Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

If she changed her story Russell would be stymied and a career in the gorge was hers for the asking, even marriage to Jack.

There was the problem with Richard Sutton Senior, but what, despite his threats, could he do? Given the discoveries she had already made—some of which she hadn’t made when he had threatened her—could he really damage her?

Should she tell Richard Sutton Senior that his son was a homosexual? Did he know? If he didn’t, it might make him angry, upset at the least. But the doubt that existed in her own mind, that the passions aroused by homosexuality might have been the real reason why Ndekei killed Richard, operated both ways. In one sense, it made Ndekei more guilty, doubly culpable. He had his own, personal private reason for killing Richard but was hiding behind tribal customs. But if that were true, the Maasai didn’t deserve the chance to threaten the gorge, Ndekei’s deception mustn’t be allowed to succeed. Yes, he would go free, both his crimes—murder and deception—would go unpunished, but justice, in the wider sense, would be done.

The main thing was the gorge. She must learn to think politically, prioritize, compromise. She twisted and turned on the bed. The bedclothes clung to her damp skin. Maybe she could persuade Eleanor to honor Richard Sutton Junior’s memory much as his father planned. She hadn’t pressed enough for the new species to be named in his honor. They’d announced the new name in the press conference, yes. But they hadn’t gone into print yet. Maybe if she suggested it now, did a deal with Eleanor …

At four o’clock she changed her mind again. Of course she would give evidence.

Several more times that morning she changed her mind. The rain abated, the dawn came, the sun edged over the rooftops and flagpoles. She saw it all.

“I’ve said this before: there’s good news and bad news.” Eleanor sat in her usual place at dinner. It had been two weeks since the headlines about the press conference, and the associated accounts of the upcoming trial. They were now all back in the gorge, digging, and trying to ignore the fuss that was building up in Nairobi.

Eleanor coughed and said softly, “I spoke at length on the radio-telephone with Harold Heath—in case you don’t know, he’s the editor of Nature . He has of course seen the reports of the press conference and is as horrified by the murder of Richard as he is intrigued and impressed by what he knows of our discoveries.” Her hands closed over her spectacles on the table in front of her. “I couldn’t resist telling him about Jonas’s latest find, that we may have mankind’s oldest pregnancy to report. I think he was almost as excited as I was. He is therefore willing, on this occasion, to overlook the problematic protocol issues, as he put it, and is prepared to publish our reports as usual.”

The new discovery was three days old. Jonas had discovered an ancient pelvis—at the same two million level—with an associated minuscule skull, which he was convinced was embryonic.

Eleanor smiled as she looked around the table but then grew serious. “Now, Natalie, the bad news is that there’s another attack on you in the Nairobi press, I am afraid. I haven’t seen it, but I was told about it by Maxwell Sandys when I spoke to him earlier, again on the radio-telephone.”

Natalie couldn’t speak. She felt sick.

“What are they saying now?” said Jack. “Anything new?”

“Well there is something new, yes, something new to me anyway, and it’s distressing.” She paused and looked at Natalie with concern. “They are saying that Natalie and Richard were lovers, and so were Natalie and Russell, and that Richard was killed because of sexual jealousy, and they imply—but can’t say outright—that she has … if not made up her evidence, then embellished it for personal reasons, that there is a racist element in the fact that she is giving evidence at all. Ndekei, they are saying, has been set up.”

“How can they get away with all that?” said Jonas. “Isn’t that against the laws of libel, and contempt of court?”

“Theoretically, yes,” said Jack, leaning forward. “The law here is based on British law. But… with independence in the offing, everything is in flux and the rules are being relaxed all over the shop. Not that that’s much comfort to Natalie.”

“What also bothers me,” said Eleanor, “is how they are finding out things about camp life. Who is leaking all these details? Do we have a traitor—a Judas—among us?”

Silence around the table.

Then Eleanor said, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Natalie, but I thought it better to tell you what is happening in Nairobi, what is being said, rather than have you ambushed later on, nearer the time of the trial. You’re a strong person, I’m sure you can cope.”

In fact, Natalie was close to tears. Not for the first time, she told herself that this was not what she had come to Africa for. She was not a racist. Or promiscuous. Given what Kees had told her about Richard, the idea of an affair with him was laughable. The press were worse than snakes. More politics.

Dinner was breaking up, there was talk of music.

“Do you want to choose tonight?” said Jack, who could see how upset Natalie was.

She shook her head, finished her water, and got up. She smiled at Jack, at Eleanor, and at Christopher. Then, without saying a word, she walked past the campfire towards her tent.

She untied the tapes that closed the main flaps. She lit a cigarette. In the darkness, she heard voices. Were they coming from the gorge? Were the Maasai there even now, and if so what were they doing at this hour? The Maasai had been taking more and more interest in the gorge recently, as they all knew, but what could they be doing in the darkness?

“Is this a good time or a bad time?”

Jack stood over her. She hadn’t heard him approach, but then all manner of things were going on inside her.

“They all run into one,” she replied. “Sit down.”

He did so and lit his own cigarette. “You were quiet at dinner. I didn’t understand that. You’ve been quiet a lot lately, since the press conference in fact. Events are getting to you.”

She let a pause elapse. “You’re right, but only half right.” She inhaled her cigarette smoke. “Events are getting to me, yes. I am very on edge, I hate all this talk of racism and my so-called but in fact nonexistent love affairs with Russell and Richard. I can’t stop shaking, I can’t sleep, and I’ve lost most of my appetite. I’m finding it hard to concentrate on our work.”

“And my proposal didn’t help, of course.” He crushed out what was left of his cigarette. “I’m sorry if I’m part of the problem.”

Another pause, before she said, “Since you mention it, Jack, I don’t know whether I am going to have a clear enough mind this side of the trial, to give you an answer about … about my potential name change.”

He nodded.

“But … but you might also like to know that there’s a weird weather pattern building up inside me right now, all sorts of complicated and simple emotions are swirling around in my system—clouds, squalls, more than a hint of thunder—and not a few memories, old memories, recent memories.”

He nodded, then said, “I’m nodding as if I understand, but I don’t. What are you saying? What are you trying to say?”

She finished her cigarette. “What I am saying, Dr. Deacon, is that I can’t yet give you an answer on marriage. But, at the same time, I would like you to go back to your tent now, wait until everyone else has gone to bed, and turned out their lights, and I then want you to sneak back here, so no one sees you, and I’d like you to spend the night here. I want to be made love to. Don’t ask any more questions. Just come back and make love to me like you did in Lamu.”