The Fire of Life

The Fire of Life by Hilary Wilde

As Rayanne sank into the chair with a sigh of relief, Mike Crisp, a suntanned man with fair hair and a pointed beard, smiled sympathetically. He was Chief Warden of the Jefferson Wild Life Reserve and had driven to the small African airport to meet her.

Tired?' he asked. You've come a long way in a short time. You're here, I understand, to write a thesis on wild life conservation?'

Rayanne nodded wearily. Yes . . .' and wondered if she was quite mad to have flown over six thousand miles to do so. Even if she succeeded, which she doubted, what would it really prove?

She felt a mess; hot, sticky, her short, curly, honey-coloured hair was thick with dust, her leaf-green linen coat and dress both crumpled. She found it hard to breathe, the air was so humid, she just longed for a cold drink and to be able to relax in a hot bath.

' I saw Mr Jefferson's Rover outside, so he must be in my office,' Mike Crisp said. I'll tell him you're here.'

He went through the door that led into the single-floored house from the wide stoep running all round it. The garden outside was ablaze with crimson, yellow and blue flowers. Rayanne closed her eyes wearily.

I was a fool to agree to have her.' A deep impatient masculine voice jerked her awake.

These girls are nothing but headaches.'

Her sleepiness vanished and became dismay as she realised she had unwittingly gone into the same atmosphere she had known and hated at home. An atmosphere in which she was just a dumb blonde, a stupid moron with no brains, and now she was nothing but a headache '. She had hoped that leaving home might land her in an environment where girls were accepted as equals, but it seemed she had failed. She wanted to get up and run away, but how could she? Driving through the Reserve in the Land Rover, she had seen enormous elephants strolling along, swinging their huge trunks, and the lions were looking up as they passed. She was caught . . . for how could she escape?

The door swung open and two men stood there. She stared at them. They stared at her. She had no idea what she had expected to see, but Cary. Jefferson was completely different from what his angry, impatient voice had suggested. He was tall, much taller than Mike Crisp, as broad-shouldered, with the same deeply tanned skin, his black hair cut short, his eyes dark.

A smile lit up his grave face. ' I hope you're not too tired, Miss Briscoe,' he said gently as he stared at the quaint, three-cornered face. There was fear—or was it hostility in her eyes? he wondered. It can be a tiring journey and I gather the road through the Reserve was pretty bad.' He turned to Mike. I'll leave Miss Briscoe in your efficient hands, Mike. The hostels are closed, so she'd better go in one of the rondavels.'

Rayanne saw the quick dismay on Mike Crisp's

face. But . .

It's the only answer, Mike.' There was a new note in Cary Jefferson's voice, a note of authority, perhaps arrogance? Rayanne thought. Please apologise to Samantha for not letting her know earlier.' He turned to the girl waiting, her mouth dry, her eyes smarting. You need a good rest, Miss Briscoe. I'll come along tomorrow and show you around.'

This time Mike Crisp turned to him. ' When will Mrs Jefferson be back?' he asked.

Any moment now,' Cary Jefferson shrugged. You know what she's like—here today and gone tomorrow. I expect her when I see her.'

You'll be glad to have her back,' said Mike. It was a statement, not a question.

I most certainly will,' Cary Jefferson laughed. ' I try not to worry about her, but she does such stupid things.'

Rayanne stiffened. What a strange man he was! He could be charming, and apparently considerate, and the next moment making fun of his wife. Of course he must be married, for anyone so attractive and handsome as Cary Jefferson would he married before his mid-thirties. He turned to speak to her. You need a hot bath, a cool drink and a long sleep, Miss Briscoe, and you'll feel a different person. I'll see you in the morning. Cheers, Mike I'll phone you later.'

Yes,' Mike said slowly. The screened door closed with a sharp little bang and Mike smiled ruefully. Better sit down, Miss Briscoe. I must go and break it to the wife.'

Break it?' Rayanne began, but Mike had vanished into the house. Rayanne sat down slowly and sighed. What was the corny old phrase? Out of the frying an into the fire? She had escaped from her home only to land where women were, obviously, a headache '. But how could Mr Jefferson speak like that about his wife? It didn't make sense, because he was polite, so . . . she sighed. She knew she should never have come, never have listened to Uncle Joe.

She wondered what Mike Crisp's wife would be like. He had said some funny words : ' Break it '. Break what? The news that she had an unwanted guest? Rayanne moved uncomfortably. She really had got herself in a mess.

Then she heard voices. A female voice.

' It's all very well for him to apologise, but I'm getting sick and tired of this! He must have known she was coming. Yes, I know we knew, but I took it for granted she'd either stay with Miss Macintyre or Miss Horlock, if not in the hostel. Why she has to go into one of those ghastly rondavels . .

The door opened and Rayanne looked up nervously. Mike Crisp had seemed nice and friendly, but his wife . . . ?

Again, Rayanne had a surprise. She certainly had not expected to see such an elegant, beautiful girl as Mike Crisp's wife was, with her long legs in crimson slacks, a white blouse, and her blonde hair piled elaborately on her head, and surprisingly dark eyes.

Rayanne stood up. I'm sorry if I'm being a

nuisance.'

Surprisingly, Samantha Crisp laughed. You

are, but I don't blame you. It's the boss—he expected us to do the impossible. Anyhow, not to worry, I've told the boy to switch on the geyser. I'll show you to your rondavel.' This way.'

Mike Crisp smiled rather ruefully, almost apologetically, at Rayanne, so she smiled back before she followed his wife. Through a long narrow hall that went the length of the building, then out through a stable door, the top half open to the glaring heat of the sun. Through the door, down six steps and along a path that led to a group of round cottages with thatched roofs.

You're an intellectual, I take it,' Samantha said over her shoulder. Come straight from University to study for your thesis? Where's it going to get you?'

I . . Rayanne hesitated and then was

honest. ' I don't know.'

Samantha laughed. As good an excuse as any! Lucky you had an uncle like Sir Joe Letherington or you'd never have got here. The boss is selective.'

I gather he sees women as a headache,' said. Rayanne.

Samantha laughed again. That's what he says!' ' I hear Mrs. Jefferson is away.'

Yes, she's an old darling. Fusses like mad, but it slides off the boss's back like water off a duckling.'

An old darling,' Rayanne was thinking, shocked and surprised, for Cary Jefferson wasn't the type of man to marry an older woman, surely?

Samantha went on, still talking over her shoulder as the path was too narrow for two to walk abreast.

Of course she's going on for eighty, now, though you wouldn't think it the way she prances around.'

Rayanne began to laugh. ' I didn't know we were talking about his mother. I thought it was his wife.'

' His wife?' Samantha snorted. He'll never

marry. He's too clever. Not that we're ever short of girls chasing him and finding excuses to come here.' She turned her head and narrowed her eyes as she looked at Rayanne Is that why you're here? If so, you're wasting your time. You haven't a hope.'

Rayanne's face burned. Of course it isn't! I

had no idea . . . I mean I thought Mr Jefferson

was an older man, the way Uncle Joe talked.

Incidentally, he's my godfather, no real relation.'

Samantha chuckled. I've heard that story before. No idea! This first one is yours. All the other rondavels are empty at the moment.'

The unusual-looking round little one-room cottage was clean. It had a thatched roof, stable door, and was freshly painted. Samantha opened the door and led the way inside. It was cool and quite light with two windows, mosquito-netted, a single bed, a table and a chair and a fold-up- garden chair.

There's a communal bathroom just along here,' Samantha explained, leading the way.

It's a . . . a bit lonely,' Rayanne said diffidently, not wanting to admit fear.

Her companion chuckled. ',Not to worry, we have a very good night-watchman with a ferocious dog. Scares the liver out of anyone who comes near. Now watch out for snakes. Don't for heaven's sake

walk into that long grass.'

They were standing outside the communal bathroom now. The glare made Rayanne's eyes smart. The long grass seemed to surround them, coming close to the narrow path. The land sloped gradually down in front of them and she could just see the turgid brown water through the trees that lined the river.

' Snakes,' Samantha went on cheerfully. Not

that they attack you—only the dangerous kind. Just never walk through long grass, because if you frighten them or step on them, they'll bite you. If they do, race like mad for the house and we'll give you an injection quickly. Has to be fast or it could be fatal.'

' I won't go in the grass,' Rayanne said quickly, trying not to shiver. No wild animals about?'

Samantha laughed. ' No. We're safely fenced off. Oh, except for the crocodiles.' She waved her hand dramatically towards the river. ' We have crocodiles at the bottom of our garden,' she chanted.

Not really?'

Yes, really. You're in no danger, though, unless you go for a swim, and if you did a stupid thing like that, you deserve to be caught.'

' Do . . . do people get caught?'

If they're fools. The piccanins play in the water sometimes or their mothers wash their clothes and don't watch out. Well, I'll leave you to unpack. I see Moses has brought down your luggage. The bath should be hot in twenty minutes. Then have a sleep. Better come up to the house about five and we'll have a drink before we eat. Mike will bring

you home, because it can be pretty scaring in the dark.'

And that's no lie,' Rayanne thought miserably as Samantha hurried back towards the house. It's pretty scaring in daylight! '

Once inside her rondavel, she unpacked, keeping an eye on her watch. She longed to lie in the hot water, to wash her dusty hair, her aching limbs. When twenty minutes was up, she seized her dressing-gown and put it on and made her way to the small immaculately-clean bathroom. She locked the door and turned on the tap, then froze with horror. She could not believe her eyes.

The water was brown. Muddy river water. How could she ever wash her face in that?

Later, after Rayanne had bathed reluctantly, then drank gratefully the iced lemonade Samantha had sent down to the rondavel, and had slept for several hours, Samantha, greeting Rayanne in the doorway, confessed that she had forgotten to warn her about the muddy water.

Sorry about that,' Samantha said briskly. She had changed into a many-coloured kaftan; now her hair hung down her back in soft curls. ' I should have warned you. Fair makes you sick, doesn't it? By the way, don't ever drink it, will you? That way you could only get bilharzia. A nasty illness, that—can kill you. I'll send down a jug of drinking water in case you get thirsty in the night.'

She led the way indoors. It was quite an attractive house, Rayanne thought, but she wondered if she would like to live in it—perched above the

muddy river, gazing out on to trees of every kind and long grass, with a small garden fighting for existence and in the distance, the mountains, changing colour as the sun began to go down slowly. The lounge was newly decorated the walls a pale lilac shade: the chairs and couch had yellow silk covers.. Samantha poured them each a sherry and they sat down.