A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) (6 page)

‘Lacey…?’

 

Startled, she spun round to face him. ‘Tate! Oh my God! You made me jump. I was just… working.’

 

Suddenly, Tate saw it. He could see it as clear as day in her eyes and by that nervous flick of her hair.

 

Guilt. Embarrassment.

As far as he was concerned, they were blazoned across her face in neon lights. He watched her gulp, and then hurriedly shut down her laptop without even bothering to save the document.

Whatever it was she was writing, she sure as hell didn’t want him to see it. No doubt she’d already woven Themba into her article. After all, the press didn’t need too many facts to make a story sell. They could just make it up as they go along. That’s what they’d done before - six years ago.

‘I was … writing up my notes from today,’ Lacey stammered, shuffling the papers on the desk behind her back and praying that Tate hadn’t actually been able to read the words on the screen. She couldn’t bear it if he discovered that she was secretly writing a book; even worse a romantic historical novel set right here in Africa. He would think her a fool. And she would simply want to curl up and die of shame if he’d recognised himself in her hero. How completely and utterly devastating would that be? She’d never be able to look him in the eye again.

Tate raised an eyebrow. ‘So I see,’ he replied, coldly. ‘Sorry I interrupted the flow. It’s clearly not a good time for you right now. I’ll catch up with you later.’

With that, Tate turned on his heels and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

And Lacey felt strangely empty after he’d gone.
CHAPTER FOUR

Lacey couldn’t sleep. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, troubled by strange dreams where Tate and Mortimer – and even the hero in her novel - kept getting mixed up in her mind. She tried to concentrate on the steady whirr of the crickets outside her window, but even that comforting sound couldn’t help her relax.

In the end, she flung back the duvet and got out of bed. She pulled on a light cotton dressing gown and went out on to the veranda.

It was still cool outside with a faint breeze that ruffled her hair. There were a couple of clouds in the sky, their edges illuminated by the contrasting hues of a silver moon and the dawn sun.

Lacey breathed deeply and rolled her neck from side to side to stretch her aching muscles. She then dropped into one of the big, comfy cane chairs outside her room and let Matshana work its magic. The sweet perfume of the bougainvillea hung in the air and mingled with fresh scents wafting up from the savannah. It was heavenly, and Lacey felt some of her troubles slipping away as she put her feet up on the coffee table and closed her eyes.

She would have fallen asleep right there in the chair if the sound of voices hadn’t roused her. She looked out and saw Nandi trudging along the path at the side of the garden, followed closely by Tate and one of the farm workers. Their heads were down and there was a weary droop to their shoulders. They looked tired and Lacey wondered why on earth they were working at this hour. Surely they had enough to do during the day? She’d seen them before, late at night and in the early hours, traipsing to and from Tate’s office. Surely this wasn’t a part of their normal duties?

Lacey recognised the man. His name was Thomas and he worked down at the lodges during the day. It was tough, manual labour that must leave him exhausted at the end of a shift. But, on top of all that, it looked like Tate had him doing extra chores at the start and finish of his normal working day.

The two men were engaged in animated conversation, with Thomas hurrying to keep pace with Tate’s long, easy stride. Even at this hour, Tate looked fit and strong and alert. It was as though he didn’t need the usual supports that ordinary mortals relied on – like sleep and rest! He functioned like a well-oiled machine. A money-making machine as her father had said. And Jasper was probably right.

Well, that was okay for someone like Tate, Lacey figured, but surely he didn’t expect his staff to give up their spare time just so that he could add to his already substantial fortune. It was bad enough that he was totally fixated on the profits he might get from the lodges, but surely his employees shouldn’t be dragged into his greedy scheme. Fully awake now, Lacey shook her head in silent condemnation before she went back inside to shower and dress for breakfast. Maybe she would talk to Tate later.

Nandi was in the kitchen whisking eggs for an omelette when Lacey entered. The tantalising smell of grilled bacon and freshly-baked bread reminded her that she was hungry. With an appetite like hers, it was a miracle she wasn’t as big as a house, she always said. But then, next to someone like Tilly Du Preez, she probably did look as big as a house. What a perfectly ghastly thought! It would definitely have to be the cabbage soup diet for her when she got back to Cape Town, she told herself sternly. But not today. Not when presented with one of Nandi’s sumptuous breakfasts.

Nandi looked up when she entered, with a smile so broad it lit up her entire face. ‘Good morning, Miss Lacey,’ she said. ‘Breakfast will not be long. Did you sleep well?’

‘Not really,’ Lacey replied honestly. ‘I had dreams.’

 

‘Do not worry about that. Matshana will soothe away those dreams very soon. The longer you stay here, the more rested you will become.’ ‘
You
don’t seem to get much time to rest here, Nandi, do you? You were up well before dawn this morning. I saw you.’

 

Nandi nodded and lifted a loaf of bread out of the oven. ‘There is much to do here. The
Nkosi
has great plans.’

‘Here, let me do that. I’ll butter the bread,’ Lacey reached in the drawer for the knife. ‘It doesn’t leave a lot of time for you, though, Nandi. You must be exhausted with all the extra work you’re having to do.’

Nandi smiled. ‘I am very strong, Miss Lacey. I do not get tired. Matshana makes me strong.’

Sure it does, Lacey thought bitterly. And Matshana makes Tate Maddox rich. But she kept quiet about her concerns. She didn’t want to rock any boats while she was here. It was just that she couldn’t bear injustice or exploitation, and that’s exactly what seemed to be happening here.

‘What about Themba?’ said Lacey. ‘Don’t you want to be able to spend more time with him when he’s home for the holidays?’

‘The
Nkosi
has just gone to collect Themba from my house in the village. He will eat his breakfast here with me. Then he will play with the other boys from our village. He has many friends.’

Lacey could almost feel the pride in Nandi’s voice when she spoke about her son. But then it would be impossible not to love such a dear little boy. If she had a son like Themba she would love him just as much.

‘Tate tells me he’s really happy at Whitestones.’

‘Oh yes. And it is a great honour to go to such a school. He is a bright boy and the
Nkosi
tells me that his teachers think he will go far. The
Nkosi
is so kind to us. We are very, very lucky.’

‘He clearly adores Themba,’ Lacey spread a pat of butter across a huge hunk of bread. It was still warm and the butter melted into it.

‘The
Nkosi
is a good man. There are not many men who are as good or as kind. Oh my! If you eat all the bread now, Miss Lacey, you will not have enough room left in your stomach to eat your breakfast!’

Hastily, Lacey swallowed the chunk of bread she had in her mouth then grinned guiltily at Nandi. ‘Sorry! It’s just so scrummy. And I’m starving!’

‘It will not be long before Themba and the
Nkosi
arrive. And then you can eat as much as you wish.’

 

‘You’re very fond of Tate, aren’t you?’ Lacey said, just about managing to finish her task without munching her way through the rest of the loaf.

Nandi nodded. ‘He is a good man. I owe him a lot.’
‘I hear he has a brother living in London.’
Nandi said nothing.
‘Gareth, isn’t it?’ Lacey continued. ‘What’s he like? Is he like Tate?’

Nandi dried her hands on the teacloth and stared out of the window. Her shoulders went rigid and the light dimmed in her eyes. ‘He is not a good man, Miss Lacey. He has caused the
Nkosi
much pain. I cannot speak well of anyone who has caused such pain, and so I must not say anything.’

Lacey was shocked to hear the venom in Nandi’s normally placid tone. She was obviously fiercely loyal to Tate and bravely refused to countenance anyone who might harm him. But surely Nandi’s anger would be better directed at the person who had caused
her
such pain Tate Maddox. The man who had saddled her with a young child to bring up alone – a man who refused even to acknowledge that child as his own.

Whatever had happened between the Maddox brothers couldn’t possibly be anywhere near as catastrophic as what had happened to Nandi. And yet there was something in Nandi’s tone that would brook no argument where Tate was concerned. She was completely and utterly devoted to him - whatever wrongs he may have committed. But why?

Lacey figured that there could only be one answer to that question Nandi was in love with Tate. And, like women in love everywhere, she was prepared to overlook his faults, to accept whatever life had to throw at her and to defend the man that she loved – even when he was so obviously in the wrong!

It was a sobering thought. And one that made Lacey question the strength and integrity of her own feelings for the man
she
was going to marry. Did Mortimer inspire such unquestioning devotion and loyalty in her? She truly didn’t want to know the answer to that.

Luckily, her anxious questions were scattered into a million pieces by the noisy arrival of Tate and Themba. The lad was hoisted on Tate’s shoulders and had narrowly missed clunking his head in the doorway. Tate lowered him down to the floor where Themba dissolved in a fit of giggles.

‘You wouldn’t be laughing if you’d bashed your head on the doorway, kiddo’ Tate grabbed a piece of bacon and folded it into his mouth. ‘And you’d have got me into deep trouble with your mama here.’

‘You are already in trouble for being late,’ Nandi remonstrated, tapping Tate’s hand with the back of a spoon as it edged it way towards a second piece of bacon. ‘And now I see that you are eating with your fingers. You do not set this child a very good example of proper table manners at all. Not at all!’

Tate shrugged his shoulders and winked at the boy. ‘What can I say? She’s right. Don’t you go using me a role model, Themba lad, or you’ll be sorry. That’s for sure!’

Themba giggled again and hurled himself at Tate’s legs. ‘Can I sit at the big table with you for my breakfast,
Baba
?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Sure you can buddy. I’m sure Lacey would love you to join us. Am I right, Lacey?’

‘You bet,’ Lacey agreed. ‘The more the merrier as far as I’m concerned. And as for eating all the bacon, Tate – I’ve got to confess that I ate most of the bread!’

Tate roared with laughter, then ducked as Nandi swept past into the dining room carrying a platter of bacon and eggs high above her head ‘And you, child,’ Nandi said as she passed, ‘you must eat in the kitchen here with me. It is not your place to sit at the big table with the
Nkosi
. He and Miss Lacey will not want to be bothered with your childish prattle at this time of day.’

‘Rubbish!’ Tate argued. ‘He’ll be a darn sight more interesting than me right now. All I want to do is sit and eat. I’m ravenous.’

 

‘Me, too!’ Lacey concurred. ‘And if you’re okay with it, Nandi, I’d love Themba to join us.’

Themba whooped with delight and raced past them into the breakfast room. Tate and Nandi followed chuckling to themselves. Behind them, Lacey contemplated the delightful family scene with a vague sense of longing - jealousy, even.

She could still picture her own mother - a beautiful, intelligent woman. When she was a child, Lacey used to sit and watch her mother as they ate their breakfast together in Cape Town. She would studiously copy her mother’s posture and mannerisms, echoing her choice of words and phrases. Lacey was just a little girl then, but she had known instinctively that this was someone to look up to and admire. Someone to love.

Later, as a teenager, Lacey had been so proud of the striking woman who was always there for her at school speech days, family gatherings and, more importantly, when she needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to - someone who would understand. And care.

Lacey could still picture her mother’s eyes. They were green, just like hers. But far more beautiful, she’d always thought. Her mother had loved her so much. So completely. So unconditionally. In fact, no-one had ever loved her the way her darling mother had loved her. And, in return, Lacey had adored her mother. Worshipped her. But then, so had Michael.

Lacey’s thoughts were dragged back to the present by the sound of Tate’s cell phone ringing in his shirt pocket. He took it out and flipped it open, frowning in concentration as he listened to the person speaking on the other end.
‘Okay. Hang in there. I’ll be over in a tick.’ Tate gulped the last of his

coffee and pushed his chair back from the table. ‘We’ve got a new-born calf in one of the pens. She’s having trouble suckling. I’m going over there right now. Do you want to come? See how we do things around here?’

‘Oh Tate! I’d love to see a new-born calf. What an amazing experience that would be.’ Lacey grabbed her hat from the back of the chair. ‘Are you sure I won’t get in the way?’

‘I’ll let you know if you do,’ Tate grinned. He looked down as a tiny fist clutched at the bottom of his shirt.

 

‘May I come, too,
Baba?
I would like to see the baby calf. I promise I won’t get in the way either.’

Tate shrugged. ‘Okay, but you’ve got to stand still next Lacey and be as quiet as a mouse. The calf’s only a little baby, not a great, big boy like you, and you mustn’t frighten her. Okay? Do we have a deal?’

Themba nodded solemnly and, as if to prove his point, he held Lacey’s hand obediently as he tiptoed out to Tate’s truck. He clambered up on to the seat next to Lacey and clung to the dashboard in total silence.

‘I think it’s okay to make a little bit of noise while we’re still here,’ Lacey whispered against the soft curls at the back of his head. ‘You only need to be quiet when we’re in with the calf.’