by Carl Hancock
‘No. Beautiful.’
‘Thank you, Marion. Look, if you don’t mind, I think I ought to go back. Go home. I enjoy this blubber, but I’m not so happy with the walking these days.’
Ann had a deep affection for Sally and this made the pangs of guilt bite more deeply. Daniel and Paul would have to look for some other way. And at that precise moment, Sally paused and laid her hand across Ann’s arm. She had an idea.
‘Listen. Come to lunch tomorrow. Bring a man, your husbands if you have to. Alfred and Molly, the bride’s parents, are coming ‘round. I could do with some help. Cheering up poor Molly. The nest is empty. She’s very weepy about the whole business.’
* * *
Paul drove the four of them back to Langata. The mood in the car was gloomy on the feminine side.
‘Daniel, she’s such a good girl. I always thought she was better at the work than he was. I feel a bit tainted, dirty, using her like this.’
‘Sweetheart - dirty. That’s the perfect word for this kind of business. But, to be blunt, she must have switched off somewhere along the line. You say she was bright with figures. Yet there must have been dozens of times when she couldn’t make two and two add up to four.’
‘Typical man’s answer. She loves him.’
‘And love is the coverall.’
‘And, do you know, I think he loves her so much that he makes sure that she never gets a sniff of all the, the stuff he gets up to.’
‘So the big butcher has a tender side to him. I could be cynical and suggest that he uses her as a kind of front in some inexplicable way.’
The remainder of the journey passed in an uncomfortable silence. Ann Komar’s discomfort was born out of an acknowledgement that her husband’s take on reality was stronger, braver than her own. He had no hiding place. He had to make uncomfortable choices and stand or fall by them.
For his part Daniel, and Paul, too, was fighting hard to keep a firm hold on anxiety. Their plan was outrageous and very risky. They would be heavily dependent on the element of surprise. They would be up against a formidable and ruthless opponent, fighting a battle on his territory. But the adrenalin rush was already beginning. They were excited and had not the slightest wish to back off and settle for some safe and useless compromise.
* * *
The food for Sunday lunch in the Pink Palace was delicious, but Paul Miller and Daniel Komar had no relish for what Sally repeatedly described as ‘La cuisine francaise’, prepared by Marcel, some famous French cook from some even more famous French restaurant. To have said that they had no stomach for the delights on offer was literally true. Their insides were churning with uncomfortable thoughts. Their digestive system was temporarily out of order. But their conversation was sparkling, witty yet inoffensive. There was plenty of laughter in that elegantly designed but garishly furnished dining room.
But Abel Rubai, recovering fast, was feeling particularly good-humoured. Perhaps that was why he made a miscalculation about why these two unwelcome luncheon guests looked anxious and uncomfortable. He saw plainly that they were a little too manic in their conversation pieces. They were fine, eloquent speakers. He had seen both of them perform in court. Perhaps they were overawed. Perhaps they were conscious of the aura of power that hung about the place. He surprised himself with his feelings of sympathy for them. When Alfred had been forced to leave the little party early to take his inconsolable Molly home, Abel decided that a display of his resources might be a good idea. Might help these two lightweights to understand what they were up against when they started playing politics.
‘Gentlemen, come and have a look at this.’
As he led the way down a wide corridor towards the east wing of the house, he affably explained something of what they were about to see.
‘I call it the green heart of the house. Don’t usually bring visitors here.’
He stopped by a pair of double doors and, using a remote control, caused what sounded like a heavy bolt to be released. He led the way into the windowless room and, again using the remote, brought to life a bank of screens that stretched the length of the facing wall.
‘Green, you see?’
Abel was purring with self-assurance. The elegant city lawyers exchanged looks of wide-eyed amazement. Abel was beginning to think that Sally’s idea of inviting these people to lunch was doing him a favour. These potential election rivals were getting the message in the clearest possible way. KANU versus Serena, what a joke.
‘Awesome, don’t you think?’
Paul searched his mind for a reply that would not give away his real opinion. He settled for a limp, ‘Most impressive, sir. Don’t you think so, Daniel?’
‘Never seen anything like it. Man, this must cost you a mighty lot of shillings for the electricity alone.’
Abel narrowed his gaze. Why was he getting the feeling that these two punks were far from impressed with what they were seeing?
He pressed another button on his remote and the two lines of six screens directly above his desk were no longer blank. Faces in close-up appeared on each of them and, behind these faces, more banks of computers. Abel was eager to explain.
‘Each of these screens is linked to stock markets all over the world. I call these the big twelve - London, New York, Tokyo and so on. They never shut down. I want to tell you something else.’ He hesitated briefly before making his big statement.
‘You know that it’s a common insult put about by those who don’t know the facts that the people who help to look after this country are on the take, have their hands in the till, say it how you will. Well, this man,’ and he pointed both hands dramatically towards his heart, ‘has never taken a single shilling out of the money that belongs to the wananchi. Not a shilling. This is where I make my dollars, my pounds. I go out there into the global marketplace and compete.’
‘That is a wonderful thing to be able to say.’ Daniel, though tempted, did not go on to pose the supplementary question about the rest of the big man’s colleagues and their financial habits. Instead he shifted the conversation to where he and Daniel wanted it to be.
‘Can you pick up other things here? Films, newspapers, books. You know.’
‘What do mean specifically?’
‘Well, take newspapers. You could save money …’
‘For one thing, I don’t need to save money on newspapers.
I never read them. Too full of crap.’
‘Not even The Nation, with all the local news?’
‘That rag. Sally’s got an addiction that I can’t cure.’
‘So you didn’t see the article by Laurie Patel?’
‘That communist!’
‘He’s no communist.’ Paul was ready to move in. ‘Did you know that his wife is a Catholic?’
‘She could be a transvestite gorilla for all I care.’ Abel was rapidly becoming bored. He realised now that he had made a big mistake in inviting these two smart-arsed pygmies into his inner sanctum. ‘Time we rejoined the ladies. I’ll just switch off in here.’
Daniel could feel his heartbeat racing. The moment had come.
‘Sir, can I quote you something? Very brief.’ He did not wait for a reply before reading from a small square of paper. ‘Here it is, about law and order in this country: “I have heard a rumour that one of our big boys is about to feel the heat of the blowtorch. Now, that would be a case worth watching in court! What would the charge be? Would it be a police prosecution? What judge would be ready to put himself forward to conduct the case, knowing the risks involved in a failed prosecution, or even a successful one?”’
Abel shrugged. ‘So?’
Paul made sure that he was standing directly facing his host when he dropped the bomb.
‘You, Mister Rubai, you’re the big boy.’
Abel went for his mobile, but as he moved to turn it on, Paul added a caution.
‘Before you call your boys to begin the process of turning our two wives in there into widows, just hang on a moment.’
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Daniel continued. ‘Hear us out. We’ve taken a few precautions you ought to know about.’
‘Let’s be honest with you here. We know your style. You don’t like somebody, pouf! Instant history. But if we do disappear rather suddenly, then some pieces are going to appear in some pretty important places. The London Times, The Washington Post. How does that grab you?’
Abel moved forward until he stood toe to toe with Paul Miller, so close that Paul could smell the flavour of the wine that Abel had taken with his lunch.
‘You do not have a single thing on me that would stand up in a court in this country. Got it? You are committing delayed suicide.’
‘Is that a threat?’
Abel roared with laughter and mimicked the restrained tone in Daniel’s voice. ‘Is that a threat?’
Paul moved in quickly and confidently. ‘We’ve got a day picked out. We’ve got a judge and we’ve got witnesses, one of whom will be Reuben Rubai.’
Before Abel could let rip with his next burst of anger, Paul continued. ‘And we are not stupid.’
Daniel, smarting after Abel’s little dart of mockery, picked himself up and resumed the attack. ‘We don’t go along with the Rubai way of doling out punishments, but we know that, for the moment, we can’t knock you over.’
An amused Abel interrupted. ‘Is that a threat, Miller, Komar, whichever the hell you are?’
‘The name is Komar, Daniel Komar. And, no, we don’t go in for threats, just promises.’
‘So if you have got the sense to see that you cannot “knock me over”, what are you two idiots who claim not to be stupid actually after?’
‘Bertie Briggs out on the street by tomorrow morning, at the latest, all charges dropped.’
Abel was stunned and turned his red swivel chair and sat down heavily.
‘Unbelievable! Unfucking believable! That bastard shot me, damn near killed me.’
‘You have no witnesses, no proof. It could have been your American friend.’
‘American friend?’ Abel sat forward, incredulous.
‘Friend, hired gun, whatever. Strange man, but a real pro. Had every reason to get rid of you. Do you want a name? Alfredo Rossi, Alfred Ross.’
‘Now, Mister Bertrand Briggs, back in Naivasha by tomorrow, early enough to take his son breakfast in bed.’
Abel had been caught off guard. He was shocked that anyone but himself had known about Rossi. He was inwardly furious that these two nobodies had managed to manipulate him into a position where he might be vulnerable. He could tough it out, get rid of them even, but he was shrewd enough to see how easy it would be to make a bad situation worse. He hated the idea, but it was time to go on the defensive.
Paul was becoming impatient. Rubai’s hesitation was a worry. Time to press the issue.
‘At six pm this evening we shall telephone the duty officer at Nakuru police station to check that you have sent a message telling them to release Mister Briggs into the hands, custody if you prefer, of two officers of the Naivasha force. We will contact these two people and they will escort him home. Sorry to be so formal. By the way, I think you should know that we have been making a recording of …’
‘That’s enough! I will do what you demand. Now, I want you out of here in five minutes. And don’t you think that this matter will end here.’
‘That goes for us, too, Mister Rubai. Now if you will just allow us enough time to collect our ladies …’
‘Just get the hell out of my house.’
It was ten minutes before Abel Rubai returned to the dining room to join his wife who was sitting stony-faced in her chair, sipping from a cup of cold coffee. She looked up as he came in.
‘Why, Abel?’
He was in no mood for gentle apologies.
‘Those two snakes tricked you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Sally was hurt by the sharpness of his tone. She was bewildered by his reply, but it was obvious that he was deeply upset by something that had happened between him and the two lawyers who, minutes before, had swept in to collect their wives and bring to an abrupt end what had been, for her, a very pleasant reunion with an old friend.
‘Abel, do we need to talk? What have I done to upset you?’
Abel pinched the top of his nose as he released a long, slow breath. In a matter of seconds his expression had changed dramatically. The old, familiar tenderness was back. He shifted a chair so that when he sat down he was able to look directly into her eyes and take her hand in his. He sensed that somewhere deep inside him a massive tension had been released.
‘Sally, we should have had this conversation a long time ago.’
Chapter Twelve
ebecca, I’m so glad you could come.’ ‘It’s nearly twenty times now. Papa brought me here for the first time when I was three. Mister Freddie was very old then. I remember him playing the piano under the tree next to the veranda. You and your mama were singing.’
‘You know Daddy hated to see the flower farms coming to the lake, but he would have been so sad to have seen all this terrible trouble at Londiani. He and Don McCall were good pals. They had their disagreements, but Don never failed to send us beautiful boxes of roses for birthdays and Christmas.’
‘Ah, here’s Papa. He’s the one who always packed those boxes. I helped sometimes.’
‘Miss Mollie, no flowers this year. First time Londiani Farm has not sent something to help to decorate the stage for the music festival.’
‘Stephen, you two are here. That’s enough.’
Mollie Nash reached up to grasp Stephen Kamau’s broad shoulders and pull his face close to hers.
‘I hear we nearly lost you. Please, forgive the tears. Every year you sing for us and every year, as I watch and listen, I think of those thousands of people in opera houses around the world who will never hear that glorious voice.’
‘But, Miss Mollie, you’ve got Rebecca now. She, we owe you so much.’
‘Listen. I must have told you all this before, but I like repeating this story about the family. Father was barely out of school when he came over the mountains with Delamere all those years go. Saw our beautiful lake, fell in love with it and went back to Britain to find a woman ready to share this paradise. Not many living around these parts then, but ten noisy little Nashes soon changed all that.
‘Mama said, “Freddie, we could form a choir,” and Father said, “Lizzie, we are going to have a festival, every year on your birthday.”
‘I heard about this music making when I was a youngster living on the coast.’
Mollie hesitated about finishing her family story. She was the last survivor of the original Nash ten. The future of the festival was in good hands, but with each passing year, Mollie became very emotional about the past and about the chances of her surviving to see another one.
‘I’ve never told anyone this bit of the Nash saga. You were just eight, Rebecca. You had sung at the festival. Father was too ill to join us out here, but he listened through that window.’
‘And I came inside the house. Bwana Nash was sitting in an armchair by the fire and I sang two songs. I remember them. ‘Annie Laurie’ and ‘The Lord is my shepherd’.
‘After you had gone home, he said to us all. “Today, someone came down from heaven to sing to me. I’m ready to go anytime now.” Three days later he did go.’
‘My heart is beating fast to hear such a thing. Perhaps, if you wish it, I could sing those songs again. Papa …’
‘Stephen.’ Mollie hesitated again. This time she was afraid that her words would hurt Stephen. ‘Stephen, you know that there was something my father loved more than his music, almost as much as he loved his family.’
‘I know this thing. We talked about it often. He asked me to leave Londiani. He wanted me to come down here to help with the cattle and the conservation work. One time he asked me to grab a big handful of the rich brown earth and let it run through my fingers. He said, “Stephen, I don’t think the good
Lord gave us these waters and this soil to grow food and flowers for rich Europeans.” We parted friends. Miss Mollie, cattle, conservation, this is not work that I could understand. I told him that Bwana McCall is a good farmer and that he will never hurt the land. And the farm brings work to many, many people, feeds the children.’
‘Stephen, there will never be such farms down at this end of South Lake Road. Perhaps flowers will never again be grown on Londiani. Perhaps this will be the beginning of a great change.’
Stephen sighed deeply and put his arm across Rebecca’s shoulders. ‘Who can know the future? Not a coastie like me, that’s for sure. But I do know that many bad things have happened around our part of the lake.’
‘Many of our young people have died. We nearly lost Thomas. We nearly lost Papa. We know where many of these bad things come from. We know this man, but we do not fear him.’
Chapter Thirteen
o, Sally, don’t call Monica. We can leave the coffee and the other stuff ‘til later.’
‘Abel, you don’t look so good. You are doing too much too soon. Give yourself some free time.’
‘Yeah, later, later. I need to clear a few things up first.’
‘Perhaps you could start by explaining why our guests left so fast. Us ladies were enjoying a real good time and then in come Daniel and Paul … What happened out there, Abel?’
‘Yeah, Sally, yeah. It was pretty quick.’ Abel was taking longer than usual in organising his thoughts into a ‘case’. Abel was always very careful in his conversations, his exchanges, even with, especially with Sally. It was as if he believed that everything he said was being recorded in some mysterious way and might be played back to him at some inconvenient time in the future. He was an A-one expert in covering his back.
‘Those two fellows wormed their way into this house. It wasn’t your fault …’
‘But I’m an easy touch. Is that the way to put it?’ Sally was not prepared to take the blame on this. ‘I meet an old friend and I invite her to my home.’
‘True, sweetheart, but … Look. Miller and Komar, smart in appearance but two very slippery customers in their line of business, and I don’t just mean in the courts.’
