Dark Heart by Peter Tonkin Read Free Book Online Page B

only knows.’ She cast a sideways glance at Dr Holliday’s curves. ‘Still, it kills the appetite. A useful diet aid.’
    â€˜And it’s full of caffeine,’ added Dr Holliday, apparently failing to register the implication of Robin’s comment. ‘And several other stimulants. The locals use it a little like Viagra, so I believe.’
    â€˜Right,’ said Richard. ‘I think I’d better just try a little . . .’
    A moment later, he was using sweet palm wine to try and clear his taste buds as the kola nut was replaced by poached oysters. ‘Is it alcoholic?’ he asked, sipping the milky, fragrant liquid carefully.
    â€˜Not if it’s sweet and fresh. It gets to about four percent after a day but it starts to taste more vinegary then,’ Dr Holliday explained. ‘The oysters are from the delta, I expect,’ she added. ‘They’re famous all along the coast. There’ll probably be shrimp later too. But Benin la Bas oysters are just so famous, for their flavour and for their . . . qualities . . .’
    â€˜More aphrodisiacs,’ riposted Robin. ‘It’s a wonder anyone ever got past the hors d’oeuvres!’
    The doctor giggled, and her date-brown eyes flickered up to meet the cool grey glaze. There was an instant of girl bonding as they shared a knowing grin before the sweet potato and peanut soup arrived.
    Blessedly, the rigour of West African food and drink eased enough to allow a South African Chenin blanc with the Scalopines of Pompano, and the sommelier was even able to find some sparkling Ashbourne Water in the cellars. As Richard sipped this, the fish was replaced by Kyinkyinga, which Bonnie explained were chicken kebabs seasoned with garlic and groundnuts. They were served on rice and Richard for one found them delicious. Fortunately, he was careful not to overindulge, for they were replaced with Egusi soup, which was more like a stew with minced lamb and shrimp on a bed of spinach seasoned with fiery chillies. That was replaced in turn by Boko-Boko – beef roasted in cumin and cinnamon, served on a bed of cracked wheat with plantains in palm oil and okra in greens. A robust Moroccan Shiraz. The Boko-Boko gave way to a light course of fresh shrimps from the outer delta – accompanied by an Algerian white Cabernet – and that in turn was replaced with Jollof rice, with chicken, rice, green beans, onions and carrots stewed together with fresh rosemary, red pepper flakes and nutmeg, partnered with another considerable North African red.
    It was after this, the ninth course by Robin’s reeling calculation, that President Chaka stood and announced a break in the proceedings. ‘Before we introduce such sweetmeats as our famous coconut Shuku-Shuku, our goat’s cheese and paneer, let us pause,’ he began. ‘In our continuing endeavours to entertain our non-African guests . . .’
    â€˜. . .
educate
, he means . . .’ whispered Robin and Bonnie gave a complicit gurgle of laughter.
    â€˜. . . we would like you to experience some of our tribal customs to go with this feast of local fare.’
    As he sat down, the chandeliers dimmed. A vertical column of brightness struck straight down from the swimming pool on to the dance floor as though there were some kind of huge blue moon up there. It was shifting, shadowy, as much to do with liquid as light. No sooner had the assembled diners got used to it, and to the strange silence that followed the President’s ringing announcement, than the drums started. They built to a crescendo surprisingly quickly, and were accompanied suddenly by a deafening chorus of bull-roarers that sounded as though a legion of demons was being tortured to death nearby.
    Abruptly, almost magically, one of those very devils seemed to appear in the heart of the strange blue light. It was the better part of seven feet tall, a thing of mask and raffia, designed to ensure that