Free Zambezi Seduction by Tamara Cape Page B

thing to do.
    Reaching in front of her sleeping companion she found the headlights switch and flicked it on.

 
     
    SEVEN
     
     
     
    The twin beams caught the lion in mid-stride. He was an adult male ten yards from the car, directly head-on so that only his forequarters were visible. The dark shaggy mane which covered the top of his head, his neck and throat, gave him a ruffed, bloated appearance. In the middle of the great head the eyes were bright as Christmas tree lights.
    Kerry sat frozen with shock. Chad woke and struggled into a sitting position, confused by the glow of the headlights.
    “What the . . . ? Jesus!”
    The lion’s mouth hung open; he was panting gently from his exertions. Blinded by the light, he blinked and stood without moving for half a minute. Then, with a flick of his tail, he bounded away – and there was only the long yellow tunnel of light where the lion had stood and the Mopani scrub beyond.
    Kerry recovered quickly. She turned, determined to have her moment.
    “Well, Chad, was I right or was I right? That didn’t look like a pussycat to me.”
    ***
    He praised her powers of detection and coolness, and apologized for doubting her, admitting the car problem had left him drained.
    “You were right about the fight,” he told her. “You see the blood on him?”
    “Where? I couldn’t drag my eyes from his massive head.”
    “A bloody gash – right shoulder.”
    Kerry aired the question which, she imagined, was on his mind too.
    “Why was he creeping up on us?”
    “Hunger, I expect,” Chad said simply.
    From the outset he had been honest with her about Africa – and that was the only way she wanted it.
    “Will anyone believe us?” Kerry asked. “They’ll think we made it up.”
    The South African agreed. “People see old Tarzan movies and clips of George Adamson, our hero embracing and playfully wrestling with lions, and think that ’s the way it is. It’s not the way it is. Lions kill and eat a fair number of people annually. Rarely mentioned in the papers.”
    “Bad for the tourist trade. Jaws – on land.”
    “Snakebite kills plenty too, and crocs and hippos. Mosquitoes most of all.”
    While he spoke, Kerry located the Dewer’s bottle. She poured them each a stiff drink into plastic cups.
    “The thought of being eaten is utterly incomprehensible to Europeans.” She shuddered, her body showing its revulsion at the very thought.
    “Cannibalism still happens in African war zones.”
    “Chad, for God’s sake! I wasn’t talking about human cannibalism. You’re making me feel sick.”
    He grinned and then turned serious once again.
    “Here in Africa the women of tribes living by rivers continue to wash and draw water from spots where crocodiles have taken their sisters and friends. That’s a fact. They have a different attitude to death than we have. They’re fatalists. It’s Que sera sera – whatever will be will be. They’re closer to death, for in Africa it’s never far away.”
    “Thank you, Professor Lindsay,” Kerry said. “You ’ve really cheered me up.”
    “You ’re welcome. Drink up and pour us another. Sleep’s over for tonight.”
    They fell silent, each staring out into the blackness. The whisky had made Kerry light-headed, its effect heightened by their having eaten no substantial meal for close to thirty-six hours.
    She whirled round to face Chad.
    “I ’ve thought how we can make it real – the lion. Those moments when it was there before our eyes.”
    “Real? – I don ’t follow.”
    “ Paint it! Can’t you see it? The aftermath of a storm, a segment of night sky lit by a lightning bolt . . . capturing a big male lion, rain soaked, mouth open showing the wicked canines –”
    Chad cut in. “The bloody shoulder wound.”
    “Yes! Oh, do it, please. You could call it: After the Fight.”
    The South African considered for only a moment.
    “Hmm, you’re quite right – I must do it. Be a challenge to get the correct balance of