Chapter Four
Simone slumped down onto the rickety single bed in her allocated staff tent. Carlevaro East Africa kept to their promise of a light footprint on African soil, and with tented camps, the staff and guest accommodation were built with as little cement possible, on wood stilts and platforms.
She took a deep breath and tried to rub the cramps from her shoulders. She’d sent a message to Gabi, notifying her that all was going as planned. Then she’d phoned Ruth and had spoken to Sarah. Her daughter’s disappointment had stung. Worst had been the admission that she had no idea when she’d be home. Sarah’s internal mommy clock had started to click vigorously lately; it was as if Sarah had sensed she’d be gone, and the idea that it could be forever had become a raw reality. Maybe telling Sarah that her daddy was “gone forever” hadn’t been the best idea. If Sarah had realized that her mommy could be gone “forever” from one day to the next, she could only blame herself.
“Simone?”
She recognized Liz’s husky voice and wished her away. But she couldn’t avoid her, as they’d become friends over the past two years. There were few enough expatriate women working for Carlevaro in Tanzania that they stuck together like peas in a pod. Liz was married to James King and together they managed the Carlevaro Rufiji Camp. She stood up and zipped open the tent.
“James was right when he said you looked like roadkill.” Liz grinned as she scanned Simone’s face. She held a thermal cup and a bowl of biscotti in her hands. “I shouldn’t let my husband abuse any of my friends like that.”
Simone smiled as she dropped down on the bed again. “Thank you. I suppose my holiday has worn off pretty quickly.”
Liz ambled in and sat down on the folding chair, putting the coffee and biscotti on the bedside table. She glowed and something in her expression told Simone this was more than a social visit.
“Flying the Carlevaros…it sounds stressful.”
“It wasn’t on my agenda,” Simone said as she picked up the coffee, taking a cautious sip. “Thanks for the coffee. Could I borrow some clothes? I didn’t have time to pack anything for this trip.”
“Sure, I’ll send something over after lunch.” Liz searched her face. “From what I’ve heard they’re staying for some time, allocating you solely to flying them?”
She nodded, keeping busy with the coffee. The grapevine was clearly in top form.
“What are you doing with Sarah?” Liz asked softly.
Simone shrugged. “The usual. I’ve already phoned Ruth, she can help. For now.”
“Why don’t you tell them? Surely they won’t—”
“I don’t—I won’t—bring Sarah into this equation, Liz.” She wanted to plead, but not sound desperate. “And please, don’t you or James say anything.”
“The promotion means this much to you?”
Since Carlo’s surprise arrival the promotion had been the last thing on her mind. “Yes.”
“But if they know about Sarah it would work in your favor? After all, it’s mostly an office job.”
Simone dropped her gaze, not wanting to give Liz a chance to read anything in her eyes. “I want to get this on my own steam. Call it my rediscovered feministic streak.”
Liz chuckled. “Okay, whatever. I get it. So, do you know why they’re all here?”
“No idea. With Peppe gone…”
“There’s more to it than that. James said there’s a meeting this afternoon.” Liz took a biscotti and started crumbling it.
“Which Carlevaro told me to attend, heaven knows why.” Simone glanced at her, and then again at Liz’s fingers, which were trembling.
“You mean Mr. Carlevaro, the Italian Stallion, or his hot-as-hell-and-definitely-no-angel brother?” Liz joked.
“Carlo Carlevaro. The man himself.” Mutiny rose in her.
“He’s gorgeous. I would happily do anything he tells me to.” Liz winked at her, a dimple in her cheek as she smiled, her earlier nerves dispelled.
Only Liz would bring up the idea of casually sleeping with the boss. “You’re married, take out your hormones on James.” Simone shifted on the bed. The tent felt ten degrees too hot.
“Don’t worry, I do.” Liz chuckled. “They’re going bonkers at the moment.”
Simone raised her eyebrows. “What’s up?”
“I’m pregnant!” Liz burst with the news. Her eyes sparkled, joy overflowing her features.
“No wonder you’re looking so rosy.” Simone smiled. She was so relieved for some happy news in Liz’s court. “Congratulations. How far are you?”
“Two months. I should wait until the three-month mark but I can’t keep it to myself anymore.” She grinned. “You’re the first to know, besides our families.” She took a bite of the biscotti and grimaced. “Orange peel? Seriously? What was I thinking?”
“Thank you for telling me.” Simone mustered a smile and held out her hand to take the offending biscotti from Liz. Cleary, she didn’t have the appetite for orange peel right now.
“We visited the clinic in Dar es Salaam last week for a checkup. And all’s fine. There’s this little heart beating, oh my goodness, it’s the cutest thing.”
She looked away from Liz’s glowing face, toying with the lid of the thermal cup. It was the cutest thing, especially if it was wanted, planned. “Your folks must be so happy.”
As Simone glanced up Liz turned her face away, but she spotted the involuntary swallow.
“Yes…I really hope Dad will be able to see this little one.” Liz sighed.
Simone squeezed Liz’s shoulder. “Did the last treatment work?”
“Yes, but living with leukemia for ten years has drained everything…from pockets to…the fight in him. The last two treatments cost a fortune. If he could just hold on a few more months—”
“It’s going to be okay, Liz,” Simone promised, wishing she could comfort her friend by saying something less clichéd. “What are you going to do work-wise?”
Liz lifted her lips in disgust. “I’m exhausted. To be honest I can’t stomach food at the moment. I want to vomit every time I need to cook bloody tilapia.”
“At least you’re not alone in the kitchen,” Simone said.
“I still need to make sure everything is up to the Carlevaro standards. Without garnishing it with puke.”
“And where’re you having the baby?”
“Not here—I might be mad but I’m not stir crazy yet. We’ll go back to London for that.” Liz patted her flat tummy. “I wanted to ask you about maternity leave.”
“What about it?”
“My contract says four months paid maternity leave, but I would need to leave for England at thirty-five weeks. I hope to take unpaid leave. What does your contract say?”
Simone swallowed, forcing her fingers to relax their grip around the cup. She dunked the biscotti in the coffee, stopping short of scalding her fingers in the steaming liquid.
“Pregnant pilots don’t fly. My contract doesn’t make allowances for maternity leave.”
“Blimey, that’s out of the backwaters, ain’t it?” Liz shook her head with a frown.
“Carlevaro Air’s rules,” Simone said, the back of her throat contracting. She took a nibble of her soaked biscotti but it clogged in her mouth.
“But you had Sarah before you started to work here?”
Simone wished Liz would stop probing. Few of the current expatriate staff knew about her aborted stint four years ago. Those who did were older and knew better than to ask too many questions. “Yes. Best you email HR in Dar to see how you’re going to manage it.”
“I haven’t told HR yet. James would also need to take time off.”
“Better sooner than later, to give them time to sort out temps. Lodge managers and chefs don’t grow on trees in this place.”
“I know,” Liz said.
A moment of silence passed between them as Simone studied her face. She had dark circles under her eyes, and under the pregnancy glow there was disquiet in her being.
“Have you had…?” Simone started. She hated raising this topic, adding to Liz’s worries. “Have there been any more mice?”
Liz shot her a nervous glance. “We’ve progressed. We’ve also had a bird, and a bushbaby.” She rubbed her nose, which had started running out of the blue. “All the same, headless, waiting for me on the chopping block as if I’m to cook them! It makes me sick.”
“God.” Simone shook her head. That someone had been planting beheaded animals in Liz’s kitchen, stalking her as such, had been a quiet concern for weeks.
“I told James I’m leaving if they get any bigger,” Liz said. “He has been reporting it but there is no figuring this one out. Yet.”
“Someone is trying to intimidate you.”
“Yes, but who? And why?” Liz snorted. “I know James can be an ass but bloody hell, he has to run this place and with the type of guests we get, nothing can go wrong.”
“I know.” Simone swallowed down the acid that brushed up her throat. Running a Carlevaro lodge was tense enough without embellishment.
“We won’t win any popularity contests with some of the staff, but our ratings make up for it.” Liz sighed. “I hope it’s worth it.”
“You’re not scared to stay here, are you?”
“Not yet. Not with James around.” Liz checked her watch. “An hour to lunch. I best get going. Are you coming over?”
Between the image of a beheaded bushbaby splayed on Liz’s kitchen counter and Carlo there was only one answer. “No thanks, my airline breakfast is still haunting me.”
“As they do. James is taking the Carlevaro boys around the lodge for inspection, they better not run late. There’s nothing less appetizing than wilted microgreens.”
As Liz left Simone dropped a hand to her knotted stomach. Poor Liz. What if the stalking didn’t stop before her maternity leave?
Her mind returned to her own problems. She couldn’t imagine a day getting any worse. Then she laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. She took her phone and connected to the lodge’s Wi-Fi. She searched for Carlo Laurentia, the name she’d known Carlo by four years ago. The search spat out nothing but the same arbitrary hotel in Italy that she’d checked out a thousand times. Then she typed in Carlo Carlevaro and pressed search. In seconds images of Carlo appeared with links to business-related websites.
Her innards cramped. It was easy to find him knowing his real name. If only she had known. She’d wanted to tell him that she’d fallen pregnant. Having a baby had been the last thing on either of their minds at the time. Carlo hadn’t struck her as the type to leave a woman high and dry. And yet he had. She suppressed the urge to throw her phone into the corner of the tent. Everything could have been so different.
