I Do Not Come to You by Chance (44 page)

The office was large and uncluttered, with a refrigerator in a corner and a wide, mahogany cabinet displaying several exotic vases and several awards extolling her son’s financial contributions to different organisations, and a smiling portrait of Thelma in a gold frame. Not for the first time, Augustina wondered how her son’s sweetheart could bear the burden of those enormous breasts on such a petite figure.

But Augustina soon lost interest in the awards and the photograph. Her eyes and heart had settled on the large mahogany shelf filled with books. And not just any books. Augustina recognised many of her husband’s priceless textbooks and smiled. Really, there was no better legacy a father could bestow on his son than knowledge as vast as eternity.

‘Your office is lovely,’ she said, a broad grin on her face. ‘Anyway, you’ve always had good taste. Just like your father.’

Augustina noticed that her son’s expression did not acknowledge the compliment. It was probably his way of showing humility at being compared to such a great man. Kingsley offered her a seat and sat in the grand leather chair behind the executive desk.

‘How about the MBA?’ she asked. ‘Have you started applying?’

‘I just downloaded the forms for the Manchester Business School today,’ he said, swivelling to the right. ‘I’ll send them off by tomorrow.’

‘Oh, good! Have you confirmed the fees?’

He swivelled to the left and told her the amount.

‘Really!’ she exclaimed. ‘That means Imperial Business School is even cheaper.’

‘Yes, but Manchester is one of the top three in Europe.’

‘Oh.’ She was quiet. Then, ‘your father would be very happy if you went to his alma mater.’

Kingsley laughed a brief, staccato laugh.

‘Mummy, the same medicine that is good for the eyes may not be good for the ears. Daddy studied Engineering, mine is an MBA.’

Augustina went quiet. She remained quiet.

‘OK,’ Kingsley said at last. ‘If that’s what you really want, I’ll fill out the application forms to Imperial as well.’

‘Kings, that would be lovely,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘That would be really lovely. Imperial is still a very good school, no matter what you’re studying.’

The important thing was for people to see that her son, the CEO of Kings Ventures International, had an MBA from a foreign university. In Nigeria, foreign degrees carried huge respect, whether they were from Manchester or Imperial or Peckham. And now that it seemed as if democracy had indeed come to stay, hordes from the diaspora were shaking off their phobias and coming back home, and people with local degrees were becoming more and more invisible. In the next few years, Augustina was confident that her son would do well enough to become one of the most respected entrepreneurs from this part of the world. An MBA from a reputable foreign school would definitely go a long way in making him stand out farther from the crowd. And in an economy that was so shaky and unpredictable, it would also be a good insurance policy to fall back on, in case business went awry.

A harsh tune pierced the air. Kingsley brought his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. He excused himself, rose quickly, and strode towards the window at the far end of the room.

‘Hello Mr Winterbottom,’ he said with quiet authority.

Augustina lost control of her mouth and giggled.

‘I was just about to ring you now, but my mother dropped by and I got busy attending to her.’

That was something Augustina loved about her son: family always came first.

‘I’ve confirmed that the funds have definitely been sent to your bank,’ he said, ‘but the delay is from the brokerage firm. They said they can’t conclude the transfer without first receiving their commission. That’s their policy.’

He turned from the window and glanced quickly at her.

Augustina smiled and waved her hand for him to continue with his conversation. She did not mind; she was not in any hurry.

‘One per cent. That’s the standard fee on all transactions.’ He paused. ‘Yes, one per cent of the 420 million.’

He nodded. He nodded again and again.

‘Just let me know as soon as you’ve made the payment to them, so that I can follow up and make sure there are no further delays.’

Kingsley returned to his desk, his face aglow with a gigantic grin.

‘One of my foreign investors,’ he explained.

Augustina nodded.

Exactly as she had guessed.

Paulinus had always said that their opara’s brains would someday make him great beyond Nigeria’s shores. This was only the beginning.

Special thanks to:

~ Kirsty Dunseath, my editor, for giving me a wonderful home.

~ Daniel Lazar a.k.a. Master, my literary agent of inestimable value. Charming, long-suffering, conscientious, filled with remarkable wisdom.

~ Bibi Bakare-Yusuf, my trailblazing Nigerian publisher, for believing in me from the very beginning.

~ Brenda Copeland, my US editor, for the endless tutoring and enthusiasm.

~ My friends, both old and new. I’m convinced that no one in the universe has a circle more amazing. I started mentioning your names but it went on for two whole pages, and yet, I was not finished!

~ Uluobi Andrea, for making sure that my bank account never ran dry.

~ Uncle Sunmi Smart-Cole, for those beautiful ‘awoof ’ photographs.

~ Dr. Chioma Ejikeme, for constantly telling me that I was making the whole family proud.

~ Fred Ukachi Onuobia, for the unflinchingly high expectations.

~ Aunty Mary Ibe, for taking care of me.

~ Professor Adigun Agbaje, for all the intellectual advice.

~ Eyo Ekpo, my veritable ‘Encyclopaedia Africana’.

~ Gilda O’Neil, for that dramatic boost.

~ L. M. Stephenson Jr, for the great suggestion which I initially found amusing.

~ My 419 sources and acquaintances, for kindly or inadvertently allowing me a peep into your surreal world.

~ Magnus, Uwasinachi Dave and Ekwueme, for being part of us.

~ My life coach and my mentors, for teaching me that, truly, anything is possible.

~ The One who put the talent in my hands and blessed me with the mimshach.