“You think what?” he urged.
She took a deep breath. Well, she had to finish what she had started. “I’m comfortable with myself,” she said. “I’m not afraid of my own thoughts and feelings.” She didn’t care what he thought.
“And what does that mean?”
She searched for words. It was a strange conversation to be having with him. “I’m quite aware I’m a flawed human being, but I try to live…honestly, to be aware of other people’s feelings and needs, and not to be too judgmental.” That sounded pretty good, but she had to admit that not being judgmental wasn’t easy where it concerned Mr. Caldwell.
“Judgmental?”
“It’s easy to criticize other people, but you can’t tell what’s in someone’s heart, and you don’t always know the reality of someone else’s life.”
“How very noble,” he said, and his voice was coldly mocking. “Is this little speech for my benefit? A less-than-subtle hint perchance?”
His voice chilled her to the bone. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play the innocent, will you?” He turned and strode back into the house.
Her astonishment overwhelmed even her anger. She had no idea what he had been hinting at. She stood motionless at the veranda railing, staring out into the darkness. Then anger took the upper hand. This was outrageous! This was going too far!
She stormed in after him. “Rand!” she called, and he stopped and turned, hands on his hips. Brows arched sardonically.
“Yes?”
She moved in front of him, heart racing, legs trembling. “I’d like to know what’s going on here!” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You don’t like me. First I assumed it was something general—your not liking women, or just simply having a rotten disposition, but now I know it’s more than that. I’m not given to paranoia, but I’m beginning to think that this is a rather personal thing and I’d like to know what you’ve got against me. You don’t even know me!”
“Oh, I know you,” he said frigidly. “I know your type.”
“My type?” It was getting more preposterous by the minute.
“Beautiful, selfish, and deceitful.”
She felt her mouth begin to drop open and she clamped her jaws shut just in time. The man was a lunatic! She took a steadying breath.
“If you feel this way, why in the world did you invite me to stay at your house?”
His mouth curved with faint contempt. “To keep you from going back to Nairobi. Nick told me that Melanie arrived unexpectedly, to surprise him.”
Melanie was in Nairobi? How was that possible? Nick had tried to persuade her to come along for a while, a week, even just a few days, but she’d not wanted to be away from the kids, not so far. And now she was here anyway? It had to be a mistake.
“Melanie?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes, Melanie,” he bit out. “Nick’s wife. You do know he’s married?”
“Of course I know he’s married! What—”
“Well then, perhaps you’ll agree it would be more discreet to stay out of their way?” His icy gaze bored into hers. “Surely you’re not totally without scruples?”
CHAPTER THREE
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.