Far In The Wilds Read Online Free PDF

jars aloft. “But I have found the duck confit and the Spanish olives!”
    Jude went off into gales of laughter then, as Ryder snatched the jars and tossed them into a basket. Jude could mock, but Ryder had found in the past that a few luxuries went a long way towards placating difficult clients. Mr. Patel hauled out an entire crate of champagne then and the boys followed with a hamper packed with fruits and pastries. Mrs. Patel insisted they stay to luncheon, feeding them up generously with a curry she created out of spices and an elderly goat Mr. Patel had bought cheaply off the Masai.
    When they had eaten their fill, Ryder fell to organizing and, with Jude’s help he had the safari packed up and ready to go. The prince had arranged a driver to take him out of Nairobi and high up onto the plateau of the Great Rift where the duka sat at a crossroads of the savannah trails. They were late, as Ryder expected, and it was teatime before the purr of the engine could be heard over the plain.
    The prince emerged from his car dressed head to foot in crackling new safari gear while Mademoiselle was dressed more simply, in head-to-toe white that was neither creased nor streaked with the harsh red dust of the African soil. She wore a large straw picture hat and pinned over it a silk veil to protect her complexion. Jude, whose own face was tanned a deep gold, rolled her eyes at Ryder when she saw it.
    Mademoiselle offered him a hand as cool and pale as new milk, smiling a Mona Lisa smile through her veil. Ryder inclined his head as he helped her from the car.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. White.”
    He smiled. “I thought we were friends.”
    “Very well, Ryder,” she replied. She rolled the r slightly as she said it, exhaling his name like a caress.
    If the prince noticed the intimacy of the moment, it was not enough to dampen his spirits. He clapped his hands together, calling for attention. The native bearers, dozens of Turkana and Kikuyu, stopped what they were doing and assembled expectantly. The prince stood in his car, beaming down at them.
    “Thank you all for coming. I must tell you that I have the very highest hopes for a successful safari, and my satisfaction will be reflected in your tips at the end of our journey.” He inclined his head to Ryder. “And yours as well, my dear fellow.”
    Ryder refused to look at Jude. He heard her smothered laugh and knew if he turned around to lock eyes with her they would both end up offending the prince. Beside him, Mademoiselle betrayed no reaction to the prince’s pomposity. No doubt she was accustomed to it, Ryder decided.
    “I’m sure the porters would appreciate that if they spoke English,” he told the prince.
    He stepped forward and gave a few short instructions in Swahili before dismissing the porters. They moved off and he noticed one or two of them mimicking the prince’s posture and gestures. There would be trouble if Ryder didn’t establish at once who was in charge of the safari.
    He turned to the prince. “Get down from the car and take your seat in the truck. You ride in the back with Mademoiselle. We stop when I say, and you don’t give orders to anyone, least of all me. Whatever I tell you to do, you do it, without hesitation and without question and I just might be able to bring you back alive. Understood?”
    The prince had flushed an unbecoming red. “Now see here,” he began.
    Ryder cut him off flatly. “There is no ‘here’ except mine. This is my safari. You’re paying me, not the men. They take orders from me and from Jude and that’s it. I’m the only one here cashing your check, so I’m the only one you’ll be talking to.”
    “If you are on my payroll, then I shall expect to be fully involved in making all decisions,” the prince countered.
    “Not a chance, not when those decisions mean the difference between living and dying. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”
    The prince hesitated a moment, then to his credit, put out his