that?"
"This morning at Amboseli, when it looked as if that elephant was going to crush the combi, you—weren't afraid."
"How do you know?"
"You were thinking how you could use it, stage an elephant attack as part of one of your TV specials."
He sat back in his cane chair.
"That might have crossed my mind," he said with a grin. "Seriously. Why didn't he go ahead and finish us off, he seemed that angry. Karloff, was that the elephant's name?"
"Bertie stopped him. Calmed him down."
"Oh, Bertie. So she is—"
"She's good with animals," Eden said quickly. "That's all. Count yourself lucky she was there with you."
There was a kink of muscle in Eden's jaw, as if she were forcing away pain or some other distress. She trembled.
"Are you malarial?" he asked, concerned.
"No, nothing like that. I'm good about taking my prophylactics. In Africa you had better be. Would you excuse me, I need to—"
He was on his feet as she left the table. Walking quickly away, onset of menses, perhaps. A cramp. He took a deep appreciative breath, eyes and heart filled with her shape and style, the fine edge of a lingering emotion cutting him deeper than he was prepared for. As he was sitting down, moving his cane chair at more of an angle to the street, another young woman slipped into his field of vision. She startled him. But already, briefly glimpsed, she was disappearing, obscured by throngs on both sides of the wide avenue, the slow passage of a bus. A white female, the image of Eden Waring, even to the cut of her cedar-red hair and the beaded Masai headband high on her tanned forehead. The green of her sleeveless dress seemed exactly the shade Eden was wearing.
Then she reappeared farther down the sidewalk, hesitated, turning her face toward the hotel as if in response to his astonishment. Where she stood a draft of cold air from the doorway of a shop thinned the vaporous haze from a bus's exhaust; he saw her clearly. Those eyebrows like the red of wasps with their little tapered stingers at each end, rising abruptly above the natural arch of each brow. And that cinched it, although he had seen Eden disappear into the hotel only a few seconds ago. He glanced that way to be sure.
Doubles were a part of his business as a magician. He was amazed that Eden had gone to this trouble to stage her sly, jesting illusion for him. Anyway, he liked it. A very different, intriguing young woman.
When he looked across the street again, the double was gone. Show over. He applauded silently, smiling to himself. More than a little curious about the double's identity.
"W ho were your parents?" Lincoln Grayle asked Eden, on the way to Jomo Kenyatta Airport. Grayle and other members of his entourage were flying in a chartered Learjet to Victoria Falls, where they would complete the last segment for his upcoming television special.
"I never knew them."
"I thought you might bear a strong resemblance to your mother."
She gave him a look, unreadable behind the dark lenses of her smart Italian sunglasses.
"From photos I've seen of her, I suppose I do."
"And your sister?"
Another look. "One of us was all God made."
"Then you have a double in Nairobi. I had a glimpse of her today, walking past the hotel."
He was waiting for her to laugh, reveal her joke on him. Instead he saw Eden's hands, in fingerless ostrich-leather driving gloves, tighten on the steering wheel. No hint of amusement in her face.
"Oh, her. Yes, I've noticed her too. Actually I'm a lot better-looking." Finally her lip curled, a reluctant half smile. "She has a bad complexion. Her eyes are too close together."
On the ramp for departing passengers she pulled into a space behind a minibus discharging a British Airways crew. It was a busy time of day, jumbo jets arriving from and leaving for cities on three continents, a rage of thunder in the sky. The ramp trembled beneath a load of traffic.
They looked at each other, not sure how to end it. Then Eden slipped off her glasses and
"This morning at Amboseli, when it looked as if that elephant was going to crush the combi, you—weren't afraid."
"How do you know?"
"You were thinking how you could use it, stage an elephant attack as part of one of your TV specials."
He sat back in his cane chair.
"That might have crossed my mind," he said with a grin. "Seriously. Why didn't he go ahead and finish us off, he seemed that angry. Karloff, was that the elephant's name?"
"Bertie stopped him. Calmed him down."
"Oh, Bertie. So she is—"
"She's good with animals," Eden said quickly. "That's all. Count yourself lucky she was there with you."
There was a kink of muscle in Eden's jaw, as if she were forcing away pain or some other distress. She trembled.
"Are you malarial?" he asked, concerned.
"No, nothing like that. I'm good about taking my prophylactics. In Africa you had better be. Would you excuse me, I need to—"
He was on his feet as she left the table. Walking quickly away, onset of menses, perhaps. A cramp. He took a deep appreciative breath, eyes and heart filled with her shape and style, the fine edge of a lingering emotion cutting him deeper than he was prepared for. As he was sitting down, moving his cane chair at more of an angle to the street, another young woman slipped into his field of vision. She startled him. But already, briefly glimpsed, she was disappearing, obscured by throngs on both sides of the wide avenue, the slow passage of a bus. A white female, the image of Eden Waring, even to the cut of her cedar-red hair and the beaded Masai headband high on her tanned forehead. The green of her sleeveless dress seemed exactly the shade Eden was wearing.
Then she reappeared farther down the sidewalk, hesitated, turning her face toward the hotel as if in response to his astonishment. Where she stood a draft of cold air from the doorway of a shop thinned the vaporous haze from a bus's exhaust; he saw her clearly. Those eyebrows like the red of wasps with their little tapered stingers at each end, rising abruptly above the natural arch of each brow. And that cinched it, although he had seen Eden disappear into the hotel only a few seconds ago. He glanced that way to be sure.
Doubles were a part of his business as a magician. He was amazed that Eden had gone to this trouble to stage her sly, jesting illusion for him. Anyway, he liked it. A very different, intriguing young woman.
When he looked across the street again, the double was gone. Show over. He applauded silently, smiling to himself. More than a little curious about the double's identity.
"W ho were your parents?" Lincoln Grayle asked Eden, on the way to Jomo Kenyatta Airport. Grayle and other members of his entourage were flying in a chartered Learjet to Victoria Falls, where they would complete the last segment for his upcoming television special.
"I never knew them."
"I thought you might bear a strong resemblance to your mother."
She gave him a look, unreadable behind the dark lenses of her smart Italian sunglasses.
"From photos I've seen of her, I suppose I do."
"And your sister?"
Another look. "One of us was all God made."
"Then you have a double in Nairobi. I had a glimpse of her today, walking past the hotel."
He was waiting for her to laugh, reveal her joke on him. Instead he saw Eden's hands, in fingerless ostrich-leather driving gloves, tighten on the steering wheel. No hint of amusement in her face.
"Oh, her. Yes, I've noticed her too. Actually I'm a lot better-looking." Finally her lip curled, a reluctant half smile. "She has a bad complexion. Her eyes are too close together."
On the ramp for departing passengers she pulled into a space behind a minibus discharging a British Airways crew. It was a busy time of day, jumbo jets arriving from and leaving for cities on three continents, a rage of thunder in the sky. The ramp trembled beneath a load of traffic.
They looked at each other, not sure how to end it. Then Eden slipped off her glasses and
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