by Rhys Bowen
“And the Maasai servants?”
“The Maasai do not like to be servants, memsahib,” he said in a way that was putting me in my place. “They advise on the care of cattle, but most of my people would rather starve than work in the house of a white person. We are a proud people.”
“So the preferred servants are Somali?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Yes, memsahib.”
“Because they are good cooks?”
“That and because they are smart. They learn quickly and they look better. Their features are more appealing to Europeans.”
“Goodness,” I said. “I’m glad I don’t have to run a household out here. There would be too much to learn and too many people to offend.”
“White people do not mind if they offend Africans,” Joseph said.
That was the end of that conversation. There was nothing more to say.
We left the outbuildings behind and I saw the hedge around Diddy’s property was now ahead of us. And beside the hedge there was a small cottage such as one would see in an English village. It had a shingle roof, a low fence around it and sunflowers in the garden. As we came close the net curtain was drawn back for a moment. Joseph looked up and waved. The curtain was hurriedly dropped again.
“Who lives there?” I asked. “Is that for guests?”
“No, memsahib. Nobody lives there now. The person who occupied it has left and moved away.”
“But somebody was there. Somebody waved.”
“That is just one of the servants cleaning it,” Joseph said. “Bwana wishes to make it ready in case his son wishes to move in there.”
I tried to imagine the spoiled, effete Rupert moving into that cottage. It might be attractive in its own way but it was tiny.
We came to a small gate cut in the hedge. Joseph opened it for me. “Now you can find your way home, I think.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You are most kind. I hadn’t realized I had strayed onto Bwana’s estate and he saved me from stepping into a line of ants.”
“Siafus are very bad, memsahib,” he said. “Many bad things in the forest. You should not go alone.”
“You’re quite right,” I said, then looked up as I heard a voice shouting my name.
“Georgiana? Where are you? Are you out here?”
I hurried toward the sound of his voice.
“Over here, Darcy,” I shouted back. “Just coming.”
Darcy was in his dressing gown and pajamas, looking white and worried. “Where the devil did you get to?” he demanded. “You scared the daylights out of me. I saw your shoes and coat had gone but I couldn’t find you on the grounds. I thought some animal must have taken you.”
“I’m perfectly all right, Darcy,” I said. “I was just exploring the estate. I didn’t want to wake you and there were these pretty little birds, and butterflies, and I saw two antelope. And then I met Lord Cheriton and he warned me about siafus.”
“What’s that?”
“Driver ants. They swarm all over you and eat you alive.”
“Charming.” He put his arm around me. This time I didn’t object. “You’re freezing cold. Come inside and have something warm to drink.”
* * *
A LITTLE LATER I had dressed and was drinking a hot cup of tea when Diddy showed up. I told her about the encounter with Lord Cheriton, omitting the graphic details. She gave me a knowing look. “You’ll find there are some things around here more dangerous than the animals,” she said. “I’d watch my step in future if I were you.”
Freddie joined us, already dressed and about to leave. “No, I won’t wait for breakfast, thank you, Diddy,” he said. “I should be off. Plenty to do today, but I’ll see you tomorrow at the polo field.” Then I heard him say quietly to Darcy, “I’ll be checking out the local airstrips and I’ll be in touch.”
There was no sign of Cyril, who only got up on mornings when he had to go hunting, so Diddy said. We enjoyed a splendid breakfast of eggs, kidneys, bacon, and then Diddy gave us a tour of the estate.
“These are my racehorses,” she said, pointing at four lovely animals in the first field. “My pride and joy.”
“Where do you race?” I asked.
“We have race meetings in Nairobi all the time. And down in Nakuru. We’re big on betting in the colony.” She strode on, so fast it was hard to keep up with her. “And over in this field are the polo ponies. Some are mine; some I stable for other people. Polo is a big part of our lives up here: our main social event. We play polo every Sunday morning and then Idina entertains every Sunday evening. You will play tomorrow, won’t you?” she asked, looking back at us. “I’m counting on both of you.”
“I’m game,” Darcy said. “Georgiana has never played polo before.”
“You’ll pick it up instantly,” Diddy said. “If you want to get your riding breeches on, I’ll give you a few pointers now.”
I had to confess then that I hadn’t thought to bring riding breeches. One doesn’t normally on one’s honeymoon, does one? I thought this would get me out of the embarrassment of having to play polo but she said, “I expect I can find a pair that will fit you. Come on. Let’s go and see.”
The rest of the morning was spent with me trying to negotiate a mallet while riding full tilt on a pony. It wasn’t easy. I dropped the mallet a few times, hit the pony’s leg once and tried to convince Diddy that I’d be a liability to her team. But she wouldn’t hear any of my excuses. “You’ll find it much easier when you’re actually playing,” she said. Privately I thought that the sight of a large man charging toward me on a galloping horse would not encourage me to try to get the ball away from him. When we finally went inside for coffee there was another piece of news that didn’t thrill me.
“Angel has just sent round a boy with an invitation to dinner tonight,” Diddy said. “I told you that everyone would want to get a look at you.”
“Lord Cheriton’s wife? We’re to dine there?” Darcy said. “That’s good.”
“It will be interesting.” Diddy shot me a warning look. “I’m dying to meet these twins of his, and you never know who else will be there. Quite a lively gathering. Not as lively as Idina’s party on Sunday night, of course.”
“Are we invited to that?” Darcy asked.
“Naturally. Everyone is invited to Idina’s parties. I’m pretty sure it won’t be your sort of thing, but I do recommend you go once. It’s an experience not to be missed.”
“Shall you be going?” I asked.
“God no,” she replied. “Not my cup of tea at all. Idina and I aren’t the best of pals . . . not since we fought over the same man once. And she won. But she’ll expect you to be there. It will give you a chance to see the rest of the valley in action.”
“It seems as if our honeymoon is turning into one mad social whirl,” I said.
I was going to tell Darcy about Lord Cheriton and his advances to me this morning but I thought he might leap to defend my honor and do something rash like punching the man in the nose. We were, after all, only here for a short while. I’d make sure I was never alone with Bwana again!
Chapter 13
AUGUST 10
We are about to go to dinner with Lord Cheriton, aka Bwana, and his rather unpleasant children. Darcy seems quite keen and I can’t really tell him why I’m not. I did tell him about Rowena and her behavior at school but he thought that was a lame reason not to want to meet her now. “You’re one up on her,” he said. “You’ve already snagged a husband, and a good one too.”
So here I was, putting the finishing touches to my hair and makeup, about to leave for Lord Cheriton’s estate.
“You look very nice,” Darcy said, admiring me. “Very chic.”
I was wearing the evening pajamas that Zou Zou had brought me from Paris.
“Thank heavens they are backless,” I said,
“because Diddy doesn’t seem to have a maid to help me get dressed. I certainly wouldn’t want a house servant to do up my buttons.”
“That’s what you have a husband for.” Darcy came over to me and slipped his arms around my waist. “A willing volunteer to dress you, and undress you.”
“Darcy, stop it.” I slapped his hand as he was getting a little too amorous. “You are spoiling my hair.”
“It’s all right. It can wait until later,” he whispered and let me go. I grabbed the mink stole. We joined Diddy and Cyril, and we set off. The African night was absolute darkness. One of the houseboys went ahead of us, carrying a lantern. Even so there were rustlings and strange noises that filled the night air. I think I heard the distant roar of a lion. I was glad I was with a group of people, even though I told myself I was safely on Diddy’s estate.
I had expected Lord Cheriton’s bungalow to be grander than Diddy’s. But it really wasn’t—only bigger. Joseph met us at the front door.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, beaming at us. “Come in. Bwana and memsahib are expecting you.”
The room we entered was large but quite plain, with whitewashed walls, small windows and wooden floors. It was very much the hunting lodge with animal skins on the floor instead of rugs, and impressive animal heads all around the walls, along with native spears and shields. However, there had been an attempt to beautify things, probably by the current Lady Cheriton. There was some good antique furniture—not all from the same period—a couple of large gilt-framed portraits and mirrors on the walls, and vases of flowers everywhere, which created a sweet, almost sickly fragrance that competed with the wood smoke of the fire burning in an enormous rock fireplace. Over the fireplace a pair of impressive tusks was mounted. A line of white-clad servants stood against one wall, while Rupert and Rowena were standing with their father beside the fire. Lord Cheriton looked up as we entered then headed toward us, his arms outstretched. “Here you are. Splendid. Splendid. How are you, Diddy, old chum? And Cyril too. Looking peaky, Cyril. Haven’t been out in the sun enough recently, I suspect.”
“If you are implying that my safari business is not doing as well as it should you are absolutely wrong, Cheriton,” Cyril said. “I’ve just become rather more choosy with my clientele. And if you really must know, I’ve already been hired to take the Prince of Wales and his lady love next week.”
“That should give you something to put in your gossip column,” Bwana said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. One must keep up the pretense that the royal family is beyond reproach.” Cyril looked indignant and Bwana laughed.
“You weren’t always so noble about what you put in your columns, I seem to remember.” He didn’t wait for Cyril to reply but turned his attention to us. “And here is the happy couple. How do you do, O’Mara. I’ve already met your lovely wife. Come and meet Angel and have a drink.”
Bwana’s wife, the former Angel Trapp, was reclining on a sofa that was covered in zebra skins. “My dear, this is Rowena’s old school chum and her new husband, Lady Georgiana and the Honorable Darcy O’Mara.”
Angel held out a delicate hand to us. “Delighted to make your acquaintance. Actually delighted to meet anybody from the outside world these days.”
“That’s what we need, new blood,” Bwana said heartily. “I said so to Lady Georgiana this morning. New blood. That’s what this colony needs. You should think about it, O’Mara. Still plenty of land to be snapped up and money to be made. You could try coffee or tea. We’re a bit too high for coffee but tea should do well here.” He didn’t wait for Darcy to respond but went on, “I’m thinking of starting a tea plantation myself. If I get it going then Rupert can run it. He’ll need to learn how things work around here, since he’s my heir.” He gave Rupert a hearty slap on the back. “All this will be yours one day, my boy. Not that I intend to go anywhere soon, but you need to get the feel for it while I’m still around. Learn to love it as I do.”
“You want me to take over out here, Father?” Rupert looked horrified. “But what about the estate in England? You have just inherited Broughton, you know. Don’t you ever think about going home?”
“It’s a bloody great monstrosity of a castle on a godforsaken moor,” Bwana snapped. “If it wasn’t entailed I’d bloody well sell it. And as for going home—my home is here in Kenya. I made that choice long ago when I first arrived and I was the only white man for fifty miles. It was damned hard work, but I stuck to it. I made a life for myself. A damned good life and I expect my son to take over what I’ve achieved.” He looked up angrily. “And from what I see England has gone soft. Lost too many men in the Great War and has simply given up.” He waved a finger at his son. “What England needs is a damned good shaking up. That chap in Germany has the right idea.”
“Hitler?” Rupert said. “You think Hitler has the right idea?”
“Of course he does. Pride and military might, that’s what a country needs. And being governed by the right people. Those born to rule. No bloody socialists and lower-class intellectuals.”
“Hitler seems to me to be a fanatic and a bully,” Rupert said. “Britain would never tolerate a leader like that.”
“He’s a pathetic little man,” Rowena agreed. “And he shouts too much.”
“Better than that weak and wet Stanley Baldwin who has just been elected,” Bwana said. “You wait and see. Hitler is going to shake up Europe.”
“Enough politics, Ross,” Angel said. “You know that politics bore me. And anyway whatever is going on in Europe means nothing to us, stuck in this backwater.”
“On the contrary,” Bwana said. “You’d be surprised how important backwaters will be.” He looked up suddenly. “What happened to those bloody drinks, Joseph? Come on, boy. We’re dying of thirst over here. Bring on the drinks trolley, for God’s sake. I think you’re half-asleep these days.”
Joseph said nothing. His face was impassive as he wheeled the trolley into the center of the room.
“I think it’s jolly unfair that Ru should inherit everything,” Rowena said. “We are twins, after all, and actually I am older by twenty minutes.”
“He’s the male, you know that,” Angel said in her languid voice that reminded me of Mrs. Simpson. “Everything goes to the eldest male. That’s the stupid law everywhere. If I’d had a brother I wouldn’t have had a penny of family money. Luckily I didn’t.” And she smiled.
I studied her. She was not beautiful, a little too skinny with hollow cheeks, also like Mrs. Simpson, but her makeup and hair were flawless. Unlike everyone else I had seen here, she didn’t look as if she’d ever been out in the sun. She was wearing an interesting dress with a cape, the sort of thing my friend Belinda might design, and she was dripping with jewels. Her necklace was a mixture of rubies and diamonds and there was a large diamond rock among the many rings on her fingers. The thought crossed my mind that if Rupert were the jewel thief he would have no need of Mr. Van Horn to dispose of his stone. It would be happily welcomed and paid for right here.
She reached out for my hand. “Come and sit next to me.”
I took the offered hand and she pulled me down to the sofa beside her. “I love the pajamas,” she said. “Are they from Paris?”
“They are,” I admitted.
“Chanel?”
“Schiaparelli.”
“My dear, I’m impressed.”
“They were a wedding present from a very rich friend,” I said. “I don’t normally dress this way.”
“I’ve stopped keeping up with the latest fashion,” she said with a sigh. “What is the point out here? Most of the women dress like men and they have skin like old leather boots. I keep begging Bwana to let us go to Paris or London but he’s always too busy with his . . . various pursuits.” She shot a critical glance across at him. “We are so far from everything here. You can’t imagine how boring it is stuck in the middle of n
owhere with only animals to shoot, and only the same few people to talk to. The same boring people. The same corny jokes over and over again.”
I didn’t know how to answer this. I was sure what she said was true. I glanced across at Darcy. I just hoped he had not been enticed by Bwana’s offer to come out here and make a new life. The trouble was that he was exactly the type of person who would flourish out here. A new wave of worry flooded over me. Was the jewel theft just a story, an excuse to get us out here, and was the next surprise he’d spring on me be that he wanted us to settle here? I snuck a glance at him. He was deep in conversation with Lord Cheriton, Diddy and the twins. His head was thrown back and he was laughing heartily, clearly enjoying himself. I pictured a future in which he took to this life like a duck to water and I became like Angel, bored, angry and out of place.
I don’t have to agree to anything, I thought. If I don’t want to move I’ll tell him so. He wouldn’t go against the wishes of his wife.
This made me feel a little better. I downed the gin and tonic I had been given. It seemed to be mostly gin with just a hint of tonic and I stifled a cough. Angel drained the last of hers and held out the empty glass for a refill.
“Memsahib wants another?” Joseph asked. “It is almost time for dinner.”
“If Memsahib wants another drink, Memsahib gets another bloody drink,” Angel said belligerently. I realized she might already have consumed a few. Was this the way she fought off the loneliness and boredom? How awful it must be to be so far from home, so far from the lights and action of America, and to be stuck with a husband who juggled two mistresses. No wonder she drank.
We were called in to dinner. A houseboy waited behind every chair, ready to serve us. I had grown up with servants at Castle Rannoch but never with this many. They were addressed as “boy” but from their faces I could see these were grown men. And it made me feel uneasy the way Bwana barked commands at them, as if he was talking to dogs. The first course was brought—a clear consommé with croutons. This was followed by a fish course in a white sauce, and then large steaks. I didn’t think they were beef, but chose not to ask. Not that I would have dared to interrupt! Bwana dominated the conversation, expressing opinions on everything in that big deep voice of his. “Time to toughen you two up,” he said to the twins. “Look at you, white as lilies, soft as my best butter. I’d take you on safari but I’m introducing a new bull to the dairy herd. You can come and watch the action if you like. Nothing like watching a good bull in action.”
