The Sun Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘I don’t have my diary with me right now, but why don’t I call you Monday and we can see how we’re both fixed?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Cecily said, trying not to let her voice quaver. Nothing about New York society was spontaneous. Every hair appointment, dress fitting and manicure, let alone a get-together with a friend, was planned and documented weeks beforehand. Charlotte would not be calling her back next Monday.

  ‘Okay, great,’ Cecily managed. ‘Bye now.’ She slammed the receiver down, then burst into tears.

  An hour later, she was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling, because she couldn’t even contemplate reading a book, when Evelyn tapped on her door.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Cecily, Mary sent me up as there’s a lady and a gentleman downstairs in the hallway. They were asking to see your mother so she told them she was away. But the lady said she wanted to see you too.’

  Evelyn walked across the room and handed Cecily a card.

  Cecily read it and sighed. Her godmother Kiki was apparently downstairs. She contemplated feigning illness, but knew her mother would never forgive her if she didn’t receive her old friend in her stead.

  ‘Take them into the drawing room and tell them I’ll be down in ten minutes. I need to freshen up.’

  ‘Oh, but the fire isn’t lit, Miss Cecily.’

  ‘Well, go light it then, Evelyn.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Cecily rolled off her bed and checked her reflection in the mirror. After giving her annoyingly curly hair a brush and deciding she looked more like Shirley Temple than Greta Garbo, then straightening her blouse and skirt and donning her shoes, she added a touch of lipstick before walking downstairs to greet Kiki.

  ‘Darrrling!’ Kiki purred as she embraced Cecily. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m just fine, thank you.’

  ‘Well now, you don’t look it, sweetheart. You’re as drawn and pale as the Manhattan sky.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been suffering with a cold, but I’m getting over it now,’ Cecily lied.

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. Why, Manhattan is a refrigerator this time of year, and an empty one too!’ Kiki laughed as she shivered and pulled her mink coat tighter around her while walking towards the newly lit fire. She pulled out a cigarette in its holder from her purse. ‘I must say, I can only admire your mother’s bold taste in design. Art deco isn’t for everyone.’ She gestured around the drawing room, one wall of which was clad entirely in mirrored glass. ‘You remember Tarquin, don’t you?’ she asked, obviously only now reminded of the presence of the handsome man Cecily had danced with on New Year’s Eve two weeks ago. He was still wearing his thick tweed coat – even with the fire, the temperature in the drawing room wasn’t much above freezing.

  ‘I sure do,’ Cecily smiled. ‘How are you, Tarquin?’

  ‘I’m very well, Cecily, thank you.’

  ‘Can I offer you any refreshments? Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘You know, I think some brandy might be just the thing to warm us all up. Tarquin, would you be so kind?’ Kiki indicated the decanters on the sideboard.

  ‘Of course,’ Tarquin nodded. ‘One for you too, Cecily?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Oh, come now, brandy is medicinal, especially for a cold, wouldn’t you say, Tarquin?’

  ‘I most certainly would, yes.’

  But maybe not at two thirty in the afternoon, thought Cecily.

  ‘So, where has your mother flown off to? Warmer climes, I hope?’ Kiki asked.

  ‘No, actually, she’s gone down to Chicago to visit her mother – that is, my grandmother.’

  ‘And what a completely ghastly woman Jacqueline is,’ Kiki said, perching herself on the leather-topped fender in front of the fire. ‘Rich as Croesus, of course,’ she added as Tarquin handed both her and Cecily a glass of brandy. ‘She was related to the Whitneys, you know.’

  ‘Means nothing to me,’ said Tarquin, offering the armchair by the fire to Cecily before sitting down opposite her, while Kiki held court on the fender. ‘Forgive me,’ he continued, ‘I’m afraid I’m not up on who’s who in American society.’

  ‘Suffice to say that if we were living in England, the Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers would be fighting it out for the throne, while the Whitneys would be looking on from the sidelines debating who to back,’ cackled Kiki.

  ‘So, Cecily’s grandmother is American royalty then?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely, but isn’t it all just such a charade?’ Kiki said, sighing dramatically as she threw the stub of her cigarette at the fireplace. ‘Now, Cecily, honey, it is such a dreadful shame that your mother isn’t here, for I was going to suggest that she travel back to Kenya with me when I leave the States at the end of the month. And of course, bring you along too. You would love it there; the sky is always blue, the weather is always warm, and the wildlife is simply adorable.’

  ‘Kiki, I understand you yearn to go back but it’s not quite like that, Cecily,’ interrupted Tarquin. ‘Yes, the sky is blue, but it also rains – goodness, it rains bucket-loads – and the animals can be less adorable if they happen to see you as their lunch.’

  ‘My darling, that would never happen at Mundui House! Dearest Cecily, you and your mother must come out and see for yourself.’

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you, but I doubt very much if Mama would be prepared to leave my sister Mamie until after she has had her baby.’

  ‘Oh really, women give birth to babies every day in their thousands; even I’ve had three! Just the other week, I was walking to the kitchen at Mundui House to give instructions for a luncheon I was hosting, and found one of my maids squatting on the ground with a baby’s head between her legs. Of course I called for help, but by the time they’d gotten there, the rest of the child had slithered out of her and lay in the dust, squalling loudly while still attached by its cord.’

  ‘Holy moly!’ said Cecily. ‘And did the baby live?’

  ‘Of course it did. One of the mother’s relatives cut through the cord, took the baby up in her arms and marched the mother off for a rest. The next day, there she was, back in my kitchen. I think that far too much fuss is made of such things these days. Don’t you, Tarquin?’

  ‘To be honest, I’ve never thought about it,’ Tarquin replied, looking rather green as he took a swig of his brandy.

  ‘Anyway, the point is, you and your mother simply must come back with me to Kenya. I leave at the end of January, after I’ve been to see my late husband’s lawyers in Denver, so there’s plenty of time to make the arrangements. Now, where is the restroom?’

  ‘Oh, just down the corridor to the right.’ Cecily stood up. ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘Having navigated my way through the Bush, I think I can just about manage to find my way to your facilities,’ Kiki smiled and swept out of the room.

  ‘So, Cecily, what have you been up to since we last met?’ Tarquin asked.

  ‘Oh, not a lot. As I said, I’ve been suffering from a cold.’

  ‘Well, a visit to Kenya would soon have you on the mend. Does the thought appeal to you?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I mean, I’ve been to Europe, of course, to London and Scotland and Paris and Rome, but they didn’t have lions there. Even if the thought did appeal to me, I just know Mama will never leave Mamie, whatever Kiki says. Are the natives . . . friendly?’ Cecily asked.

  ‘Most I’ve encountered, yes. Many of them work for us in the army and Kiki’s Kikuyus are quite devoted to her.’

  ‘Kikuyus?’

  ‘They’re the local tribe in Naivasha and the surrounding area.’

  ‘So they don’t carry spears and wear loincloths around their . . . middle?’ Cecily blushed.

  ‘Now then, the Maasai certainly do, but they live out on the plains tending their cattle. They’ll give you no trouble if you give them none yourself.’

  ‘So,’ Kiki said as she re-entered the room, swinging her purse, the strings of which were laced through her elegant white fingers
. ‘Have you managed to persuade Cecily to come along with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Have I?’ Tarquin’s brown eyes twinkled at Cecily.

  ‘Well, it definitely sounds more interesting than New York, but—’

  ‘Honey,’ Kiki put a hand on Tarquin’s arm, ‘we must go or we’ll be late for tea with the Forbes, and you know how punctual they always are.’

  ‘I’m leaving for Africa myself tomorrow,’ Tarquin said as he stood up. ‘I must report back to base this week, but I do hope you will think about coming to Kenya and we will meet again there soon, Cecily.’

  ‘And I’ll be back here to simply bully you into it!’ Kiki laughed as Tarquin held the door for her and she swept through it.

  Once they’d left, Cecily sat on the fender and drank the remains of her brandy, pondering Kiki’s offer. On New Year’s Eve, she’d thought it merely polite conversation, rather than a serious proposition.

  ‘Africa,’ she mouthed slowly as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass. On a whim, she stood up, then grabbed her coat and hat from the closet in the hall. Once outside, she headed for the local library before it closed.

  That evening, over dinner with her father, Cecily told him of Kiki’s suggestion.

  ‘What do you think, Papa? Would Mama allow me to travel there without her as a chaperone?’

  ‘What do I think?’ Walter set down his glass of bourbon and steepled his fingers as he considered the matter. ‘I think that I wish I could come with you in Mama’s stead. I’ve always longed to see Africa. Maybe a trip to visit Kiki is just what you need to help you forget Jack and move on. You’re my special girl,’ Walter added as he stood up and planted a kiss on top of her head. ‘Now, I have a meeting at my club. Tell Mary I’ll be back by ten. I’ll talk to your mother when she gets back from Chicago. Goodnight, my dear.’

  After her father had left, Cecily went upstairs and lay on her bed as she opened the three books she’d taken out of the library. There were endless sketches, paintings and photographs of black natives and of white men standing proudly over the corpses of lions or holding a huge ivory tusk in each hand. She shuddered at the sight, but that shudder contained a shiver of excitement at the thought of visiting what looked like the most glorious and unfettered land. A land where no one would have even heard of either her, or her broken engagement to Jack Hamblin.

  ‘Cecily, will you come and join me and your mother in the drawing room when you are ready?’ her father asked as she stepped into the hallway and dusted the flakes of snow from her coat. She’d been out all day, having her hair set in the morning and then on to see Mamie that afternoon.

  ‘Of course, Papa. I’ll be there in a moment or two.’

  After handing her coat to Mary, she walked to the downstairs bathroom and tidied herself up in the mirror. As she entered the drawing room, the fire was burning merrily. She saw that her mother looked stony-faced as her father welcomed her in.

  ‘Sit down, my dear.’

  ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ Cecily asked as her father settled himself in a chair next to the fire.

  ‘Kiki came by again today to beg us to go to Africa with her. I told her that I wouldn’t leave Mamie so near the birth,’ said Dorothea, ‘but your father thinks you should go without me.’

  ‘I do, yes,’ Walter agreed. ‘As I explained to your mother, it’s not only an opportunity for you to see more of the world, but it also means that by the time you get back, the wedding will be over and you can move on with your life.’

  ‘Jack and Patricia have announced a date?’ Cecily asked as calmly as she could.

  ‘Yes, they are to be married on the seventeenth of April. All the society columns carried the news this morning.’

  ‘So what do you think, Mama?’

  ‘Well now, I agree with your father that Jack and Patricia’s wedding will be the talk of Manhattan for the next few months, which will be mighty hard on you. But is that any reason to run to Africa? The place sounds totally uncivilised. Half-clothed natives running around, wild animals wandering into your garden . . .’ Dorothea said with horror. ‘And of course, there’s the risk of disease. Walter, surely we could just send Cecily to my mother’s if she needs to get away?’

  Cecily and her father locked eyes and shared a joint invisible shudder.

  ‘Well, Kiki has managed to survive the past twenty years, and there is a very well established expatriate community, as you well know,’ said Walter.

  ‘I do know, and their notoriety worries me more than the lions,’ Dorothea answered bluntly. ‘They all sound a little darned racy from what I’ve read in the newspapers. There was that friend of Kiki’s – what was her name . . .?’

  ‘Alice de Janzé,’ Walter replied. ‘But that was many years ago now.’

  ‘What happened?’ Cecily asked, then watched her parents exchange glances.

  ‘Oh, well . . .’ Dorothea shrugged. ‘It was quite the scandal. Alice and Kiki were part of what was known as the “Happy Valley set” out in Kenya. There was all sorts of talk of their antics. Alice was married, but had an . . . unfortunate liaison with a man called . . .?’

  ‘Raymund de Trafford,’ Walter answered.

  ‘That’s the one. Anyway, Alice became infatuated with Raymund and was so devastated when he refused to marry her that she shot him on a train at the Gare du Nord in Paris as he was saying goodbye to her, before turning the gun on herself. Neither of them died,’ Dorothea added.

  ‘Holy moly!’ Cecily was agog. ‘Was she put in jail?’

  ‘No. There was a trial, of course, and she spent a short spell in custody, but she eventually ended up marrying the man!’

  ‘No!’ Cecily was enraptured by the sheer romance of the tale. Africa was beginning to sound thrilling.

  ‘But that all happened so long ago. And I’m sure Kiki doesn’t behave like that,’ Walter said firmly. ‘She said she’d look after our girl like she was her own. Well now, Cecily, the real question is, do you want to go?’

  ‘As a matter of fact . . . yes, I think I do. And not just because of Jack’s wedding – I’m a grown woman now, and I can deal with that. It’s more that, well, Kenya sounds fascinating.’

  ‘Even though you’ll miss the birth of your sister’s child?’ said Dorothea.

  ‘Oh Mama, you’re going to be there for Mamie, and I’m not leaving forever, you know. Only for a few weeks.’

  ‘And of course, darling,’ Walter said, turning to his wife, ‘Cecily could always go stay with Audrey while she’s in England on her way to Africa?’

  Audrey was Dorothea’s ‘trophy friend’, having nabbed herself an English lord for a husband fifteen years ago. If anything was going to persuade Mama to let her make the trip, it was the thought of her daughter staying with Audrey, and all the eligible young Englishmen she might just meet while she was there.

  ‘True, true . . . but is England safe these days, Walter, what with Mister Hitler?’

  ‘Is Manhattan safe these days?’ Walter raised an eyebrow. ‘If one wanted to be safe above all, one would never walk out of one’s front door. So, is it decided?’

  ‘I would of course have to get in touch with Audrey to make sure she’s at home when Cecily arrives in England, and have her chauffeur meet her from the steamer. Kiki could go with Cecily to visit Audrey too – the two of them knew each other when they lived in Paris,’ Dorothea thought out loud.

  Walter cast his daughter a glance, and gave a tiny wink.

  ‘Well,’ said Cecily, ‘if you both are happy for me to go, then I will. Yes, I will,’ she nodded.

  For the first time in weeks, Cecily’s mouth formed into a natural smile.

  Having just over two weeks to prepare for her journey, Cecily and Dorothea were kept busy shopping for everything she would need for her trip: formal wear for her week at Audrey’s, then sundresses and blouses fashioned from cotton and muslin (which had to be especially made by a seamstress as it was deepest winter), along with skirts and eve
n shorts, which Dorothea had baulked at.

  ‘Oh Lord, where are we sending you to?’ she grimaced as Cecily tried them on.

  ‘A place that is very hot, Mama. Like summer in the Hamptons.’

  Despite her mother’s constant negativity, as Evelyn helped her fill her steamer trunk, Cecily’s excitement mounted. The night before she left, her sisters and their husbands arrived for dinner. Walter presented his daughter with a Kodak Bantam Special camera, and her sisters gave her a pair of binoculars for ‘manspotting’, as Priscilla put it.

  ‘Do take care, darling sis,’ Mamie said as they stood in the hallway after dinner. ‘Hopefully I’ll be able to present you with a new nephew or niece on your return.’

  ‘Come back happy,’ Hunter said as he kissed her goodbye.

  ‘And preferably married,’ Priscilla called from the stoop.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Celia called as they disappeared out of view into the snowy night.

  Rather disappointingly, as the steamer approached Southampton port, Cecily saw that England looked as gloomy and grey as the Manhattan she’d left behind. She donned her new hat, then wrapped her fur shrug around her shoulders as her steward came to collect her luggage.

  ‘Is anyone meeting you, miss?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cecily dipped into her purse and took out a card on which was printed the name of the chauffeur who had (hopefully) been sent from Woodhead Hall to meet her.

  ‘Thanks, miss. You stay inside your cabin for now – it’s dead nippy out there – and I’ll come and fetch you when the car’s pulled alongside.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Jones. You’ve been very helpful.’

  Cecily handed him a healthy five-dollar tip and the young man blushed and nodded at her appreciatively.

  ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure looking after you, Miss Cecily, it truly has. Maybe I’ll meet you again on the return trip?’

  ‘I sure hope so, yes.’

  The steward closed the cabin door behind him and Cecily went to sit in the chair by the porthole. As soon as she arrived at Woodhead Hall, she knew she must telephone her parents to let them know she was safe. It had all been a little hectic in the twenty-four hours before she’d left New York a week ago. Kiki’s maid had telephoned on the morning they were meant to leave to say her mistress had gone down with bronchitis. Her doctor had warned her it could turn into pneumonia if she didn’t stay in bed for a few days. Cecily had been happy to delay for as long as it took Kiki to recover, but Dorothea, having organised the visit to Woodhead Hall, had disagreed.