A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) (8 page)

Lacey didn’t reply. She was too busy watching a blue-headed lizard scrambling up the trunk of the acacia tree.

 

Mortimer cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, the main question is what are the tourist lodges like? Maddox has spared no expense, so I’ve heard.’

‘You’re right there,’ Lacey replied. ‘He’s had the artworks imported from London and Jo’burg. They’re really stunning. Everything’s been built using the best materials, and the craftsmanship is superb. I’d be happy to live in one, not just come here for a holiday. They’re gorgeous. Mind you, they cost a small fortune to rent. Only the richest of the rich will get to stay here.’

‘Quite right, too,’ Mortimer said. ‘Maddox won’t want any old riff-raff wandering around his land. So they’re going to pull in some hefty profits, you reckon? Wow! There’s no doubt about it - Maddox is a shrewd operator. I reckon he sounds a bit like me. A guy who knows exactly what he wants and will stop at nothing to get it.’

‘Yes… yes, just like you,’ Lacey volunteered to fill in the uncomfortable silence. ‘I’m sure you’d get on well with him.’

‘Well he certainly sounds like someone I could do business with in the future. I might just give that some thought. See what other plans he’s got in the pipeline.’

‘I’m sure he’d be delighted to discuss other money-making ideas with you,’ Lacey said, sarcastically. ‘One thing Tate Maddox does well is make money.’

‘Precisely. A man after my own heart. It’s in the Maddox blood, by all accounts. I’ve been told that his brother, Gareth, is some big shot financier in London. And we’re not just talking millions here – we’re talking billions! Maybe we should do a feature on
him
next month.’

Lacey stretched out her toe and rubbed Jabu’s left ear with it. The ridgeback stirred and rolled over to expose a huge expanse of tummy ready for any further tickling that might be on the cards. Dutifully, Lacey obliged, while Jabu started vacantly into space, legs akimbo, in what could only be described as doggie heaven.

‘Lacey… are you still there. What’s all that racket in the background?’

‘Just the birds,’ Lacey replied. ‘Sorry, I was busy stroking the dog. What were you saying? Oh, Gareth Maddox. No, I wouldn’t really want to interview him. He doesn’t sound like a very nice person.’
‘Who told you that?’

Nandi, Tate’s cook.’

 

‘The cook? What the hell would Matshana’s cook know about a man like Gareth Maddox?’

Lacey bridled at Mortimer’s tone, but she knew better than to argue. He was like her father in so many ways. Neither man bothered to listen to her opinion, so it was hardly worth voicing it. ‘I don’t really know much about it, Mortimer. I’m not even sure it’s any of my business, but I think it’s got something to do with Nandi’s son.’

‘Her son? Hey… this sounds interesting. What about her son?’ ‘Themba. He’s adorable, but… well, I think he might be Tate’s child.’

Mortimer gasped. ‘No way! You have got to be joking, huh? Maddox has an illegitimate kid? Is that what you’re saying? And with one of the servants? No wonder his brother took off and now refuses to talk to him. Jeez Lacey - have you any idea what kind of story you’re sitting on up there?’

Lacey’s heart began to pound in her chest. She bitterly regretted mentioning Themba to someone as ruthlessly calculating as Mortimer. Heaven knows what he would do with the story if he managed to get his hands on it. Tears filled her eyes and she wanted to fling her wretched phone into the bushes.

‘Listen up…’ Mortimer was blissfully oblivious to her rising panic. ‘I need you to dig for any dirt you can find on that kid. Ask around. Speak to the cook. She might be willing to cut a deal in exchange for her story. She probably needs the money. We might even be able to sell on the story if it’s juicy enough. Imagine that. Your father’s going to be over the moon.’

‘I wouldn’t imagine for one minute that Nandi would be prepared to make money out of Themba. He’s her son! She’s not that kind of person.’ Lacey’s panic was swiftly giving way to indignation that Mortimer should be so crass, so unfeeling. She thought about Nandi – kind, honest, proud Nandi – and she felt sick to her stomach.

‘Everyone’s that kind of person if you name the right price,’ Mortimer countered. ‘Look, all I’m asking you to do is dig around a bit; see what you can find out.’

Lacey felt her hackles rise. Even for her father’s sake – even for Michael – there was only so much bullying she could take from this man. ‘Listen to me, Mortimer. I am
not
going to stir up trouble in this family. Get it? I’m here to find out about the lodges. End of! It’s not my place to pry into their private affairs. That’s not my job at all. And I
won’t
do it.’

Mortimer’s voice dropped an octave and Lacey knew she’d inadvertently lit that short fuse of his. It didn’t matter. She would stand her ground. She wouldn’t be pressured into betraying someone as lovely as Nandi. And she certainly wouldn’t do anything that might hurt Tate or Themba.

‘Call yourself an investigative journalist?’ Mortimer snarled. ‘And you reckon it’s “not your place to pry”? Craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Maybe we should renegotiate your contract when you get back. You’re clearly out of your depth, sweetheart. Best leave things to the professionals in future. Eh?’

‘Maybe I will!’ Lacey snapped back. ‘Maybe, from now on, I’ll just concentrate on the things that
really
matter - write the kind of stuff that
I
want to write. Stuff that
means
something!’

‘Oh, not that old chestnut again! You and your precious book! What was it again? Oh, that’s right – some silly love story set in your so-called “real” Africa. Come on, Lacey – if anything,
you
need to get “real” yourself. That kind of stuff is for teenage girls, not sophisticated, married women.’

‘So you keep saying, Mortimer,’ Lacey interjected. ‘But I intend to finish this book whether you like it or not!’

‘Well, all I can say, is you’d better hurry up about it. Then Jasper can pull some strings, get the blasted thing published and hey-ho – you’re a writer. And then, my darling wife-to-be, you can concentrate on more important things – like organising the biggest wedding to hit Cape Town in years. Okay? But for now, sweetheart, you need to focus on just one thing – Tate Maddox. He’s all that matters. Got that? Now drop everything else and go and do your job!’

Lacey tried not to cry when Mortimer finally rang off. She was angry with him for being so hurtful, so dismissive of her and everything she believed in. But that was just Mortimer. He couldn’t really help himself. And having Jasper Van der Zyl as a role model didn’t really help matters.

In truth, Lacey was more angry with herself for allowing herself to be treated like a doormat. Maybe things would be better when they were married. Maybe Mortimer would be more secure in his status as Jasper’s son and heir. Maybe he wouldn’t have to keep trying to prove to her that he didn’t need her; hadn’t used her to claw his way to the top in the Van der Zyl empire.
Maybe. Or maybe not!

Either way, it didn’t really matter. After her beloved mother and Michael – well, she’d vowed that she would do everything she could to help Jasper through the pain. And, so far, she’d failed spectacularly! Nothing she did was good enough for her father. Everything she did was wrong – until Mortimer came along.

Jasper had been delighted when Mortimer and Lacey started dating, and he’d practically ordered Lacey to accept Mortimer’s offer of marriage. Jasper had wanted their engagement party to be a huge society affair, attended by the very best families from across South Africa. And he’d succeeded - because Jasper Van der Zyl always got what he wanted in the end.

In spite of her own serious misgivings about Mortimer, Lacey had been happy to see her father laughing and smiling at that party. It had been the first time he’d smiled since she’d brought all that misery and horror into his world. And Lacey knew then that she’d do anything in her power to try to keep that smile on her father’s face. Even if it meant marrying a man she knew she could never love.

‘Hey there – is everything okay?’

A warm, deep, familiar voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up to see Tate standing there. His checked shirt was open to reveal a white T-shirt tucked into his jeans. His boots were expensive, but comfortable, and he was wearing a chunky wristwatch that emphasised the natural tan on his sinewy forearms.

Lacey nodded, and pushed the cell phone back into her pocket.

‘Not bad news, is it?’ Tate took a seat on the bench next to her, his dark grey eyes watching her intently from under his lashes. Jabu and Kaya vied to be the top dog with their two front paws planted on Tate’s lap. But they both lost out when Tate pushed them gently back to the ground. Concerned, he leaned forward to look at Lacey. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘No, but thanks anyway.’ Hurriedly, Lacey recovered her composure. ‘That was just Mortimer. Mortimer Schutte? You’ve spoken to him before. He’s the one who helped set things up for me here.’

Tate frowned, darkly. ‘Mortimer Schutte. Yeah, I remember him. Is he giving you a hard time?’

 

‘Not really. Well, no more than usual. He’s just keen to make sure I get a good story for the magazine.’

 

‘I bet he is! I could tell that from the few conversations I had with him. The guy’s obsessed with selling copies of that magazine.’

‘He can be a bit… single-minded at times,’ Lacey agreed. ‘He thinks I should dig a bit deeper into my stories. You know –
really
do my research thoroughly. He says it’s what our readers what.’

‘And what do you think, Lacey?’ Tate couldn’t see her eyes because her head was bent forward and her hair was covering her face like a fine, coppery veil. Gently, he reached out and pulled it back with his fingers. She jumped at his touch and looked back at him with huge eyes brimming with tears. ‘Hey… what’s all this about?’

Lacey snuffled and shook her head. ‘It’s… nothing. Really.’ ‘It doesn’t look like nothing,’ Tate said softly.

‘It’s just… Well, I’m not really sure I’m good enough to write for Style Concepts magazine. My father and Mortimer are always telling me I should leave things to the professionals. And sometimes, like now, I think they just might be right.’

Tate leaned back against the bench. He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and protect her from whatever it was that was troubling her. He’d not seen this side of her before. Usually, she seemed so strong, so capable – fiery even – but this tearful, vulnerable young woman damn near broke his heart. He didn’t like seeing her like this. It didn’t seem right. And, insanely, he knew he’d be prepared to move heaven and earth just to dry those tears and bring back that adorable smile.

‘Listen to me, Lacey, as far as I’m concerned you’re one hell of a professional. No question of that. You’ve certainly kept me on my toes. You’ve really made me think about the lodges, and what they can do for me. For Matshana. And I, for one, am very grateful to you.’

‘You are?’ Lacey knew he was sitting perilously close to her; knew that the heat from his body was fanning the flames of her own emotions, but, right now, she simply didn’t care. Just being near to Tate Maddox was enough to make her feel safe. Content. Just hearing the rich, deep timbre of his voice made her feel warm inside. No-one had ever made her feel like this before. ‘Do you really think I’m a professional?’

Tate chuckled and squeezed her fingers. ‘I sure do. And not just any old professional, mark you – but the very best kind of professional. Someone who actually cares what they’re writing about. Not that I’m claiming to be any judge of what makes a good magazine journalist, I hasten to add.’

‘Well, let’s just hope Mortimer agrees with you.’
‘I tell you what,’ Tate still held her fingers in his hand and Lacey didn’t try to move away. ‘Let’s put some meat on the bones of this story of yours. Ask me anything you like. Come on - anything at all. Costs going over budget, construction problems, planning restrictions – you ask it and I’ll answer it. These damn lodges haven’t all been plain sailing. In fact, they’ve been a pain in the butt a lot of the time. But they’ll be worth it in the end. So, if Mortimer Schutte wants to spice up their story a bit, let’s go for it, I say! Tell it like it is!’

Lacey’s heart began to beat wildly. It was as though Tate was giving her
carte-blanche
to find out the truth, really immerse herself in the spirit of Matshana. Should she use this golden opportunity to find out the truth about Themba? Should she at least try to fulfil her professional responsibilities to her father and Mortimer - and Style Concepts? After all, it
was
what she was being paid to do.

Mortimer was right. A human-interest story like this one could make them a lot of money. Her status as an investigative journalist would be secure forever, and no-one, not even her father and Mortimer, could question her professional credibility ever again. Why, Mortimer might even agree to let her stay on at Style Concepts after they were married. How brilliant would that be?

She knew that any journalist worth their salt would give their right arm for a story like this to fall into their lap. Could she afford to give up this opportunity to cement her own professional reputation in Cape Town and beyond?

‘So?’ said Tate. ‘What’s the verdict? Do you want an exclusive interview about the trials and tribulations of Matshana’s build programme or not?’

Suddenly, Lacey knew that she couldn’t do it. She had to stay true to her ideals. She couldn’t exploit Tate’s trust in her. ‘That’s so kind of you, Tate, but it’s probably not what Mortimer has in mind.’

Tate’s smile froze. ‘So what
does
he have in mind then? I thought you were sent here to talk to me about the lodges. What else could possibly be on the agenda?’

‘I’m not really sure what angle Mortimer’s actually looking for,’ Lacey lied. ‘Like I said, I’m not much of an investigative journalist. Ask Mortimer – or my father for that matter. And you’re right, as far as I’m concerned, I’m here to publicise the lodges. Nothing else. And if Mortimer doesn’t like what I’ve written – I guess he’ll just have to sack me!’