Boss Takes All (23 page)

The four Welsh residents of Gilgil Club were well-known to everyone in the school. The children looked on them as extra gap years and enjoyed having them to take games on Saturday. But it was in the Sunday evening chapel services that these four Christian boys touched the zenith of their popularity. They had a lot of experience of passing on their message to unsympathetic audiences. They had good voices and led by the red-headed Jones, the Brickie, a natural comedian, they dazzled their eager audience with their all-action mixture of fun and teaching.

So they had volunteered to keep the hundred and sixty highly excited Pembroke people occupied and, if possible, reasonably calm. They relished the prospect, but after ten minutes lost the attention of their audience to a superior attraction.

Slowly, from the direction of the top car park they came, an assorted group of young and old, some known but most not. They were heading for the chapel, as everyone had been told would happen. Necks were craned and eyes were riveted on one person above all. It was not only the children who gasped when they caught sight of the tall, smiling woman in the lavender trouser suit.

‘I always thought that there was a tradition the bride and groom met for the first time at the altar on the big day.'

‘This is Africa, Pete, the land of free spirits.'

‘Thank you, Marge. I'll remember when my time comes for the chop.'

‘Chop? I don't think you'd find Tom McCall talking such rubbish today.'

The head girl and the head boy led the way into the stone chapel. The visitors took up the last two rows. Rafaella made sure of her place where she had the best view of the procession of the school coming for their morning service. They came, youngest first. Rafaella wished they would walk more slowly, but many of the smallest were shy and wanted the ordeal over quickly.

The headmaster took the service.

‘Welcome students and guests to the Christina Chapel and to our ordinary, extraordinary service. Do you understand that, Thomas?'

He pointed to a very small boy just below him.

‘Yes, sir. It means a bit weird.'

‘Brilliant answer!' The sincere compliment shut up the few half-hearted guffaws coming out of the large choir who were waiting nervously to sing their anthem.

‘And where do you come from, Tom?'

‘Naivasha, sir.'

‘So why did I ask you the question?'

Thomas Walker stood up, screwed himself ‘round and pointed to the back of the chapel with his arm bent.

‘My friend. We play football sometimes.'

Tom McCall stood up and acknowledged the polite ripple of applause and blew a kiss to his young neighbour.

The service moved on quickly. The head girl read the gospel story of the wedding at Cana. Six children popped up from various parts of the chapel to recite the prayers they had written to honour the occasion.

‘And now a little touch of deja vu. Don't worry, Thomas, no questions this time. How many of you remember last year's Londiani Sevens tournament?'

A hundred hands shot up, ramrod straight.

‘And the hymn we …'

Even more hands just as quickly.

‘Well, then, here we go again, but this time …'

Rebecca was already on her way to the front of the chapel. The radiance of her smile, the poignancy of the moment and the vulnerability of the beautiful creature standing before them set off a rush of quiet tears all over the place, especially in the last two rows of the chapel.

Those arriving early for the wedding proper were greeted by an empty school and a full-throated sound of singing bursting through the open windows of the chapel and out across the valley.

The service ended, the children scattered and the bride and her party went off to get ready.

Rebecca and Tom were to be married outdoors. Rows of seats had been arranged in a large semicircle under the shade of the large branches of the pepper trees just across from the chapel. Facing the large gathering was a low platform and, in front, an altar with a dark wooden cross resting on a colouful tapestry decorated with scenes illustrating Jesus's baptism in the River Jordan.

The ceremony itself was low-key. Sisters May and Phillipa from Nakuru Cathedral assisted their priest, Father Robert, in a ritual he had composed that was Christian but not Catholic. Instead of readings or a sermon, he had invited Alex and Stephen to say a few words of thanksgiving and blessing.

The words both fathers had prepared were never heard that day. The handsome bulk of Stephen stepped forward. He clasped his hands together in front of his stomach, but before he could begin to speak, the calm assurance in his expression changed. He had seen something that upset his composure, something that most of the guests could not have noticed from their different sightline. Behind them, three dark blue cars had edged silently around the curve of the lawn and pulled up.

Doors banged and three policemen stepped out from each car. They covered their uncertainty with the measured swagger of their movement towards the front of their cars, as if they wanted to make sure that they looked good on camera. Caroline and Hosea Kabari, out of uniform for the day, moved quickly to check on the unexpected callers.

‘Inspector Caroline Miggot and my colleague from the Naivasha, Sergeant Hosea Kabari.' (She smiled but did not introduce Maria who was giving the mostly young officers the full force of one her aggressive scowls.)

‘We know you, Inspector.'

The spokesman, the oldest in the group, a hefty man with bulging neck and stomach sneered, confident and challenging, a bully who had never made it above sergeant for all his many arrests he had made of the street scum he had brought into the station, usually in a damaged condition. He had little respect for policewomen above the rank of constable. Caroline vaguely remembered him from her time down in Nairobi.

‘Sergeant, do you realise that you are trespassing on private property? And there's a wedding. If you think you have business with anyone here, get back into your cars and wait outside.'

‘Not so fast, madam!' The sergeant cleared his throat dramatically and then lapsed into police mode. ‘We believe that you are harbouring four aliens somewhere on these premises. They do not have the proper permits to be in Kenya. The government wants them out. These people must be at the airport by six pm this evening, ready to board a night flight to London. Now you will understand why we cannot delay. Help us to do our job and we will leave you in peace.'

Before Caroline could reply, Maria moved from behind her husband's back.

‘How long did it take you to learn that speech, Constable?'

‘About thirty years madam and …'

‘Maria, leave this to Hosea and me. I take it, Sergeant, that you have written instructions giving you some kind of authority on this. May I see them, please?'

‘No, Inspector, our boss has them. He'll be with us shortly. Mechanical problem with the vehicle. His driver has radioed through.'

‘Then wait outside.' Irritation was beginning to show through in Caroline's voice.

But the sergeant was up for a contest of words and wills. He had ammunition to fire.

‘Inspector, I have to point out that if you had done your job properly none of this shaurie would have happened.'

‘What!' She had a problem. She wanted to get rid of this pompous man, but he was enjoying his stubborn resistance. Above all she did not want to let down Rebecca and Tom by allowing this ridiculous situation to continue.

‘If you had bothered to check their passports, when they were working in your area. Their work at the coast, sponsored by Mrs Sally Rubai, was sanctioned but finished and …'

‘Ah, now we're coming to it.' Caroline had recovered her composure. ‘Just one moment.' She turned to Hosea. ‘Ask one of the Welshmen …'

‘They never travel anywhere without them. Mister Iolo …'

Iolo handed his passport to Caroline. She flicked through the mostly empty pages until she found what she wanted. Unusually, the visa was handwritten by someone who had mastered the art of calligraphy and was unequivocal in its statement. The signature of the Archbishop of Nairobi was endorsed with the stamp of the Department of Immigration.

‘Now, Inspector, if you would be good enough to look at this document, which I first checked some five weeks ago, you will see that this man has permission to stay in this country “sine die” while engaged on legitimate, charitable work. His fellow “aliens” have similar entries. Read it carefully.'

The sergeant was not done.

‘So, working for a local building contractor on a house owned by a flower farmer counts as charitable work? I don't think so!'

‘Sergeant, and in what part of the universe have you been travelling in for these last few weeks. We have a family of our fellow countrymen who have their house - and farm - completely destroyed by criminals, whom we have yet to catch, who are helped in rebuilding their lives by four young men who receive not a shilling for their efforts, and this is not charitable work? I remind you. This is private property and you are trespassing.'

This kind of treatment was a new experience for these big city policemen. They were being bullied and they swapped puzzled glances hoping that one of them might find the inspiration to reverse the situation or at least find some way of making a dignified exit.

Maria Kabari was ready to send them on their way with a fiery farewell.

‘What a bunch of jerks. Sergeant, you know this word “jerk”? American. My brother lives in America. He keeps sending me these new words. He is here today. Would you like to speak to him? He is a lawyer.'

‘And I'm her other brother, a lawyer, too!'

‘I recognise you, Mister Miller.' The sergeant's puff and bluster were gone. His men were climbing back into their cars. He was eager to join them.

‘Sergeant, my sister is normally a gentle lady, but get her angry and well … But I have to say that she has expressed our sentiments with her usual sharp precision. Kwaheri!'

The interruption was over. The wedding guests applauded. The bully boys had been routed.

The two mechanics sent out from the motor pool in police headquarters to fix the immobile vehicle were astonished when they found the cause of the problem.

‘Inspector, your driver knows less about how a car engine works than my Uncle Solomon and he's been dead two years. You've run out of gas!'

‘But the red arrow is pointing to full! See!'

The inspector who did know a lot about cars felt some shame. He had doctored the gauge, a simple job. He had also made sure that the vital warrant had not left his pocket. A colleague had told him the first source of the order to send four cars up to the school in Gilgil. As a secret member of the Serena party he had taken a big risk by virtually sabotaging a piece of police business. He had thrown a few grains of sand into the well-oiled machine of Rubai Inc. It was time.

Back up in Gilgil, Father Robert, after a few words with Stephen and Alex, moved to the microphone. ‘I can't speak for all of you but, for me, I thank God for a piece of very witty deliverance just now. Ivor, David, Phillip and Iolo, my Celtic brothers, I am so glad that you are not already on your way back to the beloved land of your fathers! And, to answer a question I have been asked several times today: of course, these two wonderful people are joined together as man and wife in the presence of God.

‘Now, children, everyone, Maura and Angela tell me that it is time to celebrate in the good old up-country way.'

For a wedding feast, a surprising amount of business took place in the following hours before sunset and young and old went their ways, most of it around two large round tables set in a corner of the field. The music played and the people danced, but for once Rebecca, the new Mrs McCall, did not sing.

At the ladies' table a lot of the talk was about hospitals and the building of one special one. Debbie Miller had returned from Boston with her parents. She had brought detailed drawings of the plans and some pleasant surprises.

The men's business was more sensitive. A party out under the open sky was not the place to risk being overheard even by friendly ears. And there was also the important matter of drinking the health of the happy couple. Barnie Miller had his news from Boston and New York. It would wait for a more convenient time.

imon, how are you? Good to have you with us. I see Sally has taken Margaret off to see young Julius.'

‘Yes, Abel, and congratulations on the new arrival. And the new house. You seem to be creating a park out there.'

‘You haven't been here before? I think it's four years since we moved in.'

Simon was uneasy and on his guard. He had travelled down to Nairobi to pick up his personal belongings from Parliament House. When the next session began there would be someone else sitting in his place fighting the cause of Nakuru South. Forty years was probably too long to do the job properly all the time. He had sat with Margaret in the empty chamber, quietly remembering.