Girl with the Golden Voice (47 page)

‘Where will you live?'

‘Perhaps there will be a house somewhere by the lake.'

‘But you don't say we will have a house.'

‘No, Mama, it will never be my house.'

‘Thomas, Bwana Tom … I'm sorry.'

Rebecca put her hand on her mother's arm. ‘Just Tom, Mama.'

‘He is sick. He does not smile. Big House is not a happy place. He works so hard. Sometimes he does not sleep This election business, Papa understands it better than me. He tells me that the Rubais will make sure that their boy wins. They are giving out money already.'

She looked up and was troubled to see Rebecca's cheeks damp from the tears which were still seeping down her smiling face. She put down her iron and went to her girl, drew her from the chair, embraced her and shed her own tears.

‘You have a very foolish mother. Your papa will be angry.'

‘No, Mama, he will understand, but we will not trouble him with this woman's business.'

‘He said to me once, “I love you, Angela, but sometimes I think that your tongue is not your very best friend”.'

They dried their eyes quickly because they heard the voice of Stephen as he crossed the village on his way home from work. As he entered the room, Angela was bent over her ironing and Rebecca was turned away, concentrating on some article in her magazine. They did not see him in the doorway looking from one to the other of his ladies.

‘I'm so glad to see the womenfolk of the house are so busy. Makes a man feel good about life. I think I feel a story coming on. What do you say, daughter? Maybe our last chance for a time.'

The fire was built high and cast its mysterious shadows against the walls of the rondavels. Stephen began with a song he had learned as a young man at the coast. It was sung then by a fair-haired Englishman who was visiting the church.

It was about David the shepherd boy who became king of Israel. Stephen's voice carried a long way on the still air. Tom, returning from a Serena meeting in the town was drawn by the sound. He stood in a stand of acacia out of the view of the villagers.

It was only when the song was over and Stephen had begun his story that Tom was startled to see Rebecca sitting between her sisters and her mother. So, as Stephen narrated the tale of the young fisherman of Malindi, turned to coral by an ugly witch for refusing her kisses, Tom was riveted by the sight of the girl he thought he might never see again in Londiani. Once or twice she turned her head and it seemed that she was looking straight at where he stood.

Stephen finished his story and Rebecca stood up. Tom turned away and forced himself down the path to Londiani. From his bedroom he could hear her voice. Was that a heart-felt sadness that came through or was it the conscious skill of the artist who could create dispassionately the emotion that the song demanded? He thought he knew. He knew for certain that she was about to become engaged to a very rich black man. Would he ever find out why?

heavy storm crackled across the leaden skies of Nairobi in the late morning of May twenty-fifth and delayed preparations for the big party in the Muthaiga that night. The Rubais were keen on having lights, lots of them, so many that anyone who saw the display of chains and festoons of colour would never forget the experience. The club committee were not so keen on so many lights because they thought that the club's power system would not be able to take the strain. Hakuna matata, the Rubais hired generators to do the job. The club secretary had never had to work so hard and hoped that the Rubai family would celebrate elsewhere on the night Abel was elected president.

Thousands of miles away Toni Wajiru had received an invitation to bring the band over to play at the party.

‘One million dollars for one night's work and paid up front. Here's the cheque.' He held up the tiny piece of paper.

‘And you're sending it back!'

‘How did you guess, Mary?' There was irony in his tone. ‘We'll never get a better deal, but it's dirty money. We can't afford to take it.'

‘Papa, we could do it for nothing. Think of Rebecca and what she must be going through. We could be there to support her.'

‘Nah. We'd never get near her. We could make it worse. She'd see us and think of her old life. Can't understand why old Rubai would want that. Unless he was trying to test her in some cruel way. I wouldn't put anything past that man. But you could just about make it if you really … ‘

‘I'm thinking about it.'

So, at much less cost, Abel and Sally invited an assortment of local bands, groups and choirs. They were bussed in, put on their show and were bussed out again.

The new chief of the Nairobi police, Sol Kamuthi, had beefed up security and had his best boys on duty on the streets and at the Muthaiga entrance.

The Kamaus were uncomfortable in this company, the more so because many of the guests were eager to get a look at the parents of the young wash girl who had snared the most eligible bachelor in the country. Most were impressed. There was no money in the family; that was obvious from the simple turnout, but they were a handsome couple, he with that powerful physique and fine head, she slim, light-skinned like the best-looking Somali women. The keen observers would have noticed something else about this colourfully dressed Naivasha maid. The face was without make-up, the skin drawn tight between a firm jawline and high cheekbones and the eyes — were they blue or grey? — with their hint of the oriental in their setting, strong, touched with melancholy. This was not a happy woman.

Though there were two bishops among the guests, at eight pm exactly it was Stephen Kamau who rose to say grace. The melodious voice was unfaltering, but the fervour which was a hallmark of every Stephen Kamau prayer was missing. It was some time after he sat down that he raised his eyes to look across at Rebecca. He felt he had let her down in this small thing, but his heart was aching on this night of celebration. She was as beautiful as ever, but there was no radiance about her. There was a smile, but it was cold. Stephen was dreading the moment when Julius Rubai rose and placed the ring on his daughter's finger.

Julius was in a buoyant mood. He felt a changed man. His self-discipline and restraint had paid off. His Rebecca was changing, too, he was sure. To be the daughter-in-law of the president of your country, one day a president's wife was a great honour. He would let her keep up the singing. It seemed to make her happy and it could turn out to be useful to him. He poured another champagne. That was the only drink on offer in the dining room except for the reds, whites and roses that his idiot friends made such a fuss of. Dammit, he needed a couple of shots of his favourite Jack Daniels. He knew where to find a bottle. He smiled towards Rebecca, excused himself to his mother who was next to him and left the room. Leaning across his brother, Reuben, as he left, he whispered to Rebecca, ‘Back in a couple of minutes. Big moment coming up. Need some air to calm the nerves.'

Something that he was not aware of was taking place in another part of the club. A tight five set squash match had not long finished and the two weary players were drying themselves off in the changing room. On the last Friday of every month, alternately at the Nairobi Club and the Muthaiga, Tom McCall and Philip Coulson continued a sporting rivalry that had begun in Pembroke House. On this exclusive night there had been a minor palaver before an Inspector Kariuki would let them in. They showed him a letter signed by the chairman and secretary of the club granting them special permission. He reasoned that these two regulars would be happy to get on with their match and then disappear. No chance of trouble here.

The friends had known about the party a week before but did not see why two members of long standing should have to give up a night out that they both enjoyed. Philip, the lawyer, was very keen on his rights and had pressed the chairman for the letter. Tom, happy to support Philip, knew that he could be creating a dilemma for himself. Should he try to have a sight of her? He was very familiar with all the odd corners of the club and places where he could see and not be seen. But he rejected the idea before it had been properly formed. He had to stay well away.

‘Phil, I'm off to dump my stuff in the car. I'll go by the side door, but I think there'll be time to check the mail. See you by Simon's desk in five minutes.'

Simon, the night porter, was at his desk writing in a ledger. As he crossed the lobby, Julius, on his way back to the dining room, called out, ‘Evening, Simon! Quiet out here!'

‘Yes, sir, I quite enjoy it like this.'

Julius was being uncharacteristically affable to one of the servants. He stopped briefly, considering taking in some of that cool air wafting in through the open door. It would help clear that warm fuzziness that was moving in on his brain. He glanced outside and was shocked to see coming up the steps towards the entrance that cocky, muscular gait he had been familiar with since he was seven years old. The fuzziness evaporated instantly and he strode out to cut off Tom McCall's approach. He was seething with a mixture of anger and panic. Since his schooldays the name McCall had always spelt danger.

‘You bastard, what are you doing here?'

‘Charming! Excuse me, Mr Rubai, I want to check the family pigeonhole.'

Tom had long understood the unnerving effect his presence seemed to have on his old school colleague. He did not glory in the fact, but it was hard to resist the little digs that would send Julius's temper soaring.

‘The club is out of bounds tonight and you know it!'

‘Oh, not again! Look, Phil will be along in a minute. You must remember Phil. He's got the letter signed by the committee. Says we can come in. Trust a lawyer to know a way ‘round a problem.'

‘Why have you come here tonight?'

‘It's our night for squash. Friday night.'

‘Liar!'

‘I beg your pardon!'

‘You won't leave her alone, will you?'

Tom hesitated and looked away. Julius, aware that Simon would be tuned in to every word they said, motioned for Tom to move back from the main door. For his own reasons Tom was happy to comply but having withdrawn no more than twenty metres, turned on Julius.

‘Listen, Mr Rubai and get this straight! I wouldn't do anything to spoil this night for her. God knows why she's gone for a loser like you. But it's her choice and I respect it. Have you bloody well got that?'

‘You can keep your foul tongue for the likes of your friend Coulson.'

‘Foul tongue? You're losing it, old chap!'

‘Don't you “old chap” me! These aren't the colonies any more. We do the bossing about now!'

‘Yeah, tell me about it, but you don't own this club, yet!'

‘And you have to prove what a clever little chap you are, so you come here to try to spoil our evening.'

‘Pure bullshit! How could I spoil your night by collecting our mail just as I do every time I come to this club? Am I going to piss in the drinks or something?'

‘Typical! Rebecca should see you now!'

‘You're right, Rubai. Coarse and crude, but why is it that just being in your company brings out the worst in me?'

‘So, will you leave now?'

‘Of course I will, when I'm good and ready. First, I'm going in there …'

‘I forbid you!'

‘You haven't got your heavy boys around you now. You wouldn't want to mess up that smart white coat rolling about in the dust with scum like me!'

‘Don't worry about my coat. We'll sort this out for once and for all!'

Inexplicably to Tom, Julius strode off down a grassy bank and through the gap in the hedge which opened out onto the golf course. Tom, though weary from the squash, felt he had nothing to lose by trading some more punches with the old enemy. He followed Julius into the semidarkness. But why was he going so far? He had reached the fourth green before he turned to face Tom.

From the direction of the club came the sound of raised voices. Simon had been at work. Julius recognised his father's voice barking out orders. They would not be easy to find all this way out. He had plenty of time.

‘I've brought you in here to finish something that I have allowed to go on for far too long, McCall.'

‘Don't you think it's a bit too dark for a round?'

‘Why have you always hated me?'

‘I don't hate you, Rubai. I wouldn't waste my energy.'

‘Don't forget you forced me into this!'

‘What are you on about, you Etonian cretin?'

‘You've bugged me once too often. Time I did some of my own dirty work.'

‘Rubai, just get …'

Julius reached inside his jacket and with a very professional sweep of his arm drew out his Colt pistol and pointed it straight at Tom. He grasped the weapon in two fists and at arm's length. His feet were spread for balance.

Tom tittered. ‘Officer Rubai, NYPD, reporting for duty, suh!' He saluted casually.