Flickering Desire

Cuthbert knelt by her bed and looped the bandage three times. She winced as it tightened around her swollen ankle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting her eye.

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad one of us knows what we’re doing.”

He nodded, still not looking up as he focussed on his task. Outside the tent, the cicadas fizzed their nightly chorus and off in the distance, a lion roared. She wondered what that roar meant. Had they made a kill? Would they still be looking for one? She shivered, and not just because of the cold night air from the savannah creeping through the flaps of green canvas.

“Don’t worry,” he said, noticing her fright. “That noise travels far at night. They are a long way away.”

Now he looked up at her, his reassuring smile easing the twisted knot in her stomach. She stared into his eyes, wishing he could stay. She knew he wanted to as well. They both knew he couldn’t.

“Thank you,” she said as he tied the last knot in the bandage. He stood up, took a step back and held out his hands.

“Try to put some weight on it,” he said, motioning for her to rise.

She did as she was told, anything for him to stay with her longer. In truth, she was enjoying the sensation of being told what to do. She smiled wryly as she stood. What kind of helpless damsel had she become in these few short days?

She pushed herself up with her hands on the bed and half-hopped, half-teetered. She carefully placed her foot on the blanket beside her camp-bed. She would never admit it, barely even to herself, but the little pain she felt didn’t need her to stagger into him. But stagger she did, falling like a Hollywood dame into his chest. She even let out a little “Oh!” as she toppled.

What was it about this man? It was the African bush, it had to be. The romance was intoxicating, stripping her of all inhibitions, and, so it seemed, feminist ideals. Or maybe she was just delighted to be in the presence of a man with genuine skills, survival ones, rather than corporate morons whose idea of leadership was a well-laid out powerpoint deck.

Cuthbert tensed. It was hard to tell what his reaction meant. He was young, fully grown but barely older than her son currently drinking her money at university. She felt the strength in his arms, the result of long days on the river leading their little flotilla of canoes. Her hand rested for a second too long on his broad chest as she stood upright again and she imagined his dark skin under her fingers, muscled back clawed in ecstasy. God she wanted it.

“You OK?” he asked, voice caught in the back of his throat as he gripped her forearms to steady her. She looked up slowly and glanced away, the most coquettish she could manage. Please let him stay. He could do whatever he wanted with her, they both deserved it. An escape from reality was what she needed, a night of lying with a real man, taking him in her arms and between her legs which throbbed with anticipation. She raised her chin again, looked at his lips and imagined them pressing onto hers. She wetted them hers in readiness.

He let her go and took a small step back. She took a small one forward, testing her balance as he watched with what looked like genuine concern.

“Thank you,” she said. “That feels so much better.”

“Good,” he said. He turned to leave but hesitated. He didn’t want to leave, every slow gesture screamed it. The last week had led them here. A week on the river, paddling along the mighty Zambezi, gazing in wonder at the vast herds of antelope, elephant and buffalo come to drink. In the water, crocodiles and mounded pods of hippos never far away, eyes watching their every move but never coming closer. The mixture of awe and fear, the dark evenings round the campfire on riverbank or sandbar. Their little band uttered words like “life changing”, “inspiring” and “visceral”. For her part, she had never felt so far from her troubles at home. Arsehole ex-husband, loveable but fucktard son, miserable partnership at a consulting firm.

Now, tonight, all she needed to make this week complete, one night of satisfaction with this beautiful man.

The space between them was so short, a lifted hand and they would be touching.

“It will hurt tonight. Hopefully you will be able to walk on it tomorrow. You have taken paracetamol?”

She nodded, chewing her lip. The medicine wasn’t what she needed.

“I feel so silly. Falling over like that.”

He grinned, a boyish expression on his young man’s face. She wanted to run her fingers across his smooth cheek, his cut jawline.

“Don’t be embarrassed. You aren’t the first. That noise is meant to frighten you.”

And it bloody well had. They had been out on a walk in the midday heat, shimmering light hovering over the dusty brush. Counting animals they encountered, coming across a nursery of exquisite impala resting under a thorny bush. Approaching, they heard something and the antelope bolted. It was not a noise she knew. Everyone knows a lion’s roar, have mimicked it from childhood, even in England. But this other noise, a low rumble of warning, it froze her to the spot. Then, forgetting everything she’d been told, she’d turned to run. If she’d needed a reminder, for all her education and money, that she was a useless monkey in this environment, she’d been given one as she stumbled straight over a log and twisted her ankle in the process.

Even now, she felt the panic rise in her chest as she recalled what she’d pictured then. Expecting a pain in her back, or the sound of snorting breath as the lion bore down on her. Nothing had come, this lion only wanting these idiot tourists to get out of the way of its hunt. Instead, Cuthbert had raced to her side, the first of the guides to react to her stupidity. Whether she’d been in danger not, he would always be a saviour in her eyes.

The pause between them grew longer. This was the moment, she readied herself. She was a mature woman, there was nothing wrong with this. She would make the first move.

“Well goodnight,” he said, a new panic swelling inside her as he turned to leave.

“Don’t go,” she blurted out, pleading a little more desperately than she’d intended.

He shook his head, opening the flap of the tent. She could see the disappointment etched on his face and knew he wished he could. It was forbidden of course. It would cost him his job if he gave into the feelings they both felt.

“You need your rest, Madam. I will see you in the morning. I will be outside, making sure nothing disturbs you.”

The balloon of hope, and desire, grown inside deflated in a moment. All through the long night she lay, knowing he was just beyond the walls of her tent, standing guard, keeping her safe. Every rustle, every breath of wind flapping against the fabric, her heart raced as she imagined her coming to her. Finally, the cicadas finally quietened and she fell into a deep sleep, waking many hours later with a sense of disappointment still clenching. There was still one more night left of their safari. One last chance. She wouldn’t be so coy this time.

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Cuthbert sat beside the dying embers of the fire, waiting for the sun to peak above the acacias surrounding the camp. He shuddered, though not from the chill of the Zimbabwean dawn. That woman. God he hoped she didn’t make another move tonight, there was one in every group. He didn’t need a tip that bad.