by Pike, Leslie
Chapter 12
Belinda
“I’m jealous. I need an African adventure too,” Soraya teases. “It’s so exotic!”
She moves the laptop to the side of her desk and puts her feet up. My chair is angled to take in the narrow view of Manhattan’s late afternoon skyline.
“I can hardly believe I’m going to be staying on the Compound. Zan’s house is on the grounds. All the brothers have homes there.”
“This time tomorrow you’ll be halfway there!”
“I’ve never flown first-class.”
Soraya smirks. “Oh, you’re going to get used to it real fast. When Graham introduced me to the finer things in life, it was a revelation. There’s a reason it costs so much more.” She chuckles. “What airline?”
“British Airways. I’ve a stop in London. It’s only for eight hours, but he’s booked a hotel room for me so I can nap and regroup.”
“I love how he thought of everything to make this a great experience for you.” My wide smile is the agreement. “Take pictures!”
I shake my head in response. “No can do. The list of do’s and don’ts was provided. There’s no discussion. In exchange for proximity to the Royals and their private residence I’m required to abide by the rules. No pictures are allowed on the Compound. None without their permission, anyway.”
“Are you going to do any interviews? I know you want to dig deeper.”
“Not sure. Zan says I may not even see the king. Apparently he’s very busy. But the queen will be dining with us at least once. Anyway, I’ll get the lay of the land and go from there. If they don’t open up to me voluntarily, it’s just another piece based on confirmation of things other writers uncovered.”
“True. Did I tell you Zan sent Graham an email yesterday?”
“He told me he was going to start the conversation.”
“Oh, he did. They exchanged several over the course of the day. Graham was impressed with the scope of Zan’s knowledge. It’s going to be a good connection for both of them, I think.”
“What a plot twist for you and I. First of all, that I’d have an African prince as a boyfriend and secondly, that he and Graham would have so much in common.”
“It’s destiny, pure and simple.”
I get up to leave. “Thanks for the loan,” I say, gathering the evening bag and international plugs she’s letting me borrow.
Soraya stands and comes to me for a bon voyage hug and cheek kiss.
“Safe travels, friend. Let me know when you get to Johannesburg. And don’t do anything stupid like get married and become a princess. I need you here.”
* * *
The utter chaos that is my room is stunning. It all started beautifully with very organized piles of meticulously folded clothes. Underwear and lingerie in soft stacks. Accessories were placed next to planned outfits. That’s when it all started to unravel. Having to pack for colder weather sucks. The opposite seasons thing requires sweaters and coats. Good thing it’s just the end of autumn there. Zan says it’s not too cold yet.
It becomes obvious I have to condense. First the excessive jewelry goes. I’m taking one pair of silver hoops and one gold, and my one silver and gold braided bracelet. The shucking of the shoes is the worst of my jobs. Do I eliminate the tan heels that work with almost every dress or evening outfit? Or the black ones that are required for my favorites? Shit. I bite the bullet and bring the count down to five. Tennis shoes, neutral heels, hiking boots, tan flats, sandals. Oh Lord. I’m going to hate myself when I don’t have the perfect ones. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to be able to make it through customs and unfamiliar airports with the least baggage possible.
One big suitcase, a carryon and my big purse. That’s what I’m aiming for. I don’t want to be schlepping multiple massive suitcases from my apartment to the Uber, into the airport and up to the check-in. Then when I arrive in London and Africa, having to do it all over again. No. I’m going to make it easy on myself.
The cell pings and it takes me a few beats to uncover it from under my pants pile.
Zan: Evening, baby. Are you packed?
I look around at the mess and realize how behind I am in this process. Yikes, I’m going to be up till midnight.
Belinda: Hi! Oh yeah, I’m ready to roll.
Zan: Good. You need a proper night’s rest because once you’re here you won’t be getting much sleep.
My eyebrows dance with the thought.
Belinda: I’m calling the Lyft at 7. Think that will be enough time. I’ll get there a couple of hours ahead of the flight.
Zan: I’ve arranged a car to pick you up. He’ll be there at 7:15.
Belinda: Really? I love how you think. I can’t wait to be with you. To see your handsome face. Get ready.
I chuckle at the innuendo.
Zan: I’ve been ready. Get your fine ass here so I can bite it.
The rest of our conversation involved sexual references, longing to be together and excitement for the fact it’s only a day away. I thought about how beautiful it’s going to be as I packed and placed the luggage at the front door. And I’m going over it all in the dark, as the clock turns to one thirteen am.
* * *
“Ms. Banks?”
The perfectly put together British Airlines employee addresses me as if I’m the Royal. And I’m barely two feet into JFK’s Terminal 7.
“Yes?”
She smiles and extends her hand. “I’m Judith. I’ll be escorting you. We need to go through Fast Track Security first. Then I’ll take you to The Concorde Room, British Airways’ premier lounge.” Reaching in her pocket, she brings out a black business card. “If you have any questions, or requests concerning any of your flights, please don’t hesitate to contact me. My direct number is on there.”
I’m shocked at this whole experience. Zan has made it so special and I haven’t left New York yet.
“Thank you. I’m a little surprised. You have to excuse my shock. I didn’t have any idea there’d be someone here to greet me.”
“It makes the experience so much better, don’t you think? The Royal Family are absolute favorites of ours. Oh! Here’s our ride.”
She gestures to the cart coming our way. It doesn’t look like the others I’ve seen. This one has better seats, wider leg room and it’s another design completely. A tasteful sign reads British Airways Premier.
The driver stops a foot from where we stand.
“Perfect,” Judith says, motioning me on.
“It is.”
We move forward, passing through the crowd of travelers. Once in a while someone looks to see if I’m a celebrity. Hysterical. I could get used to this first-class world. Within minutes we’re deposited in front of the Concorde Lounge guarded by a tall thick door. Judith opens it, letting me pass in front of her. I walk into the rarefied room, and join the other four lucky travelers occupying the room. The space is complete with seventy-five inch televisions and plush chairs. There’s even private cabanas! This is better than anything I could have imagined.
There’s a long granite bar with bowls and plates of breakfast offerings.
“We have vintage champagnes and private label wines,” she adds. “Of course there’s full waiter service.”
But it’s the espresso maker that catches my eye. I’ll definitely have one of those.
“As you can see, there’s lots of choices, Ms. Banks. If you’d prefer to recline, there’s comfortable chairs along the far wall. Of course wherever you sit you have Wi-Fi access and plug-ins. If you’d like to read a newspaper we have The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, and many others. There’s even international periodicals. It’s a little old fashioned to provide the hard copies in this era, but many of our guests prefer the experience.”
“Yes.”
I’ve been mostly silent, because it’s so freaking awesome. I’m sure she’s used to seeing wide-eyed passengers.
“If you’d like, we offer spa services. You co
uld have a facial or a relaxing massage. Whatever makes your trip more enjoyable.”
“I’m sure I’ll be happy here, who wouldn’t? Thank you, Judith. I don’t think I’ll need this,” I say, waving her card. “What could I possibly want for?”
She chuckles softly and adds a gentle touch of her hand on my arm. “Well, if there is something, anything, just let me know.”
When she walks off, I look around for the perfect seat. They’re all perfect. Each is angled to a television, and somehow they’ve made them both private and inclusive. If you want to be alone with your reading you can, but they’re close enough to have an intimate conversation if you choose. I place my purse and park my carryon next to a British Airlines blue leather chair, and head for the espresso machine.
I’m inexperienced with this particular machine and take a moment to figure it out.
“Darling, let me do that for you,” the old English woman says, taking the cup from my hands.
“Thank you. I was fumbling.”
She gives me a smile eked out of thin pursed lips. Reminds me of Maggie Smith on Downton Abbey. A timeworn hat sits atop her head, but it’s not quite big enough. In opposition to the inexpensive chapeaux she wears one of the biggest diamonds I’ve ever seen. It’s not fake, either.
“Where are you off to, dear? Somewhere exciting I hope.”
“It is to me. Eventually Africa. I’ve never been before.”
“How absolutely wonderful! Sounds much better than dreary old London. That’s where I’m headed. I’m going to be visiting my mother.”
I can’t hide the surprise on my face. Her mother must be a hundred and ten.
“Oh my! I’m just pulling your leg, dear. My mother has been dead for twenty-five years. The old bat.”
That makes me laugh out loud, which tickles the woman.
“It sounds harsh,” she says, leaning in. “But she really was a horrible woman. No sense of humor. Except when she was beating my brother and I. She did get a kick out of that.”
The story’s turn has me not knowing how to react. Think my jaw just dropped. She hands me my espresso, deftly prepared.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry,” I manage to say. It doesn’t sound like big enough of a reaction.
“Let’s drink to her demise, shall we?
With that she brings out a pocket-sized bottle of scotch and unscrews the top. She dips her chin, waiting for my answer.
“Why not?” I lift my tiny cup.
“Here’s to not fucking up your child’s life.”
Bottle meets slivered lips and she downs the entire thing. It’s followed by a ladylike burp, hand over mouth, and a mischievous smile.
* * *
Judith has handled every step I’ve taken, including the priority boarding. She didn’t say goodbye until I was settled in my seat. That’s a misnomer because it’s also a lie flat bed, complete with a luxurious mattress! I’m stunned by the whole thing.
There’s only eight suites on this 787 Dreamliner and each is private. There’s actually a twenty-four-hour concierge available to advise us on restaurants in London, or any other guidance we might need.
The flight attendant approaches. “Here’s a pre-flight champagne, Ms. Banks. And your soft cotton pajamas are in the pouch to the left. If you’d like to change before we take off.”
I take the fine crystal flute and put my feet up.
“I think I’ll wait a bit to get comfy. But thank you.”
“We will be serving a full English breakfast as soon as we’re up in the air. But you can order anything from our a la carte menu at any time.”
“Thank you so much. I’m not sure what to look at first!”
“It’s pretty overwhelming. There’s plenty to keep you entertained. Enjoy, and let me know if I can do anything at all for you.”
Did I die and go to elitist heaven? Can’t deny I’m loving it.
* * *
Three hours later, I’m stretched out in my bed, white duvet up to my chin, and headphones on. This audio book is good, but I’m getting sleepy. It’s all the English food filling my stomach. The egg, and sausage, the bacon. But it was the scone I loved best, with clotted crème and raspberry jam. If I keep eating like this for the remainder of the flights, I’ll bust out of my pants! Come to think of it, that’s just the way Zan would want me.
Chapter 13
Zan
It pisses me off I can’t greet Belinda when she comes through customs. It’s not like when I was in New York and easily able to disguise myself. My security. It’s too much of an issue, and I wouldn’t put my guards in harm’s way unnecessarily either. So instead, I’m here in the limousine waiting, my stomach twisting. Ever since I got the first text saying the plane had landed it’s been that way.
“Do you have any of those antacids left?”
Chudda reaches across the passenger seat and retrieves a small plastic bottle from the glove compartment. “Take two,” he says, tipping them into my hand.
“Thanks. Where the hell is Baas?” I say, looking at my watch. “It’s been an hour already.”
“Don’t know, man. Keep your pants on, Z.”
The easy relationship I have with my staff suits my style. The high level of respect I get from my countrymen and women is appreciated. But I yearn for normalcy in my personal relationships. Early on I asked my security details to bring it down a notch. No Prince Zan bullshit except for when we are in public. Not for the men who put their lives on the line for me.
“Here they come,” Chudda says, popping the trunk.
I look up to see her sprinting toward the car. Baas is behind her with the luggage. Good man, he didn’t let her carry anything but her purse. I open the door and only get one leg out when she’s on me. We don’t even say hello. Our lips do all the talking. She missed me. I missed her. And every other message of… love? I only know she’s where my heart lives. It feels so right.
“Oh, I’m finally here! I may not stop kissing you for a day or two.”
Her beautiful blue eyes lock on mine.
“I don’t want you to ever stop, baby. Are you tired? Did you sleep on the plane?”
I move over, making room for her to stretch her legs out.
“Are you kidding? If you can’t be lulled to sleep by good music and soft pajamas, champagne and scones you have insomnia. It was the best experience. Thank you for all you did. You’re a great boy—”
She stops mid-sentence. I’m glad she wants to say more. Like I do.
“You can call me your boyfriend. Yeah. That sounds good to me.”
Her smile is wide and it looks like she’s holding back a squeal. It’s so fucking cute.
* * *
Belinda extracts pleasure from every new sight. It’s good to see the land through fresh eyes. We’ve only come fifty miles outside Johannesburg, but the real Africa begins to appear.
“The whole country is a garden,” she says.
“A garden God planted. And there’s birds and beasts for company.”
She looks in my eyes and the corners of her mouth lift. “I know it’s a secret, but you’re a romantic.”
“What? Well, maybe I am with you.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Here we are.”
The limousine turns onto the gravel road and continues half a mile between patches of brush and pale brown grass. Thorn trees line the last thirty yards. Belinda must be thinking I’m taking her to a dump. That’s what I’m hoping. I want to watch her face when she sees the house.
When we come to the heavy iron gate attached to a high walled enclosure, Baas gets out and reaches through a tall particular shrub. He enters a code and the gate slowly swings open.
“I’m excited to see this,” Belinda says almost to herself.
Passing through, we drive onto a firmer surface. Now it’s a paved road that takes us on the final approach. After a few more turns the one-story wide house comes into view. It’s pristine. White wood façade. Huge windows
looking over the land. The garden is tended and the massive trees well cared for. It’s a stark difference from the lead in. No brown grass here.
“Oh, Zan! It’s charming. Beautiful! Are we staying here?”
“Yes. For the night. This land and house are the ghosts of the history of Africa. When the British were here they confiscated this land for their own from people who were not aware they were being swindled. It’s fertile ground for planting and it leads to the Aragi River. Prime land. It represents the strength of our people because now it belongs to Africans again.”
“Fascinating.”
“That’s the home they lived in. It’s been bought by the government, refurbished and we are planning to have a museum here. The land is tended and revitalized. But for tonight it’s ours alone to enjoy.”
“I love it!”
“It’s private. That’s what I wanted most. No hotel suite could compare.”
Chudda brings the car to a stop in front of the stairs that lead to the front door.
“Come on, let’s go explore.”
Getting out, she takes in the surroundings and smiles her approval. She lifts her nose.
“There’s a beautiful scent in the air. What is that?”
“That’s the Cape Chestnut tree. They’re all over the place here. I don’t think you have it in the States.”
Hand in hand we climb the six wide wooden stairs while Baas gets the luggage. I’m aware Chudda is scoping his surroundings, getting the lay of the place. I turn and give instructions.
“After you bring in her things, text my mother. Tell her we will be there tomorrow early afternoon.”
A nod is the response.
I take the key from my pocket and swing the door open. She passes through.
“Oh! How beautiful! I’m in love with this room!”
I knew this would impress her. Not every woman would be impressed with the simplicity of a home that’s greatest feature is its view to the outdoors. But Belinda gets it. Good girl. Wait till she hears the insect calls that come out of the darkness tonight. I often lay in bed at night and listen to their music.
