Shane Simba had connected with his old flame, Johanna Delacroix.  First off were the drinks in a private section of the bar where he caught up with the details of her makeover into a concerned citizen of Mombasa.

“I suppose I was wearied from being nothing more than an upper class woman that slept around and came on to men…..and lions,” she told him, flashing her slightly crooked and appealingly toothy smile.

“You were all of that,” said Shane.  “But I don’t think I have ever been hit like I was by you - - head on and knocked flat.”

“I’m very changed, Mr. President.  And I’m sure the same holds for you.”

“You can dispense with the Mr. President, Johanna.  Frankly, I am still stirred by you.  You still have the power to mesmerize me with your exquisite loveliness.”

He lit her cigarette and his.   He ordered another round of drinks.  They sat in an intimate booth in the far corner of the bar and remained unnoticed since the smaller bar in the hotel was not at its peak operating hours. 

“Do you still have that ungodly lion skin rug in your entrance hall?” laughed Shane, remembering almost tripping over it on his first visit to her secluded home which lay behind thick walls in the historic Moorish district of Mombasa.

“No, it was auctioned to benefit the Mombasa Orphanage of which I am head honcho on the board of directors,” she giggled. 

“You are full of good works,” teased Shane, but his eyes told another story of remembered moments shared during their very intense affair. 

“Why don’t you come to dinner at my home?  I have a new houseboy – the son of my old one who retired.  Tarek is also a grand chef.”

‘I have a recently born son named Tarek,” he mused, almost to himself. 

“I want to catch up on your life too, not that you haven’t had your full share of media hype and hero worship since becoming president,” she told him, putting a slim and beautifully groomed hand on his paw.    

“Some reporters were less than kind.  It’s not all hero worship by any means.  You’ve got a date, Johanna.  I will be in Mombasa two more days checking on the port progress and tending some local meetings with the Mayor.”

“How about tomorrow evening then?”

“Wonderful, I’ll be there as soon as I can.  I have a long day planned but I will be looking forward to seeing you again.”

            Trevor Tau’s eyes were troubled.  He and Leah Lyon sat on his veranda watching the blood red sun dip behind the distant Nau Narre hills.

“Leah, I have to know if you are serious about me or merely playing a game before you return to your husband.”

Leah was alarmed at this particular train of thought.  She pulled her chair closer to his and took his paws in hers. 

“Trevor, do you truly think that’s what I’m all about with you?”

“I honestly don’t know, Leah, but if it is this, I want out before you carve me to pieces and place my sliced heart on a tray.”

Leah Simba Lyon was so hurt at this misinterpretation of her very real and growing love for this lion doctor, without further ado, she got up, ran to her car and took off in a spin, heading for her parent’s guest cottage. 

            Maude Hyena, the deputy mayor of the Masai Mara, was genuinely fond of Mayor Leah Lyon.  Maude guessed that she may have been the first hyena in natural history to truly care for a big cat, but Leah was so engaging and kind that Maude could hardly help herself.  She had noticed a worried look about the young lioness-jaguar mix recently.  Many times Maude had taken paper work to Leah’s office to find her hastily dabbing fresh tears from her face.  She decided, in Shakespeare’s words, ‘to screw her courage to the sticking place’.  When she was to meet with Leah in her office, she took the bull by the horns.

“Leah, is there anything I can do?  You seem terribly distressed these days,” ventured Maude. 

To Maude’s surprise, Leah broke into tears.  The hyena had caught Leah the day after her flight from Trevor’s veranda. 

“Oh, Maude…I am so unhappy,” sobbed Leah, throwing caution to the wind.  “I’m in love with another male.  Ash and I are separated.  I don’t know what to do.”

Maude sat down and leaned across Leah’s desk, taking her soft paws in Maude’s rough ones.  “Leah, things will be all right.  They will work themselves out --- you’ll see.  If there’s anything I can do, like take work hours when you are trying to sort things out, just let me know.  Moreover, I won’t breathe a word of this.  You can take that promise to the bank.”

Leah stared into the face of the big cat’s ancient enemy and found only concern and genuine friendliness.  She squeezed Maude’s paws. 

“Thank you so much, Maudie.  You are a great friend and I appreciate your support.”

From that day forward, at least one big cat in the Mara had real affection for a hyena.  

The concerned Deputy Mayor, Maude Hyena

            Shane Simba entered the shaded walls enclosing Johanna Delacroix’s house in the old quarter of Mombasa.  He was accompanied by his two Masai morani.  A tall and stately houseboy, wearing a white caftan, answered the door.  He led Shane to the living room which was amazingly cool after a scorching day.  Johanna greeted him warmly but not effusively.  There were no erotic undertones to her welcome and she wore a modest dress, unlike the plunging necklines of yore.  Tarek brought a tray and they sat, smoking cigarettes and drinking good Scotch.  Their conversation went easily, as if there had been no break in their relationship.  It was obvious to both that they had changed dramatically in the years since their affair ended.  Johanna spoke openly of her relationships with Shane’s brothers, Sefu and Sam.  She was frank about having been aggressive sexually and frequenting too many bars which brought her to the realization that she needed reform on the double.  He spoke of his life after Catherine’s death, his children, both legitimate and otherwise.  He skirted the issue of his marriage to Betty, only saying that she had pulled his family back together.  The hour was late when they finally dined on shish kebab and fresh vegetables, steamed lightly and well seasoned. 

            After midnight, Shane rose to leave.  Johanna stood too.  She put her hand on his arm. 

“This evening has been very special, Shane.  Thank you for coming.  I know you have a very full plate these days.”

“Johanna.”  It was more a moan than the mere mention of her name. 

He took her and held her closely to his heart which was beating wildly.  He put his lips to her hair.

“I think I’m on the verge of being a whore again.  I still have incredible feelings for you,” she whispered. 

“Never a whore, Johanna - I was partly responsible for that with my indecision about us.”

    They came together as if they had never been apart or torn asunder by negative feelings.  Whatever transpired between the two in the past had been erased automatically by the intense infatuation they had always felt when in each other’s presence.  They made love time and again on the exotic bed in Johanna’s roof top room.  The Masai, realizing their boss wasn’t coming down anytime soon, relaxed in the kitchen and chatted with Tarek over cups of strong Turkish coffee until dawn broke sending faint rays across the walled courtyard and bubbling fountain that was a lion's head. 
 

Johanna and Shane in her bedroom......

            I took three days off and went to Tsavo with Lachlan to revisit the home of his youth.  We made a brief stopover at his parents and found them the same - his mother solicitous, his father sitting in a corner watching television barely noticing us.  Much of the time was spent in his red truck crossing the primeval bush country included in the park.  There, Lachlan told me of the fact that Tsavo male lions aren’t usually maned.  He is, as was his dad.  We saw several of the mane-less males in the bush that seemed much larger than the average male lion and didn’t return our friendly waves. 

“They consider us Serengeti plains lions when we are maned.  They think of us as spoiled softies,” he laughed in explanation of the snub.  “It was two male lions without manes that were the man-eaters of the railroad crowd here in the late 1800's.  I was just kidding when I told you I was descended from them,” he said, giving me a hearty pat to the thigh. 

“I wasn’t all that worried about it anyway,” I giggled. 

            We spent two nights in the home of his childhood friend, a male lion with a slight ruff instead of a full mane.  He was super friendly, with a portly lioness wife who was one hell of a cook. 

A picture I snapped of my wonderful Lachlan at the marker in Tsavo West...

            Leah was waiting on Trevor’s veranda when he arrived at his home on the Mara River.  He still wore his doctor’s white lab coat. 

“Trevor, do you still think I’m toying with you?” she asked as she came to the steps to greet him. 

He held her closely, whispering, “No, my darling Leah.  I had no right saying those things to you.  Come inside.”

    She spent her first full night in his home.  Her children, with the exception of Imani, were at various camps before they started a new school session.  It was a Friday evening, leaving Saturday morning free for her to rise early and have an omelet ready when he woke up.  He came into the kitchen still heavy-eyed from sleep. 

“This is the ticket, Leah.  I want us to be this way for the rest of our lives,” he told her, as she pushed large slabs of crisply cooked bacon on his plate. 

      Shane Simba spent an extra three days in Mombasa, spending every additional night with Johanna Delacroix.  It was not exactly starting from square one for the couple.  It was more like an extension of the passionate affair that had held them in thralldom originally.  When Shane arrived back in the Mara and exited his helicopter, he was once more besotted with the gorgeous Johanna.  Betty, still angered by his slap, made a miscalculation and decided to abandon him, thinking he would rush after her as he had before.  She took up residence in her redecorated home on Leoparde Drive.  She left Solly and the twins in the mansion with their nannies and began research on a new book.  She waited for the call from Shane that failed to come.  What did arrive, by special messenger, were separation papers he had filed with his littermate and attorney, Sam Simba.  Betty fell in a dead faint upon receiving them, having to be revived by her housekeeper and friend, Babs, who had come with her from the mansion.  When she recovered slightly from her swoon, she phoned her dearest and oldest pal, Wilda Wildebeest and sobbed for help.  Wilda arrived immediately and attempted to soothe the distraught Betty who had engaged in a major fuck up. 

            Three days later, Betty made another fatal error in dealing with her husband.  In a state of anger and against the advice of Wilda, she called a press conference at her home on Leoparde Drive.  There she told avid reporters that the President had asked her for a divorce.  It hit the international news media immediately angering Shane Simba no end.  He closed ranks with his children and refused to take any calls from Betty, his office staff (but not me) referring her to Simba Brothers if she needed information. 

             Bertram Baboon had an emergency appendectomy.  I found him ensconced in a major suite in the Exotic Animal Clinic, holding court with his wife, Gloria, and several contract stars from Baboon-Simba Studios.  His room was packed with fawning visitors.  I had taken him a bunch of flowers from our garden that Lachlan has carefully cultivated.  He was so busily engaged with his sycophants that I made my way out of the room and to the hall where I almost bodily ran into Roy Lee and Janice Simba as they arrived with an elaborate pot of orchids.   

“What in the hell’s going on with Shane and Betty?” asked Roy Lee, knowing that I definitely saw more of his brother than his pride.

“It seems there’s a separation in the offing,” I said, trying to remain circumspect. 

“Damn, the whole Mara is falling apart!" exclaimed Roy Lee, probably alluding also to the separation of his daughter Leah and Ashley Lyon. 

I had heard this tidbit from Ralph and Mildred on one of my visits to their home.