Fletch had a funny line ready but, although he had used it before, he couldn’t remember it. Instead, he said, “Hello?”
“Did you both sleep well?”
“So far.” Fletch remembered the line. “Is this Fletch, too?”
“‘Fraid not. Carr here again.”
“Oh.” Fletch finally got his head off the pillow and rolled over. “There was a message waiting for us at the hotel when we got back last night. My father had been here during the afternoon.”
“I’m sure he was, old chap.”
“And that he’d call us in the morning.”
“I’m sure he meant to.”
“This is morning?” The window was filled with gray daylight. In the bed beside him, Barbara had not noticed.
“Shortly before eight of the clock, Nairobi time. To my surprise, I’m downstairs about to have breakfast. I only have an hour or so this morning.”
“Hate to awaken you this way, your first real day here, and all that. Your father called me a couple of hours ago. Something’s come up, you see. If you could pull yourself together and join me for a cup of coffee, I could fly away with a sense of duty done.”
“Something’s happened to my father?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right down.”
“The Kenyan coffee is quite pleasant but you might want to cut it with milk or hot water.”
The waiter was pouring black coffee into Fletch’s cup. Carr was finishing a large bowl of fruit.
He said, “The pineapple here is probably better than anywhere.”
“Barbara will be right down.”
“Yes.”
There was a huge, round, beautiful breakfast buffet in the middle of the Lord Delamere dining room.
“What’s up?” Fletch asked.
“The senior Fletcher called me about five-thirty this morning. It seems there’s been a spot of trouble.”
Carr was right. The coffee did need cutting. “What kind of trouble?”
“It seems that yesterday, the senior Fletch, doubtlessly nervous about your imminent arrival, began quaffing the local brew a bit early on.”
“He got drunk.”
“With the resultant loss of sense of time and place.”
“Which is why he didn’t show up.”
“Sometime during the day, he’s not sure just when, he found himself in an altercation at the Thorn Tree Cafe. Someone, he says, insulted the Queen.”
“What Queen?”
“The Queen of England. Elizabeth Regina Twice.”
“What does he care about the Queen of England? He’s born and bred Montana,”
“We all care about the Queen of England out here, old chap. She’s very fond of Kenya. Been here twice.”
Carr drew his knife across the surfaces of the two fried eggs the waiter had brought him. “What came tip was his fist. He’s aware of having done damage to two or three people, seems to remember the sounds of glass smashing, seeing one of those little tables in matchsticks on the ground, and of being very angry at a placating askari, although whether he actually hit him is something the senior Fletcher is trying to reason through this morning. Why don’t you go get your fruit?”
“What’s an askari?”
“A guard. Possibly a cop. It will make a difference when this matter comes to trial.”
“He got into a bar fight.”
“So he testifies.”
“He was doing that sort of thing at age fifteen, or so my mother testifies.”
“I’d give you a rhyming couplet about the boy in every man, but I never was that strong on Wordsworth.”
“So where is he now, in jail?”
“Not yet. He’s gone to ground to reconstruct his head and think things through. I had the discretion not to ask from where he was calling. He’ll have to face the tune sooner or later, of course. Nairobi isn’t like London or New York, you know. Everyone here knows who Fletcher is. On the other hand, people here didn’t used to take this sort of bash-up all that seriously.”
“Mother warned me he was apt to evade emotional moments.”
“Did she? Is that what she said? How very kind of her. Understanding, I’d say.”
“So why did he invite me here if it was going to be so upsetting for him?”
“Sometimes you don’t know your kanga has a loose thread.”
“Is that from Wordsworth?”
“Maybe. It makes a great deal of difference whether the askari he hit was a private watchman or a real policeman.”
“You indicated yesterday the law is very strict here.”
“Very. It has lost its sense of humor.”
“Listen, Carr …”
“Why don’t you get some breakfast? Fried eggs you have to order from the waiter.”
“You probably know where my father is.”
“Probably.”
“Why don’t I go to him now, get this confrontation over? Maybe I can even be a help to him.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you fly up to Lake Turkana with me today? I’ve got to deliver a scientist up there. I’ll be coming right back. You can have a swim. We can have lunch. Nile perch. Nice time.”
“My father—”
“Put yourself in his shoes, Fletch. He’s got a hell of a hangover. Probably a bloody nose. He’s liable for arrest. Last thing anyone would want under such circumstances is for a dazzling kid who looks like he’s never farted to come walking in offering aid and assistance, calling him Daddy.”
“I’ve farted.”
“Glad you heard it.”
Fletch looked at the buffet. “Guess I’ll get some breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” said Carr, “is the only fortification left to modern man.”
While Fletch circumnavigated the breakfast buffet, he saw Barbara enter the room, kiss Carr on the cheek, and sit down.
On his plate Fletch placed pineapple, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast. He also took a glass of orange juice.
“Just explaining to your wife,” Carr said, “that the senior Fletcher is held up today by a sticky legal problem. Suggesting you both fly up to Turkana with me …”
“Nice of you …” Barbara’s eyes were filled with questions.
“About a two-and-a-half-hour flight each way. Lake Turkana is very interesting. Used to be called the Jade Sea. Plenty of room in the plane. Carries eight passengers and there’s only this one small scientist going. A Dr. McCoy. He won’t mind at all.”
Barbara said, “I’m a little sick of airplanes …”
Carr looked at his watch. “Trouble is, I have to be going. I told Dr. McCoy I’d be ready to take off at ten.”
“You go, Fletch,” Barbara said. “I really need a down day. There’s a swimming pool somewhere here. I’ve never even looked in the aviaries in the courtyard yet.”
“Sure you’ll be all right?” Fletch was eating rapidly.
“If I get bored I can go walk around that mosque near here. I’ve never seen a real mosque.”
“I’ll get the car. You’ll be out front in five minutes, Fletch?”
“Sure.”
After Carr left the breakfast room, Barbara said, “Fletch, darling. There is something about your father that doesn’t make sense.”
Fletch drained his cup of the strong coffee. “We knew that before we arrived.”