Legacy of War
Page 46
Twenty miles away on Lonsonyo Mountain, Naserian gasped as Manyoro opened his eyes. She leaned forward, but her husband did not see her. His vision was focused on something infinitely far away.
‘I see you, Mbogo, my brother,’ he whispered. ‘I am on my way . . .’
Manyoro’s eyes closed. His breath left his body in a long, gentle sigh. And he did not breathe again.
LUSIMA, JUNE 1964
‘I’m so proud of you, darling,’ Saffron said, holding Gerhard closer to her as they stood outside what had once been the front door to her family home, but was now the entrance to the Manyoro Hills Hotel.
Under Gerhard’s supervision, local builders and craftsmen had converted the Courtneys’ former home into the central hub of a discreet, luxurious resort. A bar, restaurant, reading room and lobby occupied the ground floor, with half a dozen bedroom suites upstairs. A swimming pool and two tennis courts had been built in the grounds, along with fifteen cabins, each of which had a bedroom, bathroom and terrace. The cabins were aligned so that they had a view of the spectacular Rift Valley landscape, but none could be seen from any of the others. Absolute privacy was guaranteed.
Gerhard had insisted that local stone, wood and thatch should be used wherever possible, and the decorative motifs in every guest room and public area reflected the traditions of the Kikuyu and Maasai people. His intention was to give the people who stayed or dined in the hotel an experience that was uniquely, unmistakably Kenyan.
‘My father’s spirit is looking down on this, I’m sure of it,’ said Benjamin, as they entered the reception lobby that occupied the old hall and dining room. ‘He is so proud of what you have created in his name.’
‘Are you sure he’s not off boozing with my father?’ Saffron asked.
They both laughed, but their amusement was bittersweet and laced with melancholy, for passing time had dulled, but not erased, the pain of the night when the two blood-brothers had died.
A Kenyan man in an elegantly tailored grey suit, whose handsome, intelligent face was set off by gold-framed spectacles and made even more distinguished by the hint of grey in his close-cropped hair, walked up behind Saffron.
He coughed politely and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’
She turned and her face broke into a broad smile.
‘Maku! How lovely to see you! The president’s office didn’t tell me you were coming.’
Maku Makori, proud possessor of a Master’s degree in Public Administration from the London School of Economics, and Private Secretary to President Jomo Kenyatta, smiled back.
‘I am our leader’s right-hand man. Naturally, I want to make sure that all his arrangements are in order.’
‘I hope you wanted to see old friends too.’
‘Of course – always,’ Maku said as they exchanged a social kiss. Then he held out his hand, said, ‘Benjamin!’ and the two men shook hands. ‘So, the National Hospital decided it could spare you for a couple of days?’
‘Well, I hate to leave my patients . . . but I have a good team. They will manage without me.’
‘Seriously, everyone is very impressed with the work you are doing in the fight against malaria. You know we’re hoping to have a new school of medicine at Nairobi University College within the next three years?’
‘I’d heard, yes.’
‘Well, I think you should be involved from the start, and the president agrees. We must talk about this soon.’
‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ said Saffron. ‘Our fathers would both be so proud of you, Benjamin.’
‘I think they would feel the same about you, Saffron,’ Maku said. He looked around and sighed. ‘When I think of the last time I was here, that terrible night. This is a new world – a better world. Now, let us get down to business. I like to confirm that the arrangements for the president’s visit tomorrow are in place.’
‘Of course,’ said Saffron. ‘Now let me see . . . The route that President Kenyatta’s car and outriders will take through the farmlands has been checked, and the police will be posting officers at regular intervals along the roadside. You’ll have to consult with them about the precise details.’ She looked at Gerhard. ‘Darling, have the workmen finished the presidential podium?’
‘Yes, the final coat of paint went on this morning and it will be dry by tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Are you quite sure?’ Maku asked. ‘We would not want paint stains on Mr Kenyatta’s clothes.’
‘Quite sure,’ Gerhard assured him.
‘You know the Germans,’ Saffron added. ‘Tremendously efficient.’
‘Almost as efficient as me,’ Harriet said, as she emerged from the office behind the reception desk. She handed Maku a stapled sheaf of papers. ‘Here are the names and addresses of everyone attending the opening ceremony, along with the number of the seat they will occupy. A seating plan is included on the final page. I can also assure everyone that the swimming pool has been thoroughly tested by Master Alexander Courtney Meerbach, his sister Nichola and their friends. They have now produced a portable gramophone and are playing Beatles records very loudly.’ Harriet peered over the top of her half-moon reading glasses. ‘Don’t worry, Maku. They will not be behaving like that tomorrow . . . not if they want to live.’
Maku laughed. ‘I would not wish to be the child who disobeyed either of you two ladies!’ He looked at Saffron. ‘Is everything ready for our meeting?’
‘Of course,’ Saffron said. ‘Mr Solomons and Ms Ndiri are waiting for us in the reading room – though I admit I still think of it as my father’s study.’
‘Me too,’ said Harriet softly.
They walked into the room, where five armchairs had been arranged in a semicircle facing the desk that had once belonged to Leon Courtney. Wangari was placing ring-binder folders on each chair. Small tables had been placed between the chairs. A uniformed waiter was standing to one side by a sideboard on which stood pots of tea and coffee, soft drinks and a large plate of freshly baked pastries.
Isidore Solomons had been seated behind the desk. He stood to greet everyone and made sure that each had whatever refreshments they required. Wangari took her seat beside Izzy’s. The waiter was dismissed and the business of the day began.
‘I’d like to start by thanking Wangari Ndiri for her contribution to this project,’ Izzy said. ‘Without her knowledge of Kenyan law and her tireless work liaising with Kenyan government departments, including the president’s office, we would not be here today.’
Saffron led a round of enthusiastic applause. Benjamin beamed proudly and Wangari gave a modest smile in acknowledgement of the praise.
‘You have each been given a copy of the documents that President Kenyatta will sign tomorrow, and that you, Saffron, will countersign, on behalf of the Leon Courtney Foundation. Can I confirm, Mr Makori, that the president has read the documents and he is happy with the final draft?’
‘Yes, that is the case,’ Maku said.
‘Then I will go through the salient points, which are listed on the cover page at the front of your folders. The first is that Saffron Courtney Meerbach, being the sole inheritor of her father Leon Courtney’s estate, has donated the entire Lusima Estate, save for her private home Cresta Lodge and approximately two thousand acres surrounding it, to the independent nation of Kenya, for the benefit of its people and wildlife.
‘The land retained by you, Saffron, amounts to less than two per cent of the total area of Lusima. I have to say this is a truly astonishing act of philanthropy and I trust –’ Izzy gave Maku a piercing stare – ‘that the president will reflect that in his speech tomorrow.’
‘You can be sure of that, Mr Solomons. The president is deeply moved by this act of generosity and reconciliation. It confirms the high view he has always held of Mrs Courtney Meerbach and her family.’
‘That is very gracious of him,’ said Izzy. ‘Now, the land is being given under certain conditions. The first is that all the farmlands are to be passed on by t
he Kenyan government to the Kikuyu people who worked them on Mr Courtney’s behalf. A further tranche of, as yet, unfarmed land is to be set aside for the use of the next generation. In this way, young Kikuyu men will be able to acquire land of their own and thereby be ready to marry and start a family, as is their custom.’
‘May I say, Saffron, how deeply moved I am by this,’ Wangari added. ‘If other Europeans had been equally generous, we might never have had that terrible uprising and both our fathers might be alive to see this day.’
‘Thank you,’ Saffron said. ‘I want more than anything to help make this a peaceful country, for everyone.’
Izzy continued. ‘The second condition is that a game reserve is to be established on the remaining land, which occupies a little over three quarters of the total donation. This reserve, and the hotel in which we are now sitting, is to be managed for the next fifty years by the Leon Courtney Foundation.
‘Thanks to the profits from the hotel and the safari holidays that will be run from it, along with the significant endowment donated by you, Saffron, the park will be staffed and maintained without making any demands on the Kenyan government’s budgets.
‘The third and fourth conditions relate to the Maasai people with whom Leon Courtney had such a special bond. They will be guaranteed the right, in perpetuity, to live and herd cattle across the game reserve. In addition, the landmass known as Lonsonyo Mountain, which is sacred to the local Maasai, will be designated as a protected area, over which they have complete control. They will have the right to determine who may or may not visit the mountain, and on what terms.
‘Those are the essential points of the documents contained in your folders. The agreements to be signed tomorrow cover all the various legal and financial issues arising from . . .’
The rest of Izzy’s sentence was drowned by a furious battering on the door to the room. It burst open to disgorge a gang of teenagers in swimming trunks and bikinis, followed by Benjamin and Wangari’s sons, eight-year-old twins who were wide-eyed with excitement at being allowed to play with the big boys and girls.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Gerhard asked, getting to his feet and giving the youngsters what his children cheekily called ‘Dad’s Luftwaffe stare’, since it looked as if he was about to shoot them down.
Zander took it upon himself to be his generation’s spokesman. At seventeen, he was already taller than Saffron and almost able to look his father in the eye.
‘Oh, hi, Dad, hi, Mum,’ he said with breezy self-confidence. ‘We’re all starving and we heard there were Cokes and biscuits and stuff in here, so, you know . . .’ He flashed the grin that he knew could get him almost anything he wanted. ‘Can we have some, please?’
Saffron watched her husband doing his best to remain fierce in the face of the son he adored. Then she cast her eyes on Kika, who, at fifteen, was already looking much too much like a budding Brigitte Bardot for her mother’s comfort.
How are we ever going to keep the boys away from her? Saffron asked herself, her heart bursting with pride at her beautiful children. She thought of all she and Gerhard had gone through to get to this place, this time, and knew that it had been worth the heartache, the suffering, the bloodshed and the loss that they had endured.
Worth it all, a thousand times over.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wilbur Smith is a global phenomenon: a distinguished author with a large and established readership built up over fifty-five years of writing, with sales of over 130 million novels worldwide.
Born in Central Africa in 1933, Wilbur became a full-time writer in 1964 following the success of When the Lion Feeds, and has since published over forty global bestsellers, including the Courtney Series, the Ballantyne Series, the Egyptian Series, the Hector Cross Series and many successful standalone novels, all meticulously researched on his numerous expeditions worldwide. His books have now been translated into twenty-six languages.
The establishment of the Wilbur & Niso Smith Foundation in 2015 cemented Wilbur’s passion for empowering writers, promoting literacy and advancing adventure writing as a genre. The foundation’s flagship program is the Wilbur Smith Adventure Writing Prize.
For all the latest information on Wilbur, visit: www.wilbursmithbooks.com or facebook.com/WilburSmith.
David Churchill is the author of The Leopards of Normandy, the critically acclaimed trilogy of novels about the life and times of William the Conqueror. He was also the co-author on previous Wilbur Smith titles, War Cry and Courtney’s War.
Also by Wilbur Smith
Non-Fiction
On Leopard Rock:
A Life of Adventures
The Courtney Series
When the Lion Feeds
The Sound of Thunder
A Sparrow Falls
The Burning Shore
Power of the Sword
Rage
A Time to Die
Golden Fox
Birds of Prey
Monsoon
Blue Horizon
The Triumph of the Sun
Assegai
Golden Lion
War Cry
The Tiger’s Prey
Courtney’s War
King of Kings
Ghost Fire
The Ballantyne Series
A Falcon Flies
Men of Men
The Angels Weep
The Leopard Hunts in Darkness
The Triumph of the Sun
King of Kings
Call of the Raven
The Egyptian Series
River God
The Seventh Scroll
Warlock
The Quest
Desert God
Pharaoh
Hector Cross
Those in Peril
Vicious Circle
Predator
Standalones
The Dark of the Sun
Shout at the Devil
Gold Mine
The Diamond Hunters
The Sunbird
Eagle in the Sky
The Eye of the Tiger
Cry Wolf
Hungry as the Sea
Wild Justice
Elephant Song
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First published in the UK in 2021 by Zaffre
This ebook edition published in 2021 by
ZAFFRE
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Copyright © Wilbur Smith, 2021
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-1-83877-225-3
Hardback ISBN: 978-1-83877-224-6
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