Hey, Linc, if you've got a minute—
His turn to excuse himself. He was Bertie's height, six-one, slender, exceptionally fit. Probably had to be something of a contortionist in his profession, Eden thought. Black hair brushed back, glossy and thick enough to retain its shape in a brisk wind without sprays or pomades. A well-basted desert tan. On the surface, that hip male look Eden didn't much care for. But, judging from the mind's-eye snapshots she collected in a few seconds, possibly he didn't have the self-centered vapidity of the he-model caste. Coming closer; Eden was aware of quick, lively eyes. Curious about the world outside himself. An observer. And closer; he bit his nails. One other thing they had in common. The withheld intensity, or complexity, that reveals itself in unexpected ways.
"Lincoln Grayle, Eve Bell."
Gracious smile, a nod, only a moment to appraise each other before the introductions went around the table, Tom last.
"Gregor here at the club told me you know every inch of Kenya and Tanzania," Grayle said.
Tom shrugged. "That covers a lot of territory. It was probably true of my grandfather, who was a professional hunter and guide. He settled in Kenya a little more than a hundred years ago."
"I understand safaris are banned now."
"Hunting game was banned in '77. About two years after I earned my license. But all types of safaris are still available, from bird-watching to eco-tours. I can recommend a couple of guides, if you're interested and have the time."
"Less than a week, I'm sorry to say. Most of my crew and the network people are already in Zimbabwe."
"What's happening there?" Bertie asked.
A fast grin, quirky, as if responding to a joke on himself.
"I'm going to walk across Victoria Falls. At night." He took in their expressions of amused skepticism. "It's an illusion, of course. I can't say more than that."
"Most of the illusions I've seen you do look dangerous to me," Jean-Baptiste said.
"Most of them are, if they're any good." Grayle glanced at his table, where three Samburu waiters had begun to serve from carts with copper hoods. "Here's lunch. Again, it was a pleasure." This time his eyes lingered on Eden for more than just a moment. She had a sense of being ardently probed, and his undisguised intensity, like a bright flash from a masked lantern, startled her.
"Linc," Bertie said, voicing a spur-of-the-moment inspiration, "if you can drag yourself out of bed, say around four A.M., we'll show you some of the sights while you're here. What d'you think, Tom, the Masai Mara?"
"Elephants?" Grayle asked, as if a scene from an old Weissmuller movie had popped into his head. "I've loved elephants since I was a kid."
"Not in the Masai Mara," Sherard replied. "There are about six hundred in Amboseli, where poachers haven't been able to get at them." Bertie gave him an encouraging look. "Best time to visit Amboseli on a day trip is right at dawn, before Kilimanjaro clouds over for the day. The tembu population is used to being studied, so we have a fair chance of getting close to a family."
"How far is Amboseli?"
"Ninety minutes by fast helicopter," Bertie said cheerily. "We happen to have two of them."
"I don't mean to impose," Grayle said to Sherard, who smiled.
"Not at all. Haven't been to Amboseli in quite a while, and I have friends at the Research Center."
"Elephants," the illusionist said enthusiastically. "I made one disappear last year from in front of the fountain at Caesar's Palace."
"Good trick," Eden said, chin on the back of overlapped hands, her elbows on the table. Studying him with a little gleam of fascination. She knew now why he'd seemed familiar, where she had seen him, and recently.
"Maybe it wasn't a trick," Grayle said with that quirky grin. "Nobody's seen him since." He nodded to all and turned to go, saying ni furaha yangu—asante sana . My pleasure, thank you.
Good Swahili , Eden thought. How long had he been in East Africa, a day or two? Obviously a
His turn to excuse himself. He was Bertie's height, six-one, slender, exceptionally fit. Probably had to be something of a contortionist in his profession, Eden thought. Black hair brushed back, glossy and thick enough to retain its shape in a brisk wind without sprays or pomades. A well-basted desert tan. On the surface, that hip male look Eden didn't much care for. But, judging from the mind's-eye snapshots she collected in a few seconds, possibly he didn't have the self-centered vapidity of the he-model caste. Coming closer; Eden was aware of quick, lively eyes. Curious about the world outside himself. An observer. And closer; he bit his nails. One other thing they had in common. The withheld intensity, or complexity, that reveals itself in unexpected ways.
"Lincoln Grayle, Eve Bell."
Gracious smile, a nod, only a moment to appraise each other before the introductions went around the table, Tom last.
"Gregor here at the club told me you know every inch of Kenya and Tanzania," Grayle said.
Tom shrugged. "That covers a lot of territory. It was probably true of my grandfather, who was a professional hunter and guide. He settled in Kenya a little more than a hundred years ago."
"I understand safaris are banned now."
"Hunting game was banned in '77. About two years after I earned my license. But all types of safaris are still available, from bird-watching to eco-tours. I can recommend a couple of guides, if you're interested and have the time."
"Less than a week, I'm sorry to say. Most of my crew and the network people are already in Zimbabwe."
"What's happening there?" Bertie asked.
A fast grin, quirky, as if responding to a joke on himself.
"I'm going to walk across Victoria Falls. At night." He took in their expressions of amused skepticism. "It's an illusion, of course. I can't say more than that."
"Most of the illusions I've seen you do look dangerous to me," Jean-Baptiste said.
"Most of them are, if they're any good." Grayle glanced at his table, where three Samburu waiters had begun to serve from carts with copper hoods. "Here's lunch. Again, it was a pleasure." This time his eyes lingered on Eden for more than just a moment. She had a sense of being ardently probed, and his undisguised intensity, like a bright flash from a masked lantern, startled her.
"Linc," Bertie said, voicing a spur-of-the-moment inspiration, "if you can drag yourself out of bed, say around four A.M., we'll show you some of the sights while you're here. What d'you think, Tom, the Masai Mara?"
"Elephants?" Grayle asked, as if a scene from an old Weissmuller movie had popped into his head. "I've loved elephants since I was a kid."
"Not in the Masai Mara," Sherard replied. "There are about six hundred in Amboseli, where poachers haven't been able to get at them." Bertie gave him an encouraging look. "Best time to visit Amboseli on a day trip is right at dawn, before Kilimanjaro clouds over for the day. The tembu population is used to being studied, so we have a fair chance of getting close to a family."
"How far is Amboseli?"
"Ninety minutes by fast helicopter," Bertie said cheerily. "We happen to have two of them."
"I don't mean to impose," Grayle said to Sherard, who smiled.
"Not at all. Haven't been to Amboseli in quite a while, and I have friends at the Research Center."
"Elephants," the illusionist said enthusiastically. "I made one disappear last year from in front of the fountain at Caesar's Palace."
"Good trick," Eden said, chin on the back of overlapped hands, her elbows on the table. Studying him with a little gleam of fascination. She knew now why he'd seemed familiar, where she had seen him, and recently.
"Maybe it wasn't a trick," Grayle said with that quirky grin. "Nobody's seen him since." He nodded to all and turned to go, saying ni furaha yangu—asante sana . My pleasure, thank you.
Good Swahili , Eden thought. How long had he been in East Africa, a day or two? Obviously a
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