‘I often see you and Nandi at Matshana long before your shift starts – some of the other workers, too,’ she said, tentatively. ‘And I’ve seen you there hours after your day has finished.’
Thomas turned to her, his mouth stretched open in a smile so wide that it revealed both rows of gleaming white teeth at the same time. ‘We are all very busy, Madam.’
‘Thomas…?’ Lacey interjected. ‘Is there any point at all in my asking you to call me Lacey?’ ‘No, but thank you, Madam.’ Thomas stared at her with kindly eyes, before breezily continuing where he’d left off. ‘The lodges are almost finished, but there is still much work to be done. We must make quite sure that they are finished to the Nkosi’s high standards. His guests are going to be very rich people, indeed. They will expect only the very best when they come to stay at Matshana.’
‘I’m quite sure they will,’ Lacey responded with just a trace of sarcasm. ‘And, of course, the richer the guests, the richer the Nkosi will become.’ ‘That is exactly right, Madam. The Nkosi tells us that the lodges are going to make him lots and lots of money.’
‘And that’s a good thing, is it, Thomas?’ ‘Oh yes indeed, Madam. We are all hoping that the lodges bring in plenty of money. It will help all those who live here in the Sabie Valley – the wildlife, too. We are all going to benefit from the Nkosi’s great plans.’
Lacey failed to see how adding to Tate’s immense bank balance was going to help people like Thomas, but she bit back the urge to quibble. Thomas seemed so proud of the work he was doing on the lodges, and so utterly devoted to his employer, that Lacey didn’t want to be the one to burst his bubble. And he was such a lovely man that she simply couldn’t bear to see that joyful expression wiped off his face and the light in his eyes dimmed. Instead, they chatted amiably about other things until the village entrance came into view at the side of the road.
The village, or kraal, was set well back from the road, nestling amid woodland of leafy acacia and marula trees. Lacey was delighted to see to see that it had been built in the traditional Zulu fashion with a large outer palisade of interlocked thorn trunks, and then a smaller palisade inside the main ring for their precious cattle. The kraal was built on a slope so that the rainwater could wash through the cattle pens and keep them clean, while making sure that the thatched huts remained dry and secure.
Lacey pulled up just outside the main entrance. She and Thomas climbed out of the vehicle to be greeted by boisterous gaggle of giggling children, dogs and squawking chickens. Followed by this noisy entourage, they made their way through a neat assortment of dwellings until they reached Thomas’ home.
‘This style of hut is called an iQukwane.’ said Thomas, proudly gesturing to the pretty beehive-style structure with its thatched, conical roof. ‘The women bind and thatch the roof using braided split reeds and grass.’
‘It’s wonderful, Thomas. It’s a typical home in a typical African kraal. Amazing! And your floor is a mixture of dung and termite mound if I’m not mistaken?’
Thomas nodded, surprised by her knowledge of Zulu life and customs. ‘It sets very hard. See?’ Thomas stamped on the floor just beyond the front entrance to illustrate his point. ‘Nandi has polished her floor so much that it shines like a mirror. She is very, very fussy about her home.’
‘I’m sure she is. She sets the same high standards at Matshana. Where is Nandi’s iQukwane? I’m dying to see it.’
‘Over there, Madam, through the trees. I will take you to it.’ Thomas and Lacey had barely crossed the top curve of the kraal when they were assaulted by Themba, who came hurtling out of the trees towards them before jumping straight into Thomas’ arms.
‘Baba! You are home!’ Thomas swung the boy on to his shoulders and made his way towards a big, beautiful rondavel. It had been built beneath the shade of a marula tree, and painted in vivid African colours. Nandi ducked out of the small doorway, plonked her hands on her hips and literally roared with laughter when she spotted Lacey standing there.
‘Oh my! Oh, Miss Lacey!’ she cried, still chuckling loudly. ‘You have come to visit me here in my home. This is a great honour, Miss Lacey. A very great honour.’
Lacey stepped forward to be enfolded in a huge Nandi-style hug. Not to be outdone, Themba hopped down from Thomas’ shoulders and ran over to wrap his little arms around Lacey’s knees. Thomas stood by, grinning hopelessly.
‘Do not just stand there, Thomas man. Fetch a pumpkin. And some tomatoes. Unless I am very much mistaken, Miss Lacey will not have had time to eat lunch.’
‘You are not mistaken, Nandi. And I’m starving.’
‘We have beef and phutu. This is a crumbly maize porridge, which we will eat hot with boiled madumbes.’
‘I love madumbes. They taste like sweet potatoes. Sounds yummy. I’m glad I came.’
‘And we are glad you came, too. Are we not, Thomas?’ Thomas stood beside Nandi and looked down at her fondly. Just for a moment, the two of them seemed to get lost in each other’s eyes. But then, almost as quickly, the moment passed and Thomas went to find a chair for Lacey.
‘We will sit outside to eat,’ Nandi said, still watching Thomas with a smile playing on her lips. ‘Then we can listen to the birdsong while the food is cooking.’
Lacey sat on the teak chair that Thomas plonked on the floor beside her. She ran her hand over its smooth, polished edges. ‘This is a beautiful piece of furniture. Is it handmade?’
‘Thomas made it,’ Nandi said, her eyes glowing with pride. ‘He is a great craftsman. He made all the furniture inside my home.’ Thomas bowed his head modestly and added another wattle log to the fire. It spat and sparkled as the flames took hold. ‘Nandi’s home must be as good as the one that belonged to the great Zulu queen who is her namesake,’ he said, settling himself on the log beside Nandi. ‘And it is my job to make sure that it is.’
Quietly, gently, Nandi placed her hand on Thomas’ arm. ‘You have made sure of that. Thanks to you, I have a lovely home here. You are a good man, Thomas.’
Keen to be a part of the action, Themba squashed his little backside into the space between them then wriggled his bottom backwards until it was firmly locked in place. Both Thomas and Nandi laughed at the intrusion, and Thomas ruffled the lad’s hair affectionately.
Suddenly, without a shadow of a doubt, Lacey realised that Thomas and Nandi were a couple. She could tell that by the way they looked at each other, their eyes alight with tenderness, their bodies close, but still maintaining a respectful distance in accordance with their strict Zulu etiquette.
And what a marvellous couple they made. With their colourful beaded necklaces and wristbands, their glorious traditional clothing and their ancient, warrior history dating back to the mighty King Shaka, Thomas and Nandi were Zulu in the very finest sense of the word.
But what about little Themba? Lacey couldn’t help wondering how Thomas felt about bringing up another man’s son – a white man’s son to boot. But one glance at the lad sitting between them on the log, chattering non-stop to Thomas, who patiently answered his questions and showed a great interest in everything he did, Lacey had every reason to think that Thomas considered it an honour to be a father to the child.
If only his real father, Tate Maddox, felt the same!
After enjoying a couple of tranquil hours in the sunshine, eating traditional African food served in the time-honoured way, Lacey was surprised when both Thomas and Nandi started getting ready to go back to work.
‘But today’s your day off, Nandi. Why do you need to go to Matshana on your day off?’ ‘There is much work for us to do there, Miss Lacey. The lodges are almost ready to receive the guests. We cannot afford to fall behind with the Nkosi’s timetable.’
‘And you, Thomas? Do you have to go back and work on the lodges as well?’
Thomas nodded as he unravelled his sleek, long limbs and stood up. ‘We all have much work to do. We must help the Nkosi whenever we can.’ Lacey felt her blood boil. These poor people must b
e exhausted and yet Tate expected them to trudge for over an hour to get back and start working on his wretched lodges. He really was insufferably selfish with his greed and his willingness to use anyone and everyone in order to satisfy his ambitions.
Rather like Mortimer, Lacey decided ruefully. Needless to say, in the face of two very happy people, and one excitable young boy, Lacey kept her cynicism to herself. But she would definitely have to say something to Tate when she got back to Matshana. She really couldn’t just sit back and watch people being exploited in this way without doing or saying anything to help them.
‘At least let me give you a lift. It’ll save you the walk.’ She volunteered, after helping Nandi wash the dishes. ‘We like to walk, Miss Lacey. But it will be good to have a lift in your car today. Themba! Go and get ready, child. We are going to drive to Matshana today.’
Themba whooped with delight and grabbed his toy spear, or assegai, that Thomas had carved him out of wood. He waved it about in a suitably menacing fashion, before Nandi cuffed his ear and shepherded him along the path that led out of the village.
As they walked past the other rondavels, young girls waved and cried out in greeting; young men looked up from their labours and smiled; dogs bounced happily at their heels and, much to Lacey’s delight, both Nandi and Thomas started singing. It was a soft Zulu chant and Lacey felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand up at the sound of their melodious voices.
This was Africa. The real Africa. And Lacey knew for certain that she had never been happier. A small group of labourers were already hard at work when they arrived back at Matshana. They were painting a pretty little lodge, set apart from the others, close to the main reception and restaurant. Lacey could tell by the workers’ concentration that they were determined to meet the very highest standards of Zulu craftsmanship on this particular building.
‘What do you think, Nandi?’ Tate stood back, his shirts sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pot of paint in his hand and a smudge of bright yellow ochre on his forehead.
‘It is a very fine building. Although I see that you have spent much of your time painting your face like a Zulu warrior!’ ‘Scary, huh?’ Tate pulled a war-like face at Themba and stretched his fingers wide. The little boy squealed excitedly and scurried behind Thomas. ‘So what happened to the great King Shaka Zulu then?’ Tate teased. ‘When I saw that mean-looking assegai, I thought the Battle of Gqokli Hill was about to start!’
Quite forgetting his initial panic, Themba stepped out from behind the defensive wall of Thomas’ thighs and proudly presented Tate with his new toy. ‘Baba made it for me. It is the short spear used by our people.’
‘I can see that. And well done to Thomas. It’s a fine piece of work.’ ‘Can I help you paint the lodge?’ asked Themba.
‘I reckon so,’ Tate replied, handing the boy a paintbrush with his own little tin full of paint. ‘What about you, Lacey? Do you fancy getting your hands dirty?’
‘I’d love to help,’ Lacey replied, still feeling equable after the time spent in the kraal. She very much wanted to be a part of the team and was delighted to be out in the late afternoon sun, singing with the others, as they transformed the last of the lodges into a beautiful home. She didn’t even notice the time passing, so content was she in the company of these lovely, hard-working people.
And it had been good to spend time with Tate, too, watching him clambering up ladders or lugging heavy logs around. Whatever she might think of his business ethics, there was no doubting Tate Maddox’s determination to work as hard as the next man to achieve his goal. No task was too grubby, too strenuous, or too menial for him to tackle with gusto and, inevitably, success.
As he laboured, the muscles in his back rippled beneath his shirt, which was damp with sweat. Even in these circumstances, dusty and dirty from hard work, and with splashes of paint on his arms and face, he still managed to look utterly gorgeous.
And Lacey felt herself drawn to him again. At the end of the day, fortified with biltong and millet beer, the team decided to pack up and head back to their homes. Tate offered to take them in the truck, but they refused, preferring to amble along in the late sunshine.
And so, at last, while the earth still basked beneath the sun’s rays, Tate and Lacey found themselves alone on the banks of the Sabie River. For a while, they sat there without speaking - just listening to the sonorous harmony of the workers’ voices fading into the distance and the sound of the birds twittering in the branches of the overhanging trees.
Lacey leaned back on her elbows and tilted her face to the sun. She closed her eyes and absorbed the gentle melody of the tinkling river water and the familiar, reassuring sounds of an Africa at peace with itself.
Tate sat upright with his elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t trust himself to look at the beautiful woman half-lying next to him, but he could hear her steady breathing and feel the heat from her skin. That was tough enough, he reckoned, but he knew it would be fatal to catch sight of her lovely face with those long-lashed eyelids closed in rapture.
‘I love the sound of the water running over the stones, you know,’ he said, in a bid to dispel the sexy image from his thoughts. ‘That’s what Matshana means Little Stones. Did you know that?’
Lacey sat up and looked sideways at him. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’ ‘It’s named after the little stones that form the bed of the Sabie River. Always there. Solid. Permanent. Yet forever changing with the endless swirl of the currents.’
‘That’s a perfect name for this place, Tate,’ Lacey reached out and laid her fingers tenderly on his arm. ‘And Matshana is such a beautiful place. I’m so happy here, you know.’
‘Are you, Lacey?’ Tate swung round to face her. The touch of her fingertips burned into his flesh like fire. ‘Are you really happy here?’ Lacey nodded, helplessly captivated by his overwhelming power and virility. ‘I was pretty mixed up about my life back in Cape Town. But I think I’ve managed to suss out a few things while I’ve been here. Matshana’s been good for me.’
Tate covered her fingers with his. ‘And you’ve been good for Matshana, Lacey. Good for me, too.’ Lacey could feel herself sinking into the molten gunmetal of his eyes. His lips were close - so close that she trembled when his breath fanned her cheeks. She felt his fingers tighten their grip on hers, pressing them against the damp hairs on his forearm. Fire smouldered in the pit of her belly and her mouth went dry. Nervously, she ran her tongue over her lips to moisten them, and she heard Tate draw a deep intake of breath.
But then, abruptly and without warning, Tate suddenly leapt to his feet and grabbed her hand, tugging her up beside him.
‘Come on!’ he said, his voice strangely tangled in his throat. ‘Let’s go for a swim. I’m hot as hell.’ Without waiting for an answer, he tore off his shirt and ploughed into the water. He waded out to the middle where the water was deeper and dived beneath it, only to re-emerge a few moments later, grinning happily. Like an untamed animal in its natural habitat, Tate swung his head vigorously from side to side and a million tiny droplets of water sparkled all around him.
‘Come on in!’ he yelled. ‘It’s amazing!’ Lacey paused at the water’s edge and peered down at her clothes. ‘I can’t!’ she protested, dipping her toes into the cool, enticing water. ‘I’m not dressed for a swim.’
Tate waded through the river towards her. As his body emerged, tantalising rivulets ran down his chest. His knee-length khaki shorts were soaked through, making them heavy to wear and tugging them down his waist until they hung just above the line of wet hair from his navel to his groin.
‘You’ll dry off soon, enough!’ he cried, grabbing both her hands and pulling her towards him. ‘You seem to have forgotten, Miss Van der Zyl, that this is the real Africa. We don’t do designer swimwear out here.’
Lacey squealed and wriggled to escape his firm grasp, but he was too strong for her, and she soon found herself thigh-high in the clear water. The gentle currents lapped around her, splashing he
r T-shirt until it clung wetly to the rounded swell of her bosom.
‘You’re a beast, Tate Maddox!’ she giggled, bending down to scoop up two armfuls of water and hurl them in his direction. Tate flipped his body sideways and dived into the water to avoid the onslaught, only to reappear right in front of her where he managed to douse her with water.
She screamed and attempted to beat his chest with her fists, but Tate was too quick for her and he caught hold of her arms at the wrists and held them in front of him. Feebly, she squirmed and writhed in his grasp, but it was hard to keep her balance with the river swirling round her legs and, eventually, she abandoned the fight with a wail of protest.
‘Okay! You win! But it wasn’t a fair fight. Now just do with me as you will, Mr Maddox, before I show you how strong I really am!’ Tate felt her body soften as she playfully gave herself up to him - the victor of their water battle. Her hair was wet and tousled, and the tiny top she was wearing was soaked through until it looked more like a layer of second skin than an item of clothing. Every luscious curve, every peak and swell, was exposed by the clinging fabric, and Tate felt his body hardening in a involuntary response.
He breathed deeply as she looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes. Her mouth parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. Gently, Tate lifted her chin with his forefinger, and then ran his thumb over her lips.
Lacey wanted to pull away – knew that she should pull away - but Tate’s masculinity was overpowering. Her lips still tingled where he had brazenly rubbed them, and yet still she moved closer - wanting more. Needing more.
Sensing her compliance, Tate groaned and pulled her towards him, feeling her plump breasts flatten against his hard, flat chest. He ran his fingers up her spine and felt her lean towards him slightly, further inflaming his desire. Then his fingers entangled themselves in the hair behind her neck. He tugged her head backwards and kissed her throat.
A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) Page 9
