Wild About the Man

‘I figured. How big is the fallout?’ Clem asked in a dull voice.

‘Nuclear.’

Clem ran her hand over her eyes. ‘Let me guess what the headlines say … “What would Roz think?” or “Clem is not a chip off the old block” or “Was Clem swapped at birth”?’

Jason sighed. ‘Not quite so harsh but getting there.’

‘Can I not just have my own little public meltdown without them bringing in my mother?’

Jason pursed his lips. ‘If your mother had been anyone else, maybe.’ Anyone other than a glamorous heavyweight war correspondent and news presenter, public darling, rising political star and tipped to be the future prime minister. ‘But you know that the press have hyper-idealised her since she died in her prime.’

‘And I’ve lived down to her memory.’ Clem pushed her waist length hair over her shoulder and held the large ornate silver locket that hung from her neck on a heavy silver chain.

‘You’ve just taken a different path to her,’ Jason said quietly.

‘I took a different motorway as fast and as hard as I could.’

Jason draped one plump leg over the other and linked his hands around his knee. ‘You once told me that you had a hole inside you before she died, that all you wanted was her time and she was always so busy. Do you think you used Cai to fill up that hole?’

‘No, I fell into bed with Cai in a rush of hormones because I was nineteen and stupid,’ Clem replied, her voice tart in response to his prodding. She was coming off a bad breakup and Jason wanted to analyse her relationship with her dead mother? Not going to happen. ‘He was hot, older and I loved his rock and roll lifestyle. And, I repeat, because I was nineteen and stupid. You shouldn’t make life changing decisions when you are nineteen.’

‘Or, obviously, when you are stupid,’ Jason added.

Clem sighed. She should’ve just cut her losses nine years and six months ago. Then she wouldn’t be sitting in her father’s jet, running from the press and feeling as if she was about to snap under the weight of this soul scorching rage.

Clem sat back and folded her arms. ‘Where are we going by the way? We’ve been flying for ever. The villa in the Seychelles? The flat in Sydney?’

Jason shook his head. ‘Your father is sending you to a private game reserve in South Africa.’

Clem’s arched eyebrows flew up. ‘You’ve got to be joking! Africa? Animals? Insects? Sun? I’m a redhead, for goodness’ sake!’

Jason smiled. ‘Sorry, honey, but we did ask for private and isolated. The press are going to try and track you wherever you go and they won’t find you there. It’s a very exclusive, very expensive lodge. One of those where you pay a set price and everything is included, including spa treatments. They have elephant-back safaris—you should do that.’

Clem narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Uh … no! Can you see me riding high in the blistering sun, going “Oooh! There’s a buck” or “Wow! There’s another”?’

‘You should open yourself up to new experiences.’

‘I don’t do the country or anything close to it!’ Clem stared out of the window. ‘We’ll just have to make the best of it.’

‘You’ll have to make the best of it,’ Jason corrected and shrugged when her eyes connected with his. ‘The Baobab and Buffalo Lodge has a bed for you but not me. I’m going home with the plane.’

‘But I need you!’

‘I need to go back to do damage control. You know I do.’

Clem tapped her fingers against her thigh, thinking of an argument to keep him with her. She wasn’t joking when she said she needed him; she didn’t want to be alone.

Her heart contracted and her throat closed again. She bit her lip so hard that her teeth left marks in the skin.

‘You know, I get that I’m spoilt and lazy, selfish and inconsiderate.’ Jason started to protest but the small shake of her head had the words dying on his lips. Clem shrugged. ‘I have too much time and money and I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. I don’t love Cai any more and he’s welcome to get married … Seriously, I wish her luck.’

‘But?’

‘He knew how much I wanted a child, Jace. So why would he let me think that I was infertile for so long? He came with me when I went for all those tests, took my temperature to check if I was ovulating, slept with me—well, up until a year or so ago—when the time was right. He did all that, all the while knowing that he had a vasectomy before we even met! Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s a jerk who likes to play games?’

‘That would explain it.’ Clem sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I think we’re banking, we must be nearly there.’

‘Then maybe you should fix your face,’ Jason suggested. ‘You look like hell, you know, from all your angry tears.’

Next to the runway, Nick sat on the bonnet of his roofless Land Rover. His scarred boots rested on the bull bar and he watched the blood-red sun sink behind the bank of acacia trees. It was his favourite time of day and the heat was holding steady. He looked at the cloudless sky and sighed. The daily temperatures were climbing towards unbearable, the waterholes were almost dry and the residents, human, bird and animal, were desperate for the first of the summer rains, which had yet to arrive.

But sunsets like these were one of the myriad reasons why he’d worked sixteen, eighteen-hour days for the best part of a decade. He considered it a privilege to watch the sun go down and listen to the night song of a little piece of Africa that was under his protection.

From his first memory of walking this land with his paternal grandfather at the age of four, he’d felt an affinity for this place, this soil. He loved the element of danger, the age old fight of the survival of the fittest. Two-B had always been his sanctuary, his favourite place in the world, the place that fed his soul. As a child he’d run to his grandfather and this land when being the only introvert in a large family of noisy, outspoken, non-privacy-respecting, intimacy-demanding party animals became overwhelming. He’d find the peace and solitude here he needed and never found in his chaotic family home, surrounded by four siblings and left-of-centre parents. He could never imagine living or working anywhere else.

After university, because he was used to being the best, he’d gone big, aiming to establish a six-star lodge—exclusive, expensive, elitist. Finding an investor had been a hassle but his father’s old school tie network had come in handy and his parent had browbeaten his school buddy Copeland into meeting with him. He’d walked away with thirty million in his pocket and minus a twenty-five per cent share of his company.

It had been a good day.

Working his dream of creating one of the premier game reserves in Africa had meant sacrifices: time, money, a social life. His need for stability and … serenity … had led him into a five-year marriage which, ultimately, resulted in him being estranged from his family.

Choices and consequences were a bitch.

But his wife was long gone and he was content being single. Besides it was, Nick decided, too much of a fag to look for a woman who could, firstly, tolerate living in isolation and then would be prepared to live with a man who’d made the conscious decision to remain emotionally unavailable.

Essentially, he wanted a witty conversationalist with superior mattress skills who’d be happy to be ignored as and when he pleased.

Unfortunately, he’d hadn’t yet heard where those aliens had landed.

Brief affairs, he’d stick to those. Tidier, easier, less complicated … and not difficult to find when he felt the woman was interesting enough to make the effort.

He rubbed his hand over his face. Where had all these thoughts about love and life come from? Must have been triggered by hearing that Copeland’s daughter had come an emotional cropper …

Nick heard the distinctive sound of turbine engines and picked up his hand held radio. He glanced down the runway to check that it was still empty—it wasn’t uncommon to see lions stretched out on the tar or impala nibbling at the grass on the edges. He tuned into the open frequency and informed the pilots that they were good to land. The plane rushed past him and he stayed were he was, watching as it slowed, turned at the bottom of the strip and taxied back up the runway towards him. The door opened and the co-pilot dropped the stairs and jogged down, holding out a hand for Nick to shake.

‘Nice landing,’ Nick said, jamming his hands into his khaki shorts.

‘Thanks.’ He looked around. ‘Wow, seriously wild. So, no lions, huh?’

‘Not today.’ Nick turned and looked up as a figure appeared in the doorway of the cabin. Her hair was a long fall of pale rust, several shades lighter than his wife’s fire-red, shot through with strawberry-blonde streaks that even the most expensive salon could not recreate. Sculpted cheekbones, a pixie chin and a body that was long, lean and scrawny.

‘Jace, I’m going to miss you. Thank you.’

‘Keep in touch. You will get through this.’ The voice was deep and rumbling.

‘Call me when you get home.’