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to recover as best she could from the loss of her parents. Now she found herself acting like a teenager after one car journey? Claire caught a glimpse of her reflection in the restaurant window, and rolled her eyes at herself. Just for a second she allowed herself to ponder why Rory had never elicited such a strong reaction from her. She would put this down to her deep emotional vulnerability. It was only natural, she supposed, that she would be drawn to a strong, protective presence. Taking her eyes forcefully off Seth, Claire vowed to herself that she would not lose control of her scruples. Her morals were all she had left to guide her. Unaware of her intense regard, Seth wondered at Claire’s flushed countenance as he held open the car door for her.
    Claire settled against the cool upholstery and wished the travelling was over. She felt bone weary. A new cassette whirred into life, and the mellow voice of Elton John filled the quickly-warming interior of the BMW. Claire relaxed, and caught the words of the song instructing her to ‘reach out for the healing hands’. The significance of the lyrics left her feeling safe and secure. Claire knew that God had healing hands and that, in time, her hurt and pain would fade, leaving only the golden memories. It was watching Seth’s powerfully tender hands on the steering wheel, however, that Claire drifted back to sleep.
    Under an hour later, Seth pulled up in front of the Bulawayo Sun Hotel, where rooms had been booked for the night. Claire, in a state of near exhaustion, barely registered the acts of signing in and being shown to her room. She took a quick, hot bath and crawled beneath the covers.
    Claire awoke to the sounds of traffic and people. Answering a knock on the door, she almost drooled as she saw the tea tray. A brief note in bold writing accompanied her tea, informing her that Seth would meet her at eight o’clock, in the dining room, and that they would leave for Impunzi directly after breakfast. Washing quickly and changing into the new figure-hugging Guess jeans and shoulder-baring top of which she’d thought so little before arriving in Zimbabwe, Claire grabbed her bag and reached the reception desk just as a sleepy-looking Seth walked out of the lift.
    “Morning, Claire. Did you sleep well?”
    Smiling openly at him, Claire assured Seth that she had, indeed, “Slept like a log.”
    At breakfast, Seth watched in amazement as Claire cleared her plate and then enjoyed toast and marmalade. “Where do you put it all, Claire?” he asked laughingly, eying her petite waist.
    Pretending offence, Claire glared at him and said, sweetly, “I ate no more than you did, Seth Henderson.”
    Opening his eyes wide, Seth lifted his hands in an action of surrender, looking comically from his large frame to her slender one.
    Pulling a face at him, Claire finished her toast and asked if they still had far to go. Impunzi, she was told, was sixty kilometres from Hwange, and its boundaries bordered the National Park. Claire felt a stirring of excitement at the thought of seeing the wildlife of the National Park in its natural habitat. Soon they were on the outskirts of Bulawayo, making a start on their five-hour journey. Claire decided she liked the laid-back, unhurried way of life Zimbabwe seemed to offer.
    Sliding behind the wheel of the BMW, Seth stifled a yawn. He, unlike Claire, had not slept well. Perhaps because of his intense periods of reflection the day before, Seth’s memories would not leave him alone. In dreams he had tossed and turned, reliving not only his parents’ deaths and the darkest years of the war, but earlier recollections – worse recollections. He wasn’t ready to face those, yet.
    Sensing Seth’s troubled mood, Claire took her turn as narrator and spoke of her childhood. She spoke with love of Dublin, her birthplace, describing a city from which so many writers and poets had drawn inspiration – with its narrow medieval streets and castles