The Clouds Beneath the Sun by Mackenzie Ford Page A

the sleeping arrangements tonight?”
    Russell craned forward. “What do you mean?”
    They had almost reached the fence of acacia and sisal thorns that surrounded the camp.
    “You have a handgun, I believe. But I think I should give you a better weapon for tonight. I’m not sure who else on the staff is Maasai. Also, I’ll make a show of handing over the gun at dinner, so everyone will know you’ve got it. That might make it safer. Do you know how to use a shotgun?”
    He smiled nervously. “I guess. It’s a while since I used one.”
    “Hmmm.” Eleanor cast her eye over the fencing as she drove into the camp through the gate. She was responsible for everything. “Here’s what We’ll do,” she said, reversing the Land Rover into its space. “I’ll show you how to fire it, and you can loose off a couple of rounds. The noise will be a warning too.” She switched off the engine and opened the door. “Natalie, you’d better sleep with me.”
    “What? Why? What on earth for?” Natalie’s heart sank. What would happen to her late-night winding-down sessions?
    “Security. Mutevu is still at large, so far as we know, and you are the only witness. I suppose you could be at risk, too.”
    “No! Eleanor, you’re overreacting, surely?”
    “It’s your first time here, Natalie. Trust my judgment. I know this part of the world and with independence not far off these are unsettled times. There’s been trouble even at a nurses’ training college, where they require their nurses to become nuns. Local Kenyans say that’s inappropriate now. Independence is affecting everything. No, you’d better sleep with me. For tonight anyway, until I work something out.”
    Natalie looked across to Christopher for help but he just shrugged and banged shut his door. His mother was boss.
    A woman ran forward. She was dressed in the same white overall that all the kitchen staff wore.
    “Yes, Naiva, what is it?” said Eleanor, putting the keys of the vehicle in the glove compartment where the monkeys wouldn’t find them. “Has Mutevu been arrested?”
    “No ma’am. But one of his rubber boots has been found. Masera was in Elephant Korongo this afternoon and he saw some baboons playing with it.” She paused, looking frightened. “It’s covered with blood.”
    •   •   •
    “Do you mind if we have a second nip?” Russell North lifted the whiskey flask off the small table in front of him. “What a day! I don’t want to live through a day like that again, not anytime soon.”
    Natalie sat across the small table, as usual. The usual noises came from the jungle, quarrels and moans; the usual stars flickered silently overhead.
    “No, go ahead. We broke our one-nip-a-night rule last night. Today certainly counts as a two-nip day.” She flashed a brief smile at Russell.
    Dinner tonight had been a stilted affair. Eleanor, as Natalie could see only too well, was angry inside—a swamp of swirling, searing, curdling emotions. In decades of digging, nothing like this had ever happened to Eleanor Deacon, or her excavations, and despite the shock, despite the overreaction of Mutevu, and/or the Maasai, despite the horrors of blood and coroners and air ambulances and cynical, prying journalists, Eleanor’s main feeling was regret, regret that the killing had happened, rather than sympathy with Richard Sutton, who had done something very foolish in her view. That much was plain.
    Natalie found Eleanor’s reaction understandable, but she did not agree with it. Richard and Russell had behaved badly—yes, very badly. They had been willful, crass, egocentric beyond—well, beyond all understanding. But theirs was not a capital offense, not in her book, not by a long chalk. Grossly insensitive—yes; insulting—yes; disrespectful—yes. All that. Their behavior made her breathless just thinking about it. But the crime, surely, did not merit the punishment, which was also beyond understanding, and barbaric. Those flies on