Twiga Camp

By Joy Shiplee

Twiga is Swahili for Giraffe, and Twiga Camp is the story of a luxury tented camp deep in the heart of the Kenyan bush where Giraffes often infiltrated the camp sight. Hence the name Twiga Camp.

It tells of the of the intrepid men who own and run the camp with all the trauma and excitement of life in Africa: and the romances they incur with the rich and famous women who pass through the camp on safari, on what for some is the holiday of a lifetime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468578577

Joy Shiplee

Books also written by Joy Shiplee are The Key, the first of the trilogy, and Litoki Dam and Twiga Camp, both written about Africa and her experiences when she lived there.

Book preview

© 2012 by Joy Shiplee. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/06/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-7855-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-7857-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Twiga Camp Personnel

For Susan

This book is a reminder of her gap year in Kenya and her coming of age.

When her experiences of life in the bush and learning to fly a light aircraft,

was an exciting time never to be forgotten.

Chapter 1

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Stephen Hamilton-Lloyd stood in the doorway of the big dining tent and surveyed the groups of chatting laughing people before him. They were beginning to leave their tables for the enticing spectacle of the huge logs cracking and hissing on the camp fire outside.

Twiga Camp, owned and run by his father, was deep in the heart of the African bush, and It was one of those star filled intoxicating nights that always stirred him into going in search of a lover.

As his gaze raked and passed on from woman to woman, one caught his eye and he paused to take in the long blond hair, the golden skin, the tall willowy body. She turned to catch up her glass from the table before leaving and the Tilly lamps caught the sparkle of the single stone in the ring on the third finger of her left hand. It was a huge diamond. He strained his eyes to see if there was another plainer band accompanying it but could see none. He made his way towards her.

‘Good evening. I trust you enjoyed your dinner.’ He was stiffly polite.

She stopped in her tracks to look at him. He was tall, broad and sunburned, with hair the colour of a lion’s mane. She had noticed him hovering in the background when their group had been introduced to their host, a man of similar stature and colouring but much older. She now supposed this to be the younger of his two sons.

‘Yes, thank you, very much. I didn’t expect there to be such exotic cuisine.’

‘We have a good cook, and my father prides himself on a menu comparable with that of the best hotels in Nairobi.’

‘I’m sure, but fresh lobster!?’ Her tone was unbelieving.

‘We fly it in from Mombasa.’

She drained her glass of wine and placed it back on the table.

‘Can I get you another?’ he was quick to ask. ‘Or would you prefer champagne?’

‘Thank you, wine is fine,’ her blue eyes smiled into his, enjoying his attention.

He clicked his fingers to beckon the black youth clad in white suit and red fez, who came running immediately. ‘More wine for the memsaab,’ he snapped in Swahili, and the youth filled her glass from the bottle in the ice bucket at their side.

She lifted the replenished glass to her red lips pondering on the self confident arrogance of this man standing next to her, and thought it would be amusing to take him down a peg or two. She turned away from him making her way towards the fire outside, and he followed her closely.

Throughout the evening he sat opposite her, feeling his annoyance, and his blood, gradually rising as he watched her laugh and joke with a crew cut blonde haired man who touched her trouser clad thigh with every sentence he uttered. Then as the guests began to drift off to their beds and the space around the camp fire became more open, he moved himself closer to her, deliberately brushing her leg with his own as he re-seated himself.

She pretended to welcome the contact and gazed at him with enticing eyes till the man with the blond crew cut hair stood up, and she prepared to follow him.

Stephen put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Don’t go in just yet; you haven’t heard the best of the night.’

She stopped and listened, leaving her escort to go on alone. The bullfrogs she had been aware of and also the cicadas, but now she could hear the deep throaty call of a lion somewhere out in the bush.

He stood up beside her. ‘Walk with me,’ he invited.

She hesitated. ‘Is it safe?’

He smiled and his pale green eyes twinkled. ‘That we have yet to find out.’

They walked away from the bright flickering light of the fire to the dark perimeter of the camp and as he slipped his arm around her she did not protest.

‘I think this is far enough,’ he decided and turned to draw her into his arms.

She put her hands up to his chest and pushed him away. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing!?’ she almost shouted at him.

‘I was hoping for a good night kiss,’ he answered, amused at her rage. ‘Or perhaps even more.’

‘And what gave you that idea?’

‘You did. I’ve been watching you all evening. I’m an expert animal behaviourist and I know what you want.’

‘You’ve no idea what I want, and it certainly isn’t you.’ She pushed him away forcefully and as she turned her back on him, a wry smile spread across her face as she left.

He swore under his breath as he watched her go; then shouted after her. ‘Bitch! The last thing I want is a prick teaser like you.’ He walked slowly back to the fire and asked for a double brandy to be brought to him.

At five o/clock the following morning the camp began to stir. Stephen turned over lazily on his bed and knew he must get up and make ready for a dawn safari into the bush before his father had a chance to bawl him out for even the slightest hint of incompetence. It wasn’t that he disliked his job; that of showing the wild game to whoever guests happened to be in his group. The frustrating part was when their noisy chatter drove the animals away and he had to start all over again.

Mathew his older brother was a lot more patient and a better hunter than he was he had to admit, but he supposed it would come to him eventually; in the meantime he wished his father, a White Hunter from the old days, would not make comparisons between the two of them. Mathew he knew was diligent and conscientious and he was . . . . oh well what did it matter? It was every man for himself out in the bush wasn’t it?

As he entered the dining tent Moses the camp cook came forward with a steaming hot mug of tea for him and he sat with his hands round the mug savouring the warmth of it.

Mathew was the next to arrive. ‘You’re up early, couldn’t you sleep? He asked as he settled beside Stephen at the table.

‘I’d have slept better after a good nights shag,’ Stephen grumbled.

Mathew laughed. ‘Couldn’t you find one then?’ His jovial tone suggested he’d had better luck.

‘I thought I had, but she turned me down.’ Then, remembering the previous night’s episode, muttered under his breath, ‘bitch!’

Mathew finished his tea and put down his mug. ‘Never mind, we’ve a new batch coming in later today. Better luck next time eh?’

They followed each other out to where the Land Rovers were being prepared for the first dawn foray into the bush. Stephen turned up his coat collar against the early morning chill, and hoped his group had heeded the advice given them to wear warm clothing. Most people had no idea how cold it could be out in the bush before the sun made its presence felt.

As he slid the big rifle beneath the seat and turned to watch his passengers board, he noticed thankfully that the girl and her escort were not in his group of people who consisted of varying ages and sexes, all bedecked with expensive cameras and binoculars.

They had not gone very far into the bush when his instincts and knowledge were rewarded. ‘Look over there, by those thorn bushes,’ he whispered as he stopped the Land Rover. ‘It’s a male lion. He’s by himself, so we can go in for a closer look if you like.’

Amid murmurings of approval Stephen drove the Land Rover in closer for a better look and sat alert and watching, while the cameras whirred and clicked and the lion ignored them with aloof disinterest. ‘He’s not hungry, he’s already eaten.’ Stephen assured them when the lion turned to look at them and yawned showing his huge yellow teeth. They all laughed nervously and Stephen moved on.

‘What are the chances of seeing a kill?’ someone asked.

Stephen pursed his lips. ‘Fifty fifty. You’ll stand more chance this evening.’ They continued on into the bush and Stephen showed them Thompson’s Gazelles and Impala, Zebra and Wart hog and Hyena and finally, as the rising sun began to fill the hollows and tinge the thorn bushes with gold, they saw a Cheetah with her two cubs.

On the way back to camp Stephen caught up with his brother, drew level and began to chat about the morning run. His gaze sought out the girl with the long blond hair, now tied into a pony tail that protruded through the back of her baseball cap, and fixed her with his eyes. She tossed her head away swinging the ponytail over her shoulder and his eyes narrowed with resolve.

He followed Mathew in to the compound, parked the vehicle and released his group, then went to the other Land Rover. Mathew was already handing the girl down, and as she turned to thank him, the look that passed between them prompted Stephen to follow sullenly behind them as they went laughing and chatting to breakfast.

Chapter 2

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As Stephen watched the new batch of guests descend the ladder of the light aircraft, his disappointment grew. The only white women were middle aged, and the one young girl, although very attractive and beautifully dressed, was black, albeit coffee with cream black, but never-the-less, black. He had been taught since childhood that to sample a black woman was taboo however fine her features or her manners, so he dismissed her and waited for the next person to appear through the door. She was closely followed by an immaculately dressed elderly black man who Stephen recognised immediately as the Minister for Home Affairs in the Kenyan government, and the girl was obviously his daughter. He smiled to himself—to hell with taboo. She would have been educated at an English boarding school as he was, and in spite of her colour, or maybe even because of it, highly desirable.

He moved forward quickly hand outstretched. ‘Good afternoon sir, welcome to Twiga Camp.’ The hand that held his was strong, almost forceful, so he delayed greeting the girl until he was asked.

‘Thank you,’ the man looked around him and Stephen knew he was looking for his father.

‘My father sends his apologies. He is tied up with a domestic problem at the moment,’ he lied. ‘So if you don’t mind, I will see you to your tent.’ He gave the order to the hovering black camp porter for the bags to be collected, again in the authoritative staccato Swahili and led them to a row of tents far removed from the rest of the guests. ‘I trust your daughter will not be afraid of the isolation,’ he remarked looking directly at the girl for the first time

She smiled teasingly at him, and her dark brown eyes danced with pleasure. ‘I was born here,’ she told him in beautifully cultured English, ‘and I can’t wait to get back to my roots.’

‘I will be very happy to take you back to your roots,’ Stephen offered, adding under his breath, ‘in more ways than one.’ ‘Tea and cakes will be served in an hour.’ His brighter tone assured them. ‘In the meantime, enjoy your shower.’ He left them for his own tea in the dining tent.

As he sat drinking it, and eating a huge slice of homemade Victoria sponge, while a tame mongoose foraged around his feet for crumbs, his father came striding towards him.

‘Where is the minister?’ he demanded irately.

Stephen looked up unconcerned. ‘I put him in the V.I.P. section. He’s got a cracker of a daughter.’

His father looked hard at him and his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you dare touch her—you hear me? Don’t you dare lay one finger on her.’

‘If I don’t someone else will,’ he commented sardonically. ‘She shakes her arse like a peacock.’

‘That’s as maybe, but I don’t want either of you anywhere near her,