Free Jackal's Dance by Beverley Harper

before, each time with his wife, Sue. On the last trip two years ago, Dan and Philip had destroyed a bottle-and-a-half of scotch before Philip confided that Sue had cancer. Three months later Dan received a short note informing him that she had died. It had been impossible for him to find the right words of condolence so he had not responded. Never expecting to see the author again it had been a pleasant surprise when the man’s new reservation came in.
    Sean stood up. ‘See you later.’
    As he turned to leave, Thea Abbott, Billy’s wife, appeared. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’
    â€˜Well, here I am,’ Sean said in that quiet voice he always used when speaking to her.
    Dan glanced up from his plate sympathetically, knowing how the young ranger felt about Thea. He was probably the only one in camp who did, other than Sean himself. Couldn’t blame the boy. Mrs Abbott turned most heads. Tall and slim, with a body that arranged clothes the way they were meant to look. Short dark hair, badly cut by Chester every six weeks to keep tidy but thick enough to withstand the African’s attentions without too much damage, and cornflower blue eyes. Thea wore no make-up, didn’t need it. Dressed, as usual, in the Logans Island Lodge livery, Thea’s duties didn’t include the normal outdoor activities of a ranger. As the lodge manager’s wife, Thea’s job was to back-up her husband.
    Specifically, it was Thea’s responsibility to supervise anything to do with housekeeping and the efficient running of lodge services. These duties included stock control, ordering supplies, devising menus, training new staff, handling complaints and generally making sure that guests were as well catered for as was humanly possible. She carried out daily bungalow inspections to ensure that all were up to the sometimes exacting standards of guests – linen immaculate, beds freshly made, complimentary toiletries replaced, washing and ironing requirements seen to. Thea’s duties should have stopped there, but she often found herself meetingguests at the airstrip on the mainland, supervising gardeners, organising repairs in the workshop, or any one of a dozen other jobs. Her days were crammed with activity from dawn until the last guest retired each night. She was good at it, better than Billy, who liked to give orders but seldom did anything himself.
    Thea was smiling at Sean in easy friendship. Most people liked him straight off – he had that kind of face. ‘Could you do something for me?’
    â€˜Sure.’ Sean brushed long blond hair back off his shoulders. He sometimes wore it in a ratty little ponytail but, more often, secured with a rubber band – filched from the office, much to Billy’s annoyance – at the base of his neck so it fluffed out like a permed rabbit’s tail. Some days, like now, he let it flow free. It was cut short on the top and sides – Chester strikes again – where it lay flat and tidy. The back, when he wore it loose, was a tangled mess of gold curls.
    â€˜The generator’s out of fuel.’
    â€˜Where’s Billy?’ Dan growled. Maintaining the lodge’s power supply was no job for a woman.
    â€˜In the office.’
    â€˜That’s okay. I’ll see to it.’ Sean moved away.
    Thea went with him. ‘If you show me what’s needed I won’t bother you next time.’
    â€˜No problem,’ Sean said lightly. ‘I don’t mind.’
    Dan shook his head, disgusted. It wasn’t that the generator was not Sean’s responsibility, that had nothing to do with it. Billy Abbott was getting a bit above himself these days. He was seen less andless around the complex, preferring to sit in his air-conditioned office and have Thea do the legwork. The African staff had little or no respect for him and any instructions Billy gave were carried out in slow motion. As a result, what was