Mrs. Pollifax on Safari by Dorothy Gilman

Author:Dorothy Gilman [Gilman, Dorothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8041-5185-6
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2014-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

At noon they came to Lufupa camp, which was small—for weekend people only, Julian said—and not yet open for the season. The camp occupied a point of land where the Kafue River curved and broadened, smooth as a millpond in the noon sun. They were to lunch here, Julian said, pointing to a picnic table under the acacia trees.

Mrs. Pollifax had now removed three of her layers of clothing and was happy to sit in the shade. It was a tranquil scene: not far away two men were painting chairs a bright blue in the grass, and mattresses were being aired in the sun. Up on the roof of the largest hut an old man was spreading out fresh thatch and tying it down with wire, like shingles. Finding herself next to Mr. Kleiber at the picnic table, she turned to him with a warm smile. “Do you know much about guns, Mr. Kleiber? I’m wondering if you can tell me what sort of rifle our guard carries.”

The man serving them their lunch chose this moment to place in front of Mr. Kleiber a plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy and fresh tomatoes. McIntosh, seated across the table, answered instead. “A 3006, I’d say.”

“Oh—you know guns,” she said brightly.

“Or possibly a 3004,” Kleiber said with his mouth full.

“A 3004,” Crispin told them from the end of the table.

Very inconclusive, thought Mrs. Pollifax, and decided there was something far too relaxing about all this fresh air and that an evening campfire might be the better place for tactful interrogations.

After lunch they strolled upriver a short distance, with guards at their front and rear, and watched hippos bathing in the shallows. This especially pleased Cyrus because there had been no ox-peckers on the backs of the hippos they’d seen at Chunga camp.

“Ox-peckers?” echoed Mrs. Pollifax.

“Tick-birds,” he explained, and pointed. “Find them on rhinos’ backs too. Feed on their ticks and conveniently warn them of danger.” His glance moved to John Steeves, who was helping Lisa remove her sweater, and he frowned. “Chap really seems to be zeroing in on Lisa. Very confidently too.”

Mrs. Pollifax smiled. “If there’s one thing John Steeves has, I’m sure it’s confidence.”

“Seems a decent enough chap,” said Reed. “Just difficult to picture as a son-in-law. I mean—yurts?”

“Oh, I don’t think you need worry about that.”

“No?” said Reed, looking surprised. “Together all the time.”

“There are,” said Mrs. Pollifax, “undercurrents.”

“I’m overlooking something?”

“You’ve been watching Steeves and not your daughter. He’s with her, but she’s not with him, if you follow me. It’s a matter of the eyes. Glances.”

“You astonish me,” said Cyrus, and turning to her he added accusingly, “Matter of fact, you’ve astonished me ever since we met.”

Mrs. Pollifax found herself blushing—really it was very tiresome, she’d not blushed in years—and fielded this statement by turning to Mr. Kleiber, who was looking distinctly bored by the hippos. “Still no crocodiles, Mr. Kleiber?”

He looked startled. “Not yet, no. Dear me, I hope soon, though. What a hot sun, I think I’ve had enough of walking.

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