Drowning Read Free

slowly. My long dark hair had dried in twisted clumps and I could feel grit in it, and on my scalp, as well as a few grains of sand in my mouth. Taking off the shirt, I found that moving and breathing were painful. My chest felt as if it had been pounded by a hammer and I had visible bruising on the inside of my left breast. From the seatbelt, perhaps? Surely not, if Bulewi had managed to undo it.
    A khaki toiletry bag lay on top of the pile Miriam had brought. In it, I found a toothbrush and toothpaste, a small hairbrush, a mini shampoo and conditioner, and a travel pack that contained designer-brand body wash, scent, and skin care.
    So, here I was, in what according to Miriam was an up-market lodge that was now in private hands. There was no phone in my room, I’d had my wet clothes removed while I was unconscious, and I was minus all my personal possessions, which were presumablysomewhere at the bottom of a flooded river. A phone did not seem to be readily available, and I would have to await the mysterious Mr. Nicholas’s pleasure if I wanted to make any calls. What was this place? Hotel California ?
    I could only hope that I would be able to call Vince first thing that morning to tell him where I was, and to stop the runaway train of disaster that had been set into motion yesterday.

CHAPTER 2
    Half an hour later , I was showered, with my hair combed but still damp, because the outlet for the hairdryer was not working—more power saving, I supposed. I was dressed in my own freshly laundered underwear, a large T-shirt, and cotton shorts that were approximately my size. I put on a pair of oversized sandals and fastened the straps tightly.
    Then I followed the delicious aroma of coffee down the wide, tiled passage, and into a huge dining room with enormous glass doors at the far end. Through them, I could see grey sheets of rain fading into dull green haze.
    Several tables of varying sizes were set out in the room, but only one was covered with a starched white cloth. I took a seat on one of the comfortably cushioned wooden chairs just as Miriam appeared through a side door, carrying a jug of coffee.
    She placed in front of me a large porcelain mug with an artistic rendition of a zebra on it before pouring.
    “Hot or cold milk?” she asked.
    “No milk, thanks.”
    Miriam topped up my coffee before asking, “Would you like scrambled eggs? Bacon? An omelet? Or we could do you a Continental meal. Toast, fruit, cheese, preserves?”
    “I’d love some toast, and some cheese and fruit, thanks. Is there any way I could quickly speak to Mr. Nicholas?”
    “Of course. He’s outside, talking on the radio in the truck. Do you want me to tell him to come here when he’s finished?”
    “I’d better see him now, I think.” After all, what if he was about to leave? I desperately needed to connect with reality, to sort out the disarray that was now my life. Call Vince and tell him I was okay. Contact the embassy to arrange a new passport, and the insurance company to report the loss of my equipment.
    “Come this way.”
    My mind whirling with all the logistical issues, I followed her into a massive, airy kitchen with endless granite surfaces and two gleaming gas stoves, and then out into a scullery. She opened the back door, letting in the coolness of the rain.
    A narrow covered walkway led to the side entrance of a large triple garage a few yards away. I edged my way up the covered walk, keeping close to the wall and doing my best to avoid the chilly, gusting downpour.
    Parked inside the garage was the dirtiest Toyota Land Cruiser I had ever seen. Its white paintwork—well, I presumed it was white—was almost totally obscured by dried mud. The hubcaps were caked in the stuff, with occasional tufts of grass clinging to them. Great slashes of mud streaked up the vehicle’s sides, covering the rear windows. The back of the car was a solid mass of dirt.
    For a room that was home to such a filthy car, the garage itself was