Girl with the Golden Voice (45 page)

For the first time in a long while Abel was pleased with the perceived change of behaviour of his son and heir. When Sally had announced at dinner recently that Rebecca Kamau had broken off her engagement to the McCall son, he had paid little attention. It was only when Julius had returned from yet another of his visits to the United States that he began to take an interest. Julius became very animated when he discovered that this girl was free again. This time he was determined to make her his own.

‘Dad, think about it. She actually came to the house to tell us. Mama says she arrived soaked to the skin. Why did she do this?'

‘I'm not entirely sure on that one, son, but there is something else which attracts me to this … plan. Can we call it that?'

Julius nodded enthusiastically. ‘Call it what you like, but this woman is going to be mine!' He was thrilled that his father, his sternest critic, was interested in one of his projects. ‘This time there are going to be no slip-ups!'

‘Bring her into the family and she'll be a great asset.'

‘You mean to have a famous singer?'

‘A famous singer who will bring in thousands of election votes.'

‘Dad, she's a beautiful woman, not a prize heifer!'

‘No matter, son. Now, how can we work on this together?'

* * *

Ten minutes after the photograph of the band and the president had been taken, Mary was not at Rebecca's side for the first time since they had entered State House and had left her sitting alone in a hallway. Julius, smiling and summoning all the warmth of feeling he could raise, caught her off guard.

‘Dear Rebecca, fantastic! The best yet, says Toni, I'm told. I was hoping I'd catch up with you sometime tonight. Be a dear and open that door. I don't want to spill any of this precious liquid. The best. I know where they keep it.'

She obeyed meekly, annoyed with herself for being so careless, and found that they had come into a small, windowless room. Julius placed the wine glasses on the small table between two armchairs. He sat down, picked up a glass, crossed his legs and leaned back.

‘A toast, to tomorrow night's concert.' He raised his glass. She sat down but stayed on the edge of her chair, raised her glass and took the tiniest sip. She was regaining her composure. She could cheerfully have thrown wine and glass into that smug, confident face, but she was protected by the discipline. She had visualised this moment when she would come face to face with Julius a thousand times and remembered that, above all, she must not kindle his anger. Inside her head she was holding a picture of Tom. In his farm clothes he was astride Bertie's motorbike and smiling into the evening sunlight. She looked down into the pale green liquid in her glass and managed a weak smile. Julius misunderstood and saw the smile as a friendly gesture.

‘So, you've seen sense about McCall and ditched him. Mama told me. Yes, a really sensible idea, and not only for you, my dear. That clown is too stupid to see the danger he has put himself in. Oh yes, he has many enemies. Now the little colonial boy is joining a political party and standing for parliament. You are a lucky girl. Marry him and you could have been a widow in months. Unfortunately, many of our countrymen see violence as the best solution to any big problem that comes up.'

He was hoping that his words would help to extinguish the last embers of affection she had for this arrogant whitey. He understood how powerful a tool fear could be in the hands of the right people and his father had told him often enough that the Rubais were the right people. Her involuntary shiver told its own story to him.

‘You are cold, Rebecca. Shall I fetch a shawl? I know where to find one.'

‘You are very much at home here.'

‘Ah, the lady speaks … but I still know where to find a shawl!'

‘I'm not cold, thank you.'

‘Perhaps you caught a cold that day you visited. Mama tells me that you were in my bedroom. I wish I'd been there. But she didn't ask you why you came. I'm asking you now.'

‘Julius, I owe you such a lot. You have always given me good advice even if I was slow to see the sense of it. But, in the end, I began to notice ways … I'd never be anything but a wash girl.

‘Exactly!'

‘I would be all my time with white people. A lot of those smart white women are so bitchy. They didn't like me. And Tom didn't seem to notice. I think that was where things began to go wrong.'

‘Don't tell me about white women. I had enough of them when I was in Eton.'

‘You know when I went with Mary and the band, the McCalls didn't like it. Staying in a smart hotel in New York. Worst of all I was making money!'

Once she started to weave her story of a failed romance, she soon got over her distaste for telling lies. She had been doing it, off and on, since she made her big decision in her room in the Flamingo. This performance was the crucial one. She must be convincing. His next words suggested that she had succeeded.

‘Rebecca, we need to be married, you and I!'

‘Need?' Would he pick up any sense of her horror in her tone?

‘It's a natural match if you think about it honestly.'

‘Natural?'

‘Of course. You have become very famous recently. I myself will soon be elected to parliament.'

‘Nakuru South,' she whispered.

‘Yes … but, Rebecca, I am forgetting you must be tired after all the excitement.'

‘No, no. It's just that I am surprised by all this. You must understand. I am trying to get over a broken engagement.'

‘But it was you who broke it off, liberated yourself.'

‘Liberated? Yes, but it takes time to … readjust.' She added brightly, ‘That's why I'm going back to the band. For a short time.'

‘That's fine. We've got time. But if McCall is still a problem …'

Perhaps he had not meant it as a threat, but that was how she saw it. She was steeling herself to abandon all resistance.

‘Julius, what do you think is the best thing we can do?'

‘I think we will make a perfect couple. Let me show you this.' He fished into his pocket and drew out a small, dark blue box, ring size.

She was on the edge of panic. She must win herself some time, but she dare not risk provoking him.

‘Julius, you said we had time …'

The ‘we' and the warmth in the tone was the best encouragement he had ever received from Rebecca.

‘Another month in New York, I suppose.'

‘No, it's five weeks in South America, Brazil, some other places, I'm not sure.'

‘As it happens, I'm away tomorrow. My father wants me to check out some projects in Malaysia and Japan.'

‘So, that will be five weeks altogether.'

‘Five weeks what?'

She hesitated. She would like to have said, freedom, relief, even hope, but the words that came out were, ‘For me to get used to these new things.'

‘Okay, sounds reasonable.' He sounded like a banker trying to find an excuse for not lending money to a dubious character. ‘Something else. You'll like this. My parents want me to have my engagement party in the Muthaiga.'

‘Your parents?'

‘I swear to you. When I was ten … eleven, they told me that on the day I was born they vowed that they would hire the club for my engagement. That's the truth. They weren't even members back then. Hardly any blacks then. Well, the blacks will be taking over that night!'

She wanted to scream out that she had not agreed on anything yet. She fixed her mind on the tiny consolation of five weeks grace. Papa had told her that grace was a wonderful gift to the undeserving, a gift that fell on the receiver like an unexpected summer shower. Five weeks was a long time. A lot could happen in thirty-five days. She had some respite and that was something.

She was on her feet. She reached for the glass of wine and swallowed it in one. It was her turn to dish out a surprise. She made for the door. ‘I'm so late. Mary will wonder where I am. Look, I'll see you soon. Now, take care!'

She was gone before he could insist on a goodbye kiss. He was not too upset. He could wait. She was a shy girl and he was grateful for that. Five weeks would pass quickly.

* * *

The Kamaus and the McCalls had said goodnight at the entrance of the Bomas Centre. Stephen and his girls were taken by car to the Miller house in Langata to spend the night. It was a journey of less than four kilometres. Long journeys by night were not considered to be a sensible idea. Maura feared the possibility of night attacks on the road more than anything else in her life. But when Tom proposed that they travel the ninety kilometres to Naivasha at once, she made no protest. That particular night she feared more for the tender frame of mind of her eldest child. She could have saved herself a lot of bother by staying at home, but she had learned many years before that bother was the stuff of life.

Alex drove them out of the gates of the Bomas, but they had only travelled a hundred metres more when Tom asked his father to swap places.

‘Dad, would you mind? I need something to occupy my mind or I'll go bonkers. Let me drive to the end of the dual carriageway.'

The twins, still on a high, shouted encouragement from the back seats. They were still bowled over by Rebecca's performance. Eddie was a bit miffed by Tom because she was no longer going to be his new sister.

‘Foot down, Tom! No cops about tonight!'

Rollo joined in. ‘Remember that story you told us about Foster when he was boss man up in Pembroke? He and Ben Boyd made from Westlands to Gilgil in fifty-five minutes.'

‘Yeah, but that was in broad daylight.'

‘So, there's less traffic at this time of night.'

‘They did it ten years ago. Better roads, less crooks.'

Usually by this time Maura would be stepping in to calm her boisterous sons, but tonight their normalness was a comfort. She remembered every spot on that road where there had been attacks. But, for her, Tom was driving too fast, too recklessly. She tapped Alex on the shoulder. He smiled and shook his head.

Taking their cue, the twins went on. ‘Rollo, don't you think our Thomas should put his foot down?'

‘Can't wait to get out of this wicked place,' Eddie added in a theatrically high-pitched voice.

Alex smiled again, this time to himself. He knew the three or four danger spots on the dual carriageway, but even a large bunch of bandits would hesitate before confronting such a big lump of flying metal. Any problems would be more likely when they began the steep, curving descent to the plains. He would be driving by then.

Only he wasn't. Tom was locked into his concentration and no one, not even his mother, wanted to pull him out. He overtook two heavy trucks and trailer belonging to the famous Mr Massouf of Mombasa. Tom knew that this transport company liked his trucks to travel in groups of three. The Land Rover suddenly slowed dramatically. They all knew that they were close to the Italian Church and so to the bottom of the hill. Up ahead half a dozen red rear lights. Tom was closing quickly but showing no intention of overtaking. There were groans from the twins. Rollo mouthed their complaint.

‘Chickening out! The road's really wide here and a thousand to one nothing will be coming up.'

Tom switched on his high beam. Alex opened the glove compartment and Bertie went for his coat pocket. Up there in front of the truck and parked facing outwards in the square in front of the church two white vehicles, cars, pick-ups they weren't sure. The Land Rover was caught in the headlights of the Massouf truck behind them. There was activity near the white vehicles, men with clubs or could they be rifles?

‘Duck!' Bertie shouted as he wound down his window and placed the barrel of his pistol on the sill.

Tom edged closer to the truck, keeping far over to the left.

They were almost level with the vehicles and the men moving out into the middle of the road.

‘Now, Bertie!' Tom shouted. Four loud bangs and Tom was swinging the Land Rover hard right and fast at the incoming attackers. There were screams and one final blast from Bertie. They were past the truck and speeding around the open curve onto the plain. In the distance glimmers of light reflecting from the lake were a sign that they were almost home.

A couple of miles went by before anyone spoke. Then it was Rafaella.

‘Thomas, that was magnificent. Thank you for saving us. What an adventure! It was like being in a film. But I think I'll stick to just watching Mr Bogart in future.'

There was a round of applause, and whistles from Rollo. Tom's response was a request.

‘Dad, I think we're off the dual carriageway. Your turn.'

‘Thank God you had the wheel, Tom, but it's a heck of a way to get your mind off the big problem.'

‘Funny thing I was thinking about her all the time, but I suppose it's some sort of progress.'

‘When we get home, I'm pouring a big, stiff drink for myself and them that wants one and a toast to you, Mr Thomas McCall of wonderful, wonderful Londiani.'

In spite of the late night, the three McCall boys were up early and straight down to the landing strip. Tom had a party meeting in Nairobi and took his brothers for company. At Wilson he warned them to be back at four or risk having to find a ride home on a matatu.

It was Tom's first party meeting and the biggest Serena get-together so far. It was a noisy affair, too, with a lot of speeches. He was glad that he did not have to get up to speak in the presence of so many clever and witty people. For him the star of the meeting was Salima Amin, a well-off hotelier from the Kisumu district. She had her audience roaring and rolling with laughter. She was a handsome woman elegantly turned out in white silk robes. She ridiculed the government with a cascade of vicious, pointed one-liners and sharp take-offs of well-known members of the Kenya establishment. But she was a woman and standing for election in her home constituency for a new party. The country could not afford to ignore such talent, but it probably would.