A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) (3 page)

‘I’d love to. After all, that’s why I’m here,’ Lacey replied. She didn’t want him to think she was intending to just lounge around enjoying the scenery. He wanted something from her and she intended to deliver it. ‘This trip is for business, not pleasure.’

Tate leaned back in his chair and looked at her. Just for a moment there he’d almost forgotten that she was a magazine reporter. He’d forgotten that her primary purpose was to get a good story that would send the magazines flying off the shelves and make the Van der Zyls even more money. Like the woman said – this trip was strictly business. And she was a businesswoman, no doubt about that. Crazy that he should have forgotten it.

With that thought in mind, he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin before dropping it on to his plate and standing up. ‘I’ve got a couple of things I need to do before we set off. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.’

Half an hour later, Lacey discovered Tate pinned against the side of a pick-up truck with two fat paws pressed against his chest. He was laughing as a huge Rhodesian ridgeback gnawed at his fist with gentle jaws.

‘Stupid dog!’ he muttered. ‘Think you can beat me in a stand-up fight? No way!’

The dog panted joyfully, not understanding the words, but loving the teasing tone in his master’s voice. His two back legs danced to keep him upright as the two of them tussled playfully for dominance.

‘Ready to roll?’ Tate asked as he spotted Lacey walking towards them. ‘Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.’ Lacey braced herself as almost eighty pounds of solid muscle came hurtling towards her.

 

‘Just ignore Jabu. He’s quite harmless.’

‘An animal lover herself, Lacey held out a passive hand for Jabu as he skidded to a halt in front of her. Tentatively, he sniffed at it first, then slurped it trustingly with his tongue. Tate was impressed. Here was a woman who understood animals. He liked that.

‘Jabu? That’s an unusual name.’

‘It’s Zulu. It means Rejoice.’ Tate hooked his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and whistled. Immediately, a second dog bounded into view. ‘This is Kaya. It means Restful, but she’s more stressful than restful, I’m afraid. She’s a bundle of energy. Never stops! I’m just waiting for the two of them to grow old and senile so they’ll just sleep all the time.’

Tate waited while the two dogs jumped into the back of the pick-up before climbing into the driver’s seat alongside Lacey. With one glance in his rear view mirror to make sure they were both behaving themselves, he thrust the truck into gear and headed out into the bush. The cab windows were open to make the most of the cooling breeze.

‘I should have tied my hair back,’ said Lacey, brushing aside the wisps that tickled her face.

Tate glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. She looked lovely sitting there with her shoulder-length hair blowing in the wind, her chin tilted towards the sun and her eyes half-closed against its light. At breakfast, he’d noticed a hint of jasmine when she came into the room. He could smell it now. Sweet. Sensual. A lovely, exotic perfume. He found it incredibly distracting and he jerked his eyes back to the track to clear his head of crazy thoughts.

‘Are they finished? The lodges.’

 

‘The construction work’s done. I’m just waiting for the bits and pieces

 

-paintings, pottery. The kind of stuff that’ll make them homely.’

‘Are they coming from the estate workers?’ Lacey liked the thought that wealthy tourists from all over the world would get the chance to see the local skills that rural Africa had to offer.

‘No. I’ve commissioned the works from a guy based in Johannesburg. He’s an internationally-renowned artist. The pottery’s imported from London.’

‘London! Why London? Why not use local crafts?’

Tate swung the steering wheel round a giant granite
kopje
then took the path that led directly down to the river. ‘I’ve got to strike a balance between rustic and luxury. These lodges will cost a bomb to rent. I don’t want people thinking they’ve been short-changed on fixtures and fittings.’

Lacey bit back the urge to argue. As far as she was concerned, the only people who’d been short-changed were the estate workers. Nothing was too good for the wealthy paying guests, so it seemed. Clearly, Tate hadn’t been joking when he’d said he wanted the lodges to make him loads of money. And it obviously didn’t matter how many ordinary people got ditched in the process.

‘Here we are,’ Tate slowed down and drew the truck to a halt in front of a stunning hillside complex. In the back, the dogs began to bark excitedly. Tate jumped out of the cab to let them out before opening the passenger door to help Lacey down.

He supported her arm as she slid down to the ground. Once again, she felt that treacherous tingle run through her veins. She stumbled on the uneven ground as she landed and Tate tightened his grip to steady her.

‘You okay?’ he said, looking at her with concerned eyes.

He was so handsome, so strong. For one fleeting moment, Lacey could imagine what it might be like to be completely engulfed in his arms, not just gripped above the elbow. It was a feeling quite unlike anything she’d ever experienced with Mortimer. And she felt a sudden, crippling sense of betrayal.

Mortimer! Her fiancé.
Swallowing a surge of guilt that almost overwhelmed her, she nodded and moved away from Tate’s arms. ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m just clumsy that’s all.’

‘So? What do you think?’ Tate stood beside her as she turned to view the development. ‘Stunning, huh?’

Lacey smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. ‘They certainly are. I think this must be one of the most beautiful places on earth. I’d certainly want to come here for my holidays.’

And it
was
beautiful. No doubt about that. A dozen thatched huts had been designed in the traditional rounded style of a
rondavel
. Some had been built into the side of the hill, complete with balconies on stilts that looked across the Sabie. The outdoor areas were huge with space for a dining table and chairs, luxurious sun-loungers and outside Jacuzzis. A network of highly-polished teak walkways led to the facilities, which included tennis courts and an oval-shaped swimming pool fringed with paw-paw and banana trees. Frangipani, in vivid oranges and reds, were in full flower, and Lacey’s favourite, yellow jasmine, grew wild. In the background, a larger building housed the main reception area and restaurant.

‘They’re going to bring in some serious money!’ Tate grinned, clearly delighted by her response.

 

Lacey’s heart sank. ‘So what do you plan to do with all that money?’

Tate glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. Did she
really
want to know? Would she understand? Would she
care
? The silence hung between them like a lead weight. In his heart, Tate wanted to share his secret with someone who could appreciate his needs. His hopes.

Was Lacey Van der Zyl that woman? Or was she just a journalist out to cover a money-making story for her father’s glossy magazine? Was she the kind of woman who would destroy people’s hearts and lives in pursuit of riches and glamour? The simple answer was that he just didn’t know. And he wasn’t prepared to risk anything on gut instinct alone.

He’d trusted people before. He’d be a damn fool to trust anyone again.

‘You want to know what I’m going to do with the money?’ he asked, his jaw rigid with tension. ‘I’m going to spend it! Blow the lot! Does that answer your question?’

‘I guess so,’ Lacey muttered, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. ‘I guess that’s what it’s for after all. And we all know you can never have too much money!’

Why, she asked herself, was this man so obsessed with money? Why did he measure the value of everything by its monetary worth? It was as though he hadn’t noticed the glorious location where the lodges were situated. Africa, with all its majesty and awesome beauty, was just some fancy backdrop as far as he was concerned.

‘Come on. I’ll show you inside, then I’m going to have to get back. I’ve got work to do.’ Tate had noticed the coolness in her voice, but he hadn’t read it as sarcasm. He’d heard the voice of a woman who lived and worked in a world where money counted for everything. Where making money was all that really mattered.

He’d been able to hear the greed in her father’s voice, too, while Jasper pondered how many magazines Tate’s story might sell. And that guy, Mortimer Schutte – whoever he might be. Now, he was a
real
jerk as far as Tate was concerned. Definitely not the kind of guy he’d normally want to do business with.

But then splashing his home across the pages of a glossy magazine wasn’t the kind of thing he normally did either; letting some woman into his private world wasn’t the kind of thing he normally did. It just wasn’t his style. And he didn’t like it at all. But he knew he had to do this if he wanted the lodges to bring in the kind of money he needed. He had no choice. He just had to hope it was all going to be worth it in the end.

Later that day, Lacey sat in her room with her laptop open on the table in front of her. She’d written up her early observations from her first day at Matshana, but then she’d saved the file and opened up another document that she’d called “
Manuscript
”.

It was her book.

The very thought of it gave her a real sense of purpose; of freedom. This book was her dream. She’d created it all by herself. She was developing it alone, without help or support from anyone. It was nothing to do with the magazine; nor her father; nor Mortimer for that matter. It was
her
creation.
Her
baby. And it meant the world to her.

Unusually though, she was finding it hard to concentrate right now. Writer’s block, she told herself. But she knew it was more than that. For once her imagination wasn’t free to wander among the pages of her novel.

It was tethered to Matshana. To Tate Maddox.

She could picture him now as they drove back from the lodges. His dark eyes silent and brooding. Cold, like gunmetal. His mouth was set in a determined line. But rather than spoiling his good looks, it made him look even more attractive. He drove with his right elbow resting on the open window to catch the breeze, guiding the steering wheel with his other hand. It was a big, heavy truck, yet he managed to steer the vehicle with ease.

He was tough. Immensely masculine. And Lacey had to force herself to look away. The man drew her to him like a magnet – and she didn’t like it one little bit!

Even now, as she sat in her room staring out at a dusky-pink and magenta sunset, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. It took a lot to drag her imagination away from her precious novel, but Tate Maddox had managed to do it – and he wasn’t even trying! In fact, Lacey wasn’t sure whether he even
liked
her. He certainly seemed to resent her presence in his home.

No matter, she told herself briskly. She’d just get what she wanted for her feature and then she’d be gone. Back to Cape Town. To her own world. And Tate Maddox could get back to the kind of solitude he so clearly preferred.

She dressed for dinner in a flowing gypsy skirt and off-the-shoulder embroidered top. She wasn’t sure whether it was a good choice. The top skimmed the swell of her breasts and made them look enormous. Big mistake! Self-consciously, she tried to hoick the flimsy cotton as high as it would go as she took her seat opposite Tate at the dining table. But the wretched thing wouldn’t budge.

That was something else she had to do when she got back to Cape Town - bin this top!

 

‘The food smells delicious,’ she said, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘You must have a very good cook.’

 

‘She’s more than just a cook,’ Tate replied. ‘She’s very special to me. She’s practically family.’

Lacey looked up as a beautiful young Zulu woman came into the room. She had the classic soft moon face of her race framed by a ring of tight black curls. Her huge eyes were the colour of dark chocolate, and they glimmered against her warm caramel skin tones. She walked with her head upright, her hips swaying to some unconscious rhythm. She looked at Lacey and her beautiful, friendly face broke into a massive smile. Lacey liked her at once.

‘This is Nandi,’ said Tate, standing up to take the tray from her hands. ‘Nandi – meet Lacey Van der Zyl.’

 

‘Oh my!’ Nandi’s fingers flew to her mouth. ‘What a beautiful name, Madam. Lacey… like lace. So pretty.’

 

Lacey blushed. ‘Thank you, Nandi. But please - call me Lacey.’ ‘You’ll be lucky,’ Tate interjected. ‘I’ve been trying to get this woman to call me “Tate” for years.’

Nandi tutted, and shook her head. ‘
Sah,
you are the
Nkosi
. It is not my place to call the
Nkosi
by his given family name. You are my employer. You are in charge here. I must respect that.’

‘Old fashioned nonsense!’ Tate grumbled. ‘And since when have I ever been in charge? Eh? You never do a thing I say! You just go off and do what you think is right regardless of what the “
Nkosi”
says. If anything, I’d say that
you’re
the only one who’s boss around here. I, for one, certainly wouldn’t dare to cross you.’

Lacey laughed, delighted by the cheerful banter between the two. This was a side of Tate that she’d never seen before. She’d definitely never seen him smile like that – except with his dogs, perhaps. It lit up his face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. She wished she could make Tate Maddox smile like that.

‘What have you prepared for us, Nandi?’ Lacey asked, desperate to steer her thoughts into safer waters.

‘Lamb
bobotie
with apricots and almonds, Miss Lacey. South Africa’s national dish. It is the
Nkosi’s
favourite. I thought it would be a fine meal for him to share with his guest. He does not have many guests to stay here at Matshana.’

‘Don’t start all that again, Nandi,’ Tate moaned. ‘No-one would ever believe that you’re only a couple of years older than me. You act like some old mother hen. Always fussing and clucking over me.’

‘The
Nkosi
needs a woman to fuss over him, Miss Lacey. It is not right for a man to live alone. It is time he found love.’