Page 10 of The Rival in South Africa
Alex was silent for a moment, and the noises of the bush filtered in. Birds and insects sang while Alex chose his words carefully. “Fancy. How did you hook an invitation to this place?”
I shrugged noncommittally, trying not to get defensive. “I know people.”
His face soured. “People like Ion, right?”
“No, he was not my connection. I got this one all by myself, thank you very much.” I scowled at him. “I don’t have to depend on a man for everything.”
Alex returned my scowl but didn’t argue. “So,” he said, gesturing at the bed, “what are we going to do about this?”
“There’s nothing to do. We’re both grown-ups, and that bed is huge, even for you. Now, we have an hour until the afternoon drive starts, so I’m going to clean up a bit.”
I gathered up my toiletry items and stepped into the bathroom block at the back of the tent. While Amukela was certainly luxurious for glamping, it was still glamping. The bathroom was a concrete and brick rectangular room at the back of the tent. The ceiling was open to the rest of the tent, and the doorway contained only a small drapery to block the view.
I set my things on the counter and looked over the space. A lovely tiled shower stall with a rain shower head was on one side, and to the other was the toilet. In front of me was a large mirror, a counter with a modern basin, and a small wooden chest. Curious, I opened the complicated latch and found the chest filled with standard hotel toiletries one would expect—top-shelf brands and very fine face flannels.
I moved the small toiletries to the shower and stripped out of my clothes.
“Is it just the one room in there?” Alex’s voice, even at a regular speaking timber, rang out clearly.
Even though the curtain was closed and I was sure Alex wouldn’t barge in—he’d never beenthatbig of an arse—I covered my nips up, self-conscious enough just from hearing him.
“Just the one. Privacy, please.” Before he could respond, I turned on the water in the shower. I knew that water was a limited resource—conservation signs were everywhere—so I hopped in quickly, rinsing the day of travel off my body. To my surprise, the water warmed up immediately. There must have been an instant water heater.
Once bathed and dry, I pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room. I should have remembered to bring clothes in with me, but when I looked to the side, Alex was passed out on the bed, mouth slightly open and his lanky limbs sprawled out on the duvet.
FOUR
“Alex.”I gently poked his shoulder. I was now fully dressed for the afternoon drive in loose, pocketed shorts and a long-sleeve top. When I had first come out of the shower, Alex had been on his back on his side of the bed but had since migrated to the middle and had pulled a pillow in and hugged it tightly. Some would have called it adorable.
Some.
He blinked awake and, like a cat, stretched his arms up and over his head and then out in front of him. In fact, he looked remarkably like my mother’s cat. The one who liked to lick himself and stare at you smugly. Hopefully, we could leave the ball-licking out of this week.
“What time is it?”
“We have fifteen minutes to meet the Jeep.”
Agreeably, Alex rolled over and plodded to the bathroom. While he was distracted splashing water, I took the opportunity to unzip my backpack and slip out my camera. I had my favorite lens, the 250 mm, on, so I quickly pulled out my bigger zoom one, the 500 mm that I’d debated so hard about, and swapped them out. Just as I finished zipping up the backpack, Alex reemerged looking considerably more awake.
He slung a small bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Walking up to the main lodge building, we joined the rest of the guests in the open-air reception area. The roof was thatch, held together by glossy, dark natural logs, and the breeze sifted in, assisted by large, frond-shaped ceiling fans. The rest of the guests sat scattered around the room in brown leather chairs.
We must have been the last to arrive. As soon as we sat, a tall, Black woman, standing up at the front of the room, started the introduction.
“Amukela,” she said, the name of the lodge. “This, in Zulu, means to receive or to welcome. On behalf of the staff, we are excited to have you here for the media tour.”
Alex leaned toward me. “Media tour?”
I shushed him, keeping my eyes on her. She ran through the list of amenities available, social media accounts, hashtags, and then our daily schedule. It was the same thing every day for the week: our guides would take us out early in the morning, we’d be back in time for brunch, have a nap in the afternoon, and then another drive before a family-style dinner and bed.
Once we were dismissed, the drivers, who’d been standing in the corner waiting, called out names and divided us up into our Jeeps. There were a dozen of us split into three vehicles.
We greeted the couple joining us, Mark and Olivia, who ran a travel agency in America. Shortly, our driver, Thomas, called us to gather next to our Jeep. “And this is our tracker, Rex.” A lean Black man in a pith hat and a staff uniform tipped his brim at us. “He also doubles as a barkeep, wait staff, and if the occasion calls for it, wrangler in the event of an animal situation.” Thomas reached into the front seat of the vehicle and patted a rifle. “In case of an emergency while we are out on our drive, I’m prepared. Stick in the vehicle at all times, and you’ll be fine. All right, let’s load up.”
The Jeeps had three rows: the front, where our driver sat, the middle, and the back. Alex and I climbed into the back seat, and to my astonishment, Rex sat not inside the Jeep but on a folding chair bolted to the front of the bonnet. We very quickly left the tiny patch of civilization and were in the wild. Bumps be damned, the scenery was gorgeous.
“There’s been a family of wild dogs spotted the last few days over by one of the lakes,” Thomas called out. “We’re going to see if they’re still there.”
