Free An African Affair by Nina Darnton Page A

when you come to think of it.”
    She bent to pick up her sandals and started off towards the nearest hut. “I’m going to change into my suit and take a swim.”
    When she returned, James was already in the water. She noticed the muscles in his legs and his tight, flat stomach.
    “Just one thing,” he said. “The undertow here can be ferocious. Even if you’re a very strong swimmer, I’d advise you not to go far out.”
    She ventured a few steps into the water as a large wave broke and almost knocked her off her feet. Laughing, she caught herself and stepped back to the shore.
    “So this is the dreaded Bight of Benin. It seems to be as wild as they say.”
    “Yes.” He reached out to be sure she was steady and led her back to the water. “These very waves frightened off the early European explorers. Of course they soon found harbors to dock their ships. . . .”
    “And Mother Africa was never the same. Imagine their surprise when they finally settled here. All that effort, all those dangerous trips, and what they finally found was heat, disease, and poisonous insects.”
    “And slaves. That’s what they came for. The Portuguese first, then the British. They quickly installed a few governors to run the place and got the hell out. They ended up in Nairobi, with rum punches served under the baobab trees. That’s where they brought their families.”
    “Well,” said Lindsay, sitting down so the water ran over her legs, “I suppose the Nigerians go around thanking God for the tsetse fly. It saved them from living with the English.”
    He laughed, sitting down next to her. “You know that famous quote from Jomo Kenyatta, the first president of Kenya? He said: ‘When the British came to Africa, we had the land and they had the Bible. They taught us to pray with our eyes closed. When we opened them, they had the land and we had the Bible.’ ”
    Now it was Lindsay’s turn to laugh. “Amazing that so many Africans came to believe in that British God,” she said.
    “God or black magic. This is a place for powerful juju. It’s what makes the artwork I collect great.” He paused. “Do you really think the British were so bad?”
    “I do, actually. Aside from everything else, I will never forgive them for the mindless bureaucracy. I’d like to know the name of the guy who brought the rubber stamp to Nigeria.”
    He laughed. “Hey, I swear it wasn’t me.”
    He stood up and started to walk into the water. “Remember to stay close to shore until you get your bearings.”
    “Don’t worry,” she said. “It would be embarrassing to drown on a date. Getting shot covering a coup, now that would be different.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
    “It just would,” she replied. James had a way of looking at her with an unnerving intensity. Covering her discomfort, she said, “I mean, it would be in the service of something noble.”
    He nodded, still looking at her. “You’d be just as dead.”
    She met his gaze. “Don’t you think it matters how and for what you die?”
    He reached out his hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “No. Not really. Anyway, why would dying covering a story be noble?”
    “Because I would be disclosing the truth.”
    He let that pass, creating an awkward silence.
    “That sounds so pretentious, I know,” she admitted, embarrassed. “But do you think there is anything worth dying for?”
    “I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “Today I had in mind something less dramatic. A swim. A picnic. Some champagne. Getting to know you. That kind of thing.”
    He turned, and dove into an oncoming wave. Lindsay inched in slowly, a few steps at a time, getting used to the cold until, with a sigh of pleasure, she dropped into the water. She paddled about putting her head under, then slicking her long hair off her face. James swam farther from the shore, swimming with long, strong strokes, disobeying his own injunction. She watched him for a few minutes. When he returned, he