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There's a detonation and Arthur somersaults in his seat, then the rotors stop and the flight attendant starts for the cockpit door.
She ducks inside, closing it behind her, an air of secrecy to the proceedings.
The passengers fix their eyes on the closed partition.
Uncle Agravaine gives Arthur an alarmed look. Arthur can't say he isn't gazing apprehensively at the cockpit door too, though he coughs into his fist and does his best to appear unshaken.
When the cockpit door opens again there's a collective gasp, the passengers of the charter flight gaping at the flight attendant with a mixture of horror and hope in their faces.
The flight attendant slips down the aisle on her way to her own seat, a pinched look to her. “There's been a slight problem,” she says, as she fastens her seatbelt tight. “But it's all right now. It's been fixed.”
The plane dips.
****
Arthur wakes with a groan. When he blinks it's to see the plane's carcass hanging over his head, its belly gaping open, one side of it entirely exposed to the wilderness of the jungle.
The plane must have crashed, Arthur thinks, as he contemplates the evidence, the torn fuselage and the wing sections lying a few yards away from the body of the plane.
He has no idea where he is so he cranes his neck to establish his position.
Before he can, a girl lands in his lap, all tangled, fluffed up blond hair. She's wearing a leather bralet and skirt as if it's Halloween. “Are you alive?” she asks in a light voice.
“Of course I'm alive; I'm bloody looking at you!” Arthur snaps, not sure if he's hallucinating the girl or not, but angry enough to retort.
The girl's green eyes go round and she makes a soft 'eek' sound right before cupping his cheeks, leaning over him and asking very politely, “Well, are you alright then?”
“I'm not sure!” Arthur snaps, the shock of her warm fingers on his skin confirming he's not hallucinating after all. “I don't think I am at all!” For one he's sitting close to the wreck of a plane; and if that's not enough of a disaster he can't quite breathe. Now he doesn't know if his shortness of breath is due to some sort of wound or to the fact that he's got a lapful of girl sitting on top of him, but the fact remains that he's gasping.
“I can check!” the girl offers merrily as she starts pawing at him.
“Are you a medical professional?” Arthur asks, eyebrow arched.
The girl puffs her cheeks out. “No, but you're not getting one in the jungle.”
Arthur is forcibly reminded of where they are and what has happened. “Oh my god, I need to contact London, tell them I survived, check for survivors.”
The girl grimaces. “I'm afraid the plane's radio is busted and that the other passengers are dead.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked,” she says with conviction, nodding at the wreckage.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “You thought I was dead too while I was patently alive and awake, so I'm not sure your observational skills are up to scratch.”
The girl folds her arms across her chest and turns her head to the side. “You're free to check again.”
Arthur's hand lands on her bare upper thigh. “You're sitting on top of me!”
The girl looks down. “Oh, yes, you're right. I'll be getting off you.”
Arthur groans.
*****
The radio has gone up in flames. Arthur's phone is busted and the phones of the other passengers are either broken or melted.
There's no way to contact civilisation. “I'm lost in the jungle and there's no way for me to launch an SOS.”
“Yeah, I know and sympathise,” says the girl, “that's exactly what happened to me.”
“How long ago?” Arthur asks, taking in the girl's apparel. It looks as though she's lived in the wild for quite a long time.
“Oh I can't be sure,” she says, looking up at the waning orb of the sun. “There's no calendars or technology here.”
“Give or take?”
“Oh, I'd say two years or perhaps three?”
Arthur wants to cry in frustration.
*****
“My name is Elena, by the way,” the girl says over dinner, which consists of a tree leaf laden with some kind of fruit and slices of what looks like meat.
Arthur's brow knits in thought, a vague memory resurfacing. “Elena what?”
“Elena Gawant,” Elena says, holding up her tray leaf and waggling her eyebrows.
“Of course,” Arthur says, clapping his thigh before picking up a piece of the meat. “You're the heiress who vanished on that trip years ago.”
Elena nods, the corners of her mouth turning down as she parses his meaning. “Did the news make it back to England?”
“Of course, it made the headlines,” Arthur says, remembering the media hoopla surrounding Elena's disappearance. “For a while there was nothing else talked about.”
“And now they no longer mention me?” Elena asks, pouting, her lips, thick and pretty, sticking out like a duck's. Her expression would be funny if it wasn't a bit sad. Either way it's truly endearing.
“Um,” says Arthur, reminding himself to be mindful of the girl's pain. “I'm less aware of the news surrounding you now that it's no longer first page material?”
“Mm,” Elena says, growing silent and thoughtful.
Arthur munches on his meat.
After a while he starts talking again, if for no reason other than to cheer Elena up. “So what kind of meat is this?”
“Oh, that I hunted down myself,” says Elena, sticking her chest out. “It's hippo.”
Arthur stops chewing and spits out his mouthful.
“What, it's quite wholesome!”
*****
Rain falls down in sheets, thunder echoing in the sky. When they finally dive into the cave, Arthur's sodding wet, his shirt, a £200 bespoke garment, is plastered to his back and stomach like a second, uncomfortably wet skin. “God, I hate the jungle.”
Elena places her hand on his shoulder to give it a thorough squeeze. “Oh, I'm so sorry you're not happy here.” She smiles sweetly, looking as though she's genuinely moved by his pain. “But you know, it's not so bad. I used to hate it here too in the beginning. Hated not having telly to watch and central heating or cocoa cups to sip at while I watch crowds pass by. But after a while spent out here, I realised city life didn't suit me.”
“How can this suit you?” Arthur says, pointing at the wilderness outside, where it looks as though nature is trying to re-enact the Flood again.
“Well, I realise it's a lot,” Elena says, leading him to the back of the cave, where it's warmer – well, less damp. “It can be quite overwhelming fighting for survival. Believe me, I get that. And I thought I wouldn't make it here too when I was as new as you. Because I've always been clumsy and quirky and shy, I thought I couldn't be tough enough to survive out here.”
“But you have,” Arthur observes as he gives her a once over; she's fashioned clothes from what the jungle can offer. She's found food and shelter. She's coped. “Clearly.”
“Yes, I have!” she says animatedly, pushing off her toes a little, like an eager child, except that she becomes taller than him stretched out like that. “And that's why I love this place now. Because I know I've made it and it hasn't tamed me. It's enabled me to prove myself, if only to myself.” Elena's forehead gets wrinkly as she sinks deep into thought. “I'm no longer the old Elena. I'm an improved Elena!”
Arthur feels a certain kind of warmth bloom through him at Elena's display of pride in herself, her sweet antics, even though it's patently impossible because he's drenched to the bone. “Well, I'm not sure I want to become a new Arthur.”
Elena throws herself in his arms and lays her head on his shoulder, her wet hair tickling his nose. “I'll help you get back to civilisation if you want. I'll save you!”
Arthur sneezes.
*****
Elena crouches behind a tall bush, whose leaves grow luxurious, a makeshift spear in her hand. “If you want me to teach you how to hunt you need to be quiet.”
Arthur harrumphs, his release of breath pushing his fringe up. “I know how to hunt! I took part in many fox hunts in my day, I'll have you know.”
“This isn't as easy as that!” Elena exclaims, her eyes glinting with merriment as she takes a stab at his hunting prowess.
Arthur stammers, then blurts out, “What do you mean 'easy'. Hunting the fox is by no means easy!”
“Well, it is,” Elena says, very serious as she starts to explain just why that is. “Think about it, you're armed, mounted, have dogs doing the pursuing, you have an unfair advantage.”
Arthur begs to differ. Fox hunting is an art that's been refined through the centuries. “That's not the point...by a mile.”
“Then what is?” Elena asks, eyes round and, Arthur perceives, green.
“Well, a lot of factors go into making you a good--”
Arthur is cut off by the mighty roar of a beast he can't identify.
Elena jumps out of the bush they've been hiding behind and faces the antelope that she'd enticed here by laying food out for it. Behind it a tiger growls, showing glinting fangs.
With a noise worthy of the tiger itself, Elena circles the beast and lobs the spear at it.
The tiger flops onto its side.
*****
“I won't eat tiger,” he exclaims as he follows Elena, who's dragging the carcass by its paws back into their cave.
“The tiger would have eaten you!” she says, struggling as the carcass gets caught in fat overarching roots.
“Should that change my outlook?” Arthur asks as he helps Elena disentangle the dead tiger. “Here, let me.”
“No?” Elena asks. “But I thought that between eating and getting eaten you'd prefer the former.”
Arthur doesn't address her point. “I bet it's chewy,” he complains, dreaming of tender filets mignons.
“Oh, I can assure you it's not!” Elena says, tugging on the tiger's paw, as she wrests it back onto the path leading home.
Arthur should have known; of course she's eaten tiger before.
****
They're sharing a breakfast of deciduous fruit when the roaring sound of rotors splits the air. Arthur leaps up, dropping his food, and runs into the clearing.
Right enough a helicopter is cleaving the sky, the sun shining bright against its body, the glimmer of its rays against the metal surface blinding him.
Arthur jumps up and down, waiving his hands. “We're here!” he screams though he knows there's zero chance he will be heard. “We're here!”
“Arthur,” Elena says when Arthur's winded and doubling over, the sound of the rotors dwindling to a buzz that's less loud than that of the local – and extremely bothersome – mosquitoes. “It's gone. I'm sorry.”
Trying to get his breath back, Arthur nods. The disappointment stings but Elena's touch almost melts it all away.
*****
“I stink,” Arthur says as he lifts his arm to sniff it.
“I could have told you that,” Elena says as she whittles a stick into a spear.
“I don't like it.”
“I didn't say anything because I thought you were rather fond of your clothes and didn't want to get rid of them, but I'd gladly burn them they reek so.”
Arthur can't say that he doesn't smell by now. His clothes have become impregnated with his body odours because he's worn them so long. And the grass and mud stains... they're showing too. But he likes his shirt and he likes having trousers to wear, so he's not inclined to part with them, even for the short time it would take for him to wash them. Besides the alternative would be going around the way Elena does. He's not sure he's ready for animal hide couture.
But his clothes imperatively need a wash...
“Well, I do need to do my laundry.”
Elena leads him to a stream, creepers and other climbing vines hanging over it as the boughs of big trees stretch over the water. Mangroves push out of the boggy soil surrounding the shore and lily pads gently float on the surface. A cascade thunders over a bed of rock. Arthur bets it could serve as a shower.
He starts unbuttoning.
Elena coughs. “As enticing as the view is, er, sure to be, I suppose I should—” She points backwards, at the thick of the jungle. “Bugger off and give you some privacy, shouldn't I—” She reddens a little. “Because you and your big pecs are going to be naked.”
Arthur bursts out laughing. “You can stay.”
“Can I?” Elena says eagerly, her face going all red.
Arthur's throat dries in a second flat. “Yes,” he croaks, slowly starting to strip, poking his chest out and tightening his biceps so as to show them off to the best advantage.
Elena doesn't take her eyes off him, though her blush spreads to her neck.
Not knowing whether he ought to go for a full monty or not, Arthur hesitates over his boxers. He's quite proud of his body and thinks Elena appreciates it. But he also doesn't want to strain his relationship with her. He doesn't wish to because Elena is lovely, bright, brave and has a heart of gold. Jeopardising what they have doesn't seem worth it. So Arthur leaves his boxers on and wades into the cool water, stepping under the natural cascade.
Hands cupped around her mouth, she shouts, “Watch out for crocs.”
As it turns out, it's not crocs Arthur has to watch out for but a mischievous baboon that steals all his clothes before he can even wash them.
****
“Here you are,” Elena says, handing him an item Arthur can define in no other way but as a leather skirt. “I think it should fit you.”
Arthur waves his hand in the air in a gesture of profound, instinctive denial. “No, I'm not going jungle chic.”
Elena scrunches up her nose. “But it's either that or going semi-naked. And it can get pretty cold in the jungle.”
Arthur crosses his arms. “Nuh-uh.”
“I made these with all my heart!” Elena adds, toeing the dirt with her foot.
Arthur sighs, “All right, come on, give.”
Elena hands him the skirt. “I was thinking I should do a top to match as well.”
“Don't stretch your luck,” Arthur says, as he pulls the 'skirt' up his legs.
****
“So,” Arthur asks, watching the flames of their campfire leap and crackle, shedding an orange glow over Elena's lovely features, “there must be something you miss of civilisation.”
“Told you,” Elena says, leaning into the warmth of the blaze. “I don't miss the person I was though I do miss chocolate.”
“Creature comforts?” Arthur probes. “Technology? Driving, window down, wind in your hair?”
“No, I used to be a shitty driver,” says Elena, her mouth pursing. “I used to reverse right into mail boxes, hydrants and once, memorably, into a phone box.”
Arthur chuckles, warmth that doesn't come from the fire seeping into his chest. “What about people? A significant other perhaps?”
“Oh no,” Elena says, shaking her head, errant knotty wisps of hair bouncing and shifting as she moves. “I used to be far too clumsy to have a steady boyfriend. They usually dumped me after they realised I'd flail or trip or say something utterly mortifying or cringe-worthy in front of their friends.”
With all the vehemence he has in his body, Arthur says, “Then they were idiots, each and every one of them.”
“I do miss my dad though,” Elena says reflectively. “He's a very busy businessman and has other family to take care of him, but he always loved me. My mum died a few years ago though, so she can't be sad about me being lost.”
“My father died a few months ago,” Arthur says, his throat clogging up. “That's why I was on that plane with Uncle Agravaine. I was flying out to meet overseas investors.”
“I'm so sorry, Arthur,” Elena says, scooting closer.
“I'm not sure he would have mourned me as anything other than the heir to his business, had he lived.”
Elena takes his hand. “You can't be sure of that. I'm positive your dad loved you.”
“I didn't even call him 'dad',” Arthur says, remembering multiple encounters with his father, all of them ending in bitterness. “It was always 'sir' and 'father'.”
“What about your mum?” Elena asks softly, squeezing his hand.
“Oh, she died giving birth to me.”
Elena puts her head on his shoulder. Belatedly, as an afterthought, she kisses his neck.
Arthur's never known better comfort.
*****
Arthur's walking in single file behind Elena, who's telling him about the dressage prizes she won as a girl, when he sees it. The snake is coiled around a branch. Its tongue flicks out right before it pounces.
Arthur darts forward, careening into Elena. They both tumble into the undergrowth.
“What?” Elena says around a gasp, as she wriggles under him.
But Arthur has no time to explain. He rolls onto his back and pins the snake's head to the ground with the flint knife Elena made.
When Elena realises what's happened, her eyes widen and she exclaims, “Shit, you saved my life.”
Arthur looks at the dead snake, then at Elena, his stomach flip-flopping at the gratitude he sees shining in her eyes. Suddenly a bit self-conscious, he passes a hand through his hair. “To be quite honest, and it's a bit hard since I'd love to think of myself as a hero, what I did there was nothing. You've been saving my life every day since I crashed here.”
Arthur finds himself with an armful of Elena, all flailing limbs and. soft mouth, lips closing over his for a kiss that starts sloppy and becomes the sweetest thing Arthur's ever experienced.
*****
Elena drags him into their cave. Her hand, slender but strong, pulls down his hand-made 'clothing'. They lie down; his own hand following the length of her leg, his breath getting caught as she touches him and guides him into her warmth. The moment crystallises. Everything is Elena, the free spirit — her personality, her touch, for she's always generous with it and never self-conscious.
It's all bright eyes shining in the half-light of the cave, soft lips nuzzling into his neck, hot breath fanning his skin.
Her laughter is heady; the taste of her mouth is sweet and soft, like candy, but of the kind that comes with a fizzy, electrifying after-taste. Arthur wants nothing more than to kiss her and kiss her for as long as he can.
Her body curves around his, cushions his, takes his as he enjoys hers. She's soft but she displays strength as she meets him move for move, their bodies sliding together in a counterpoint that's like a tide, waxing and waning.
The wet tightness around him is as thrilling as the sighs that welcome his thrusts are heartbreaking.
Before he knows it, he's on a slippery slope, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath weaving hot in the space between their mouths. Unable to hold on, he slides down the precipice she hurtles him over with her moans and her rocking.
It's over then, but it isn't; it's only a beginning that takes shape in the form of an endless night. It lasts and lasts in the shape of her quiet sighs as he moves over her, as he slides down her body and tastes the taste of her with his mouth.
As Arthur's heart expands with his new knowledge of her, the dawn crackles with expectation for a brand new future.
He wants to embrace it as he embraces Elena in his aftershock.
*****
They're sprawling in the grass, tall flowers of every colour standing sentry around them, waving in the wind like a blurry, motion-filled rainbow. Trees, whose trunks are larger than the span of five men's arms, surround them, cackling monkeys pursuing each other among their branches.
Arthur doesn't even mind them or their noises anymore. He smiles wide and perhaps besottedly before fitting his and Elena's mouths together.
Elena's fingers tangle into his hair and tug as her tongue invades his mouth, no shyness to it, only a keen desire for him he feels deep in his own gut.
They're in the midst of an eager kiss, when a helicopter flies overhead, the shriek of its engine causing the birds hiding in the trees to scatter into flight.
Elena stops kissing him, tilting her head to follow the helicopter's trajectory.
For a moment Arthur watches it fend the sky too.
Hands on either side of his face, Elena turns his head so he can look into her eyes. “Don't you want to signal to it?”
“Signal to it?” he asks with a frown.
“Yes, you know, to let them know you're here so they can rescue you.”
Arthur kisses Elena's nose. “Do you want to leave the jungle?”
Elena's chest fills under his. “Not really? No? I have baboon friends.”
“Not the one that stole my clothes, I hope?” Arthur waggles his eyebrows.
Elena drops her eyes, colour popping on her cheeks. But then she catches his gaze again, her thumbs skimming his cheekbones. “I don't want to leave, but you've always wanted to. So let them know, hurry.”
“Would you come with me?” he asks, petting her hair away from her forehead and disentangling a dried up leaf from the tips. “To London?”
“Sure,” she says, hesitant, uncertain.
Arthur nods and the light in Elena's eyes dims. He kisses her again, more passionate and fierce, their tongues sliding together until Arthur's short of air and Elena’s legs have wrapped around his waist. “No, you're not sure,” Arthur says, his tone serious because he knows he's guessed right. “But it doesn't matter.”
“Arthur— ” she gasps, her eyes tearing up a bit as her lips pucker with the sad turn of her mouth.
“Because I don't want to go back either.”
Elena's body goes tight under his. “That's not true!” she says, a trace of indignation lacing her tone. “You're only lying to me because you think that will make me happy.”
Arthur kisses her mouth swiftly and chastely. “No,” he says, laying his head on her chest, her breasts rising with her breaths. “I'm not lying. I wasn't happy in England. I was only doing my duty as I saw it. I took up the mantle from my father because I thought I had to, but it wasn't making me happy.”
“Still,” Elena says, playing with his hair. “It's such a great sacrifice to make.”
“It's not a sacrifice,” he says, mouthing at her skin. “I'm happy with you. I don't want to be anywhere else but here.”
“Even with the monkeys?” she asks.
“Even with the monkeys,” he chuckles, the sound of the helicopter waning and waning as it flies elsewhere.
The End.