Mark of the Lion by Suzanne Arruda Read Free Book Online Page A

I ride with you?”
    The lady whispered in her husband’s ear. He nodded, and the woman responded with a broad smile. “Delighted, Miss …”
    “Jade del Cameron.”
    “Miss del Cameron,” the lady repeated as though tasting the words. “Please do get in. A reporter. Gracious me. This should be a novel addition to your piece.”
    The gentleman helped them both into the car, a put-together job made from at least three models, including a Dodge and a Wolseley. Jade got in the back. The man slid behind the wheel next to his wife, and they sped off down the dirt streets of Nairobi and into the wild plains beyond. Several people in cars and on horseback preceded them.
    The lady turned in her seat and shouted to be heard above the noisy motorcar. “I’m Madeline Thompson.” One hand clamped her flimsy ribboned hat on her head and the other indicated the driver. Jade noticed the woman’s rough hands and lightly browned arms as the sleeves of her blue cotton dress fell back. She looked to be in her mid-thirties though the sun had done its best to advance her wrinkles. Obviously a working woman, not averse to tackling manual labor. Jade warmed to her immediately.
    “This is my husband, Neville Thompson,” the lady continued. “We’re coffee farmers. Our place is north of here near Thika.”
    “Delighted to meet you,” Jade shouted back. “Just what is going on? What are we racing to in such a hurry?”
    “Oh, well, it ought to be good sport, really,” called Mr. Thompson. “You see, Nairobi means sweet water in Maasai. Anyway, the town has a flume of sorts that carries some of that water to a generator to make the electricity. Sometimes something gets into the ditch and stops up the water.” He gestured back towards the town and the car veered right. Neville replaced both hands on the wheel. “That is why the lights are out.”
    “Do you mean something like a log?” asked Jade. She jotted a few notes in her book. The car bounced, and her pencil skidded across the paper.
    “No,” answered Madeline gaily. “Something as in a buffalo or other large animal. Maybe it can’t get out or maybe it’s just obstinate and doesn’t want to. Anyway, here we go.”
    “I knew this was a good time to come into the city for supplies, Maddy,” said Neville. “And here you were afraid there wouldn’t be anything of interest going on.” He laughed.
    “You’ll have to forgive us, Miss del Cameron,” said Madeline. “The society life of a coffee farmer is different from that of some of the more genteel set in Happy Valley. We take whatever fun we can have.”
    “I understand completely, Mrs. Thompson,” said Jade. “I was raised on a ranch. I know what work and isolation do to pique a person’s appetite for adventure.”
    Madeline’s brown eyes widened. “Did you hear that, Neville?” she said. “I told you this looked like an interesting young lady. An American, too,” she said while trying to discreetly take in Jade’s dark olive complexion, green eyes, and wavy bobbed black hair. Her own long sun-bleached brown hair was escaping in strands from an elaborate bun. “Are you by any chance an Indian?”
    “Maddy!” snapped her husband. “Don’t be impertinent.”
    Jade stifled a smile. “It’s all right, and no, I’m not. Sorry.” Jade saw the disappointed pout on Madeline’s face and made a quick decision. Normally a private person, she realized if she wanted strangers to confide in her, she’d have to go first. “My mother is full Spaniard, and my father is some Spanish-Irish-French mix. In short, I’m a mutt.”
    “Well, you’re lovely,” said Madeline. She nodded to Jade’s hair. “Very smart. Is short hair the fashion in America?”
    “I really can’t say,” answered Jade. “I drove an ambulance in France during the war. For some of us, it became a matter of practicality.”
    “Drove an ambulance,” Mrs. Thompson repeated with awe. “Neville, did you hear? Miss del Cameron drove