Girl with the Golden Voice (10 page)

At first Tom was glad that Rebecca was not at Big House to help her mother. His feelings were jolted by a brief exchange of words between Angela and his father. Angela was carrying off a tray of empty wine glasses.

‘How is she?'

‘She is well, Bwana. Resting. The girls are spoiling her.'

Tom took his chance to speak to Angela in the kitchen.

‘Is it Rebecca? My father was just asking.'

‘Yes, Bwana.'

Angela turned away to busy herself at the sink. She felt awkward, embarrassed, under an unpleasant scrutiny. A servant could not speak as freely as a mother might want to.

‘Is she sick, Angela?'

‘Yes, Bwana.'

‘What's the matter?'

‘Bwana, I cannot say. Your mother and the Signora have seen her.'

‘Both of them? Hell's bells. Is it malaria or something?'

Angela shrugged and thanked God that He had sent Maura into the kitchen to rescue her.

‘Mum, what's this about Rebecca?'

‘What's Angela told you?'

‘Not much. Dad asked how “she” was. I just guessed.'

‘Tom, come out here.'

She led the way into the laundry garden. She was standing at the stone slab looking down at him before she said another word.

‘Tom, there's been an accident … Now Rebecca's fine. She'll be about the place again soon. Is that enough?'

Mother and son exchanged frank, solemn looks, each recognising that they were on the edge of a declaration of a truth that he had been hiding and she had been avoiding.

‘She's a house girl, Tom. Is she anything more to you?'

‘You know she is.'

‘And you know I'm disappointed.'

Tom was galvanised.

‘Look, are you going to tell me, or am I going over there right now to find out for myself?'

‘Julius Rubai tried to rape her.' She averted her eyes as she spoke.

‘Jesus! When?'

‘This afternoon. Tom, don't think of going over. I'll tell you what I know. Just listen.'

She began with the arrival of Stephen Kamau sweating under the load of Julius's body. ‘Martha had come for her mother. By the time Rafaella and I arrived, she was on her bed, bent double and covered with a heavy blanket. But there was no rape. No rape. He tried but she fought him off … Stephen could have crushed the life out of him. Thank God he didn't. Tom, she is so full of shame. She feels soiled. She is very, very tender. There are still a lot of tears to come. I hope so.'

‘I've got to go over there.'

‘No. Angela will know when … Look, I've sort of known about this … between you for a long time. She's, it's been years and years with her. Long before you ever suspected. I used to watch her as we set off to drive you back up to Pembroke even. I didn't take much notice then. I was hoping it would go away for her sake. That bloody palaver with the red dress! She's such an innocent. So beautiful. In some ways I wish I could hate her, but you can't, can you? I'm sorry. So stupid.'

As Tom listened to his mother's words, a reaction of hot anger was soon added to bewilderment and in no time he was into wasteful unspoken frustrations. If only he had been less self-centred and not gone off in a huff after his confrontation with Julius Rubai. If only she had stayed at Big House until Angela had returned to the village. It went on and on.

They returned to the house. He stared blankly out of the kitchen window and allowed the pointless litany to wash over him.

His mother was anxious to go back to her guests. ‘Tom, we can't do anything useful just now. Lucy will wonder what kind of place she's come to. Tom, I know, well … the pain, but you've got to be patient, for her sake. She needs time.'

‘How did the Rubais take all this?'

Maura sighed and shifted a small pile of plates from the table to the sink. ‘I'm not sure. Julius was out of it, of course. I think Sally started to pray. But Abel Rubai. Cool, old Abel. Nothing much shows on the surface. He didn't even get up from his seat when Stephen carried his son in like a slab of meat. I noticed that his hand wasn't all that steady. By now … he will have woven it all in. By the end of the week it will probably be Rebecca's fault. Strange man!'

Next morning Rebecca was restless. She wanted to be active, to distract herself, to be away from the village. She discovered that Big House had been deserted by its inhabit ants. Mama, the askaris and the gateman were around, but Christmas business had drawn the others away. Lucy had taken up Rafaella's invitation to have a look around the dukas in Naivasha town, Maura was in Nakuru with the twins, destination Gilani's butchery with her big order for the season. Tom and Alex were dashing about all over the farm, supervising the collection and loading the last consignments of flowers and vegetables for the European Christmas.

The laundry garden gave her the chance to lose herself in the regular rhythms of the big wash. Already she had showered herself in the servants' bathhouse, scrubbing her flesh uncompromisingly. She brushed her teeth and shampooed her hair twice.

In the early morning rush there had been confusion between father and son about who should have picked up the order book from the house office. Tom, too, was appreciating the distraction of hard work. He was hurrying out with the book when he caught the sound of an unmistakable voice above the throb of the Land Cruiser's engine which he had left idling on the gravel patch while he dashed inside.

Tension, electricity, zing held them locked rigid in the positions of the moment when their eyes met. Vibrations to attract and repel were balanced so finely that all conscious thought was wiped from their minds. The purity of silence spoke more distinctly than words ever could.

Tom took the first step out of the spell and moved from the cei-apple hedge towards the washing trough.

Rebecca held up a glistening arm. ‘No, Tom. I did not expect to see you. Mama said …'

‘It was my fault.'

‘No, no!'

‘I swear I had no idea about that monster. Why couldn't you tell me?'

There was anguish and remorse in Tom's voice, but the words were not coming out right. He tried again. ‘Look, I know it's not …' He could scarcely believe that his next words were going to be ‘your fault' when he held them back. ‘I could have protected you from …' His furious anger with his own crassness would not allow him to finish the sentence.

‘How, Thomas? What could I tell you? You would have told me that I was being a silly little girl. What do we have between us?'

‘I love you.'

‘And I love you. You are my life. But we cannot tell anyone. We're afraid. What hope is there?'

‘God almighty. I've brought all this on you!'

‘No, that's not true.'

‘You seem so calm.'

‘I am not calm. Inside … my mind will not be still. A thing has happened. I cannot change it. I came to do the washing. It helps. I thought I would be alone.'

Tom was impatient. He hoped for the tiniest sign that healing was possible. There was a long silence and a stillness, too, when they looked away from each other. Rebecca was turned away when she spoke again.

‘I feel the hands on me and I shudder. See the eyes full of anger, smell the drink on him. I speak these things. I want to vomit them out of me.'

Out of the mess of emotion that held him in thrall, one clean, clear fear was rising. He had not anticipated it. He could lose her.

‘Rebecca, we're going to come through this. You know that, don't you?'

Her solemn gaze was fixed on the hot, foamy water. Her eyes were weary and resigned.

‘Thomas, perhaps this is not meant to be. Perhaps God is speaking to us.'

For the first time in his life, Tom McCall experienced terror, a few seconds of terror. At one and the same time he was possessed by numbness and a hot, rushing confusion of thoughts, a realisation that this time it was out of his power to return to a satisfactory status quo. His own weakness and fear had killed his chance of happiness.

‘Rebecca, I'm going. Perhaps I haven't given you enough time. I love you more at this moment … I promise I'll keep out of the way until you are ready, however long it takes. I'm learning to understand. Be patient with me.'

He forced himself to move away. The distant sound of the Cruiser's engine reminded him of his father and the world of work.

‘Thomas!' He swivelled. ‘Is it possible?'

He stood transfixed, five, ten, fifteen seconds. At the end of those silent moments he nodded his head, half a dozen times. He managed a croaked farewell. ‘Darling, it's going to happen. I think God wants it.'

t was evening and the fields all over Londiani were quiet. The last truck had set out for the airport and the night flight to Amsterdam. It had been a busy time around the lake — fresh vegetables and perfect flowers for the Christmas tables of Europe.

Tom tapped on the open door of Stephen Kamau's office. Embarrassed by such deference, Stephen ushered his guest towards the single armchair in the room. He called it his meditation seat.

There was a chilled Tusker on the table for the boss's son and a soda for himself. Stephen felt all sorts of awkwardness about this meeting. It was easy to guess the kinds of things Mr Tom wanted to talk about. He himself had strong opinions but did not want to offend the young bwana.

Tom had been a year old when he and Angela first arrived in Londiani. He had enjoyed working for Mr Don and was even more fulfilled by the extra responsibility that Mr Alex gave him. One day he expected to be playing the role of elder statesman to the muscular young man occupying his blue chair on that late afternoon. This boy with his mother's bright eyes and his father's fair hair had always been a good friend.

The two men faced each other in the half-light.

‘How is she?'

‘Oh, busybodying as usual, just like her Mama.'

Stephen was a very big man, tall, not obviously muscular but immensely strong. His voice was deeply resonant, and when he spoke the sound was mellow, as if it would be as easy for him to sing as to talk.

‘I think she is scared for me. You know how it happens in this country. I'm riding up to town on my bicycle. Some strong fellows bundle me into a van. Next thing they find me in tiny pieces on Eburu. Unless the jackals get to me first.'

‘Are you afraid this could happen?'

‘Shame's a pretty big problem with some people. A Kelenjin boy humiliated by a Coastie like me. They won't forget. Sure hope I don't ever have to ask Mr Rubai for a job.'

Stephen's chuckle was calm and melodious.

‘I want to marry her, Stephen.'

Stephen winced. ‘Well, I must say I wasn't expecting to get so far down so soon.'

‘I've held back too long. But what do you say?'

‘It would be a mistake. I really think it would. And you know the reasons.'

‘Perhaps I don't.'

‘Mostly it's just people.' Stephen sighed. ‘On both sides. They can't help it. Fear, that's the bottom of it.'

‘Forget about others. What do you think?'

‘You've got to live in the world. Perhaps if you had a shamba up in the north, in the desert.' He chuckled again. ‘It would probably be tough up there, too. The Pokot and the Turkana would give you a hard time.'

‘And you're sending her down to Malindi. She'll be safe from me down there.'

‘No, I'm not sending her. The Father gave us free will. And I would not stop her marrying whoever she chooses.'

‘As long as he's black.'

‘No, sir, as long as she wants him and can be happy with him.'

Time for a long pull on their drinks.

‘Rebecca needs time away from the village. This has hit us all hard. Gives me some very ungodly thoughts. She will go after Christmas.'

‘Boxing Day. We've got two cars going down. My father will be taking the plane. You know how he is about the farm. Rebecca could come with us. Don't worry, she could travel in the other car. Drop her off in Malindi. We'll be miles away down in Diani.'

Stephen hesitated.

‘Angela's coming, as usual.'

‘All my women leaving me. Mr and Mrs Shah are coming up for Jane and Martha for a few days in Langata. Twenty years and they still love Angela like a daughter.'

‘I didn't realise.'

‘Oh, don't be sorry for me. I'm planning to take a few of the village boys on a long bike ride, down Longonot way, perhaps to the edge of the Mara. Four or five days. We've got people who will give us food and water, a place to sleep.'

Seventy-two hours after Julius Rubai had entered Rebecca's bedroom, Stephen and Tom were learning to contain the shock of it, the sense of angry outrage. Already the emotions were being stored away in compartments. The two men were able to smile, to shake hands, to feel pleasantly weary at the end of a hard day's work.

For Rebecca, back home and alone in that bedroom, those minutes with Julius had lost none of their horror. The feel of the sweaty hands on her body, the weight of the damp flesh pressing down, every frantic grasp and thrust, they were all there. Wherever a line of thought began, it always led her back to the scene. She was looking down on the girl who was her startled self, drowning under the fury of a man made savage by the intoxicating thrill of lust. But, even now, there were short moments of relief, as brief as a scattering of raindrops on a dusty plain.