Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

After dinner, she and Jack had lain together on her bed, and he had said, “Would you like some music? Maybe ‘In fernem Land?’”

“You’re not being very subtle, Dr. Deacon. I told you I wouldn’t decide until after the trial.”

“Not long now.”

“No, so don’t push. Also, I need to know how ill I am. If we were Americans, your marital lawyers would be asking my lawyers what the low-down on my symptoms is. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No. I don’t think you’re ill. You look fine to me. More than fine.”

“Hmm. I may look fine, Jack, but I don’t feel it. In any case, what’s the hurry? Don’t you like the way things are? Don’t you like being where you are right now?”

He kissed her ear. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world. I have everything I want—you, the gorge, my plane, all right here in Kenya.” He kissed her ear again.

“What about children? They are important to you.”

“Yes,” he said softly, adding a moment later, “I’d like your babies, Natalie, if you’d like mine.”

After they had made love a second time, he had left her so that—in theory at least—she could get some sleep before her ordeal. But sleep wouldn’t come, her mind was racing, running over the questions she assumed she would be asked, how she would phrase her replies, how she could avoid being embarrassed if Hilary Hall asked about her relationships in the camp. What would that do to her anger? she wondered.

Although it had been her idea tonight to send Jack away immediately after their lovemaking, she now wished she hadn’t. Normally, they lay talking and relaxing, “coming down” from wherever they had been, as he put it. That, as much as the lovemaking itself, was important to her peace of mind.

Maybe she should ask him back. They could curl up together, like spoons in a tray, and then she would be able to sleep.

There was a tap on the door.

She was off her bed in no time, a smile on her face. Jack had had the same idea. He was sensitive like that.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Jack who stood there. It was Christopher.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.” All she had on was her cotton nightdress.

“I’ve just had a late drink with Jack,” said Christopher. “He says he’s asked you to marry him.”

She caught her breath. “Yes. Yes, he has.”

“But you didn’t say yes straight away. That’s what he told me.”

She nodded. She felt naked in front of Christopher. She knew her nipples showed in outline through her nightdress.

“And if I asked you the same question … would I get the same answer?”

She stared at him. He was breathing heavily.

“I know I haven’t been as forward as Jack, or Russell for that matter. I told you when we were in that cave at Ndutu how it had taken me ages to pluck up courage to suggest the excursion. But … I almost … Just because I find it difficult to show my feelings doesn’t mean … it doesn’t mean I don’t adore you, because I do.”

The noise from the bar below carried up to them—laughter, glasses clinking, money rattling into the till.

Natalie put her hand and arm over her chest, to cover her breasts. “I haven’t given Jack an answer because, until the trial is over, I can’t think straight. I’m on edge the whole time and I’ve got more on edge as the days have passed.” She shook her head. “Jack’s offer came out of the blue and I’m still … Even after the trial is over, I don’t know when I can give him an answer.”

“Where does that leave my offer?”

“Christopher! I’m not a prize in a competition. I haven’t replied to Jack’s offer because I’m not even sure I want to get married right now anyway, to anyone! I’m touched in a way that his offer has prompted you to … to do what you have done, say what you have said. But…” She chewed in air, the way she had done when she had been swimming off the reef in Lamu and her knee had collided with the sea urchin. “But although I’m not sure of my feelings for Jack, I do know that it could never work between you and me, Christopher. I loved our night in the cave, and some of the game drives we have been on, the visit to the sand dunes. But that’s as far as it goes, for me.” She paused, taking more deep breaths. “I’m sorry.”

He grunted. “If it hadn’t rained when I was in Nairobi, before Christmas, if the road hadn’t been cut, you would never have gone to Lamu with Jack—that’s what did it, didn’t it? The days you had together then. And the nights.”

“It had something to do with it, yes. But… I’m sorry, Christopher, it’s more complicated than that—you know it is.”

“Jack’s always been luckier than me.”

She shook her head. “Luck doesn’t come into it. He stood up for me, the press conference was his idea, he understood that Marongo is a political animal, he made your mother see that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—change my story. That set him apart from everyone else. At least, in my eyes.”

“Our mother listens to him more than she listens to the rest of us. That was always true, when we were children.”

“Really? When you both asked me away for Christmas, she refused to take sides.”

“No, no, that’s not how it was! Being the oldest, the biggest, he got lots of treats before the rest of us. I was very jealous of Jack at one stage, but I got over it.”

“Tell me—” Natalie broke off and stepped back as some other people went by. She didn’t want to ask Christopher into her room, but she didn’t want the whole world to see her in her nightdress either. “Tell me,” she repeated when they had gone. “Jack told me a story about a fishing trip on Lake Naivasha, when you were in your teens and when he thought you had put dirt in the carburetor of the boat, out of jealousy, and that there was nearly a very nasty accident. Is that true?”

Christopher frowned. “Did he tell you that? Jesus! I had forgotten it.” He shook his head vigorously. “Of course it’s not true. Everyone knew about Hippo Point and how dangerous hippos can be. I can’t believe he told you that!”

But, Natalie noticed, Christopher was blushing. And he had begun to sweat, his forehead was shining, even in the dim light.

He shook his head again and took a step back. “I can’t believe he told you that!”

He moved back towards her. “He’s poisoned you against me, hasn’t he?”

“Now you’re being silly. Because I don’t want to marry you doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I do. But—”

“No! No! I know where I’m not wanted. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Good luck tomorrow.”

He turned and was gone.

An usher showed Natalie into the witness box. There were two steps up. She looked around her. The court was larger than she had expected. Most of it was polished wood, the bench where the judge sat, the benches where the lawyers sat, the witness box where she was standing. But there were two white pillars, supporting the public gallery above.

The noise from the gallery had risen as she appeared, but there was no shouting.

To her right, as she faced the court, was the judge, who she now came up against for the first time. John Tudor was a small, dark-haired man, with a rather blueish shadow on his jaw. He wore a gray robe, with a red sash diagonally across it, and a short curly wig, almost white. He looked at her over his half-moon, horn-rimmed spectacles.

Opposite the judge was Mutevu Ndekei. He was seated in the dock, also made of polished wood, with a high brass rail, and he was wearing a gray, open-necked shirt with short sleeves. He looked every bit as muscular as she remembered, with big thick arms, and he towered over the guards either side of him. He looked at Natalie without expression.