Each time this happened, the big truck that was following them came up
and all the servants swarmed down from the cargo body to push and heave
the Toyota through. Even Nicholas stripped to the waist to work with
them in the mud to free it.
'If you had only listened to my advice,' Boris grumbled, 'we would not
be here. There is no game where you want to go, and there are no roads
worth the name either.'
In the early afternoon they stopped beside the river for an alfresco
lunch. Nicholas went down to the pool beside the road to wash off the
mud and filth of the morning's labours. He had been in the forefront of
the efforts to keep the truck moving. Royan followed him down the slope
and perched on a rock above the pool while he stripped off his shirt and
knelt, at the verge to splash himself with the cold mountain water. The
river was muddy yellow and swollen from the rainstorms.
'I don't think Boris believes your story about the striped dik-dik,' she
warned him. 'Tessay tells me that he is suspicious of what we are up
to.' She watched with interest as he sluiced his chest and upper arms.
''ere the sun had not touched it, his skin was very white and
unblemished.
His chest hair was thick and dark. She decided that his body was good to
look at.
'He is the type that would go through our luggage if he gets a chance,'
Nicholas agreed. 'You didn't bring anything with you that has any clues
for him? No papers or notes?'
'Only the satellite photograph, and my notebooks are all in my own
shorthand. He won't be able to make anything of them.'
'Be very careful of what you discuss with Tessay.'
'She is a dear. There is nothing underhand about her.' Heatedly Royan
came to the defence of her new friend.
'She may be all right, but she's married to my chum Boris. Her first
allegiance lies there. No matter what your feelings towards her, don't
trust either of them.' He dried himself on his shirt, slipped it on and
then buttoned it over his chest. 'Let's go and get something to eat.'
Back at the parked truck Boris was pulling the cork from a bottle of
South African white wine. He poured a tumbler full for Nicholas. Chilled
in the river, it was crisp and fruity. Tessay offered them cold roast
chicken and injera bread, the flat, thin sheets of stone-ground
unleavened bread of the country. The trials and labours of the morning's
travels faded into insignificance as Royan lay beside Nicholas in the
grass and they watched a bearded vulture sailing high against the blue.
It saw them and drifted overhead curiously, twisting its head to look
down at them. Its eyes were masked in black like those of a highwayman,
and the distinctive wedge-shaped tail feathers flirted with the wind the
way the fingers of a concert pianist would stroke the ivories of the
keyboard.
When it was time to go on, Nicholas gave her his hand to lift her to her
feet. It was one of their rare moments of physical contact, and she held
on to his fingers for just a second or two longer than was strictly
necessary.
