Читать книгу Rand's Redemption - Karen Van Der Zee - Страница 8

RAND opened the door and marched out as if he could not tolerate being in her presence a moment longer.

Stunned, Shanna sagged into a chair and stared at the door. Suddenly it was all very clear—all the pieces fit. Rand thought she was having an affair with Nick. She was the woman Nick was fooling around with on the side and this trip to Kenya was a perfect opportunity to be together. His own wife was too busy with the children, wasn’t she? Shanna could hear Rand’s thoughts as if he were talking out loud.

It was so absurd that when the initial shock wore off, she could only laugh. It was too crazy for words.

He was seeing her as a femme fatale who’d trapped his poor friend in a web of sin. He did not approve of such immoral behavior. He had standards.

Well, having standards was good. She liked men who had standards. However, judging and condemning others was not such a good idea always. And certainly not when you weren’t in possession of all the facts.

For a while she sat in the chair without moving, going over it all again, and the humor faded. No one had ever thought so badly of her, not to her knowledge, and it wasn’t a good feeling. What had she done to make him judge her this way?

And then another thought occurred to her.

Why did Rand care? What was it to him who she was? He and Nick hadn’t seen each other in years. It was none of his business what Nick did with his private life.

She sighed wearily, feeling suddenly exhausted. Well, there had been enough upheavals for one day. Perhaps this mystery would be solved later. In the meantime, she was tired and she wanted to go to bed. Tomorrow she’d set the high-and-mighty Mr. Rand Caldwell straight, explain to him that he was quite mistaken in his diagnosis of the situation and that perhaps he should not jump to conclusions quite so quickly in the future.

She awoke to a glorious morning. The open window revealed a square of vivid blue sky decorated with a blooming branch of amethyst bougainvillea which swayed gently in the breeze—like a living painting. She lay still, absorbing the sounds coming from outside—chickens clucking, birds twittering in the bushes. What joy to wake up to such serenity every morning. She let out a languorous sigh.

A soft, tentative knock came on the door. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Rand. Tentative was not one of his behavioral characteristics.

“Come in,” she invited.

A young girl in a pink cotton dress came in with a tea tray. She smiled, her big eyes looking at Shanna with curiosity.

“Good morning, memsab,” she said in Swahili. “I have brought you your chai.” She placed the tray on the bedside table, picked up the small pot and poured the tea in the low, wide cup.

“Asante sana.” Shanna smiled back at the girl. She was sixteen or so, and very pretty. “What is your name?”

“Catherine. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, I will.”

The girl withdrew and closed the door behind her.

Shanna looked at the tea. It was very dark. She was used to drinking coffee in the morning, but this seemed to add a touch of authenticity. Tea for breakfast. Very English. She added milk and sugar and contentedly sipped the strong, sweet brew.

After she’d dressed, she found Rand in the kitchen talking to Kamau. Bush hat on his head, keys dangling from his hand, he was ready to leave. For some perverse reason she felt a twinge of disappointment.

Disappointment? What was wrong with her? Did she want to sit across from him while she ate her breakfast?

“Good morning,” she said, trying to sound light.

His cool gaze barely met hers. “Good morning,” he returned in a businesslike tone—a tone so impersonal it set her teeth on edge.

“We have to talk,” she said, bracing herself. Might as well get it out of the way.

“It will have to wait,” he said and strode out the door without giving her another look. A moment later she heard the car engine start and Mr. Rand Caldwell had departed for the day, she assumed. Well, good riddance.

She ate a solitary breakfast, prepared by the dignified Kamau, sitting on the dining room terrace. The air was crisp and effervescent like champagne. Feeling restless, she decided to go for a walk before settling down to work. Strolling through the garden, she reveled in the joyous color and fragrance of the flowers, the many blooming bushes and trees—frangipani, jasmine, bougainvillea. Who had designed and planned this gorgeous place?

She left the fenced-in garden, but stayed reasonably close to the house, not leaving the established paths, trying to get closer to the gorge. Below pools of water shimmered in the sunlight. Birdsong filled the air, and butterflies fluttered around the blooms. She sat down on a large bolder and surveyed her surroundings with her binoculars.