Girl with the Golden Voice (42 page)

Rebecca caught sight of herself in a mirror and chuckled at her bedraggled reflection. If only those friendly passengers on the matatu could see her now! But she was happy to accept the towels and to follow the mistresses of the house up the wide marble staircase to a large bedroom where she could ‘freshen up'. Sally Rubai had talked incessantly since she had placed her foot on the first step of the blue-carpeted climb out of the hallway. Young Judith spoke four words, but these had a much more profound effect on Rebecca than the hundreds her mother had poured out in bland social chitchat.

‘This is Julius's room.'

It had been many days since Rebecca had made the crucial decision about her future. Still fresh in her mind were the numbing pains that came with the recognition of what would be involved in seeing the ordeal through to the end. But it was the innocent words of a child that detonated the bombshell of stark reality under her. The comforting words of Rafaella and Mary Coulson had brought her glimmers of hope. These were soon snuffed out and at that moment she began to understand the true meaning of despair. She managed to keep hold on her composure and listened and responded to Sally's advice on where to find what she would need.

‘Take your time and when you are ready come down and we'll have a chat …' but she was very happy to close the door on mother and daughter and be alone.

Julius's room. Thank God he was not there! Perhaps next time he would be. She let herself slide to the floor, covered her head with a towel and sobbed. Nothing could protect her from the stream of imaginings that engulfed her. She remembered his naked body only too vividly — hard, muscular. This time there would be no Papa to protect her. This time he would paw her, caress her and enter her as a right. She screamed into the muffling softness of the towel and turned onto her stomach to weep into the carpet.

‘You look so beautiful but so weary, too! How do you manage to keep so slim? How stupid of me! A woman with the bloom of youth and a wonderful life waiting for her …'

Rebecca was glad that Sally kept talking with few expectations of contributions from her side. She was a kind hostess, but Rebecca began to sense that she was looking for some explanation. Why had this young woman come visiting with no word of warning?

‘A message,' Rebecca mumbled.

‘I don't quite understand, my dear. A message. Who's it for?'

Rebecca was silent for a full ten seconds. Sally Rubai could see her visitor staring blankly around the room. She shrugged, poured herself a fresh coffee and waited. The girl had seemed distracted for the whole time she had been in the house. She must be in shock for some reason.

Sally picked up no hint of the rage that was triggered in Rebecca's mind by the show of wealth in that beautiful sitting room, from the white and gold chair where she sat to the pink porcelain cup in her hand. A stream of images raced by like pictures on a screen. They began with the bloodied faces of broken men, moved to the appalling crudity of a hospital ward to hundreds of children trooping happily out of schools without a single book between them … In the real world a finely dressed lady sat facing her with a heavy black Bible next to the coffee pot on her table. Wealth beyond belief just a few kilometres from the great slum of Kibera. And her own growing wealth. That very morning she, Rebecca Kamau, the wash girl of Londiani, had made her will. She had left every shilling to Thomas McCall. A final picture, the said Thomas McCall of the town of Naivasha being bundled into the back seat of a big car and driven off by men who would take no chances this time.

‘Mrs Rubai, you have not asked me why I have come calling.'

‘I knew you would get ‘round to telling me when you were ready. And you mentioned some message.'

‘Yes, a message.'

‘Not for me, I suppose.'

‘Yes, for you but for Julius mostly.'

‘Julius will be home tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to stay the night.'

‘No, that would be too much.'

‘Not at all. But … you have written the message down? Or should I write it down?'

‘No need. It's very short. Just tell Julius that I am not marrying Tom McCall. The engagement is over. See.' She showed her left hand, empty of rings. She stood up to leave. ‘You have been very kind.'

‘Lovely to see you. No doubt Julius will understand. Perhaps he would like to get in touch with you. Are you still at Londiani?'

‘I am not anywhere for sure yet. Julius will find me. He always does. I think I may be going back with the band for a time. Thank you for having my clothes dried. That must be some machine!'

‘We haven't used it a lot. Abel and Julius like their clothes done in the wash tub. Hot water and a box of Omo. I think the girls prefer it that way.'

‘The rain has stopped. Shall I return the umbrella?'

‘No need. We have lots of them at the lodge. Look, let me drive you down to the tarmac at least The murram will be wet. You'll ruin your shoes.'

‘I'm sure I will be able to find some dry parts.'

As the door was opened to let Rebecca out, Sally touched her arm. ‘Child, you have such a weight on your shoulders. Are you sure you did the right thing to end your engagement?

It was you, wasn't it, not the boy?'

‘Yes, it was me. And I was right.'

‘But when I saw you with him, you seemed to love him so much.'

‘That is right. I love him, perhaps too much.'

Sally was intrigued. She had oodles of time to follow up her questions but Rebecca was gone. She knew where Julius was spending his last day in London. She wondered if she should phone him.

t ten o'clock on the evening of the party Maura could wait no longer. She had asked Tom to go up to his room and bring down a disc of his which she claimed the guests wanted to hear. On his way back she confronted him.

‘Tom, what's wrong? And you know what I mean.'

‘Well, let's put it like this. For the foreseeable future there will be no new Mrs McCall at Londiani.'

Maura closed her eyes and tilted her head forwards. After a deep sigh, ‘It wasn't you.'

He shook his head. ‘She told me this afternoon. She wouldn't say why. But tells me that she still loves me. You work that one out.'

‘I'll tell your father. We can talk later if you want.'

By midnight all the guests had left except for Bertie. Tom was grateful that he had been spared the embarrassment of announcing his news.

‘I appreciate you all sitting around like this, when I know you're longing for your beds.'

‘Tom, you know my drinking rate slows down after ten and I've got this White-cap to finish. Can't waste good beer!'

‘Come off it, Bertie. Anyway you lot are keeping me up. I've got two letters to write. I'd like to do them when … things are fresh.'

Eddie and Rollo started the exodus. Rollo had to pass close to Tom. ‘Tom, I feel shattered by all this. I dread to think …'

‘Now don't go all sentimental on me, brother of mine! You'll have me in tears.'

As he passed, Eddie touched Tom on the shoulder. ‘See you in the morning then. We'll be coming down with you. Give us a shout.'

A quarter of an hour later he was alone in a quiet house. Through the open window he heard the drone of Bertie's Harley dying away and in the garden cicadas scraping out their monotone nocturnal cheep.

Rafaella appeared, warmly muffled in her full-length white woollen dressing-gown. She was carrying a tray.

‘Brought us a mug of chocolate. No biscuits, I'm afraid. Run out. How are you feeling, Thomas?'

The long sigh which began his answer was breathed out like a whistle. ‘Baffled. That's the best I can do at the moment.'

‘Tell me to go away if you like.'

‘Wouldn't dare do that to someone who brought me this delicious brew. Love the sugar. They say it gives you energy.'

‘Well, it's brown sugar, so your mother would approve.' After a pause, ‘When your grandfather died, people tiptoed around me as if they were walking on eggshells. But I wanted to talk then, so I'm not apologising for barging in now.'

‘I remember how calm you were.'

‘Numb is a better word, battered by the “if onlys” and those endless questions that I couldn't answer.'

‘Battered, that I understand. I've tried to find a sane answer to why so many times that my brain is overheating. One minute I think I understand. It's suddenly dawned on her that there's an exciting new world outside sleepy old Naivasha. Audiences love her. She comes alive on the stage. Even the money makes sense. It would give her the chance to do some good things. Yeah, and she just didn't want to tell me, hurt my feelings. She's such a strong person. She'd make a great MP.'

‘But she might have been the wife of an MP.'

‘Some hopes. Anyway I soon got onto another answer, the black and white stuff and then another, and another. I'm in a mess.'

‘No, your'e brilliant. That's Eddie's word. This time it's just right. Don would have been proud of you.'

‘I lost her for being a coward for so long.'

‘Tom, she loves you. She loves you more than you realise. She loves you so much that she's willing to give you up.'

‘That doesn't make sense.'

‘To a woman it does.' Another pause. ‘Sleep would help. I could offer you a couple of tablets. I never took them. Hiding away doesn't help. I was going to watch a video.'

‘Humphrey Bogart, your old pal?'

‘The Maltese Falcon, my favourite.
'

‘Good old Lucy!'

‘Yes, good old Lucy.'

‘Remember that first lunch? Rebecca and the red dress … I wonder if dying is like this?'

‘Dying?'

‘So ordinary. Like stepping into a room.'

‘The world doesn't notice our big dramas. Only God does.'

‘We're such a pathetic, puny lot.'

‘Perhaps that's why I like Mr Bogart. He makes puny things so enjoyable. Come and see.'

‘I need some night air.'

They parted at the corner of the laundry garden, Rafaella to the lower sitting room, Tom to the acacia by the lakeside.

He had never found the view less inspiring. It was all there, A1 majestic stuff, the crusty jewels hanging low in the sky of the deepest blue, the silver grey lake, the familiar silhouette of hills with Longonot and Suswa on eternal watch. He was too restless to enjoy the magic. He could not settle to anything. He was off.

As he followed the dark path back to the house, something Mary Coulson had told him years before flashed across his mind for the first time in ages. He was in the desert. He must travel on. Somewhere here he would meet his dark side. He must stare unblinking at this normally hidden part of his self. This was the way through. For the moment it meant being in the company of Mr Bogart and his fellow actors.

He had never enjoyed a film so much. Sam Spade operated in this black-and-white world of intrigue and deception, but he was a survivor. Nothing would faze this man, not even death.

Next morning Tom was up early, but he had not gone down to the fields as Rafaella had thought. He pedalled off from the house at sunrise with a bottle of Tusker in each of his trouser pockets. A couple of crudely made cheese rolls in a bag hung from the handlebars. Bertie and Ewan were having breakfast. Tom accepted the offer of a glass of orange juice.

‘Take her. The tank's pretty full.'

‘How did you know?'

‘Tom, I've known you since day one. And I can see the Tuskers sticking out of your pocket! Where you going?'

‘Eburu. Along the bush tracks. Got my mobile.'

‘Do they know over there?'

‘At the house? No.'

‘Ewan and I'll go over after breakfast. Or you could phone.'

‘I think I'll just shove off, if you don't mind.'

He was excited to feel the eager power of the Harley under him again. The rush of cool morning air as he opened up along South Lake Road momentarily took his breath away. He glanced to his right and through a gap in the trees glimpsed the circle of rondavels. Rebecca would be in one of them. He wondered if she could hear the noise of him as he sped past. By the time he returned she might have left the village. Sometime soon she would return to the coast. She loved it down there. Stephen and Angela might rejoin the family and start a new life.

Once past Kingoni he had to concentrate his mind on the track ahead. Potholes, tree stumps, patches of slippery mud presented scores of hazards. Carelessness with any one of these and his outing would be over.

He cleared the forest and was able to relax more. There were few fences out here and he used cross-country paths to bring him to the back of Eburu. He saw no signs of Maasai herding their stringy cattle. They were still on the far side of the mountain down towards Elementaita and the soda lake. It was easy to speed along high plains whose thin brown pasture would soon be transformed by the long rains into a cattle-man's paradise, miles of rich green forage. For a time life on the hills would be easy.