The Delta by Tony Park Read Free Book Online

grasp.
    â€˜What we’ve witnessed here,’ Sam continued, ad libbing, ‘may well be more than the death of a single creature. It may be the beginning of the end of this once green wildlife Eden, which at this time of year should be crisscrossed with clear water channels and rivulets, where animals like that tiny baboon might otherwise have drunk in safety.’
    Stirling frowned. The woman was the bitch from hell, but the himbo, Coyote Sam, might just be smart enough to take some advice.
    â€˜Sam, don’t pre-empt the end of the documentary before we’ve already begun shooting it,’ Cheryl-Ann said. ‘We don’t know for sure this river’s going to dry up.’
    â€˜Beautiful stuff, man,’ Ray said quietly.
    â€˜How was your game drive, Sam? Did you get lots of lovely video?’ Tracey Hawthorne’s khaki shorts were so short they might better have been classed as swimwear, or underwear, Sam thought as he eased his sweaty body down from the Land Rover.
    â€˜Sweet.’
    Tracey giggled. ‘Brunch will be served soon, but you must tell me all about your morning before I let you go freshen up.’
    â€˜I could use a shower first.’
    â€˜Dip in the pool would be better. I’ve just been in. It’s divine.’ Tracey glanced downwards and folded her arms in front of her chest demurely, appearing to have just noticed that her wet bikini was showing through her white tank top.
    Sam had noticed the wet patches, and her nipples, though he had tried hard not to stare at them, or at the tiny jewel in her bellybutton when her top rode up. ‘I don’t have my trunks on.’
    â€˜Nonsense. You’re in Africa now. Jump in with your cargo shorts on.’
    Stirling tramped up the wooden ramp that led to the thatched reception area at Xakanaxa Camp. ‘Sam says he needs a shower, Tracey. Leave the poor man alone.’
    Sam turned. The camp manager and head guide had given him shit all morning. ‘You know, Tracey, I might just take you up on that idea of a swim, on one condition.’
    â€˜What’s that, Mr Chapman?’
    â€˜That you join me for a quick dip, Miss Hawthorne.’
    Tracey looked at her watch. ‘Well, I
am
on duty, but brunch isn’t on for another fifteen minutes. I’m game if you are.’
    Another Land Rover with two other tourists on board, a German couple Sam had posed for pictures with and signed autographs for the previous evening, pulled up at reception. Sam saw Stirling glare at him, then turn and walk over to the newly arrived game-viewing vehicle. Someone had to greet the returning guests and Sam imagined it was Tracey’s job. Sam began unbuttoning his bush shirt as he followed Tracey’s hypnotic hips across the sandy courtyard that separated reception from the common area of the lodge. Spread out along the banks of the main channel of the Khwai River were the dining area, with a long heavy wooden table where all meals were taken communally, a lounge area with coffee tables and deep, worn leather lounges, a self-service bar and, at the far right-hand end, a small plunge pool, no bigger in circumference than a circular waterbed.
    Sam unlaced and pulled off his hiking boots and socks while Tracey, on the opposite side of the pool, slipped off her rubber flip-flops and pulled the damp tank top over her head. As heshrugged off his shirt she unzipped her shorts and let them fall to the ground. She kicked them off with a pointed toe and smiled at him.
    She stood on the opposite side of the pool to him wearing a white bikini that dazzled against the pale buttery tan of her skin. ‘I was nearly dry. Now you’re going to get me all wet again, Coyote Sam.’

THREE
    Sonja woke up feeling like she’d spent a week in the kickboxing ring. It hurt even to open her eyelids, so she closed them again, carefully.
    She reached up and found a wall, made of plastic or fibreglass, less than a metre