guard. Besides, Quin wasn't Val. No one could replace Val in her life. The flight to Beijing was uneventful. Quin filled her time with calls to various managers, making sure that everything was going well. Once on the ground, Quin helped Petra clear Customs and then led her to the limo that would take them to their hotel. Along the way, Quin played tour guide. "There are twelve million people living in Beijing, and another three million commute into the city each day to work. Bicycle is the best way to get around. There are ten million bikes in the city." Petra tried to take in the information that Quin shot at her, although her mind and body had had just about enough. She needed time to wash, sleep, and adjust to the change in time and location. "Beijing seems to be experiencing a building boom," Petra said, noting the skeleton frames of new construction everywhere. "Yes, there's been a lot of investment in China, particularly by the Japanese and Americans. The last ten years have brought about amazing changes. There are over fifty McDonald's restaurants in the city now, catering to the renewed interest in the West." Petra watched through the window. Although poverty was evident, there were no beggars or street people that one found in most cities. The streets were packed with bicycles, Russian-made mini trucks, old buses, and people. Dressed neatly in the latest European designs, the people went about their busy day. Petra was both impressed and surprised by the wealth and prosperity she saw in the city. Poor areas of ramshackle homes, ancient buildings, and modern skyscrapers all mixed together in an exotic mix that was the new China. Quin had booked them into a suite of rooms at the Palace, a five-star hotel designed for westerners. Petra tried not to show her surprise. This was not what she had expected in coming to the world's largest communist country. The lobby was a spacious terrace that towered three stories above them around a central open area. A wide, curving staircase of marble was guarded by two life-size marble horses, and a waterfall cascaded from one story to the other, where shops and offices were located. On the main floor, stores such as Chanel, Dior, and Hermes offered their wares and a string quartet played Bach in the corner. They took the polished brass elevator to the top floor and found their luggage already waiting for them and their TV broadcasting a personal greeting plus a listing of the many services provided by the hotel. Their suite consisted of a central living and dining room, off which were two dressing rooms, bedrooms, and en suite baths. Petra thanked Quin for escorting her to the hotel and disappeared into her section of the suite, glad for the opportunity to wash and rest before she had to deal with Quin Venizelos again. While she waited for sleep, Petra could hear Quin at the keyboard of her laptop. Petra deduced her visit had been planned carefully by Quin to give an optimal positive impression. Her father had been right to send her to China; Quin was a lot more than she seemed. She appeared to have considerable knowledge of the workings of Vossler Engineering and knew many of the North American administration very well. Too well. Petra suspected that Quin had a source of inside information. Chapter 3 Petra awoke feeling slightly sick and badly disoriented. It took a few minutes for her brain to sift through the sensory data and remind her that she was in China after a gruelling twenty-five hours of non-stop travel halfway around the world. She rolled over and checked the clock. She had been asleep for five hours. Reluctantly, she forced her body out of bed and headed for the shower. Less than an hour later, she was ready to face the adventure ahead. Quin was waiting for her with a smile that radiated far more friendship, Petra knew, than was really being offered. Petra returned the warm greeting, but didn't take it too seriously. She was used to people attempting to cultivate her friendship. In fact, Petra thought Quin had been remiss in not cultivating a friendship with her before this. Perhaps Quin planned to use this golden opportunity to correct that oversight. They walked from the hotel, taking some of the back streets to the restaurant that Quin had picked for them. The mixture of the old and new China couldn't be more obvious. Old walled enclosures, made up of clusters of poor houses, or rows of single-room shops, grey and cluttered with second-hand merchandise, lined the street. Quin pointed out a small hospital built by the colonialists at the turn of the last century, a monument of Victorian architecture, and the place where the bones of "Peking Man" had been examined before they were crated and placed on a train, never to be seen again. The loss of this valuable archaeological evidence of early man's development was still a mystery. At the end of the block, a huge, modern sports complex was being built. China was a land of sharp contrasts. They entered a large store and took an elevator to the second floor, where a busy local restaurant was located. Quin placed her hand on Petra's back and steered her to a small, round table in a quieter nook. "I thought I'd bring you here this first night because it's typical of the sort of restaurants that the rising middle-class of China frequent," Quin said over the noise and bustle around them. Petra took in as much detail as she could. She was one of the few Europeans in a dining room filled with the dinner crowd. "I've been to other communist countries, but they're very different from this," Petra said. "There are realities within realities in China. The massacre at Tiananmen Square taught both sides a hard lesson. The students learned that the days of the Red Guard, the student army that Mao had formed and then lost control of, were over. The leaders of China learned that they couldn't prevent change. But face is everything here. Change has to happen without seeming to happen. Communism still very much exists at an administrative level, but in everyday life, free enterprise is the reality." "Have things changed that much, or has the government simply turned a blind eye to minor infringements of communist doctrine?" Petra asked, after waiting for Quin to order dinner in Mandarin. "Things are changing; they have to. Once education, housing, and healthcare were paid for by the government. Now, the young people are expected to cover these costs. They can only do so if they're allowed to make money. Capitalism is everywhere, but without official approval. As long as the people don't threaten those in power with their actions, it's ignored." Petra looked into Quin's eyes. "And if the leaders do feel threatened by the rapid change, we get another Tiananmen Square?" "That's always a possibility. The Great March and Cultural Revolution changed life only superficially. Mao and his followers lived in the Forbidden City, as the Emperors before them. Their whims became law, just as the Emperor's. In a country that houses one quarter of the world's population, life is cheap no matter what people believe on a philosophical level. China is a five-thousand year-old mediaeval culture. The communist revolution rolled over the land as one more tide of events. In many ways, the old China went on." Their meal arrived, and the conversation ended as Quin explained what each appetizing plate of food was. The dishes were placed on the circular platform in the centre of the table. It could be spun to bring the various dishes within reach. The food was typical of the hot, spicy cuisine of the southern areas of China, Quin explained. It had been Mao's favourite. They ate quietly. Quin was an attentive hostess; she picked delectable pieces from the serving plates with her chopsticks and placed them on Petra's plate. Petra managed her chopsticks with reasonable accuracy, if considerable awkwardness, and found herself enjoying the company of the woman beside her. The floor show was a mixture of dance and song, showing off the various costumes, folk dances, and music of different regions of China. It seemed to Petra that Quin didn't seem interested in the beautifully coloured silks and the interesting music played in the minor keys favoured by Eastern composers. Her quiet asides to Petra were about the culture and the symbolism behind each element. Petra was equally as fascinated by her dinner companion as she was by the show. Quin Venizelos was far more than just a brilliant engineer. Her knowledge about the culture she lived in was amazing. Petra wondered if this European woman, raised by a twist of fate in an oriental family, saw herself as European or Chinese. Whatever her cultural reality, Quin Venizelos was a powerhouse of talent and drive. Petra could see more clearly now why her father had concerns. Having Quin as a regional director of the company was a little like holding a tiger by the tail. It gave Vossler Engineering a lot of power, but if the hand slipped, that power could very easily be turned against the company. After the dinner show, Quin walked Petra down Gold Street, one of the main shopping areas of Beijing. Again, there was no sign that this was a communist country under strict government control. The streets were crowded by shoppers, and the stores offered the latest in European designs and technology. Billboards on roof tops advertised Calvin Klein, Nike, and other popular manufacturers, mixed in with the rare sign promoting communism and the worker. Petra was surprised by the absence of visible military personnel, and spotted only the occasional police officer walking about, armed with nothing more than a wooden billy club. "I thought there'd be a stronger show of force," Petra said. "There's very little street crime in China. The West doesn't always get the right idea from sensational media coverage. What happened in Tiananmen Square was brutal. Hundreds were killed or arrested. One Chinese announcer I know kept reporting what she was seeing on Chinese television so that the people would know the truth, even though she knew that one of the dead was her own brother. It was a brave act, but there's another side to the story." Petra was shocked. "I don't call that sensational. I call it murder." "That's because you don't understand China. What happened that night in Tiananmen Square was nothing to what happened during the Cultural Revolution. In those days, Mao thought he could use the energy and focus of the young to bring about cultural change. But he very soon lost control of the Red Guard. They weren't student heroes, they were punk gangs. "The present government saw the student protests as a threat to their authority. They remembered how the Red Guard had gotten out of Mao's control. They didn't want that to happen. They felt the students had to learn that they were never going to be a political force again. Their role in the new China is to study, get good jobs, and move China forward." Petra came to a stop in the crowded street and looked at Quin in disbelief. Around them, a sea of humanity swirled by. "I can't believe you're defending an act of total brutality." "I'm not. I'm trying to explain how China functions. Let me try to explain in European terms. The Jesuits, in spreading Christianity to countries like Japan and China, would argue that the small lie is acceptable in the promotion of the greater truth. In China, you could say that the single life is expendable for the greater good." "I could never accept that ideology." "It isn't for you or for me to accept. This is China. We're simply observers in a world that isn't ours. Come, we'll go down Silver Street here, and it will take us back to our hotel." Petra fell into step with Quin, but refused to let go of the topic. "Surely, people have a duty to promote human rights and freedoms." "That's not my job. Mine is to win contracts and see that the company gets the job done well, on time, and at a profit." They walked up the steps of the Palace Hotel, and a footman ran forward to hold the door open for them. They entered the elevator and went to their suite. Petra was mulling over what Quin had said. "A nightcap?" Quin asked, once they were in their rooms. "Yes." Petra sat down on the leather couch, kicked off her shoes, and tucked her feet under her. "A Baileys, if they have any." How would her father have reacted? Certainly he would have agreed that what came first and foremost were the company's goals. Still, she knew that Kurt Vossler would not so totally reject human rights Issue,*, Was this the sort of person to head Vossler Engineering? How would she deal with union issues? Quin poured Petra her drink and made a Bloody Mary for herself. Petra decided that Quin hadn't done very well tonight. She should have stayed clear of China's complex history. Quin, you need to be more careful. "Your drink," Quin said. Her fingers touched Petra's as the glass changed hands. Perhaps Quin had decided to make points on a physical level. Still, the touch of Quin's fingers against her own sent tingles of excitement to places that Petra thought dead. This evening was really testing her current worldview. Quin had an animal magnetism about her that made her both charismatic and scary. Petra wondered what it would be like to sleep with Quin, and then quickly swept the idea from her mind. If you want to know, Petra, ask the many who have already passed through her bed. "Why did you pick the field of sociology?" Quin asked. "In this age of economic wars, the arts and social sciences aren't seen as significant areas of study." Petra laughed. "Spoken with a true business bias. Aggressive business practices are important, especially at a time when developing countries are fighting for a piece of the pie, but the bottom-line is that business is only money. It's not culture, and never will be. To have a decent society, you must foster the arts and social sciences. The pendulum will swing back to a more humane society as people realize that money isn't a god, merely a means to an end." "Money and power are everything," Quin said. She took a sip of her drink. Quin had emphasized the word power, and the many meanings behind the word sent a clear message to Petra. Inwardly, her body squirmed with the seeds of desire. Outwardly, she met Quin's eyes. "They're false gods. Eventually, Rhodes, Rockefeller, Gates, they all stopped and realized that the accumulation of wealth was meaningless. It's what you do with it that's important. We don't remember the rich for their wealth, but for the monuments of art and enlightenment that they leave behind: the Nobel Prize, Rhodes scholarships, the Carnegie libraries, the Rockefeller Institute. Things that matter. Culture." "They only happened because of money and power," Quin argued. Was she aware of and enjoying the intellectual and sexual tension growing between them? Petra wondered. "Yes, money and power are important tools, but occasionally, society loses track of the fact that that's all they are, tools. Business isn't the be all and end all, it's only one element in the foundation of a good society. Whenever any one of those elements is allowed to dominate, then society starts to rot from within." "I grew up in poverty. A Vossler scholarship and apprenticeship made it possible for me to escape. I think I'd rather believe in the tools of business than the arts and social sciences." "Then you should be thankful that my father realized that money and power weren't enough and invested his money in scholarships and apprenticeship programs for the young," Petra said. "It was good business. His scholarships bought talent and loyalty." "Is that why you stay with Vossler?" Petra asked, hoping she was getting behind Quin's strong facade. "Partly," Quin answered. "Another drink?" Petra shook her head and, placing her glass on the table, she swung her legs down and stood. "No, thanks. I think I'll catch up on some much-needed sleep. Good night, Quin. Thank you for a most interesting evening." "Good night, Petra. It's been a pleasure." Petra lay mulling over the events and conversation of the evening. It had been a long time since she had been truly attracted to someone, but she had to admit that Quin was not only a mystery, but a dangerously sexy one. Quin is going to make a play for me. The thought both worried and excited her. Was she ready to move on? Could there be anyone after Val? She didn't think so. Petra wondered what the next few weeks in Quin's company would be like. She touched her heart with her fingertips. Val, are you there, honey? You remember when you made me promise to always leave my heart open if anything happened to you? I don't think I can do that. When I think of leaving your memory behind and moving on, tears fill my eyes. You were my partner, and no other could ever come close to the love I feel for you. I love you, Val. Good night from China. Chapter 4 The following day, Quin took Petra to Tiananmen Square. They stood in the centre of the vast enclosure while Quin gave Petra some background information. "This is the largest square in the world. It can hold over a million people. This monument we're standing beside is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, to remember those who fought gallantly during the war and the Great March. But it has deeper significance, because in the time of Imperial China, this spot was believed to be the navel of the world." Petra looked around her and then up at the towering needle of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Standing in the centre of this vast space, she began to have a feel for the size of the stage on which the history of China had been played. But Quin, Petra noticed, was still very much focussed on her role as tour guide. "To the right of the square is the museum, to the left the government buildings. It's difficult to get the scale of these buildings inside this huge space, but the banquet hall can sit five thousand. Behind us is the mausoleum where Mao's body is kept, and ahead of us is the Gate of Heavenly Peace, the entranceway to the Forbidden City, which is not a city at all, but the private residence of the Emperors of China." Petra looked at the long line of Chinese already waiting to enter the mausoleum to pay their respects to Mao. "With the changes in leadership and the denouncing of the Gang of Four, is Mao still seen as a hero?" Quin looked across the square at the quiet line. "Mao's policies are open to question and criticism today, but he'll always be known as the leader who threw off the shackles of the West and made China great. I believe he will always be a hero of the people." Petra nodded. No country could be comfortable living under the shadow of another's culture. Governments, monuments, ideologies, and trends would come and go, but the last thing a race would give up was its culture. "Are you ready to go see the Forbidden City?" Quin asked. "It's hard to believe that the massacre happened here." Quin turned and pointed. "The tank came across the square to where we're standing now. The students tried to get away by climbing the monument to the Unknown Soldier. The only time you see soldiers here now, other than ceremonial guards, is on the date of the student protest. Then the square is closed and there's a heavy military presence. The government wants to make sure that another very public display of repression never happens again." Quin started across the square to buy their entrance tickets to the Forbidden City. Petra took one more look around. She said a silent prayer for those who had died or were in prison still, and turned to follow. China was a much bigger concept than Petra had realized. The Forbidden City, Quin explained, had been started in 1406, during the Ming Dynasty. It was said to have nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine rooms, nine being a number associated with good fortune. The grounds consisted of a series of towering gates, each one leading into an area more private than the pervious one. At the far end of the Forbidden City were the Emperor's private gardens. It had taken them three hours to walk through just the main sections of the Forbidden City, marvelling at the beautifully carved marble and wood, the complex glazes on the vases, and the grand scale of the bronze pots and statues. At one time, the Emperor had thousands of people working on staff. Even the last Emperor had over seven hundred people to care for him. By the time they made their way to the Emperor's garden, Petra was feeling light-headed and slightly ill. The day had been oppressively hot and humid, and she was still adjusting to the time change. Quin stopped to take a swig from her water bottle. Petra was glad to stop. She felt pale and dizzy. Quin reached out and offered her support. "Hey, are you okay?" The world circled a few times, and then by sheer willpower, Petra brought it back into focus. "Yeah, I'm okay. Too much heat, I think, and a bit of jet lag, too." Petra's water bottle was long empty, and she accepted with only a split second's hesitation when Quin offered hers. She drank gratefully from Quin's bottle. It bore the faintest taste of Quin's lipstick on the rim. It made Petra remember other times, happier times, when she and Val would go for long walks. Quickly, she blinked back tears. Quin took Petra's arm and led her through the shade of the garden to a quiet bench where they could sit. "I'm sorry. I should have been more considerate. The temperature today is predicted to hit 112 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm so used to the heat that I forgot you'd find it very difficult." As she talked, she poured some water onto a tissue and offered it to Petra to wipe her face. Petra smiled weakly. "Thanks. One hundred and twelve. My God. Is this usual?" Petra laughed thinly, trying not to show how rough she was feeling. "In the summer, yes. China is a land of extremes. Listen, you take a little break here. I need to go and see about a few things. I'll be right back." Quin strode off without waiting for an answer. Petra watched her go, impressed by her cool energy despite the stifling heat. Petra sighed; so far, she hadn't represented Vossler Engineering very well. First, I get into a disagreement with Quin over human rights, and then I nearly faint into the woman's arms. Damn. She closed her eyes and leaned back, enjoying the cool breeze through the old cedars. Her mind drifted from one thought to the next. She had fitted neatly under the crook of Quin's arm. Quin had felt muscular and cool. It had been a nice sensation to have physical contact in her life again. How different Quin was from Val. Short, wiry Val, who was always laughing and filled with nervous energy. Petra opened her eyes and sat up straight. What was she doing, comparing her father's regional manager with her late partner? She must have a touch of sunstroke to be allowing her mind to wander down a path like that. It was a good half hour before Quin returned. Petra was feeling somewhat better. "I've arranged a private tea room for us. The tea will cool and refresh you. Are you ready? It's not a very long walk." "I'm fine now," she said, although she was still feeling slightly sick and dizzy. Quin took her arm and set a slower pace over to the teahouse. It was crowded with tourists, but Quin and Petra were met by the manager, who led them to a small room open on one side to a shady garden and lined on the other three walls with sandalwood. The delicate, spicy smell was soothing, as was the cool breeze that rustled through the trees. They sat on the floor beside a beautiful piece of twisted cedar wood. Large and highly polished, it served as a tea table. The heavy knots became mountains, and the coarse grain were rivers over an undulating landscape of wood. Petra made up her mind to try to buy such a table and ship it back home. Quin selected tea from one of the many wicker and bark containers that were clustered nearby. Each one was woven with different handles and patterns and they were not only functional, but works of art. "There are hundreds of types and blends of tea in China. Each one has a specific taste and properties. Huang Qui, the woman who raised me, insists that I drink a lot of green tea because it's good for controlling the fire in the liver." "There's something wrong with your liver?" Petra asked, while she watched Quin spooning loose tea onto rice paper with a wood scoop. "Not in the western sense of medicine, but in the East they believe there must be a balance between the Yin and Yang forces for the body to be healthy. I have way too much Yang, and that makes my liver hot. A hot liver makes you quick tempered." Quin used a bamboo knife to sort the dried leaves on the rice paper so that the fine grained ones went into the clay teapot first and the thicker twigs later. The heavier leaves would prevent the smaller pieces from rising and flowing into the teacups when the tea was poured. "Are you bad tempered?" Petra asked. She watched in fascination as Quin took hot water and poured it from a foot or so above the pot in a circular pattern, first warming the outside clay and then letting the water run down the sides into the pot. The teapot sat on a high point of the thick table and the water spilt and splashed down, swirling along the grains of the wood and disappearing down a drain cleverly hidden in one corner. "I can be, if 1 don't drink my tea," Quin said. Quin proceeded to direct Petra through a ceremony of drinking the tea she had chosen for them, a bittersweet blend. Petra marvelled at the nuances and details Quin shared with her as they drank the warm, soothing liquid. When they were ready to leave, Quin handed Petra her water bottle, now freshly filled with cold water. "Try the water," Quin said. Petra did and gasped in surprise. The water tasted sweet, like a soft drink back home in Canada. "That's the sweet part of bittersweet tea. When you drink water after you have the tea, it will taste very sweet. The effect lasts about twenty minutes." Petra wondered what went on behind the perfectly controlled facade. Surely that hot liver of Quin's must stir up hot passions, too. "Thanks," was all she said. "If you need to rest, we could go back to the hotel," Quin said. "No way am I going to wimp out. I'm here to see China." They left the Forbidden City to take a cab to a local restaurant, where they ate in a room with rosewood furniture and rice paper walls. Then Quin surprised Petra by renting a pedicab, a rickshaw attached to a bicycle frame, to drive them around some of the backstreets of old China. Quin told her it wasn't only a pleasant way to travel on a hot day, but it allowed them to get down old, narrow streets where even the smaller modern cars couldn't go. Petra saw a side of China that she wouldn't otherwise have seen. They stopped to visit a woman who was an old school friend of Huang Qui, Quin's step-mother. The homes were in pods of six to eight, with a small courtyard in between each pod. The exterior walls were windowless, and a thick wood door in an archway allowed the families to close themselves off from the narrow street. The home they visited was small, but clean. It consisted of a tiny kitchen, living room, and bedroom. The home was owned by the government; Wang Li and her husband rented, which was unusual. Wang Lu was a police officer, so he was able to rent. Wang Li and Quin chatted in Cantonese. Quin translated the main points of the conversation to Petra. "Wang Li tells me that her daughter, Zheng, is working as a teacher in a nearby preschool. Would you like to visit there?" They climbed into the pedicab, and their driver wheeled them several blocks to the school compound. The single-story school was built in a square. Petra and Quin entered through sturdy double doors. The school compound was small and shaded by two trees. Inside the basic classroom it was snack time, and the preschoolers sat quietly at their seats eating. Zheng showed them her classroom. The main teaching aids consisted of a worn blackboard, a few handmade exercise charts, and an old world map. At the back of the classroom was a cloak area with a toilet and large porcelain sink. Zheng answered Petra's questions through Quin's interpretation. "Yes, parents pay to send their children to the preschool. The parents must work, and schooling is important. They are happy to pay, although it costs them a lot of money." "Ask Zheng how she would handle a child who was misbehaving" Petra said. After some thought, Zheng answered Quin. Quin translated for Petra. "The children are behaved because they know their parents would want them to be. She said if she ever had a problem, she would take the child aside and tell him or her that they must act properly." Petra thought about students in North America and how some skipped classes, made excuses for not doing their work, and blamed the teachers when they didn't get good marks. They had everything in the way of opportunities and resources, and so many of them simply didn't care. These Chinese children made do with anything they could find to get the education they so desperately wanted. They said their good-byes, climbed back into their pedicab, and took the shady road that led along the moat of the Forbidden City. People relaxed in small groups. Some played mahjong or card games; others talked or swam illegally in the moat water; some found a quiet, shady place and just slept. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with Quin in the pedicab, Petra felt she was as close as she could possibly be to seeing the real China. Quin paid their driver and then hailed a cab to take them back to the hotel. "I hope you'll bill my father for any out-of-pocket expenses, Quin." Petra said as she exited the elevator. "Of course," Quin said, as they walked down the hall to their suite. "I don't think I quite understand what your role with Vossler Engineering is," Quin said as she slipped in their security card to unlock the door. Petra considered evading the question and then decided to be as honest as she could. "I'm on the Board of Directors, and I'm also an advisor to the personnel department and evaluate the work performance of all senior administration." Quin, halfway across the room, stopped dead in her tracks and spun around. "I'm being evaluated?" "Yes." "On being a tour guide?" Quin snapped. "No, on how you deal with people and your knowledge of the division you head." Petra paused before lobbing a loaded question. "Are you still going to make a play for me?" "I'd be a damn fool to do that under the circumstances. Tell me, would you have let me know I was under the company's scrutiny if I hadn't asked?" "Eventually, yes. Neither my father nor I play dirty with our employees." Since Quin had no idea what this was really all about, she couldn't say too much without violating the trust her father had placed in her. She walked past Quin and dropped her bag on a chair. She looked back at Quin and asked, "Drink?" Quin's sat down and crossed her legs. "Thanks," she responded. "A Bloody Mary, and I might make that pass after all." "Would that be straight up, or would you like it over ice?" "Oh, straight up. I can handle my fruits," Quin said. Petra mixed the drink and handed it to Quin. She got a rum and Coke for herself and carried it over to where Quin sat on the sofa. She curled up in the other corner. "I'm not available." "I didn't know that." Petra willed her voice to be steady as she spoke. "I lived with the same woman for many years. Val died three years ago in a car accident." "I'm sorry. Can I ask you a question?" "You can. I don't know if I'll answer, though." "What is love? I don't think I've ever been in love. Infatuated now and again, but not really in love. I'm not even sure I know what it means to be in love." Quin lounged comfortably on the couch. It was the last question Petra had expected, and it took her a few seconds to respond. "It's more than an attraction. It's as though the person is the other half of you. You're simply meant to be together." Tears welled in her eyes. "Do you think a person can only really love once?" "I think so. Val made me promise that if anything happened to her, I'd leave my heart open to love. It was as if she knew she'd die young." Petra fought back tears. "I just can't imagine myself ever wanting to be with anyone else or replacing Val's memory in my life." Quin put her empty glass down and stood. "Val was a very lucky woman to have found someone so loyal. I suggest a nap. If you're up for it, we'll go to a dinner show tonight, and you can get a taste of China's folk operas." "I'd like that," Petra said. Quin looked as though she were going to say something, but changed her mind and walked out. That evening they walked to a nearby hotel and had dinner before watching a Chinese Opera. Petra thought it was a bit like Gilbert and Sullivan, only with a Chinese flair. The costumes were beautiful, the juggling, acrobatics, and dancing, superb and the skits funny. One was about a woman escaping a nunnery to follow her lover down the river by boat. The funny interplay between the naive woman and the good-natured but silly boatman needed no translation, but Quin gave a running commentary anyway. The second musical was a story taken from the famous legends collectively called Journey to the West. It was the story of how the immortal Monkey King escaped the fires of the furnace to defeat the local king. After the show, in the cab back to the hotel, Quin demonstrated more of her knowledge of Chinese culture by telling more of the story of the Monkey King. Petra showered, thinking about Val and the exotic and breathtaking images of Beijing that she had seen today. There was so much to recall after only one day in this amazing culture. Val would have loved being here. Why hadn 't we travelled more? She lay awake for a long time thinking over the day. Would Quin be concerned about why she was being evaluated? Whether the company had felt she had made a mistake? Perhaps she already suspected that Petra's father was preparing the way for a successor. One thing was for sure: Quin would be far more on her guard than she had been before Petra's revelation about the reason for her visit. She could see why her father had concerns about Quin. There was always Schumann. He had the experience, and although not imaginative, he would show steady and reliable leadership. Or they could bring someone in from the outside. Petra's hunch, though, was that when Kurt Vossler left, so would Quin. She must have had several good offers over the years. She probably stayed because of loyalty and respect for Kurt. Wisely, if with some concerns, Kurt hadn't interfered in the way Quin had run the Far East division. Quin wouldn't easily accept a new boss, especially one who tried to rein her in. Petra's thoughts drifted to the conversation that she'd had with Quin about love. It said something about Quin that she had no real idea what it would be like to be loved deeply by someone. She wasn't sure that she had answered Quin's question well. How did you explain the heady feeling that came with being totally in love? The vulnerability that was scary and wonderful at the same time? Was Quin capable of that kind of profound love? And why did Petra care, anyway? Chapter 5 Despite the fact Petra was up early, she came out to find a continental breakfast waiting for her and Quin sitting at a table working at her laptop. To Petra's surprise, the screen was in Chinese characters. She sipped at her coffee as she watched over Quin's shoulder. "Do you see yourself as Chinese or European in your heritage?" "I'm neither. In terms of business, it's a great advantage to be fluent in other languages and knowledgeable about other cultures. On a personal level, it's very isolating. Although I was raised in a Chinese household, I'll never be accepted by the Chinese community. In the traditional Chinese culture, there's no word for foreigner. The word they use literally translates as barbarian. Nor do I fit into the European elements of Canadian society. I might be of European stock, but my cultural reality is Chinese." "I understand. I'm a German Canadian. Within our community, my father and I still practise some of the traditions of his homeland, but in the larger community, I live as a typical Canadian. Sometimes, I run into old prejudice from the war years, but generally people accept the various ethnic backgrounds in Canadian society as being a unique and rich part of our culture. It's never been a problem for me," Petra said as she munched on a croissant. "That's because you're of German heritage and accepted into your ethnic community. I can never be Chinese no matter how well I speak the language or understand the culture. I'm welcomed and allowed to be part of the community, but I'll never be one of them." Quin shut down her laptop. "Does that bother you?" "No." Quin snapped the laptop shut and stood. Usually, Petra had a way of interrogating a person without them really knowing it was happening, but Quin was easily put on the defensive. "Is my heritage a concern to Vossler Engineering? What, do you think that I'm working for the communists?" Petra laughed, defusing Quin's rising temper. "No, silly. 1 was just interested. I can't help myself; I'm a born sociologist." "Well, I'm certainly an unusual study. Your field of research is international communication, isn't it?" "International business relations. Business people take my courses to be better prepared to deal with international trade and expansion into other countries," Petra said. Quin took a new track. "I'm going to take you to Badaling today to see the Great Wall of China. It's some drive outside of the city, so I'll break the trip up with a number of small stops." She tidied up her notes and locked the material in the room safe. Quin continued. "I'm going to take you to some government-run factories. It's politically wise to do so. They're good places to buy souvenirs if you want, but mostly it's so I can sign the guest book that Vossler Engineering brought people through. We want to be seen as promoting Chinese trade, otherwise it will be harder for us to do business here." "Okay," Petra said. She knew that business was all about image. She had decided that engineering and the business world were not where her talents could be best used; however, she was well-informed enough to understand that to stay in business, you had to play by the rules. She sat on the board of directors of Vossler Engineering because the company was her father's, and some day the company would be hers. Quin rented a car to drive them about. Their first stop was a pearl factory where cultured pearls were being raised. A small speck of white marble was placed inside each shell, and the oyster covered the irritant with layers of mucus. Over the years, a pearl was created. After signing the guest book, Quin declined the offer of a guided tour and took Petra around herself. She showed her how even after five years the pearl was still a small bead. It was only after twenty or thirty years that the rare and large pearls were formed. "It's the mineral content of the water that creates the varying colour in the pearl," Quin said. "Black pearls are found in water with a high copper content, pink from iron, and so on." After the tour of the sorting rooms, they entered a huge showroom, and Quin left Petra to shop. She stood at the side drinking tea with the manager, but Petra noticed that Quin kept her eye on her while she examined the display of pearl jewellery. When she stopped to look at a piece, Quin was at her side immediately. "If you rub two of the pearls together, they should feel rough. If you don't feel that roughness, the pearl is an imitation," Quin said. Petra took the pearls from Quin's hands and started when Quin's finger's brushed her own. If Quin felt anything, she didn't react. Having helped Petra to evaluate what was a good price, she returned to lean against the wall. Petra bought a necklace for herself and a brooch for her father to give to Olive. A single black pearl on a gold chain caught her eye. It was a good-sized pearl, and the black seemed to flash with luminescent colour. The salesgirl showed Petra the price on her calculator. Petra swallowed her misgivings and bought the pendant anyway. Her purchases complete, they continued on their trip. The road was a superhighway, and the countryside not very interesting. Petra used the drive to pose some questions. "You've landed some pretty large contracts for Vossler. What do you feel is the significant factor in your success?" "I get what I want. A little bribery, some extortion if necessary, a murder or two, although I do try to keep the number down." "What?" Petra looked at Quin's profile. "That's what you were expecting to hear, wasn't it?" "Of course not," Petra protested, feeling betrayed by her own biases. "I was trying to get a better handle on your business methods." "Bullshit. The West thinks the East is far more corrupt and cruel. It's not true. Business is just conducted differently here. Salaries are low. In many cases, it's expected that you'll supplement your income through tips. In North America, we call that bribery. Here, it's a goods and services tax by the individual." "Come on, Quin, that's a semantics game, and you know it," Petra said. "On whose part? What would you call business incentives if not bribery? Call shit anything you want, it's still going to smell." "Then you admit to getting deals using questionable practices." "No, I admit to nothing but common sense and good business techniques. I have never broken a law of a country I've done business in. Never. But the laws here are different from the laws in North America. I'm not so arrogant as to assume that the rest of the world should play by my rules. If I want to get equipment through Shanghai or Hong Kong undamaged and on time, then I pay the right people to see that happens." "I understand that," Petra said, "but, we have a responsibility to promote an international business climate that's fair and regulated." "It's easy to be noble when the so-called developed nations, European nations, control eighty percent of the world's wealth, even though they're only twenty percent of the world's population. Business is business. We either stay on top, or we don't survive. In developing nations, the rules are different, and I've learned to use them to my advantage." Quin pulled into another factory parking lot and turned to face Petra. "I just snapped at the fly and got reeled in, didn't I?" "It's my job to find out what makes you successful." "And, of course, being an expert on the international business community, you know everything I just spouted off about," Quin added. "Pretty much," Petra replied as she got out of the car, "but what I need to know about is you." Quin followed. A factory in China, Petra observed, was usually a labour-intensive, hands-on activity performed mostly by women. This factory was a mixture of both men and women cutting sheets of jade, then carving and polishing them. "Here, Petra, is an example of jade and marble. Feel. The jade is much heavier. Jade can be either hard or soft, but generally the hardness factor is between six and eight, while diamond is ten, and glass is only five. Glass can be marked by jade, but good jade shouldn't be marked by glass. You have to be careful because there are a lot of imitations on the market. Jade comes in all sorts of colours. Generally, though, the darker and truer the colour, the better the quality. Do you see this jade?" Quin asked, leading Petra over to another table. "It's called Blood Jade." Petra picked up a piece of cream-coloured jade with smears of red through it while Quin talked rapidly to the woman behind the counter. Money changed hands and a smiling Quin handed Petra a thin, round bracelet of Blood Jade. "We believe that if you wear a band of Blood Jade, it will help to keep your yin-yang forces balanced. This is for your father, to keep him healthy." Petra looked to see if Quin had some inkling of her father's condition, but her face revealed nothing but good will. "Thank you, Quin. I'm sure he'll wear this faithfully. That was really nice of you." "As the founder goes, so goes the company" she joked. Petra looked around the showroom with interest, trying to find a piece of jade that would appeal to her father. There were amazing pieces: carved balls inside carved balls sometimes three or four deep, huge traditional landscapes weighing hundreds of pounds, and delicate pieces of intricately-carved jewellery. Quin found the perfect piece. "Petra, do you see this sheet of grey marble mounted on a carved jade stand? Look at the grains in the marble. Can you see they form a miniature landscape? It's like a window into another world. This, I think, is a particularly fine piece. The base is a very dark green and cut into lotus flower patterns, nine in all, very lucky. The Chinese believe that evil spirits will be drawn to the stone landscape and be trapped inside. Most traditional homes have such a piece." "It's just the thing. He'll love it. He likes things that have cultural meaning." Petra bought the piece on the spot. It was quite heavy, and Quin carried the base in one bag while Petra carried the marble sheet. Quin promised to ship it to Canada for her. On the drive up into the mountains, Petra played with the Blood Jade bracelet. "I don't think I can accept that a particular colour of jade can bring health, but I'm interested in the traditional medicines of the East. Would it be possible to learn more in the short time I'm here?" "That won't be a problem. I can arrange it easily." For the rest of the trip, Petra sat quietly, looking out the window and soaking in the beauty of the mountain terrain and small picturesque villages. Then, silhouetted against the sky, the spiny ridge of the Great Wall of China appeared. "Oh, look!" Petra stared, slack-jawed. Quin did look, both at the wall and at the excited woman beside her. Chapter 6 They arrived at Badaling in the early afternoon and ate on a terrace below the Great Wall. High above them and running in both directions the wall spread out, undulating up and down like a roller-coaster. Brightly coloured triangular flags bearing the symbol of the dragon cracked in the wind, and mist floated in and around the mountains like ancient spirits. The hills were green and lush, the view panoramic, and the sky clear blue. "Quin, this place is truly beautiful," Petra said as she drank her tea. Quin looked at the structure critically. "The masonry in this area is excellent. Good granite blocks, and the cement is a mix of limestone and rice, which is remarkably durable. Other areas are simple rubble now because they weren't constructed as well. A wider base would have made the walls more stable, but the intermitted trapezoid guard towers compensate for that by providing what are essentially buttresses for the structure. By levelling the peaks and using the fill in the valleys, they could have reduced some of the steeper angles on the wall, but considering that it was essentially built by hand, 1 guess that would have been unreasonable. It's filled with rubble, but a wall that ten soldiers can walk abreast for thousands of miles is an interesting engineering feat for the time." Petra stared at Quin in disbelief. "What?" Quin asked. Petra laughed. "Engineers! You're all the same. Hearts of granite and souls of cement. It's beautiful, Quin." "Yeah, well, I never said it wasn't." They both laughed. Together they climbed the stone steps to the wall, and Petra looked both ways. The wall extended on to the horizon in both directions. They walked slowly up the first steep section to the first guardhouse. It was a welcome relief to get inside the shade of the tower, for the temperature was again well over a hundred. The narrow windows funnelled the air through, creating a cool breeze. They climbed to the open second floor and stood at the ramparts looking out over the back of China. Here, above the noise and crowds of tourists, with the only sound the snap of the flags and the wind blowing down the valley, Petra could imagine the power and splendour that was Imperial China. Quin looked up the mountainside to the guard tower a mile away. "Race you!" Petra yelled giving Quin a playful push and darting down the stairs, out of the guardhouse, and up the steep wall ramp. Quin was soon darting around tourists on her way up after Petra. Petra was in good shape, but the wall was very steep and the air hot and thin. After her initial sprint from the guardhouse, she set a steady jogging pace up to the next tower, remembering how the heat and jet lag had bothered her the first day. Even so, the steep climb left her winded and with a stitch in her side by the time she made it to the cool shadows of the next tower. Quin was right behind her and pulled her into a window alcove to catch the breeze. They sat panting, leaning on either side of the stone window, their legs entangled on the ledge. Petra slipped her camera from her pocket and took a picture of Quin, her blond hair blowing and the sweat dripping down her strong neck. She looked like some heroic Celtic warrior from long ago. Petra caught sight of her own brunette hair shimmering with red highlights in the sunlight as the wind whipped it in front of her face. She noted the rise and fall of Quin's chest as she caught each breath. "Let me take one of you," Quin said as she snatched the camera from Petra's hands. When she gave the camera back, she let her fingers linger on Petra's. Petra pulled her hand and camera away. "Ready to go?" Petra asked. Quin leaned forward and kissed Petra softly before walking away. She waited for Petra in the shade of the tower. "You shouldn't have done that," Petra said. "You let me," Quin said. "Don't do it again," Petra said firmly. "You know how I feel." "You might be wrong." "I'm not," Petra said. "I'm not sorry I kissed you. For a moment there, as we raced up to the guard house and sat in the window alcove, you let go of your sorrow. But I'll respect your wishes, as stupid as they are, and not touch you again." "Good," Quin was right. She had let her kiss her. "And I'm not wrong. You have no idea what real love is." Petra headed up the next level at a more subdued pace. Quin followed. The ride back to Beijing was made mostly in silence. As they neared the city, they pulled into an herbal medical clinic. "This place does research on traditional Chinese medicines. You said you wanted to learn more about that. In China, you have a choice of either western or eastern medicine when you go to a hospital." "Which do you use?" "I'm rarely ill. I tend to use western medicine. It's much quicker, but you run the risk of harmful side effects. Chinese medicine has no side effects and is often very good for strengthening your immune system and body, but it works much slower. I use a few things that Huang Qui used when I was a child, like Tiger Balm to ease sore muscles." When they left the car, Quin didn't accompany Petra. Petra was taken to a room where a dozen or so other tourists were waiting, and after a few minutes, a doctor arrived to talk to them. "I am Dr. Wong, welcome. I am a trained doctor in both western and Chinese medicine. Today, I have the pleasure of introducing you to the healing powers of Chinese medicine." Dr. Wong went on for some time about the types and uses of various medicines, showing them examples. Then Dr. Wong called on a man who healed by directing the forces within the body. The man first demonstrated his control of electrical forces by holding onto live wires. Then he had them all hold hands, and he allowed his body energy to travel through them. When the demonstration was over, each tourist was given an opportunity to receive a free diagnosis from one of the doctors on staff. Petra's doctor took her pulse, checked her eyes, and looked at her tongue. He asked her whether she had pain in her lower back or if she got many headaches. Then she, like all the others, was given a prescription for herbal medicines that would cure her problems. Hers was for increasing the calcium in her system. Back in Canada, her own doctor had suggested she take calcium supplements, too. Many of the tourists around her were buying the medicines that had been prescribed for them. Petra was sorely tempted to buy some of the ingredients that were prescribed for her, but when she learned that she wouldn't be able to get them in North America, she didn't see the point. Based on what she'd learned from the doctor's lecture, she did, however, buy some Yi Ye tea for Quin's hot liver. Quin was waiting in the lobby and saw the wrapped package in Petra's hand. "Did you find it informative?" Quin asked. "Oh, very. Let me guess, while we were all focussed on the master concentrating on forcing his energy through us, the other guy took hold of the live wires, and that was what we felt. It was a ruse to get us to buy products. It's just one more Chinese factory. You tried to set me up," Petra said, as they walked out the car. "The medicines you learned about are real enough, but okay, they do use a small parlour trick to get the tourists to buy. They need money. Everyone in China does. Besides, you did buy something." "Sure did." Petra slapped the package into Quin's hands. "1 bought you some Yi Ye tea to cool that hot liver of yours." Quin looked annoyed at being caught in her own trap, and then burst out laughing. Petra followed suit. "You're good. You are very, very good!" Quin put the car in gear and backed out of their parking space. Petra braced herself for the drive into the city. With millions of bikes on the roads and crowded, narrow streets, driving could almost be considered a martial art. In the late afternoon, Petra had a nap. Had she been in China only two days? Already, she was on sensory overload. China was simply amazing. Then there was Quin. What was going on there? They had established a relaxed, easygoing relationship almost instantly. And the kiss? No, she wasn't even going to go there. Still, she had to admit that Quin had been right. For a short time today, she had moved beyond her grief. Quin tried to work, but gave up to go stand by the window. She had never been rejected before. She played the game well and had the body and looks to use those talents to the maximum. She'd had relationships with both men and women on the way up. Affairs that ended well enough as mutual interests and contacts changed. She had enjoyed the game, but emotionally had felt nothing. But Petra had hit some chord in her. She wanted this woman with an intensity that was scary. She couldn't get anywhere near Petra without wanting her. What was this? Was it simply the temptation of forbidden territory? That thought was like salt being rubbed on the wound to Quin's ego. According to her plan, she should be taking Petra to bed tonight. That it wasn't going to happen really pissed her off. One thing was for sure, that kiss today was kissing her job good-bye. She'd better put some feelers out to some contacts that she might be on the job market soon. Quin had planned a very special meal. It was to have set the mood for her winning Petra's body. Even though that wasn't going to happen, she saw no reason not to carry through with the evening. She and Petra left the hotel at eight and walked down Silver Street to Gold, where they entered an excellent restaurant in a beautiful old Victorian building. They were taken to a private room and served plum wine. Appetizers of fresh vegetables and paper-thin slices of meat and fish with hot, spicy dips followed. They talked of the various contracts that Vossler was handling in the Pacific Rim division. Quin used the opportunity to impress Petra with all she had accomplished. Later, they were served Peking Duck. Quin told Petra that the ducks were force-fed to make them extra tender and fat. The skin and meat were cut from the carcass and placed on a small, thin crepe; a rich, sweet sauce was added, along with fresh chives and then the mix was rolled up and eaten with the fingers. Quin, acting the hostess, made each crepe for Petra and placed tantalizing pieces of vegetables from various other dishes on Petra's plate. White rice accompanied the meal. They listened to the oriental ballads that drifted from the exterior room and laughed and talked of various things over a dessert plate of fresh slices of mango, papaya, and pineapple. Then Quin made tea. The taste was rich and smooth, and smelled like summer grain. She had chosen the blend especially. It would settle Petra's stomach and, since she was unaccustomed to Chinese food, promote her digestion. The setting, meal, and atmosphere were certainly the ideal mood setter. Quin, however, planned to keep the promise she had made that afternoon. Instead of suggesting they return to their room, she asked Petra if she would like a walk around the stores before returning to their hotel. Petra agreed, and they spent a pleasant few hours window-shopping. Chapter 7 The next day, their last in Beijing, Quin took Petra to see the Summer Palace. It was the summer retreat of the Imperial family, four times larger than the Forbidden City. Built around a lake with a high, pinnacle-shaped hill to one end, the grounds of the Summer Palace looked like a miniature of the beautiful landscape pictures in inks. One shore of the long lake had been left wild except for the single tower of a Buddhist temple. The other side had a wide marble promenade running along the shore. It bent and flowed with the terrain and small, arched bridges formed shortcuts across shallow bays filled with pink and yellow water lilies. Now and again, they caught sight of the large gold carp in the lake. A causeway of stone led to an island landscaped in the Buddhist tradition. A summer house built in multiple layers was the centrepiece of the island, and seemed to grow out of the very rock, like a fairy castle. Quin led Petra along the covered walkway that the last Empress of China had ordered built so that she could enjoy a walk along the shoreline even in the rain. Quin asked if she might take Petra's arm so that she didn't lose her in the weekend crowds enjoying the parklands. "This roofed breezeway is nearly a mile long and is broken up by a series of domed gazebos. If you look up at the crossbeams, you'll see beautiful oil paintings. They were done by some of the most famous painters of the time and show scenes from classic myths, novels, and religious stories. This walkway is an open air art gallery," Quin said. Petra walked close at Quin's side, marvelling at the bright patterns, predominately red and green, but highlighted in a rainbow of colours and patterns. The walkway itself was such a jewel that, until Quin pointed them out, Petra almost overlooked the beautiful cedar trees that the pathway wandered through and the water gardens, sculptures, and bright tropical flowers they passed. Out on the lake, flat-bottomed boats with elaborate pagoda roofs taxied visitors back and forth. Their hulls were shaped and painted like colourful dragons, the bow the rearing head of the mythical beast and the stern a spiked tail. Quin saw Petra's eyes light up with delight. "Would you like to take one of the dragon boats back?" she asked. "Please, can we?" In the dragon boat, they could see the large marble boathouse carved in the shape of a two-story-high steamboat. Although massive, it was delicately beautiful and so cleverly constructed that it did, indeed, look like it was floating. Behind it rose the high hill on which the Imperial family's summer retreats were actually built. "The last Empress used to have her afternoon tea on the marble boat," Quin said as Petra took pictures. "Words can't describe how wonderful this place is." "Some of the engineering is quite amazing," Quin agreed, and Petra gave her a playful swat. Quin said nothing, content to see the grief lift from Petra's eyes, if only briefly. The long morning had been enchanting. The awkwardness over the kiss the day before had disappeared in the excitement of sightseeing. Quin brought along a picnic lunch for them, and they sat in a quiet garden of tropical flowers away from the crowds. "It's funny, there are people everywhere, and yet I rarely feel hemmed in," Petra said. Quin swallowed a slice of pear. "Strangers avoid looking you in the eye or talking to you unless there's a reason. There's little physical space, so society allows you mental space. It's a different way of looking at freedom. Sometimes oriental people find the in-your-face friendliness of westerners rather rude." Petra nodded. "I once read this booklet of advice for Japanese tourists travelling to America. It explained that Americans could be dangerous because their cultural patterns were unpredictable, and that it was best to stay in large groups for safety." Petra laughed and for a second their eyes met, then Petra looked away. "So, where are we going next?" "The next stop on the marvellous, magical tour is the Temple of Heaven. It is time for you to learn that everything in China has a symbolic meaning, particularly numbers." They returned to their rented car and set off. They shared a bag of fresh grapes, Petra dropping the grapes into Quin's hand as she drove. We 're acting like an old married couple, Quin mused and then shook the thought from her head. Petra had made it clear at the Great Wall that since Val's death, she no longer saw herself in the role of a lifelong partner. Quin had never been interested in long-term relationships until now. That thought was very disturbing. While they drove, Quin related the history of The Temple of Heaven, including the fact that it was where priests would make sacrifices to the seven previous Emperors in hopes of a bountiful harvest. The meat would be divided and burnt in the eight braziers, one for each of the seven dead Emperors, and one for the present Emperor." "Not human sacrifices, I hope," Petra said. "Of course not! Nor do the Chinese eat dogs and cats, like westerners are fond of saying. It was mostly bulls that were sacrificed for food for the gods here." Quin continued her history lesson for Petra. "There are three levels because it's sacred number and a factor of nine, which is a very special number. The first level represents hell, the second, earth, and the third, heaven." They walked up the marble stairs to the first terrace. "Look at the marble tiles that make up the flooring. Each level has nine and a half rows. Nine and five are both sacred numbers, and together they symbolize eternity." "How interesting," Petra said, counting the rows of tiles. "In China, everything has meaning. A square is a symbol for the earth. That's why the courtyards here are square. The blue tile on the top of the courtyard wall represents the sky. The terraces are round because that's the symbol of heaven." Quin fished into a pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out a Chinese coin. It was round and the centre was punched out in the shape of a square. "Earth and heaven," Petra said. They walked up the remaining levels to see where the Emperor would pray for the success of the coming harvest in the very centre of the circle. On their return to the hotel, Quin reminded Petra they would be flying out to Xian early the next morning and suggested that Petra might want to spend sometime repacking her suitcase for the next leg of their journey. Petra disappeared into her room. Quin found herself restless and moody. Her past experiences had not prepared her for how she was reacting to the boss's daughter. Damn! This was the worst of luck. Or was it? She never wanted to tie herself down, and so it was a good thing Petra wasn't interested. Besides, the only reason Quin was so obsessed with her was because Petra was playing hard to get. Quin could never resist a challenge. Forget her. Give her a good tour of China, prove that you're an exceptionally competent manager, and send her home to daddy. Their last night in Beijing, Quin took Petra to an exclusive restaurant on the very top of a five-star hotel. They sat by a huge picture window overlooking the Forbidden City far below and beyond it, the city of Beijing. Over wine, they watched the sunset turning the city gold, and as lights came on and night crept across the sky, the city lights became a bed of diamonds. They ate a European meal of roast beef and lingered for a long time over their coffees. Mellow and contented, the women strolled back to the Palace Hotel for their last night in the capital of China. Chapter 8 "What do you mean, you're the pilot?" Petra asked as she followed Quin into the cockpit of the company plane the next morning. "What happened to the pilot we had?" "He's working, flying machinery out of Shanghai on our cargo plane." Quin went through her preflight check. "Do you know how to fly this thing? I mean, I've seen you drive," Petra said. "I drive really well." Quin stopped her fuel check to glare at Petra. "You drive like a maniac," Petra said. "Everyone does, otherwise you'd never get anywhere." Petra looked at the confusing array of dials, levers, and switches in front of her in the co-pilot's seat. "What if you have a heart attack or something? What should I do?" "Oh, wiggle that little red switch over there," Quin said as she continued her check. "What does that do?" Petra asked. The tag below read landing lights. "Nothing, but it will keep you occupied as we do a nosedive to the ground." Quin smiled. "Great, just great," she said and then sat with her arms folded and said no more until they were airborne. The flight to Xian was smooth and uneventful. Again, Quin rented a car and they travelled through miles of fertile, flat farm county. Quin pointed out the huge mounds that dotted the plains. "In ancient times, Xian was the capital of China. These are the graves of the first true Emperors of China." Although there was a more westernized section of the city and a green belt of parklands along the river, there were only a few modern buildings, such as the huge sports centre and the underground shopping mall in the main square outside the towering walls of ancient Xian. The streets beyond were crowded with rows of small stores with narrow, deep alleyways leading to scruffy old homes. The stores varied from clean and basic to filthy and piled with junk. Like Beijing, bikes were everywhere, but older and well-used. With the exception of the government-built complexes, this was a shabby town on the edge of the frontier. The fine brown dust blowing off the Gobi desert miles away covered everything. Their hotel was on the edge of the city. "Be more careful here," Quin warned. "Don't go out alone. Many poor people live here. Xian was the beginning of the great silk route that wound its way across the Gobi, the southern steppes of Russia, and on through Persia to Europe, a distance of some five thousand miles." "So Marco Polo probably came here," Petra said. "He said he did, but I understand many scholars believe that wasn't the case." "What? Hey, I learned that in grade five. I always wanted to be like Marco Polo and spend twenty years travelling through distant lands." "Sorry, but he probably lied. Oh, he and his family certainly travelled, but it's doubtful they made it to the East. Most likely, he heard stories from the caravan camel drivers he met along the silk route. His diaries just don't add up." "How so?" "Think about it. According to Marco Polo, he makes his way to China and the Emperor is so impressed with him that he makes him a governor of one of his districts, even though there's no indication that Marco Polo could read or speak a word of Chinese. Would you hand over the management of a huge tract of your empire to a foreigner you couldn't even communicate with? It doesn't ring true. Besides, his diaries are inconsistent in what he talks about. According to Marco Polo, he lived here for almost twenty years, and yet nowhere in his diaries does he mention foot binding, even though it was a common practice. Nor does he mention tea. How could you have been to the Far East and not mention tea?" "I hope you realize that you've really shattered my faith in my childhood teacher and mentor," Petra said. "It's possible he did travel some distance along the silk route and recorded the stories he heard. I imagine the jewels he brought back, however, were likely gotten in less than honourable ways, rather than as a reward for his services in China." They had lunch at the hotel and settled in. Quin drove I'etru back to the walled fortification that was the old Xian. Huge stone walls towered over a moat. At one end, a three-story archer's tower protected the walls from attack. They walked around the ramparts and Quin explained in her matter-of-fact way how the archers with crossbows would lie on the ramparts and shoot through narrow slits near the base of the walkway so as not to be exposed to the enemy. They were in luck, for below in the fort's courtyard, a red carpet had been laid and bright flags flapped. Actors in traditional costumes of bright silks played the roles of the ruling Emperor, his family, and court, and gave a traditional welcome to some arriving dignitaries to the city. Petra snapped pictures of some of the beautiful traditional costumes while Quin watched from a distance. That evening, they went to a restaurant that specialized in Mongolian cuisine. Their waitress arrived with a towering stack of round wicker baskets used for steaming. Inside each were three or four different types of bite-sized dumplings. They ate their meal slowly. Each dumpling was coloured and moulded to reflect the stuffing inside. For example, the yellow dumpling shaped like a bird was filled with spicy chicken, and the brown one, shaped exactly like a walnut, contained a mix of walnut meat and herbs. Petra tried pigeon, mango, bean paste, shrimp, pork, chicken, white fungi, vegetables, almonds, mushrooms, and sharks' fin. To finish the meal, the waitress lit a big brass brazier in the centre of their table. Flames shot up and heated a clear stock into which pea-sized dry dumplings and a few dried vegetables were added. They softened and swelled as the soup cooked. The soup was the traditional meal of the cavalry of the Mongolian armies, led by the famous military leaders Genghis Khan and later Kublai Khan, that swept across Asia and Europe. Stuffed, they made their way back to the hotel and worked quietly in their connected rooms. Petra wrote out postcards to friends, and Quin phoned her field managers to see how things were going at the construction site. Much later, long after Petra had turned off her light and gone to bed, Quin still sat in her room. Unable to stand the confinement of the room a minute longer, Quin took the elevator down to the lobby and covered several blocks in long strides. She hadn't gone a quarter of a mile when the attack came. Two men jumped her. One, still a boy, was easily handled by a kick to the face that sent him to his knees, blood gushing out of his nose and mouth. The other attacker, a weedy man, was fast and mean. He got a few good blows in before Quin took him down with a brutal kick to the kidneys. With a snarl, the man whipped out a knife and slashed at her. Just in time, Quin twisted away and kicked again, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Winded and shaking with shock, she made her way back to the hotel. When the night manager rushed to her, she realized she was leaving a trail of blood across the lobby. The manager called for a doctor, and Quin received a number of stitches and a shot against infection. The cut wasn't very deep except where the knife initially dug in, but it was six inches long. Her hip and stomach were turning a nasty shade of blue from the blows she had taken. She filled in a police report, and in the early hours of the morning, Quin staggered into bed. How could I have been so stupid? Chapter 9 The next morning, Petra was surprised to find Quin's door still closed and her room in darkness. As quietly as she could, she made her way downstairs for breakfast. She was on her second cup of coffee when she saw Quin, limping slightly as she walked to the main desk and talked to the hotel's manager. A few minutes later, she joined Petra. "What happened to you?" Quin sat down slowly. "I slipped and pulled a muscle. Nothing to be concerned about. A few days walking, and it will loosen up. You've had your breakfast? I'll be as quick as I can." Petra put her hand on Quin's to stop her from getting up. "I'll get it," Petra said, and trotted off before Quin could protest. Petra made up a plate of a croissant and fruit, which she knew was Quin's usual breakfast, and brought it back to the table with a coffee. She was worried. Quin looked pale and in pain, and the manager with whom she had stopped to talk looked upset. There was more to the story, she suspected, than Quin had told her. Quin was saving face. There was no point trying to sway Quin from any plans she had made for the day, but she meant to keep a close eye on her. If Quin started to look worse, she would insist that they come back to the hotel and call a doctor. Petra offered to drive, but Quin insisted she was fine. They drove towards Qin, first stopping at the Banpo archaeological site. Inside a large building was a six-thousand-year-old village that had once existed along the Yellow River. A genetic comparison of the skeletons found there suggested the people had been matriarchal in their clan structure. Next, they stopped at the Mausoleum of Emperor Qin. Quin talked enthusiastically about the warrior king and his achievements. "It was Emperor Qin who first conquered all of China and made it a united country. But he wasn't just a military leader. In the twelve years he reigned before his death, he introduced a standardized currency, built roads across China, established irrigation channels, built the Great Wall of China, and gave his name to the country. He was a leader in the Machiavellian tradition. Nothing stopped him from doing what he thought was best for China." "Let me guess, the individual doesn't matter, only the greater good." "It's the way of China." "Is it your way?" Petra asked Quin as they stood at the doors of the mausoleum. "Fortunately, I'll never be in a position of leadership that puts me in a situation where I have to decide who lives and who dies, and thank God for that." Quin brought the subject back to Qin. "Probably his most amazing achievement is the site just five miles from his burial mound. Qin had buried with him his entire army reproduced in terra-cotta statues. All six thousand of them. Ready to go see it?" Quin was limping more noticeably, and there was a sheen of sweat on her upper lip that Petra had never noticed before no matter how hot it had been. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Sure, I'm fine," Quin said with a confident smile. "You know how a pulled muscle takes a few days to come around." Quin started the car and concentrated on backing up. Petra was awestruck by the site to which Quin took her. First, they went into a room with a circular screen to see a history of Emperor Qin. Then, they stepped through into a room the size of a football field, and there, staring back at them, was Qin's army. Row after row of military men, each body type and uniform individualized and each face different. "My God, Quin. It's wonderful. And don't you dare tell me that it's an interesting engineering feat. It's a work of power and faith, and craftsmanship on a scale that is truly amazing." Quin leaned on the railing. "It was a relief to get some of the weight off this leg," she said. "It's almost giving me a headache." She grinned weakly. "Actually, it was just a twist of fate that the figures survived. They weren't fired, and should have deteriorated over time. But as you saw in the movie, after Qin's death, an invading army found the tomb and set it on fire. The dirt walls and the hardwood logs that had been used to reinforce the roof acted like an oven, curing the figures. Probably, the army wiped out many of the local people, too, for there were no legends about the terra-cottn army at all, so they were never disturbed by grave robbers." "Then how was it found?" Petra asked, as they slowly started to walk around the massive site. "A local farmer was digging a well and came up with a terra¬cotta helmet. At first, he kept it to worship at his family altar. Then he realized he should notify the authorities. It's been a huge international effort to save these figures, because China, at the time, had neither the money nor the skills to save such a massive archaeological find." They spent several hours looking around. Petra was particularly interested in a site off to the side of the army, where a group of clay officers made sacrifices to the gods for victory in battle. Quin showed Petra how the shape of each soldier's hair bun indicated rank. Common soldiers' hair was knotted on the left. The officers had a solid central ridge of hair, and the generals had the same ridge, but it was indented in the middle. Petra noted the amazing detail in the hair braiding, armour, weapons, and individualized facial expressions. She could see there were young soldiers, looking arrogant and nervous, experienced soldiers who were tough, hard men, and the occasional confident generals. She was so caught up in observing the figures that she didn't immediately notice that Quin had gone to sit on a bench. When she did, she went over right away. "Quin, should we go back to the hotel?" "I seem to have a bit of a fever, but I'm fine. As I said, I've got a headache, that's all. Are you ready to leave? We'll have a late lunch at the Xian Museum. It is an amazing place with examples of craftsmanship from the Neolithic period right through to the end of the last dynasty." Petra bit her lip and considered. She was worried about Quin. She seemed pale and shaky. "I think we should call it a day." "No way," Quin protested. "Okay, let's compromise. We'll eat here, and I'll give you some pain killers. If you're feeling better, then we'll do the museum." They went outside and bought some water and fruit at a stall in a small open market nearby. They ate sitting on a bench in the shade. When they finished, Quin declared that the pills Petra had given her had done the trick, and they went on to the museum. It was everything that Quin had promised, and more. There were examples of coins, pottery, copperware, and bronze. In one display, there was even Roman glass traded in from the West. Quin showed Petra how the first currency had actually been shaped in the form of knives, and for a long time, they stood and looked at the wagon and horse that had come from another dig not far from Qin. The bronze horse, harnessing, and detail in the wagon were stunning. Petra kept an eye on Quin. The pain that laced her face when she thought Petra wasn't looking and the way she was favouring one leg more and more told Petra that the pills she'd given Quin hadn't been effective. "Did you enjoy the museum?" Quin asked. "If you've seen all you need to see, we have one more stop before we head back to the hotel." "Yes, I did enjoy the museum and no, we're not making one more stop," Petra said. "No?" "I'm taking you back to the hotel. You're sick." Petra reached up to feel Quin's feverish brow. "You can't take me anywhere. I'm the driver and tour guide." "Watch me," Petra said. "I'm going to drive, and I'm taking you back to the hotel, putting you to bed, and taking care of you until you're well." Quin allowed Petra to wrap her arm around her and help her back to the car. She did protest when Petra insisted on driving without a Chinese licence. Petra stood her ground, arguing that Quin was in no condition to drive and that the driving was mostly on a straight highway to the hotel on the outskirts of the city. Quin was forced to relent. Quin gave Petra some basic directions, then she sat quietly and downed a bottle of water Petra had bought for her at a stand. "Okay, I want the truth," Petra said. "And none of this 'I pulled a muscle' stuff. A pulled muscle doesn't result in a high fever." Quin grimaced. Petra's hands tightened on the steering wheel. They were scheduled to fly on to Chongqing on the Yangtze River tomorrow, and although she might have risked Quin driving, Petra knew she couldn't fly in the condition she was in. "Talk. Now," she ordered. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I went for a walk. I got jumped by two guys," Quin said. "I beat them off, but the bigger one got in a few good kicks and knifed me in the leg." "What!" "It's not bad. I saw a doctor and he put in nine stitches in the deep part. The rest is just a nasty scratch. He gave me a shot against infection, but I don't think it worked." Petra drove on without comment. Quin wiggled uncomfortably until she finally asked, "Aren't you going to say anything?" "Not without losing my temper, and you don't need that at the moment. Try to sleep. I'll have us back at the hotel as soon as possible," Petra said. Quin closed her eyes and leaned her head back. For a second, Petra's anger was replaced with sympathy. This tour with the boss's daughter had been a disaster for her from the beginning. She must feel like she might as well have met Petra at the airport with a sign around her neck that read: Fire me. "What did he say? And tell me the truth," Petra said as she sat down in a chair beside Quin's bed after showing the doctor out. By the time Petra had pulled into the parking lot, Quin was in deep pain and very feverish. She willingly leaned on Petra on the way into the hotel, and when the manager came over, Petra insisted that he call the doctor. She had gotten Quin back to the room and had helped her get out of her jeans and top. Petra got a damp facecloth and sponge-bathed Quin. Then she eased her into her pyjamas before tucking her into bed. The doctor had come and examined Quin's leg as Petra looked on. He didn't speak English, so she'd had to wait to find out what he had said. "Well?" "He said I shouldn't have walked around so much today. I've popped a few stitches. He said I have a fever, but the wound looks good. He prescribed some antibiotics for me to take, and he also recommended some Chinese tea for flushing out my system. He's going to have the local pharmacy send the stuff over," Quin said. "Is that all?" Petra asked. "He did ask if you dyed your hair, or if it was naturally the colour of chestnuts." Quin smiled thorough her pain. "It's natural, and you made that up." Petra tucked the sheet around Quin. "Can I get you anything?" "No. Sorry to be so much trouble. I'll be fine as soon as the fever breaks," Quin said. "I'll sit here with you". "Double bed. Lie down. I promised to be good. Need to sleep..." Quin muttered as she drifted off. Chapter 10 Petra sat by Quin's bed until her fever broke in the early hours of the morning. It gave her plenty of time to think. Since Val's death, she hadn't felt any sexual excitement. She thought that those needs had been buried with her partner. But she had to admit that Quin Venizelos attracted her. First, the woman was gorgeous. Second, she found that Quin's complex and temperamental personality was not only intriguing, but seemed to be in harmony with her own. They got on well together. If she allowed herself to, she could fantasize about what it would be like to be with Quin. But she wasn't going to. She and Val had something very special, and she wasn't going to let her baser feelings ruin that. Yes, she had feelings for Quin, but was it real, or just a desperate need to replace the friendship and love that she'd had with Val? Part of her wanted to reach out to Quin and the other part was horrified that she could consider loving someone else after Val. She mulled it over, feeling guilty and depressed, until she touched Quin's forehead and realized her temperature had dropped. Then, tired and drained, she lay down beside Quin and drifted off to sleep. Petra woke to daylight. Turning carefully, she found Quin asleep next to her. Her blonde hair caught the sunlight, showing highlights of gold, and her face had softened into innocence. What would it be like to wake each morning to someone you could love and cherish above all others again? Petra certainly wasn't ever going to find out. She'd made a real mess of things with Quin by losing her objectivity. Not only did she not have a chance to win Quin's heart, she'd be lucky if she didn't get her own heart broken. Wait a minute! What am I thinking? When did I start wanting to win Quin's heart? That \s not what I wanted. I wanted to learn what I could about my father's regional manager and develop a working relationship with her. Wouldn't it be ironic if, after guarding her heart so carefully, she had been stupid enough to fall in love with someone she couldn't have? That thought depressed her. A lump formed in her throat and tears threatened. She needed to get a grip. What she was feeling was not who she was. She loved Val and wanted to be true to her memory. Petra knew Quin well. Quin was focussed, driven, and a loner. Relationships came and went in her life. People like Quin didn't fall in love. Love wasn't an efficient use of time, and it made demands on her life that she'd see as reducing her productivity, or so Petra suspected. She recalled the few scraps of information she'd obtained from Quin about her parents. Quin had told her she remembered there was always laughter and a feeling of belonging. But her stepmother had told her often that her mother used to say her marriage wasn't made in heaven, but was heavenly. Petra reflected on that thought. Quin's parents must have found a very special love—like the love she and Val had. From her own research, she knew Quin's father had been a merchant sailor, tough and adventurous. Her mother had been a Christian missionary working in the Far East. No, not a marriage made in heaven at all. Yet it seemed they were very happy together. She looked at the woman who slept beside her. It could be disastrous for her career to get involved in a public gay relationship. There were those in the conservative academic community of North America who would ostracize her if they knew her orientation. She doubted that it would do much good for Quin's career, either. Petra slipped from the bed. How stupid to even think about all this. I'm not falling in love with Quin. Why would I? As for Quin, she doesn 't know what love is. Petra went to shower and dress. She'd have to keep Quin off her leg today without the impatient and energetic woman getting antsy on her. Her first priority this morning was to help Quin without embarrassing her. She was troubled that this was one of the first mornings in the last three years when her first thoughts hadn't been memories of Val. They spent the morning sitting near to one another in front of Quin's laptop, going over the contracts, projections, and operation of the Eastern division. Quin answered Petra's questions and went through her charts and graphs as if she was presenting the material to all the members of the board of directors. The long-range goals Quin presented blew Petra away. As much as she was impressed with Quin's efforts, she still had doubts as to why Quin was staying with her father's company. Only one way to find out. "What you showed me is all very impressive," Petra said over their lunch in the hotel's dining room. "I have to wonder why you've remained with the company. You must have had offers to move to larger companies, or thought about forming your own." Quin took her time before answering. "I find the company an ideal size for my present needs. Your father allows me the freedom to do my job to the best of my abilities." "But you will move on?" Petra asked. "If the situation changes in a manner that impacts my career or interests negatively, of course." The waiter came to take away dishes. It was enough to break the steady gaze in which they held each other. That afternoon, Quin insisted on taking Petra to see the Wild Goose Pagoda. "It is, to the Chinese who follow Buddhism, a very sacred place. The legend goes that a Buddhist priest from here walked to India and brought back the sacred scrolls of the faith from which others could learn," Quin said as they walked towards the cream-coloured pagoda with its seven stories. "The famous myths of the Monkey King are based around this monk's adventures." They walked up the steps to where a patio housed a wrought iron stand on which people placed red candles in a huge incense burner, the base of which was filled with sand. Quin took a thick, red candle from her bag and stepped forward to light it from one of the many candles that burnt on the rack. She reverently placed the candle on one of the prongs to hold it in place, and then stepped back and bowed, with her hands held in prayer in front of her. Petra moved farther back into the shade of a huge tree, allowing Quin privacy. Quin walked over to a small table and bought a large bunch of incense sticks. She lit all of the sticks from the flame of the candle she'd lighted. She stood in front of the entrance to the Wild Goose Pagoda and held the burning incense sticks up in front of her. Petra wasn't sure if it was proper, but she impulsively lifted her camera and took a picture of Quin standing in prayer as she held the smoldering sticks. Before her, seeming to float on the smoke of the incense, was the sacred pagoda. After a few minutes, Quin took the sticks and dropped them into the brazier and then looked around for Petra. Petra walked forward to meet her. "I didn't know you were a Buddhist," she said. "I'm not. If anything, I'm Christian. But I grew up in a Buddhist community, and to me, the faiths aren't that different. I pray to show respect. I prayed that Buddha will help me achieve a higher awareness so that I won't feel the pain of this life." "There are times in life that can be incredibly painful." Petra sighed. "I'd like to think, however, that life itself isn't pain." "Surely, as a sociologist, you must be aware of human suffering. The Buddha, who as a child was called Siddhartha, saw three things when he first left the safety and beauty of his rich father's palace. First, he saw an old man and learned that all people must grow old. Next, he saw a sick person and learned that illness and suffering are part of the human lot. Then, he saw a corpse and realized that death is the end of all human life. Siddhartha was greatly troubled, but lastly, he saw a wandering ascetic and decided that he must follow this path to seek truth." Petra walked with Quin into the building and stood respectfully aside as the faithful came to kneel and pray in front of the huge golden statue of a sitting Buddha. "It took Buddha a long time to find the way. It's said that after learning from many religious leaders, he sat beneath a pipal tree and meditated until he understood. A Buddhist monk follows the Dharma, or teachings, which are based around the Ten Precepts. They are: do not take a life, do not steal, be chaste, do not lie, do not drink intoxicants, eat moderately and not after the noon hour, avoid spectacles such as singing and dancing, do not adorn yourself with flowers, perfumes or jewellery, your bed should be humble, and you should accept no gold or silver." "What about the regular followers of the faith?" Petra asked as they walked through the meditation gardens. "Both men and women may become monks." Quin said. "Lay people also follow the Sangha practices, but they aren't expected to be celibate, and may participate in business. The principal concept behind the faith is to achieve an awareness that will release you from the cycle of rebirths and move you to a better existence without human suffering." "The cycle of rebirths? Reincarnation, you mean?" Petra looked at the tall stone urns in which the ashes of famous monks were interred. "You come back as a cockroach if you aren't good?" "No. Buddha believed you're reborn as another human. He taught that one needed to accept the Four Noble Truths. All life is suffering. The cause of suffering is craving. The end of suffering is to stop craving and grasping. And the way to do this is through the Eightfold Path." "This is getting complicated." Quin took Petra's arm and led her through the gardens to a teahouse and store. "And the concepts of the Holy Trinity and communion are easy to understand? The Eightfold Path is easy. It simply states that you must have the right view, aspirations, speech, actions, livelihood, effort, mindfulness, and concentration to achieve jhana." "Paradise?" Petra accepted a cup of tea from Quin. "No, the first level of meditation on the way to achieving release from human suffering." Petra considered before replying. "One cannot get through life without pain. Yet, I don't think I can accept that life is pain. I was raised a Lutheran, and I think I'd sum up faith as something that gives you the courage to go on until better times come your way." Petra looked back at the pagoda. "What you've told me gives me a better grasp of Buddhist thought, but I still have a lot to learn about China." "One can never know all the facets of China. She's a dragon: powerful, magical, and mysterious," Quin said. The same description could be applied to you, Quin. She said nothing, and when they finished their tea, they returned to the hotel. Petra sat on the edge of Quin's bed. She insisted on changing Quin's bandage so she could make sure the wound was healing. She had to admit it was looking much better. As she cleaned the wound, she listened to Quin going on in rapid Mandarin to someone on the phone. They had missed their boat because of the unexpected delay in Xian, and Quin was trying to get them on another. It was not proving to be easy. Many people wanted to sail through the three gorges of the Yangtze River before they were flooded by the new dam construction. At last, Quin hung up the phone. "It was a battle, but I managed to get the last suite on a ship leaving Chongqung tomorrow afternoon." "That's grcnt." Petra smiled. "This wound looks good, too." "Glad you think so. If you like scars, I have others." "You promised to be good." "It's a guarantee," Quin said. Petra threw the pillow at her before gathering up the first aid supplies. "You're impossible. I'll leave you to get on with your e-mail and go read my book." "A book is better than me?" Quin sighed dramatically. "Lady, a Campbell Soup label would be more entertaining than that act." Petra made her exit. In the privacy of her room, she fretted about what her true relationship with Quin might be. Did Quin see her as pretty, intelligent, witty, or just the boss's daughter with whom she needed to cultivate a friendship? Frustrated, she opened her book and forced herself to read. Chapter 11 The next day, Petra fastened her flight harness and looked apprehensively at Quin, who was going through her preflight check. "Yes, I'm fine to fly, and no, I'm not on medication," Quin said without even looking up from her clipboard. "I didn't say anything." "You didn't have to. You have fear written all over you." "I'm not afraid to fly... much. I just feel safer in a big plane," Petra said. "Safety in numbers?" Quin asked. She clicked on her mike to ask for a runway clearance. Petra made a face at Quin and then braced herself. Careening down the runway in the front of an aluminum tube at over a hundred miles an hour was not her idea of a really good time. The flight to Chongqung was uneventful. Once on the ground, Quin hired a taxi to take them through Chongqung, a working-class town, to the dock where the Yangtze River Cruise boat was docked. The countryside was hilly, and Quin told Petra that the economy was based on farming, mining, and industry. The taxi driver said something to Quin, and they had a short discussion. Then Quin looked at Petra and shrugged. "We have to go visit another factory so I can sign the government book. It won't take long." "Do you have to do this every time you visit a city?" "No. It's because you're on a tourist visa. China needs foreign currency," Quin said. "We're going to see a mill where silk cocoons are spun into thread." "Chinese silks! Are they as beautiful as the history books say?" "Some are, but I don't think this particular factory produces very high-grade silk. It's little more that a sweatshop. The labour is female and the management male. Try not to lead a social revolution," Quin said dryly. "Are you implying that I would?" "I rather suspect so." Quin smiled in a way Petra hadn't previously seen. It was a sudden flash of delight that lit Quin's face, softening features hardened by responsibility. Petra found Quin's smile charming. Petra stood watching the weary women standing on a wet cement floor with their hands in very hot water. They caught the threads of the wet cocoons as they bobbed by in a trough and attached them to the spinning machine. The machines were old, and the moving parts exposed near the woman's hands. The factory itself was steamy and smelt like a wet dog, and the temperature was well into the high 90s. Petra cornered the manager, who had been proudly showing them around, and started firing questions at him about the company's market, sales, and the working conditions for the women. Quickly, Quin moved in and edged Petra out to the taxi van. They sat in the back in silence as the driver drove them down to the ship that was moored along the riverbank. Petra spoke first. "I understand the importance of economic viability, but those women need to strike for better working conditions. One can't expect working conditions to be at the high level one finds in an industrialized nation, but things could be better with just a few safeguards and modifications put into place." Quin laughed softly but said nothing. "I just wanted to hear what that manager had to say," Petra said. "The working conditions and pay are appalling, I agree, particularly at that factory. But this isn't North America. This is China, a country struggling to rebuild after the disastrous years of the Cultural Revolution. They have jobs. The factory is as mechanized as it can be. Yes, it's hard, miserable work. That's why it's women's work," Quin said. "And I suppose you think that makes it okay?" "No, I don't. But I'm here to do a job, and I hope that job will improve the lot of the women in that factory, and many more. It isn't my job to tell other countries how to treat their people." "I agree to some extent, but 1 think people have to make a stand. We need to question and encourage the steady improvement of working and living conditions throughout the world. I'm not calling for revolution, just a focus on an awareness of human needs that might lead to a better world. The exploitation of women is wrong." "Yes, it's wrong. It's also wrong that twenty percent of the world's population, mostly whites, control eighty percent of the world's wealth. Perhaps in time there'll be a more even spread between the have and have-not nations, but I don't think we're willingly going to give up any of our disproportionate piece of the pie. That's where we differ, I guess. You think it's possible, and I only wish it were. Ah, here we are." They pulled up in front of a steep embankment with a series of broken and uneven steps which led down to the water's edge. From there, a chain of metal ramps and wood planks led from one rusty old barge to another until one reached the ship. Petra stood on the high bank and looked out over the wide Yangtze River. It was a river of legend. Yellow with mud and filthy with years of transportation and refuse, it swirled along just as powerfully as it had for thousands of years. History bent and changed, not the river. Until now. Until Quin and her fellow engineers arrived to conquer this river and force it into the twenty-first century. Petra wasn't sure how she felt about that. They started across the makeshift dock to the ship that would be their home for the next four days, and declined the help of the locals who wanted a tip for assisting the tourists across the wobbly gangplanks. Just as Petra stepped onto the last barge, a terrifying sound started up, and only with difficulty did she recognize it as an attempt at playing Ode to Joy. Quin took Petra's elbow and led her around the corner of the barge's pilothouse to come face to face with six young Chinese girls dressed in white and blue silk uniforms, who were belting out a shaky rendition of the European classic for all they were worth on battered old brass instruments. The Chinese attempt at recreating what they thought was a proper European ship's departure tickled Petra no end. The tour director smiled broadly and shook their hands, and then led them to the dining room where the buffet lunch was being served. Again Petra was amused to see the careful, if misinformed, attention the Chinese had taken to setting the table in a festive European style. At one end of the buffet table stood a three-tiered wedding cake, and at the other end was a small, worn Christmas tree with wrapped boxes under it. The food, too, was a strange mix of European dishes made from Chinese produce. Petra found it humorous and delightful. The good cheer lasted as long as it took them to get to their suite. The luggage was neatly standing in a row in the small sitting room. This room contained a bar fridge, love seat, and two chairs around a small table. The bathroom was small but adequate, but the bedroom had only one double bed. Petra turned and looked at Quin. "I didn't know. I thought all suites had two bedrooms. Honest!" "Sure, Venizeios," Petra teased, enjoying having the upper hand. "Let's see, you're about six feet. That love seat looks about four, so if you sleep sitting up, there won't be a problem." "Come on, Vossler. We shared a bed only last night. Have mercy; it's a four day trip. I can't sleep sitting up for four days." Quin made a pitiful face. "Besides, I have a sore leg." "You're pathetic. Okay, I see your point. I'll give you one of my pillows, and you can sleep on the floor." "Petra, give me a break here. I'll wear pyjamas. I won't sleep under the sheets. I'll take a cold shower every night before coming to bed—" "The question is, will you keep your promise to be good?" "Is there another way?" she asked "No." Quin sighed. "I promise. But don't tell anyone. It will ruin my good name." "Good name, my foot! Your reputation, you mean." Quin nodded with an evil grin. "Yeah, that's what I mean." Chapter 12 They spent the evening at a lecture on the culture and history of China, followed by a social to get to know the other passengers. Quin was soon deep in conversation with the captain about changes in navigation as the river levels rose with each step in the dam completion. Left to her own devices, Petra wandered off to get to know more passengers. Quin was impressed at how well Petra was able to socialize with strangers. She was good at making people feel relaxed and talkative. Clearly, she was comfortable in the role, having stood at her father's side at many such functions. Still, Quin kept one eye on Petra. Quin was hopeless at small talk. Her conversation tended to be either communication of data or direct orders. She noticed that a number of the men on the ship were already trailing after Petra and doing their best to be charming. The lights were dimmed and dance music played on a CD. Several couples were dancing. In a few minutes, Quin saw Petra on the small dance floor in some jerk's arms. She ground her teeth in frustration. I should be the one dancing with Petra. Life sucks. She forced herself to focus on what the captain was saying. Some time later, Quin looked up to see that Petra was gone. Her heart twisted into a jealous knot, and she excused herself abruptly from the captain to go in search of her. Petra wasn't in their cabin. Quin fought a battle with herself over whether she should go on deck and run the chance of interrupting a budding shipboard romance, or stay in their cabin and mind her own business. The battle lasted all of two seconds and then she was out the door and down the hall heading to the deck. Several couples leaned over the rail, watching the setting sun kiss the golden river. Petra was nowhere in sight. Worried and jealous as hell, Quin made her way to the stern. She found Petra there, standing alone, watching the wake of the big ship as it plowed down the river. Relief swept over Quin and she walked up to Petra. "I wanted to dance with you all evening," she said and then held out her hand. "May I have the last dance?" Petra looked up in surprise and then smiled. She moved into Quin's arms and there, in their private world at the stern of the ship, they danced close together to the soft music that floated from the dance floor below. They moved well together, fit well together, and at the end of the song, neither wanted to pull away. "Thanks for the dance," Quin said awkwardly, doing her best to sound casual even though she felt anything but. She had made a promise to Petra, and although she might tease, she would not cross the line again. "I'll see you downstairs. "Okay," Petra said. "I'll see you in a bit." Quin beat a quick retreat before she said or did anything that would cost her job for sure. Maybe sleeping sitting up on the couch wasn't a bad idea after all. Quin showered and reluctantly slipped into silk pyjamas. She preferred to sleep naked. She tuned down the bed and climbed in, making sure she stayed well over to one side. For a bit, she read a book. Then she decided that it wouldn't be too subtle to be up waiting for Petra to return. She turned off her light and willed herself to sleep. When this failed, she lay on her back and stared at the shadows on the ceiling and wondered what it would be like to be in love. Petra came in much later and quietly got ready for bed in the dark. Quin pretended to be asleep. Her eyes closed, she listened to every sound that Petra made as she slipped from her clothes, washed, and crawled into bed beside her. Inwardly, Quin sighed with relief. Now things felt right and she was able to drift off to sleep. After Quin had left, Petra went back to staring out at the water. See, that's what I mean, Val. She has a way about her. I don't know. I'm really confused. I know you always said that if anything happened to you I shouldn 't give up on love, but you were my partner, Val. You. No one else. She thought of a day long ago. They had taken a vow of commitment to each other and had then taken their car and driven out east for a holiday. It had been wonderful. Just her and Val, having adventures and delighting in the heady days of early love. That feeling had never ended in the years they'd been together. It was like that with Val. Val was eternally young, impish, and full of life. They had stood on the stern of the ferry on their way to Prince Edward Island, long before the bridge had been built, and held each other close. On the deck below, they saw a retired couple they'd met coming aboard walking and holding hands. The couple was newly married, both having lost their lifelong partners. "I can't imagine wanting another," Petra had said. "Nor can I," Val had answered, kissing her cheek. "But I think what they have is good. I think there are many different loves, and if one is taken away, in time, a person could find another. It wouldn't be a replacement. It could never be the same. It would just be a different love, and in its own way, just as deep. They look happy to me, anyway." Petra stood on the deck in the dark and let the tears run down her face, aching for the one she loved, missing her with every ounce of her being. You never stop mourning. You only learn to live with the emptiness. Quin seemed asleep when Petra finally returned to their room. Quietly, she got ready for bed and slipped in beside the still form. Sleep did not come easily. Petra woke the next morning to find that Quin had once again gotten up early. She washed and dressed and hurried down to the breakfast room. She found Quin sitting by herself, drinking her coffee and looking out at the river. When Petra joined her, she smiled. "We'll dock at Fengdu soon. It's one of the cities scheduled for demolition," Quin said. "What?" Petra looked up from her breakfast. "Five major cities will have to be leveled because they'll be below water level after the dam is built. They have to be flattened because they'd be a navigation hazard." "I understand that, but five cities? I had no idea the dam would affect that many people." Petra put down her coffee. "About one-and-a-half-million people will be displaced," Quin said, as if this was not of any great concern. Petra was about to question Quin's attitude when she went on. "It's ironic. High above the city of Fengdu is a famous Buddhist temple. Fengdu is called the City of Ghosts because the temple is dedicated to the Buddhist God of the Dead. It will be the only structure that will remain above water level. The living will be gone, and the dead will live on. That's the bell telling us they're ready for us to disembark. Are you finished?" "Yes." Petra pushed back her chair. Quin's casual remarks over breakfast had given her a lot to think about. They walked the gamut of makeshift gangways to the shore and then ran another of street vendors as they climbed the stone stairs up the bank to road level. There, several rickety buses provided transportation to the Temple of the Dead. They boarded with the others, and the bus driver took off along the winding road into town, giving a running commentary the whole way in what he thought was English. Quin bought them tickets to the grounds and meditation gardens of the Buddhist temple while Petra looked straight up to the ancient temple at the top of the peak. "There are 900 steps to the top," Quin said as she came up behind Petra. Petra smiled weakly. "Let's see, that's about... fifty floors." "We could take the ski lift up the first eight hundred." Petra pointed at Quin. "Sounds like a plan." Together they waited in line and then slipped back onto the chairlift seat to ride up over the wild tangle of gardens below. To the one side, lush tropical gardens clung to the side of the peak, dotted here and there with the ornate, colourful ceramic tile roofs of pagodas. To the other, the ground dropped away, and far below, they could see the city of Fengdu, and beyond it, the yellow Yangtze River. From this height, the huge cruise ship looked like a toy. Quin wrapped her arm around Petra's shoulder and leaned across her to point to the construction high on the opposite side of the bay from the city of Fengdu. "That's the new city," she said. "The people are slowly being moved to that area in preparation for the water flooding this area." "How do they feel about that?" Petra asked, looking down on the old city that would soon be a thing of folk tales, flattened and nearly forgotten beneath the muddy waters of the reservoir. Quin lifted her arm from Petra's shoulder in preparation for getting off the chair lift. "Some think it's a good idea. Others are upset." They came off the chairlift to a lookout where they could see for miles down the river. Behind them, a covered walk ran around three sides of a garden, allowing the monks and faithful a place to contemplate and stroll, even on rainy days. Petra took some pictures and then they climbed the first of the hundred remaining steps. "There are trials that you will have to pass," Quin explained as they walked up a steep grade lined with hideous and gaudily painted sculptured creatures from hell that were twice life-size. "It's the God of the Dead in Buddhism that judges your heart, just as in Christianity, St. Peter guards the gate to heaven. Before communism, the faithful would come here to be tested to see if they were worthy. We'll see how you do." "And you!" Petra challenged, and then asked, "The people no longer believe, then?" "Oh, sure, many do. Although officially, communism opposes religion, the majority of the people just quietly went on with their beliefs. Today, many are still faithful, but perhaps not as trusting as in the past. The young tend not to have a religion, while the older people still cling to their faith." They took a set of stairs that wound its way between a number of pagodas and then came to a courtyard where a knot of tourists stood around the edge of a small, roofed enclosure. Within the enclosure, the stone floor rose in the centre to a peak about two feet high. A worn, shallow trough ran around this area, and sitting at the side was a flat-bottomed, round-sided metal object about the size and shape of half a beach ball. As they came up, a man was wrestling to lift the heavy metal object onto the top of the peak. "This first trial is really for men only. The metal half ball weighs over two hundred pounds. A man must get the half circle to the top of the peak and balance it there. If he can, then he will be faithful to his wife in the afterlife. It's test of love and devotion," Quin said. They watched while several men tried and failed. Then, to Petra's surprise, Quin moved into the area, squatted down and used her body weight to get the object on its round side. She rolled it around and around the slanted sides and on each orbit she lifted it a bit higher until she toppled it, and with a terrific effort steadied it on top of the peak. The crowd clapped and cheered, and Quin smugly let it go to thump to the bottom again. She walked over to Petra. "I'm impressed. I wouldn't have picked you for the faithful type," Petra said, offering Quin her water bottle. "That's because you don't know me," Quin said, bending her head back and taking a long swig from the bottle. Petra watched as Quin swallowed the water, strong neck muscles and broad shoulders tanned golden and moist with humidity. She was both beautiful and powerful. Together they trailed after the others, following another series of stone steps to the next courtyard. A small marble bridge arched over a stream that cut across the stone square. "This is a test to see if you are fit to go to heaven. Only those without the burden of guilt will be able to cross this bridge in only three steps." "Hey, I've got shorter legs!" protested Petra, looking at the high arched bridge. "Hmm, excuses already," Quin teased. "Sounds like a heavy conscience to me." Quin loped over the bridge easily in two strides and, with her arms crossed over her chest, turned to look at Petra. Petra was not about to fail on this test, and with a bit of a run, she took three big strides and barely made it to the other side. "Conscience clear as the heavens," Petra said. "We'll see. More tests await." Once again they climbed through the temple grounds until they came to a wall with an open gate in it. A ridge about a foot and a half high ran from side to side across the doorway. Quin stopped to explain. "You've probably noticed on traditional doorways, there's always this ledge to step over. It's to keep out evil spirits. Evil spirits crawl on their bellies and can't get over the doorstep. This, too, is a test, and you must go first. Step over the ledge with the correct foot first. To enter the kingdom of heaven, a good person's actions would naturally be proper." Petra thought about it: right foot first or left? It was a fifty-fifty gamble. But Petra was a sociologist and under stood human nature and culture. Leading with the right foot would put you off balance if you were a warrior, because most people are stronger on their right side, so a man would naturally lead with his left foot. A woman would show trust and vulnerability, though, in a traditional culture such as the Chinese embraced. Petra stepped over the ledge with her right foot first. Quin clapped, stepping over after her with her right foot first. "That's it, right foot first for a woman, left for a man, although I have no idea why." Petra crossed her arms and cocked her head on the side, mimicking Quin's actions of not long before. "That's because you're only an engineer, not a sociologist." They eventually came to the courtyard in front of the temple itself. Twisted pines provided shade. One looked out, not down, across the blue heavens at the ancient nation of China. The wind whispered softly and wind chimes filled the trees with soft music. It was a tranquil, soul-touching place. For a while, they stood there in silence and drank in the beauty. The last challenge was at the entrance of the temple. It was a small, rounded stone, shiny with wear, that stood a few inches above the pavement. "You have to balance on one foot with your eyes closed for ten seconds," Quin explained. "It is to test if there is a balance of the yin-yang forces within you. "Maybe you shouldn't try this one," Petra said, "what with your hot liver and all." Quin stepped on the stone. She lifted her other foot and spread her arms to the sides. Closing her eyes, she allowed her body to relax and go perfectly still. After ten seconds, she opened her eyes and hopped off. "Think you're good, don't you?" Petra placed her foot on the stone. "Know it." Petra, however, was not to be outdone. She had studied ballet into her twenties and had been pretty good. She used that skill to her advantage. She stood on the rock and curved her arms gracefully over her head before stretching her other leg up and closing her eyes. She stood perfectly and beautifully poised for ten seconds and then, going up on the ball of her foot, she turned slowly around before opening her eyes and stepping off. The small crowd that had formed applauded loudly and Petra waved her thanks before turning to Quin. "I see your soul is as beautiful as your form," Quin said quietly. A blush rose up Petra's neck as she saw the look in Quin's eyes. "Shall we go in?" she asked. Quin, who had been staring at her, seemed to come awake. They set off towards the temple. Petra kept pace at Quin's side. Inside the temple, more huge monster-like statues lined each side of a long hall. Each symbolically weighed one aspect of the soul: honesty, loyalty, generosity, and many more. At the end of the hall, they went up several steps to stand in front of the massive gold statue of the God of the Dead. Quin bought a handful of incense sticks to place in the burner in front of the deity; she offered some to Petra. Petra took the sticks and imitated Quin's actions, lighting the sticks and placing them in the stand to burn and then standing with her hands in prayer before the idol. Protect the souls of my father, Val... And of Quin, because I care about her, she prayed and then followed Quin back out into the courtyard. "Some Christians would say we prayed to a graven image. That's not true. Buddhists don't revere the statue, but the element of God that it represents. It's no different from the statues of the saints or of Christ that you see in European churches," Quin said. "It always amazes me that, in all faiths, people say they're seeking enlightenment and truth, but they refuse to consider any reality outside their own dogma. I'm glad you burned the incense." "It's not my faith, but I see no reason why I can't use the opportunity to pray. If there is a God, I believe He must be the God of all of us, no matter what teachings and rituals we choose to follow to reach Him," Petra said, as she walked with Quin back down to the chairlift. "I agree, but I'm afraid many would be angry and insulted by your viewpoint." "Fanatical belief and bigotry are the reasons we still have wars," Petra said. They swung up into the lift and sat side by side as they returned to the gardens below. Petra didn't sleep well that night. She was acutely aware of Quin beside her. She shouldn't be sharing a bed with Quin. Then again, they weren't doing anything, and it was silly and impractical not to share the bed. The contradictory thoughts whirled around her head. What really annoyed her was that it didn't seem to bother Quin at all. She'd come in late, washed and changed, and gone right to sleep. Quin lay perfectly still, clinging to the edge of the bed. She was intensely aware of Petra tossing and turning behind her. She wanted desperately to roll over and pull Petra into her arms and make love to her. But a promise was a promise, and no matter how hard this was, she wasn't going to take advantage of the situation. She thought about Petra standing on the peak looking out over China. Her hair flashed highlights of red in the sun and her eyes sparkled with excitement. She was a graceful package of strength and mischief, wrapped up in a well-toned and beautiful body. She was damn bright, too. Quin had learned that quickly enough when she had gone through the division reports with her in Xian. It was such a shame Petra was so weighed down with grief. Petra rolled over again, bouncing the bed. Quin gritted her teeth in frustration and held on tight to her pillow. It was going to be a long night. Chapter 13 They woke the next morning and found themselves wrapped in each other's arms. Petra went to pull away. "Stay, please," Quin said softly. "We shouldn't be doing this," Petra said, but she rested her head on Quin's shoulder and wrapped her arm around Quin's muscular frame. "It feels good... right," Quin said. "I love Val," Petra said out loud. In a split second, Quin was up and out of the bed, quivering with anger. "God damn it, Petra! I don't want to be Val. And I don't want to be some damn substitute. I will not compete with a dead woman." Quin scooped up her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. When she came out, Petra tried to reason with her, but Quin simply left the suite. They didn't meet again until after breakfast. Petra found Quin leaning over the rail, looking at the countryside passing by. Before Petra could say anything, Quin spoke. "We'll be passing through the three gorges today. They're beautiful. Once the dam is finished, they'll no longer exist. Do you see the signs posted by the government along the shoreline? The first measurement, 135 metres, or around 345 feet, is where the water level will be in two years. The second marker, about 525 feet, is where the water level will be when the dam is completely finished." Let the incident drop, Quin silently ordered, and was relieved when Petra's eyes turned towards the shore. "I've read the statistics, but to actually see just how high the water will rise is amazing. Can we build something that can hold back this much water safely?" Petra asked. "Nothing is completely safe. All dams, no matter how well-built, will finally give with age and wear over time. I can't predict if an earthquake will weaken the structural integrity or if a massive flood will raise the water levels dangerously. We build in safeguards for acts of God, but in the end, we're only human. The dam will be the safest dam we can build. Originally, it was to be farther down the river, but the drill samples found that the stratification there was sand and gravel. We couldn't build a dam of this scale on that bed. The land around would've become super-saturated and then would have just given way. We're building it on granite bedrock, which is excellent for stability, but there's a fault line nearby, and that's a concern," Quin said. "A fault line? That's nuts," Petra said. "If we reduced the earth to the size of an egg, the earth's crust would be as thin as the eggshell. And it would be a badly cracked eggshell, at that. The earth's crust is thin and unstable. It moves and heaves continually. There's no truly safe place to build anything. We just look for the best place. The spot where the dam is being built appears to be stable and is on solid, nonporous bedrock. Like I said, no one can predict the chaos of the universe." Petra watched the passing landscape. The mountains soared on each side, a thousand feet overhead. After the dam was built, these mountains would disappear, and all that would remain would be a series of small islands that had once been the lofty peaks of mountains. That was the power of Quin and her team. They spent most of the morning on the deck, sitting in the lawn chairs reading, leaning on the rail looking at the spectacular scenery, or walking in the bracing air. The first gorge they went through was Qutan, which was eight kilometers long and a thousand feet high. The shore was a sheer wall of rock. Quin pointed out the narrow, precarious footpath that had been cut into the cliffs. "Years ago, boats didn't have the power to fight the current of the Yangtze River, so they would be pulled back upstream by teams of men on ropes. Some parts of the paths up there are no more than the width of your foot. It was backbreaking, incredibly dangerous work, and the men got next to nothing for their toil but misery and an early death." They passed Wu Gorge and then went on to the Xiling Gorge, which took over an hour to sail through. The beauty of the gorges was beyond description. Looking over the bow, the green, lush mountains touched the swirling river in layers, each a different shade of green as they receded into the mist. These were the images that had been captured in black ink paintings by the Chinese for thousands of years, powerful, tranquil, and majestic. Petra spoke, barely above a whisper. "I feel so very privileged to see this natural wonder before it's lost. I pity all those who will never know the majesty of this place." In the afternoon, they reached Badong, a small fishing community, and anchored in the river to take on fresh produce. Quin rented a small riverboat which would take them up a river gorge to a fishing settlement she knew. The boat was made of wood slats with a flat bottom and a curved bow and stern. The pilot wore the calf-length pants of a fisherman and a traditional wide-rimmed hat made from dried fronds. Their craft, once it reached the shallow river, was poled along by the boatman, who was delighted when Quin started to sing local folk songs in the high minor key of most Chinese music. He joined in, singing the responses to Quin's verses. Quin had a nice voice. They came to a narrow stretch of the gorge, and Quin pointed to where shallow niches had been cut into the rock and reinforced with stakes. On these, hanging out over the water far below, were the coffins of the dead that had been placed there over a thousand years ago. "No one knows who's buried in the hanging coffins of Badong," Quin said. "Nor do we know how they managed to bury them half down a cliff face. My guess is they must have been lowered from above." They went on to the small fishing village and, after walking through it, returned to the ship just before dark. Later that night, though, the tension returned to their relationship. Quin made herself scarce, not willing to get into another fight with Petra. She got into a poker game with some of the crew, lost money, and had too much to drink. She went to bed with a headache, an upset stomach, and depression as heavy as a ton of shit. It was no use hiding the truth from herself any longer. She'd fallen in love, and with someone who wanted her about as much as a common cold. Life sucked. The next morning, Quin awoke, once again cocooned with Petra. Seeing that Petra was still asleep, she softly kissed her head, then, swallowing a lump in her throat, she slipped carefully from Petra's embrace and went to wash and change. There was nothing she could do about her feelings for Petra, but there was much to be done at the site. Work would keep her mind off her heart, she hoped. During the night, the ship had moved on to Sandouping and anchored. They were now at the Three Gorges Dam Project. Leaving a note for Petra, she grabbed a piece of toast and hailed a water taxi to take her to shore. Unable to find Quin the evening before, Petra had sat on the deck enjoying the canopy of stars and the cool night air. China was unbelievably hot and humid in the summer, and the nights were a pleasant relief. Her mind drifted to other times and the pain returned to her heart. She had reached out to Quin in her sleep, wrapping her body around Quin. Val, I'm so confused. I love you. You were supposed to be my partner for life. I know that in my heart, and yet I feel myself being drawn to Quin. How could I love another after you? What we had was so perfect. Are there other kinds of love? You know what she said, Val? She said that she wasn't you and that she didn't want to compete with you. Is that possible? To have a different love? One that doesn't take away from what you and I had? I don't know! All I have left of you is a memory. I don't want to lose that. The next morning, Petra woke late and went through her morning routine groggily. In the breakfast room, she was awake enough to observe that they were anchored. A waitress handed her a note. Dear Petra, I've gone to shore to check on things at the site. I'll be back after breakfast to pick you up. Wear hiking boots; you 're going to a construction site. Quin Petra ate her breakfast, changed into more appropriate clothes for the day, and then went up on deck to wait for Quin. Most of the tourists aboard had left on their excursions. At last Petra saw Quin approaching. She jumped from the small boat and loped up the stairs to where Petra waited. "Good morning. Are you ready to go?" Quin asked. Quin was in her professional role today. This was her site and her world, and Petra was the boss's daughter and a member of the board of directors. Petra followed Quin to the small boat that would take them to the site. A jeep and driver waited for them there, and they were quickly off to a lookout, where Quin explained that they could get a good overview of the site before heading down into the construction zone. On the way, Quin reviewed information about the dam, as if giving a lecture to a group of stockholders. "The Three Gorges Dam Project will be the largest hydroelectric project in the world. It's being built in three stages. The first took a natural, secondary channel in the river formed by a shoal and deepened it to make a diversion channel. The second stage, which we're working on now, is to build the locks and the first levels of the dam. That will raise the water to the 135 meter mark. The last stage will be to raise the dam to its full height, so that the water can rise to the final 175 meter mark." They stood on a windy bluff and looked down on the massive scar that would be the lock system for the ships. It was difficult to get the scale of just how big the construction really was until Quin pointed to some small cranes at the bottom of the deep cut. They and the dump trucks that came and went in a continual flow looked like miniature models that Petra used to play with as a child. "Those yellow cranes you see down there are the new super-cranes. Most of the ones that exist in the world are here at the site. You can't really tell from here, but those cranes are five stories high," Quin said. "1 had no idea of the scale of this site." Petra shook her head in disbelief. "Why did the Chinese government pick a smaller company like Vossler to work on such a mammoth undertaking?" "This area has temperatures over one hundred degrees in the summer and well below freezing in the winter. Canadian engineers have developed cement mixes that can withstand that sort of temperature change because of our own harsh climate," Quin explained. She took Petra's elbow to lead her off the observation platform. "But Quin, what about the impact this is going to have on the environment and the people?" They headed back to the jeep as Quin answered. "This is the most ambitious undertaking ever, I think. It's not just building one of the largest dams in the world, but five new cities have to be built and the old ones demolished, not to mention hundreds of villages. Break walls have to be built to stabilize the new riverbanks, bridges have to span the gorge, and hundreds of miles of new roads have to be laid. One-and-a-half-million people will have to be relocated." "What a nightmare." Petra shuddered, feeling for those that were losing the world that their families had probably lived in for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. "The government is being as fair as possible, but clearly there are both negatives and positives. Generally, the young support the development. It's providing thousands of jobs at good pay, stimulating secondary industries, and providing training. At the moment, there are 30,000 workers at this site alone. About 10,000 of these are manual labourers. They get good pay for unskilled labour." Petra got out of the jeep and looked around at the site from the bottom of the huge lock channel. It gave her a feeling like what she got standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The super-cranes towered above them. They lowered their massive hooks on thick anchor chains and hoisted hundreds of pounds of material to the various levels where men were working. "How are they handling the new housing?" Petra yelled over the noise of hundreds of machine engines. "The communist government has provided good basic housing in the new towns. The apartments are about a hundred and twenty square feet and have water and bathroom facilities. For many, that will be better than what they have now. The old homes are bought by the government, and that allows people a down payment on a new apartment." They walked over to Quin's field office, an on-site trailer. Petra noted that the workers stepped aside as they passed. It was clear she was well-known and respected by the workers. Quin was still talking. "Farmers may opt to give up farming. If they do, they can have an apartment and a job on the dam site. If they wish to stay in farming, they'll be relocated to another area, where they'll receive compensation for what they've lost which will help them build a new home on smaller acreage." "I don't think that I'm comfortable with a government that's so controlling, no matter how fair it might seem to be." "The company has been hired to do a job, and I'm here to make money for Vossler and build a good dam. Each emperor of China has had one great project he left behind as a legacy to the people. This is Mao's." "This was all about Mao playing emperor?" "Pretty much. The new town here is called Mao Ping. The idea of the dam was originally put forth in 1919 by Sun Yat-sen, but wasn't feasible at the time. Mao made it happen." Quin clicked through her email to see what needed her attention. "Ego doesn't seem like a very good reason for the massive upheaval this dam is causing," Petra said. Quin looked at Petra. "Everything we do has a negative and positive side. It's the yin and yang of life. There are critics of the construction. The old don't wish to see the loss of their ancestral lands, and nine counties will disappear, with 30,000 hectares of excellent farm land. Also, the river is so polluted with waste that there's fear that the reservoir will become little more than a cesspool. But there's another side. This river needs taming. Over recent years, 30,000 lives have been lost in floods and mudslides. River navigation will be safer, and a tremendous amount of cheap electricity will be produced for a growing nation." Petra was about to argue the point when a young man burst into the office looking shaken and pale and speaking in rapid Mandarin. "What is it?" Petra asked. "There's been an accident." Quin grabbed her hard hat and headed for the door. "Stay here." Chapter 14 Petra got to the door in time to watch Quin run across to the first of the super-cranes. A large crowd had formed, and people were looking up and pointing. Petra followed their gaze and froze in horror. Somehow, a worker had gotten snared in the crane's chain, and he'd been hoisted off the ground upside down. Blood was dripping from his ripped leg down onto his face and then trickling to the ground below. Petra wondered why the crane driver wasn't lowering him back to the ground. Looking farther up the chain, she could see that the worker's pickaxe, caught in the chain farther up, had jammed in the pulley. Then she saw Quin quickly climbing the five stories up the straight ladder on the inside of the derrick. From where Petra stood, Quin looked small and vulnerable on the massive piece of equipment. Petra held her breath until Quin was safely inside the crane's cab. She saw the front window of the cab open, and Quin crawled out onto the metal framing that formed the crane's arm. Quin was wearing a safety harness, but Petra's heart was in her mouth as she watched the tiny figure edge along the open piping to the end of the crane's arm. Petra realized the metal must be burning hot on Quin's hands and the noon sun would be burning her shoulders as she crawled along the framework. Quin stopped and looked through the rungs to where the man hung from a bleeding and misshapen leg. His arms hung down, and there was no indication he was conscious. Under the circumstances, that was probably a good thing, Petra thought. Quin continued to slide along the metal arm on her belly. Directly above the trapped man, Quin leaned over the side and called out in Mandarin. There was no answer. Quin pulled back and seemed to be checking the jammed pulley. Time witstcd was not a good thing, but it might be better to wait for help than risk more injury to the worker. Petra bit her lip and waited to see what Quin would do next. Quin tied off her rope, formed a slip loop, and dropped over the side. Petra's gasp was echoed by the crowd as Quin's body dropped from the arm, and she hung, swaying for a second, some feet below. Then Quin slowly lowered herself to the man. He was held fast by his pant leg that had wedged between the chain links. Quin lowered herself down to the man's chest. Petra couldn't see exactly what Quin was doing, but it appeared that she attached him to a safety harness. Somehow, with just a few movements—perhaps with the aid a large pocket knife—Quin released the safety line from around herself, leaving the man hanging from both Quin's safety line and the chain. Petra hastened from the trailer and stood at the base of the crane so she could better see what was happening. Quin slowly climbed up the chain to where the man's pant leg was caught. Quin was without any sort of backup, and it scared the hell out of Petra. Quin held on to the pant leg and the chain as she awkwardly cut the material free from the chain. Quin's hand slipped on the chain, probably due to the sudden weight of supporting herself with one arm while bearing part of the man's body with the other. The crowd gasped. Quin clung on to the chain and the man for dear life. After a second, she wiped her forehead on her sleeve, blinked the sweat from her eyes, and slowly lowered the man's leg down so that it hung even with his other leg. Quin slid down and reattached herself to the life line. She used bandages she'd taken from the first-aid kit in the cab to secure the man's damaged leg to his good one. She took a few seconds to rest. Tears rolled down Petra's face. She didn't want to look, but she couldn't make herself stop. She knew she should be helping in some way. The thought was barely formed before Petra was running for the ladder. As she reached the top of the ladder, Petra grabbed some safety equipment, raced across the crane cab, and started to crawl along the arm as she'd watched Quin do. Don't look down, but she did. Quin, looking pale and tired, was clinging to the chain. Petra secured her lines and then dropped a rope over the side. "Grab the rope," she ordered. "I thought 1 told you to stay in the trailer," yelled Quin "I thought I told you to stay off that leg," Petra yelled back. Quin grabbed the safety line and hooked it onto her harness. "You do have this attached to something don't you?" she asked. "We'll know if you fall," Petra said. "Be careful, okay?" Quin looked up. Perhaps she could see the fear for her safety in Petra's eyes. "Do you care about me, then?" "For God's sake, Venizelos! Will you just climb up the damn chain? I'm bloody terrified up here!" Quin carefully climbed hand-over-hand up the chain. As she neared the top, Petra reached to grab her and help her climb back onto the arm of the crane. They lay side by side, holding each other. "Don't you ever do anything like that again!" Petra said. "Come on, I need you back inside the cab where I know you're safe," Quin responded, barely able to force the words past her trembling lips. "No, I'm stuck out here on this piece of shit until we can both get down." Petra pulled herself up into a sitting position with her feet braced on the rungs of metal below. "Are you going to help me, or are you just going to lie about all day?" "You should have come with warning labels," Quin muttered, untying the rope so that they could lower the man to the ground. "Here, you feed his safety line out to me and I'll lower. You ready?" she asked. Petra, sitting perched near the end of the crane's arm, nodded. She was shaking with fear, but she was determined to do her part. Gritting her teeth, she tried to forget about where she was and to concentrate on the job. She untangled the line while Quin held the man in place. Then she wrapped the rope around her back. Her muscles were straining as she took the man's weight on her line. "I'm ready," Petra said, and together, they worked to bring the injured man down to the ground, where the construction medics already waited with an ambulance. Once they saw the man was safe, they took a moment to rest. Then Quin leaned past Petra to look over the side again. "What are you doing?" Petra grabbed Quin's leg. "I've got to get that axe blade out of there so we can use this crane again," Quin said. "Are you nuts?" "Some think so." Quin hung halfway off the crane to free the twisted metal from the chain links. Petra wrapped her arms more firmly around Quin's legs. The chain freed, Quin clumsily slid back again with the mangled pickaxe in one hand. "Petra?" "Yes?" "Thanks for helping out." They crawled along the metal arm and back through the window. Petra was in Quin's face the moment her feet hit the floor of the cab. "That was about the dumbest thing I have ever seen! It's your job to delegate responsibility, not risk your own life playing Joe Hero. Do you have a rescue squad on site? Well, do you?" "Yes, we do," Quin said, "but they're certainly not trained in climbing—" "And neither are you," Petra interjected. "You, who are always going on about the company. Damn it, you're the overseeing director of Vossler's Eastern division. Did you ever stop to consider the ramification to the company if we have to replace you?" Quin said nothing. It was Quin's nature to take charge and to take action, and in this case, it had been a stupid decision. She should have trusted others to handle the situation, no matter how dangerous the rescue. Quin looked at the crane operators standing in the corner. Petra realized she should have waited to express her anger privately, but it was too late now. The damage had been done. They had all lost face. Petra lowered her voice. "I need to calm down before I climb down the ladder. In the meantime, would you please talk to these men and find out what happened?" "Yes." Quin clenched her jaw. Petra looked at her sharply and began her descent from the crane. Chapter 15 Quin found a driver to take Petra back to the ship. She spent the rest of the day interviewing people to find out what had gone wrong. She wrote up her accident report and sent copies to head office, the Chinese Workers Union, and the company's lawyers and insurance company. On the way back to the ship, she stopped at the hospital to see the injured worker. She learned that Petra had already visited him. The doctor assured Quin that although it was a bad break and skin grafts would be needed, the man would have good use of the leg again once the bones knit. Relieved, tired, and hungry, Quin made her way back to the ship. Some time later, Petra found Quin alone in the dining room, picking at a sandwich. She slipped into the seat across from her and waited for Quin to make eye contact. "I didn't handle that very well. I shouldn't have chewed you out in front of the workers, and I should have waited until I was calmer before I addressed the issue. I'm sorry, Quin." Quin took a few seconds to pull herself together. "You were right. I made a poor decision. The operators thought you were angry with them and wanted them fired because they hadn't seen the worker dangling from the chain. I handled it." "Good. I'm sorry this happened," Petra said. She felt really rotten about showing her anger in front of the workers, even though she knew she was right. "Me, too," Quin responded, still not looking up. Petra waited, but Quin said nothing more. Petra said good night and went back to their cabin. Quin didn't come to bed that night. Instead, she dozed on the love seat in their salon. For the next few days, Quin worked on site and Petra filled her time taking side tours with other passengers. Quin looked strained and worried. That bothered Petra more than Quin's stiff manner. Over those few days, Petra had a lot of time to think about her feelings for Quin. Did she want to spend the rest of her life alone? Was there a chance she could have a happy relationship with Quin? On Friday, they packed once more. Quin hired a car to take them over the pass and down into the flatlands that formed the delta basin of the Yangtze River. They would drive as far as Wuhan and then pick up a commercial flight to Shanghai. As they left, Quin resumed the role of a tour guide. "The Yangtze is the third longest river in the world. The lock system we're currently working on will have 23 locks or elevator locks, and there will be a turbine station at both the north and south ends, with a total of 26 turbines in all. We're also building a smaller dam over there, to protect some valuable orange and tangerine orchards. We hope to have the whole dam completed by 2009." They passed the construction site and went across a new bridge. Quin tried to break the tension between them. "This is considered to be a lucky bridge because it's 1018 meters long. The number one symbolizes self, and eight symbolizes money, so eighteen means 'I will get money.' Remember I told you on one of the first days you were here that there's meaning to everything in China." Petra seemed to make an effort to shake off her blue mood and meet Quin half way. "This construction is costing a fortune. How will China pay for it?" "The dam is being financed by the World Bank and foreign loans. Each person in China pays a surtax of twenty-three cents a year, as well. The local provinces are also taxed on their revenue. Once the first stage of turbines are in use, the sale of power will also help to cover the cost of the construction. But it's a big investment and risk. Overall, the dam will cost 239 billion Chinese dollars. In any currency, that's a lot of money." They rode over the mountain pass and down onto the plain. For the first time, Quin was able to show Petra the China of legend: rice paddies and fields being plowed by water buffalo. They made one stop before lunch at a government-run jewellery shop. Shortly before noon, they reached Wuhan. Quin took them to the local European business hotel. They cleaned up in the washrooms and then met in the restaurant for lunch. As always, the turning tray in the centre of the table was piled with tasty courses. They ate in awkward silence. Quin reached over with her chopsticks and placed a particularly good piece of spicy meat on Petra's plate. Petra smiled in thanks, and for the first time since the accident on the crane, they made eye contact. It only lasted a second, and then Quin looked at her plate again. "Quin, we need to talk." Quin continued to eat, although food had no appeal for her. "About what?" She could think of all sorts of topics, and they were all going to be bad news. "Us." Quin hated these sorts of conversations. People never seemed to say what they meant. "We are not an 'us.' You're the future owner and a member of the board of directors of the company I work for. I don't think for a minute that you're here to see China. You're far too bright and competent a woman to need a nursemaid. You, and maybe your father, have some secret agenda. I'm not stupid, Petra. And I guess I've messed up my evaluation pretty badly. Let's just eat and get out of here." "No. We need to talk." Petra hesitated before continuing. "You're right, I was sent here by my father. There are some issues..." "I know about your father's illness," Quin said. "How?" "I just do. You don't need to worry. Word hasn't gotten out. It's part of my job to know. Power lies in knowing more than anyone else." Quin said, pouring tea for both of them. "My father and I aren't your enemies. We're on the same team." "For the time being, anyway. None of us would benefit if this information were to become public yet. If it got out before your father picks a successor, it could hurt the stock." Quin sipped her tea. "Who do you think should replace my father?" "You. You know your stuff, and you'd be a natural leader, but I don't think you're interested. You've made quite a name for yourself in your own field. There are a few men who have the experience and knowledge to do an adequate job. They won't make the company grow, but they'll bring stable leadership. It doesn't matter to me. My loyalty is to Kurt Vossler. He gave me my start in life, and trusted me to get the job done. When he goes, I go." Petra studied the pattern on the small teacup she held in her hand. "What if he chose you?" Quin laughed. "I don't think he'd be comfortable with that. I'm too young, and I'm not known for my conservative ways." "You are known for getting the job done, however, and your sector has consistently shown the most growth. Your academic profile is excellent, and you've always turned a profit, no matter how big the job you've taken on." "Is this a possibility?" "Yes. That's why I'm here." Quin said nothing. There wasn't much to say. Since her evaluation had started, she'd made a pass for the boss's daughter, gotten herself stabbed, and handled a major accident at the site badly. Petra went on. "I need to talk about us, where we're going." Quin assumed her career with Vossler Engineering was over, and she was prepared to move on. Face was everything, and she felt she'd lost it with the company. Petra's question made Quin's mouth go dry and her stomach knot. "What do you mean?" "I mean that I've been thinking over a lot of things on this trip, and I've realized that I need to move on." Petra made eye contact with Quin. "I find you to be a truly amazing person. You've done wonders for the company out here, and you risked your life to save one of your workers. That had to be the bravest things I've ever witnessed." "I thought it was the stupidest," Quin said, but then softened the retort by adding, "Besides, you were right out there with me." "Yeah, it was stupid by western standards. But your action gained great respect from the workers, didn't it?" "In oriental cultures, you're expected to take responsibility for the successes and the failures in your leadership. Yes, I gained respect, but I could have taken responsibility and leadership by just letting the rescue squad do the job they're paid for." Quin played with her tea cup. "I was lucky you were there to help me, or I could have really been in trouble." "Maybe, but I shouldn't have lost my temper. It wasn't out of anger for your actions, but out of real fear for your safety. I... I... find that I... care for you. Very much." There was a long silence. Finally, Quin spoke. "I'm not sure I understand what you're saying. Are you saying I'm no longer bound by the promise I made to you?" "Yes, that's what I am saying. I'm the daughter of a wealthy and powerful man, so I know what it's like to be used for professional advancement. I want you to know before we go any farther that before I came out here, I'd already advised my father to groom you to become president when he steps down. Coming here hasn't changed my view, in fact, it's strengthened it. Whatever happens between us won't be connected in anyway to your career. So if that's what your passes were all about, then let's let this conversation drop." Quin tried to digest the information. Vaguely, she was aware that there was a good chance she could become president of a successful and growing company. But what was foremost on her mind was that Petra was saying that she had a chance with her. She swallowed twice, then tried to get her voice back. "I'll admit that the thought of a casual relationship to develop better ties with your father crossed my mind more than once." Quin saw Petra cringe and hurried on. "But that didn't turn out to be my motivation. I... confess I'm attracted to you." "Well, let's just take it from there then. I need time. I—" "I understand," Quin cut in. She didn't need to hear any comments about Val at that moment. "We should be going now." As they left the hotel a few minutes later, Quin hesitantly took Petra's arm as they walked to the car. Chapter 16 They drove to the airport. An hour later, they boarded a flight to Shanghai. On the plane, Quin caught up on paperwork and Petra read a book. At Shanghai, Petra saw yet another side of Quin and China. A chauffeur and porter waited for them. They were led to a Mercedes Benz limo and driven to the Peace Hotel. Quin was barely in the car before she was on the phone contacting local business people and arranging meetings. This Quin was all business. She was no longer the engineer, but the developer: hard, aggressive, and focussed. Petra listened with one ear as she looked out the window. Shanghai was mind-boggling. On almost every block, new buildings were going up. Nor was it the low-budget, quick construction one usually associated with a developing nation growing quickly. These were beautiful designer buildings erected by huge international corporations. The skyline of Shanghai was not of a modern city of the twentieth century, but a futuristic backdrop of where the twenty-first century would be taking the world. It was totally shocking to Petra to find this world of wealthy capitalism in the heart of communist China. The porter ran forward to open their door and welcomed Quin by name. Quin didn't sign in at the desk but rather led Petra to the elevators. "I keep a suite here," she explained. "Most of Vossler's Eastern division business deals are made here. The Peace Hotel is considered to be a classic example of art deco. We'll be staying in the same room as Noel Coward used. He did some of his writing here. The hotel is old, but I like to stay here. It's on the Bund, which was the old British sector of Shanghai." The large suite looked across the Bund and the busy Yangtze River harbour to a cityscape from the space age. The salon had a high ceiling with a cut-glass chandelier illuminating the room. The furniture was dark green leather, soft and warm, and the carpet Persian. The bedroom was as beautiful as the rest of the suite, the king-size bed and dresser a deep, rich cherry wood. Quin went right to the phone and continued making her contacts. She watched Petra as she looked around. After hanging up, Quin walked over to Petra. "This is my apartment," she said. "No one else uses it." Petra eyed the bed. "I don't bring people here," Quin added. "Until now," she said in almost a whisper as she moved to fold Petra in her arms. "I won't push you, Petra, but I do want you. I want you very much." Slowly, gently, she ran her hands over Petra's back. She pulled away to look deeply into Petra's soft, chocolate-brown eyes and then lowered her head to claim Petra's lips. The kiss at first was the softest touch, then deepened and grew hungry as they reacted to an explosive need that spread like wildfire through them. With a moan, Quin broke the kiss and buried her face in Petra's hair. For a long time they stood there, just holding on to each other, enjoying the feeling of deep pleasure it gave them. For Petra, the kiss had released feelings of passion she had thought herself incapable of achieving again. But it had also opened a door to guilt and sorrow. She found tears rolling down her face as she clung to Quin desperately. This was so hard, yet wonderful, too. They went out to dinner at a night market. Quin greeted and shook hands with people in various stalls and introduced Petra as her friend. They sat under trees hanging with yellow lights inside red paper lanterns. Petra watched as the cook prepared thin rice noodles. He twirled and twisted the dough in the air, cut it quickly when it landed on the wooden cutting table, and whipped it back up so that it separated into hundreds of perfect strands. The whole process seemed one graceful movement. He formed the noodles into a bird's nest and dropped it into boiling water. He sent the nests down a stream of cold water that ran in a channel across the tables past the patrons, who reached in with chopsticks and pulled out fresh noodle nests as they desired. Each table had an array of sauces for the noodles. Petra favoured the honey-mustard with the pieces of pigeon, while Quin liked the lemon-orange glaze over bits of shark fin. After their meal, they walked hand-in-hand through the market, looking at the various stalls. Petra bought a jacket with a delicate peacock pattern in deep, rich colours on a weave of gold silk. It was late when they finally took a taxi back to the hotel. In their suite, Petra realized she'd at long last given Quin the green light, but with the moment near at hand, she was getting cold feet. Quin checked her e-mail and then walked over to where Petra stood, sorting through things in her suitcase and delaying the inevitable. "No clothes tonight," Quin whispered into Petra's neck. She held Petra gently and dropped soft kisses on her flesh. "No sex, either. Let's just get used to holding each other close and being a couple." Petra snuggled deeply into Quin's arms. "This isn't really fair to you, is it?" "This is new territory for me. I'm not looking for a fling, nor am I looking for business sex. I... I think... I think I'm in love with you." Petra pulled back and opened her mouth to speak, but Quin placed her finger quickly across Petra's lips. "No, don't say it. I know, and I don't want to hear about her now. I just needed you to know, because it's important to me that I do this right." Quin held Petra tight and felt her relax in her arms. She nuzzled and kissed her. Slowly, she removed Petra's clothes until she held Petra naked against her. Petra was beautiful, her body fit and soft to the touch. Quin swung Petra up into her arms and carried her to their bed. With Quin leaning over Petra, their eyes locked and Quin's lips claimed Petra's in a long, deep, needy kiss. Then, straightening, Quin undressed in front of Petra. She slipped in beside Petra and leaned over to claim another kiss. The kiss once again deepened, and Quin let her body lower so that their naked forms touched. Their tongues tasted each other and entered into a ritual exchange that was only the beginning of what they needed to do to each other. Petra felt Quin forcing herself to slow down, to pull back. It was hard for her, too. Her body was ready for this, but she wasn't sure she was emotionally ready to commit to another. Quin sighed and pulled Petra to her, curling her body around her. Petra nestled close. The sensation of Quin's breasts pressing against her arm excited Petra to the depth of her soul. How many times had Quin bedded a woman? Had it felt like this? This was wonderful. This was special. Was it just as special for Quin? Petra kissed Quin's hand curled around her own. Quin had brought warmth back to her soul. For far too long, her heart had been frozen in a painful winter of sorrow. She snuggled closer to Quin and let sleep take her. Chapter 17 Petra woke still entwined with Quin, who lay on her back, asleep. Petra liked the feeling of lying with her head tucked beneath Quin's chin. She liked it so much she decided not to get up as she normally would, but to just lie there holding Quin as close as she could. I love you, too, she said silently, and kissed Quin's head. It was different, so different from the way it had been with Val. It was Val who needed holding, who needed protecting, her energetic and happy public face gone in the privacy of their room and replaced with the insecurity and inadequacy that she was always trying to live down. Quin had captured her heart, and with Quin she could love again, live again, be happy again. Was that fair to Quin? How could she let Quin know there was no competition? They were two very different people who belonged in two different regions of her heart. She sat up and leaned over to kiss Quin's lips. Quin drew her closer. "I think I love you, Quin. I want you to feel every sensation of my body against yours. Let me make love to you." They kissed, and the kiss was a portal to a world of sensation, their lovemaking hot, needy and long. They took turns to bring gasps and moans of delight from the other's lips. Completely exhausted, they lay amongst crumpled sheets. Petra kissed again the wet, warm hairs of Quin's sex, and then leaned her head on her lover's abdomen. "That was wonderful. You're wonderful. I'm so glad you're in my life, Quin." Quin kissed her gently. "That was great. Petra, I love you. I don't want this to end. I don't know..." Petra touched Quin's lips with her own. "Hey, this is our first day as lovers. Let's just enjoy this moment and worry about the fallout later, okay?" "Okay." Quin shifted slightly. "You hungry?" "Starved," Petra said. "Come on." She tugged Quin's hand. "Shower with me." Quin used the water and her lips and hands to do things to Petra's body that made her come with a cry of ecstasy, clinging to Quin as the aftershocks coursed through both their bodies. After they finally emerged from their room, they ate at a small restaurant on the edge of the old Chinese sector of Shanghai. They lunched on shish kebabs of roasted duck in a honey glaze over a bed of rice. In this area of China, food was sweeter rather than spicy. Then Quin showed Petra another side of her world. They wandered through the streets, surrounded by thousands of bikes and hundreds of dialects and absorbed all the sights and sounds of China. Down many of the older streets, laundry hung across the thoroughfare from one window to another. Down another alleyway, a woman cooked in an open kitchen. Several beat-up kitchen tables and chairs at the side of the street formed the eating area. Two men, grimy and grim, sat hunched over bowls of fried rice at one table, and at another a group played cards. Along the street, rows and rows of bikes stood waiting for their owners to return. A woman dressed in a business suit peddled past wearing a cotton shawl that covered her arms and shoulders from the burning rays of the sun. She skillfully swerved around a man pulling a two-wheeled handcart loaded with cantaloupes. Deeper and deeper they wove their way into the heart of China. They ended up at the Yu Yuan garden, which had been built many years before by an official of the emperor. The official had fallen out of favour and had retired to this garden paradise in the heart of the Chinese sector. "Everything in Chinese culture..." Quin began. "...has meaning," Petra finished. They laughed. "I'm glad you've learned that lesson," Quin said. "This garden is a good place to prove it." They walked into the cool of the public garden. Despite the fact that the house and garden were surrounded by the crowded city, the garden created the illusion of the country. Stone walls, a man-made mountain, and trees formed natural barriers, sealing the huge garden off from the noise and crowds of the city around it. They sauntered along a red zigzag bridge to a pagoda in the centre of a small lake and fed scraps of bread to the golden carp. "The bridge is made this way so the owners of the house could walk safely at night. Ghosts can only move in a straight line, so if one was following you in the dark you'd be able to escape once you crossed the bridge." They ambled on, Petra's arm linked over Quin's. They walked beside a stone wall over which tree blossoms hung in colourful profusion, filling the air with sweet perfume. Quin pointed to a series of lattice scenes that had been inserted over the open windows in the wall. "This one is of a plum tree and cranes. It symbolizes the life of a famous ancient poet who fell out of favour with the court and spent the rest of his days raising plums and cranes. That, in turn, reflects the life of Yu Yuan." "Symbolism," remarked Petra. "Yes, everything has meaning, often meaning within meaning. In a society that had to guard every word in order to survive, symbolism becomes a way to communicate safely. But it's not all so complex. Many symbols are there just to bring luck, or joss, as they Chinese call it. They're great believers in joss." "Are you?" Quin kissed the top of Petra's head lightly. "Well, you came into my life, and I consider that great joss." They walked on, holding hands, to the first of three teak pavilions, each on its own island in a series of interconnected lakes. At the gate was the usual raised step to keep demons out, and huge stone Chinese lions were on either side. "This is the male lion. Under his foot is a round ball showing his mastery over the world. Note that the stone ball is carved to look like a ball of thread. It represents the thread balls that young girls throw to the boys they like. It's a symbol of the dominance of the male over his household, but also a symbol of devotion and love. The female lion, over here, has a cub under her paw, symbolizing discipline and nurturing. Only noble families had the right to have these sorts of lions at their doors." Quin described the various small bronze figures that stood along the roof line of each of the pavilions. On one roof peak were water dragons to help put out fires and on another, the disgraced official had placed figures of the leading generals of the time, hoping to have their support and protection from the anger of the emperor. On the third building was the typical row of mystical animals, each one representing a characteristic of the emperor's rule. They entered the building, passing into a living area. On a large rectangle slab of marble sat on an ornately carved base. The grain in the marble looked like a stylized landscape of mountains and trees. It was similar to the marble landscape she had purchased as a gift for her father on one of her first days in China. "To draw evil spirits away and trap them inside," Petra said, remembering what Quin had told her when she bought the gift. Perched on the other end of the side table was a large, glazed vase. "The word vase in Chinese sounds the same as the word peace," Quin explained, "so the large vase symbolizes the tranquility within the home." "We'll have to get one," Petra said, squeezing Quin's arm. "I have several in my home." "I thought your home was the suite here in Shanghai." "No, it's just my base, because most business deals are made in Shanghai. My home is on the hill in Hong Kong." "Symbolism, right?" "To live on the hill is to have money and power." Petra stopped to look at the top of the wall that encircled the huge garden. A huge stone dragon lay from one side to the other. Close to the main gate, the dragon's head reared up and watched those that came and left. "The dragon guards the garden. It's a lucky symbol and is associated with rain. Do you see the stone toads between the paws of the dragon? Dragons eat toads, and toads live on the saliva of dragons. Yin and Yang. It's the way of life." Just outside the garden gates, a covered walkway led to the busy, narrow streets of the Chinese sector again. Old people had gathered to sing, tell stories, and drink tea from jars. Petra and Quin observed as several people played traditional instruments and an old woman and man sang and acted out parts of a famous opera. "In China, people must make their space. Unlike North America, the old are visible and part of the community. You'll see them lawn-bowling in the parks, playing card and domino games along the promenade, sitting outside stores at night, or they find a place like this where they can make music and tell stories." "Do you see your stepmother?" Petra asked, as they moved on. "Of course. You'll meet Huang Qui in Hong Kong. She stays in my house when I'm not in North America. She's very wise, and I listen to her advice. She bullies me." "Now, that I have to see! Quin, does she know about your orientation?" Quin nodded. "She tried her best to marry me off, but has resigned herself to the fact that I'm gay. It doesn't please her. She says it's because the ancestors were not pleased with my father, who wasn't a very good man until he met my mother. That's why they sent the typhoon that killed my parents." "Do you believe that?" Petra asked. Quin flagged a taxi. "1 believe my father was a rogue, and my mother was a woman of belief and spirit. No one, not even a god, controls my fate," Quin replied. They got into the cab and Quin gave directions. Then Petra teased, "Except your stepmother." Quin laughed. "Yes. Gods 1 don't fear, but Huang Qui... Well, around her I behave." "Will taking me home be a problem? Because if it is..." Petra started. "No, it won't. She'll be pleased that I've found someone to love." Quin squeezed Petra's hand. "Of course, she won't say so, but the symbols will be there." They had afternoon tea in the restaurant of the Shanghai Museum. Then they spent hours walking around the modern building looking at a magnificent collection of artifacts. There were areas dealing with the ancient ink paintings and poems, coins, armor, bronze work and ceramics. Petra was again amazed at the enormity of China's history and culture. When they returned to the hotel, the night skyline of Shanghai looked like the backdrop from a futuristic movie. Quin checked her email, and after a quick shower together, they were once again back in bed. They kissed softly and enjoyed sleeping in each other's arms. Chapter 18 Later that evening, Petra washed and dressed and called room service to send up dinner. Petra decided to e-mail her father. She hadn't done so for several days, and she had much to tell him. Would he be able to read between the lines and realize his daughter had fallen in love? How would he react if Quin were part of her life? She didn't want to go down to the business centre to use the internet connections there in case room service came before she got back. Quin's computer sat on the table, still on from when she had logged in to check her business e-mail before they showered. She connected to the server and moved Quin's open disc folder aside. She was shocked to see that one of the discs in the leather folder was labeled Kurt Vossler and another, Petra Vossler. Petra took out the disc which bore her name and slipped it into the drive. A massive file opened. Petra skimmed through the data, documents, and pictures. Everything was there. It was clear that Quin had known about her relationship with Val long before her father had. Even her school and medical records were there. She yanked the disc from the drive and inserted her father's file. It was just as detailed. Quin hadn't just been casually gathering information where she could. She had been actively spying on them. Petra examined the names on the other discs-one for each of the regional directors. How did Quin get this information? More important, how did she use it? Petra's anger built. Quin had played her for a fool. Here she had let herself love again, only to discover that she was just a part of Quin's planning and manipulation. She stormed into the bedroom, shaking with rage. She grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table and splashed it into Quin's face. Quin came up spluttering and furious. "What the hell!" "What the hell? Let me tell you what the hell. You spy on us! You have great big damn files on us. You know more about me than I know about myself. God damn you, Quin. This was just a nasty, sneaky game of conquest wasn't it? I'm just another of your many." "What? Petra, that's not—" "I don't want to hear anymore of your lies. I'm out of here." She turned and stormed off. Quin chased after her to the door, but other than running naked after her down the hall, there was little she could do to stop Petra. She ran to the bedroom and threw on some clothes, then went in search of Petra. Petra took a taxi straight to the airport, planning to head home on the earliest flight. To her dismay, she realized she didn't have her passport with her. She was damned if she was going back to Quin's suite while Quin was there. Instead, she went over to a travel desk and made arrangements to take a tour of Guilin and the Li River first thing in the morning. She hoped by the time she got back, Quin would have gone and she could pick up her things and leave without ever having to see the woman again. Petra bought a chocolate bar and sat on a bench in a quiet corner of the airport and tried to rest. She drifted in and out of sleep, a nightmare of her fight with Quin repeating over and over again in her mind. By dawn, she was crumpled and miserable. She freshened up in the ladies room and then rushed to catch her flight. The guide who picked Petra up at the Guilin airport explained that the city got its name from a yellow flowering tree called Gui. The suffix I in meant forest. The blossoms were well-known in China because yellow is the imperial colour. He left Petra at the hotel to register and went to pick up the other guests who would be doing the tour that day. Petra booked her room. She crossed the street to walk along the wide promenade and look over the stone railing to the Li river below. Guilin was a pleasant city, with a broad promenade and parkland that ran along the edge of the river. Vendors in small stalls sold crafts, water, and food. In the early morning, people gathered along the shore to do their exercise, which Petra had observed was true in many of the places she'd visited while in China. One woman sold soup from a small hand cart. Petra saw the ingenious woman slip her only bowl into a plastic bag, fill the bowl with soup, and give it to a man who drank it down directly from the sanitized bowl. When he finished, the woman put the plastic bag in a container to be washed later and slipped a new plastic bag on the bowl for the next customer. Petra took in the sights and sounds, but her emotional pain left her detached and isolated. Her guide returned with a vanload of tourists, and Petra climbed in. Petra made the necessary small talk with her new traveling companions. The guide took them past rice fields flooded and ready for new crops and new fields being turned over by farmers in wide-brimmed reed hats. They guided single-blade plows pulled by water buffalo. In the distance were the tall, cone-shaped mountains the area was famous for. A half-hour's drive brought them to the large riverboats that would take them on their lazy, two-hour trip through some of the most spectacular scenery in the world. The area had been the subject of hundreds of paintings and poems over thousands of years. Petra tried to be excited about seeing this wonderland, but her heart ached. She should have known Quin would play her for a fool. She was well-aware of Quin's reputation, both in business and in bed. Why did she think she would be any different? As quickly as she could, she left the others to eat their meal below deck while they waited for the boat to leave and went to stand on the upper deck where she could be alone. She heard a commotion on shore. Looking up to the promenade above, she saw Quin running full tilt down the street, people scattering in all directions as she darted through the crowds. Angry voices followed her as she leapt over the guide rail and loped down the stairs. Petra felt the rumble of the engines, and the river boat edged away from the dock. Quin was too late. Petra wasn't sure if she was relieved or upset by that. By dawn, Quin was frantic. Generally, street crime in China was very low, but a young European woman out late at night would be a target in any city. In the hours that Quin had searched, she had imagined unspeakable things. Early that morning, she got a lead. Petra's name had shown up on the passenger list of a plane heading for Guilin. Quin hired a small plane, registered her flight with the authorities, and made a dash to the airport. At the hotel, Quin discovered Petra was part of a tour. She bought a ticket, hailed a taxi, and ordered it to go as fast as it could to the wharf. Throwing money on the seat, Quin leapt from the old car before it hnd completely stopped. She ran to the railing overlooking the small harbour. Below, she saw that the large sightseeing boat was making ready to sail. As she ran down the hill, she saw the boat pulling away. She didn't stop to think. She increased her speed, and with a superhuman effort, jumped. Her flight was cut short as she hit the hull of the ship and, grabbing for the rails of the stern deck, she managed to hold on, her feet trailing in the water. The kitchen staff, who used the stern deck for cooking, yelled angrily at her as they hauled her aboard the ship. Quin yelled back, pushing her way through to the main salon and handing an infuriated first mate her ticket as she sloshed through the crowd of startled tourists in the dining area. Petra wasn't there. Quin stood on the front deck. She was exhausted, dirty, hungry, wet, and frantic with worry. Petra got to her feet as she saw Quin make a mad dive for the stern of the ship. Leaning over the rail, heart in her mouth, she saw Quin clinging to the stern of the ship and being hauled up by angry crew members. She went rushing down the stairway, but was blocked from getting to Quin by the crush of crew in the small area. She could hear Quin's voice yelling over the angry voices in Chinese. Petra backtracked, cutting across the top deck and going down the stairwell at the bow of the boat. There she found Quin, leaning on a bulkhead, wet and dirty, her face buried in her hands. "Quin?" Quin looked up. Tears flowed from her eyes. She wrapped Petra in her arms and shook. Petra held on to Quin, but said nothing. At length, Quin pulled herself together. "You scared the hell out of me. I love you," she said between sniffs, her voice tight with stress. "Quin, you spied on me. You spy on everyone." Quin leaned against the bulkhead and looked at her feet. "I work and live on the other side of the earth from the parent company. To stay on top of things, I pay a lot of money for information." "That's really despicable. It's one thing to gather information where you can; that's just good business sense. It's quite another to investigate people's backgrounds in depth." "It's part of business at this level. Look, Petra, I'm not saying it's right, I'm just saying it's what I have to do to stay on top. I could have used the information over the years to do a lot of blackmailing to get what I want. I didn't." "What do you use it for, then?" "To stay one step ahead of everyone else. If the other regional managers need to know, they have to come to me. That puts them at a disadvantage." Quin scraped a bit of river weed off her one running shoe with the toe of the other. "And did you tell them about my father to gain points?" Quin looked up, her eyes blazing with anger. "Of course not. I told you that already. I don't play those sorts of games." "But you were prepared to wine, dine, and bed me to improve your position with the company, weren't you?" "At first, yes. I told you that, too. I haven't been lying to you. I was annoyed at first that I was going to have to take time from the site to show you around, and then I thought I could use the visit to my advantage. When I realized you were here to evaluate me, I tried to back off, but I couldn't. I'd fallen in love with you." There was a long silence while Petra tried to come to terms with what Quin had told her. She thought her heart was going to burst with pain, but she knew she couldn't stop loving Quin. Petra stepped forward into Quin's arms, and Quin held her close. "I'm sorry," Quin said. Petra nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. They stood for a long time, just holding on to each other. They found a quiet spot to sit at the bow of the ship to watch the scenery of the Li valley together. The mountains rose on each side like magical islands on the fertile plains. Along the way were small, quaint villages, children swimming, water buffalo soaking or grazing on the tender grass growing on river deltas, farmers working in the fields, and people fishing with small hand nets or diving for snails from narrow bamboo rafts. One of the serving crew came by and offered them the local snake wine. Petra looked slightly pale as she looked into the big jug the waitress held up, filled with a golden liquid and with the dead remains of several snakes floating around in the bottom. Quin declined on their behalf. "Do people really drink that?" Petra asked. "Some of the old still do, but mostly it's made for the tourists." Quin pointed out an old man on the shore who had two cormorants sitting on each end of a pole he carried over his shoulders. "He's a fisherman. The birds have a band around their necks to stop them from swallowing fish. They catch the fish and bring them back to the fisherman. At the end of the day, the fisherman takes the band off and feeds the birds." It was a picturesque world; one belonging to another era. Petra sat close to Quin as she experienced it. She and Quin still had a lot of issues they needed to work out, and that wasn't going to be easy. When she had seen the despair in Quin's face when she thought Petra was not on the ship, she knew that Quin did, indeed, love her. Somehow, they'd find a way to make this work. They shopped in Guilin for fresh clothes before heading back to their hotel. Then they took turns showering, Quin emerged from her hot shower stark naked as she dried her hair with a towel. Petra, sitting in a hotel robe, let her eyes drift over her figure with hunger. Quin saw the look and dropped the towel on the floor. She knelt before Petra. "I want you. More than that, I love you," she said in her serious way. Petra wrapped her arms around Quin's neck. Quin scooped her up and carried her to their bed. With passion tempered by love, Quin moved her hands over Petra's breasts and teased them with her lips. She gave Petra as much pleasure as she could and then, as she felt Petra nearing the brink, she entered her and moved with her until the climax made them both moan with pleasure and seek each other's lips. It was a night of love, each trying to wash away the hurt and fear that they had felt at being separated from one another. Chapter 19 Their talk the next morning was a hard and often emotionally charged, but in the end, they were able to find some common ground. Quin agreed to try to change her ways so that Petra would be able to respect and love her. Petra promised to respect the differences in their cultural upbringings. They used the afternoon to see the Reed Flute Cave before flying back to Shanghai. Then, after a night of love, they flew by commercial airline to Hong Kong. Quin arranged for their baggage to be sent on to her house and then hailed a taxi for them. She took Petra to a shopping area near Repulse Bay. It was crammed with the most fabulous clothes and furniture, all packed into small stores along narrow streets. Soon poor Quin was weighed down with parcels as Petra moved from one store to another with a predatory gleam in her eye. At noon, they took a water taxi around to see the sampans, the huge teak fishing boats that people lived on. They ate freshly grilled tuna aboard the famous Jumbo floating restaurant, and then they packed Petra's shopping treasures into a taxi and headed up to Victoria Peak. They got out at the viewing area; Quin sent the cab on to deliver the parcels at her house nearby. Hong Kong's skyscrapers were spread out around the bay far below them and the bay water sparkled like diamonds. They stood against the stone wall and looked down on the old British colony, now a free trade zone of China. "I've always wanted to come to Hong Kong," Petra said from inside the circle of Quin's arms. "It's a city of legend." "I remember my first trip here years ago, as a young girl. It was a booming city then, a centre of trade and commerce on the very hem of the bamboo curtain. Today, it's lost that edge. Shanghai is the centre of growth, now, but Hong Kong is still the port of entry to China for most Europeans, and it's an area of great wealth, power, and deep history. I love it here." Petra looked forlornly at Quin. "I have a good job at the university." She caught a tear before it fell. "What are we going to do about us, Quin?" "I'll ask your father for a transfer back to Canada when a position becomes available. I hope that position will be as first vice president to the company until your father retires, but if that's not the case, then I'll look for another job in the area." "But you love this place—" Petra protested, but she was stopped by Quin kissing her fingers and placing them on Petra's lips. "Yes, I do love the East, but I'm not Chinese, I'm Canadian. Canada is my home. We can keep my home here and still live in Ontario. Huang Qui would like that. She misses her Chinese friends in Toronto." "Are you sure?" Petra asked. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life. I want to make a life with you. Is that what you want, Petra?" "More than anything in this world." Together, they walked hand in hand down to their eastern home, all of China a backdrop to their dreams. KENYA Chapter 1 Alex Aubin awoke, cramped and groggy from lack of rest. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to stretch the kinks from her back without having to get out from under the warm cocoon of blankets. She saw her breath forming little clouds in the early dawn light. With a sigh, she gritted her teeth against the inevitable and sat up, shivering, qn the edge of the camp cot. She reached for her parka and pulled it on over her long Johns, stuck her woolly-socked feet into her mukluks, and went to stoke the small potbelly stove in the centre of the tiny cabin. The sap, released suddenly, hissed and spit as the dry wood caught the night's embers. Alex gave the fire one last fan to make sure the kindling was burning and closed the iron grate. She broke the crust of ice that had formed on the bucket of water, poured some into a basin, and set it on the stove to warm for washing. She set the coffeepot on the stove to percolate. While they heated, she made a quick trip to the outhouse. There was a good twenty centimetres of fresh snow on the ground. As she returned to the cabin, she could see little furry heads starting to rise from a cluster of snowy mounds. Her team dogs. "Breakfast soon, guys," she called, and was glad to step back into the cabin, which now seemed overly hot after her trip out back. She pulled off her top and washed as best as she could in the lukewarm water, dried quickly, and dressed in layers of warm clothes. Out came the frying pan, and into it went some back bacon. While the salty meat cooked, she mixed up egg and milk power with water, and after forking the bacon out onto a plate, she poured the mixture into the greasy frying pan. She let the mess fry into a solid mass while she cut thick slices of bread and lathered them with strawberry jam. Just as Alex was sitting down to eat, the door opened, letting a cold blast of arctic air in. It was Mike Jefferson, a Dene Indian, who was the local government agent. "Hey." He put Alex's rifle that he had taken yesterday, without asking, by the door. Private ownership was a white man's luxury. In the traditional communities of the north, communal living was necessary for survival. "Plenty of food in the pan," Alex said as she took a mouthful of greasy egg. Not so long ago, the thought of such a meal would have sent her into a fit. She had been a health food, fitness centre devotee. But the North set the rules, not the people who lived there. The cold made your body crave and need fat. The Dene and Inuit had evolved larger livers, over thousands of years, that helped them digest fat more easily. Alex had even been known to drop a slice of lard into her tea on the trail, as the old trappers did, to give her warmth. "Mary says most of the pain has gone. Grandmother said she slept well last night," Mike said as he slopped egg and bacon onto his plate and poured a coffee. "I went hunting so Grandmother could make her a rabbit stew." Mike would have had breakfast already. Grandmother would have seen to that but food, like everything else in the community, was shared. It would be rude for Alex not to offer, rude for her to comment on Mike walking into her cabin without knocking, rude to mention that she had noticed the gun missing, and rude, too, for Mike not to accept the food she had offered. "I'll check her before I leave. Does Grandmother understand how and when to give the antibiotics?" Alex asked, mopping up the grease on her plate with a slice of jam-covered bread. Would she ever be able to fit into polite Toronto society again? She had certainly changed in a short time. "She understands. Grandmother wants to know if she can take the medicine for her joints. They ache, she says." "No, I'll leave her some Tylenol. The antibiotics are to prevent Mary's incision from becoming infected. It needs to be watched. I only just got her appendix out before it burst. She was lucky." Mike smiled. "I told Grandmother this already, but she wanted that I asked you." Alex nodded, carrying her dishes to the stove where another bowl of water was heating to wash the dishes in. A thought came unbidden to her mind: where would Sarah be now? Chapter 2 Sarah had awoken that morning with a blinding headache. The smell of body odour, manure, and wood smoke was thick in the stale atmosphere. Outside, the mooing of hundreds of cows filled the air. She moved cautiously, trying not to disturb the other women who slept under the same blanket with her. Carefully she stepped over sleeping bodies and into the small area that served as a living and cooking space. The home was a small wattle and daub construction. That is, the frame was made from thick branches and the walls were a woven mesh of twigs. Over this a thick layer of mud was smoothed, and cow dung was used as a plaster finish. One came through a low doorway into a small entrance hall. To one side was a pen for the goats and calves. Then the small hall opened into a tiny living area. On either side were alcoves, one for the women to sleep in and one for the young boys. Five women shared the dirt floor covered with a few tatty grey wool blankets. Maria's mother, Maria, her two daughters, and Sarah. On the other side, Maria and Tolla's two young sons slept. Tolla had not slept there last night. He had either slept in his own house or with one of his other wives in her hut. Tolla was a very rich man, and the village chief. He had four wives. Maria was, however, his first wife, so she had power over the other women in the village. The house had no windows. The only light came from a small ventilation hole that let the smoke out. Sarah unwrapped a bundle of damp leaves and blew on the wad of dry straw within. It glowed red as the embers of wood that had been packed carefully in the centre last night caught. Sarah added kindling and got a tiny fire going to take the chill from the morning air. Maria's mother felt the cold now. This done, she walked stooped through the low-roofed home and removed the strips of wood that blockaded the door. With relief, she straightened up outside. Most of the village men were up and moving about in the herd of cattle that had been driven inside the bush palisade. It was a rich village, with over six hundred head of cattle. The beasts pushed and shoved as they mooed to escape the packed confines. Tolla and two of his brothers singled out a cow. While the brothers held the terrified animal by its horns, Tolla shot an arrow into the vein of its neck. Then he quickly pulled it out and held a bowl against the wound to catch the blood that drained out. The blood would be mixed with cow's milk and eaten for breakfast by the village. The Masai ate only the meat, milk, and blood of their cattle. Once Tolla felt the cow had given enough blood, he sealed the wound with a handful of dung and passed the bowl of warm, steaming blood to one of his wives. She would mix it with the milk from one of the cows that had freshened and feed it to the children. The small village was a simple circle. There were four exits, one for each of the males who lived here, Tolla and his three younger brothers. Maria's house was just to the right of one of these entrances, and her husband's to the left. A man's first wife always held this position. To the left of the man's house would be his second wife, to the right of the house of the first wife would be the house of his third wife, and so on. One of the younger brothers was escorting a group of women outside to relieve themselves. Sarah joined the group. This early in the morning, there was the danger of predators: a hungry lioness, an old rogue wildebeest, or even an attack from a neighbouring village. That was likely under the circumstance. Yesterday, Sarah had been allowed to go with the men on a raid of a neighbouring village. It had been a great success, and they had taken back eleven of their cows despite the strong resistance of the enemy warriors. A return attack was to be expected. Sarah squatted with the other women just outside the compound walls while the warrior stood some distance off, long spear in hand, his back discretely turned to the women. Standing again, Sarah pulled back her shirt to look at her shoulder. The scratch she had gotten from a spear that had flown past her as she had run after the cows was now red and swollen. It had gotten infected during the night. Normally, Sarah would be staying at a bush camp where she could have attended to the minor injury easily, but the raid had gone on late, and it had been safer to stay at the Masai village. Tonight, back at the camp, she would give it a good cleaning and put on a disinfectant. She had not told Maria of the injury. She would have wanted to sterilize it with cow urine and stop the bleeding with dung. The women returned to the safety of the compound as the village gradually woke up and took on the slow easy pace of morning activities. People drank their milk and blood, and then the men herded the cows out to pasture. The women collected the fresh dung in their hands and used it to patch houses or dried it for fires. There were no teenage boys in the village at the moment. They were off participating in their initiation rites. Sarah ate a power bar from her knapsack and watched the activities. She had been studying the Masai traditional culture for nearly three years now, and was comfortable with their ways. She even understood enough of their language to communicate to some degree. When the women were finished with their morning chores, she would go with them, walking boldly across the Serengeti plain. No other tribal group would dare to do so unarmed. The Masai believed they were safe because the animals feared the red colour that they wore. The truth was more likely that the wild animals of the vast grassland sea had learned to have a healthy respect for the long spears, machetes, and clubs of the Masai. Dressed in brightly coloured robes of yellow and red with elaborate beadwork earrings and necklaces, the knot of women started off, their tall, lean bodies dwarfing Sarah Meloche's petite figure. The women laughed and sang or gossiped about recent events as they walked. Sarah was unusually quiet. Her mind had turned back to the nine-year relationship that she'd had with Alex Aubin. Alex had been finishing her premed studies; Sarah was working towards a doctorate in anthropology. They had met by chance in a bar frequented by lesbians. Their early years together had been magical, but thing had changed slowly. Alex had changed. She had graduated at the top of her class and had an outstanding clinical record. She could take her pick of positions. She was a child from the wrong side of the tracks who had been driven to succeed, and she had found the power and money that came from her success heady stuff. There were meetings, parties to meet the right people to further her career, and a sudden interest in cultivating the power image, where before, she'd been happy in blue jeans and a T-shirt. Sarah's parents had both been successful lawyers, and it had not been pleasant when she had shown up at home with an awkward and moody lesbian lover from the wrong side of the tracks. But with the exception of their alternative life style, Alex Aubin had become everything her parents would have wanted in a partner for Sarah. She was wealthy, ambitious, an important member of several business clubs, and a supporter of the arts. Everything that Sarah couldn't give a damn about. Sarah's degree in social science had led her to a more compassionate and deeper understanding of social structure. She had never had to do without, so she was not impressed by the trappings of success or wealth. Small philosophical disagreements had become raging battles between her and Alex. In the end, Sarah had packed her bags and left for Africa while Alex was away giving a talk on her first book, Living Healthy, Wealthy, and Wise. That had been three years ago. In a few days, she would meet Alex again in Nairobi. The letter had come last month. The postmark had been from Yellowknife on Great Slave Lake in the Northwest Territories. It was short and to the point, which was very much Alex's style. It read: "I have obtained your current address through your parents. I would very much like to fly out to Kenya and talk to you, if you 're willing. I want to try to rekindle our relationship." Had the letter ended there the answer would have been a resounding no, but in a hesitant hand Alex had added, "You see, I still love you, and I'm hoping that you might come to love me again." Sarah had written back, agreeing to the visit. Now, with the reunion just a few days off, she wasn't sure that had been wise. The problem wasn't that she had fallen out of love with Alex; she just couldn't live the life that Alex wanted her to. Had she stayed, she would have been the woman behind the great Doctor Alex Aubin. Alex's lover, social secretary, and hostess, no more than a politically-correct token for conservative power brokers to display to show what progressive thinkers they were. It was a shallow life, and one she wanted no part of. Her work in social anthropology helped to promote an understanding of cultural worldviews. Her material, when used properly, gave the business community tools to make successful ventures into a culturally-diverse world. It provided governments and sociologists with the raw material for constructing models and policies that were user-friendly, it helped the Masai to be better understood in an effort to protect their rights, and it recorded the depth and richness of traditional roots for future generations. Scientists such as Alex looked down on the so-called "soft" sciences as being frivolous and unimportant. This, as far as Sarah could see, was one of the biggest misconceptions in the modern world. Perhaps in the old Industrial Age, a glut of math and science people would have been handy, but this was a new era, the Age of Information, where globalization demanded flexibility, multi¬tasking, creative problem solving, and cultural and social awareness—all of which were skills of the arts and social science programs. Could she and Alex find some mutual respect and understanding? She very much doubted it, and that made her sad. The Masai Mara, "the bead language intestine," as it literally translated, was a vast ocean of tall, matted grasses that stretched as far as the eye could see. Masai meant "bead language," and Mara was added because the Mara River wound back and forth across the endless plains like a twisting intestine. It was the north end of the massive savannah area that stretched down into the Serengeti, where great migrating herds of wild African animals still roamed as they had for thousands of years. The sun beat down on the little party of women. The great plain had little shade. Sarah pulled her Tilley hat on and smeared sunblock on her fair skin. Being a strawberry blonde was not a favourable characteristic for living a life under the African sun. The Masai women with her laughed. Their dark skin was far more resistant to sun damage. The Masai were beautiful people, extremely tall, with wonderful posture and graceful movements. They pierced the lobes of their ears and stretched them into long loops as a sign of beauty. They were a proud people who had probably migrated thousands of years ago down the Nile Valley. Their cultural roots were strong, and they had steadfastly maintained their traditional ways against the Europeanization of Africa. Sarah laughed and joked with the women as they walked, carrying the tall spears of the Masai. The life of the women was hard. Most of the work done in the traditional Masai villages was done by the women. Girls were circumcised at puberty and would be married to a man in a nearby tribe who could afford the bride price of nine cows. Although discouraged by the government, Masai men who could afford to do so had more than one wife. She looked out over the rolling sea of grass. It was early July, and the huge herds of migrating animals were just starting to arrive in the area, making their way up from the now-dry and overgrazed lands in Tanzania. To the south, a herd of wildebeest and zebra moved in a line that stretched nearly to the horizon. "Lions' dinner comes," said one of the women with a laugh. "They will not want skinny, tough Masai woman when they can have a shiny-coated wildebeest." Chapter 3 The dogs were making a hell of a racket now, eager to be off. They had popped out from under their individual mounds of snow as if hatching from eggs when Alex, who had finished checking on Maria, had brought her knapsack out to the sled. Alex fed each dog a frozen slice of caribou meat, part of last fall's hunt. Just enough to give them energy, but not enough to make them lazy. They would get a much bigger feed tonight. One by one, she untied them from the line and attached them to the dog sled, making sure that she had first taken out the hook and line that was used as a brake on the sled and embedded it deeply into the snow. The eager sled dogs would take off without the brake in place, and a sled minus a driver could run over or into a ravine and drag the valuable dogs attached to it. The dogs were small and mismatched. They were true Indian sled dogs. The Huskies typically associated with sledding were really bred as pets. They were, compared to the Indian sled dogs, slow and lazy animals, and not used on any serious dog team. Alex had only two dogs that were one-quarter Huskies. They were bigger, heavier-set dogs, and she kept them at the back of the team for extra strength and traction on hills. Cleo, the smartest and most experienced animal, was the lead dog. She set the pace and made sure the other dogs followed her. She would listen closely to Alex's encouragements and orders and see that they were obeyed. A good lead dog was invaluable, and Cleo was one of the best. She was paired with Anthony, who showed great promise but was still young and a little too enthusiastic to be a lead dog. Behind them were Butch, Jasper, Sweetie, and Nugget, all Indian sled dogs, and then behind them, Nip and Tuck, the two Husky-mixes. Alex reviewed Maria's medication and care with Mike and then held on tight to the sled as she pulled the hook from the ground and placed it on the sled. "Hike-up!" Alex yelled. She ran, pushing the sled ahead of her, until her dogs had established a good momentum. Then she stepped onto the long runners and let the team pull her. Sliding between the two runners was a rubber mat. If Alex needed to slow the sled going down a hill so as not to overrun her dogs, she would step on the mat, creating drag. If there was a fork in the trail she would yell to Cleo "On by," or "Gee," to go right and "Haw" to go left, much as one did with a team of horses. To stop she'd yell "Whoa" and step hard on the rubber mat between the runners. Alex could have had a snowmobile. It would have been faster and far more convenient, but she loved shouting encouragement to her team and the sound of the whoosh of the blades across the snow. It was the greatest feeling of freedom and excitement. She had a good team, well-trained and in good shape. They ran full-out, barking with delight. On the hills, Alex would step off the runners and run behind the sled to help lessen the load for the dogs. In the turns, she would lean way out in the opposite direction to keep the sled from tipping over. It was a wild ride, and it made Alex laugh with sheer exhilaration. It was two days by dog team back to her place on the outskirts of Yellowknife. Then a commuter flight to Peace River and another to Edmonton. Her bags were already packed and ready to go. There would be only a couple of days to rest and see to the last-minute details with Doctor Lang, who was coming out of retirement to handle Alex's clinic and mind her house and dogs until she got back, and then she was off. An Air Canada flight first to Toronto, then British Airways to Britain and on to Nairobi, Kenya. In all, about twenty-four hours of flying time alone, not counting the layovers in between. What would it be like to see Sarah again? Could they make it work this time? All she knew for sure was that she had to try. Life without Sarah had been merely existence. Sarah had gone off like a bombshell in Alex's life. She recalled when they'd met. She'd been shooting some pool at the back of Krazy Kate's, and sipping at her third beer. It had been hot as hell that day, and Alex had gone straight from class to work the afternoon shift at the construction site. She laid brick. She was good at it. Both her dad and granddad had been masons, and they'd been damn good when they were on the wagon. It was late at night, and she was feeling a bit punchy with lack of sleep and not enough food to go with the beer. Sarah had arrived with two other women. They'd been to a show and had stopped in for a nightcap. The other two were clearly a couple, and Sarah was obviously a newbie. The beer had got her over there. The aggression brought on by the heat had kept her going. "You wanna dance?" she'd asked, politely enough, she'd thought. Sarah had looked up with eyes like a deer's in a pair of headlights. One of the other women looked concerned. "You don't have to, Sarah. If you don't feel like it you can just sit and have a beer with us." Alex had let a slow, sexy smile spread across her face. "I never take advantage of a woman on the dance floor... I only give private lessons. Come on, newbie, you're safe." The dark green eyes that she had looked down into had flashed with fire. "Oh, I'm not afraid. I'm just not sure dancing with you won't ruin my image." "Only one way to find out," Alex had said with a grin as she offered Sarah her hand. The small hand that had slid into her strong, calloused one was soft and warm. It felt just right there, and Alex was surprised at the sudden shot of desire that dropped to the centre of her need. She had smiled and thought, play your cards right, Alex, and you 're going to have virgin for dinner tonight. How wrong she had been. They had danced until Krazy Kate had thrown them out, and then Sarah had taken Alex to her apartment, cleaned her up, and made love to her until she thought her eyeballs would pop out with coming. The next morning, they had sat in Sarah's sunny breakfast nook enjoying coffee and chocolate croissants. Alex was making an effort to develop some table manners, mimicking Sarah's actions with deep concentration. It was a second before she realized that Sarah was checking her out with a look that could only be interpreted as predatory. "What?" Alex demanded, forgetting not to talk while she chewed. "I'm going to marry you," Sarah said simply, and took a sip of coffee. Alex's eyes had grown big with surprise, but she rallied quickly. "You're gonna have to do better than one night in the sack to get me to make a commitment, babe." Sarah's answer had been to stand up and slip her housecoat off. Alex savoured the beautiful, muscular body as Sarah came around and mounted Alex's lap. She wrapped her arms around Alex, and the kiss that followed almost tickled Alex's toes. Slowly, Sarah worked her way under Alex's T-shirt and panties until she was eating Alex for breakfast. Alex took it for as long as she could and then slipped like a puddle to the floor, where Sarah used her fingers to take Alex screaming over the top and rushing down the other side. "Marriage is a possibility," Alex had managed to mutter after. That had been a long time ago. After the first disastrous visit to Alex's family home, she had made up her mind that she would do everything she could to make Sarah proud and not let Sarah feel that she ever had to justify her love to anyone. Alex had done just that. She had not only excelled through her training but she had gone on to join one of the most prestigious medical associations in Vancouver, write a best seller on lifestyle and diet, join some of the best clubs, and cultivate an interest in the arts. Alex had thought that she had lived up to Sarah's trust and love in her. She knew they were going through a difficult time—couples did from time to time, but she was simply not prepared to come home and find Sarah gone. Three years later, she was still reeling from the impact. Chapter 4 By late afternoon, Sarah was back at the camp. She had showered and given special attention to her inflamed shoulder. Then she'd dressed and walked over to the open-air bar of the camp and ordered a beer and a tomato juice, mixing the two together. Another habit she had picked up from Alex. Of course in those early days, Alex called it breakfast, not a nightcap. Three days from now, she would be meeting Alex at the airport. How did one meet a former lover? It was too unreal for words. She remembered taking Alex home to meet her parents. Alex had worn a black muscle T-shirt and a pair of black jeans. Her hair was short and spiked, and attitude dripped from every pore. Her parents were wrestling gamely with the fact that their only child had picked a lesbian lover. They had tried to make conversation. "So Alex, Sarah tells me that you want to be a doctor," her mom had said. "I don't want. I am going to be," Alex had replied abruptly. "What does your dad do?" Sarah's father had asked, letting his distaste for the whole situation start to show. "Mostly he drinks. Sometimes he lays brick. I lay brick. And before you ask, 1 drink too." It had gone downhill from there, and they had left shortly after dinner. It had been their first real fight, and it had been a good one. Sarah finished her drink and rolled her shoulder uncomfortably. The damn scratch was hurting like hell since she had cleaned it. "You need a shoulder rub?" asked a voice behind her. Sarah turned to see the tall, ageing figure of James Phillips. "No way. I hurt it the other day." Phillips nodded. "Let me buy you another one of those disgusting mixes you drink. It's an abomination to beer lovers everywhere. I need to talk to you." Sarah shrugged and then winced. She wasn't going to full asleep easily tonight anyway, the way her shoulder was aching. Another drink would be okay. "Sure. What's up?" "That's what I need to know," Phillips said as he painted patterns with a bony finger in the condensation on the side of the glass the waiter had put in front of him. Sarah waited, enjoying the sound of the crickets and the rustle of the wind through the grass. The stars spread from horizon to horizon and seemed so bright and close that she felt she could pick them from the sky. "The bombing of the American Embassy some years back opened our eyes to a very real and dangerous fundamentalist movement in East Africa. We need to know how widespread it is. You have the trust of the local tribes. Do you hear anything?" "I hear a lot of things. The reason they trust me is because I keep my mouth shut about it." Sarah smiled kindly as she spoke. "Sarah, you know how serious this has become now, with the concern about Islamic terrorism. There's a lot of pressure being put on the government to get a pulse on how deeply certain fanatical groups might have infiltrated some of the communities in North Africa." Phillips sighed. "No country can ignore the threat of terrorism today, especially countries carrying large foreign debts." "When Egypt called on the UN to hold a world forum on terrorism some years ago now, the US vetoed the idea," Sarah said. "The fear of terrorism wasn't so important then, when it was only third world countries feeling the pain." Phillips sighed again. "The lack of foresight makes fools of us all, Sarah." Sarah nodded. "Forgive me for being so difficult. I'm tired and my shoulder hurts. You're right. It was important to do something then, and it's more important to take action now. The Masai in this area are a law onto themselves. They don't easily accept ideas into their culture that are in conflict with their beliefs. Nor have they felt the impact of global warming and AIDS as much as other tribal groups have. Food, water, and land are still available here. AIDS has spread slower here than elsewhere, so villages are still bigger than graveyards. I don't see fundamentalists getting a strong foothold in this area—but in other areas of Kenya? You bet." "You want to be more specific?" Phillips asked. Sarah took a sip of her beer to give her time to organize her thoughts before going on. "Kenya has a significant population of poor, and it's growing. She has three borders that are under constant stress. Look nt the countries around her: Somalia, Uganda, and Ethiopia. They are, or have been, household names in the human slaughter trade. Refugees have poured into Kenya, primarily to the cities, and they've brought a lot of hate, crime, sickness, and violence with them." "Tell me something I don't know." Phillips smiled sadly, meeting Sarah's eyes. Sarah considered her words carefully. "The Masai let their boys decide if they want to live a traditional life or go to a western school. Those that choose to get a European education often end up in the cities, but their roots and family are here. They're expected to come back and participate in the different rites of passage and to marry locally. When they return, they have often picked up the hates that breed in the slums of cites like Nairobi." "Do you think we should be monitoring this area more closely?" "I think European nations have been selling toys of war to African nations for years. The whole continent is a pile of guns and explosives. I don't think any monitoring in the world is going to do a damn bit of good. There could be a flash point anywhere, at anytime. There are very few stable areas left in Africa, and it's only going to get worse." "1 was hoping to find the end of the fuse that's burning," Phillips said, before downing the last of his beer. Sarah shook her head. "There are so many fuses burning I don't think it is going to be possible to snuff them all. All I can suggest to you is that you keep an eye on the local bar at Matarra. What I would consider high-risk individuals for trouble hang out there." "Thanks, Sarah, I'll do that." Sarah nodded and watched him leave. Chapter 5 The trip to Africa had been anything but enjoyable. Alex had always found air travel difficult. Even in first class, there wasn't enough room for her long legs, and now, with the intense security checks and the worry that the strange looking individual across the aisle might be a terrorist, it had gone from uncomfortable to unpleasant. It was with relief that she unbuckled her safety belt in Nairobi, ran a comb through her thick, dark hair, and followed the others to the immigration area. "Good day. You are staying how long in Kenya?" asked the officer, after Alex had handed over her passport and visa. "Two weeks." Two weeks to try to revive a relationship that had been terminated so long ago. "The nature of your stay is?" "I'm here on a holiday, visiting a friend," she answered. Is that who Sarah was now, a friend? Someone from the past whom you meet and exchange histories with, only to discover you have nothing really in common anymore? He stamped several pages and passed her documentation back. "Enjoy your stay," the officer said. Alex moved on to the baggage pickup area. The relief she had felt earlier was quickly being replaced by something that felt a lot like panic as she stood watching the conveyor belt bounce luggage around in a circle. What the hell do you say to someone whom you've loved and lived with for nine years and haven't seen in three? How much had Sarah changed? What if she had a girlfriend? Alex grabbed her bag as it came past on the conveyer belt and pulled out the handle on the wheeled luggage. Then, a few minutes later, she snagged a small, well-wrapped box of medical supplies that Sarah had requested that she bring for the local clinic and balanced it on top before heading over to Customs. The bored-looking cleric took her declaration card without a word and waved her through. Alex came out through the arrival doors of BA Flight 518 from London and looked about uncertainly at the crowd of people gathered there. "Hi Alex," said a familiar voice from beside her. Alex turned and looked down. Sarah looked beautiful; well tanned, fit, and healthy. For a minute, the world around vanished and there was just Sarah. Then someone put his arm around Sarah, and the world came back into focus with a rush. Alex's dark eyes snapped up and made contact with an equally dark pair. "This is Paul Na-tana, Alex. He came along to help me. He works for the Kenyan Cultural office, like I do. He's stationed here in Nairobi. Paul, this is Alex Aubin." "Hello, Paul," Alex managed to say evenly. "Hi, Alex. I'll take your bags. We have a bit of a walk to the van." Paul smiled, a little too smugly for Alex's liking. Alex relinquished the bags and gave her attention to Sarah, who seemed to be looking her over critically. "Give me your watch, ring, and necklace," Sarah ordered. Alex complied. "Theft that bad here?" "Yes. But more than that, someone snatching your watch could scratch you, or they might cut off a finger to get a ring. Then you have the real danger of disease. Don't wear any jewellery while you're here." "Okay," Alex said, handing the items over to Sarah, who tucked them away quickly in an inside pocket. This wasn't going so well. Sarah and Paul seemed to be good friends, and so far, Sarah had treated her like she was a business associate passing through. "Only the one case, the box, and your overnight bag? Good. Come on, then." Sarah organized Alex's luggage, and she and Paul set off through the milling crowd with Alex in tow. The van turned out to be a battered old Toyota held together by a thick layer of dust. Paul tossed Alex's bags in the back and opened the side door for Alex to get in. Much to Alex's annoyance, Sarah didn't follow, but went around to the front passenger side and got in beside Paul. "Welcome to Nairobi, or Nairobbery, as some of the disenchanted would say. You need to be very careful," Sarah said as she turned in her seat to face Alex. "How was your flight over here?" Alex gritted her teeth. Sarah was acting like a tour guide, not a lover, not even a friend. "Cramped and uneventful," Alex responded. Sarah nodded and turned around again, leaving Alex to her own thoughts. All of them pretty gloomy. Chapter 6 James Phillips settled back with his gin and tonic in the lounge of the Norfolk Hotel. He had showered and changed into grey flannel slacks, white shirt, school tie, and navy blazer, but he still felt seedy. It was a feeling that was with him all the time now, having slowly built up over the years. He watched the comings and goings in the lobby. Nervous and excited tourists dressed in department store safari wear waited to be organized into rooms by their tour guides. Kenyan porters patiently arranged the tour groups' luggage, ignoring the fretting Europeans around them. Two British businessmen were painstakingly going through their bill at the counter, and in a small room off to one side, a Kenyan woman, elegantly dressed, helped guests with the slow and clumsy internet system. The scene at the old Norfolk Hotel never really changed, just the styles and toys. Phillips's grandfather had come to Kenya full of hope that he would make a fortune in the new groundnut plantations. His dreams blew away with the topsoil when the rains failed to come. His son, Phillip's father, had tried planting an orchard, tangerines, and almonds. When the Second World War came he enlisted, the possibility of being killed in combat better than the slow death of poverty. He didn't die, and his small disability pension for the loss of a leg made it possible for him to feed his wife and son. It was a scholarship that allowed James to escape the farm and get a good private school education in England. He had chosen a career in the civil service, believing that the confines of European society were not for him. For most of his career, he had been in some part of Africa. Now his life had come full circle, and he was back in Kenya. Like the country, he was slipping into slow disrepair. At least for him, there was the escape of retirement; for the country there was none. He supposed that once he retired he would stay on in Kenya for as long as he could. Then, when he was too old or sick, or the country too unstable, he would, with regret, head to England. He'd get a cheap flat near Dover were he could live out his days, looking out to sea, his heart yearning, as his father's and grandfather's had, for the promise that was Africa that never materialized. He ordered a second drink, a luxury that he didn't usually allow himself. He felt he had earned it. He had been on the road for weeks listening, watching, and, he hoped, asking the right questions of the right people. He stretched out his long legs stiffly and watched and waited. A good deal of his life had been spent watching and waiting. He was good at it. Phillips noted that Paul Na-tana left Alex and Sarah once he had unloaded the bags from the van and handed them over to a waiting porter. By slipping a few pounds to the waiter, Phillips found out that Sarah booked them into one room. He watched as Alex, with a barely concealed smirk, followed Sarah out through the morning room to the large garden courtyard beyond. James Phillips let them go. He drained his glass and refused the offer of a refill. He thought he would get a few hours reading and perhaps a nap before dinner and then he would see what developed. Alex thought the room was lovely. The carpets were thick and deep and the walls polished mahogany. The room was finished with good quality furniture in rich colours. A beautiful writing desk sat near the sitting area, and a large bay window overlooked the gardens of the courtyard. The bathroom was large, with teak walls and marble countertops. The Norfolk Hotel was a colonial bastion that had steadfastly refused to change with the world around it. "Which bed do you want?" Sarah asked, lifting her bag onto the rack provided. Pain shot across her face and she had to bite her lip to stop the tears. Her soft gasp brought Alex's eyes from sad reflection of the two double beds to Sarah's face. "What's the matter? Sarah smiled. "Nothing." "Sarah, God damn it; don't do that!" Alex snapped, far more forcefully than she had meant to and added to soften her outburst. "I... I just want to help." Sarah blinked in surprise. Alex hadn't thought that they'd be yelling at each other the first day, but if there was something wrong with Sarah, she wanted to know. "I was wounded in a cattle raid the other day. A spear just scraped my shoulder. It was nothing, but I stayed at the Masai village, and I think it got infected. I've cleaned it and put disinfectant cream on it." "Why didn't you get a shot of antibiotic at the clinic?" Alex asked, coming across the room. "Alex, nobody willingly has a needle in Africa. With the shortage of supplies, lack of proper facilities in most clinics, and the widespread epidemic of AIDS, a needle could be a death sentence." "Let me see," Alex demanded, her emotions hidden behind a well-cultivated professional neutrality as she stood a few feet away from Sarah. "Alex, I don't—" "I'm a doctor, and I have medical supplies, including needles and antibiotics, with me. Take off your shirt and let me have a look." Alex turned her back before Sarah could argue and went to open the box of medical supplies she'd brought with her. Behind her, she could hear Sarah slipping out of her shirt. Alex smiled with relief. She didn't want a scene over this. She was here to win Sarah back, not fight with her. When Alex came back with a stethoscope, blood pressure cup, and thermometer, Sarah was sitting on the edge of the bed looking flushed and vulnerable. Alex felt desire pool deep in her gut. Sarah was beautiful, her skin soft and clear, and scented gently of sunlight and fresh herbs. The shoulder, however, was swollen, and the scratch now weeping and an ugly red. Thin red threads of infection were spreading out like roots down her arm. Alex put the thermometer under Sarah's tongue and then sat beside her to listen to her chest. Fighting back the urge to wrap Sarah in her arms, she gently wrapped the blood pressure cuff in place and pumped it up, reading the numbers as she slowly let the pressure drop. "You're going to have to lie down. I'll need to give you some freezing and clean up some of this tissue before I bandage it and give you a shot." "The medical supplies are for the clinic," Sarah said, but she did lie down once Alex stood to go root in the supply box again. "And you're for the graveyard if you don't let me treat that infection. It's well on the way to a serious situation. Your temperature is already up." Sarah lay still after that and let Alex do what she needed to. Alex was gentle, yet quick and efficient in her actions. It reminded Alex of when she had been doing her training and would practise listening to Sarah's heart and taking her blood pressure. Sarah would laugh when she'd find the oranges in the bowl on the kitchen table punctured with needle marks from Alex practising her technique. They had been happy then. Despite Alex's care, her treatment had hurt, and tears brimmed in Sarah's eyes and rolled down her face as she lay there. "There, all done," Alex said gently, as she finished bandaging the wound. "I'll need to keep an eye on it for a few days to make sure the antibiotic is going to do the trick," she said, wiping a wad of cotton soaked in alcohol on Sarah's arm. "You know I don't like needles," Sarah said with a sigh. Alex got a roguish grin and raised her eyebrow, "Well, I could kiss it better, but you might prefer the needle." "The needle is fine. I won't look," Sarah answered. Even though Alex had anticipated this response, it hurt. She gave the shot as quickly and as gently as she could. "There, you should be okay in a few days." "Thanks, Alex." Alex looked down into Sarah's eyes and then nodded, too emotionally wired to respond. She got up quickly to put the medical supplies away. What if this didn't work out? How could she leave Africa without Sarah? "Who is this Paul Na-tana? Are you involved with him?" Alex heard herself ask, and wished she could take back the words as soon as she had said them. "Are you jealous?" Sarah asked. Her good arm was draped over her eyes. "Have I reason to be?" "It's been over for three years," Sarah said. "Not for me, it hasn't." Sarah dropped her hand from her eyes. She looked intently at Alex. "Paul works for the main office here in Nairobi. It's best to have someone who knows the city. Robbery and muggings are common. He was along for protection. He'll take us to the airport when we leave, as well. There hasn't been anyone else, Alex. I've been busy with my research." Alex would have felt happy if it hadn't been for Sarah's last line. "I've been busy, too," she mumbled, and went back to packing the medical supplies neatly away. Once they were settled into their room, they went down to the pool. Sarah contented herself with a good book and a lounge chair, while Alex did laps until she was so tired she could have sunk like a stone. She knew she needed to open the lines of communication with Sarah, but communication, except in terms of commands and temper, was not something Alex was good at. That's why she had opted for surgery. She didn't need a bedside manner for that, just good feet and steady hands. Swimming slower, Alex watched as a man walked over to Sarah and struck up a conversation. She felt the old need to protect, and had to resist the urge to get out of the water and go to Sarah's side. She settled for floating on the surface, staying close enough to overhear what Sarah and the man discussed, but not so close as to be obvious. "Hello there, Sarah, I thought I saw you crossing the lobby earlier today." Sarah looked up. "Hi, James. It's a small world. Didn't we just have a drink together the other night out on the Masai Mara?" Phillips chuckled. "Yes, I believe we did. We migrate about as much as the herd animals, it would seem. May I join you?" "Sure." "How is that sore shoulder of yours?" Phillips asked as he settled in a chair in the shade. Alex watched the man closely. He seemed to have a sort of old-school charm. Alex, who had never been good at social conversation, was jealous. Sarah smiled. "Better now. My friend," she nodded towards Alex, "is a doctor, so she was able to give me some medical treatment." "Lucky you. One can't be too careful these days." Phillips nodded at Alex, who felt herself bristle. "Tell me, do you know John Cattleman?" "Yes. Why?" "Interesting chap. You know, he has a degree from Leeds in palaeontology. He worked with the Leakeys in Olduvai Gorge, Tanzania, as an undergraduate. The focus of his doctorate, though, was the Silk Trade routes. He spent a good deal of time in the Middle East, primarily Afghanistan." Sarah put down her book and looked at Phillips. "I've always found John to be reliable and friendly whenever he's been home. Where are you going with this, James?" Alex heard the change in Sarah's voice and swam to the side of the pool, ready to get involved if she was needed. Phillips hesitated before speaking, rubbing his lip with a finger. "He's home now. I need you to be aware of him. Listen, watch, and report back to me." Sarah looked annoyed. "I'm not going to do that. It's taken me a long time to gain these people's trust. I'm not going to betray that. I'm here to observe a unique culture, not get involved in international politics." Sarah and James went quiet as Alex climbed up the pool ladder and came their way. Alex's black Speedo clung to her body like a second, skin, and beads of water dripped down her lean, muscular form. Alex was aware that both observers watched with open pleasure. Alex approached like a panther, letting her strength and confidence radiate out. She hadn't liked the sudden change of expression on Sarah's face. Although she didn't know the history of the subject being discussed, it was apparent the man had said something Sarah didn't like. Alex picked up her towel and gave it a crack before wiping dry her wide shoulders. "Alex, this is James Phillips. James, Doctor Alexandria Aubin." Phillips stood and waited for Alex to offer her hand. She made her handshake a little too firm to be polite, but Phillips reacted only with a smile. "A pleasure, Doctor. Sarah tells me that you've fixed her shoulder. That's good news. Of course, if she hadn't been out stealing cattle, it wouldn't have happened, right, Sarah? Well, I must be off. Keep in mind what I said, Sarah. It never hurts to keep one's eyes open. Nice meeting you, Dr. Aubin. No doubt I'll see you around. Good day, ladies." The two women watched as Phillips made his way up the brick stairway that led from the pool gardens. "What did he want?" Alex asked bluntly. "I'm not sure. Rumour has it that James works for MI6 and probably at the moment the CIA, too. He wants me to keep my eyes open. There's a lot of political unrest just below the surface in Africa." Alex finished drying and wrapped the towel around her waist before sitting on the chair that Phillips had vacated. "Why the worried frown?" "I never told him I'd been wounded on a cattle raid, only that I'd hurt my shoulder. Was it a slip or a warning?" "Are you in trouble, Sarah?" Sarah smiled, shrugging off the chill that Phillips's visit had left. "No. It's just African politics. Nothing to do with me. Let's go to the room." They took turns showering and discretely changing clothes out of sight from one another. Alex chose black tailored slacks and a silk shirt. Sarah wore cream cotton slacks and a matching T-shirt decorated across the front in gold with the Big Five of the African animals. A sexy smile raised the corner of Alex's lips as she openly looked at Sarah's breasts. "Like your animals." Sarah gave her a look. "Watch yourself. They're the Big Five game animals of Africa, the rhino, elephant, lion, leopard, and Cape buffalo. They're very, very dangerous." Alex smile widened. "Yeah, I remember." Sarah blushed and decided to let this one go. "You ready for dinner?" "Sure. I guess we could eat in the bar, or if you know of a place..." Alex left the sentence unfinished. She wanted Sarah to take the lead. Choice of restaurants was one of the things they had argued about. Sarah looked up in surprise. Alex offering to eat bar food was right up there with pigs flying. Once she started to practise, she always wanted to go to the finest restaurants and be seen eating a health-conscious meal of salad and dead fish. Sarah enjoyed dressing up and going to a nice place now and again, but she was more the pizza and beer type. "We could go to the Carnivore. It's a restaurant that serves African meats—-ostrich, zebra, crocodile—that sort of thing." Alex wrinkled her nose. "I don't do feathers, stripes, or bog crawlers. How about we just eat in the restaurant here? I'm kind of tired after the flight, anyway." "Sounds like a plan," Sarah said. They walked through the garden courtyard, stopping to observe some of the African birds at the feeders, and then made their way to the restaurant. "Sarah Meloche. I just phoned down for a reservation." "Yes, of course. Dr. Meloche, it is good to have you staying with us again. A table for two? Good, this way please." The host took them to a lovely table overlooking the gardens and gave them menus. Alex looked at the selections and then lowered her menu to look at Sarah. "I'm not that person anymore, Sarah." "What person?" "The social-climbing snob that you came to hate." Alex played with her cutlery, feeling awkward and out of her depth. She hated this sort of conversation. Alex needed to get some sort of communication between them going. They needed to sort through their history in order to move on. She was relieved when Sarah finally responded to her statement. "There's nothing wrong with being rich and successful. I just felt our interests and priorities had gone in different directions, and we didn't have much in common anymore." Alex licked her lips and tried again. "We never did have anything in common. I came from a poor dysfunctional family, and you came from the privileged class. I wanted to fit in. Make you proud of me." "I was always proud of you. You had nothing to prove to me. Your background was never a problem." Alex snorted. "Oh, yeah, it was a problem! You think I didn't know how much your parents hated me? And your friends wanted nothing to do with me." "Some of that crap comes with the territory of being gay in a bigoted world. It wasn't all you. I was pretty young and idealistic. I've learned that the world's problems aren't so easily solved as sharing wealth equally." She chuckled. "Living in the local villages has also made me better appreciate the finer things in life. So let's enjoy this rare opportunity to dine well while we can, okay?" "Okay." The rest of dinner went well. They talked about Alex's flight out, the weather, books they'd read, and movies they'd seen. Their meal was poached salmon served on a bed of spiced rice and a fresh orange and pine nut salad. After dinner, they walked side by side through the walled gardens. "Sarah Meloche, hello," came a voice from up ahead of them. They could see a tall, lean Masai walking up the path towards them. "John Cattleman." Sarah smiled as she recognized his face. "It's good to see you again. Do your people prosper?" Sarah stepped forward and hugged John, her petite body dwarfed by the lanky African. "You've grown a beard since I last saw you." "Ah, yes. I am too poor a man to have many cattle or wives, so I must grow a bread to show I am no longer a boy." The Masai's deep, vibrant laugh mixed with Sarah's soft chuckle. "My family is well, thank you." "John, this is my friend, Dr. Alexandria Aubin. She's visiting me for a few weeks." "How do you do. Welcome to Kenya." "Thank you," Alex said. She watched Sarah closely out the side of her eye. She watched as Sarah seemed to force herself to seem relaxed. Clearly, John and his extended family were friends of Sarah's. "I met James Phillips here today. He told me he had heard you were back, living in your village." Is Sarah warning him to be careful what he says to her? Alex wondered. The only sign of a reaction to this news was a slight tightening of John's lips. "Oh, I am. You know us Masai always come home eventually. Some business brought me to Nairobi. I will be heading back home in one of the supply trucks in a few days. What about you?" "I'm here to meet Alex, who flew in today. We'll be leaving on the late flight to Governor's Camp tomorrow." "Then perhaps our paths will cross again soon. I must be off now, I have an appointment. Nice meeting you, Doctor. Bye now." Alex waited until John had disappeared into the main section of the hotel. "You want to tell me what's going on?" Sarah looked up at Alex. "I don't know. That's the man Phillips wants me to keep an eye on. Isn't it strange that we should all be here at the same time? A little too coincidental. I feel I'm being caught up in a game of blind man's bluff." In silence, the two women went back to their room. The relaxed atmosphere they had enjoyed over diner was gone. Sarah seemed to be preoccupied by the events of the day, and Alex was finding it frustrating to be so close to the woman she loved when she was not able to express her feelings. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She came up behind Sarah as she was hanging up her slacks and gently took her by the shoulders. "Are you all right?" "Yes, I'm fine." Sarah smiled brightly over her shoulder and then pulled away. "Our flight isn't until the afternoon, so Paul is going to take us to the Giraffe Centre tomorrow and to Karen Blixen's home. You remember, she wrote Out Of Africa. We saw it together." Alex moved away. "Yeah, I remember. Thanks for arranging the tour." Alex wanted so much to be in Sarah's arms. It would feel so good. But she knew she had to go slow. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to live through Sarah rejecting her again. They settled down into their separate beds, and Alex turned off the light. She lay in her own personal darkness, alone and confused, and wondered if Sarah had the same worries about where to go from there. Chapter 7 Sarah awoke early. She had been dreaming, and the memory of that dream had left her wet and needy. It was the spicy scent of Alex sleeping in the bed only a few feet away that had brought back the memories on which the dream had been built. In her dream, it had been Sunday morning and they had been snuggling close after a hot shower together. The room smelt of fresh coffee and lovemaking, and Alex still nuzzled at her ear as she tried to concentrate on the Sunday papers. "I love you. I want you," Alex had whispered, and the papers had been forgotten. Sarah groaned softly and squirmed with need. Looking over she was startled to see Alex staring back at her. "Oh, you're awake." Dumb observation, Sarah. She added, "I guess we should get moving. Paul will pick us up at nine." "I love the warm scent of you," Alex answered. Sarah blushed. Common sense said that going back into a relationship that had ended so painfully would be stupid. "Alex, we haven't seen each other in a long time. We've changed. We need to get to know each other and address some of the old history." "Do I still turn you on like you do me?" Alex asked. Damn the woman, anyway. She knew exactly what she was doing. Alex had that sexy, arrogant half-smile she got when she was being a tease. "Yes," Sarah answered. "I'll go shower first." She slid out the far side of the bed and disappeared quickly, annoyed to hear Alex's soft laugh from the other bed. When Sarah returned wrapped in a fluffy towel, Alex insisted on checking her infected shoulder. Alex took her turn in the bathroom, and then they went to the morning room for breakfast. "Eggs and bacon. When did you start eating cholesterol and fats?" Sarah asked, as she eyed the food that Alex had brought back from the hot food section. "I keep telling you, I'm a changed woman. I don't eat a lot of red meat or eggs, but I'm not the puritan I once was. I see you're eating better. Fruit and oatmeal. Hmm, what happened to cold pizza for breakfast?" "My tastes have matured. Besides they don't have pizza here." Sarah laughed and took a sip of coffee. "So, how is your practice going?" Alex hesitated. "Good. It's challenging. There's a lot of varied work, and I do a lot of general medicine as well as surgery now. What about you? How's your research going?" "Now that I understand the language better, I'm really starting to understand the Masai culture. On the surface, they seem to live a very simple life, but their worldview and traditions are very complex and tied closely to their sense of family and self. They're a fascinating people." They talked over breakfast for nearly an hour and then walked through the gardens back to their room. Sarah was the first to realize that someone had been through their bags. "Shit! I think we've been robbed. Someone dumped my makeup bag. Alex, go through your stuff and see what's missing." Alex went immediately to the medical supplies. The box had been opened and the contents were a jumbled mess. She carefully checked through each item. Everything was there. That was strange. The needles and the drugs would seem the logical items for a thief to take. She checked her own luggage. Again, everything was a mess, but nothing had been taken. "God damn it!" Sarah said. "I don't know how but they got into the wall safe... I don't believe it, our passports, travelers' checks, and money are still here. Do you think we scared him off when we came back to the room?" Alex looked at the safe. The lock had been drilled out. Sarah checked the door—nothing. She went to the bay window. A pane had been broken and the side window unlocked. Whoever had entered their room was no amateur, and they hadn't come to steal, but instead were looking for something. Alex moved beside Sarah. "This is really creeping me out. Someone was looking for something." They took their important belongings down to the main hotel safe and arranged for the damage to their room to be fixed. Paul showed up as they finished sorting things out with the distressed hotel manager. "What's the matter?" he asked "Nothing really," Sarah explained as she accepted a receipt for the articles they had put in the hotel safe. "Someone broke into our room, but luckily nothing was taken." "Oh, no! I'm glad that you're safe and didn't lose anything. Robberies happen all over the city these days. We need a stronger government with higher moral standards. Do you still wish to go out this morning, or have you things to straighten out?" "We do have a bit of a mess back in our room, but I think we'll go out anyway. I want Alex to see the Rothschild giraffes." Alex smiled. "The mess will still be there when we get back. Let's go." They piled into the van. This time Sarah sat beside Alex in the back. Alex gave Sarah a quick, happy smile before watching the city slip past the van window. Nairobi was a dusty, over-populated, modern city of crude cement buildings, tin shacks, and modern high-rises. Laundry hung from windows, and weeds and grasses seemed to be winning the battle in parks and along roadsides. The streets were crowded with people and cars, and the air was heavy with dust and pollution. Sarah tried to explain. "It's not really safe to walk in some areas of the city now, especially for tourists. The Kenyans blame the social decay and crime on the refugees who have flooded in from unstable neighbouring countries such as Ethiopia, Uganda, Chad, and Somalia. The refugees are accused of importing crime, poverty, guns, and social problems, but it's not as simple as that. The government is ineffective and corrupt at many levels. It's more of a dictatorship than a governing body." Sarah noted the homeless people sleeping in the parks or on grassy roadsides, the crippled beggars, and the ragged women and children who stared at them as they passed. Sarah sighed. "Poverty is a rapidly growing problem in all of Africa. It's particularly bad here in Nairobi. Officially, the unemployment rate stands at twenty-five percent, but in reality, it's much higher." They passed small, dirty shops filled to overflowing with cheap Asian articles and clothes, black-market goods, and mass-made tourist souvenirs. On the street, gaunt, scruffy men went from car to car selling newspapers, fruit, and stolen articles. There was another side, too, that Sarah pointed out as they drove along. There were huge ornate mosques and Hindu temples, women in black robes with their faces covered, and modern hotels. The old colonial homes now housed embassies, international businesses, and private schools and universities. Like most African nations, a large part of the land they passed was owned by the military. The contrasts were extreme. They arrived at the Giraffe Centre an hour later. Sarah gave Paul the money for the entrance fees, and he left to visit the gift centre. As they walked over to the low stone wall that separated the tourists from the giraffe population, Sarah explained that one of Paul's many relatives worked in the gift store, and it was unlikely they'd see him again before they were ready to leave. They found four adult giraffes and one baby feeding nearby. When the giraffes saw Sarah and Alex arrive, they wandered over. "These are Rothschild giraffes, and they're very rare. You can tell they're Rothschild's because their legs are all white below the knee where other giraffes are spotted down to their feet." Sarah picked up a handful of kibbles from a feeding bucket, and one of the adults leaned his head down. Sarah popped a few pellets onto the giraffe's tongue. "Don't put your hand out flat like you would with a horse to feed the giraffe. It's likely to mistake your hand for a leaf and try to pull it off." Alex grabbed a handful of kibbles and started feeding the row of giraffes that were leaning her way. "These are wild giraffes that forage in this private preserve most of the time," Sarah said, "but this feeding centre helps cover the costs of the research that's going on here." Alex used up the feed she was holding and scratched a giraffe's neck. Sarah bent to get another handful of pellets. "Because of their long necks, giraffe's have real problems with blood pressure... Alex, look out!" The warning came too late; Sarah only had time to drop the feed from her hand and reach out to grab Alex, who had just been head-butted from behind by an impatient giraffe who wanted more food. Alex went sprawling forward into Sarah's arms. "Ouch!" "They head-butt when they get annoyed." "Now you tell me." "Knock any sense in?" "I'm in your arms, aren't I?" Sarah smiled in spite of herself. "You bribed that giraffe, didn't you? Are you okay?" Alex crossed her eyes. "No, I think I'm dizzy. I'd better stay in your arms for a while." Sarah gave a snort and pushed Alex away. "You're fine and just as roguish as ever." Alex smiled wickedly. "It was fate." "It was a greedy giraffe. Come on, let's go see the display up in the observatory tower." They toured the information centre and fed the giraffes once more from the vantage point of the observatory balcony. Sarah realized she was finding excuses to move closer to Alex today. Could it be that she had missed Alex far more than she was prepared to admit? After their visit with the giraffes, Paul drove them to the Karen Blixen home, which was now a museum. Blixen was best known for her novel Out of Africa. Paul did his Robert Redford imitations, and the three of them laughed a good deal as they toured the colonial ranch house. The clothes the actors wore in the movie hung in the bedroom of the house, and on the walls were old black and white pictures of the original inhabitants of the house. Sarah stood by the old wooden kitchen sink and looked out over the gardens. Blixen had put a light in the window when it was safe for her bush pilot lover to visit and had covered it with a red cloth if her husband, the Baron, was home. After the plane crash that had killed her lover and the fire that had ruined their already-struggling coffee plantation, she had gone back to Europe, alone. She had expressed her passion in her books after that, and died of anorexia, cheating the cancer that she also had. They didn't talk much on the way back. When they got back, they had time for a quick meal and had to rush and get ready before meeting Paul again. He entertained them with a hilarious story of the argument that had ensued over lunch with his mother's latest attempt to marry him off. "You know, Paul, you wouldn't have the problems you do if you would just let your parents pick out a nice girl for you," Sarah said. "What can I do? My parents only pick for me ugly girls! 1 don't think my parents like me." It was a long drive to Nyeri where the Outspan Hotel was located. There, the three of them enjoyed a lovely buffet meal on the terrace. All tourists had to check in at the Outspan Hotel before overnighting in the famous Treetops Lodge. Alex and Sarah walked through the landscaped gardens while Paul took the van to get gas. "The gardens are beautiful," Alex murmured, as she watched a brightly coloured sunbird flutter from one branch to another. "Yes." Alex swallowed. "So, do you think that we can rediscover the love we had before?" Sarah sighed. "Damn it, Alex, I don't know. I've never stopped loving you, and that hasn't made this any easier. You think all you have to do is show up here and tell me you've changed and everything will be all right. Well, it won't, Alex. 1 can't live the life you want your partner to live. It would bore me to death." "Do you mind?" Alex said. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I have no preconceived—" "I do know what I'm talking about. I lived that life. The woman I was attracted to could be wild and dangerous. She was a rebel. Your medical degree changed all that. All your force and energy went into moving up the damn social ladder, and I was just the pretty woman on your arm. We were the token queers at the socially correct parties you wanted to attend." Sarah spun around to look at the late afternoon sun hitting the trees so Alex wouldn't see the tears welling in her eyes. Alex tried again. "I was a kid when you met me—a university student with a tough, bitch attitude. I grew up, Sarah. We all have to. I became responsible. All I wanted to do was be a good provider and someone you could be proud of. I know I got caught up in the whole social climbing shit and made a mess of things, but you weren't without fault. You were spoilt and idealistic." Sarah reeled around, her face white with emotion. "Bullshit!" Sarah stormed back to the hotel. Well, that hadn 't gone well. Mainly because they both had told the truth, and neither one of them was ready to hear it. Chapter 8 On the trip to Treetops, Paul tried to engage the women in conversation, but having failed a few times instead listened to the van's radio. They were the last of the guests to arrive at Treetops just before sunset. A guide carrying a rifle big enough to down an elephant waited for them, and they walked with him up the hill to the famous Treetops game resort. It was a strange building, high, long, and narrow. It was built on top of a tall log base. The building was a basic structure four stories high. It was sided in bark shingles and the roof was a flat observation deck. On each side was a large watering hole that attracted the wild animals from the game reserve. Once they had checked in, Alex wished for a way to mend some bridges, but feared only starting another argument. Alex sensed Sarah regretted flying off the handle earlier that day. Her angry retort had hit too close to home and upset Sarah. Sarah was quick to anger, but, Alex knew, she was also quick to cool down and would make an effort to see both sides of the issue. Alex just needed to give her time and then maybe they could talk. In the meantime, she went out of her way to be caring and polite. Being close to each other again, Alex reasoned, had really put them both off emotional balance. Alex waited. That wasn't easy for her. Finally, Sarah broke the ice. "Listen Alex, I'm sorry. I was a little out of line with my reaction back at the hotel. How about we go up to the bar and have a drink? There's a great view of the water hole from there. One wall is all windows." "I kind of lost my cool a bit, too," Alex answered. Then she took Sarah's hand and stammered out the words she wanted to say earlier. "I've made a lot of mistakes in our relationship. I lost sight of who I was and refused to listen to your concerns. You were right to leave me. But Sarah, I have changed. I'm not a driven social climber anymore. I've gotten in touch with who I was—the person you once loved. I'm here to try and prove that to you." She gave Sarah a gentle push and followed her up the spiral metal staircase to the third floor. They sat in comfortable lounge seats and looked at the large water hole. The water hole was a pathetic affair by the standards of the western world, but in Africa, where water was so scarce in the dry season, it was a small paradise in a parched land. The banks were low, muddy, and well trodden, and the water chocolate milk in colour. A marsh island was located near the centre, and it was there they finally saw movement. Out from the bushes popped a Sacred Ibis, a large wading bird with a long beak that curved down. Paddling around, too, were White-faced Whistling Ducks and Egyptian Geese. Alex brought two beers with a glass of tomato juice over from the bar, and Sarah pointed out the birds. "The Egyptian Goose is easy to spot with the lump at the top of its orange beak, and of course, the blue on its wing. In flight, you can see the white shoulder on its wing and its white belly. It's a bit early yet for many animals to show up, but over on the far side of the pool, you can see a black rhino heading this way. Do you see it in the tall grass?" Alex looked carefully at where Sarah was pointing and could just make out the grey form in the grass. "You have good eyes." Sarah replied, "You don't last long on the Masai Mara without good eyes." They sat for a while longer watching the rhino slowly work its way down to drink at the far side of the pool. Sarah also pointed out a white-tailed mongoose and they watched the antics of the swift moving animal. Then the excited news of elephants buzzed through the building, and they hurried up to the observation deck. Led by a massive bull, a herd of fourteen animals lumbered over the hill. They slowly made their way down to the edge of the pool and used their sensitive trunks to scoop up the salt that had been put out for them. "They have to put salt out here, although they don't like to encourage animals to rely on humans. The problem was the elephants were ripping apart the posts that support this building to get the salt from the wood. It was either a salt lick or disaster," Sarah said. A strong wind blew. Winter had come to Africa, and one needed a warm sweater or coat at night. The excitement of seeing the magnificent animals highlighted by the setting sun kept the guests out on the deck. Darkness came, and floodlights lit the pools on each side. A lone Cape buffalo made its way down to the water's edge. It lowered its horns suddenly and charged at a rhino that had gradually made its way around the edge of the pond. The rhino, startled, splashed into the water and bounded up the bank again some distance away. The ducks took flight and the mongoose disappeared. Only the elephants seemed disinterested. The cold and the excitement of the African night had driven Sarah and Alex closer together. They now stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the events below intently. Alex took pictures while Sarah talked about the animal. "The Cape buffalo is a killer. It's a very dangerous animal, and these old, lone animals are particularly dangerous. They'll take on anything in their path. If you have a close encounter with a Cape buffalo, it's the only animal you are allowed to kill, because if you don't, it will kill you. You have to make sure you get it, too, because a buffalo that's been wounded will follow your scent for days until it finds you and kills you. That's just the way they are. You watch. This one hasn't finished causing trouble." Sure enough, the old beast moved around to where the elephants grazed on the salt and started licking up the residue. It was only a matter of time before an elephant got too close, and the buffalo charged again. The elephant moved away. It was only when the buffalo, in its over-confidence, chased a baby that three of the adult elephants flapped their ears aggressively and charged towards the buffalo, finally forcing it to retreat. The sounding of the dinner bell drew them back down to the floor below. The small and narrow dining room was filled with guests. Alex and Sarah took their places side by side on the bench where their name cards were placed and enjoyed a hearty European-style meal. The waiters placed the bowls of food on wooden planks that slipped down the centre of the table in a wide slot. The guests simply slid the dishes along to each other, and so the crowded dining facilities were no problem. The guests watched the comings and goings at the water hole well into the night. Gradually, couples and families wandered off to bed to escape the chill of the night. Sarah and Alex were one of the last to leave for their room. The washrooms were shared affairs, one for the women and one for the men. The rooms were very small, with just enough space for two wooden bunks and room to stand in between. Still dressed to stay warm, they went to their separate bunks. Alex stared into the darkness and finally got up quietly and went back down to the bar. The night waiter offered to get her tea and biscuits. She sat by the window and brooded. She felt not quite there, like her mind had disconnected from her heart. "You're the only one left up?" Alex looked up to see one of the Kenyan rangers standing near by. "Yes. The night's too cold for most people. I live in northern Canada, so I'm used to the cold." "Ah, Canada. Yes, I have heard it is very cold there. I lived in Britain while I was going to university and I found that country cold enough." The ranger sat in a chair across from Alex. "Have you worked here long?" "Five years now, and my father before me, and my grandfather. My village is not far from here." "You must have many stories to tell," Alex said, before taking a sip of her tea. "My grandfather remembers the day when Princess Elizabeth was told that her father had died back in England and she was now Queen. That happened right here, you know. He says that she was sad, but calm, but that Prince Phillip was very shaken. My father took part in the Mau Mau uprising when my people fought for independence." "I've heard they were very bloody," Alex said. "Yes. My father and others came here one night and burnt Treetops to the ground because it was a symbol of colonialism. But later, the Kenyan government allowed it to be rebuilt because it is now part of our country. My family loves this land." "You must. It is good to have that sort of love for your country." "Yes, things are much better when they are built together with love." They sat in compatible silence and watched the animals that came to the water hole to drink until the sun rose and bathed Africa again in gold. Alex wondered if Sarah had heard her leave. Was she disappointed or relieved to have their small bedroom to herself? The next day, they had to be packed and ready early. The Hotel bus took them to the Nanyuki airstrip for their flight to the world-famous Masai Mara Game Reserve. Sarah was relieved to be getting back to the wide open grasslands. She and Alex sat side by side in the small commuter plane while the pilot went through his preflight checklist. "I was surprised to see the postmark on your letter was from Great Slave Lake. What were you doing up there?" Sarah asked. Alex cringed. She knew she should have told Sarah about her job change sooner. "That's were I live. My practice is in Yellowknife." "Since when?" "Almost two years now." Sarah would have asked more questions had the pilot not revved up the already noisy engines. The plane carried twenty passengers. They were soon airborne and on their way across the flat grasslands of Kenya. The noise of the engines made it hard to hold a conversation except at a shout, so Sarah had to curb her curiosity. They landed sometime later on a dirt airstrip in the centre of an ocean of grass. Climbing down from the plane, Alex stood on the airstrip and looked all around her. The tall grasses undulated with the rise and fall of the vast plain to the horizon in all directions. The green blades seemed to sing softly as they waved gently in the breeze. Off to her right in the distance, a band of trees marked the winding path of the Mara River, and to her left a large herd of wildebeests and zebra grazed contentedly. Sarah had quickly gone and given one of the drivers that waited a big hug. She was chatting away to him now in Swahili as Alex walked over. "Alex, this is George. He's a bushman and the best guide here. I snatched him up before anyone else could claim him." Sarah beamed. "Hi, George," Alex said, smiling at the small wiry man. "Welcome. Welcome. You will see lots of animals. The lions have fat tummies at the moment. You go claim your bags and I'll get them into the Land Rover for you. By now, lunch will be ready for you back at the camp." When Sarah had written to Alex, she had outlined a tour of some of the highlights Kenya had to offer. Whatever the outcome of their meeting, Alex knew that Sarah wanted her to see Africa through her eyes. It was clear to Alex that Africa had changed Sarah profoundly. No matter what happened between her and Sarah, Alex wanted Sarah to have the opportunity to share her love of Africa with her. A few minutes later, they were bouncing along the dirt road towards the camp. Sarah watched as Alex stood on the seat so that she could look out the open roof of the Land Rover and search for animals. Governor's Camp was originally the exclusive hunting camp for the British Governor to Kenya and his royal and distinguished guests. Now, it was a magical safari camp, all under canvas. The thirty-eight guest tents lined the Mara river ravine in which both hippos and crocodile lived. Other tents overlooked the vast plains where huge herds of wild game migrated. There were no fences at Governor's Camp. The only protection provided for the guests were the base guides, who rotated through watches night and day. Alex discovered that being "in the bush" did not at all mean roughing it. Each guest tent had a teak floor and two rooms, consisting of a bedroom/sitting room and a large en-suite bathroom with shower, hot and cold running water, and flush toilets. Alex settled into their temporary home and hummed as she hung up a few things. Fate had played right into her hands. The porter who had taken her to their tent had explained that their late booking had left only one tent available, and if the two women minded sharing a double bed, then they could certainly set up a camp cot. Alex declined the camp cot with thanks. Sarah found Alex looking over the pole fence down into the deep ravine that was only ten feet from their tent flap. Below, a hippo lay on the muddy bank sunning itself, and further on, a crocodile wiggled up the river. Sarah stood beside her ex-partner. "Pretty amazing, huh?" "It sure is. I mean, they're right there—real wild animals. I didn't think a place like this existed on planet Earth anymore." "You haven't seen anything yet. Wait until tomorrow," Sarah assured her. Alex coughed and tried to look nonchalant, but failed rather badly. "We haven't always agreed on things, but you know you can trust me don't you, Sarah?" Sarah looked suspicious. "Yes, I've never doubted your integrity. Why?" "Well, we got one of the last rooms, and there wasn't much choice..." Sarah set off for their tent immediately. Alex followed, letting the tent flap fall down behind them "Oh, no! No way! I'll sleep on the floor or get them to—" Alex swept Sarah up in her arms and dropped a gentle kiss on her lips before she could react. Her dark eyes looked deep into Sarah's. "I'm a rogue, as you well know, but I'm an honourable one. All you have to do is say no, and I'll stop," she whispered, her voice rough with need. When she kissed Sarah this time, she let that need show. Gradually, Sarah's arm reached around Alex's neck and held her close. When she had made her point, Alex lowered Sarah slowly back down to her feet. "That wasn't fair." "No." "If we have sex, that would only complicate things," Sarah said, but she didn't pull away from Alex's arms. "We can handle complicated, but for tonight, I promise just to hold you," Alex purred, kissing Sarah's ear. Sarah shivered in response. "Ah, not good." "It could be," Alex whispered, stroking Sarah's back. "Promise." "What, that I can make it good?" Alex teased. Sarah looked up at her with sparkling eyes. "No, that you won't take advantage tonight if we share a bed." "My word," Alex said, kissing Sarah's upturned nose. Alex leaned against the warm, firm body that she had known so well. This was the woman she loved. The woman she had longed to hold again. She was a long way off from winning Sarah's trust again, she knew, but today had brought a small ray of hope that maybe it was possible. "What did the manager want?" Alex asked after a while. Sarah pulled away with a sigh and began to unpack. "I'm not sure. He went on and on at some length about the camp being above politics and people coming here just to enjoy the animals. He said he didn't want any trouble because trouble was bad for tourism and Kenya lived for tourism." Alex crossed her arms. "What's that got to do with you?" "I'm not sure. I stayed here one night before heading into Nairobi. James Phillips showed up and had a drink with me. The Kenyans don't like or trust James. He's an old colonial and is known to be associated with British Intelligence." "You think that was it?" "Maybe. I think I was given a very polite and encrypted warning. The truth is, though, I have no idea what the hell is going on, and I told Peter that." Alex sat on the bed and watched Sarah's backside with some enjoyment while Sarah was bent over her suitcase. Sarah still had a nice, tight, round tush, Alex concluded. Her mind, however, was still focussed on more serious issues. "Whoever broke into our room in Nairobi was looking for something." Sarah turned with her toilet bag in her hand and shrugged. "They can look all they want. I have nothing to hide." That night, they had a pre-dinner drink in the open bar by the water and then walked with their guide to the dinner tent. Much later, relaxed by good wine and soft music, they used their flashlight to signal one of the guides to escort them back to their tent. "Seen anything about tonight, Iban?" Sarah asked. "Wiggily and Piggily are sleeping under the bush over there." The guide flashed his torch over to where the two warthogs lay stretched out on their sides on the ground. The animals had wandered into camp several years ago and proved impossible to chase away. They soon had names and were accepted as just being part of the camp experience. "I have not seen anything else, but lately, that female hippo and her calf have been walking through the camp, so be careful." "We will. Good night, Iban." "Wiggily and Piggily?" Alex asked with a laugh. Sarah laughed. "The cook wanted to call them Pork Roast and Tenderloin, but Peter, the manager, thought it would give the guests the wrong impression of the camp food." "Do you stay here a lot?" Alex held the tent flap open so Sarah could go into the tent. "Rarely. It's very expensive here. I usually stay in the Masai villages or one of the small bush camps. During the height of the tourist season, when they're short of staff, I act as a cultural guide for the camp, so I get a big discount." "I think I'll read for a bit, if you want to go ahead and have your shower first," Alex offered. Sarah disappeared behind the canvas wall that separated the two rooms. Alex groaned softly and went to sit in the canvas chair on their small porch. With grim determination, she tried to focus on her book and not on the thought of Sarah's naked body standing under the shower. It was this forced concentration that resulted in her not being aware of the sound of massive and powerful jaws munching nearby until a grey wrinkled wall of hippo passed in front of Alex so close that she could have touched the beast. With a yelp, Alex charged inside the tent, snagged a camp umbrella as a defensive weapon on her way past the clothes rack, and ran into the bathroom. Sarah gasped and reached for her towel. "Get out of here!" "Hippo," Alex said, feeling a bit silly brandishing the umbrella like a sword now that her instant reaction was over. Sarah's eye narrowed. She looked around the shower cubicle. "I don't see it. Is it doing a backstroke in the toilet bowl?" "Out there." Alex pointed with the umbrella. "In the bed? Well, it's just as well we have a double then. Get out of here, Alex." Frustration overcame embarrassment. Alex threw the umbrella across the room, stepped under the shower, and pulled Sarah to her. "I was only trying to protect you, but if I'm going to be labeled as a libertine, damn it, I'm going to have the pleasure." The first kiss was slow but demanding. Sarah's body fit close into Alex's wet clothes. She could feel Sarah's muscles tense with excitement. A soft moan of need escaped Alex's lips and was replaced by Sarah's tongue. Her own curled and sucked eagerly and then followed to taste Sarah's once again. Sarah's water-saturated towel fell heavily to the floor, and Alex's hands moved seductively over her back and cheeks. The kisses ended. They stood in each other's arms as the hot water rained down their bodies. "Was there a hippo?" Alex nodded. "Two of them. I was sitting on the porch, and they were suddenly right in front of me." "Buttercup and Daisy. I meant to tell you about them." "You said hippos were dangerous." "They are. Very. Don't stand in Daisy's way or try to touch her." Sarah reached up and kissed Alex's lips, now swollen with her kisses. "Thanks for trying to protect me. Now, get the hell out of here before I use the umbrella on you." Alex stole another kiss. She checked Sarah's shoulder and was pleased to see that it was healing nicely. Stepping back, Alex gave Sarah a long, sexy look from head to foot before she hopped from the shower, grabbed a towel, and ducked out of the bathroom. When Sarah came out, clad respectably in a short housecoat, she found Alex had stripped off her wet clothes and was sitting in a chair wearing a damp towel and a smug grin. "I hope you get a cold," Sarah growled more in fun than anger. "The shower's yours. Get in there. You must be getting chilled." Alex did as she was told, stopping only for a small kiss before she disappeared behind the canvas wall. She slipped out of her towel and with relief stepped under the warm water. As she soaped down, she tried to get her thoughts back into order after holding and kissing Sarah. But try as she might, every time she got her ducks in a row, they took off in all directions again. This was not good. Alex stayed under the shower for a long time, relieving herself of some of the raw desire that touching Sarah had caused. When she thought she had her emotions under control again, she toweled off and went through her nightly routines before heading out to the main room while wearing only her birthday suit. "Alex!" "What?" Alex asked, looking around and then asking in a voice that mimicked Sarah's, "Is there a hippo hiding in the corner?" "You're naked." "I don't like wearing clothes to bed. You know that." Alex turned off the propane light and slid in beside Sarah, appreciating the toasty body. The night was turning cool. "You promised to be good." "I will." Alex sighed, and pulling Sarah close, she forced herself to relax and go to sleep. Chapter 9 The next morning, Sarah woke to the warm, wonderful feeling of being snuggled against the body she loved. She opened her eyes to look at the strong, classic lines of Alex's face. She looked vulnerable when she slept. It was a side of Alex that few had seen. Sarah kissed the side of Alex's mouth. Alex's eyes opened and met hers. "Morning." "Hey." Sarah kissed Alex's throat, enjoying the heady spice that was her ex-lover. "Mmm, I thought I had to promise to be good." "That was last night," Sarah said softly into Alex's ear. With a swift move, Alex playfully pinned Sarah to the bed and leaned in with a very dangerous look in her eye. A voice came from outside of the tent. "Good morning ladies! I have your coffee and biscuits," "Shit!" Sarah whispered, her embarrassment evident. "Leave the things on the table out there, please," Alex said. She tried to grab Sarah as she wiggled out of the bed. "No, we have to hurry." Alex flopped back on the bed in frustration. "Damn!" "I'm sorry, Alex. I shouldn't have led you on. I'll ask for a cot—" "No, you won't. Okay, okay, I can live with this," she grumbled, slipping out of the bed and deliberately stretching so Sarah could appreciate her naked form and all she had turned down. "You did that deliberately, you creep." "Live with it, and the shower is mine first, too." "Okay, I'll stand out here on hippo watch." Alex disappeared behind the canvas wall. They had a leisurely breakfast under a shady tree and then climbed into George's jeep for a drive to the grasslands. A few hours later, they stood side by side on the seat of the jeep, their heads and shoulders through the open roof. Around them was a herd of thirty-two elephants, so close that they towered over the jeep. George had driven into the centre of the herd and parked. "Wait for me, mamma. You're going too fast," George said as a baby barely a few months old ran to catch up with its grazing mother. Alex snapped pictures while Sarah enjoyed the magnificent animals around them and talked a little bit about the elephants they were watching. "You see the musk draining down the bull's ears? He's coming into heat." The massive animal flapped his ears, raised one foot, and pounded the ground. George put the jeep in gear and backed up a bit. "He's warning us off. Bulls are always pretty aggressive, but they're much more so when you see the stain of the musk on their ears. This herd is the bull's harem, and he's feeling some pretty good reasons for protecting it." "Papa say, 'Go away. These are my wives.'" George put the jeep in gear again, and they bumped across the grasslands in search of other game. Alex held on to the roll bar and wrapped a protective arm around Sarah as they remained standing, enjoying the heat of the African sun and the wind through their hair. George came to a stop and looked across the endless grasslands with experienced eyes. "Over there," he said, "a cheetah is sitting on an old termite hill. But on our way we'll stop to see that pride of lions." Alex had good eyes, and she scanned the waving grass in the direction that George pointed, but she could see nothing. She looked at Sarah. She really had gotten them the best guide in the camp. A few minutes later, George stopped the jeep. Beside them, a big male lion lay contentedly in the sun. They could see several females nearby, but gradually they became aware of more and more. In all, they were finally able to count a dozen females, one young male, and the big alpha male. "Why don't they attack?" Alex asked. George watched the animals that surrounded them. "They see the jeep as one entity, and they have seen enough of them to know they are harmless. Now, if you stepped out or reached out with an arm, papa lion would roar 'Bring me some nice human to eat. I am hungry.'" The women chuckled at the way George talked for the animals. "Male lions, they do not know how to hunt. The females hunt, and then the male chases them away and eats the best parts of the kill. When the male is old and driven from the pride by a young male, they often starve to death because they will not hunt." "Typical," Sarah said, then laughed at the comment, and Alex and George joined in. "Even the mama lion is not all that good a hunter. Only forty percent of the time will she be successful at a kill. The rest of the time, she has to come home and tell papa that they will be hungry tonight." When Alex had taken all the pictures she wanted, George put the vehicle in gear again, and they bounced on through the tall grass to where the cheetah sat, about a half mile away. "She is very nervous. She knows the lions are near. Soon she will move away from here," George said. They watched the beautiful animal sitting alert and tense. Then, it stood, sniffed the air, and bounded away. They went on to look at crocodiles lazing on river banks, giraffes grazing, and herds of zebra and wildebeest migrating by the hundreds in a long trail that seemed to go all the way to the horizon. They returned to the camp as the sun was setting, feeling totally in awe of what they had seen. "I can't believe it," exclaimed Alex as she stripped out of her dusty clothes. "I thought we'd have to look for animals and be satisfied with an odd sighting, but no way. You park the jeep and a few giraffes are to your right, a herd of zebra go galloping past, a pride of lions is lying in the sun, and half a dozen other animals pass by, to boot. It's amazing!" Sarah smiled. "I thought you'd like it. I wanted you to see it, to know this part of Africa as I do. Remember that this is the migration season, though. You're seeing it at its best. In a few months, all the wonderful grass will be eaten, and what's left will have dried in the sun and the herd animals will have headed south again." Alex walked over and looked down at Sarah. "Is that the only reason? You just wanted me to have a good holiday?" "Honestly, Alex, I was going to say no to the visit when I got your letter. I didn't think I could live through the heartache again. Then you said you loved me, and it seemed so sincere... I don't know. I'm pretty confused right now." "I won't push." "Oh, yeah, the person they coined the word 'driven' for is not going to push." "I've changed." "People don't." "Then maybe I just got in touch with myself again and went back to being the person I was." Sarah reached up and kissed Alex's cheek softly. "I fell in love with that person." They left it at that. * * * At the open-air bar that night, Alex was ready to talk to Sarah. "I was furious with you," she admitted, staring into her glass. "I'd worked my tail off for us, and you walked out on me. I thought, so what? I don't need a bitch like that in my life. I bought myself a big home, a flashy car, and started doing the bar scenes, except I never could bring myself to bring anyone home for the night. I threw myself into my work and was making tons of money and a real name for myself, but it didn't mean shit. I didn't even know the name of the person I was operating on. But I sure was showing you how wrong you'd been about me." "So what happened?" Alex shook her head. "Nothing, really. I just woke up one day and realized that my life was about as shallow as a puddle. It wasn't the life. I was doing meaningful work; it was me. I was shallow because it didn't mean a thing to me except for the power and money that I could get out of it." For a bit, the two women sat and stared at the flames of the fire. Alex needed time to find the right words. "So I quit. I saw an advertisement for the job of field surgeon working out of Yellowknife, and I applied. It's been great. I love it up there." "What does your job entail?" Sarah asked as she reached forward to push a branch farther onto the fire. "Mostly general surgery at the hospital in Yellowknife, but I also go around to some of the remote clinics and see patients. In rare cases, I even operate out of a clinic. Just before I left, I had to remove an appendix. A plane hadn't been able to land to get the patient out. I was nearby and came over on my dog sled to help out." "You have sled dogs?" Alex had never wanted a pet when they lived together. She said they were too much trouble and got hair on her clothes. "Yeah. I've even competed in some of the local races. I've become real fond of them." Alex pulled her wallet from her pocket and took out a picture of her team. "That's Cleo, my lead dog. She's great. And lying down back there are Nip and Tuck," Alex said. Alex looked up to see Sarah looking at her with tear-filled eyes. "What?" "Nothing." Sarah blinked back her emotion. "I just think that maybe you have changed." They sat for a while, enjoying the night. "Alex?" "Yes." "Is this who you are, or was it the other Alex who was moving up in society, or was it the tough, streetwise woman I first met? You see, I don't know." Alex sighed and poked at the fire. "I guess I'm a bit of all those people. I set goals for myself, and when I do, I go all out. That's just the way I am. That's what enabled me to escape my childhood poverty and make it through medical school." "You grew up in the city, Alex. Do you think you can really fit in and be happy in northern Canada? Is this just another obsession of yours?" Alex laughed. "I was the butt of so many jokes my first year there. Whenever I had to go out in the field, they would take bets on whether I would have to be rescued, too. I didn't know shit, and I think I made every mistake a person could make. But I've learned, even if it was the hard way. Yeah, I love it up there. Life feels real, and every day is different. The challenges are big, and I have so much more to learn. It's where I want to be. I'm hoping that you feel you could live there, too." "And do what? I'm not prepared to be some hausfrau while you're off having a career." "I wouldn't expect you to. There's a lot of work that needs to be done in the north. Yellowknife is still a town, but it's one of the biggest in Canada. There are lots of opportunities. You could lecture at the Aurora or Nunavut Colleges. There's all sorts of renewed interest in the ways the Dene and Inuit used the land and their knowledge of animal husbandry and wild plant medicines. You could do some real meaningful research. I have a nice house overlooking the lake." Sarah shook her head and chuckled. "What?" Alex asked. "Tell me you aren't going to push. You have this all worked out, don't you?" "I think about it a lot. I want us to have a life together. That's not pushing." "I guess I wanted you to see my part of Africa for the same reason," Sarah said. "This is where I've done my research, and I love it here. I want you to love it, too. It's part of who I am. They talk about the African disease, you know. It's fatal to some Europeans. Phillips is a good example. They come here, and they can't leave. Africa gets in their blood." Sarah reached out to squeeze Alex's hand. "And just for the record, I have thought about you being here. Daydreamed about it. And now you are." An office clerk came up beside them. "Excuse me, Doctor Meloche, this message was left at the desk for you this afternoon. I am sorry I am so late in delivering it. With the new group of tourists arriving today, I have been very busy." He had the droopy, pierced ear lobes of a Masai. "That's okay. Thanks for bringing it to me. I never think to check my mailbox when I'm here." The clerk left, and Sarah went over to the light of the bar to read the message. Alex watched Sarah's happy face change into hard, stressed lines. She got up and went over to join her. "What's the matter?" Sarah handed her the note. It was typewritten, short, and had no letterhead or signature. You are being watched. I believe that you are being considered to play apart in a deadly attack. Please be on your guard. Be sure you know who your friends are. "It sounds like Phillips again," Alex said. "Yes, or someone writing in his style. I don't like being used. Whoever these people are, they aren't going to get very far trying to get me to do something I don't want to do." "Should we call the police?" "It would be a waste of time. They have bigger issues to deal with. No, let's go back to our tent." Sarah signaled to one of the guards and they followed him back to their room. Alex unzipped the flap, lifted it, and froze. There was something lying on their pillow. As she walked closer, she saw it was a small stone carving of a hippo. "What's this? Someone's been in the tent." Sarah came over and looked. She smiled and kissed Alex's cheek. "It's for you. The camp has them carved and leaves one on the pillow for each new guest. The woman who lights our lanterns and turns down the beds would have brought it when she came." Alex smiled. "Awesome. It's cute. Sure beats a rose. I never know what to do with them, and the chocolate they leave is always stale." "Trust you to be an expert on the things maids leave on hotel beds," Sarah said. Alex's arm whipped out quick as lightening and drew Sarah close to her. "I don't recall you ever complaining about my experience," she said into Sarah's ear before kissing it. Sarah moaned. "You promised to be good." "That was last night." "And tonight." Alex sighed dramatically. "Okay, and tonight, just how good do you want me to be?" Sarah hugged her close. "Good enough so my mind isn't worrying about that silly message and what I might have gotten myself into, but not so good that I wake in the morning with bigger complications than I already have." Alex hugged Sarah reassuringly. Later, they showered together, washing each other like they used to do years before, but being careful not to cross the line into intimacy. In the darkened tent, Alex held Sarah close to her in bed long after Sarah had gone to sleep. Chapter 10 The rotting carcass of a reedbuck hung from the fork in a gnarled tree nestled in the hollow of a large outcropping of rock. "A leopard kill," George said. "But at least a week old. I do not think the leopard is around now." Alex looked at the grotesque death with shock and a new respect for the wilds of Africa. Yesterday, it had seemed like a wonderful, magical zoo, but here was evidence of nature in its rawest form. Alex glanced at Sarah. Her expression was neutral. Africa had toughened Sarah to some of the more cruel realities of life. They drove on, and after stopping at different spots to observe warthogs, waterbuck, hartebeest, impala, and hyena, George brought them over a rise to where three lionesses had just made a kill. He stopped the jeep a short distance away, and they watched as the male ripped open the belly of the wildebeest and tore out the liver and kidneys to eat. Only after he had eaten his fill did he allow the females, who had made the kill, to move in to gorge on the fresh, steaming meat. They watched in macabre fascination as the females ripped at the haunches while the male gnawed contentedly on a bone. The smell of blood fouled the air, and the crack and crunch of large bones in powerful jaws was terrifying. Next, the jackals and hyenas moved in, bouncing through the tall grass and darting in to rip off pieces of flesh before they were chased by the lions. Some stood at a distance keeping a lookout, while others fought over the scraps they had stolen. When the lions finally moved away, the hyenas and jackals descended in a mass. Jaws like vices snapped bones in half, and the bloody remains seemed to disappear before their eyes. The vultures moved in to peck and tear at the remains. Later, rodents and bugs would eat away at the marrow and hide. Death was everywhere on the great plain, but nothing remained to bear evidence to the carnage. "Shit," whispered Alex, as she watched the dead wildebeest vanish before her eyes in less than half an hour. Sarah gave her a quick hug. "A pretty thorough example of the food chain, huh?" "You're telling me. There certainly isn't any waste." "You're only seeing a little bit of the story. Have you noticed the termite hills? If you totalled up the weight of all the thousands of animals roaming over this plain, including the big guys like elephants and hippos, they would weigh less than the number of termites living in the ground," Sarah said. Alex shivered. "Creepy." George took them down to a river crossing where a large herd of zebras were milling around waiting to cross. They watched for sometime as the herd grazed near by. Gradually, a few came down to the water's edge and drank. Then a few more. A few brave ones waded out and swam safely to the other shore. More followed as the crocodiles started to move in from each side. The zebras hobby-horsed through the water in a steady stream as the thin wakes from the crocodiles got closer. One of the zebras reared up in fright, then another did the same. They splashed wildly to shore, safe, but others had yet to make it. Alex's hand tightened over Sarah's, and Sarah moved closer. Alex could feel sweat breaking out on her own lip. "Damn, I hope those bastards don't get one," she said. George chuckled. "Crocodile has to eat too. He can't help it that he is not pretty like the zebra. But I think these zebra are okay. The crocodiles here look too small. They have to grab the zebra by the face and pull him under and drown him. I do not think they are big enough." But as they watched, a zebra squealed in fear as a crocodile snapped onto his nose and pulled his head under. The poor beast struggled to get his head to the surface but was pulled under again. Once more, he got his head up, but the exertion was tiring. Then, two other zebra veered over to where the poor animal struggled for survival and used their front hooves to pummel the crocodile. The croc let go, and all the zebras remaining in the water either turned back or made it safely to the other side. Alex let out the breath she was holding, and Sarah leaned against her reassuringly. "The poor crocodile must eat fish tonight," George said as he started up the jeep again, but he, too, seemed relieved that the zebra had escaped. They returned to Governor's Camp and ate under the shade of a large tree. "You've changed," Alex observed, once they had brought their plates back from the large buffet tables and settled down to eat. "Yes, I have. Oh, my principles are the same, but I have a much clearer idea of the complications involved in trying to make this world a better place. I've lost my naive idealism and replaced it with some sound, practical approaches to life." She put down her fork and looked at Alex. "If I'd had the wisdom I have now back then, I still would have left you, but I'd have done so because the life was not for me, and not because I was harshly and unfairly judging the very social class that I had been raised in. I was wrong because every social class has its strengths and weaknesses, and I wasn't prepared to see that. Although I still believe we need to get our priorities straight, I'm sorry for some of the things I said at the time." Alex swallowed hard. "I appreciate your willingness to see that we both contributed to our relationship falling apart, but I'm not here to criticize you as I know I've done in the past. I accept that in trying to make a better life for us, I destroyed the good things that we already had. The fault of our breakup was mine, and I'm finally able to see that. "I've changed, too, Sarah. Matured. I'm more comfortable in my skin now and have nothing to prove other than I love you and I want to be your life partner." "I love you too, Alex. But—" "Hey, don't go there, not now. I... I know the buts. Let's just leave this as a positive conversation today and deal with some of the shit a bit later. Okay?" Sarah let the subject drop. Alex gathered up her things. There would be time later to talk. It would soon be time to go out on safari again. There was no point in getting into any of the raw issues when they were going to be out bouncing around in the jeep in half an hour or so. They finished their coffee and returned to their green canvas palace, as Alex insisted on calling it, to freshen up before meeting George at the jeep. They went in search of crocodile and hippo. They didn't have to travel far down the river to see a big pod of hippos basking in the swallow river, their massive heads resting on each other's backs and their little round ears twitching back and forth. "The hippopotamus needs to get lots of sun to warm his big body because he is in the water so much," George said, "but the sun doesn't like Mr. Hippo. Hippos have very sensitive skin and they burn easily. That is why they stay lounging in the river during the day and then come to shore and eat the grass and plants at night." "Which ones are Buttercup and Daisy?" Alex asked, "I've got a bone to pick with those two. They scared me nearly out of my skin the other night." George and Sarah laughed. "You must be careful. Daisy and Buttercup stay very close to the camp. A hippo never breaks his pattern. If you put up your tent on Mr. Hippo's path, he will walk right through your tent. Mr. Hippo doesn't care. Hippos kill more people each year than any other African animal because people don't respect those big jaws. He can snap a log in half," George said. Sarah put her arm around Alex and gave her a hug. "Just as well you were armed with an umbrella, huh?" she teased. Alex took the opportunity to wrap her arm around Sarah's shoulder for a quick hug back. They stood on the bank to allow Alex to take pictures of some crocodiles sunbathing on the opposite bank. One was over fifteen feet long and three feet wide across its back. George watched closely for animals nearby while the women were out of the truck, and Sarah watched that Alex didn't get too close to the water's edge. African rivers needed to be respected. They were filled with dangerous predators. "Mama crocodile is very happy. She has eaten well and will not have to hunt again for a long time, maybe even a year," George said. The three got back into the vehicle but they hadn't gone far before they saw tall figures in bright red and yellow walking along. "Masai." George sneered. "Masai men are very lazy. Their women do all the work and they sit and talk all day or sit in the shade of a tree." "That view couldn't have anything to do with you being a bushman, could it?" Sarah asked. "Bushmen are good men. Masai men are no good," George reaffirmed. They bounced on until they were close to the Masai group and then came to a stop. Much to Alex's surprise, Sarah hoisted herself up onto the roof of the jeep and slid off to embrace each of the five women and one man who walked with them. George and Alex watched as Sarah chatted in Masai. Sarah looked like a midget next to the tall Masai. She gave the tall, stern looking man one more hug while the women giggled and then opened the door and got back into the jeep. "The women are all dressed up in their yellow and red robes and beads because they have been to a circumcision ceremony. They met John Cattleman on the trail, and he's walking back with them. He has invited us to visit his village tomorrow." Alex did a double take at the group walking ahead of them down the road. She hadn't recognized Cattleman in his traditional Masai dress. George started the engine. "He is a strange one, Cattleman. Masai men are no good." Alex looked at Sarah, but she didn't seem concerned. Towards dusk, they sat in the jeep on the crest of a hill. Not far away from them, three lionesses sat in a row watching a huge herd of wildebeest and zebra in the valley below. "Papa is hungry, and he has sent out his wives to bring him back a juicy wildebeest or zebra." Sarah leaned close against Alex. "Wildebeest have an excellent nose for scent but very poor eyesight. The zebra can't distinguish smells as well but have excellent eyesight. That's why they migrate together." Alex watched through her field glasses as one of the lionesses started circling around and down towards the herd below. "Why are zebras black and white, I wonder?" "I just read about that," George responded, as he kept a close eye on where the lioness was going. "We didn't know for a long time, but now they think that the black and white pattern is like a strobe light to an insect. The pattern might have evolved to protect the zebra from the bite of the tsetse fly that carries sleeping sickness. For a long time, we knew that zebras didn't get the sickness as much as other animals. Maybe this is the answer. Other animals, too, have stripes on the inside of their ears where they are most likely to be bitten." After the one lioness had left, the remaining two lay down on the grass, eyes and ears focussed on the herd below. Alex, Sarah, and George watched as the other lioness slunk through the tall grass, slowly getting closer and closer to the herd. Alex lowered her binoculars and looked at George, who rarely seemed to need his binoculars because his eyesight was so sharp. "Is she going to try and kill one of the herd animals by herself?" \ "She will try, but no, that is not her main intention. You see the herd is getting restless. They keep looking up and staring at the grass where she is. The zebras know something is there. Mama lion will get as close as she can and then try to spring for the neck of one of the animals, but she won't mind if she misses because what she is really doing is stampeding the herd towards the other two here on the hill." "Good Lord, you mean they have a plan? They're hunting as a team?" "Yes." They sat now in tense silence, watching the drama unfold below them. The lioness crept closer to the herd, low to the ground, ears back, and alert. Sometimes she was visible to the watchers on the hill, and other times she was lost in the ocean of waving grass. She had planned her attack well; the breeze that rustled the dense vegetation around her blew her scent away from the herd. Pebbles slid down the side of an old termite mound as she passed. One black and white head lifted from grazing and looked her way. She slid forward faster now that she had been spotted. The zebra closest to her kicked its heels high and galloped away. Other heads lifted. Now was her only chance; she bounded forward. Wildebeest and zebra scattered in all directions. Choking in a cloud of dust, she lunged at the shadowy form darting past and missed. She did not try again but contented herself with herding the panic-stricken animals in the direction of the other lionesses. Sarah and Alex lowered their binoculars and watched the massive herd stampeding up the hill in their direction. The thunder of their hooves echoed across the valley and shook the ground. The two waiting lionesses rose and cautiously wove their way through the grass towards where the herd would pass. Alex swallowed and felt Sarah's hand slip into her own. The herd crested the hill, and the lionesses ran forward, teeth bared and claws extended, but the herd had the advantage of momentum and sheer size. The lions could do nothing but try to outrun the animals at the outer edge for fear of being trampled. They soon gave up the chase. The dust settled. The drumming of hooves faded. The lionesses disappeared into the grass that was now painted gold by the setting sun. A lone rain tree stood silhouetted against an endless plain that ran to an infinite horizon. The lions would go hungry tonight as wild Africa prepared to sleep. * * * Exhausted from their long day and the excitement and emotions of the experiences, Sarah and Alex returned to their tent, weary but delighted. Sarah flopped down on the bed and Alex in the camp chair. "We could shower together." Sarah's head turned to look at her. "Yeah, we could." A slow, lazy smile crossed Alex's face. Suddenly, she wasn't tired anymore. She stood and walked over to offer her hand to Sarah, pulled her up to her feet, and then lifted her into her arms. "I love you," Alex said and proved it with the kiss that followed. Their shower was more intimate this time; washing was sensual as well as practical. Alex lathered Sarah's hair while dropping kisses onto her wet neck. Sarah used a body lotion with the fragrant scent of peaches and vanilla to caress Alex, kissing, fondling and rubbing her body against the fit form. They came close to meeting each other's needs, but once again, Sarah slowed the pace, tenderly but firmly letting Alex know that she still was not ready to cross the line that would make them lovers again. The sexual tension and scent of hot need saturated the canvas room, carried on the steam from the shower. Alex fought for control. She had to be content with the lingering sensation of Sarah's lips on her breasts and her fingertips caressing her body. After their shower, they sat on the deck of the bar that overlooked the river below and watched elephants feeding in the bush on the opposite bank. They then walked across the compound lawn to the dining pavilion for a meal of mango salad, roast ostrich with vegetables, and cooked bananas covered in fresh chocolate and flamed with a fruit brandy sauce. Later, they took their liqueur glasses of Benedictine to sit by the fire. Alex thought about the man they had met on the trail with the women. His ear lobes had been pierced and stretched into big loops of skin. He'd worn a red cotton tunic that came nearly to his knees. In one hand, he held a tall Masai spear, and in his beaded belt, he carried a short sword. Cattleman had been an impressive sight, but he sure hadn't looked like a potential threat to the political stability of the area. She said as much to Sarah. "The Masai have very strong ties to their families and to their traditional ways. John is just as comfortable in European dress as he is proud to wear his Masai clothes. There is a whole ritual and chain of procedures that a man must go through before becoming an adult member of the Masai community. That process binds him closely to the land and to his people, even if he does choose to get a European education." Alex leaned back in her chair. There was no point in going early to bed; Sarah had made that quite clear. Besides, she wanted to show Sarah that she had changed, that she could take the time to listen and to support her partner's interests and to appreciate the research she was doing. "Tell me about it." "That would take months. The Masai live by a strict order of ritualized life stages. Masai are not Moslem. They still follow the old African beliefs. You'll have to read my ethnology, but in a nutshell, it works like this: between five- and ten-months-old, a baby is named. It is given the name of a hero or famous leader. Then, at the age of four or five, the front teeth are removed for beauty. When the child is between nine and ten years old, the ears are pierced and extended with wooden spools over time. This is also done for beauty." "Whatever happened to swimming lessons and braces?" "It's a whole different world out here." Sarah took a sip of her drink before she went on. "Girls are circumcised at puberty." "That's barbaric." "Yes, but this is their country and their way. Perhaps over time and with education, things will change, as cultures do, but it isn't for us to force change on them. Female circumcision is performed in the woman's house by the chief woman. They may cry, but the family will give them gifts if they don't. Once a girl has gone through this ritual, she may marry." Alex nodded her understanding. "What about the boys?" "Boys go through the process between the ages of fifteen and eighteen years old." "Ouch!" "They are circumcised at the main gate of the village or in the centre of the village, but only the males of the village can be there. Men may not cry, or they are seen to be weak and cowards." "Do the boys marry that young, too?" Alex asked. "Oh, no, the males have a long way to go yet. They now start their training to be warriors. From around eighteen to twenty-five, men are expected to act smart, brave, and arrogant." "The whole macho scene, huh?" "You got it. They must prove themselves by killing a lion or participating in cattle raids. Today, it's very difficult to kill a lion because they're protected for the tourist trade. So most get involved in cattle stealing and the inter-tribal fights associated with the raids. They're illegal, too, but it's harder for the authorities to catch them." "It was on one of those raids that you were hit by the spear?" "Yes." Sarah continued before Alex dropped into her doctor's mode and launched into a lecture. "At the beginning of the rainy season, the warriors retreat into the bush to 'eat meat.'" Sarah made quotation marks with her fingers. "This is to make them strong. At this time, too, they're instructed in their ways by the headmen and spiritual leaders. A Cape buffalo will also be killed to make each warrior's shirt. They're gone for over six months." "That's quite a commitment in time and effort. I can see why it would reinforce the traditional culture. Not participating would result in total exclusion." "It sure does, and this is only the beginning. After they've proven themselves ready to be warriors, a special village is built where they stay to complete their training. They'll stay there for up to two years and may only be visited by men and the old women." Alex shook her head in disbelief. "Should I go on, or have you heard enough?" Sarah asked. Alex grabbed a piece of dry wood to toss on the embers of the fire. "Go ahead, I want to understand what I'm getting into tomorrow." "Each group that goes through the ritual towards manhood has a peer who is picked as their leader. It's a great honour. He must be rich, beautiful, intelligent, brave, and a good speaker. He must also come from the Black House. There are a number of houses to which families belong. John was the leader of his group. That gives him great power among his village peers. The leader's role is to set an example, or as they would say 'clear a path' for his age group." "Sarah, I'm really impressed by your research here. I've never really given the social sciences much credence, but I'm beginning to realize why the political and business world has met with such resistance—and even violence—because they didn't bother to understand this stuff." "That's right. Mind you, I have my own biases. I think that people with Masters degrees in business can be the most narrow and unaware people I've ever met." She went on. "The Masai warriors have an interesting bonding process during this time. They're rivals of the group that went through the ritual before them and are supported by the group that went through the process before their rivals. So every other generation is very close." "So the young warriors are influenced, not by the inexperienced men, but the ones that have gained ten years of insight. That reinforces the traditions and discourages rebellion." "That's right." Sarah picked up a stick and poked the fire. Sparks danced into the night air. Alex watched Sarah with hungry eyes, but she pushed those thoughts from her mind and asked another question about the initiation instead. "So John would be old enough to be a supporter of the boys going through initiation now?" "Yes." "Could that be significant to the warning you got?" Sarah took a sip of her drink and considered. "It might be. Then again, it could be he's back here simply meeting his tribal obligations. I can tell you though, I'm worried. Although the Masai are not, a good percentage of the people in this country are Moslem. They're also poor and facing a dismal future. They haven't been immune to the propaganda of fundamentalists." "But what does that have to do with you? Have you been messing around in the local politics, or could you have overheard something you shouldn't have?" "Neither, that I can recall. Nor am I likely to make that mistake. To do my research accurately and fairly, I have to be a totally neutral and open observer. That can be very hard at times, but it's essential for the work that anthropologists do. The final ceremony of the initiation rights will be coming up in a few months. I'm wondering if something will happen then." Alex eyes filled with concern. "Tell me about it." "The ceremony lasts five days. The men of the village will dress in ostrich headdresses or lion skin, if they've killed one. They'll march back to their old village, and their heads will be shaved. Following this, in the months to come, there will be two other ceremonies, one that allows the warriors to drink milk in the village again and another for meat eating." "Sounds harmless enough." "Yes, but they're young warriors eager to make names for themselves and could be easily led to prove their bravery with a dangerous and reckless act." "Do you think that's why John is here? To lead some sort of uprising or terrorist act that would support the ambitions of a few Islamic fundamentalists?" "I like John. He helped me a lot when I first came here. I think he's honourable and decent. I also know he's passionate about his political and social beliefs and his need to help his people." "Good people can be led to commit terrible acts in the name of God," Alex said. "Yes. But John isn't a Moslem. If he is involved in something, it's because he feels it will help the Masai people." The fire cracked, and the burning log crumbled into red embers. The night closed in. Sarah signalled to their guard, and they went to their tent. They slept that night wrapped close in each other's arms. * * * Alex stood outside their tent watching the sun rise over the Serengeti. It spilled over the endless horizon and washed the sea of grass below with gold. Vultures circled over a night kill. An elephant trumpeted the dawn, and birds took up the chorus in the trees of the nearby bush. The African sickness, Sarah had called it. A love of the land so deep in Europeans that they had to return to Africa no matter what the dangers or hardships. Not far from there, in the Olduvai Gorge, human life had evolved some five million years ago. All humans were African at their roots. Perhaps there was some trace memory in their genetic code still that called them home. Alex could feel it now. Would Sarah be prepared to leave and re-establish her life and career in Canada? If not, would Alex be prepared to give up her practice and follow Sarah to Africa? "You're up early." Sarah stood beside her, wrapped in a blanket against the morning chill. Alex pulled Sarah close. "Couldn't sleep," Sarah said. "You seemed deep in thought." "Africa was calling to me." "It does that. I'll be sorry to leave." "But you plan to?" Sarah looked fondly over the land. "As much as I love it here, this isn't my land. Africans will make their own future, either good or bad. I don't belong here anymore. My research will be complete in a few months." "Does that mean you'd consider a life in Canada with me?" Sarah hugged Alex. "It means I'll be returning to Canada, at any rate." They left shortly after breakfast for the Masai village. Sarah had instructed Alex to bring along her box of medical supplies, as they would stop at the local clinic on the way back. George took them down a narrow dirt road. The closer they got to the Masai village, the shorter the grasses, until the land was chomped to the ground. Sarah looked around. "The Masai judge their wealth by cattle. That's led to over-grazing. Each year, humans encroach deeper and deeper into the grasslands, reducing the area set aside for the wild animals." "Don't the Masai appreciate the wild heritage around them?" "Sure they do. It's their mythology that has preserved the wildlife here. Remember, God gave them goats and cattle, and they promised in return not to hunt God's animals or scratch God's earth. Any killing they do is to save themselves from attack or for ritual reasons. But they know they have to eat and prosper, and that means they need land." The village was on a small rise. It consisted of a round, high fence of brush. George pulled up the jeep and they waited. George checked the area carefully for wild animals and then nodded to the women. They got out and waited again. Soon a tall, regal-looking woman came out, and Sarah walked forward to greet her with a bow, as was the Masai way. "Alex, this is Maria. She is the first wife of the headman of this village." "Welcome, Alex." Maria's speech was clear and precise. With a bow of her head, Alex responded, "Thank you for letting me visit your village." Maria smiled, and together they entered the village. There, John waited for them. He still wore traditional Masai dress. He shook Sarah and Alex's hands in a European fashion. "Welcome. It is good to see you again." Alex looked around the village. Small, low houses edged the circumference, and the central area was sun-baked cow dung flattened into a hard crust under the feet of the cattle. Since there were four gates, from what Sarah had told her, she knew four men and their extended families lived here. Maria had been busy bringing the children and wives out. They were dressed in robes of bright red and yellow and wore wide, stiff collars of beading. Some wore gold or beaded chains that looped from their large earpieces to their noses. All were tall, lean, and wiry. Alex herself was a good height, but Maria was a several inches taller. Maria carried a small club like a swagger stick, and her women lined up quickly and obediently at her command. "We will sing you a song of welcome," she told them, and stood while her flock sang and swayed happily to the rhythmic, repetitive music. As they sang, John told a bit of his people's history. "The Masai are a Nilotic group. They believe their ways are similar to the Egyptians during Roman occupation because they are a military society, wear robes and sandals, carry short swords, and wear similar headdresses. The word Maa means 'language' and Sai means 'beads.' We probably migrated down the Nile Valley in the fifteenth century. Our language is closest to the people of the Sudan." The song ended, and Alex and Sarah politely clapped. Alex watched the group disperse. "Is there significance to the beadwork they wear? It's very elaborate and beautiful." "There is much symbolism in it. I will show you. Maria, come here," John said. The woman came immediately but with a dignity and bearing that Alex marvelled at. "The Masai use weights to extend their pierced ear lobes. The decorative loops of flesh are kept open with wood spools or metal earrings. Look at Maria's wooden spools. Do you see that they are similar but not identical?" Alex looked at the earrings. She wasn't sure what was culturally acceptable and wondered how Maria felt being used as an exhibit. Now that the song was over, Sarah had wandered off to talk to old friends. "Yes, I see. One is carved in a spiral, but the other is consecutive circles." "That's right. The spiral is female; the consecutive circles are a male symbol. The Masai believe that all things in life are paired, but not identical. The earrings are bound together as a pair, either by a nose strap or simply by the colours in the collar. For a balanced society, pairs must be joined." Alex nodded. She looked about at the primitive village of dung and saw it for the complex society it really was. She began to realize why colonialism failed so badly and why globalization was doomed to a similar fate if the business and political worlds were not prepared to understand the complex societies with which they were dealing. "Can you tell me about the colours?" "There are white and black colours. The white colours are hot, bright, and colourful. They are the 'beautiful ones.' They are the nurturing elements of society—the female elements. The black colours are cold, the dark elements of people. The male elements. Again, there are pairs. Female: white, hot, red. Male: black, cold, blue." "That's fascinating. Are you back here for the ceremonies that Sarah tells me will be happening soon?" "Partly. Are you enjoying your stay in the Masai Mara?" "Yes, very much so. It's an amazing place." Sarah walked up and joined them. "I got a message, John," Sarah said. "From whom?" "I don't know. It basically warned me to be careful of friends that might use me for their own ends. Do you know anything about it?" "No. But it seems like good advice. In these times, it is wise to know who your friends are and what they want from you." "I'm of no significance. I find it hard to believe that I'm earmarked for a role in some sort of dire plot." "The best way to catch fish is with minnows," John said. "Is that a warning or a threat?" Sarah asked. "Just hope it is not a prophecy. These are dangerous times." Alex bristled over the implied warnings in the exchange between Sarah and John. She would have liked to have taken charge and made it clear to John that he'd better not mess with Sarah. But instead, she gritted her teeth and stayed quiet, but close. Sarah nodded. "Thank you, John, for your hospitality. We'll thank the women and then be on our way. Alex is anxious to visit the local clinic." Maria insisted on showing them her simple home, so it was some time before they straightened out of the dark wattle and daub building and blinked in the bright sun. John had disappeared. Two old men sat in the sun, their backs against a hut wall. Their faces were lined and dark, like aged wood. A dog ran past, two children played on the far side of the village, and a group of women sat cross-legged near the gate. In front of them was a selection of crafts. "It would be politically wise to buy something," Sarah whispered as they made their way towards the gate. First, Alex picked out a collar of beautiful patterns of red, blue, and white. It was Maria, standing near by, who did the negotiating on behalf of the women and took the money from Alex. Alex placed the collar around Sarah's neck. This caused the women to laugh hysterically. Alex blushed and saw that Sarah had turned crimson, too. "What have I done?" "I think we just became engaged." "Good." She examined all of the clubs. Some were beaded as elaborately as the collars. Alex hefted each one and checked its balance, hardness, and weight. She rejected the pretty tourist models and bought instead a plain wooden club with a beautiful grain and perfect weight and balance. Maria nodded in approval. They said their good-byes and went back to the jeep, where George waited. "Where did Maria learn her English if women aren't allowed to go to school?" Alex asked as she clambered into the jeep after Sarah. "Her children taught her. Three of her sons chose to go to school." "She must be very smart. She speaks with beautiful enunciation. It is a shame she never got the chance to go to school." "She is very powerful for a woman and is proud of her culture and ways, as you saw. If she had gotten an education, she'd be working in one of the tourist camps at a minimal wage. Isn't she better off where she is, in some ways?" Alex saw the wisdom behind this question. Maria belonged. It might be a basic, hard life, but it was hers. That was far better than being caught between two cultures and never belonging to either. Chapter 11 They drove on for some time until they came to a small whitewashed building sitting behind a chain link fence. Alex stood up and looked out of the roof at the shabby structure. "Oh, boy," she said with a sigh. "It's not as bad as it looks. The Masai move about a lot, so permanent facilities didn't work. Now they have these small clinics to handle immediate first aid and a flying doctor service to take serious cases out." Alex followed Sarah over to the gate. There was fresh blood on the metal. "Uh-oh, it looks like there's a problem. Watch the blood. You have to be very careful in Africa." Sarah's warning was wasted. Alex was already striding back to the jeep. "There's fresh blood on the gate," she told George, as she pulled out a pair of latex gloves from the box of medical supplies and slipped them on. George pulled an M16 rifle out from under the seat. Alex carried the box of supplies and George followed. "George, there isn't a soul for miles!" Sarah protested as she accepted the box that Alex passed to her. Alex opened the gate, and they slipped through. George said nothing, but his sharp eyes watched the windows and doorway of the clinic closely. A pool of blood marked the doorstep. From inside, they heard the sound of moaning and worried Bantu voices. George slung his rifle. "A Bantu man has been gored by a Cape buffalo." When they went in, they found three young men, their eyes round and white with fear, huddled against one wall. They were all blood-splattered. Alex walked through to the examination room. "Hi, I'm Doctor Aubin. I'm a surgeon. Can I be of help?" She indicated to Sarah that she should put the box down on a table along the side of the wall. Blood dripped steadily off the old, chipped metal table. Three other occupants were in the room besides the unfortunate victim: a village man and a Masai man and woman dressed in European clothes under old lab coats. They splashed around in a growing puddle of blood. Their clothes were already saturated. "Please, Doctor. I can't stop the bleeding," the Masai man said. Alex put on a clean pair of gloves over the ones she already had on. "Does he have AIDS?" Sarah asked. The nurse looked up from where he was applying pressure with a blood-soaked cloth. "I don't know. It is possible." Alex went to work. She looked around for what might be available in the clinic that she could use. Sarah stood back against the wall and stayed out of the way, watching Alex fight to save the man who'd had his groin ripped open. "Have you got IV equipment here?" Alex asked the nurse who was trying to slow the flow of blood. He said that they did. "Quickly, get an IV started and let it run wide open," Alex ordered, taking the blood-soaked cloth away from him. She spoke to the other nurse. "Get some suturing material and lots of gauze from the box over there, and if you have a sterile haemostat, that would be good." She took the pulse of the uninjured leg and then compared it to the injured side. She took the packing away from the wound, and a spurt of blood shot up. Alex dabbed away the blood, watching closely. The nurse returned with the requested materials, and Alex grabbed a handful of gauze and put it in place. "Here," she said, "Hold this and apply pressure while I get the needle ready." As soon as she was ready, she told the woman to remove the gauze, clamped the haemostat in place, and put in a few quick sutures in the damaged artery to slow the bleeding. She released the haemostat from the artery. With more gauze to wipe the area, she checked her work and the extent of the damage. "Looks like the pubis is shattered. It might have been a bone splinter that tore the artery." She packed the wound tightly to control the oozing blood and applied a pressure dressing. "Vitals?" "Heart erratic. Blood pressure low and dropping." Alex looked up at the male nurse who stood by. "You'd better hang a second bag of fluid and run it wide open again." The nurse hurried to carry out Alex's order. Alex looked at her patient. She felt for a pulse in the lower leg. There was a marked increase in the blood pressure, thanks to the suturing. She nodded her approval. "Come on fella, hang in there!" she urged. Carefully, she and the two nurses worked to strap the unconscious man to a backboard. George, who was standing in the doorway of the room, heard the sound first. "Helicopter." "I've patched up a few holes and stabilized the hip as best I can. What's the flight time to the hospital?" Alex asked. "About eighty minutes." "You guys finish securing him to the backboard. I'll write up a note for the receiving team." The nurses did as instructed, and Alex washed her gloved hands in disinfectant, then ripped off the gloves and scrubbed her hands again. She walked to the small office at the front of the building, sat down at the desk, and started writing. She didn't look up as the helicopter team walked past, trusting the nurses and squad to get their part of the job done. She and Sarah joined them outside. Alex handed them her notes as they hurried to take off. Alex stood at a safe distance, the wind and dust whipping around her. "He's not going to make it, is he?" Sarah asked. Alex felt drained, her heart heavy with worry for the young man. "It's very unlikely. I was able to slow the blood loss, but his body is in deep shock due to the scale of the trauma. He might make it, but it would be a long shot. He's open to infection. That will be the big concern, if he survives the surgery." "You knew that, but you tried to save him anyway, even though you could have been putting your own health in danger." "That's my job. AIDS is a reality here. Everywhere." Alex took a step away. "Come on. You'll need to translate." It was hard to tell the four frightened men that their friend might die, but Alex explained carefully and Sarah translated. The men showed no emotion, as it wouldn't have been manly, but they couldn't hide the sorrow and pain in their eyes. Sarah sat quietly in the front seat of the Land Rover. Alex had insisted on sitting alone in the back so as not to ruin anyone else's clothes. That's my job, Alex had heard herself say. It was and it wasn't. Medical people didn't have to put their own lives at risk. When Sarah had lived with her, Alex had competed for the high-profile jobs that tested her talents and knowledge. She hadn't been interested in healing, but rather in gaining fame and power. She wondered which Alexandria Aubin Sarah believed existed: the one who wanted to control everything, or the one who had just fought to save a young man's life? They caused quite a sensation when they arrived back at Governor's Camp with Alex covered in blood. Alex thought the manager was going to have a heart attack with worry until Sarah had a chance to explain that Alex was all right and had just performed some major first aid on a victim of a wild animal attack. Alex said nothing. She brushed past the crowd, ignoring the stares and gasps from the tourists and hastened to their tent to shower and change. She stood under the showerhead and let the water pour over her. The water was as hot as she could stand it, and the tent was soon steamy. She scrubbed herself down with a disinfectant soap. Life sucked. The man was probably going to die, Sarah was in some sort of danger, and now there was a good chance that Sarah would never want to make love to her for fear of being exposed to whatever illnesses the gored man's blood might have borne. She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. So intent was she on her dark thoughts that she started when she caught the motion of a figure through the stream. Sarah peeled off her dusty clothes and stepped into the shower with Alex. "Ouch! That's hot!" Alex used her body as a shield to keep the direct spray off Sarah. "I made it as hot as I could. I... uh... wanted you to know I was clean." Sarah's wrapped her arms around Alex and rested her head on her breast. "Silly. I was so proud of you today. You are my old Alex, bold, brave, and confident." She stood on her tiptoes and captured Alex's lips. Strong arms enveloped her, healing hands, caring hands, a lover's hands. "Alex?" "Yeah?" "I'm so glad you asked to visit me here in Africa." "So am I, lover," Alex murmured, as she kissed Sarah's face. "Alex?" "Mmm?" "Stop." The single word stabbed into Alex's heart and she pulled back immediately, profoundly hurt. Sarah moved closer and embraced Alex again. "There's no privacy now. Tonight, after dinner when they've turned back our bed, lit the lamps, and dropped the canvas flaps over the window screening, make love to me then. I want you back in my bed and in my life." Alex pulled Sarah tightly to her. Relief surged through her like a tidal wave, and tears mixed with the shower water. She had won Sarah back. Now, how the hell was she going to wait another five hours to show Sarah just how much she loved her? An hour later, they sat over drinks, waiting for the dining area to open. "How much dinner do we have to eat?" Alex asked. Sarah burst out laughing and choked on her drink. "You are so bad!" Alex raised an eyebrow. "I don't think once every three years is unreasonable." Sarah smiled softly and squeezed Alex's hand where it lay on the arm rest. "There was no one else?" Alex straightened the peanut dish on the table. "No." "Nor me. And Alex?" "Yeah?" "It had better be more than once," Sarah said. The mood was broken by the sound of a familiar voice. "Hope I'm not interrupting." Sarah looked up to see James Phillips. "Of course not, James. You seem to be everywhere at once these days. Will you join us for a drink?" Phillips bounced on his heels nervously and then took a seat. "I've been busy. Tying up some loose ends, you know. It's all over for me now. I'm retiring. So I want to leave things neat and tidy for the new man coming in." "You're leaving? Since when?" "I made up my mind and handed in my letter of resignation a month or so ago. Think I'll buy myself a little place down in Cornwall. Lovely country there." "Well, congratulations then. Let me buy you a drink." "No thanks. I've had several already, and I promised a few old acquaintances I'd meet them for dinner. I couldn't resist stopping to say good-bye. I saw your name on the list for the balloon flight on Thursday. It's a wonderful experience, that. I've done it several times." "As soon as I knew Alex was coming to visit, I booked it. It's so popular that if you don't book early, you simply can't get on." Phillips smiled knowingly. "Yes. Look, you could do me a favour? Margaret is catering the champagne breakfast after the flight. I borrowed her binoculars several weeks ago. You'd be saving me a drive over if you could just take them with you and give them to her when you see her at breakfast. If it's all right with you, I'll leave them at the main desk for you to pick up the morning of your flight." "Sure, I'd be glad to," Sarah said. She put her glass down and her smile faded. "Listen James, I got this letter. No signature on it, and it was typed. She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to Phillips. Phillips took the folded paper and smoothed it out on his knee, then reached for his glasses that hung from a cord around his neck. He read it twice. "This is one of the reasons I shall be happy to leave. Lovely ladies like yourselves shouldn't have to put up with this nonsense. I don't see what this could possibly mean. You're not involved in the politics of this area. I suspect it's meant to scare you because they've seen you talking to me and are afraid you might say something that would get them in trouble. The rumour is I work for Intelligence, you know." "Is there any truth to that rumour?" "None whatsoever. Old colonials like myself pick up certain urban legends like these to explain why we have stayed on." Sarah detected a touch of bitterness in his voice. "Why did you stay on, then?" Alex asked bluntly. "The African disease," Phillips said as he dropped the letter on the table. "And here I could afford to live reasonably well. Didn't think I could back in England, but I came into a little money recently and that's changed my plans. Well, must be off. Give my love to Margaret. And Sarah, I don't think this letter is anything to worry about, but do be careful." The old man reached out and laid an affectionate hand on her shoulder. "Thanks, James. Best wishes for a long and happy retirement." "I think that's assured now," James said, and took his leave. "His tune has changed a lot in a very short time," Alex said. Sarah watched the retreating figure thoughtfully. "Yes." "Do you believe him?" "There's no reason not to." They finished their drinks and went to the dining room. * * * Alex was barely in the tent before she started to strip off her clothes. At last, she could be with Sarah again. She wasn't about to waste any more time. Laughter broke out behind her, and she turned to see Sarah flat on her back on the bed, grinning. "What's so funny?" Alex asked. She stood with her hands on her hips, totally naked except for her briefs. "You've got zebra-striped undies on," Sarah said. "Alex looked down at the offending briefs, a flush rising up her neck. "I bought a packet of three in African motifs at the Hudson's Bay Company to get in the mood" "And are you in the mood?" The tone was low and seductive. "Oh, yeah." "Then come here, Tarzan. I need you." Alex grabbed the beam that ran the length of their tent and swung gracefully back and forth while Sarah looked on with hungry eyes. With a ripple of muscle, Alex dropped in front of the bed and leaned down to kiss the lips that she loved so much. Sarah scooped Alex's breasts into her hands. Her fingers gently caressed nipples hard with excitement. Alex growled softly and settled her hips between Sarah's legs. Slowly, she stripped Sarah of her clothes until the only thing between them was one pair of zebra-striped panties. Sarah ran her fingers under them, felt Alex's wet, hot need, and tried to pull them off. "Not yet, Jane," Alex whispered seductively. "Not yet." Her hands roamed over familiar territory changing bittersweet memories into red-hot reality. With a groan, she forced herself to go slow, giving Sarah all the pleasure she needed to reach a deep and powerful climax. Then she entered the woman she loved and, in the claiming, felt fully alive. Their rhythm increased, kisses deepened, and whispers of love were rough with passion. When Sarah came, Alex came right along with her. It felt so right. She was whole again. Alex held Sarah, feeling the waves of her orgasm echoing through her. Then Sarah rolled over and gave back to her lover all the passion and joy that had been given her. The zebra panties were lost and an old love found again. Chapter 12 Sarah woke to the sensation of a pleasant soreness between her legs and the lingering scent of sex. She sighed contentedly. She rolled over to pull Alex close, but the other half of the bed was empty. Sarah flopped back on the bed. Just like that infuriating woman to love and leave her. Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the rattle of china. The flap of their tent was unzipped and a graceful jean-clad leg slipped through. It was followed by a tray brimming over with dishes, and that was followed by the rest of Alex. "Good morning, lover. I thought breakfast in bed would be nice." Sarah tried to brush her blond hair into order. "I thought you'd loved and left me." "As if." She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Sarah's head. "Mmm, thanks. You pour some of that life-saving coffee while I freshen up. I can't think why, but I didn't sleep a wink last night." Sarah left for the bathroom. Alex took the opportunity to slip outside once again. When Sarah returned, Alex was standing there with a bunch of flowers in her hand that she had stolen off a table in the dining tent. Beside her, the table was set for breakfast for two. Sarah walked over, took the flowers from Alex's hand, and reached up to kiss her. "You are definitely a keeper." Alex held the chair for Sarah with dramatic flair. "I hope so." Sarah wondered if Alex had the same questions she was asking herself. When would she be able to wrap up her research and come back to Canada? Did she want Alex to put out some feelers for jobs in Yellowknife for her before she came? What colour did they want their bedroom painted? Would Alex want her to have her own dog team, or could they share? Did she have enough money for plane tickets? Did she want to get legally married? Sarah said nothing and tucked into her breakfast. She'd have to make her own decisions, and fortunately, Alex wasn't pushing. She had changed. "George is going to wonder what happened to us," Sarah said. "I told him we wanted a morning off. He's promised to take us looking for a leopard this afternoon. If we get a sighting, then I'll have seen the big five: the leopard, elephant, lion, rhino, and Cape buffalo." "Don't tell me you've come down with a case of the African disease." "Yeah, I guess I have. At least I can see how Africa could get under your skin and you'd have to keep coming back." She sat in silence for a moment. "Here you feel somehow close to your roots, alive... It's hard to explain." "Many of us feel that way. I'd stay, but Africa isn't where I belong. There's no real future here for me, and I'm afraid there are more dark times ahead for this marvellous continent. I hope I can come back and visit many times, because I do have the African disease. Still, I'd be foolhardy to believe I could make a life here, especially now. There's great social and political unrest brewing all over this continent. AIDS, poverty, drought and famine, corruption, lack of education and development. The old colonial countries are crumbling under the strain. Africa isn't safe." Alex felt Sarah's pain. In just a few days, she had come to see a little bit of why one could fall in love with the continent. A change of topic was needed. "I got up early and phoned through to the hospital in Nairobi. Our patient came through the surgery okay. He's in critical but stable condition. Infection will be a big concern, but he does have a chance." "I'm glad. Now, tell me a bit about your life. A girl wants to know what she might be getting into, you know." Alex launched into a rather disjointed description of her life in the north of Canada. It was heavy on factual content and rather light on description, but Sarah read between the lines and realized that Alex had found a place where she belonged. Sarah found herself getting excited about the opportunities and challenges of a life in the north. There was certainly potential for anthropological research if she could find a job up there. She would need to look into possible research grants and send off some resumes and see what developed. This decision to look into the possibilities of a job in Yellowknife cheered her. For some months now, she had been harbouring a growing depression. She knew her work in Kenya was almost over, and yet, she had no clear options for the future. Late at night, when she was vulnerable to such thoughts, she would realize that her chance at happiness with her soul mate had failed, her research was nearly complete, and she was too different a person to go home. Now, here was Alex, offering her a chance to reclaim the happiness of their early days together and promising her a life that was full of happiness and challenge. Did she dare risk it? Did she want it for the right reasons, or just for the security of knowing what lay ahead for her? "What are you thinking?' Sarah hadn't realized she'd fallen silent. "I was thinking that if we did live together, we'd need a cat, too, to keep all those dogs in line." Alex came around the table and scooped Sarah into her arms. "I'll do my best to make you never regret giving me a second chance. With you as my partner supporting me, I know I can do that." Alex carried Sarah to bed. It was late in the morning when they stood under the shower together, washing off their lovemaking with fragrant body soap and kisses. After lunch, they met George by the jeep. This time they headed towards the rocky up-crops to the southwest of the park. The going was rough, and they bounced along slowly. Every once in a while, George would stop the jeep and look around, checking the nooks and crannies for telltale signs of activity. "The leopard is very shy and blends so well into the terrain that they are very hard to see," he said. Their afternoon was not wasted while they searched. They saw warthogs running with their tails straight in the air. "It helps them find each other in the tall grass," Sarah explained. There were also kudu grazing, hyenas lounging around their dens, savannah baboons picking up seeds in a swampy meadow, and little furry rock hyrax scampering about on the rocks. It was in the late afternoon that George pointed to vultures circling in the sky over a high ridge of rock. "The leopard has made a kill out on the plains and has brought it home to eat." Carefully, George manoeuvred their jeep up the rocky slope to the west and they bumped along the top of the ridge to a small copse of old trees. George stopped and pointed. Ahead of them on a twisted tree, they saw the dead body of a common duiker, a small deer-like creature, draped over a long, horizontal branch. "The leopard is a nocturnal animal and very sly and sneaky. They will hunt cows, goats, and even village dogs if food is short, and will stay in a developed area long after the lions and herd animals have moved on," George said in a whisper. There was a rustle in the branches, and out stepped the leopard into plain view. It slunk confidently along the branch, dug its claws into the wood, and stretched. Then it settled down in the shade on a branch just above where its kill hung. Its coat was a rich mixture of gold, tan, and beige, with an elaborate pattern of rust and black spots. Lying on its belly with its paws draped over each side of the branch, it looked for all the world like a child's stuffed toy. But when its head turned and cold, gold-flecked eyes stared straight into Alex's lens, she shivered. For all its beauty, this animal was a lethal killer. Alex snapped a good many pictures. George chuckled. "We are lucky. Mama leopard does not very often show herself for the tourists." Happy, tired, and feeling very successful, they went back to camp to wash and change for dinner. * * * After a leisurely dinner the women returned to the tent. Alex carried with her a bottle of chilled white wine. In the tent, she turned down the lantern and lit candles and then she slipped in a Melissa Etheridge CD on her player. Melissa's voice crooned softly into the African night. Alex pulled the cork on the wine and offered the bottle to Sarah. Sarah took the bottle and lifted it to her lips, taking a long drink. Alex moved in to kiss away the sweet wine on her lips, then took the bottle from Sarah and downed a good deal of it while holding the bottle with one hand and encircling the woman she loved with the other. Their bodies moved against each other, swaying to the music, Sarah's sex hard against Alex's leg. They shared the bottle of wine, getting heady and mellow as they danced. Slowly, clothes were discarded and they danced naked, teasing and tantalizing each other with rhythmic need. The music stopped. Their dance went on until Alex carried Sarah to bed and their bodies became one in an ancient dance of passion. In the small hours of the morning, Alex lay wrapped around Sarah, her face nuzzled into Sarah's soft hair. "I love you." Sarah turned in her arms and the kiss that followed was long and tender. "I love you, too." "Sarah, I don't want to live without you in my life. If you want, I'll relocate to Kenya or anywhere you feel you would like to continue your work. I want us to establish a home together." "I thought you had a home." Alex pulled her close. "It's a house. Home is where you are." Sarah pulled away and looked deeply into Alex's eyes. "Are you happy in Yellowknife?" Alex squirmed a little. "Yes, I'm happy there. I like my work and the people. I'll never get rich, but every day is a new adventure and challenge. It would be hard to give up my dogs," she added. "Then I think we should try it there. See if I can find meaningful work and be happy. Are you willing to take that chance, Alex?" Alex leapt out of bed in excitement "Do you mean it? You and me, a home, in Yellowknife?" Sarah laughed, clearly delighted at Alex's excitement. "We could give it a try." "Yes!" yelled Alex. She ended with a Tarzan swing from the pole onto the bed and into Sarah's waiting arms. Sarah laughed. "So how about you show me how you really feel?" And Alex proved herself up to the challenge. Chapter 13 Some hours later, blurry-eyed and content, they crawled out of bed. While Alex organized her camera equipment, Sarah went over to the small office hut to see if James had brought the binoculars for her to give to Margaret. The night clerk handed over a black leather case. It was unusually heavy. Sarah placed it on the counter and tried the latch. It was locked. They must be a very valuable set of field glasses. She hoisted the strap over her shoulder and went to meet Alex and George. George bounced the Land Rover through the dark African night to the river crossing. There they piled out, Sarah shouldering the binocular case once again. "I think James has rock samples in here. They must be some sort of special set of field glasses. I tried to have a peek, but the case is locked." Alex followed Sarah out of the jeep. "Do you want me to carry them?" "No, that's okay." With difficulty, they climbed down a steep embankment in the dark to the river's edge. A boatman waited to take them across the river. They climbed into a small, flat-bottomed punt, and the man pulled the river ferry across hand-over-hand on a rope slung from one side of the river to the other. "You be careful, misses. The hippos are out of the water and feeding nearby." The women thanked him and scrambled up the mud bank on the other side, and then walked down a forest path to where the balloons were being made ready. The air was fresh and cool, laden with the scent of new grass. The path had been thoughtfully lined with candles. Sarah took Alex's hand, and they enjoyed the romance of the candlelight as a silvery moon set in the west. Dawn broke, and barely illuminated in its light was the massive balloon that was being unfolded in a field. "This is the largest hot air balloon in the world," Sarah said. "It can carry sixteen people in a basket with four compartments. Our trip is about an hour long, and when we touch down, a champagne breakfast will be waiting for us." They let go of each other's hands as they emerged from the forest trail into the opening. Dark figures, highlighted by the massive propane flames, scurried about, some getting the hot air inside the balloon, others waiting for their chance to board. "Ah, here are the last two! Hi Sarah, what kept you? It's almost five o'clock, sleepyhead." "There's lots of time yet. The balloon is only half-inflated. Alex, this is Brad. He's a fellow Canadian from Alberta and will be piloting our balloon." Alex extended her hand. "Hi Brad. You're a long way from home." "What can I say? There was a strong easterly blowing that day, and I have wanderlust. The next thing I knew, I was working in Africa. Let me introduce you to the rest of the passengers. This is Mr. And Mrs. Lee from Singapore, and Senator and Mrs. Cardale from Pennsylvania, and the others are members of Senator Cardale's staff. I'll let him do the introductions." Helios were said, and while they watched the massive and colourfully striped balloon slowly rise in front of them, the group exchanged stories about their experiences. The Lees had been at a game camp for almost a month photographing for a wildlife magazine. The Cardales were on a trade mission to Kenya and had stolen a few days from their work to overnight at one of the camps. "I told Roger that I would never forgive him if he brought me to Africa and I didn't get to see a lion in the wild," Lorna Cardale said. They boarded the large wicker basket and drifted slowly up into the dawn sky. Below them, the Masai Mara spread out like a green carpet in all directions. The muddy river twisted and turned across the landscape, and from their silent, floating observation deck, they watched hippos wading into the river after a night of foraging, and crocodiles lumbering up on the banks to warm in the morning sun. A lone Cape buffalo bleated his rage as the shadow of the hot air balloon drifted overhead, and herds of zebra and wildebeest grazed quietly on the thick grasses. A pair of waterbucks stood alert, aware of the pride of lions nearby. "It's unlikely they'll be attacked," Sarah said reassuringly to Lorna Cardale. "The lions don't like the thick mane of hair around their necks." Sarah knew a herd of Thomson's gazelle in the near vicinity were fur more vulnerable, but she didn't share that information with the nervous Lorna. Chapter 14 Alex stood close beside Sarah, leaning over the side and watching colourful, exotic birds lift from the forest they were passing over. Elephants were feeding on the leaves and bark below. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the silent group of men and women that accompanied the Cardales. Some of them were clearly civil servants. Others, however, had the watchful, serious look of security personnel. Cardale was more than a senator on a trade mission, Alex decided. There was no sudden revelation, just the slow dropping of pieces into place. A ball of ice formed in Alex's gut as she looked down at the binocular case that swung on Sarah's hip. One by one each piece clicked in: the recent terrorist events in the area, Phillips's interest in what Sarah knew, the search of their room, the letter of warning, the fact that the balloon trip was booked well in advance and that Phillips knew Sarah would be on the flight, as would the Cardales. Phillips's sudden windfall and retirement, and the request for Sarah to carry the heavy, locked binocular case on this trip. "It's the binocular case," Alex gasped. She saw the realization in Sarah's eyes before she glanced at the case dangling from her shoulder. A small Cessna gained on them, the plane's motor disturbing the silent flight. Sarah watched the plane as Alex explained. "A radio-controlled bomb could be ignited from the safe distance of a trailing plane by a cell phone. The pilot would become an innocent witness to the sudden explosion aboard the balloon. A leak of one of the propane tanks that fuelled the balloon's flame could be blamed for the explosion. No wonder the damn binocular case is locked" Sarah pulled the strap from her shoulder and made a move to drop it over the side of the basket. Alex, seeing the plane coming closer, grabbed the case from Sarah's hands, but at that precise instant, a thundering boom froze time. A split second later, the world exploded in a ball of flame and smoke. Alex heard the wicker shattering, and pain shot like small arrows through her legs. The floor dropped out from under her, and she was falling. Then, with a gut wrenching lurch and an agonizing explosion of pain, a rope coiled around her leg stopped her fall. She hung upside down, spinning madly as the damaged balloon wove erratically across the sky. She head Sarah scream her name. Rhythmic beats of pain shot through the knee entangled in the rope, and blood poured to her head. Alex gagged. Then she fought for control as she strained to catch sight of the basket. Fear tightened like a vice around her heart. What had happened to Sarah? Twisting wildly, she caught a glimpse of the basket. There was a gaping, blackened hole in the compartment that she and Sarah had occupied. In panic, she struggled to reach up and grab the spinning rope from which she dangled. Each time she did, pain shot through her, making her dizzy and sick to her stomach. The world below her spun around crazily. She fought for control as she realized just how dangerous a situation she was in. What if Sarah had fallen? Tears of fear ran down her face, not for herself but for Sarah. "Alex, don't struggle!" Sarah yelled. "We're going to try to pull you up. The end of the rope is dangling just to your right. Try and grab it in case the rope tangled around your knee lets go." Knowing that Sarah had not fallen, Alex went still, relief pumping common sense through her. She looked around, saw the end of the rope, and after several attempts, was able to grab it and tie the rope around her waist. Her knee hurt like hell. The sudden jerk that had broken her fall had probably popped her joint. Blood ran down her legs and dripped on her face. The exploding wicker had shot needles of cane into her flesh. All of that was nothing, though. Was Sarah hurt? * * * Sarah and Alex were still too near the bomb when if went off, and they took the brunt of its force. The explosion blew Sarah backwards into the compartment that held the Lees. Despite their shock, they had the presence of mind to grab her to stop her from toppling out the far side of the basket. She was in pain. Her wrist was swelling and hung at an unusual angle and her legs were cut, but she struggled to her feet and screamed Alex's name. "She's down there, dangling from one of the anchor ropes," Mr. Lee had said. He held on to Sarah with one hand as he pointed with the other. Then the Cardale group had taken command. While Brad fought for control and looked for a safe place to land the damaged and leaking balloon, they made sure the senator, his wife, and the other passengers were secure. Sarah, now calmer, looked over the side and yelled instructions to Alex as she was being dragged through the sky by a length of rope wrapped around her leg. To Sarah's relief, Alex stopped wiggling, and after a few attempts managed to grab the rope and wrap it around her waist. The security personnel aboard slowly hoisted Alex by her leg to the damaged basket. Each jerk upwards was agonizing. Sweat and blood dripped into Alex's eyes, and she was shaking from head to foot with shock. With a moan of pain, Alex bumped up the side of the listing basket and hands pulled her inside the Lee's section of the craft. "Careful," called Brad, "keep the weight as evenly distributed as possible." Sarah watched as some of Cardale's people lifted Alex to safety. The agonising seconds seemed to be hours. The world below spun crazily with the erratic flight of the damaged balloon. Alex was like a rag doll held by the leg by a careless child. Sarah's heart beat wildly in fear. She could hear Alex's gasps of pain, and it made her feel sick. As soon as Alex was pulled into the basket, Sarah wrapped her one good arm around her. Alex was white and in obvious pain. "Are you okay?" Sarah croaked the words out through parched lips. Alex reached up and touched Sarah's blood-splattered face. "Messed up my knee. Other than that, I'm just cuts and bruises. What about you?" "Broke my wrist, I think, and the same cuts and bruises. The wicker was just like razor blades." With a grimace, Alex righted herself and examined Sarah's arm and the cuts on her legs. "Yeah, it's broken. Some of these cuts need attention. There's cane embedded in the worst ones." "I got a first aid kit here, doctor. Would it help?" Brad asked. "We're close to the ground now, just clearing the forest. If I can keep us up a bit longer we might be able to get in sight of the landing area. If I can, we'd be spotted for sure, and a truck would be dispatched immediately. One of you take my walkie-talkie and see if you can raise Margaret at the landing site. She's catering our champagne breakfast. Let her know we're in trouble and are going to land just a few miles south of the forest and northwest of her position." Mrs. Lee passed the first aid kit to Alex, and one of the senator's people radioed through to Margaret. She promised to send out a truck immediately and to radio through for a medical helicopter pick-up. Alex used slats from the damaged basket to splint Sarah's wrist. She found a sling in the first aid kit and helped get it around Sarah's neck. She sprayed some disinfectant on Sarah's cuts and scrapes. The familiarity of doing her job helped to settle her nerves and took her mind off her own pain. Sweat trickled down her cheek. A quick look at her leg revealed a knee now turning multicoloured and swelling badly. Once she had made Sarah as comfortable as she could, she tried her best to immobilise her own leg. Mrs. Lee did her best to make Alex as comfortable as she could as they prepared to land. Brad looked around with concern. "This is it, guys. Sit down on the ledges and hold on to the handholds. It'll be a hell of a landing." Mrs. Lee wrapped her arm around Sarah and wedged her between her own body and the basket wall. Mr. Lee did the same for Alex since neither woman could successfully brace themselves for the landing. Brad fought to steady the basket. "Nine feet, five, three, two, termite mound!" Smashing into one of the mounds was like hitting concrete. The basket shuddered, lifted over the top, and bumped down the other side. It lifted again, bounced twice, and then came to rest on its side. Sarah tasted blood, having bitten through her lip to keep from screaming. Alex slumped half out of the basket, groaning in pain. The next few hours were nightmarish as Sarah and Alex waited for rescue. The other travellers did their best to make them comfortable. Margaret had the men set up garden chairs for them and used two of the canvas stools that the other breakfast guests were using as foot rests for them. Mrs. Lee brought them tea but they declined the various offers of food, content just to sit at the end of the low table and watch the others eat. No one did justice to the fine breakfast that Margaret's company had prepared. They were all shaken by their near escape from a certain death. When the senator walked over with his coffee cup to see how they were doing, Alex used the opportunity to ask some questions. "That bomb was meant for you not us, I'm sure. You want to tell us why? I think we have a right to know." From the look on his face, Alex didn't think she was going to get much from him. "I owe you a great debt of gratitude. As an American senator, I understand that I can be in danger from those within my own country and others frustrated by the slowness of the system, or that I could be in danger from people whose countries resent our foreign and international business policies. I've accepted that. What I've never accepted is a possible threat against my wife or children. Thank you for what you did." Alex chose not to tell him she hadn't given a thought to protecting him when she flung the case from the balloon basket. He continued. "I can't tell you much other than I'm on a trade mission here in Kenya. Naturally, there are those in favour of that deal and others who are not. There will be an investigation, I assure you. We want to keep this as quiet as possible for the time being. Media coverage at this time of delicate negotiations wouldn't be good. I know I can count on you ladies to understand. Canada has always been a good friend to the United States." Senator Cardale expressed his hope that Sarah's and Alex's injuries healed quickly and went back to sit with his wife. "Good friends? Do you think he even knows the capital of Canada? Or the name of our prime minister?" Sarah asked, derisively. "Probably not," Alex said as she tried to get her knee in a more comfortable position. Margaret had packed a bag of ice around it to control some of the pain and swelling, but Alex was still very uncomfortable. "After all, Bush didn't know the prime minister's name when he was running for president, and Gore thought that Toronto was the capital." "Well, just as long as we're really good friends, because I certainly wouldn't want them as an enemy." They were holding hands. Alex looked at their interlocked fingers and gently rubbed her thumb along Sarah's good hand. "How's the broken flipper?" "Is that medical talk, doctor?" She looked down at the broken wrist resting on a bag of ice on a pillow in her lap. "It doesn't hurt as much as it did, but I'll be very glad to have it seen to and find some place to curl up with you." Alex licked her lips. "I... I thought you might have fallen. I was in a panic trying to turn so I could see if you were still in the basket. I've never been so scared. If anything happened to you... I..." Alex gave it up, swallowed hard, and looked at the horizon while she blinked her tears away. Sarah gave Alex's hand a squeeze. "You gave me a hell of a scare, too. Mr. Lee had a hold of my shirt. I think he thought I was going to go over the side after you." Her smile faded into seriousness. "If I thought I could have helped you, I would have." Their eyes met and shared the silent messages that only lovers understand. Alex leaned over and kissed Sarah's cheek. "I love you." "I love you, too." Chapter 15 At long last, a Land Rover came to collect them, and then they had to endure the slow, bouncy ride through the tall grass to the nearest place were the medical helicopter could make a safe landing. When the helicopter arrived, they were flown on to Nairobi for medical treatment. Sarah's wrist was put in a cast and Alex's knee was pulled back into alignment and some of the fluid drained off. Fortunately, the ligaments hadn't been torn nor the bones damaged. Several days later, she was able to hobble out of the hospital on crutches with Sarah at her side. Investigation officials from all countries involved made the hospital stay even more difficult. The bomb had been seen as a botched terrorist attempt to assassinate the American senator who was reported to have ties with the CIA. Sarah had borne most of the questioning and debriefing because she had been released from hospital almost immediately and because she had been carrying the binocular case. Alex, too, had been questioned, and in return had asked a good many questions, but had gotten no answers. If anyone knew where or who Cattleman and Phillips were, they weren't saying. Nor did the story make the press. A small paragraph ran the day after the bombing. It reported that an explosion on board had resulted in a hot air balloon making an emergency landing. The article said there had been no serious injuries. Sarah had gotten them a room at the Norfolk Hotel. Alex lay on the bed, her knee propped up with a pillow. Sarah lay quietly beside her, curled into the nook of Alex's arm. "I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I wanted this trip to be memorable, not one you wanted to forget." Alex kissed Sarah gently. "It has been memorable. I have you back in my life. I'm just sorry we're not going to be able to enjoy the sights and sounds of Africa as you'd planned because of my knee injury." They held each other close. Sarah sat up. "I have an idea. Let me go see if I can work it out." She dropped a quick kiss on Alex's cheek, rolled off the bed, and left on her mission. Alex took the opportunity to take a pain pill and doze off. Alex woke to the sound of the shower running. A shower would be good if she could share it with Sarah. The shower at the hospital had always left a lingering scent of disinfectant. She eased herself off the bed, hobbled on her crutches to the bathroom door, and poked her head around the corner. "Is there room for one more?" Sarah pulled the glass shower door back. "What are you doing up?" "I have to shower, or I'll start to smell and mould over in a few days. I can't possibly shower alone. I need someone to prop me up." "You could have a bath." "You could invite me in." "No. You might slip. Go back to bed, and if you're very good, I'll help you with a bath later on so you don't mould over on me." Sarah closed the glass shower door. Alex limped forward and wrote on the steamed glass with a finger, carefully reversing the letters so that Sarah could read them "I love you anyway." Then she struggled back to the bed, relieved that Sarah hadn't taken her up on her request. Her knee hurt like hell. * * * The cast on Sarah's arm made drying herself awkward. She had covered it in a plastic bag and felt a bit like a robotic creature as she struggled to dry off places not easily reached. Slipping into one of the hotel's towels, she went to smooth Alex's ruffled feathers. She found Alex reading a book in bed with her knee again propped up on pillows. "Would you like help with that bath now?" "No. I've decided not to wash again while I'm here, to get even with you," Alex said from behind her book. Sarah snatched the book away. "You're not sleeping with me, then. I'll go run the bath while you get undressed, and then I'll help you into the tub. If you're really good, I'll even help you out again." "And if I'm not?" "Then you can stay there until the water cools and your skin wrinkles and turns blue, my prune." "You are a woman without mercy," protested Alex, making a sudden grab for Sarah and hauling her onto the bed. "Ouch!" "Serves you right," Sarah said then continued more gently, "Are you okay?" Alex got her leg situated properly on the pillow again. "Yeah. I forgot that mattresses bounce. I need attention, and I also need to know what you've been up to." "I was only gone half an hour, and you were asleep when I got back." "I lost three whole years with you. I'm emotionally scarred. It will probably take years of serious cuddling to get me over it." "You're impossible. I decided that if you had to lie here much longer, you'd probably go stark raving mad and start writing backwards on steamy shower doors and going on strike and refusing to wash, so I thought I'd better find something for you to do." "You didn't sign me up for the French Foreign Legion, did you? "I considered that, but they only take men. Nope, I opted for exile." "What? Ouch!" Alex sat up. "Take it easy, grumpy." Sarah pushed Alex back down again. "You and I are going to have a little R&R at the Victoria Falls Hotel in Zimbabwe." "Yes! How did you manage that?" "I used your credit card," joked Sarah. Alex pulled Sarah in for a little payment in kind before her bath. Chapter 16 They had to wait a week before Alex could get around well enough that they were able to leave. Alex suffered through the flights to Harare and on to Victoria Falls, or Maramba, as it was more properly called in Zimbabwe. Built at the turn of the century, the Victoria Falls Hotel had played host to the famous and royal for more than a hundred years. The halls were lined with black-and-white pictures of those famous visitors. On the way to their room, which overlooked an inner garden courtyard, Sarah pointed out a framed invitation from then-Princess Elizabeth and her sister Margaret to attend a ball in honour of the Royal family's visit. The room that Sarah and Alex had been assigned was large and comfortable and although it sported all the modern conveniences, it had a simple Victorian charm. Alex lowered herself onto the bed; Sarah came over and helped her swing her leg up. "How are you doing, lover?" "Good. I'm just glad to be here with you. How's your wrist?" "The cast is a bit of a nuisance, but other than that, I'm okay." Sarah kissed Alex's forehead and left her to rest. She went down through the main lobby of the hotel and out to the terrace. Ahead of her, the mist from the falls a mile away rose high into the sky. The falls were so big that the mist could be seen sixty miles away. The African name for the falls was Mosi-oa-Tunya, or the Smoke that Thunders. She wandered down into the gardens, content to spend an hour or so relaxing by the pool before she went to get Alex for low tea. Sarah had been terribly upset about the attack, especially because a friend had betrayed her, and she might have been responsible for the deaths of everyone on the balloon ride if it hadn't been for Alex's quick thinking. The thought of losing Alex after she'd returned to her life was too painful to consider. She had to admit to herself that she'd also been upset because, with the cast on her lower arm and Alex's knee messed up, their romantic reunion had been somewhat curtailed. Coming here had been a great idea, though. They could relax and enjoy one of the wonders of the world before Alex had to go back. That thought made Sarah shiver. She didn't want to be parted from Alex again, even if it was only for a little while. She needed to put in a few more months in Kenya before her research was complete. Alex couldn't stay in Kenya. As it was, Alex had been worried about phoning the retired doctor who was filling in for her at the hospital and caring for her dogs. He'd been very nice about the delay, but Alex was still feeling awkward about the two-week leave becoming an entire month. At the end of the coming week, Alex would have to fly back to Canada. It would be like losing her all over again. It was going to be a hellish few months. Her thoughts of Alex gave way to lingering questions about the bomb. Did Phillips put the bomb in the case, or had someone else? Who wanted the senator dead, and why? It was unlikely that Phillips was working alone. There were too many damn questions and no answers. Sarah sat in a lounge chair by the pool, so deep in her thoughts she was barely aware of those around her. A man turned suddenly and hurried out of the pool area behind a high cedar hedge. His haste caught her attention. The hair was dark and combed differently. The safari suit had been shed in favour of tourist shorts and shirt. He was wearing glasses, yet there was something about his build and movements... No, it couldn't be. Sarah wondered if her imagination was working overtime. It would be foolish not to be alert just in case this wasn't over. She needed to talk to Alex. "Hey, sleepyhead," Sarah whispered a few hours later as she gently kissed Alex. "Mmm, nice. What time is it?" "About four. Are you going to take me to low tea?" Alex laughed. "What's so funny?" "Me, Alex Aubin, the kid from the wrong side of the tracks, having low tea at the Victoria Falls Hotel. Who'd have thought it? You know, I was voted to be the kid most likely to be in jail for crimes against humanity." "And I bet you were proud of it." "Hey, attitude was everything in my old neighbourhood. Are we going to have watercress and cucumber sandwiches and cups of Indian tea to wash them down with?" "I hope not. They usually serve smoked salmon, cream cheese with herbs, and a duck pate on sandwich fingers, and of course, a great assortment of pastries and petit fours. It comes on a three-tiered china serving plate." "Oh, boy, this sounds good. Where are my crutches? Don't stand between me and my petit fours, whatever they are." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Small, fancy, iced cakes." "I knew that," Alex said as she struggled to her feet and went to freshen up. "Sure you did." "Okay, show-off, why is it called a low tea if it was for the upper class, then? I bet you don't know that," Alex shouted from the bathroom. Sarah leaned on the door frame. "Am I not an anthropologist? Do I not study cultures? In the Victorian Age, the rich had low tea at four because it was served at a coffee table—a low table. Around eight or nine, they would have their meal. The poor couldn't afford the luxury of an afternoon snack. They had a simple high tea or dinner at around five or six o'clock. It was a high tea because it was served at a dinner table—a high table." Alex limped over and took the toothbrush out of her mouth. She gave Sarah a minty peck on the lips. "My partner is a genius." "Your partner is hungry, so hurry up." Sarah sat on their veranda while Alex finished getting ready. * * * A half hour later found them on the wonderful Victorian terrace overlooking the gardens, sipping tea and enjoying the pretty, delectable sandwich fingers. Alex picked up the pot to pour their tea. "Why do we put milk in tea?" "I don't. But the custom comes from colonial times. When the British lost their hold of the colonies in the Far East, they were no longer able to import the mild Chinese teas of which they were very fond. They had to use Indian tea instead, which was much darker and stronger. It was then that the practice of putting a spot of milk in the tea to give it a milder taste came into use." "Leave it to you to know. I'll catch you on something, though." "No, you won't." Sarah ran her fingers through her hair nervously. "Listen, this is going to sound really nutty but... Nah, never mind." "What?" "I thought I saw James Phillips. I mean this man's hair was dark, and he was dressed like a tourist, and I only really saw him for a second as he walked away..." Sarah's voice faded as she realized how incredible her information sounded. Alex rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "He had to have gone somewhere. He couldn't have easily taken an international flight without being noticed, but it would be much easier to move from one African country to another on local flights. This would be a pretty nice place to hang out until the heat was off. Then he could slip into South Africa and from there travel almost anywhere." "So you don't think I am crazy?" "Oh, you're crazy, all right. Look who you hang out with." Sarah pulled a face at her. "It's likely you made a mistake in thinking it was Phillips, but you might not have. It wouldn't hurt to be on guard and keep a lookout." Alex took a sip of tea and continued. "While I was in hospital, I asked the investigating officials a lot of questions and got no answers. Was it Phillips who set up the terrorist attack, or was he used by Cattleman? For that matter, were they working together?" Sarah played with her napkin absently as she considered. "It was general knowledge that Phillips had or was working for Intelligence. I guess I figured since he had asked me to carry the binocular case that he was a traitor who had gone over to the other side." "That was my initial reaction, too, but now I'm not so sure. Where is Cattleman, and why wouldn't anyone answer my questions about him? If Phillips has been with Intelligence all these years, why would he sell out now? And why is no one talking? Why were we told to keep our mouths shut? Someone tries to blow an American senator to bits, and it doesn't even make the news. What the hell is going on?" "I think if we knew why our room was searched and who sent us that warning, we'd be able to fit the pieces together." "The sooner you're out of here, the better. I hate like hell the thoughts of going back to Canada without you. Somehow, you've managed to get caught up in some very nasty business." "Phillips or someone used me as a mule to carry that bomb. My usefulness as a sucker is over. I'm safe enough." Chapter 17 Over the next few days, Sarah and Alex relaxed and recovered in the luxury of the fine old hotel. Alex bought a cane elaborately carved with African animals and if she wore a brace on her knee, she was able to walk about a bit without her crutches. Their lovemaking was a little restricted by their injuries, but no less passionate. It was on their fourth day that Sarah once again caught sight of Phillips. They had taken a taxi to the little tourist town. Alex was manoeuvring herself out of the back seat of the old Toyota when Sarah grabbed her with her good arm. "Over there," she said, rolling her eyes in the direction she wanted Alex to look. Phillips came to where they were. "Get back into the car. We need to talk." "I don't think so," Alex said, looking for a way to escape if they should need to. "The bar, then. I'll buy you a drink. Let's just get off the main street," Phillips said. "This is all very awkward. I shouldn't be talking to you. Why you've ended up here, I have no idea. Unless... Just come on." Phillips turned on his heel and hurried across the road to an open air bar under an old gum tree. Sarah spoke first. "It seems safe enough so long as we watch our drinks. I want to hear what the bastard has to say." Phillips had ordered three beers and a glass of tomato juice. He stood when Alex and Sarah arrived. "I think this conversation will go a lot smoother and quicker if you just hear me out." "All right, but you'd better talk quickly and have some damn good answers, because Alex and I are really looking forward to seeing you behind bars." Sarah poured tomato juice in Alex's and her beers. Phillips took a sip of his own malt. "Why do the English drink their beer warm?" Alex's off-topic question caused Phillips to blink in surprise. Sarah, however, didn't even look up from stirring her beer and tomato with a teaspoon. "It's a different brewing process. North Americans prefer lagers, which are beers that are fermented from the bottom. This produces a more flavourful beer when chilled. In Europe, ales are preferred. With ale, the fermenting takes place at the top. The result is a beer that tastes better when it's served at cellar temperature. That's three out of three," she said to Alex, "not that I'm keeping score." She looked Phillips in the eye. Now, James, we'd really like to know why you tried to kill us." She hoped Phillips's answer would be sufficient to keep Alex from battering him with her cane. "I didn't, although I'll admit that I tried to use you. You were to pass the case you were carrying to Margaret. That was the signal. The senator would then ask to see the binoculars and remove the cheque. I was asked for my assistance in a certain operation, you see. The senator is here to try and peddle used military equipment to organizations which other government agencies might not want to get those weapons. I was hired to make sure the guns got to the right people rather than the wrong ones." "Sure," Alex said. Sarah saw her grip tightening on her cane. "That was an awfully careless 'operation.' It damn near killed us both." "The case, when I packed it, contained a pair of binoculars and a certified cheque for two hundred thousand American dollars. A down payment on a shipment of guns, grenades, and ammunition that the senator was to use his influence to obtain." Alex leaned across the table. "Well, it didn't bounce—it exploded." Sarah put her hand on Alex's leg to calm her down. She was having trouble swallowing this story, too, but she wanted to keep Phillips talking. The more he talked, the greater the chance of seeing a mistake in his account and maybe getting some real answers. "So what went wrong?" "I don't know. A double-double-cross, I suppose. The group I represent had managed to convince the senator's people that we were the group he needed to deal with. I delivered the case to the camp the night before your flight. I can only assume whoever sent you the letter of warning knew of our plans to make a deal with the American and booby-trapped the case." "Why? If they wanted to make a deal with the senator, why blow him up, and why jeopardize the operation by warning me off?" "The plan had been compromised. If the senator talked, their organization might suddenly find themselves in a difficult situation. If the senator died, he couldn't talk. If he lived, he'd be less inclined to talk if he knew the possible consequences. Why were you warned? Because it's Cattleman, Sarah, and he has a soft spot for you." Sarah felt Alex's muscles tighten under her hand. Alex's voice was raspy with anger. "You've got a smooth answer for everything, haven't you? "I'm being unusually open. I'm a desperate man. I need leads to who needs the weapons and why. I might be running out of time. I want those guns going to the group I represent." "Don't expect us to help you. Damn it, James, I trusted you, called you a friend, and you almost got us killed. Alex only survived by luck. If..." Sarah's voice broke. Her lips were thin and pale. She had been scared as hell when they were hoisting Alex back into the basket. She pushed her glass away in disgust and stood. "We won't help you." Alex struggled to her feet beside her. Phillips stood and backed up a few steps. He smiled, almost sadly. "But you might already have. He or one of his comrades might have seen us talking and now believes that we're conspiring against him. That will force his hand." "You're a bastard, Phillips." Alex could barely contain her rage. The man chuckled. "No, no, just a chap who would like to retire comfortably, at all costs." Phillips turned and hurried away. The women watched him threading his way up the dusty street until he disappeared around a corner of a grimy stucco building. "What now?" Alex finally asked. "I don't think he told us the whole truth, if any. We just go on with our original plan and refuse to play their game. There isn't much else we can do. It sounds like the senator was here to make an arms deal with one group, then Phillips's bunch somehow managed to cut in on that deal. The senator must have thought he was still dealing with the first organization. I wonder how many groups are after those guns and why they want them. I think somehow we got ourselves involved in a very nasty business. " "Look, Sarah, let me buy you a ticket to Canada. We could be on the next plane out." Sarah shook her head. "I've put in three years here. I'm not throwing that time away by not finishing my study properly. And I am not going to let the likes of Phillips scare me off." Alex took Sarah's arm. "Sarah, this is a very dangerous game. Don't be so stubborn. You could end up moulding in an African prison for a crime you didn't do, or worse, you might end up dead. I can't go back to Canada and leave you in such danger." Sarah pulled her arm free of Alex's hold. "Don't try to run my life, Alex." They spent the rest of the afternoon doing the stores in the town. The tourist shops sold everything from crudely carved wooden animals to elaborate reproductions of ancient spirit masks, delicately carved ostrich eggs, crocodile skin shoes and purses, and amazing jewellery of semi precious stones, or more expensive pieces of gold, diamonds, and emeralds. Gradually, their interest in the exotic and beautiful African wares lessened the tension between them. At one of the larger government tourist stores, Alex bought a number of carved masks. "How are you going to get this all home?" Sarah asked. Alex looked up from signing a traveller's cheque. "They're going to ship it for me. I want our home to reflect just as much your interests as mine." Sarah gave Alex a big hug. "You're one in a million." Sarah looked up into Alex's eyes. They looked almost a light grey in the store light. "I'm sorry I bit your head off back at the bar. I know you were only worried about me. Thanks for caring." Alex gave Sarah's back a reassuring rub. "I was getting all controlling again. You know the situation here a lot better than I do. I trust your judgement. All I ask is that you be very careful." They hailed a taxi for the short distance back to the hotel. Alex's knee was throbbing, and she told Sarah that she was looking forward to washing the dust off and putting her leg up for a while. Sarah found her cast hot and uncomfortable and had every intention of sharing both the shower and the bed for an afternoon nap. Chapter 18 A long lazy afternoon settled into evening. Sarah kissed Alex's lips, tasting their lovemaking. "I love you." Alex idly combed her fingers through the curls of Sarah's sex. "Love you, too." Sarah snuggled down close. "Try not to worry. I'll be back in Canada in a few months. Everything is going to be all right here and with us." Alex nodded, but there was no conviction in her eyes. "1 don't have much time left. The thought of leaving you behind hurts like hell." "I know, love. We were meant to be together. We always have been." Alex took Sarah's hand and kissed her fingers. "What did you think of what Phillips had to say?" Sarah flopped back onto her pillow. "Some things struck me as unusual. First, it doesn't seem logical that the senator would be making an arms deal without the consent of the government. So if we assume that the government sent Cardale, then Phillips has to be working for someone—or some government—that doesn't want those guns sold to the legitimate buyer." Alex propped herself up on one elbow. "So what do you think?" "World powers are fair-weather friends. Kenya is an old British colony. The terrorist attacks against the American embassies indicate sympathy towards some extremist causes by groups working in Kenya. The US might want to supply weapons to organizations opposed to such extremism, where Britain might see that as a threat to the stability of the region." "That would explain why the bomb on the hot air balloon was kept quiet and why no one would answer our questions. Quiet subversive activities are one thing, an open disagreement between world powers is quite another. Especially when those powers are supposed to be showing a united front against terrorism," Alex said. "Of course, it could be another group entirely. Phillips might be telling the truth, but he might not. I plan just to stay out of it." "What if Cattleman does show up?" "I still plan to stay out of it," Sarah said. "Come on, lover, get dressed. I need food." * * * Several days went by with no sight of either Phillips or Cattleman. The women, caught up in enjoying their time together, tried to put the whole unpleasant incident behind them and focus on the time they had left before they needed to part again. One morning Sarah slammed into their room looking worried and upset. "Shit!" "What's up?" Alex asked. Sarah flopped down onto the couch. "I just saw the Cardale group arriving while I was down buying a paper. And guess who was with them?" Alex limped out of the bathroom. "Phillips?" "Nope, Cattleman." "Cattleman!" "All dressed up in a suit and looking very serious and conservative. Alex, he looked right at me and walked on as if I wasn't there." "Are you sure it was him? Did you get a really good look?" "It was him, all right. Damn. Now what?" Alex came over and lowered herself onto the couch. "Now nothing. We stay out of it. Agreed?" Sarah kissed Alex's cheek. "Agreed." It wasn't five minutes later when the phone rang. Sarah answered it. "Hello." "Hi Sarah. It is John Cattleman. I saw you downstairs. Actually, I had been told that you were staying here. I'd like a chance to talk to you. Can I come up to your room?" Alex went to Sarah's side. Sarah held the phone so they both could hear. "Let me guess. You want to tell me that Cardale is here to make an important arms deal, and that deal is either to or against your favour. You didn't set the bomb that nearly killed us, and seeing as you're sure there are no hard feelings, perhaps Alex and I wouldn't mind being the suckers in yet another harebrained scheme." There was a long silence and then John's voice came through the line again. "Let me guess. You've had a meeting with James Phillips." "Didn't you already know that?" Sarah asked. "Yes, I knew. Do you want to hear my version of the truth?" Sarah answered for them both. "Okay, but not up here, down in the lounge in ten minutes." "That's rather public." "There or nowhere." John sighed in frustration. "Very will, the lounge in ten minutes." Sarah put the phone down and shivered. Alex pulled her against her chest, wrapping Sarah in a protective embrace. "You sure you want to hear him out?" Sarah turned in Alex's arms and kissed her. "Equal time, I guess. I'm curious to hear his version. I just don't want to get caught up in anything. It looks like Phillips was right. Our drink with him brought Cattleman here." "Maybe, maybe not. He might have been coming anyway. He certainly had been warned that the three of us were here. That he came anyway rather indicates he had other business here besides us. Otherwise, why come looking for trouble?" "Good point. Well come on, Doctor, let's go find out what the other team has to say." * * * The main lounge of the Victoria Falls Hotel opened out through a row of French doors onto the terrace overlooking the gardens. It was a large, bright room decorated with over-stuffed chairs and sofas in pastel flower motifs. These were accented by a large fireplace and a wonderful assortment of antique wooden tables. Cattleman stood as the women entered. "Sarah, Alex, I am relieved to see you looking so well. I've been worried. Please." He indicated three chairs that had been pushed around a small coffee table. "I've ordered tea." "Did you also order a bomb?" Sarah asked. "No. I knew a while ago that the secrecy around the arms deal had been compromised and at that time, I called off the transaction and sent a warning to you." "You sent the warning?" "Yes. I was aware that Phillips was dogging you, and there had to be a reason for that. I suspected that he was involved in some way with the arms deal, but I didn't know how. I searched your room in Nairobi but couldn't find anything to tie you to Phillips. Still, I felt I couldn't take the chance, so I called off the contact I had planned with the senator and waited for someone to make a move." "So you ordered the guns from Cardale and planned to use Sarah as an expendable decoy. Then you got cold feet at the last minute and decided to blow up all the evidence, including a friend." Cattleman waited to answer as the waiter approached and set down a lovely bone china tea set on a silver tray. Once the tea was poured and the waiter had left again, Cattleman looked directly at Alex. "I didn't set the bomb. Nor did 1 originally order the arms. I would really like to know who did, though. I would certainly have liked to cut into that deal and buy those arms to make sure they didn't fall into hands that might use them against the present government." Sarah flopped back in her chair with annoyance. "Look, one of you set that bomb." Cattleman looked at Sarah. "I thought it was Phillips. He recently decided to retire, and I was wondering on what. Those in his profession," Cattleman emphasized this word with contempt, "don't usually retire. They make a mistake or are pulled from the field because they can't do the job anymore." "Why would the British want the arms? That doesn't make sense," Alex said. Cattleman played with his teaspoon. "I think Phillips was doing some moonlighting, maybe for the local white farmers. They are damn nervous about what they've seen happening in Zimbabwe." "So Phillips made the arms deal using his government contacts for a private interest group here in Kenya, and when he realized you knew about it, he covered his ass by giving me a bomb to carry instead of a cheque?" "No, I think it was more complex than that," Cattleman said. Sarah thought he looked less stressed; still she knew he'd be very careful how he handled this. He clearly needed them to cooperate. "So suppose you tell us what is really going on," Alex said, testily. "I think a third party is involved. Someone with ties to the fundamentalist movement that's sweeping Northern Africa. Phillips and I were both trying to cut into the action, thinking erroneously that we were playing against each other. All along it was someone else trying to broker a deal. Nor were our efforts secret, except from each other. Someone knew that we were trying to cut in and set us both up for a very nasty and embarrassing political situation." "Not to mention our deaths," Alex added. "Why are you telling us all this?" Sarah asked. "I need a lead. I need to know who else would have known you had booked the balloon flight on the same day as the senator." Sarah stared in disbelief. "You lot are unbelievable. You're not going to get anywhere with this. Anyone at the camp would have known. Paul and the others in Nairobi would know, as would anyone working for the balloon excursion company. It could have been one of hundreds of people. What I will tell you is that Alex and I want to be left alone. We will not help you or anyone else with this mad game." It seemed to Sarah that the tension left Cattleman's body. Had she unwittingly given him the lead he needed? "Does anyone know you're here?" Cattleman asked. "That's common knowledge, too," Sarah replied. "I made the booking through our Nairobi office, of course, and the people at the camp knew. Why?" Cattleman stood. "I thank you for hearing me out. I hope not to have to bother you again. I would warn you, though, be on your guard. Too many people know you are here. You might not believe this but I am very relieved to see you both recovering so well from your accident." "It wasn't an accident," Alex corrected. "It was attempted murder." Cattleman's eyes met hers. "Then heed my warning. Be careful. Good day, ladies." A shiver ran through both women. Sarah reached for Alex's hand. "Damn, he scared me a lot more than Phillips." Alex gave Sarah's hand a squeeze. "Yeah, me too, but I think we made it quite clear that we were out of this game." * * # Cattleman walked across the inner courtyard and through the main lobby. Once outside, he made his way down the road to the railway station. The Blue Train from South Africa wouldn't arrive for another two hours. Only one man sat reading a news paper in the waiting room. Cattleman went over and sat beside him. Phillips folded his paper and put it down on the empty chair on the other side of him. "Well?" "I think the ladies have baited the hook. All we need do is wait," Cattleman said. Phillips stood and shook his pant legs down. "Don't let it bother you, old man. Once it starts to bother you, you only have two choices: the bottle or the bullet." "Who do you think he'll hit first?" Phillips eyed Cattleman. He had the intelligence and skills, but he got far too emotionally involved. "He'll go for Sarah first. She's an easy hit, and he has to make sure she doesn't make the connection to him. Once he pops Cardale, he knows he has to go on the run. Still, we'll try to cover all the bases with the people we've got." Cattleman nodded, and the two men went their separate ways. Chapter 19 "Why do women wear high heels and men don't?" Alex asked as she rubbed suntan lotion into Sarah's back. They had just had a morning swim and were relaxing by the pool, enjoying their time together. Sarah laughed. "Now that's a scary picture. Fashion is illogical. However, there are patterns. Women's clothes over the ages have kept them in a submissive role. Corsets, tight skirts, and long dresses make us vulnerable and easily controlled. You'll note whenever women's rights come to the forefront, women's styles become more masculine. There is also business manipulation. The shorter tops and skirts of today save manufacturers millions of dollars in fabric. Heels first appeared in Europe in Medieval times. They allowed prostitutes to be seen in the crowded streets. But heels were used at far earlier times in other cultures. For example, in China..." "Forget it," Alex said. "You win." "Do you think your knee is strong enough to walk along the falls this afternoon?" Alex put the top on the lotion and leaned back in her chair. "You bet." "Victoria Falls is where the mighty Zambezi River spills over into a deep gorge. It's the longest span of waterfalls in the world, at 5,594 feet, and has one of the deepest drops, at 328 feet. At full flood 143 gallons of water per minute crash in a continuous veil to the river below and the spray shoots over 1,500 feet into the air." Alex knew all this from reading the various tourist booklets, but nothing prepared her for the sheer, wild beauty of the location or the incredible power of the falls as they cascaded by her face. Standing soaking wet at Devil's Cataract, the bronze statue of David Livingstone not far up the path, Alex could understand why the explorer had written in his diary: "Scenes so lovely must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight." "Wow." Sarah wiped her wet hair back from her face. "It's one of those things you just have to see to believe." "I'll say." They walked along the sand path that was the only concession to tourism. Victoria Falls remained as natural as it was in 1855 when Livingstone first saw it. There were no guide rails and no sidewalks. When the sand path ran out, they walked on the very edge of the gorge over rock worn flat by time. Only a few hundred feet away, across the other side of the gorge, the falls poured in a solid sheet. Alex raised her voice over the thunder of the water. "This is amazing." "I knew you'd like it." Carefully, they made their way along the wet, slippery rocks, glad of the raincoats the hotel had given them. Almost blinded with the spray and deafened by the sound, they were nearly on top of the man before they noticed him. "Hello Sarah," he called out, blocking their path. Sarah smiled with delight. "Paul Na-tana! What are you doing here?" He raised a gun from under his raincoat. "I've come to say good-bye." Alex dived at Sarah, and together they rolled across the rocks and through puddles. The misty world around them cracked and echoed with gunfire. They came to rest in a small hollow. The firing had stopped. Alex whispered into Sarah's ear. "Don't move. Stay quiet." Then cautiously she raised her head and looked around. Nothing but white mist and black rock. Her heart seemed to pound as loudly as the falls, and her knee throbbed like hell. She wiped the spray from her face and tried to shield her eyes with a hand. Now she could make out Paul's still form sprawled on the rock. "You okay?" Sarah whispered. "Yeah. You?" "I'm all right. The cast protected my arm. See anything?" Alex shifted a bit so that Sarah was no longer under her. "Paul's body is lying over there. But there was more than one gunman. Down!" A shadowy silhouette had emerged from the spray and stood looking down at Paul's body. He looked around. "Sarah! Alex! It's John Cattleman. It's okay. It's safe now." "What do you think?" Alex whispered. "I think John told us the truth—at least as much as he could. We can trust him." They helped each other up as John limped over to them. Blood oozed down the side of his leg. "You two okay?" "Better than you, by the look of it," Alex answered, "There were more than two guns." Cattleman nodded. "Phillips. He's over there. Na-tana got him. He's dead." Sarah put her head against Alex's shoulder and Alex gave her a hug before she gave Cattleman first aid. Chapter 20 Alex and Sarah watched from a distance as Cardale and his group loaded onto a bus to take them to the airport. It had been a traumatic twenty-four hours. They got up early to watch the plain wood coffin carrying the body of James Phillips loaded on the train bound to South Africa. From there, it would be transported to his final resting place in England. After years of faithful service, he had taken one last gamble and lost. Cattleman was the last to board Cardale's bus. He was favouring his wounded leg. "It looks like Cardale won't make a deal on this trip," Sarah observed. "Cattleman is sticking to him like glue." "I'm not too sure. Cattleman might cut a deal for the Kenyan government after all. Cardale would be hard-pressed not to agree when he's been caught making deals behind a friendly nation's back. And if Cattleman doesn't get his deal, I'm sure there'll be another time and other people willing to accept Cardale's offer." "Third World countries are safe battlefields for world powers that escalate local issues to strengthen their own spheres of influence." Alex gave her a hug. "The world is so interconnected on so many levels now that no country is immune from the impact of events in another. Cardale didn't know he was dealing with terrorists. He thought he was selling weapons to a group wanting to restore a more democratic government to the area. Phillips thought he could work it so that the guns ended up in the hands of the white colonials who want to protect their farms, and Cattleman wanted to cut in to get the guns for his nation. They were all playing into the hands of the fundamentalists who were playing one off another." The bus pulled away as the women watched. They turned and went into the hotel. "Alex?" "Yes?" "Thanks for not giving up on us. Thanks for being here. Thanks for making a home for us." Alex smiled at the woman she loved. Sarah looked pale and tired, but happy. "I'm the one who owes you the thanks for giving me a second chance. Having you back in my life is going to make all the difference." * * * A few days later, Alex boarded a plane on the first leg of her trip back to Canada. Saying good-bye was hell. Sarah had watched the plane until it was only a tiny speck in the sky, tears rolling down her face. For the next few months, she worked frantically to finish her study. It was a melancholy time. She had come to know the Masai not as people to be studied with scientific objectivity, but as family and friends. Her years with them had taught her a respect for their rich culture and proud traditions. Africa had changed her. There, she had gained the maturity and confidence of an adult. No matter where her life took her, a part of her soul would always belong to Africa. The good-byes were painful, and when went to catch her plane, it was only the thought of her lover waiting in Canada and a research grant approved for her in Yellowknife that prevented her from succumbing to the African disease and staying. Some months later, Alex crawled between sheets warmed by the woman she loved. "You're cold," said Sarah. "I've been out feeding the dogs. We have a heavy frost this morning." "Come here, let me warm you up." Alex snuggled close and leaned over to kiss her partner softly. "I love you, Sarah." Sarah pulled her closer still. "Show me just how much for the rest of our lives." Outside, the first soft, fluffy snowflake drifted to the ground below, melted, and ran down onto the multi-coloured lichen that clung to the rocks. More followed. Life moved on. SOUTH AFRICA Chapter 1 Danielle Agia stood at the arrival gate of the Cape Town, South Africa airport as she waited for Laurie Allen to step back into her life. Danny struggled to decide what to wear. In the end, she'd opted for a khaki-coloured rough cotton safari pantsuit. Under the tailored jacket, she wore a silk shirt hand-painted in swirling blues and muted greens. On her feet were well-used but highly-polished trail boots. She looked at the overhead arrival display. Laurie's plane had touched down five minutes ago after its flight from Johannesburg. Laurie would be exhausted. She had left Toronto yesterday and flown for five hours to make a plane connection in London. Then it was a twelve-hour, nonstop flight to Johannesburg and a two-hour commuter flight to Cape Town. What would it be like to meet her again after a dozen years? Her father's farm had bordered theirs. Laurie and Danny had known each other most of their lives. Their fathers had a grudging admiration for each other, despite the fact they came from very different backgrounds. Hans Agia was a Boer. His great-great¬grandfather had been part of the Great Trek over the Four Passes to escape English rule, and his great grandfather had fought against the British in the Boer War. Sir John Allen was an English diplomat turned farmer, who had bought a vineyard near Stellenbosch on which to raise his family. Hans Agia spoke Afrikaans and English; Sir John spoke English, French, and German. Hans Agia was an elder in the Dutch Reform Church and believed strongly in the need for apartheid. Sir John did not go to church, although he'd been raised Anglican. He was outspoken against the government's racist views and fought for the end of apartheid. Yet the two men had agreed to disagree. Both widowers with daughters to raise, they'd found common ground in their children and in their love for their vineyards. It had been Hans Agia's considerable power that had forestalled the inevitable, but in the end, even Hans could not protect his controversial friend. When Laurie was fourteen, Sir John Allen and his family had been put under house arrest and boycotted by their neighbours. Two years later, Allen had accepted his first and only defeat in life: selling his farm to Hans and emigrating to Canada. Those last two years had been hell. Even though Laurie had been four years younger than Danny, they had been as close as sisters. As they got older, Danny would have liked to have been a lot closer than that. By eighteen, she knew that she loved Laurie. But lesbianism was a sin, and Laurie was just a fourteen-year-old kid. Danny had never crossed that line, even though she defied the government ban and snuck into the Allen's house to visit most nights. The two girls had been heartbroken when Sir John Allen had taken his sixteen-year-old daughter and emigrated. For a long time, they'd kept in touch. Danny knew about Laurie's school friends, first loves, successes, and heartaches. She had offered support, guidance, and love—right up until the letter had come from Laurie announcing her marriage. Danny had sent flowers and appropriate gifts, and then had never written again. It was too painful to do so. Gradually, Laurie's letters had become less frequent until there was just a yearly Christmas card. But two months ago, a letter had arrived. Laurie was coming back to tour her old homeland to write a series of articles for a big newspaper. She had asked Danny to join her as her friend and guide. There was no mention of a husband. Danny had accepted. Now, as she waited, Danny was having second thoughts. She knew she still harboured feelings that could never be acted on. "Danny?" She looked up to see Laurie standing in front of her, looking as beautiful as ever; more so really, for the years had matured her into a stunning woman. "Laurie." Danny managed a weak, nervous smile as she felt the heat of embarrassment creep up her neck. Then Laurie was in her arms, and Danny wrapped her close, burying her face in Laurie's golden locks. Laurie's hair still carried the haunting scent of sun-dried herbs on a late summer's day. Danny's senses were flooded with memories, and she had to blink back tears. "Welcome back to South Africa." "Oh, Danny, it's so wonderful to be here and to see you again! I've missed you so much." "I've missed you." Danny stepped back. "You must be tired. I've booked a suite for us near the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront complex. I think you'll like it very much." They collected Laurie's bags and walked to Danny's car. Laurie was traveling light with one large piece of luggage on wheels and a small carry-on shoulder bag. Practical and efficient; Danny appreciated that. * * * As they walked to the car, Laurie looked at everything around her. She took a little skip to catch up to Danny's long strides and glanced at her childhood friend. Danny slowed her pace. Danny had been told that she had been practical, brave and adventurous as a child. She hoped she'd retained those traits, even if they were tempered with the responsibilities she now had. Yet she also knew there was a social innocence about her that tended to get her in awkward situations. She took people at face value and didn't understand how to play the social games of adults. She wondered if Laurie had changed. Had she learned to play those games? Or would she still be the honest, open person she remembered? Danny noted right off that Laurie wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Laurie had married and had a son. Danny wished now that she hadn't stopped writing Laurie. If she hadn't, she'd know more about her. Not that Danny had been very good at writing letters. They'd been short lists of things she was doing and little bits of information about mutual friends crammed on a single page. Danny felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness as she walked beside Laurie again after all these years. It was weird to be with someone whom she loved dearly, but who was a complete stranger. Danny deactivated the alarm system before unlocking the doors of her Land Rover. Laurie waited on her side, reading the warning written in both Afrikaans and English on a sticker on the window: This car is protected with motion sensors and alarms. Do not come near! Alarms will sound and flame jets will activate if this car is tampered with. Danny lifted Laurie's bags into the boot and opened the passenger door. Laurie seemed deep in thought as she buckled her seatbelt and waited for Danny to walk around and get in. Danny was barely settled in the car before the question came. "Flame throwers?" Laurie asked. "Flame jets." In a few minutes, they were out of the airport parking lot and heading for Cape Town. "Is carjacking a problem?" Laurie asked. "Eighty percent of South Africa's black population lives in poverty. Poor people are desperate, angry people. With apartheid gone, there's less fear in acting on their desperation or showing their anger. You'll need to show caution. Generally, South Africa is safe, stable, and progressive, but I'd be lying if I didn't warn you that attacks and thefts are frequent." Laurie lapsed into silence. Danny drove, trying to see South Africa as Laurie might see it. She noted the hideous contrast between the townships where many of the black population lived and the middle class and wealthy suburbs of Cape Town. The townships consisted of shacks, mostly put together piecemeal by blacks who had lived for generations in the area or had immigrated from the countryside looking for work. Electric power, sewers, and water systems were often lacking. The area around was hard-baked dirt, dotted with scrap paper and plastic bags. The townships had no garbage pickup, and the lighter material blew from the waste heaps and littered the countryside. In contrast, the suburbs were neat, well-kept homes reflecting both English and Dutch styles of architecture. Shade trees and privacy hedges marked off property lines, but behind each was the inevitable high stone wall, topped with broken glass or barbed wire. Bright orange or yellow signs posted on the walls warned of security systems within. This was South Africa; a land of extremes. Would Laurie be able to understand that? Danny had booked them into the beautiful five-star Table Bay Hotel that overlooked the harbour. She felt awkward being in the room together with Laurie, and excused herself, going down to buy a newspaper while Laurie freshened up and had a brief nap after her exhausting flight. Danny sat on the balcony and filled in time until Laurie woke. When they had been kids, there had never been any embarrassment between them. They would sneak down to the Agia pool at night and swim naked in the moonlight. They dressed in front of each other and treated each other's cuts and bruises. She knew there was something wrong with her. She was one of those humans who had been born abnormal, or perhaps it was the result of having been raised by her father and never knowing her mother. The cause didn't matter. Danny had had to accept long ago, to her shame, that she was attracted to women and not to men. She was raised in the Dutch Reform Church. Her father had been an elder. She knew that what she felt was a sin, and she had never given in to the temptation. She had tried to force herself to enjoy the attention of men—tried to pretend that she was pleased to have boyfriends. But she couldn't make herself enter into a serious relationship. She felt dirty and hypocritical pretending to love someone when she really felt nothing. Once her father died, she stopped dating and accepted a celibate life style. In the long run, it was easier. Now Laurie was back, and the old feelings she had buried so deeply were racing through her system. Danny tightened her jaw. No matter what, she was not going to sin and humiliate herself by admitting to Laurie how she felt. God was testing her, and she didn't mean to fail. Besides, she didn't think she could handle it if she lost Laurie's respect. Chapter 2 Laurie was confused at first as to where she was. A soft, cool ocean breeze drifted through the open French doors. South Africa. She had returned to her homeland. She watched Danny reading a newspaper on the balcony. Her strong, suntanned hands folded the pages with neat efficiency. My Danny. Danny had always been methodically neat, organized, and efficient. She, on the other hand, had been spontaneous and random. Laurie looked more carefully at Danny. My God, she's beautiful! A twinge of jealousy twisted inside Laurie. Did Danny have someone in her life? Although Danny had never talked about boyfriends, Laurie knew from their fathers' correspondence that Danny had played the field. A heartbreaker, Hans Agia had complained. He had written bitterly that his only disappointment with his wonderful daughter was that she wouldn't settle down and provide him with grandchildren. Laurie tried to imagine what it would be like to be in bed with Danny. An involuntary contraction shot through her lower extremities, and she could feel herself grow wet with need. This was not good. If she started with this nonsense, she'd never be successful in her goals. With a sigh, she threw back the covers and padded out to stand on the balcony. "Hi." "Hi," Danny responded. Laurie noted that Danny's eyes involuntarily followed the lines of her body under her nightdress as it was highlighted by the sun. Danny swallowed hard and quickly got to her feet. "Are you hungry? There are some nice restaurants along the waterfront complex." "That would be good." Laurie gave Danny a hug before heading back into the room. "I'm so happy to be here with you, Danny." Laurie noticed that Danny seemed embarrassed by the hug. She stripped off her nightdress and watched Danny out the corner of her eye as she fished in her bag for fresh clothes. Danny cleared her throat. "It is nice to meet again." Danny turned and saw Laurie standing naked as she sorted through her luggage. "What did you say?" Laurie asked. Danny looked out over the balcony. "It is good to see... to visit with you after all these years. You sometimes wonder what happens to old childhood friends." Laurie looked at Danny's back. Danny had never been embarrassed or nervous. She wondered what had brought on this change in her bold and dynamic friend. The Victoria and Alfred docks were working docks that had been incorporated into a trendy waterfront area of boutiques, restaurants, and boardwalks. They wandered from level to level, and Laurie enjoyed the mix of designer European clothes, beautifully tailored raw cotton or silk safari wear, arts and crafts stores, and the exotic wares unique to Africa. South Africans and tourists laughed and talked as they wove in and out of the popular area. Laurie noted that some of the well-dressed South Africans were black. Perhaps apartheid had disappeared in the new South Africa. Her cynicism returned, however, when she saw security personnel ushering two black youths out of the area and when she read a sign on one store door that read: "Only people the owners feel are dressed and acting appropriately will be allowed to enter." "What does that mean?" Laurie asked. "Why do I think if you're black, you'll be found wanting?" "It means exactly what it says. In Canada, do they allow people into stores who are acting inappropriately or who are dressed in a manner that doesn't meet a basic dress code?" "Of course not, but I'm not sure that's the intent here. What about those black teens we saw security removing from the boardwalk?" "It has to do with security not racism. There's much poverty yet in South Africa, partly due to years of apartheid, and partly due to the international boycott that, until recently, was used against this country. Crime is high. This is a big shopping and tourist area. It will only remain so if people feel safe from pickpockets and bullies." Laurie looked Danny straight in the eye. "The justifications slip smoothly from your mouth, Danny." "Your cynicism seems second nature. Is that part of your reporter persona, or is that the way you've become?" They stood toe to toe in a silent battle of wills. Laurie broke the deadlock. "I spent two years of my teens under house arrest because my father and I spoke out against the South African government's policies. Yes, I'm a bit cynical about the new South Africa. Racism is a disease not easily cured." Danny stared across the harbour to where freighters were being loaded with cargo. "I won't lie to you. Many still believe apartheid is good and that blacks aren't fit to rule this land. But those attitudes are changing. The new laws allow everyone, black, mixed heritage, or white, an equal opportunity to prosper. Blacks have every chance now to make something of themselves and this nation. The future looks good for us." "I don't know if I share your optimism," Laurie admitted. "Perhaps that's because you're the racist, Laurie." "What?" "You think blacks can't make a place for themselves in this country. That they would allow themselves to continue to be treated as second-class citizens. You carry the white man's burden that you have to fight the social battles for the poor, childlike black. Bull! The South African black is intelligent, hardworking, and ambitious. I believe South Africa will be a strong, competitive nation. They don't need bleeding hearts to fight their battles for them." "Bleeding hearts! You sound like your grandfather. It was world pressure that finally forced the release of Nelson Mandela and brought about true reciprocity in South Africa," Laurie said. "Yes, world opinion and the boycott did have an influence, but it was the changing attitude among the whites in South Africa and the growing social influence of the middle class and professional blacks that really brought about the change. Do you think me a racist, Laurie, because I'm a South African white?" Laurie's aggressive body language softened. "The Danny I knew as a child was never a racist. I can't imagine that you've changed." "No, I'm not a racist and never have been. There are many white South Africans like me. Please don't judge us all by the ugly scar on our history. You know, the South African government officials visited Canada when they first established apartheid and modeled the system after the Canadian Indian reserve concept." "I know, and that doesn't make me feel very good. But it was a concept and system taken to extremes in South Africa. Oh, hell. How did we get on to this? I don't want to fight with you, Danny. I'm sorry." Danny rubbed Laurie's back like she used to years ago when Laurie was upset. Then, blushing, she pulled her hand away. "You're here to write about South Africa. Naturally, you need to ask the tough questions. Just please leave yourself open to all viewpoints, okay?" "Okay." They continued their stroll along the boardwalk. Danny chose an intimate restaurant for dinner. They had an entree of smoked salmon, followed by a dinner of roasted ostrich, baked potatoes, and vegetables. They lingered over a dessert of fresh apple pie. They talked and laughed over childhood adventures, but finally, Danny asked the question that had been hanging over them since Laurie arrived. "Your husband didn't wish to accompany you on this trip?" It took Laurie a moment to answer. "Richard and I were married for two-and-a-half years. I was six months pregnant when he found someone else and left me. That was five years ago, and I haven't seen him since. We're divorced." Danny's voice was controlled and measured when she spoke. "I'm very sorry, Laurie. The man was a fool to give you up. So you have a child?" A smiled spread across Laurie's face. "A boy. Daniel. He's named after you." "Me?" "Richard wasn't the least bit interested in being a father. I wanted Dan to be able to identify with someone I admired, and that was you. He knows all about his Aunt Danny in South Africa. He has a picture of you in his room. He was really upset when I told him he was still too young to come out here with me." Danny's mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but no sound came out. "I can see you're thrilled to learn that you're an aunt." "Daniel. He's really named after me? He thinks I'm his aunt? I've got to know his birth date so I can send him stuff. You didn't tell him that dumb story about me getting chased by the warthog, did you?" "The warthog story is one of his favourites because you risked your own safety to save me. He knows everything about you. He loves stories about Africa. He wants to come visit his Aunt Danny in Africa and have you take him on safari." "Yeah? Well, maybe we could do that some day when he's older." "Ms. Allen, I thought I recognized you. It's nice to see you again." They had been so involved in each other they failed to see the tough looking man who had walked over to their table until he spoke. Laurie offered her hand. "Rod Gillery. What a pleasure. I didn't think I'd see you until we met in Kruger. "Small world," Gillery said, and then turned to look at Danny. "Hello, Danielle Agia. It's been a long time." "Not long enough." "Danny!" Laurie made no attempt to hide her dismay at her friend's rudeness. Gillery laughed. "Danielle must not have told you we were an item at one time. She broke my heart." "You don't have a heart, Gillery" Danny said. "How do you know Laurie?" "Danny, I really think—" Laurie said. "It's okay, Ms. Allen," Gillery said. "Danielle Agia is a legend in South Africa, but she's not known for her manners. Are you aware that Miss Agia is one of the best shots and trackers in South Africa? When there's a problem with poachers, it's her they call. How many have you killed now, Danielle?" Laurie stared at Danny. Danny patted her lips with her napkin and dropped it on the table. She stood, and her eyes were cold as glacial ice. "I've killed one less than I need to. It would be a good idea if you left now, Rodney." Gillery took a step back. "Sure, sure, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll be seeing you in Kruger, Ms. Allen." "Yes, of course," Laurie said. Cillery walked off. Danny sat down and picked up her fork. "You are not to have anything to do with him," she said. "My paper has arranged for me to interview him while I'm here. He's a big name in game hunting." "He's a poacher, and you will stay away from him." "You obviously didn't," Laurie said. "We were engaged briefly. I was young and didn't know any better. My father warned me, but I was attracted to his bad boy image. I was fortunate to learn what he was really like before I made a big mistake." Laurie looked down and then met Danny's eyes. "What did he mean about how many you've killed?" "In South Africa, capital punishment doesn't exist any more. But the rules for big game poachers are different. If they resist arrest, they're shot and buried where they fall without markers." "You're joking, right?" "No, I'm not. I've killed three." Danny pushed back from the table. "Are you ready to leave?" They left and returned to the hotel. Chapter 3 Several hours later, Rod Gillery entered a bar. Someone on the other side of the room saw him and watched his every move. In atmosphere and interior design, the bar was far removed from the rarified atmosphere of the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront Complex. It was a large local bar catering to the black population of Cape Town. The walls were cinder block, stained and chipped. The floor was cement, smoothed by a thousand feet and bearing the marks of unpleasant events. Patrons, their eyes filled with resentment, focussed on Gillery as he surveyed the room. They said nothing, did nothing. Gillery was known and tolerated. Gillery wended his way through the coarse wooden benches and thick tables that were bolted to the floor to prevent them being used as weapons in a bar fight. He moved to a far corner and slid in beside the handsome, young black man so that his back, too, was against the wall. Three men were at the table; Gillery made four. "What are you drinking?" Gillery asked, tossing some bills on the table. "Beer," the man responded, nodding to one of the others. Hector Abute scooped up Gillery's money and went to the bar. Gillery leaned back, bracing his broad shoulders against the rough wall. Abute returned with a grimy glass and a large pitcher of beer. They all watched him pour. Abute took a long swig and then spoke. "So, is all going according to plan?" "Yes, I saw them tonight," Gillery responded. "I would like to rape her before we kill her," Abute bragged. "All my life I have watched that bitch and wanted to fuck her. She is hot." "She is also very, very dangerous. You don't toy with a rogue elephant. You put it down quickly. We kill her as fast as we can. What you do with her body after, I don't care or want to know about," Gillery said. "I do not fuck the dead!" "I never said you did. But I'm also sure you aren't going to want to give her a nice Christian burial," Gillery said. "We will do things to her and then dump her naked body in a white community. It will send a message." The others smiled and looked at one another in anticipation. They were well aware of how beautiful and sexy their prey was. They trusted Hector would give them some time with the body. Hector was good that way. He shared. Some said he had AIDS, but he said he did not. They believed him. Just like they believed that he could do the magic that allowed him to talk to the spirit of the great Shaka. "The important thing is to get the job done. I think Agia will try to warn Allen not to see me, but she'll come. I know the type. She's headstrong." "You had better be right," said Abute. "I'm always right. That's why I'm still alive and very, very rich. You just remember to stick to the plan," Gillery said. Gillery took the sting from his words by taking a few more bills from his wallet and putting them on the table. If he hadn't, Hector Abute would have had him killed to save face. "I'll be in touch," Gillery said. He slipped from the wood bench and left the bar. Hector Abute watched Gillery with eyes burning with hate. He would use Gillery, and when he had achieved what he wanted, he would kill him. That is how Shaka had explained it to him. Shaka had been a great warrior. He had led the Zulu in many victorious battles against the whites. But Hector knew in his heart that his victories would be even greater. He would not fail. He would fight on until all of South Africa was Zulu and every white was dead. He wiped the white yeast from the corners of his mouth. The doctor said it was a sign of the AIDS, and that there was no cure; only expensive drugs would help. Hector could not afford the drugs, and he was too proud to go to his father for help. He was strong, and he would make his own magic and make the disease disappear. He thought that ginger root would help, and the meat of a lion. Across the table Luck watched his leader. Luck was only fifteen, and Hector knew that Luck felt himself privileged to be allowed sometimes to come with Hector to the bar. Hector smiled. Luck worshiped him, but he was also scared of him. That was good. Shaka would approve. People worshiped and feared Shaka, too. Like Shaka, Hector did unpredictable nnd violent things, but it was necessary. Luck was not smart, nor did he have the talent Hector had to talk to the spirits. He didn't always understand the reasons behind Hector's actions. But he did as he was told and was loyal. Luck believed Hector was Shaka returned from the spirit world, so Hector tolerated him. Hector wasn't a bit like his older brother, Charles, or his father, Fortune. Fortune was the manager of the Agia estates, second only to Danielle Agia. Charles was the foreman of the work crews. He would follow in his father's foot steps. They dressed like whites and talked like whites. Charles had even been to the agricultural college. Hector's lip curled in contempt. They might be rich blacks, but they had no honour. They were not real warriors like he was. They were weak in their souls and had no pride in working for a woman. Hector was embarrassed by his family. He often argued with them. Hector's men sat talking in low voices about the game they had shot and the money they had made. Hector was buying guns with it. They were preparing to arm their people and raise the great Zulu nation up from its knees once more. Very late, they wove their way back to the township. Hector watched his followers stagger off. In the glare of artificial light, he surveyed the world that had become his home. The light came from a bank of arena lights mounted on a thirty-foot metal pole. It blanketed the area in a harsh glare, offsetting in sharp relief the shacks of corrugated steel sheeting, cardboard, and scrap lengths of wood. The government put in the lighting a number of years ago. The single row of floodlights through the black township allowed them to tell the world they had provided power and lighting to the area, and at the same time, made it easier for the police to observe them. A stray dog, thin and mangy, limped by. Flies buzzed after it, waiting to bury their eggs in its carcass. The air smelt of sewage and rotting garbage. In the distance, a baby cried and a radio played African music. He hated this place. Some day he would live in a palace. He knew it was his destiny to lead his people to victory. He smiled and ducked under the dirty canvas that served as a door to the one-room shack he now called home. In the corner, Promise slept. She was his latest woman. A fifteen-year-old with a crush on him. Her parents lived on the next dirt street over. They did not approve of Hector but were afraid to complain when Promise moved in with him. He had liked his wife better. She had been a good cook and didn't complain about not having anything. But she had died of AIDS. Promise couldn't cook well. She kept asking when he was going to lead the rebellion and become rich. Promise was stupid, but she warmed his bed and gave him pleasure. He slipped in beside her and allowed himself to float in the alcohol-induced dizziness. He felt like he was flying crazily. It made him feel slightly sick. He buried his flushed face into the coolness of the pounded dirt floor and drifted off into sleep. Chapter 4 Danny brushed her teeth furiously. The evening had been spoilt by that bastard Gillery. Now Laurie knew she had killed. No doubt she would add that to the growing list she was compiling about South Africa. Let her. I don't give a damn. But she did. She rinsed out her mouth with water and lifted her head to stare in the mirror. She saw no innocence there, only sadness and pain. She put her toiletries neatly away. Laurie's, of course, were strewn everywhere. Laurie had been quiet all evening. Danny wondered if she was lying awake in bed wondering about what sort of vicious life Danny had been leading all these years and condemning her for it. Or worse, maybe her thoughts were about the "Great White Hunter," Turning the light out, Danny padded silently to the available double bed. She pulled the sheets back, and the mattress sighed as she slipped into bed. Laurie barely waited until Danny was settled. "Do you remember when we were kids, we used to lie in bed and tell each other our deepest thoughts and secrets?" "Yeah, I remember." "Not that you ever said much," Laurie said. "Yes, I did." "Oh, yeah. The vines need rain. Fortune let me ride his horse. I think I broke my arm. Do you remember that? You broke your arm breaking my fall from a tree, and you didn't say anything until that night." "It hadn't hurt that much during the day, and besides, it was your birthday." They thought back to those special days. "Good night, Danny. It's so nice to be here with you again," Laurie said, before turning over on her side to sleep. Relief spread through Danny. Laurie still wanted to be here with her, even after this evening. "Good night, Laurie. Pleasant dreams," she whispered. The night darkened. It was a long time before Danny slept. The next day, they drove along the coast through the picturesque pioneer towns of Hout Bay, Muizenberg, and Simon's Town. They clung to the craggy shoreline along beautiful beaches that fringed the Atlantic Ocean. Laurie relaxed into the leather seat. "Oh, Danny, I'd forgotten just how beautiful South Africa is!" They had stopped along the beach in a suburb of Cape Town. Danny had become her old self again as she led Laurie down a path to a small beach where Jackass penguins were nesting. The foot-high little black-and-white creatures waddled about or bobbed like corks in the surf. Each seemed to have a unique personality, and Danny and Laurie laughed as they pointed out different mannerisms and antics. Laurie swung over the railing and crept close to a nest to photograph a female. The territorial penguin let out the loud donkey bray after which the species was named, and some friends trotted over to offer support, flapping their wings and joining in the braying. Laurie snapped some pictures and retreated. "They're so cute," Laurie said. "You wouldn't think so if you lived in this neighbourhood and had to listen to their noise and put up with their mess." "Yes, I would. They don't hurt the penguins, do they?" "No, they're an endangered species and protected by the government. They've only appeared on these beaches a few years back." Past Simon's Town, they entered the Cape of Good Hope National Reserve. They drove over high rolling land with the sea as a backdrop, far below. The road twisted and curled around rocky hills covered in small, succulent brush. The air was fresh, the sky vast, and the landscape breathtaking. As they rounded a bend, two wild ostriches ran ahead of them. They held their white, fluffy wings up and out and pranced daintily on long, gangly legs. They looked like caricatures of Victorian ladies, underskirts hoisted as they ran. At Laurie's request, they stopped so she could photograph them with the sea and sky behind. Danny leaned on their Land Rover and watched. Ostrich were very dangerous animals. In a split second, they could jump up and slash down with one of their three-inch claws and open a person's chest from top to bottom. Each year, people died from forgetting the power of these unpredictable birds. "You be careful. A male in heat has a bright red beak and legs. He'll be very territorial." The warning was barely out of Danny's mouth when she anticipated the bird's next move. She was already diving for Laurie as the bird attacked. They rolled clear of the large bird's claws, Laurie safely in Danny's arms. "Are you all right?" Danny asked. Desire crept over her; she willed it away. "You didn't break your camera. I hope." She checked over her shoulder to make sure the male ostrich had gone. With Danny's help, Laurie got up. She was winded and bruised from being pushed to the ground. They stood by the open passenger door of the Land Rover. "I'm okay. Oh! Your neck is bleeding!" Danny reached up to a stinging just under her jaw. Her hand came away with a smear of blood. "It's just a scratch." "Was it the ostrich? It could have torn your throat out. Oh, Danny, I'm sorry. I'd forgotten that in Africa, animals are still wild. That was really careless of me. I'll be more careful in the future." Laurie rooted through her tote bag, depositing all manner of items on the car seat. Finally, she came up with a small first aid kit and opened it to pull out antiseptic pads and a bandage. She moved close and reached up to wiped the scratch clean. Laurie pulled back, dropping the swab into the waste bin, and opened up a bandage to place on Danny's throat. She leaned closer still and carefully applied the plaster. She put her hands on Danny's shoulders. "There, all better. Does it feel all right?" The sea roared, and a gull cried across an empty sky for its mate. Danny swallowed, and Laurie stood on her tiptoes and captured Danny's mouth in a soft kiss that deepened as passion grew. The moment shattered as Danny stepped back in horror. "Wh... What are you doing?" "Kissing you," Laurie answered calmly "I've done so before." "Not like that!" "No." "That was... well... like... well..." Danny spluttered. "Like a lover?" Laurie suggested. "No, like a fucking queer!" Danny tried to deal with the contradictory feelings racing around inside her. Oh, God! What have I done? "That's because I am," Laurie said. Danny stared at her, dumbfounded. At last, she cleared her throat and asked, "Are what?" "A fucking queer. Mind you, I find that really bigoted and rude. I'd rather you refer to me and others of my kind as lesbians." "What? No! You can't be." "Yes, I can, and yes, I am." Danny grabbed her. "No, you can't be. It's a sin." "Get your hand off me." Danny let go. "It's wrong and unnatural." "Oh, for God's sake, Danny. This is the twenty-first century. What bush have you been living under?" Danny was far too horrified to deal with this issue rationally. Laurie stuffed her things back into her bag and got into the car. Danny stood rooted to the spot. "Well, make up your mind," Laurie said. "Either we go on to Cape of Good Hope, or we turn back to Cape Town." Danny offered no reply, so Laurie waited in the car while Danny paced outside. The rude bigotry that she had shown towards Laurie had probably ended any chance of them renewing their friendship and no doubt coloured Laurie's impressions of South Africa. When had Laurie come to terms with her sexuality and accepted who she was? How could Laurie have married and had a child? No wonder the marriage had been a disaster. How could she be a lesbian, knowing that what she felt was unnatural and a sin? Danny couldn't get her head around all the issues that had broken through with Laurie's kiss. She continued to pace, trying to get herself under control. Danny licked her parched lips. Her heart pounded in her chest. What should she do? Part of her could still feel Laurie's soft lips against her own, and she just wanted to get back in the Land Rover and do it again. Part of her was revolted. It was unnatural, an abomination before God. She'd be run out of her neighbourhood. Or worse, it would shame her family's name. Then there was the mounting guilt. She owed Laurie an apology. It wasn't for her to judge Laurie; that was God's duty. Laurie was her guest, and guests should be treated with honour. She looked out across the beautiful landscape to the sea beyond. The wind blew softly through her hair, like the feel of Laurie's gentle fingers touching her. She had acted badly because she'd felt threatened, not by Laurie's actions, but by her own deeply guarded feelings that had rushed to the surface. God, why are you testing me like this? This whole situation is such a mess. Danny went back to the Land Rover. She slipped into the driver's seat and closed the door with a thud. "I need to apologize to you, Laurie. I acted very badly. Your... preferences... go against my religious and social beliefs, but it was rude and narrow of me to judge you. Your life is your own, and I respect your right to live it as you feel you must. If you're not too angry with me, I'd like to continue on. It would still be a pleasure to visit with an old friend and have the opportunity to show you my country again." Danny said all this with her hands safely gripping the wheel and her eyes fixed on some distant spot through the windscreen. Out of the corner of her eye, Danny saw Laurie fighting back tears. Laurie seemed to force herself to answer. "I'm sorry. I violated your space and person. Please forgive me. I got carried away with the moment. I had no right to touch you like that without first knowing how you felt. It won't happen again." Danny wiped the sweat from her palms on her shorts and risked a look at Laurie. "Well, that's over. Let's go stand on the tip of Africa." They drove on and down to the beach at the farthest reach of the continent, The Cape of Good Hope. It had originally been named Cape of Storms, but John II, king of Portugal, had changed the name to something politically more appealing. It was a rocky beach below a high bluff. The surfs thunder almost drowned the cry of the seagulls. Laurie walked along the edge of the froth and picked up shells and interesting pieces of stone. She jumped when Danny spoke from directly behind her. "You have a girlfriend, Laurie?" "No." "Have you had?" "No." "I don't understand, then," Danny said. "I know how I feel. After Daniel was born, I spent a lot of time reading and trying to figure out who I really was. That led me into gay literature and support groups, and suddenly, for the first time in my life, I felt I belonged." Danny wouldn't let anything go once she'd focussed on it until she had achieved her objectives. That was her strength in business, but it was also her weakness in relationships. "But if you haven't had a relationship with a woman, then you're not gay," Danny said. "Of course I am. I know what I feel inside, and I hope someday to meet a woman whom I want to have a relationship with." "It's okay to be tempted, but I've been taught that it's a sin to give into temptation. Don't you believe that too, Laurie?" "I think it's a sin for people to decide what's normal and what's unnatural. If there is a God, he made me what I am. I don't think love can ever be a sin." Danny stood looking out at the sea. Laurie walked on. They worked their way back up the beach to the parking lot and drove on up the bluff, climbing steadily to Cape Point. Cape Point was a towering cliff face that jutted out into the ocean. A lighthouse sat on the highest point, warning ships that they were about to round Africa and leave the Atlantic Ocean currents to enter those of the Indian Ocean. Narrow paths clung to the edge of the thin backbone of rock, affording a spectacular view of the ocean, the tip of Africa, and the beach a thousand feet below. They took the cable car to the top. At the summit, Laurie took pictures while Danny pointed out where the allied forces had maintained a lookout to observe enemy ships passing the Cape during the war. They lunched in the restaurant overlooking the immense valley behind Cape Point. On a clear day, visitors could see nearly a hundred miles across the rolling hills of fynbos, the natural vegetation that grew in the area. A wide variety of birdlife, reptiles, and small mammals called it home. Baboon troops lived in the area as well. Danny pointed out that the baboons had become a nuisance because tourists fed them. They were bold and weren't above stealing lunches or biting humans who wouldn't share. Laurie sipped her coffee while Danny paid the bill. "Can I ask you a question?" Danny asked "Sure." "Uh, I mean, ah... women, uh... how do they... well, you know?" "Huh?" "Never mind. I'll go start the car and get the air conditioner on." Danny strode to the vehicle. Dumb question to ask. Now she 'd made it clear she was interested. It was just as much a sin to hear about it as to do it. She must be stronger. She climbed into the Rover and slammed the door in frustration. They got back to Cape Town in the early evening. They chose to snack at one of the many small cafes along the Waterfront and then retire to their room. Danny saw to some business matters, sending off e-mails and phoning her estate manager, Fortune Abute, to see if everything was going well. "The weather has been good, Danielle Agia. The grapes have just the right amount of water content and a good level of sugar. It will be a fine crop this year. I think we can do our early grape harvest in about two weeks' time." "That's good. Anything else?" Fortune hesitated. "Hector has gone again." "To Cape Town? Do you want me to look for him?" "No, but thank you, Danielle. He is bad seed. If I drag him back, as I have done before, he will only leave again. A father can only do so much. When he is home, he and his brother Charles argue all the time. Bad talk in the house brings bad spirits. It is not good." "You've done all you could, Fortune Abute," Danny said. "Thank you, Danielle Agia. I will look forward to seeing little Sunshine. You say hello to her for me." "I will," Danny responded. She smiled at the childhood nickname that Fortune had given to Laurie because of her blond hair. "Ah! One other thing I need to tell you. Peter Beit called. There is a meeting of the Elders of the church Friday morning. He wondered if you could attend." "Me? Why?" "He didn't say, Danielle Agia." "Yes, I can be there. Let him know, will you?" "Of course. That's it then. I will see you soon." "Yes, good bye, Fortune." After passing on Fortune's message to Laurie, Danny went back to reading her e-mails. "Here," said Laurie, slipping a piece of paper onto the desk beside Danny. "What's this?" "It's an internet site that will access stories about gay women. I believe you were curious about methodology." Danny stood up. "I'd better have my shower," she said. When Danny emerged from the bathroom, she found Laurie asleep in bed, but she'd left the computer on. Danny had a look. Laurie had accessed a short story about two gay women and had left it on the screen. Danny started to read. An hour or so later, she sat back in her chair and stared at the wall. "Did that help?" Laurie asked. Danny jumped at the sound of her voice. "Yes, thank you. It was... graphic. Yes, thank you." "Does it revolt you?" Danny closed her laptop. "Look at the time. It's late. We should be asleep. We have a busy day tomorrow." Laurie smiled at Danny and rolled over to go to sleep. Chapter 5 "You don't have to go," Laurie said as they stood in line the next afternoon waiting for their turn to board the cable car. They had gone to the Cape Town Museum that morning and now were waiting to take the cable car one mile up to Table Rock, a massive mesa towering over the area. "I'm not afraid," Danny said. "Yes, you are. You don't like heights, and you hate being in a situation you can't control." "You're right. Hanging from a cable a mile above the ground doesn't make me feel secure. I wonder how often they inspect this thing?" She watched the cable car arrive. Twenty or so people could stand inside the glass-walled gondola. As it rose up the cable, the interior slowly rotated, affording a magnificent view of the shoreline below. They piled in with the other ticket holders and began their ascent. Laurie stood against the railing so that she could look out. Danny stood behind her, keeping well back from the glass. As they neared the top, the cable car slowed and stopped. For a few minutes, they hung there with nothing below them but a mile of fresh air and a panoramic view on all sides. Laurie heard Danny's intake of breath and reached back instinctively. Danny grabbed her hand in an almost painful grasp and leaned against Laurie's back. Thank God for cable cars, Laurie thought, as she enjoyed the feel of Danny's body behind hers. Danny almost pulled Laurie off her feet as she made for the exit, still clinging to Laurie's hand. "You okay?" Laurie asked, once they stood on the top of Table Rock, the wind whipping around them. Danny looked at their clasped hands and immediately let go. "Oh, sorry. Yes, I'm okay. That's quite a ride up. And, uh, thanks for your support." "No problem. Caves are my fear. I don't like feeling closed in." "Well, you can't feel closed in here." Danny cautiously looked over the stone wall to the range of mountains and the city of Cape Town far below. "No, I can't," Laurie agreed. They wandered around the walkways and lookouts. "Oh, Danny, isn't it wonderful?" Laurie said at each new vista. Laurie took a picture of one of the unusual grey dassie, or rock rabbits, that lived on the top of Table Rock. They checked out the gift store on the flat-topped mountain and then they boarded the cable car for the trip back down. Laurie reached out this time, and Danny gratefully took her hand again, leaning into Laurie's back for support. Danny led Laurie back to the Land Rover, having done her duty as a good host of her country. Buckling up her seat belt, she smiled over at Laurie. "What would you like to do now?" she asked. "Would we have time to visit Robben Island?" Laurie asked. "Sure, I think we can make the last ferry." Laurie hoped she wasn't pushing her luck. She had taken Danny up Table Rock, and now she wanted to visit the island that would be forever associated with the dark years of apartheid. Robben Island was the site of the prison where Nelson Mandela had spent most of his life, his only crime being his bravery in speaking out against the oppression of the black people of South Africa. "You know my newspaper will expect me to write about the prison." "I understand, Laurie. When the island first opened to tours, I went. Nelson Mandela is an inspiration. I wanted to see for myself what the man had endured for standing up for what he believed in. I would just ask that you give a fair view of South Africa. Apartheid was a dark time in our proud history. I like to feel we have put that time behind us and that now all South Africans can move ahead to a better future." "Do you really believe that? There must be some deep mistrust and hate on both sides." Danny took a second before she answered. "I believe the black South Africans have many talents and skills to bring to a new South Africa. I'm not in denial, though." She paused again before continuing. "Yes, there's a large element in both the black and white communities that's filled with hate and mistrust. We'll have to wait and see if the majority of whites and blacks who haven't been poisoned by racism and bigotry can win over these negative forces. This new government was voted in by both whites and blacks. The greater part of the population believes it's long past time to leave apartheid behind and move on to a more just society." She took a deep breath before finishing her thought. "I don't believe the media of the world have made it clear that it wasn't just blacks who fought against apartheid and suffered the consequences. Look at you and your father, who lived under house arrest for two years and were finally forced from the country. It certainly was the blacks who suffered the most, but there were whites, also, willing to take a stand for what they believed." "What about you, Danny? Why didn't you take a stand?" "I felt that taking a radical stand would breed even harsher reactions from those who supported apartheid. I felt I could do more good by lobbying for reform that would open the door to change." "Did you?" "Did I what?" "Lobby for reform." "Yes." "You're not going to tell me, are you? You did a lot, and you're too modest to take credit for your efforts." "There were far greater people than me. That time is past. Write about the new South Africa—what's happening today." "I will, Danny. I promise." * * * The ferry ride was rough, and Laurie felt her stomach going up and down with the waves. She'd gone from white to green when suddenly Danny was there, holding her wrist. "I'm told if you press down here it alleviates some of the effects of sea sickness," Danny said. "You couldn't have told me that back at the dock, could you?" Laurie asked, leaning heavily on Danny. Danny wrapped one arm around Laurie's shoulders for support and used her other hand to apply pressure to Laurie's wrist. Her hip leaning against the bow rail, Danny let the wind whip through her hair, clearly enjoying the feel of Laurie so close to her. They walked with the other tourists past the small cells where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners had been kept for years. The guide explained how prisoners passed the time playing Monopoly and clearing land for gardens. Laurie marveled at the strength of character and belief that it would have taken to have one's life reduced to four walls because of one's beliefs. The wind had dropped a bit when the last boat took them back to the Victoria and Alfred Wharfs. They walked back to their hotel. Danny worked on business matters while Laurie wrote in her journal. They turned off the lights early, tired after two very full days. The next few days were spent in the Cape Town area. Laurie shopped and Danny scowled good-naturedly. They visited the beautiful botanical gardens and tasted excellent wines at some of the oldest vineyards in Africa. Laurie enjoyed Danny's friendship and attention. The problem was that Laurie knew how Danny's mind worked. She feared that the more Danny tried to justify her attraction to her, the more guilt she would feel. On the fifth day, they booked out of their hotel, and Danny drove Laurie home to Stellenbosch. When Danny's ancestors had made the great trek to escape British rule, they had not given up their lands. Nestled in a beautiful valley, shaded by oak trees, Stellenbosch was a quaint university town and the ancestral home of the Marais-Agia family. The oaks had been planted to provide wooden staves for wine barrels, but in the tropical sun of Africa the trees grew too quickly, and the wood was too porous to be used. Instead, they had stood for generations shading the tranquil valley. Danielle's home was built in a classic Dutch Boer style. It was covered in spotless whitewashed plaster with a thatched roof. The central section's facade rose above the roof line and curved down in a scroll on each side of the massive oak doors. The walls were thick and the windows plain and placed with mathematical precision along each wing. Inside, the floors were made of two-foot wide hardwood boards, the colour of deep honey and shining with years of polishing. The walls were high, and although the trim was simple, it was made from the best woods. Beautiful antique furniture graced each room. Hanging on the walls, interspersed with turn-of-the-century watercolours, were framed pictures of Danny's ancestors, hardworking, faithful, and stern individuals. They were greeted by Fortune and Charles Abute, first formally, and then with joking and smiles when Laurie embraced each of the men she remembered so well from her childhood. "Mr. Abute, it's so wonderful to see you. Dad sends his love and a bottle of his best Cabernet, which he brags is as good, or better than anything an Agia can produce," Laurie said. "How can I prove him wrong when he didn't send me a bottle?" Danny asked. "He did. It's in my luggage. I thought you'd prefer to do a tasting here." Danny nodded her approval. "The Agia wines are second to none," bragged Fortune. Giving Danny a cautious look, he continued. "We Abute see to that." Danny swatted her manager on the arm. They all laughed and moved out into the shade of the garden to enjoy their tea. That evening, Laurie sat in a deep leather chair across from the massive mahogany desk where seven generations of the Marais-Agia family had sat. Danny was a commanding figure sitting behind it, looking at ease with the responsibilities of her vast holdings. As well as her vineyards, the Agia name could be found on the letterhead of a shipping company, several mines, and a number of offshore businesses. Danny, like so many of her ancestors, was an astute businessperson. Danny smelled the Allen Cabernet with interest. She swirled it in her glass and inhaled the bouquet. Laurie discerned a slight acknowledgement of approval when Danny detected the rich scent with its teasing aroma of spicy black currents. Danny held it up to the light to verify the colour. A bright red wine would be green and not worthy of her palette. This one had the telltale brick red of a well-aged wine. Danny swirled the wine around the glass once more, carefully holding the glass by the stem so the heat of her hand wouldn't raise the temperature of the wine above a comfortable room temperature. She looked for the "legs," or the rivulets of alcohol that ran down the side of the glass. The more legs, the greater the alcohol content. "A 12?" she asked. "Yes." "Good." Laurie watched as Danny tasted the wine, rolling it around her mouth and then spitting it out into the brass container that sat by her desk for that purpose. She leaned back into her seat and let the wine express itself. Laurie knew her father's wine. It had a fruity flavour, reminiscent of black currants with a sweet ghost of apricots. The body was a bit thin perhaps, but not disappointingly so. The aftertaste, that vaporized flavour that remained after the liquid of the wine had been spat out or swallowed, was exceptional. It had a soft scent of wild mushrooms and ended with a delightfully pepper finish. Danny spoke. "This wine is exceptional," she said. "Good," Laurie rushed on, buoyed by Danny's praise. "My father needs you, Danny. He needs someone to take over until Daniel is old enough and experienced enough for the job." "What?" "Just think about it, please." "There's nothing to think about. I'm an African. What would I know about farming in Canada? This is my homeland; it's where I belong. I can't just walk out on everything here to help your father." Danny saw the disappointment in Laurie's eyes. "Look, I'll ask around. I'm sure I can find someone." "So can my father. It wouldn't be the same." She didn't trust her voice to say anything more on the subject. "It's been a long day, and Charles is going to take me around to see the estate tomorrow while you're at your meeting. I think I'll turn in." Laurie went to the door. "Laurie... I'm sorry." "I understand. Really I do. Good night." "Good night." For a long time, she sat at her desk staring off into space. Chapter 6 Peter Beit squirmed as he sat on the ladder-back wooden chair the next morning. "Danielle, we've been disturbed by information about your conduct. We feel... all of us... that perhaps it would be better if you resigned your church office as—" "Wait a minute," Danny snapped. The twelve elders froze into a tableau. "What charges, and why haven't I been allowed to defend myself?" Karl Wernher coughed. "Danielle, your own father was known to complain that you, well, played the field." "Who I date or how many I date is no one's business." The men looked back and forth at one another. After a moment, a bear of a man at the end of the table spoke. "Saint Paul said that it is better to marry than to burn—" "Don't quote scripture to me, Otto. I know the scriptures, and if you're implying what I think you are, you'd better back off, because I have never had an affair, and I know you've had several." "Hey, just a minute!" "Danielle, that was not called for..." "Got you, Otto," another elder said. Beit banged his gavel on the table. "Gentlemen. Danielle, it's best not to lie to this council. Jan Visser here has brought some serious concerns about your morals and values. We all know you dated his son George in Cape Town, and well, George is very sick now and..." Danielle laughed. She had to or she would have lost control. "Let's call it the way it is, gentlemen, because you seem free to label me with names. Yes, I would go with George to functions when he needed a date. We were childhood friends, and I like him. Friendship is as far as it went; you know that, Jan. You're trying to use me to cover up what you feel is a family scandal. George has AIDS. I'm sure you all know that, although you're far more reluctant to judge men, it would seem, than a woman." She glowered at the men. "I don't have AIDS or any other social disease. I have never slept with George Visser or anyone else. George got AIDS from being with black boys in Cape Town, another fact that I'm sure you've all heard rumours about." "Danielle Agia! You can't come into this room and slander my son," roared Visser, getting to his feet so quickly that his chair toppled backwards to the floor with a crash. Danny got to her feet slowly. "George is a fine man. The problem is not with him, it's with you. You and all the men who sit here and judge as if you are God. You, who haven't got it within your self-righteous souls to forgive other people's sins while you have no trouble accepting and justifying your own. You will not slander my good name to make it easier for you to live with your own bigotry and hate, Jan Visser. None of you will." She looked from man to man. "If you continue with this course of action, I will take you and the Church to court and make monkeys out of the lot of you." Danny walked out, relieved to feel the hot African sun warming her cold frame. She drew in a deep breath of the fragrant fresh air and blinked back tears. Her great ancestor had been one of the founding members of this church. She, like all her family before her, had been God-fearing upstanding individuals. How dare they accuse her of having questionable morals for no other reason than she'd chosen not to marry and to run the family business herself? The bastards! She gripped the steering wheel with white, shaky hands as she drove back towards her estate. She pulled over by a shady brook and tried to bring some order to her thoughts before she went home. In her musings, she heard her own voice, not many days before, telling Laurie that her ways were unnatural and disgusting. She had called her a fucking queer. She felt betrayed. Is that how Laurie felt when she had been put under house arrest? For one of the very first times in her life, she was unsure as to what she believed in. Maybe it was time to question some previously unshakable beliefs. Ever since the gun incident, she had never questioned the morals and values she'd been taught. Oh, sure, she had spoken up in support of reform, had contributed to the parties that had brought the change about, but always she had remained safely within acceptable norms. She had paid a heavy price for that respectability. Although content with her life, she was lonely. She had never felt comfortable in her skin. There was the public Danielle and the secret, real Danny buried deep inside. Now here were the Elders of the Church believing she was a loose temptress who gave their sons AIDS. She wondered how they would have reacted if she had stood up and told them the truth—that she wasn't interested in any of their sons, only their daughters. * * * Laurie had had a delightful morning. She and Charles rode across the valley, greeting the farm workers and checking on the crop. The older workers, who remembered Laurie, came and shook her hand in the Zulu manner. Both hands were visible in a sign of friendship, first grasping the hand one way, then another and then back to the first. Laurie had been pleased to find that many of the farmhands who had worked for the Aliens still worked for Danny. She had been touched to see her old home and to find that Charles Abute was now raising his family there. Their last stop was at a high ridge on the mountainside where the thousands of barrels of wine were aged in oak barrels within caves that maintained a perfect temperature, humidity, and stable foundation. The tasting rooms were beautiful and candlelit and the wines that Charles poured for Laurie to taste were excellent. Charles excused himself to check on business, and Laurie settled back into a wingback chair within a side cavern to sip a wine that she found particularly good. When Danny walked in, Laurie put down her glass on the carved oak table and went over to her. "What's the matter?" "What makes you think anything's the matter?" Danny evaded the question with a forced laugh. "Because I know your body language, and you're really upset." "One of the Elders accused me of giving his son AIDS, and the council wanted me to resign my positions within the church." "That's ludicrous." "No, it was bigoted and narrow-minded of them. I sorted it out on my drive home, but it's given me a lot to think about." Danny stared at her feet. "I guess I realized I'm no better than they are. I felt free to judge your lifestyle. I'm very sorry, Laurie. I think I need to re-evaluate a lot of things in my life." Laurie chose to let the subject drop. "Come and show me your private stock. Charles insisted that you would want to have that privilege." Danny squeezed Laurie's arm affectionately. They spent the rest of the day visiting special spots from their childhood and arrived back to the house in the early evening feeling sun-soaked, relaxed, and marvelously happy. The next day, they left Stellenbosch and went down to the coast before turning west to follow the shoreline. For miles, they drove past beautiful white sand beaches kissed by the Indian Ocean and completely devoid of development. "These beaches, the weather, the ocean, I can't believe this area hasn't been discovered," Laurie said. "There are many sharks and the water current is cold," Danny explained practically, and Laurie laughed. "What?" Danny asked. "You." "What about me?' "You're such a Boer," Laurie said. Danny gave Laurie's leg a squeeze. Her hand felt hard and warm against Laurie's bare skin. Danny removed her hand quickly, never knowing the effect that simple touch had had on Laurie. Chapter 7 Hector scratched his groin area absently as he stood waiting for the train that would take him to the northwestern part of South Africa. He hoped that Rod Gillery knew what he was doing. He didn't trust white people. They said one thing and did another. They were very unpredictable. Danielle Agia you could trust, but that was because she had been partly raised by his father, Fortune Abute, and so she knew right from wrong. His father loved Danielle Agia as if she were his own. More so, Hector thought bitterly, for Fortune had never loved him. If he and Danielle made babies, they would be great warriors. The spirit of Shaka had told him so. Like him, Danielle had the fire in her belly and the intelligence that makes a great warrior. Perhaps, instead of letting Gillery kill her, he would just lame her and keep her to mate with. With her, he could sire many warriors. Hector was smiling when he boarded the train. * * * Danny and Laurie left the flat plain of the coastal region near Cape Town, climbed up into rolling foothills, and then drove on through high, winding, narrow mountain roads through the Four Passes region. The land was steep and rugged, a rocky land from which hardy evergreens clung in stubborn groups on the scrub-covered mountainsides. Danny surveyed the land with grim pride. Her ancestors, refusing to accept British rule, had packed their family on wagons and trekked over these passes to reach the valleys beyond where they could have self rule. The trek had gone down in South African history as one of the truly amazing feats of mankind. Only an act of faith could have inspired those brave pioneers to carry everything they owned up these narrow, dangerous passes to start again from scratch to build a community that reflected God's Will. They had endured broken axles and wheels, wagons that had tumbled down mountainsides, cold and hunger, sickness and injury, even death for what they believed. Her whole family had been Boers, with the exception of her great grandfather, a Greek, who had made a small fortune in the Kimberly diamond fields and had, thereby, won the right to marry into one of South Africa's oldest Boer families. The name Agia had lost its Greek roots and had come to be associated with the Boer farmlands beyond the Four Passes. Tourists like Laurie, Danny knew, saw the passes through other eyes. They stopped at a number of lookouts that afforded magnificent views of the world, miles below. This was some of the most beautiful landscape in the world, and it was totally pristine. How lucky the people of South Africa were to have so much of their beautiful landscape free of modern development. They had lunch at an inn high up at the top of one of the passes. Danny was in one of her rare talkative moods, chatting on about her vineyards and what had happened to mutual friends from long ago. Dropping down into the valley country beyond, they entered the Klein Karoo area, once the home of the Khoi and San tribes. They stayed at a small inn, and the next day, drove on to Oudtshoorn, an area that had been settled in 1750 by the Boer pioneers. At first, the fertile valley area had been used for stock farming, but with the demand for ostrich feathers for hats in Europe, the area quickly capitalized on the trade. Farmers became rich almost overnight and built distinctive sandstone mansions that were still standing and were referred to as ostrich feather palaces. When the fad for large hats garnished with feathers died, the wealth dissipated. The valley farmers once again turned to farming, this time establishing vineyards and mixed farming. Coming over the last ridge and looking down into the fertile, sun-drenched green of the valley below, Danny thought the irregular farms and beautiful manor houses could have easily passed for areas in Burgundy, France rather than Africa. They drove on, turning now to head southwest, passing through the city of George and arriving in the small coastal town of Knysna in the early afternoon. After a quick lunch, they headed up to the entrance of Knysna Bay. It was narrow and flanked by two high cliffs that were excellent for bird watching and for observing the whales out at sea. Laurie delighted in seeing the colourful sunbirds again after so many years and watching the telltale wakes of the migrating whales as they broke to the surface for air. Danny delighted in watching Laurie as she scrambled about excitedly. / am in love with this woman, I always have been. But to love a member of your own sex is a sin and socially repulsive. Yet I do love her, and I want to make love to her. I won't, though. It would be wrong. I'd disgrace my family's name. Besides, she's been married, has experience, even though she's admitted to never having slept with a woman. I've never slept with anyone, although I've certainly dated lots of men. I'd make a fool of myself. Danny's good mood evaporated as she realized the hopelessness of her situation. They stayed at a resort, enjoying the rustic atmosphere and fresh sea air off the Indian Ocean. They dined late at a fish braai— an open air barbecue on the beach. The fish was tender and succulent, fresh from the nets of the fishing vessels that had returned to the harbour that evening. Later that evening, Laurie worked on her notes, stopping now and again to share with Danny some of her observations and remembrances. Danny went through the motions of reading a book. She'd drunk too much wine at the inn's beach party while she brooded over her situation with Laurie. The following day, they went to Port Elizabeth, making a reservation at the hotel before heading to the northwest to the Addo Elephant National Park. They drove through the dry brushlands, stopping at the shallow, muddy water holes looking for animals. They saw ostrich, and a number of grazing animals such as the red hartebeest, duiker, and Burchell zebras. They even saw a family of warthogs, their ugly appearance made comical by the way they ran in fright with their tails sticking straight in the air. Their patience was rewarded when they dropped down to the Janwalpan water hole and found a massive bull elephant guarding his herd. The animals towered over their vehicle. They watched for some time; Laurie hung out the window taking pictures. When the herd moved on, Laurie impulsively leaned across the seat and hugged Danny. "Oh, Danny! I'd forgotten how magnificent and huge they are in the wild! Oh, sorry, I mean, I shouldn't have..." Laurie tried to pull away, but Danny's arms held her close. Danny looked at her with eyes burning with desire. Slowly Danny lowered her head and their lips touched in a soft caress. Danny went back for more, deepening the kiss and demanding entry into Laurie's mouth. Their tongues curled and stroked each other, tasting for the first time their inner beings. They broke the kiss and then resumed it again with the same intensity. When they finally parted, Laurie buried her head into Danny's shoulder and held on tightly. Danny stared blankly over the African plain. She hadn't wanted that to happen. She wasn't sure how it had. It had been wonderful. She cleared her dry throat. "I guess you realize now, I have unnatural feelings for you, too." "It's not unnatural. Nothing this good could be unnatural." "I hadn't meant to act on my feelings. We can't... I mean, it would be a sin." "Shut up, Danny." They held each other until a jeep came down the hill in a cloud of dust. Danny pulled free from the embrace and put the Land Rover in gear. "We'd better get moving." Laurie unfolded their park map as if nothing had transpired and Danny followed her directions to the next water hole. * * * Their dinner conversation at the beautiful hotel overlooking the promenade and the Indian Ocean was stilted; they didn't linger over coffee. Back in their room, Danny claimed she had business to see to and would return later. "No," Laurie said. "No?" Danny asked. "No, you are not going to take off and avoid this situation. We need to talk about our feelings for one another." "I don't want to." "Yes, you do," Laurie said. "It's gnawing at both of us, and it needs to come out in the open." "How more out in the open could it get?" Danny sat on the edge of the bed. "Whoever was in that jeep almost caught us." Laurie put her hands on her hips. "Danielle Agia, I never took you for a coward." "I'm not a coward." "Yes, you are. You're afraid to admit even to yourself that you're gay." "I've always been aware of my unnatural feelings. Even when I was only eighteen, I was attracted to you." "Were you, Danny?" Laurie asked, taking Danny's hand as she sat beside her. She played with Danny's fingers, interweaving her own with them. Danny's were long, strong fingers baked a deep tan by years in the African sun. Hers were petite and seemed porcelain white in comparison. "I loved you so much then it almost hurt." "Didn't stop you from marrying," Danny said bitterly. "That's why you stopped writing, isn't it?" Danny looked at their interlocked hands, nodding sadly. "I couldn't stand the thought..." She didn't go on. "But you had all sorts of lovers. Your father used to write to mine complaining about what a heartbreaker you were." "I've dated many men. Two I came close to marrying, but I never slept with any of them. I'm not like that." "You're a virgin?" "Yes, of course." "Oh, boy," Laurie yanked her hands free and hit herself lightly on the forehead. She stood and walked a few steps away. "What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Danny. "It means I can't handle trying to seduce you into my sinful ways and taking your virginity." Laurie searched for what to say next. "How could you?" "How could I what?" "How could you... well, be so you?" "Because that's who I am," Danny responded. Laurie sat beside Danny once more. "Now what do we do?" she asked. "We could kiss," Danny suggested. "Kiss?" "Yes." Laurie pushed Danny back on the bed and kissed her tenderly. Danny rolled over taking Laurie with her, and Laurie let Danny lead the way. She shivered with need as Danny nuzzled and kissed her throat and reveled in the feel of Danny's weight on top of her. She ran gentle fingers over Danny's back and responded in kind, loving the taste of Danny's skin. Later, they modestly changed into their night clothes. Laurie slipped on a cotton nightshirt, and Danny pulled on sleeping shorts and top. Danny hesitated, pretending to be busy rearranging her already immaculately-ordered suitcase of clothes. Laurie slipped into bed and watched. "Danny?" "Yes." "We could sleep together. Nothing has to happen. I just want to feel you near. Would you do that for me?" Danny turned off the lights and slipped in beside Laurie. They lay side by side on their backs staring at the ceiling. Once Laurie was sure that Danny wasn't going to panic, she rolled over and rested her head on Danny's shoulder, then wrapped her arm over Danny's abdomen. "Is this all right?" "Yes." The next morning, Laurie woke in the same position. She sleepily opened her eyes "Hi," Danny said. "Hi. Are you okay with this?" Laurie asked. "Yes. We used to sleep together when we were kids. I've never slept with anyone since. It's nice to feel someone next to me. We can't go any further with this, though. We've gone too far already, but I couldn't seem to help myself." "For God's sake. You're an adult, not some little child who's afraid God will get her if she doesn't eat her greens." Danny jumped out of bed. "I believe in my God and my church. It's not childish. It's the foundation of my life that my forefathers passed on to me." She busied herself finding clothes. "I'm not asking you to reject your faith. Just look at it with more openness. God's message through the teachings of Jesus was one of love and understanding. He said, 'There are many rooms in my father's house.' He never condemned anyone for who they were. It's not the faith that finds homosexuality a sin, it's the men who wrote the teachings down. We know now that it was men who left out chapters of the Bible because they thought those chapters didn't fit. In two of those chapters, God was referred to as a woman, and they left out a gospel that had been written by a woman. Men wrote the history and laws of the church." "They were inspired by God." "So they say." "You're too cynical." Danny scooped up her clothing. "Do you want to shower first?" "You're too dogmatic." Laurie's tone changed. "Do you want to shower together?" "No. Yes, but no." Danny blushed deeply. "Then you can wait, and I'll go first. I'm starved. Can you make some coffee?" Laurie headed for the bathroom. * * * Danny and Laurie drove almost directly north through flat plains until they reached Kimberly two days later. Here, they walked around the world's most famous diamond pit and the historical village there. The last mining had been done in 1914; since then, the pit had partly collapsed and filled with water. Diamonds had been found there by Fleetwood Rawstorne in 1871. Entirely dug by hand, the pit reached a depth of 215 meters, and over 22.5 million tonnes of dirt had been excavated. Each miner had bought a column of dirt in which to look for diamonds. Each area was dug at a different rate, hundreds of ropes dangling over the edge to various claims. When it rained, the unstable columns of earth collapsed, taking diamonds, fortunes, and lives with it. Even calamities didn't stop people from coming, though, and a few got very, very rich, including Danny's great-great-grandfather. Before the claim ran out, 14.5 million carats of diamonds had been pulled from the mine. When they had dug down to the hard blue layer, many of the miners called it quits, figuring they'd hit bedrock. But people like Rhodes bought them out and kept digging, and then found some of the most valuable diamonds ever. Agia, too, clung to his few worthless claims and kept digging until he'd hit high quality diamonds in the blue layer. Danny explained all this to Laurie as they walked around the De Beers diamond exhibit, examining a fortune in diamonds and learning about the hardships and dangers, successes and failures of the miners. They walked on to the reconstructed mining town and stopped to visit the very cabin that had been owned by Georgous Agia. "It was boiling hot here in the summer, and they say the dust got so thick some days in Kimberly that it looked like red fog," Danny said. Laurie looked up from her camera lens. "You're proud of your family, aren't you, Danny?" "Yes. Aren't you proud of yours?" Danny leaned against a wall on which hung a grainy photograph of her great-grandfather. Laurie could see the remarkable resemblance between the stem man in the picture and his great granddaughter. "Yes, but for different reasons. Your family members were conquerors of this land and its environment. My family helped to bring order and culture." "Then we both have reasons to be proud," Danny said, taking Laurie by the arm and guiding her out into the brilliant afternoon sun. "We should be leaving soon." "Can't we walk around the modem town a bit?" Laurie asked. "I'll take you to a nice restaurant. The food is good, and you can sit out under cool trees in a walled patio to eat. There's an old trade store, too, that sells a hodgepodge of antiques and collectibles. It wouldn't be good to walk around town. Tourists have been robbed there recently." "More unrest?" Laurie asked. "We have a good and stable government, but there have been a number of changes in a short time. Sad to say, there are those who will take advantage. It's bad in Jo'burg and the surrounding countryside." Danny used the local name for Johannesburg. "Bad how?" Laurie asked. "You'll see for yourself." Laurie noticed that Danny kept a close eye on her vehicle while they ate. They talked of other things over a tasty lunch and then set off in the Land Rover. They arrived in Bloemfontein late that evening and found satisfactory accommodations. Over dinner, things started to unravel again. "I have to meet with Rod Gillery, Danny. My paper expects it. He's a well-known name in big game hunting." "He's not a hunter. He's a poacher. And you will not meet with him. He's a dangerous man." "He couldn't have been that bad, or you wouldn't have gotten engaged to him. Your father would never have allowed it." Danny played with her fork a bit and then spoke. "I went through a really rebellious and bad period after you left. I was angry at the world. I did some ill-advised things, including getting engaged to Gillery without my father's approval." "What sort of things?" Laurie asked "1 killed a man," Danny admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "What? How?" "There were six of us. Five guys and myself. We'd gotten very drunk and were out in the brush taking potshots at tin cans. I saw that one of the guys was going to shoot a dog, and I grabbed the gun. It went off in his face." Laurie reached out and covered Danny's hand, surprised at how cold it was. "Danny, it was an accident." "No, it was drunken stupidity. My father used his power and money to prevent me having to go to court on a charge of manslaughter. After the hearing, he marched me into his office and closed the door. I thought he was going to kill me. He looked absolutely furious. He stood behind his desk, looked me straight in the eye, and said, 'If you ever do anything else to shame me, I will kick you out and never let you use my name again. Now, get out of my sight until I calm down.' I never did anything wrong again." Laurie rubbed Danny's hand reassuringly. "Why didn't you write to me about all this?" "You were young, and I guess I wasn't very proud of the way I was acting and then... Well, how do you write about something like that?" Danny fought back tears. "So you've walked a conservative, straight and narrow path ever since," Laurie said. "That explains a lot about who you are." "I guess." Danny looked away, and Laurie knew the conversation was closed. They didn't sleep together that night. After Danny turned the lights out, she padded to the other bed and turned her back to Laurie. Laurie lay awake for a long time. She knew now that in all, Danny had killed four people: a boy by accident and three poachers resisting arrest. Could she love someone with such a violent history? Would she want her as a role model for her son, after all? That was what this trip was really all about, Laurie admitted to herself. She wanted to see if she and Danny could be the soul mates she had dreamed about most of her adult life. She wanted to take Danny home to her father who had looked on Danny as his own I child. Her father had, with bitter disappointment, accepted her divorce and her declaration that she was gay. Like Danny, she wanted to do something to please her father again. She wanted to convince Danny to come to Canada and run the huge and successful Niagara winery. Her father had founded it, but he was now nearly too old to run it. Laurie was alternately filled with doubt, determination, cynicism, and hope, until the small hours of the morning when sleep at last claimed her. * * * Hector Abute had not gone far on the train. When it had pulled into Stellenbosch, he had gotten off, drawn by his old home like a magnet. He still had lots of time before meeting Gillery and the others. He had no need to rush. An idea was growing into a nasty plan in his mind, and he knew he needed to carry it out after Danielle Agia left Stellenbosch to continue her tour with Laurie Allen. Chapter 8 Danny took Laurie to Durban next. She endured more shopping while Laurie explored the amazing blend of European and East Indian cultures in the city. They sauntered through the spice market and took in the bustle, colour, and scents of a world rich in images and culture quite different from their own. When Laurie felt she'd recorded enough of the city's contrasts, they moved on, leaving the coast again and heading north into Zulu country. The flat land gave way to undulating hillsides of tall savannah grass baked to a golden hue under the African sun. High, steep mountain ridges framed the setting, and the village homes were round and neat. Here and there, colourful flags waved on poles over a house. "They're the shamans," Danny reminded Laurie. "African shamanism is still a vital and important part of decision making and health care—perhaps even more so with the devastating spread of AIDS through Africa. European medicine has failed. The traditional shamans give the people hope. The more flags flying over a house, the greater and more experienced the shaman." "Is the spread of AIDS that bad?" Laurie asked. "It's difficult to judge. In some areas of South Africa, we could be looking at forty percent of the black population being infected. The traditional African lifestyle, the lack of safe sex education, the lack of good medical facilities and financial support and yes, the total disregard for the well-being of the black African have all been factors in a situation that has passed critical. One out of every four children born could have AIDS." Laurie listened as Danny went on. "It's worse in other areas. The main trucking lanes through Zimbabwe have spread the disease there at a terrifying rate. The number of infected could be as high as eighty percent of the black population. So many people have died there that they're running out of wood for coffins and land to bury them in." "How awful." "Yes, I agree." Danny had worked hard to educate her own workers and to provide medical help, but still, there were those who were infected. Fortune, she knew, was worried that Hector might have AIDS. His wife in Cape Town had died a year or so ago, and no clear explanation had been given by Hector for the cause of death. Nor was AIDS a problem of only the black community. Many whites, too, had contracted the disease. George Visser was a good example of that—individuals who were in denial and thought that AIDS was a disease only associated with fringe groups in society. Fools. Danny couldn't bear to dwell on the medical crisis in Africa any longer. "Do you remember about Shaka?" she asked. "Only a little. In North America, we don't learn about African or Eastern history to any great extent." They stopped in a national park to hike up to some bushman pictographs. And as they walked up the hillside of the beautiful valley, Danny summarized the life of the famous war chief. "Shaka is considered to be one of the greatest military minds who ever lived, and the Zulu Wars are seen as some of the greatest battles ever fought. He was born the son of a chief in 1787. The chief had many wives and children, and Shaka's mother wasn't a favorite. He lived with his mother in exile and was raised to feel bitter and rejected. As a young man, he distinguished himself as a warrior under Chief Dingiswayo. Even then, it was clear that Shaka had amazing endurance, incredible leadership ability, and a ruthlessness that made him greatly respected and feared." "I've forgotten anything I knew about Shaka," Laurie said. "What else?" "At the death of his father in 1816, Chief Dingiswayo gave Shaka the leadership of the Zulu. Shaka and his mother returned from exile in triumph and immediately set about making the Zulu nation the most powerful in Africa. He had observed British and French military practices, and he incorporated the methodology with his own knowledge of African weaponry and landscape." Danny stopped to take Laurie's hand to pull her up onto a high ledge and point out the pictographs of running warriors and stylized animals painted in white and red ochre on the overhanging rock. They stood, hand in hand, drenched in the African sun, the scent of dust and dry grass in the air, as Danny went on with her story. "He formed divisions and ranks and trained his troops in a rigid, tough manner. They trained and exercised for hours every day, and he would do things like running them through the thorn bushes to harden their feet. He conquered the surrounding areas and absorbed the tribes into the Zulu culture. Ultimately, he took on the British and won. Imagine that—spears against guns, and yet the name of Shaka and the Zulus terrorized the colonists." "He must be seen as a great hero," Laurie said. "Yes and no. Certainly, he's seen as a brilliant military mind, but he was viciously cruel, both to his enemies and to his own people if he felt they failed him. He tortured and killed many. He liked to impale his enemies on poles around his kraal, or fort, and leave them hanging there to die or be eaten alive by vultures. His cruelty was legendary. He was feared by all." "Ugh!" Laurie let go of Danny's hand to ready her camera. "When his mother died in 1828, he went over the edge, and his killing and torturing became random and widespread. His half-brother, Dingane, killed him and took over the leadership. The Zulu are of two minds about that. On the one hand, they realize that Shaka was a madman and very dangerous; on the other hand, he gave them pride and stood up to the Europeans." They stood before the stylized animals that ran gracefully across the stone overhang. "They're beautiful," Laurie said from behind her camera. "Yes. Sadly, the bushmen who made them have died out, killed or driven off by the European cattlemen who came to this area." * * * They drove on after lunch and visited a movie set that had been built for the production of the movie Shaka Zulu. The set was a complete reproduction of the famous chiefs kraal. Laurie took lots of pictures and interviewed the Zulus working there. Danny knew many of them and greeted each with a warm Zulu handshake. In the black South African way, their hands remained grasped as they talked. Danny saw Laurie take a picture of her with a group of men, their hands held informally in a silent bond of friendship. She realized that a world separated Laurie and her. Laurie was a North American, and she was an African. They overnighted there in one of the round guest huts. They had a beautiful dinner on the open patio of the resort restaurant and watched the sun set red over the African savannah. Danny told Laurie she was going out drinking with her African friends to give Laurie time alone to work on her notes. It was late when Danny returned, smelling of the local corn beer. She showered well, making sure only the scent of soap and mouthwash clung to her as she settled carefully into the bed beside Laurie. Laurie seemed to be asleep. Danny didn't touch her and fell into a heavy slumber. Over the next few days, they worked their way up to Kruger Park, one of the largest and best wild game reserves in Africa. Rather than staying in one of the main tourist complexes, Danny reserved a small lodge for them out in the park near Sirheni. Here the wildlife was dense, and they often had to stop on the way to the lodge to let herd animals cross the road. Despite Danny's careful driving, they were forced off the road when a pair of warthogs suddenly darted in front of them. Their vehicle came to dusty stop halfway into the ditch. "Are you okay?" Danny asked. "Yes. You?" "I'm fine." Danny put the car in gear and backed up onto the road. The vehicle lurched and bumped. Once on the road, Danny looked at the tire. "Damn. The tire's damaged. This is lion country, so I can't get out here and change it. We'll have to drive on it the way it is. It's going to ruin the rim. Fortunately, we're not far from the lodge. Once we get there, we can use the lodge vehicles, and I'll call to have this one towed back to the main park centre for repair." She drove on carefully, doing her best to miss the potholes in the rough dirt. Finally, they got to the lodge and the ranger came out to open the gate and let them through. The compound consisted of four small houses surrounded by a high fence to keep dangerous animals out. One of the houses belonged to the park ranger stationed there; the other two were for park guests. Danny greeted the ranger like an old friend. While Laurie waited by the damaged car, Danny signed them in and made arrangements to have her car towed for repair. Then they took their gear and walked down to the house that had been assigned to them. Out in the African bush, Danny seemed to come alive, Laurie noted. Her normal conservative reserve vanished, and she was more playful and full of energy. Their first evening, after a day of photographing herd animals such as buffalo, impala, kudu, nyala, and hartebeest, Danny cooked steaks for them over the open grill, and they ate outdoors on a small patio overlooking the Mphongolo river. Laurie was happy to have this very private time with Danny, but she wondered if Danny was regretting it. She was feeling very aroused out here in the African wilds, and Danny's closeness was driving her mad. If they went to bed anytime soon, Laurie wasn't sure she could be responsible for her actions. The problem never materialized. Shortly after dinner, Danny excused herself and walked down to the ranger's cabin to arrange a night tour of the park. Over the years, the animals in the national parks had gotten used to being near the park vehicles. As a result, the humans inside were relatively safe from attack, even in an open vehicle. Nevertheless, Danny loaded both a handgun and a high-caliber rifle. It was best to be alert. The previous year, two people had been killed and eaten by lions. A tourist who had gotten out of his car to take a picture of a pride had been attacked from behind. His wife had sat in the car, helpless, as the huge beast had carried her husband's body away. A ranger, who knew of the dangers and who had carefully checked for lions, had been killed when a lioness had suddenly charged from the bush as he worked on some repairs to a water channel. Laurie sat in the vehicle, the guns between her and Danny as they moved along the bumpy dirt roads looking for night game. Their first encounter was with a honey badger, white-backed and brown below, that scurried along, seeking shelter in the bush. Danny drove with one hand and swept a powerful searchlight up in the trees that they passed. It wasn't long before they were rewarded with the sight of sharp yellow eyes shining in the dark. Danny moved her light until it floodlit a leopard lying on a high tree branch. It licked its paw, displaying a long, rough tongue and sharp, white teeth. Over the branch in front of it hung the partly-eaten carcass of a young reedbuck. Laurie was both appalled and fascinated by what she saw. She reached out and took Danny's hand. Danny didn't let go until it was time to move on. Danny turned off the bush trail and bounced down a dead-end path to where a small turnaround afforded a good view of a ravine. They barely reached the bottom, however, when an angry wail arose from the bush and a massive bull elephant slammed out onto the road, effectively cutting off their escape route. Laurie's eyes widened. Everything she'd heard as a kid about a bull elephant's equipment in heat was true. They had clearly caught the massive animal in the act of satisfying some of its harem, and the bull elephant was not happy in the least. The huge creature flapped its ears and stomped its foot and then charged forward a few steps. Danny slipped the Land Rover into reverse and slowly eased back, letting the animal know that they were passive and not a threat to its authority. "It was a false charge," Danny said. "They'll do that three times, and then if necessary, attack for real." Laurie nodded but said nothing. Again, the gigantic animal flapped its ears, sending up puffs of dust like angry smoke rising above its head. The foot stomped and it charged again. Once more, Danny rolled the vehicle further back. Now the wheels were on the very edge of the ravine. There was no where else to go if the animal charged for real. "Be ready to jump if you need to," Danny said. Laurie moved to the edge of the seat and braced herself in case she needed to jump clear of the rolling Land Rover. The bull elephant raised and lowered its head, its long ivory tusks shooting shadows through the jeep's headlight beams. It was so close that it towered over them, its grey, wrinkled knees even with the hood. With one final roar, the bull turned its back on them and ambled up the path, breaking through the trees to herd his females together and move off to a more private location. "Wow! That was wild." Laurie tried to laugh, but it died in her throat. "Sure was." Danny sighed, her relief evident. "That will be a story to tell back home." "Oh, yeah, like I can describe what an aroused elephant looks like in polite company." Laurie said. "Whatever do you mean? Just what were you staring at?" Laurie batted Danny's arm and was surprised to feel the sting of her own fingers. Danny was all muscle. She had to remember that. They drove on, capturing a number of other creatures in the beam of their searchlight before returning to camp. Danny looked around cautiously, then taking her handgun, she opened the gates, and they drove through into the compound once more. Danny was closing the gate behind them when the ranger came out of his house and walked over to them. "Miss Agia, I had a ham radio message from Fortune Abute, your manager. He said it was very important that you contact him as soon as you got back." "I'll walk ahead and meet you back at the bungalow," Laurie said, climbing out. "I need to stretch my legs." Danny followed the ranger into his house. She sat at his radio and slipped on the earphones, then used the call signs to make contact with her estate. Almost immediately, a nearly sobbing Fortune responded. "Danny, please you come back immediately. Oh, Danny, the manor house is on fire!" Chapter 9 In the early light, Danny Agia stood at the edge of the blackened, smouldering ruins of the home that had been in her family for seven generations. The old, dry timber and thatched roof had blazed in a massive fireball and then burned away to red embers. Nothing had been saved. The fire marshal told her there was reason to be suspicious. The blaze appeared to have started in several places. "Come away, Danielle Agia," said Charles Abute. "You can do nothing here, and I do not want to see you burnt." "Where is Fortune?" Danny asked through her shock and exhaustion. "Lying down. The doctor has given him something. He must go for tests. The doctor feels he might have had a small heart attack." Danny had a vague memory of leaping from the helicopter and running over to the already-dying flames of what had once been the beautiful manor house of her family. She was aware that Fortune had been trying to talk to her, to stop her from rushing into the fire. Then he had collapsed against her, and it had been Danny who had carried the small, wiry man clear of the smoke and flame. "I'm sorry." "It was not your fault, Danielle. He's an old man, and he loved this house. Its loss has broken his heart." "And mine. I must see the insurance people... the police... fire... I don't know..." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "I'll have to find the safe. All the papers are in the safe, Charles." "I will look for it as soon as the fire department will allow us to enter the ruins. In the meantime, I'll see to things. You need to get some rest. You come with me to my house. My wife will make you tea and some bread and butter. Then you'll do me the honour of resting under my roof. Later, I'll come for you, and we'll see to things." Danny let Charles lead her over to his home, his arm around her, knowing she grieved for this building as much as she would for the loss of a family member. By the time she had arrived, there was nothing left but a few black and twisted timbers, standing guard over an open, burning wound. Danny didn't wake until the early afternoon. At first, she thought she'd been dreaming, but then the rancid smell of wet, burnt wood filled her consciousness. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them away. There were things to do. She couldn't fall apart over this. She lay blinking at the ceiling and trying to piece the last twenty-four hours together in her mind. For a second, she couldn't even remember how she had gotten home. Then the events of the night before seeped into her memory. She'd gone with the ranger to use his radio to contact Fortune, and on hearing the news, had taken his jeep and ridden like a mad thing to Sibasa to pick up a helicopter that Fortune had sent. Dear God! Had she told Laurie? She reached up and rubbed her dry, tired eyes. She couldn't remember. "She's left? When, why, what's going on?" Laurie demanded of the startled ranger, who stopped nervously at her cabin door. "I am sorry, Ms. Allen. I don't have any details. Her home was on fire, and her manager sent a helicopter to pick her up at Sibasa. She took my jeep and left about one hour ago." Laurie took a few seconds to calm herself. It was senseless to get upset with the poor ranger. "Did she leave a message or anything?" "No." "Did she ask you to come and tell me?" "No. But my wife, when I tell her of the events, she tells me to come here and let you know." "Thank you. I do appreciate that. Please let your wife know I'm grateful. I was sitting up waiting for my friend to return." "I'm glad you are not angry. It is bad enough that my wife is angry with me for letting Danielle Agia take the jeep. But what was I to do? She is a very important person who sits on the board that governs this park. My wife doesn't understand. She told me that white South Africans couldn't boss us around anymore. She thinks that South Africa belongs only to black people now. She doesn't realize that people like Danielle Agia still have much power. She is a foolish woman, and she makes my home very unhappy with her bad temper." Laurie smiled sympathetically. "You are not to worry. I'll make sure your jeep is returned and that Danielle Agia causes no more trouble for you." Laurie watched the ranger go. It didn't matter what colour your skin was. Money talked, and Agia had lots of money. Maybe someday, it would be blacks who had that money, but she didn't figure it would change things much. There would always be those with power and money who would give the orders and those who would have to take those orders. Danny, although from one of the oldest Boer families in South Africa, was known to have supported political reform. She was a good white, not a racist, and she treated her workers as equals. Still, Laurie knew that as far as the ranger's wife was concerned—and many other black Africans, embittered by years of apartheid, for that matter—there were no good whites. Laurie slammed around the cabin. Did Danny think that she wouldn't care that the manor was on fire? Didn't Danny realize that she would want to be there to support her? Damn Danielle Agia all to hell anyway. Danny was never going to get over her conservative Boer upbringing, and she would certainly never leave South Africa. To hell with her. Laurie slumped down in a chair then and let the tears come. Hard, painful sobs shook her body. She cried for the loss of a beautiful home and its place in history. She cried for Danny, and she cried for the end of a dream of love that she had cherished since she had left South Africa years ago. Chapter 10 Rod Gillery wanted to kill Hector when the black South African phoned bragging through his drunken stupor about burning Agia's home to the ground. But after he thought about it, he realized Hector's pathetic need for revenge had triggered an excellent turn of events. According to Hector, only Danny had returned in the helicopter. That meant that Laurie was probably still in Kruger Park, and no longer under Agia's protective wing. He needed to move fast. First thing was to check the park reservations and find out where Laurie was. Then, he would make contact. Once he had her as bait, he knew that Danny would walk right into his trap. Agia had always had a soft spot for Laurie. They were like sisters as kids. Upset by the loss of her home and taken by surprise at Laurie's disappearance, Agia would not be at her best. This time the bitch would make a mistake, and they would be rid of her once and for all. It would be a real shame when he had to report having found the bodies of Danielle Agia and Laurie Allen. He imagined the interview with the media as he reconstructed the story of how the two had foolishly camped out and been attacked by a lion. "A sad accident," he could hear himself saying. Of course to the police he would be more graphic, explaining that the two had gone camping to be alone because they were a couple of perverts. The police would accept that story, whereas they might not believe that one of the best guides in Africa would be so stupid as to camp out alone in a known lion area. Gillery smirked as he put his Land Rover into gear to drive to the Paul Kruger gate to check the park's computerized records of cabin reservations. They would still have to be very careful. Agia would be like a wounded animal in the wake of the loss of her home, dangerous and unpredictable. Danny was deadly enough at the best of times. No, they must not let their guard down. Gillery's face hardened. This was it. Agia was determined to help the park rangers stop poachers like him. The battle lines were drawn. It was going to be him or Agia, and he planned on winning. Besides, the bitch had made a fool out of him by ending their engagement years ago. She had it coming. Danny sat curled in the corner of the couch she'd slept on the night before. She held a mug of tea in her hand. Charles sat in a big easy chair across from her. "We'll need to get that mess cleaned up," Danny said "Yes, but not yet, Danielle. I know it is important to you, but the harvest must come first. A month will make no difference. I have had some of the men string a wire fence around the ruins, and I'll post a man there at night to make sure we don't have any trouble with souvenir collectors, not that there is much left." "You're right. I'm not thinking. Yes, the harvest must come first. We'll have to get the safe out, though." Charles held up his hand. "Already done. I asked the fire marshal about it last night. He sent a few of his people in to pull it out of the wreckage. The papers inside were discoloured by the heat, but they were intact. I knew you would want things sorted out as soon as possible, so I took the liberty of calling your insurance company and lawyers this morning. They're working on things now. I hope that is all right with you, Danielle." "You and your father have the power to make decisions about the estate in my absence. I trust your judgment completely. Thanks, Charles; I'm glad you handled it. I... I..." she swallowed. "This is so hard." Charles looked down at the floor. He'd only twice seen Danny cry: once, when the Aliens had left, and once when her father died. Now she'd lost the only home she'd ever known. Danielle cleared her throat. "How is Fortune today? Charm told me this morning that he was still asleep." He waved his hands in frustration and pulled a comical face. "Ugh! He is grumpy and bossy and has criticized everything I have done." "Good. He's recovered and is his usual self again." "Yes, he is better," Charles said. "He was asking about you." "I'll go see him as soon as I clean up a bit." Danny was still wrapped in the housecoat Charm had lent her, and she hadn't combed her hair or washed her face yet. "He'll like that." Charles's voice dropped. "Danielle, the press are here. They want an interview. I said that the Agia estate would make a comment when we know more, and that you're waiting to hear from the authorities investigating the fire." "Set up an appointment with them for later this afternoon over in the vineyard offices. I'll talk to them there." "Yes, Danielle Agia." "And Charles?" "Yes?" "Thank you for everything. You and your family have been wonderful. I couldn't have managed without you." Charles smiled and walked out. Danny put down her cup and leaned back, closing her eyes. She wished that Laurie were there with her. She needed Laurie. She'd have to get in touch with her as soon as possible and send the helicopter to pick her up. She should never have left her behind. She set her jaw and pushed herself to her feet. Thank God for Fortune and Charles Abute. They had been rocks of strength and common sense over the last twenty-four hours. But most of all, she needed Laurie. She squared her shoulders. It was time for her to act like the Boer she was and get on with the setbacks that God had put in her path to test her strength. Just like her ancestors, she would not give in. She would rebuild and be stronger. After a shower, Danny slipped into the clothes that Charm had washed for her. She thanked Charm for her efforts and asked if she could visit with Fortune for a few minutes. Charm led her along the hall of the Allen's old house to the bedroom where she used to visit Laurie years ago. Fortune was sitting in bed, going over the estate accounts and looking very out of sorts. "Ah! Danielle, forgive an old man for not getting up. Yes, I know I'm old. A man knows he's old when his son orders him to bed." Charm left without comment. Danny walked forward and sat on the edge of Fortune's bed. She took his hand. Fortune noticed the contrast between their hands. "You white girls. No colour to you." Danny leaned over to give Fortune a kiss on his forehead. "So how is my estate manager doing?" Fortune sighed. "I'm fine. How are you doing, Dandelion?" "I'm upset," she admitted, "but you and Charles have handled things really well. Thank you. This is a blow, but it would have been worse if the harvest had been lost. This is nothing, with God's help, that we cannot overcome. As soon as we can, we'll rebuild the manor house. Some good will come of this. I'll be able to modernize the kitchens and have some decent closet space." She smiled, hoping she sounded more certain than she felt. "Where is Laurie?" Danny blushed, and before she could speak, Fortune continued. "No! You didn't leave her behind?" "I wasn't thinking." "You don't think. You should have been using your heart," Fortune said, pounding his chest with his fingers. "What do you mean? I don't know..." "Don't tell lies under my roof, Danielle Agia. Boss or no boss, I'll do what your daddy would have done and take you into my kitchen and wash your mouth out with soap. It's been plain as plain can be since you were a little girl who it was you loved." Danny paced around the room. "Look, Fortune. This conversation is at an end. This is dangerous talk. What you're implying is unnatural, and if my father had thought that I... He'd have killed me." "Your father was one strict man. Some of you Boers got more religion than you got sense. You find a God, Danny, who doesn't like bigots who judge others. Find one who thinks that when people love each other it is a good thing. Find one who knows that all people are equal." Danny looked at Fortune as though seeing him for the first time. "You can't pick and chose what you like and don't like about a religion. That's not faith. It's simply using religion as a crutch when you like and if you like. According to the Christian faith lesb—It's a sin." "Sin, you say? It's a sin to deprive yourself of happiness because some book written a long time ago said so?" "A book inspired by God, Fortune." "Some God." He spoke like a father to his child. "You listen to me, Danielle Agia. I'm your papa now because your real one is dead. You forget this burned down house of yours. It isn't coming back. You go after that childhood sweetheart of yours and make yourself and her happy." "It's a sin!" "Yes, to deprive yourself of love because of guilt is certainly a sin." A twinkle came into the old man's eyes. "Of course, I'm a true African, not a white imitation like you are. I have to tell you, I wouldn't be no barnyard chicken. No sir. If it had been a sin to marry my dear late Emma, I'd have married her anyway, because burning in hell would be a small price to pay for her love here on earth." Danny smiled despite her raw emotions. "You're an old goat." "Might be, but I've been a happy old goat, and that's more than I can say for you." "It's different for me, Fortune. I would be ostracized." "You mean like being black under an apartheid system? You mean like Laurie and her Dad were for standing up for what they believed?" Danny turned and walked out, hearing Fortune's snort of disgust as she did. * * * Charles jumped up as Danielle slammed into his office in the distillery building. He waited for her to sit. Instead, she leaned over the desk and looked him squarely in the eye. "I'm going to tell you something, and it is confidential, got it?" "Of course." Danny licked her lips, swallowed, tried to speak, failed, then tried again. "I... I'm gay." "Shit!" Charles kicked his chair. "Now I have to pay my Dad ten Rand." Danny sank to the visitor's chair and looked at Charles. "You bet I was straight against your father? Why?" "Because, damn it, I don't want you to be gay. It gives me the creeps. Besides, you've broken every heart in the neighbourhood, so I figured you were quite the mover." Charles sat down. "So why are you telling me this now?" "Your old man got under my skin." "He's good at that." "Damn it, Charles, if I can't even count on you to understand. We grew up together. You know me. Hell, you gave me my first black eye. How can I possibly not live the lie?" "Yup, born in the same month, and 1 did give you that black eye. I got my first licking from Fortune for doing it, too. I had no regrets, though. You had it coming. Look, Danielle, I don't understand why you would want to love one of your own kind, and I'm not comfortable with it, but if that's how you are, then I'll get used to it. You're my boss, and you and Laurie are my friends." "I don't know if I can handle being treated like I'm a freak. It's bad enough being a woman running a large business. Oh, hell, I don't know what the hell I want. Yes, I do. I want Laurie as my partner, and I want to be accepted in my community." "Hard for me to be sympathetic. I grew up black. We black South Africans know all about being judged for no good reason." Danny let her gaze meet Charles's. An unspoken message passed between them. Charles smiled knowingly. "Can I leave you to handle things? I need to go find Laurie." "I'll have everything ready for your signatures by the time you get back." They shook hands in the Zulu way. "Thanks, Charles. I'll leave right after the press interview. I think you made a woman out of me." Charles pulled a face. "Yeah. But did it have to be a gay woman?" Danny turned to leave. "Danny?" She waited for him to continue. "I need to tell you something." "What?" "One of the field hands was just in here. He came to tell me he'd seen my brother Hector sneaking around here last night." Danny stood perfectly still as the significance of that sank home. "Do you think he set the fire?" "I'm suspicious. He's obsessed with his visions of Shaka. Thinks he is going to lead an uprising to drive the whites out of South Africa. He's crazy enough to have done this. You know how he hates me, and gives our father nothing but grief." "Thank you for being honest with me, Charles. I know he's your brother, and it must be hard for you to tell me your suspicions. I'll look into it when Laurie and I get back." Chapter 11 Rod Gillery arrived at Sirheni compound the afternoon after Danny left. Laurie opened the cabin door to his knock. "Rod, how did you know I was here?" "Aren't I the best tracker in South Africa?" He stepped inside and removed his hat. "Actually, you'd said you'd be here around the fifteenth, so when I got here, I checked the park's reservations to see if you'd arrived yet. I was hoping that maybe you'd convinced Danielle not to try to stop you from going on a safari with me." Gillery watched for a reaction from Laurie. "I understand her anger. I treated her badly when we were younger. I thought I loved her. We got engaged. I wasn't ready to take on the responsibility of marriage, and she had the good sense to leave me. I can't say I blame her for resenting me. By the way, is she around?" "Come in and sit down. Can I make you a coffee? Danny had to fly back to Stellenbosch. There was a fire at the manor." "Oh, no! That's awful. The manor house is one of the most beautiful examples of early Boer architecture in South Africa. I hope it didn't do much damage." "I don't know. I haven't heard from Danny yet." There was no point in letting Gillery know how upset she was with Danny. "What do you take in your coffee?" "Milk and sugar, please. Well, then, if you're waiting here for Danny to come back, maybe we could get a few days of park exploration in." Laurie hesitated. "I don't know. Danny has some real concerns." "Because I'm a poacher?" "You admit it?" Gillery shook his head and sat down in a wicker chair. He stretched out his long legs, and Laurie took the seat opposite. "I admit that Danny and I have a difference of opinion. She believes that park officials shouldn't interfere with the natural balance in the park. I think that view is idealistic. I don't just sit on the park boards like Danny. I make my living as a guide, so I know firsthand what I'm talking about." Gillery shifted in his chair. "A large reserve like this might look like a natural environment, but it's not. It's a park, and parks need to be cared for. This park and many others are being over-populated by some species that have few enemies, for example, lions, elephants, some of the bigger herd animals. They're overgrazing the vegetation and putting a great strain on the water supply in the ponds during the dry season." Laurie listened as Gillery went on. "Danny would argue that nature will balance itself. The food and water will run out, animals will die, and the balance will readjust again. I disagree. I love these animals and this land. I see the land deteriorating to desert as the exposed land is eroded away without its normal ground cover. When I come across an animal dying of starvation, thirst, or disease, yes, I'll put it out of its misery. That makes me a horrible poacher in Danny's eyes. In mine, it makes me a humane person." "But isn't the African elephant on the endangered list?" Laurie asked. "Good God, no. Years ago, there was a concern, but not now. They're over-populating most of the parks in Africa." Gillery downed the last of his coffee. "People get emotional about animals. They get on the environmental bandwagon, trying to do good, but they don't often verify their information to see if it's still—or ever was—accurate. I'm not saying that conservation organizations haven't done a lot of good, because they have, but if they went around telling their contributors that all was well, they'd soon be out of business, wouldn't they?" Laurie wasn't sure she bought into Gillery's argument, but it was certainly a point that was worth some research and consideration. Danny could be pretty hard-line in her views. Maybe Gillery did have a point. "More coffee?" "No, I'm fine thanks. So, as luck would have it, I've just finished a photographic safari, and I don't pick up my next group for a week or so. You appear to be at a loose end, too. Why don't you join me and my men for a few days and see firsthand what I'm talking about?" Laurie was at a loose end, having been virtually dumped in the park by Danny and left there alone. She also had an obligation to her newspaper, who had arranged for her to interview Gillery. Still, she needed to be cautious. Danny had made it quite clear that, in her opinion, Gillery was bad news. "Okay, when do you want to go?" Gillery smiled his most charming smile. "How quickly can you get ready?" Laurie pushed the last of her things into her knapsack and fastened the ties. She tried again to reach Danny on her cell phone, but the relays were too far away to make contact. Earlier that morning, she had asked the ranger to call the homestead on his ham radio but no one had responded. On impulse, she dropped the useless phone on her bed and wandered into Danny's room. Everything was in immaculate order. Laurie ran her fingers over the handle of Danny's hair brush. Then, she went over to her knapsack, opened the side pouch, and pulled out the handgun Danny kept there. It had been years since Laurie had used a gun. She and Danny used to practice in the old orchard out on the back forty acres when they were teenagers. They mostly used their twenty-twos and shotguns, but sometimes they practiced with the pistols if there was an adult present to supervise. She made sure the safety was on and slipped the clip in place. She dropped the firearm into her shoulder bag. She had left a message with the ranger as to who she was with, and thanks to Danny's gun, she was now armed. That was about all the precautions she could take. She lifted a sheet of stationery from the drawer and wrote a quick note. "The ranger tells me you've left. I hope the house is okay. I tried to contact you, but no one was near the radio. Gillery is here. I'm going on safari with him for a few days, as my employer arranged for me to do. Laurie. P.S. I took your handgun. I hope you don't mind." She placed the note under the hair brush, returned to her room, and picked up her knapsack. Locking the cabin door, she joined Gillery who was smoking a cigarette and leaning against his Land Rover. "Ready? Let's go, then. We're going to pick up my men at one of the main camps, Punda Maria, and then strike out. We'll head north towards the Limpopo River." "That's close to the Zimbabwe border," Laurie said. She wished the next thought hadn't come to her. What a good place for a poacher to make a base camp, should he need to make a quick escape. "Yes. The river is the dividing line between the two countries." Gillery drove well, showing both skill and caution on the park roads. They talked of mutual friends from long ago, and he stopped twice to let Laurie photograph. Their first sighting was a pack of Veret monkeys along the side of the road. The males of the pack had bright robin-blue scrotums, an obvious sign they were in heat. Later, they were stopped by a herd of Cape buffalo. The male stood alone in the centre of the road, defying them to come closer. He was a massive animal with an impressive set of horns. "People have to worry about an encounter with one of the big five: lion, leopard, elephant, rhino, and buffalo, but I'm telling you, this guy is the biggest killer of the five. If a buffalo charges, the only way to stop it is shoot it dead. They're vicious." "Really? So this is the animal that's the one associated with the most wild-animal kills?" Laurie asked, as she recorded the information that Gillery was giving her. "Second. Surprisingly, number one is the hippo, and they're not on the big five list. They come out of the water at night and wander about. If your tent is in their path, they'll just go right through. Also, tourists have no sense. They'll paddle right out to them in rivers and then wonder why their canoe is capsized and one of their party killed. People forget that these aren't pets. They're unpredictable wild animals." They pulled through the gates into a large compound. It was one of the ten or so major centres in the park for tourist facilities. The largest one, Laurie knew, was Skukuza, which boasted of its own medical centre, bank, and post office. Three men surrounded by boxes of supplies waited under a shady baobab tree. One of the men was tall, lean, and mean looking. Another youngster, more boy than man, seemed filled with a restless energy. The last was a short, wiry man who looked seedy and corrupt. Laurie found something very familiar about the man. Rod Gillery followed her gaze. "That's Hector Abute. Do you remember him?" Gillery turned off the Rover and got out to open its back door. Laurie felt a mix of surprise and dread. On the one hand, it was nice to see someone from her childhood. On the other hand, she had never been fond of Hector, although she's always had a fondness for his big brother, Charles. Hector had been a mean, sullen kid, quick to lose his temper and full of revenge. He wasn't a bit like his father, Fortune Abute or his brother Charles, who were both intelligent, kind, and responsible men. Laurie walked over to Hector and offered him her hand. He stood watching the other two lift the supplies into the truck. "Hector, hello. It's been years. Do you remember me, Laurie Allen?" Hector smiled, revealing teeth decayed and stained by poor eating habits and smoking. He responded warmly and politely. "Laurie Allen, this is both a surprise and pleasure. It's wonderful to see you after all these years. How is your father?" "Slowing down a bit, but still a going force, and the kindest man that ever lived," Laurie said. "He stood with us against the evil of apartheid. He would always be welcomed in black South Africa." Hector responded. His words sent a chill through Laurie. It wasn't so much what Hector said, or how he had said it. It was his eyes. They were cold, yet they burned with hate. They were the eyes of a fanatic. Laurie let go of Hector's hand and took a step back. "I'll tell him you said so. It will please him that you remember him kindly. I'd better go see if I can help." Laurie walked away. She helped arrange the supplies in the Rover while Rod Gillery talked with Hector. Then the men leapt in the back and hunched down; Laurie slipped into the front seat again beside Gillery. She nervously felt the side of her shoulder bag. The hard weight of Danny's gun somehow reassured her that everything was all right. They set off. Chapter 12 Danny used the ranger's jeep to drive straight back from Sibasa to Sirheni. She found it hard to believe only two days had passed since she left the reserve. She tried to phone Laurie before, but couldn't reach her. She was feeling uneasy. Laurie was sure to be angry with her for rudely taking off without so much as a word. Somehow, she was going to have to win back Laurie's favour. She wasn't good at expressing her feelings. Nor was she sure how she stood with her own feelings. Okay, she'd done it. She'd admitted to Charles that she was gay. That was the big part of the battle, wasn't it? She drew to a stop at the main gate at Punda Maria. She dutifully showed the ranger at the gate her park pass and then proceeded on, pushing the fifty kilometer speed limit within the park as far as she dared. No, admitting to yourself and a few trusted friends that you were gay was only the beginning. The hard part was giving up the prejudice taught by the church and society over a lifetime and learning to be comfortable within your own skin with who you really are. Could she do that? Could she be comfortable living openly with a woman? She thought back to the meeting with the church Elders. She saw in her memory the charred ruins of her family home. Then she heard again Fortune's wise words and felt the pain of Charles's reaction. As she reflected, she realized she'd already made that decision. She was proud of her heritage, strong in her belief in God, but unlike so many of her peers and some of those in her church, she was ready to move on, accept a more tolerant and less narrow world. The past was to be learned from, not deified. She was gay, and she wasn't going to be ashamed of that anymore. She loved Laurie, and she definitely wasn't ashamed of that. She braked to a stop and watched a graceful herd of steenbok cross the road. Moving off again, she leaned back more confidently. The next few weeks were going to be tough as she convinced Laurie of her love and her decision to stop living a lie. In her heart and soul, she had crossed a high wall of bigotry and could now move on with the rest of her life. Danny pulled up to the high chain link gate that surrounded the private camp of Sirheni. She got out and opened the gates, drove through and parked outside of the ranger's station. She went back to close the gate securely. She walked down to their cabin. The door was locked. "Laurie," Danny called. She used her own key to unlock the door and step inside. Maybe she's down at the observing platform looking out over the Mphongolo River. She decided to freshen up and then go looking for Laurie. She frowned when she failed to see the usual mess cluttering Laurie's bedroom. Danny was to the end of the hall in three strides. Laurie's things were gone. Panic seized her. Laurie must be really angry at her to have left. She went back down the hall. No message in the lounge or the kitchen. She hurried to her room and found the note under her hair brush. She read the words and felt knives of pain and worry stab into her heart. Still holding the note, she strode over to her knapsack and opened up the side pocket. Laurie had taken the gun, and that meant she was concerned about her situation. Damn! * * * "No," the ranger said firmly, "I cannot let you take the jeep again. My wife would kill me. We need it to get around. We can't take the big truck every time we wish to do a bit of shopping or take the kids to the doctor." "I've got to have it. You've heard of Rod Gillery. You know as well as I do that he's a dangerous man," Danny said. "You can have the big truck," the ranger said. He was caught between an angry board member and an angry wife. "Let me talk to your wife, Henry," Danny said. "Please." The ranger disappeared inside the station. "Daisy. Daisy, you come out please. Danielle Agia wishes to talk to you." A small, dark woman came to the door. Danny gave it her all. "Daisy, 1 have no right to take your jeep. It was very good of you to lend it to me the first time, but this time, I'm here begging. You know Rod Gillery. You know that he and his men probably killed Luke Zakahka, the ranger over at Sabi Sabi last year. Now he has my dearest friend. Please, I need to go after them before there's any more killing." Daisy looked at Danny for a long time. "You take the jeep," she said and disappeared into the house. Henry reached into his pocket and handed the keys over to Danny. "Thank you," Danny said, and threw her knapsack into the vehicle. "I need a rifle." Henry shrugged and went into the station, then returned with a rifle and a box of shells. Danny leapt into the jeep. Henry walked over to open the high gate for her. She drove out in a cloud of dust. Out on the main road, Danny stopped to consider. Where would they have gone? As much as she hated to waste the time, the logical choice was to head back to the main gate at Punda Maria, about an hour's ride away. Gillery was likely to have bought supplies there, and he might have indicated to someone where he was headed. The route was north and then west. It was most likely that Gillery had headed north. There were fewer roads up there, and so more game, and it was easy for poachers to slip over into Zimbabwe or Mozambique if they were being pursued. Danny chafed at the time that would be wasted going west to the main gate, but more could be saved if she found someone there who knew where Gillery was headed. It was two in the afternoon by the time she reached Punda Maria, and it was past four by the time her inquiries turned up someone who knew Gillery's plans. A clerk in the beer store had come from the Cape Town area and had recognized Hector Abute. Hector had bought a beer from him, and bragged to him that he was a better shot than Rod Gillery. He had told the clerk that he meant to kill a lion to use in a medicine, but the clerk hadn't taken him very seriously. "It was the beer talking. Hector Abute is no hunter." "Did he indicate which way they were going?" Danny asked casually, so as not to put the man on his guard. "To the north, near Luvuvhu, he told me," the clerk said. So Hector was working for Gillery. Hector had been in Stellenbosch and might have set the fire. Danny had flown back, and Gillery had used the opportunity to get to Laurie. Damn! Gillery was up to something, that was sure. But what? Danny stopped dead as the dread of understanding washed over her. Gillery knew that Danny would never leave Laurie alone with him. He knew Danny would come after them. She would follow them to an isolated part of the park where Gillery could set up an "unfortunate accident." Danny was walking into a trap. Cillery wanted her out of the way because he was feeling the heat of the crackdown on poachers. With luck, she should be able to get to the South African Police Station on the Mozambique boarder by nightfall. She'd spend the night there, and then go after Gillery at daybreak. Chapter 13 Laurie watched out the window as they passed by the dry savannah dotted with scrub bushes. It was quiet and tense in the truck. Up ahead, she saw the telltale bed of dung that rhinos used to mark the edges of their territory. Often they used the edge of a road for such a purpose. The rhinos would return to the same spot day after day, until a large mound of dung covered one lane. Gillery swerved around it. "Do you think there'll be any chance of photographing some rhinos?" Laurie asked. "I understand that Kruger has both white and black rhinos." "There's been a change in plans." "What do you mean?" "I mean that this is no longer a photographic safari. We're using you as bait to draw Agia out where we want her." "What?" Gillery turned to give her a snide look. "It's a shame, but you and your friend are about to meet with an unfortunate accident. It happens sometimes, even to the best of trackers." Laurie felt her insides crunch in fear. She had expected to learn that Gillery was a poacher; she even thought he might come on to her, but it had never occurred to her that he'd use her to kill Danny. "Look, Rod, this is a really bad idea. You'll never get away with it. I work for a paper. They'll send people to investigate. Danny, as you well know, is a very powerful and influential woman. There'll be a huge inquiry." "I certainly hope so. I plan on making a good deal of money on bringing groups out to investigate and being the last person to have seen the famous Danielle Agia alive." "People will know you killed us." "Some will suspect, but they'll never be able to prove it. Not after the lions, scavengers, and African sun have finished with you." "A forensic lab will be able to tell. This is the twenty-first century. It's almost impossible to cover up a murder. Look, reconsider, you could let me off at the next centre, and I'll phone Danny to pick me up. You could be across the border in no time and safe enough." Gillery just laughed. Laurie spoke to Hector. "Hector, you don't want to be part of this. Danny has always treated you fairly." Hector spat out of the open window, closed his eyes, and ignored her. They traveled for nearly three hours on the main road before turning off onto a dirt trail and bouncing along at a much slower pace. Laurie held on to the door frame and dashboard to stop from being bounced against Gillery. She was dying of thirst and needed to use the bathroom. Surely they would have to stop soon, and then, perhaps, she'd have a chance to escape. She'd need the truck. This wasn't country to be out alone in with only the protection of a handgun. Finally, Gillery drove off the path and bounced along a ridge above a wide gully. They rounded a steep outcrop of rock, and there before them in the distance was the Limpopo River. They came to a halt in a cloud of dust. The men climbed out and started unloading the supplies from the back. Laurie undid her seat belt and went to open her door. Gillery clamped his hand around her arm. "I'm not going to tie you up. You were born in Africa, so you know you'd be lion bait if you try to escape on foot. If you're foolish enough to try anyway, we'll shoot you dead before you get fifty feet." Laurie wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing her fear. "I'm going behind those rocks to relieve myself. You keep your pack of jackals away from me." She pulled her arm free. Gillery said nothing. Laurie got out and walked past the two men who were unpacking the supplies and hauling them into a cramped cave just a short distance from the vehicle. Hector stood guard with an MK 15 cradled in his arms. Time passed. The afternoon sun burned down, and Laurie was hard-pressed to find shelter in the shade of the outcrop. It was preferable though to where she had been, sitting in the cave with the men listening to their foul talk as they played cards. She had a canteen of water and some ostrich jerky. She had drunk and eaten as little as possible. She had a plan. It was risky, even foolhardy, but she was damned if she was going to let Danny walk into a trap. The sun edged towards the horizon. Off in the distance, Laurie watched three giraffe saunter on their stilt-like legs down to the Limpopo River. One stood watch while the others spread their front legs wide and leaned their long necks forward to drink. The giraffe was at its most vulnerable position when it was drinking. The animals were nervous, and their ears twitched back and forth as they drank. When they'd had their fill, they stood by watching while the third animal took its turn at the water's edge. Hector stumbled out of the cave and squatted down beside Laurie. "Once we have Agia, he plans to let us rape and kill you. It doesn't have to be that way. I like blonde women. I could take you as mine. Perhaps 1 will, anyway." Laurie kept her eyes on the horizon and pretended she didn't hear him. This was not the time to tell the bastard to go fuck himself. She felt the sweat trickle down her back, and Hector's body odor made her want to pull away. She forced herself not react to Hector's presence. "Bitch," he hissed, and got up to relieve himself in some nearby bushes. It happened so quickly. Hector was standing there facing the bushes, and the next second a huge buffalo was charging at him, its head down and its massive shoulders bulging with power. Hector screamed. The animal lurched and dropped at Hector's feet as three shots cracked across the valley. A flock of great white egret squawked and took to the sky in the valley below. Hector sunk to the ground beside the deadly rack of horns that had nearly gored him. He had soiled his pants in fear. Gillery, who had rushed out of the cave with the others, reached out and took the gun from Laurie's hand. "Nice shooting," he noted dryly. "I think I'd better keep this and your bag." Laurie handed it over and went to sit by herself higher up on the rocks. She hadn't thought. She'd reacted and saved Hector's life. Now she'd lost the gun and the water and food she'd stored away. The cost of saving Hector's life was the realization that tomorrow morning, Danny would walk into an ambush and be killed. Tears rolled silently down her face. The sun set, pouring crimson across the majestic landscape. The air cooled. The predators of the night stirred. Laurie slipped into the cave and settled down in a corner far away from the men. Hector, too, sat away from the others and nearer to Laurie. Neither of his men had said anything to him, but he could see the contempt in their eyes. They had butchered the buffalo and eaten the liver and hung the shanks to be cut into strips and smoked or dried in the sun tomorrow. Then they had sat with Gillery, ignoring Hector. Hector had changed his clothes, throwing his soiled pants away in shame and slipping into a pair of shorts. His men had believed he was the next Shaka. Instead, he had screamed like a baby and shit his pants. He was only alive because Laurie had chosen to save him, even though he had treated her so rudely. Laurie, sensing his reluctance to join the men near the fire, had brought him over some meat and a blanket. He had failed. Failed in everything he had ever tried to do. He had trusted that the spirit of Shaka would give him greatness if only he believed. Instead, he had AIDS, like so many these days, and his honour as a warrior had been lost by his own fear as he had stood there in the bush, holding his own dick. It was a long, dark night. * * * Danny was on the road before daylight. Within a few hours of dawn, she picked up Gillery's trail. He was leading her right to him. As soon as the outcrop came into view, Danny knew that would be the place. He had chosen wisely. The brush was thick on each side of the road. It would be far too dangerous to get out and track. Besides, from up there, Gillery had no doubt watched her from when she had turned off the road. No, she would have to walk into his trap and hope she could get Laurie and her out of it alive. She stopped and picked up the ham radio mike. "Agia to police station six, over" "We read you, Agia, over." "I've found them. They're on an outcrop of rock some miles northwest of the Luvuvhu service road. I need backup. Over." "We have a helicopter police patrol on its way. Stay where you are. Over." "No can do," Danny replied and turned off the radio before she had to hear any arguments. She dropped the jeep into low gear and headed up the ridge. She stopped beside Gillery's vehicle. Rod Gillery stood a few meters away holding a rifle on Laurie. No one else was in sight. This was bad. If she got out, chances were that three rifles would bring her down. If she didn't get out, Gillery would kill Laurie. "Danny! It's a trap!" Laurie yelled, rushing forward. Gillery fired, but his aim was jarred off target as Hector rushed out of the bush and tackled him. Laurie stumbled forward as she felt the pain of the bullet rip under her arm and enter her body. Her knees gave way, and her hand came away from her chest covered in blood. The world spun, and blackness closed in around her. Danny ducked low and stepped on the accelerator, slamming into the brush and jumping out of the jeep, her rifle in hand. She took out the man in front of her before his finger had even squeezed the trigger. Then she rolled and turned to take aim at another who ran down the ridge. Danny lowered her gun. He was a boy and running away. Another shot rang out behind her, and she took cover. "That's Hector, dead, Agia. It's just you and me now." Gillery's voice echoed around her. She kept low, staying in the shadows, trying to figure out where his voice was coming from. "Your little friend's dead, too, Agia. You couldn't save her," Gillery taunted, confident that his voice echoed off the rocks and made his location almost impossible to detect. Danny forced herself to stay focussed. First, she had to get Gillery. She didn't let herself think past that point. She couldn't, or she would go to pieces. She moved forward, her eyes darting about, letting go of her civilized mind and thinking like a predator. He would be up in the vertical rocks. She dropped down lower into the brush, circling around, and then edging out under a lip to make her way around the ridge to the back of the outcrop. For a split second, as she slipped from the cover of the brush over the side to cling to the rock face of the ridge, she'd had a glimpse of Hector's and Laurie's bodies lying in pools of blood on the flat rocks by the cave. Her stomach lurched and she fought back the rising bile. She was very vulnerable to attack here. She needed both hands to work her way along the narrow ledge, and that meant slinging her rifle over her shoulder. If Gillery saw any rocks drop, he'd know where she was, and she'd be an easy target for him. Fingers and legs aching, she edged along under the lip of the rock overhang. Now and again, Gillery called out to her, his voice carrying the tightness of fear. Good. He had no idea where she was. She edged into a crevasse filled with loose stone. Keeping her feet braced on either side, she moved forward. She could see Gillery's back now as he looked between two rocks. All he had to do was to turn around and fire, and she'd be dead. Sweat dripped from her face and darkened the rock as she slid farther along until there was a stable place to brace her feet. She readied her rifle, the crosshairs directly between Gillery's shoulder blades. "Drop the gun," she called out. Gillery spun and lifted his rifle. Danny fired, and the poacher froze for a split second. Then he went limp and dropped heavily to the ground. Danny kept her gun on him as she inched closer. He didn't move. She kicked his rifle clear and bent to roll him over. He was dead. The bullet had shattered his sternum and ripped through his heart. Danny ran to the top of the outcrop and jumped off, landing only a few meters from where Laurie lay. She was beside her in an instant. "Laurie? Laurie? Come on, damn it," Danny begged. Carefully, she rolled Laurie from her side onto her back. Laurie moaned, and Danny sobbed in relief. The bullet seemed to have grazed her right side just under her arm and exited through her breast. Danny scrambled over to the jeep and grabbed a bottle of water and the first aid kit. Laurie's eyes were open when she returned. "Danny, are you all right?" she whispered weakly. "I'm fine, love. Shh, you've been shot. Don't move. I'm going to try to stop the bleeding." "I love you, Danny." Danny leaned forward and kissed Laurie softly. "I love you, too, sweetheart." Danny worked with trembling hands to staunch the blood and to keep Laurie from going into shock. When Danny had done all she could and Laurie had once again drifted into unconsciousness, she went to check on Hector. He lay on his back, his breathing coming in short gurgles. "Don't touch me, I have AIDS." "Hector, I have to do something. I can't just stand by and watch you die." Hector closed his eyes for a second, appearing to gather what strength he had left. "I will die anyway." "You saved Laurie's life and mine," Danny said. She squatted down to hear better what he was saying. "You tell my father I died well, not for me, but to give him peace." "I will tell him the truth, Hector, that you died a hero saving us." Hector smiled, but it was without happiness and the light from the effort did not reach his eyes that stared up into the blue sky. His body jerked and blood bubbled from his mouth, then it was over. Danny stood. She heard the beat of a helicopter's blades in the distance. What was important now was getting Laurie to the hospital. Chapter 14 Danny sat in the back seat of the helicopter and watched while the park ranger, who was trained as a paramedic, worked to stabilize Laurie's condition. Laurie's blood pressure was low, her breathing shallow, and she was cold to the touch. Danny could hear the ranger describing Laurie's symptoms to the doctor in Jo'burg. Treat for shock was the response, put her on an IV drip, if possible. It wasn't. Danny could see small beads of sweat on Laurie's brow and heard her raspy breath echoing inside the oxygen mask the ranger had placed over her nose and mouth. Danny reached forward as far as she could in her safety harness and stroked Laurie's hair gently. She drew some comfort from the contact; she could only hope it did the same for Laurie. The ranger continued to monitor her vitals and keep her as warm as he could. As needed, he adjusted the mix of oxygen he was administrating to her from the small canister aboard the helicopter. Danny wiped the sweat from her lip and tried not to panic. Medical personnel were standing by when they arrived. They quickly transferred Laurie to a waiting stretcher and took her to be prepped for surgery. "When was the last time she ate or drank?" "I don't know." "What medical coverage does she have?" "I don't know that, either. She's Canadian. I think they have government coverage. Look, I'll pay. Just help her." "Who is her next of kin?" "Her father. He's in Canada... No, she has a hus... a son... I'm her... I'm her friend." Danny felt the heat of frustration and embarrassment. "Look, I told you, I'll cover any expense." "You'll need to sign these forms. Edith, see if you can get the patient to sign a consent form for surgery. Where are you going?" "I just want to see her," Danny said as she stood halfway through the door to the examining area. "Listen, miss, you'll be doing your friend a lot more good by filling out as much of this information as you can. The doctor will need it." Danny looked down the curtained hall of the emergency wing, wondering where Laurie was. She came back, took the clipboard from the nurse's hand, and sat down to fill out the information sheet. Once she had completed it as best she could and handed it in, she went upstairs to the recovery area waiting room. She waited for the next two hours, the longest two hours in her life. Her stomach was tied in a knot. Please be okay, Laurie, she begged over and over. The nursing aide opened her sliding office window. "Ms. Agia?" Danny was across the room in two strides. "Yes?" "Laurie Allen is in recovery, and everything has gone well. As soon as she's moved up to a room and settled, I'll let you know." "Thanks, thank you." Danny sat down again, feeling weak at the knees and with a blazing headache coming on. She'd need to find a police station and make a report, she knew, but not until she had seen Laurie. An hour later, Danny quietly entered a two-bed ward. Awkwardly, she smiled at the woman in the first bed who sat knitting. "They only brought her in a short while ago, dear. She's on the other side of the curtain." "Thanks." Danny hurried around the edge of the curtained partition. Laurie looked so small and white. An IV was in her hand, and a tube provided oxygen to her nose. Danny came alongside the bed and leaned on the metal railing. "Laurie?" Laurie's eyes fluttered, then opened with effort. "Hi," she said. "You okay?" "The doctor said I'll be all right. The bullet just nicked the muscle of my upper arm and missed any bone." She paused to get her breath. "Then it exited through the fatty tissue of my breast. You okay?" "Yes. You go to sleep now." "Danny?" "Yes." "Phone my dad." "Okay. You rest now." "1 love you, Danny," Laurie whispered, already falling back to sleep. Danny felt the heat rising up her face. Had the woman behind the curtain heard? It was okay for people to say they loved each other. It wasn't that she was ashamed of Laurie loving her. It was just... well, she wasn't ready yet. Feeling angry with herself and suddenly completely exhausted, Danny lowered her head to the metal railing that ran around Laurie's bed and let the tears fall. Without doubt, the last few days had been some of the worst of her life. The phone call to Laurie's dad had been long, detailed, and emotional. Danny was surprised to learn that Laurie's father had Parkinson's disease. At last, she realized why Laurie had suggested that Danny take over managing the Allen wineries. She wished to hell she hadn't been so insensitive in the way she'd said no. Drained, both emotionally and physically, Danny sat on a wooden bench waiting to talk to a police superintendent about the statement she had given. She felt like her well-ordered and stable life was falling apart at the seams. Everything she had believed in, everything she had loved, she'd lost. "Danielle, it's good to see you." said Deputy Chief Ronald Perkins. "Hello, Ronny. I had to come in on police business. I've just made a statement. I was involved in a shootout today. No, I guess it was yesterday." Perkins nodded. "I read the report. Come on, Danielle; I'm going over to the Rand Club for lunch. You look completely done in. J think I need to take you under my wing." "Thanks, but I'd rather get back to the hospital. Besides, I think that might put you in a conflict of interest. I've killed two men." "I know. I'm the person who's going to decide if you're going to be charged or not. I need to ask you some more questions. This could be an explosive situation, and I need to be on top of things. I'm sorry, but I have to insist that you join me for lunch." Perkins continued before Danny could object. "The parks department has searched the cave up there and found enough ivory and skins to convince them that Gillery and his men had a large and successful poaching operation." Perkins led Danny down the hall and out into the fenced police parking lot. An unmarked police sedan was parked at the door with an officer standing by to chauffeur them. "By the way, they found the boy you were asking about. The poor kid was terrified and seemed glad to give himself up before the lions got him." "I'm glad for that," Danny said. She was tired, depressed, and somewhat disoriented. Once settled in the back of the police car, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. Ronny Perkins had known her father. It had been Hans Agia who had recommended him for the police service years ago. "I'm sorry about the manor, Danielle. Bloody horrible." "Thanks, Ronny. We'll rebuild." Danny laughed bitterly. She looked out the window as they drove through Jo'burg. "Considering all that's happen recently, it's the least of my worries." "The reporter who was shot?" "My friend. Yes, I'm deeply concerned about her." "I'd like to keep this as low key as possible. Naturally, the South African press is going to give it a good going over. You're well-known and from an old Boer family, and that makes it big news. Worse still, a white killing a black is always a very charged situation. I hate to say it, but it makes it easier that a white was killed too. It helps, too, that the Aliens are well known for their anti-apartheid stand." "Having to kill either of those men wasn't easy for me," Danny responded, "and I didn't shoot Laurie." "I know, but I have to look at the political fallout. That's part of my job. I don't want this story going international if we can help it. The government is trying to encourage tourism and business to South Africa after years of being restricted by a world trade embargo. We have to handle this one carefully." Danny listened quietly, watching the old buildings of a past colonial glory and the new bold structures of a new order passing by the window. Crime rates in Johannesburg were high. The streets were unsafe after dark. Even during the day, attacks against whites and their property were becoming more frequent. She tried to look into the eyes of the people on the streets. To her, the black South African eyes looked dark, bitter, and angry. Those of the white population looked tense, worried, or defiant. What do people see in my eyes'? The situation in the countryside was not much better. Farmers had their homesteads surrounded by electrified fencing, guard dogs had become the family pet of choice, and homes were arsenals. A support system had been developed so if one farmer's property was attacked in the night, others could be instantly mobilized to come to their assistance. Whites were living in constant fear of attack. The vast majority of people lived peaceful, good lives, but the horror of the violence and hate reported by the press each day scared everyone. Many farmers had called it quits, deserting the land that had been in their families for generations and emigrating out of Africa to start over again. It was a big and desperate decision, because money could not be taken out of South Africa. To leave meant to leave everything behind and start from scratch. Worse still, in Danny's eyes, it meant giving up your heritage, your pride in being African, your sense of self. It meant giving up on your country. Danny couldn't imagine herself ever doing that. She rubbed her throbbing temple. It was hard to stay focussed; she just wanted to get back to Laurie. "Here we are," Perkins said as the car pulled up in front of one of the last enduring symbols of Boer colonialism. This private club, built with the profits of gold and diamonds, was a bastion of pride and a symbol of a time long since gone. The manager of the club greeted them. "Good afternoon, Deputy Chief Perkins and Ms. Agia. How wonderful to see you again." "Good afternoon, Hardt," Perkins said. "Hello, Karl. You're looking well," Danny said. "How is your daughter doing?" "She's gotten her doctorate in economics and has taken a position in Geneva with the World Bank. She's very happy and seeing a young Dutch lawyer of whom I much approve. Thank you for asking, Ms Agia," Karl Hardt answered. "Give her my best next time you talk to her, and let her know I wish her well." "I will, ma'am." "We'll have lunch upstairs, Hardt, and then tea in the lounge," Perkins said. "Cook tells me that the roast beef is a fine cut today, Sir," suggested Hardt as he took the Deputy Chiefs hat. Perkins guided Danny by the arm and led her up the carved wooden staircase to the dining room on the second floor. The Rand Club was a Victorian stone building. The carpets were Persian, and the deep pile muffled all sound. The walls were high and paneled in the finest woods or papered in rich brocades. Oil paintings of the stoic Boers that had led the country gave way to confident English lords, to be replaced by the quiet determined faces of the first black leaders of the new South Africa. Danny wondered what those early colonial leaders would think of having the portraits of black leaders now hanging beside their own. South Africa had come a long way, but Danny knew it still had a long way to go. Chapter 15 Laurie was awake and feeling both sick to her stomach and in pain. Where was Danny? Mrs. Wilson, the lady in the other bed, showed Laurie the headline of the afternoon paper. "White kills Blacks!" The story headline asked: "Are Our Poacher Laws Being Abused?" It made Laurie feel even sicker. She knew Danny was going to take a lot of flack over this, and it wasn't her fault. She knew how hurt Danny would be to think that anyone would consider her a racist. The article Mrs. Wilson read her gave a brief history of the Agias, emphasizing their wealth and power and how Agia, a park board member, often took matters into her own hands in tracking down park poachers. It gave the history of the three blacks Danny had killed and mentioned that she had also killed two whites. There was a statement from Fortune Abute to the effect that he was saddened by the death of his son, but that he did not hold Danielle Agia responsible. The article went on to suggest that Fortune was in a difficult position because both he and his surviving son worked for Danielle Agia. The story mentioned the Allen's courageous stand against apartheid, but the article hadn't made it clear that Laurie had been shot by Gillery. Instead, it said that she had been regrettably wounded in the cross fire. Hector's girlfriend had been interviewed. The reporter noted with sympathy that the young so-called widow lived in poverty in the Cape Town townships. "They killed him because he wanted the blacks to have the land back that has been taken from them by the whites. Hector was a hero and a champion of all black people," the girl was quoted as saying. Laurie wanted to take action. It was important to choke this bad press as soon as possible before high feelings led to rioting in the streets and Danny found herself a political sacrifice. She had seen it happen more than once in North America, and it wasn't going to happen to her Danny. She'd have preferred to talk it over with Danny first, but Danny hadn't shown. And Laurie wasn't prepared to wait any longer. She picked up the phone and dialed the TV station. "News Editor's desk, please." "Linda Tambolti." "Hello, Ms. Tambolti. This is Laurie Allen. I understand your station was trying to contact me. I'm feeling a bit better, and if you'd still like an interview for your evening telecast, I'd be willing. I think it is important to tell Hector Abute's story. He saved my life, you know." "What? I thought Agia shot him as a poacher." "Oh, no! Hector was working undercover for Danielle Agia. When Rod Gillery tried to shoot me and then tried to shoot Danielle, Hector dived in front of the rifle to save my life. He's a wonderful man. Danielle was brokenhearted by his death. She's very close to the Abute family. Why, Fortune Abute practically raised her." "Ms. Allen, I have one of our city papers here in front of me, and they're saying this could be a racially-motivated shooting." "What? Impossible. I was an eyewitness. I don't want Hector's bravery overshadowed by this sort of muckraking. I'll give you all the facts if you want to send a crew around." * * * Deputy Chief Perkins dropped Danny off at her hotel. She opted for a quick shower and a change of clothes before she went to the hospital. She let the warm water of the shower massage her weary muscles. She wrapped a towel around herself and went into her bedroom. Her eyes were gritty and heavy-lidded. When was the last time she's slept? Well over twenty-four hours ago. She flopped down on the bed to rest for a few minutes and fell fast asleep. The phone woke her. "Hello," she mumbled. "Danny?" "Laurie! Are you all right? What time is it?" "Seven fifteen. I just finished dinner. I've been trying to get you for hours. I've been really worried. Where have you been?" "I had to make a statement to the police and then talk to the Deputy Chief. He took me to the Rand Club. He's worried that what happened yesterday could get the wrong publicity, internationally. It was very nicely done, but I was interrogated. I guess I fell asleep after I got back here this afternoon." "Forget internationally! It really hit the fan today. One of the papers damn near came out and said that you were using the law on poachers to kill blacks." "What?" "It's okay, I think. When I couldn't get hold of you, I went ahead and made a statement to the media. I told them how Hector had been working undercover for you because you were sure that Rod Gillery was into big-time poaching. I explained how Gillery had kidnapped me to set a trap for you and how Hector dove in front of the bullet to save my life and yours." Laurie caught her breath and then continued. "The police have made a statement, too. They released pictures of the cave with Gillery's stockpile of illegal hides and ivory, and they announced that the bullet that killed Hector was from Gillery's rifle and at very close range. The boy who survived gave the press some long story about Hector really being Shaka and that he would rise again from the dead some day in a new form." There was no response. "Danny, are you there?" "How long was I asleep? Shit." "Are you angry at me?" "Dear God, no. When I get my sleep-soaked mind around all this I think I'm going to realize that you really pulled a rabbit out of a hat for all of us." "It should make things easier for Fortune. I mean, Hector truly did save my life." "Yeah, yeah, there's no point going into the details over the phone. I'm on the way there to see you." "Be careful. There's still some high emotion over this, and you're the center of it all." "I will." Danny labored to find adequate words. "Thanks. I owe you one." It was the best she could come up with. There was a moment of silence on the other end. "That's okay. That's what friends are for." Danny hung up and swore. / could kick myself for falling asleep and not being therefor Laurie. And why the hell didn't I tell her I love her? Danny had kissed her and told her she loved her yesterday as she lay bleeding. Now that the danger and emotion were over, Danny was back in the closet, playing the role of the good friend. Damn me all to hell. Why can I be so goddamn brave about everything else and so weak and ashamed about being gay? * * * Danny arrived at the hospital a short while later. She peered guiltily from behind a large flower arrangement. "Hi," she said to the woman beside Laurie. "Danny, this is Mrs. Wilson." "Hello, dear. It's a pleasure to meet you. One does hear so much about the Agia family. And you're so nice a young lady. Wait until I tell them down at the bridge club that I met you." "Urn, well, thanks. I'll just go say hi to..." "Of course, dear. Now you pull the curtain across so you have some privacy with your friend. I won't mind at all. I'm going to put on my ear phones and listen to the TV. I asked my great nephew to tape the news. Fancy me being in the same ward with someone giving a TV interview. My, young girls these days do have adventures. Of course, I think that pioneer spirit must be in us all waiting to come out. Blood will tell." Danny smiled weakly and pulled the curtain across. "Hi. I brought you these." Danny whispered "Put the flowers down on the table, could you? They're lovely. You remembered after all these years how much I loved orchids." "Yes. But tell me, how are you doing?" "That depends." "On what?" "Are you going to kiss me again and tell me you love me, or are you going to pretend it never happened?" Danny hesitated only a second and then leaned over the metal rail and kissed Laurie softly on the lips. "I love you," she whispered. "Good, because I love you too," Laurie responded. "All of my life, I've loved you." She clung to Danny's hand. Danny licked her lips. She liked the taste of Laurie. She liked the way things were going. "You really scared the hell out of me. I didn't know how badly you were hurt. There was a lot of blood." Danny turned pale. Laurie squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, love. The doctor said I was lucky the bullet hadn't entered my chest. He said you and the ranger did a fine job applying first aid. "You saved my life, Laurie." Laurie lifted Danny's hand to kiss her fingers. "You're worth it. The doctor said I can leave tomorrow as long as there's someone to keep an eye on me. Any chance you're still free?" "Sure I am." Danny smiled. Laurie was released from the hospital the following day and spent the next few weeks staying at the hotel suite Danny had booked them. Danny showered her with flowers, attention, and affection in the safe confines of their room. They took small outings each day, and although Danny had been caring, she was still very formal with Laurie in public. They hadn't slept together, either. Laurie's chest was very tender, and any movement of the bed caused her pain. Danny had moved the bedside table that was between the two beds and pushed her bed next to Laurie's so they could be close. During the day, Danny came and went. She had several meetings with her lawyers and investigating officers. She flew to and from Cape Town several times to provide a pension and medical care for the girl that Hector had left behind and to attend Hector's funeral with the Abute family. She still had affairs to see to regarding to the fire. The investigating police wanted to know why Hector had been seen at the estate on the night of the fire, and Danny did something she had never done before: she lied. She told the police that Hector had come to warn her that he thought Rod Gillery was planning to do her harm because he was feeling the heat of her crackdown on park poaching. The fire was listed as arson by person or persons unknown, but thanks to Danny's input about Hector, Gillery was clearly the man that the police suspected. Charles Abute knew differently, and questioned Danny on it. "There's no point in hanging dead men," Danny told him. "I'm more concerned with justice for the living." Charles wasn't comfortable with making a hero out of a brother who he knew was just crazy scum. On the other hand, it gave his father comfort and let him hold his head up with some pride. The story had calmed the waters on the stormy relationship between the whites and blacks in South Africa. The killings had been justified, and Hector was a hero. In the end, the story wasn't that far from the truth. Hector, for one brief moment in time, had done the right thing at the cost of his life. * * * On the Saturday two weeks after Laurie's release from the hospital, Danny slipped into Laurie's bed and woke her with gentle kisses. "Are you okay with this?" Danny asked, nuzzling Laurie's ear. "No, we should have been doing this to each other for the last decade." Laurie stoked Danny's back. "Danny?" "Mmm?" "Take your clothes off." Danny hesitated barely a second before standing up to drop out of her black silk pajamas and standing naked in front of Laurie. Laurie eased out of the cotton T-shirt and shorts sleep set that she was wearing. Then Danny was beside her, and they each gasped at the sensation of their two bodies touching skin on skin for the first time. "I'm not sure what to do," Danny said as she caressed Laurie's throat and shoulders. "You're doing just fine," Laurie said, stroking her hand up Danny's stomach and feeling her breast. She felt Danny quiver at the touch and respond with rising need. Danny captured Laurie's breasts, teasing them gently with her fingers and tongue, mindful of Laurie's wound. Laurie's body arched with desire. "I need you in me." "What?" Laurie grabbed Danny's hand and placed it between her legs. "In me, with your fingers. Please, Danny, 1 need you there." Danny rolled onto her, spreading her wide. Hesitantly at first and then with passion, she gave Laurie what she needed, riding her with a rhythmic need that had Laurie gasping in short, desperate breaths. Danny felt her come, warm and tight around her fingers, and she felt a rush of pleasure like she had never felt before. Tenderly, she held Laurie, letting the aftershocks tremble through the two of them. "You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" "I'm fine. Don't worry. You were wonderful." Danny kissed Laurie's nipple and smiled smugly. Laurie laughed and rolled Danny onto her back slowly. "Feeling smug are you? I think I'd rather you feel very, very tired and satisfied." Laurie studied Danny's face. "But only if you want to, Danny. Only if you want it to be me who takes your virginity. I'll be content and happy with whatever you need to give you peace." "I want you to do to me what I did to you. I want this with you" "You're sure?" "Yes, I'm sure." Danny's joy was complete as she crossed the emotional barrier to a new world where she was totally free to be herself. Chapter 16 Later that morning, Danny took Laurie out. They went to the Johannesburg Golf and Country Club. Like the Rand, it was an island of old colonial grace and traditions. They walked around the gardens and swimming pool out to where the older members played lawn bowling, their whites crisp against the green grass. Many members waved to Danny or came over and shook her hand. These people and their families had been friends and neighbours in this closely knit neighbourhood for generations. Some of them still remembered stories of Danny's great-great-grandfather and their own ancestors enduring the hardships of the Great Trek. Danny kept a respectable distance between her and Laurie, taking her arm only to assist her if they were on uneven ground, the sling on Laurie's arm being an unspoken justification for the action. She did, however, introduce Laurie with pride to those who came up to them. The response was varied, some welcoming Laurie home, others politely greeting a stranger, and others still showing the reserve and stiffness that indicated their disapproval of her father's stand against apartheid. Laurie found herself divided. The grace, beauty, and old-world manners of the club created a wonderful environment in which to relax, but conversely, this place was a symbol of power, prestige, and snobbery over other human beings. Danny, dressed in a beautiful safari-style suit of beige cotton, looked every inch the image of a true colonial. They sat beneath a three-hundred-year-old oak on a small patio and were served by black waiters with immaculate manners. They ordered off the menu even though an impressive buffet had been laid out. Black cooks stood by to make omelettes and stir fries on demand. Danny ordered East Indian dishes; Laurie opted for a seafood salad. They talked and enjoyed the sun and breeze on a prefect South African day. They lingered over the pastry tray that had been placed on their table and sipped coffee while they listened to a quartet play Bach. Danny stirred nervously in her seat. "I know you only have a few more days before your stay here is over. Laurie, I love you, and 1 don't want you to leave. 1 want you to stay here in South Africa and help me rebuild the manor." "Is that a proposal?" Danny fiddled with her teaspoon. "I wish it could be. In public, we'd need to be very discreet, but privately, I want you to know that you're the person with whom I want to spend the rest of my life." "Thank you, Danny. That means the world to me, because I love you with all my heart. But I can't live a lie, and I can't leave my father. He needs me. I love South Africa. It will always be the roots of who I am, but I'm a Canadian. That nation took my father and me in when South Africa scorned us. It's the country that believes in and tries to treat all people with human dignity and equality. We sometimes fail, but more often we don't." She tired to read the reaction on Danny's face, but couldn't. "According to the United Nations, Toronto is the most culturally diverse city in the world. More than six hundred different cultures live there in peace. Each year, the city hosts a big Carousel of Nations, and everyone celebrates their cultural heritage and their pride in being Canadian. Although some people are still prejudiced against gays in Canada, the laws protect us. Gay people can marry in Canada. Could that happen here?" "No. But South Africa is changing. We have concerts and performances that celebrate the African heritage of South Africa," Danny said. "Besides, this isn't about politics, it's about us." Laurie shook her head sadly. "It is all about politics. Whether we're talking about the right to be openly gay without fear or being able to raise a child in an environment untainted by racism." "A child?" Several heads turned and looked their way. Danny lowered her voice. "How did we end up talking about a child?" "Because I have one. I want us to raise him as part of a family—our family. That's the sort of commitment I want from my soul mate." "I see," Danny said as she came to terms with what Laurie was saying. There wasn't going to be a happy ending. Laurie was going to leave. * * * Some months later, Laurie wandered with her father along the walking trail in the parkland that ran the length of the Niagara gorge. The autumn leaves were a blaze of reds, oranges, and yellows. They made a crazy patchwork quilt to walk on as they drifted to the ground. The day was cool and crisp, and the sky blue. Laurie felt a restless depression settling on her. John Allen had suggested a walk, so they left their historical home some kilometers outside of the old village of Niagara-on-the-Lake to cross the street and walk back towards Fort George, a reconstructed British garrison from the 1800s. "Do you want to talk about it, honey?" her father asked. "About what?" "About what happened between you and Danny. You love her, don't you?" Laurie stopped dead in her tracks. "I tried to be the girl you wanted, Dad, but I couldn't. I'm gay, and I've always loved Danny." He nodded, wrapping his arm around Laurie's shoulder. "I think I've always known too, pet. I could wish it different, but it isn't going to be. I'm glad you gave it a try, though, because I'm happy to have Daniel as my grandson." Laurie couldn't help but smile as she thought of her son who was at home, playing with some friends under the watchful eye of their housekeeper. Her father dropped his arm from her shoulder. "It was a good series of stories that you wrote, and I thought a fair view of South Africa today. But I think there's another story you haven't told me completely." "There's nothing much to say. Yes, we love each other, but we live in different countries and have differing views on being gay. Danny has a lot of unresolved issues because of her religious beliefs and the South African culture." Laurie's voice cracked. "I needed her to be a real partner who isn't ashamed to be with me and my son." "I wouldn't have thought Danny Agia would be afraid of anything," John said. "The only thing she's afraid of is her own feelings." Laurie reflected on all that might have been if only. Life could deal a pretty rough hand at times, that was for sure. * * * Danny rubbed her eyes and then forced herself to look back at the computer screen. The time in the bottom corner read 2:45 a.m. She should go to bed, she knew, but she doubted she could sleep. Sleep was an elusive element these days. Not that it was any big deal. She was currently sleeping in the field office on a camp cot beside her desk. She worked herself to exhaustion most days, but when she lay down the memories returned, and sleep was impossible. Little by little, new dreams were replacing the haunting memories. She was working towards change, within herself and in her world, but would it be enough? There was a soft knock at her door. "Danielle Agia, are you still awake?" "Come in, Charles. It's not locked." Charles stuck his head around the door, saw that Danny was still at her desk, and walked in. He settled his tall frame in the visitor's chair. "Woman, you look like something the cat dragged home." "Thanks." Danny folded her arms. "What are you doing up at this hour?" "Fortune got up to answer the call of nature and saw your light on over here, so he woke me and the missus up and sent me over here to see what the matter is. I told him what the matter was, but he sent me anyway." "Meddling old goat. I bet Charm is ready to kill him." "She told me that if my father isn't back to work by the end of this month, she's most likely going to leave me and take the kids with her." Charles laughed so that Danny would know he was joking. "So how about you turn this light out and go to bed, because I'm getting too old and ugly to find another wife." "You sound like your father," Danny said. "I just want to finish these accounts." "I've been doing those accounts for the past three years." Danny looked down at her hands. "I know, Charles, but I need to keep busy." "You need to go bring Laurie back here," Charles replied. Danny sat back in her chair and closed her eyes briefly. "I asked her to come back here. She refused. She doesn't want to live in South Africa because, among other things, it would mean leaving her father. He's put down roots in Canada, and he runs a very successful winery there." Charles leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees and stared moodily at the floor. "Love of the land is a powerful love," he said. "When I was younger, I often dreamt of owning my own farm, building it up like this place so I could pass it through my family like your family did." Danny looked at Charles for a very long time. "Deep within yourself, do you resent the whites who live here they way Hector resented us?" "It hurts inside. It hurts deep inside. It does in all black Africans, and I'm sure it does in North American Indians, Australian Aborigines, New Zealand Maoris, and so many more. But you can't rewrite history. That doesn't take a country forward, only into chaos. I've got a good job here and security for my wife and kids. I've got no complaints." "Maybe I can rewrite history." "What?" "Most of the Agia businesses can be run just as easily from Canada as they can from here. How would you feel if I were to make you president of Agia wines and an equal partner and owner of the vineyard?" "What?" "You're right. Love of a land goes right to your bones, and I do love South Africa. I could never leave it completely. I can't anyway, because I'm not allowed to take money from the country. But there's no reason way I can't live in Canada and come back to South Africa to visit and do business." Danny got to her feet. "Charles, I'm going to Canada to see if I can't buy a share of Allen wines and make Laurie my partner for life. If I achieve that goal, then you and I are going to have to sit down and rewrite some history." Charles stood and a big grin graced his face. "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be saying I'm glad you're gay, but this is that day if it means I get a chance to run Agia Wines." Danny threw her pen at him. "Get out of here, so I can get some sleep. And the first job of the new president and part owner is to change the name of our company to the Abute-Agia Wines." Chapter 17 Danny cursed and shivered, picking up the pace a bit as she walked down the parkland trail. She had flown to England and then on to Toronto. There, she'd rented a car and driven around the west end of Lake Ontario to Niagara. Following the signs and stopping to ask directions, she had arrived at the Allen's home, a very impressive Georgian stone structure set in hectares of vineyards. The housekeeper answered the door. "I'm looking for Laurie Allen," Danny explained. "Why, dear me! You're Danielle Agia, aren't you? Dan has your picture by his bed. Laurie isn't here right now. She and her dad went for a walk down the walking trail. Do you want to come in and wait?" "No thanks. Which way did they go?" "Down that way." The housekeeper pointed across the street and to her left. "You won't be able to miss them. They'll have to come back by the same trail. They usually walk down to the Fort and back." "Thanks," Danny said and hurried off. As she got further along the trail, she wished she'd accepted the invitation to wait. She was freezing. And she had no idea what she was going to say to Laurie and her father when they met. * * * Laurie, lost in her thoughts, enjoyed the silent support and companionship of her father at her side. "Laurie?" "Mmm?" "I think you'd better go help that poor woman, because if I'm not mistaken, that's a South African about to succumb to our nice fall chill." Laurie looked up and saw Danny heading towards them, looking both very cold and very determined. "Danny!" Danny waved and strode over to them. She wrapped Laurie in her arms and kissed her. "I love you," she whispered into Laurie's soft hair. "I love you too, Danny," Laurie whispered back, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Danny pulled back but kept an arm protectively around Laurie. "Mr. Allen, I love your daughter, and I want to stay here and make a life with her. I'd like to talk to you about the possibility of buying into your business." For a minute there was silence. John Allen looked at his daughter. Danny hoped he saw the happiness radiating from her. She also hoped he could see and accept that she'd do her best to make Laurie happy for the rest of her life. "I think something could be arranged. Why don't you two head back up to the house. I need to see to a few things first," he answered diplomatically. "Thank you, Dad," Laurie sobbed, giving her father a hug before returning to Danny's arms. Mr. Allen walked off. Danny watched him go. Laurie looked up at Danny. "Are you sure about this, Danny?" "I couldn't be more sure." Danny kissed Laurie again. They walked back together through the fall leaves. "Does it get much colder than this?" Danny asked, her teeth chattering. "A lot, but don't worry, sweetheart, I'll keep you warm."