Читать книгу The Vow - Cheryl Ntumy S. - Страница 4

1

Rethabile Moemedi raised her head and gazed into the molten chocolate eyes of her beloved. His arms tightened around her and his expression grew misty with adoration.

“Thabi, my darling, I’ve waited far too long to say this to you,” he whispered, moulding her against his body.

Her heart raced inside her chest. Her eyelids fluttered. “Say what, Ras? You know you can tell me anything.”

She could feel his heart – and something else – swell with passion. “Thabi, my love, queen of my soul . . . I can’t live without you.” He dropped to his knees before her and buried his head in her skirt. “Marry me, my darling! Say you’ll be mine forever!”

Rethabile swooned. “Oh, Ras . . . Yes!” She drew him up and crushed her lips to his, flames of desire engulfing them as Celine Dion’s “Power of Love” began to play in the background . . .

“Rethabile!”

“Huh?” She blinked and focused on the face of her colleague, Criselda. She wasn’t in Ras’s arms after all. She was at her desk in the Grand Gesture office in Menlyn, Pretoria, where she had served as a customer liaison officer for the last three years.

Criselda jerked her head in the direction of the door. Rethabile turned and her eyes widened. If the look on her boss’s face was anything to go by, her career might be close to an abrupt end.

“I’ve been calling you for five minutes!” Marani de Bruin folded her arms over her chest, glaring angrily.

Rethabile flashed her a winning smile and lowered the volume on the computer. Celine Dion would have to wait. “Sorry, I guess the music was too loud. Is everything okay?”

“I need confirmations for the Wilson event,” said Marani in her brisk, businesslike tone. “That whole mix-up with the fire walkers threw things off. Did you sort it out?”

“All done,” said Rethabile proudly. “They’ve agreed to train Mr Wilson before the event, and they’ll provide all the equipment as requested. I also called the jewellery store to make sure the order for the ring will be ready in time, and they’ll give me a call when the engraving is done. I’ll e-mail you all the quotes in a moment – I just need to finalise the costume with the designer.”

A small smile played at the corners of Marani’s lips. “Good. Then maybe I’ll let you get away with daydreaming on the job.”

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” Rethabile protested, cringing with embarrassment. “I was just a little distracted because of the . . . ”

“Ja, ja,” said Marani with a careless wave. “Just get the work done and you can be distracted by whatever you want.” She walked back to her office.

Rethabile exhaled.

Grand Gesture did exactly what the company name suggested – it allowed clients to make grand gestures of love and appreciation: from extravagant thank-you gifts to fantasy marriage proposals. Rethabile had been drawn to the company because of the sheer romance of it and the idea that she could turn humdrum reality into something spectacular, if only for a few hours.

The phone rang and she recognised the number on her screen. “Mr Wilson! How are you?”

This client’s event was one of the most over-the-top proposals they had ever been hired to execute. Mr Wilson had wanted to dress up as Tarzan, swing on a vine and walk through fire, then wrestle a bull, cut it open and remove a sparkling engagement ring from its bowels.

It had taken Rethabile a good long while to explain what was wrong with this concept, and the client was slowly coming round to her way of thinking. The fire had been replaced by hot coals, the bull wrestling had been done away with completely and the ring would emerge from a box designed to look like a lump of glowing coal, instead of bovine entrails.

“Don’t worry, Mr Wilson, the Tarzan suit is almost ready for your first fitting,” Rethabile assured him, narrowing her eyes at Criselda, who was giggling over the rim of her coffee cup. “Have you been doing those daily sit-ups? Then I’m sure you’ll look spectacular. While we’re discussing the costume, I need to know if you still want to go with the wig. Yes? All right then . . . Yes, she’ll be thrilled to see how she’s tamed the wild beast, Mr Wilson. Right. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Criselda lowered her cup and let out a loud guffaw. “Tamed the wild beast?”

Rethabile grinned. “It’s kind of romantic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“There’s nothing romantic about Tarzan walking through fire,” Criselda pointed out, tapping at her keyboard. “Why can’t he just write her name in the sky like a normal person?”

Rethabile swung round in her swivel chair and wagged a finger at her colleague. “Why so cynical, Cris? You get the idea behind it. He’d walk through fire for her, brave the darkest jungles and even turn his back on his wild ways, if only she’ll say yes.”

“I bet you a hundred rand she’s going to say no,” said Criselda firmly.

“Fifty and you’re on,” replied Rethabile.

She loved her job and she was hard-working and focused. Most of the time. Today she was the tiniest bit out of it, and it was all because of a hot deejay with a larger-than-life mohawk. Rethabile turned away from Criselda and glanced at her cellphone. It stared back at her, resolutely silent.

She had met DJ Ras five weeks earlier at a birthday party one of her clients had thrown for her boyfriend. He was cool, suave and sexy, with a gravelly voice and battered leather jacket. They had hit it off instantaneously, had a wild time together and then . . . well, then he had done what her sisters had said he would do. He stopped calling.

It had been over a week since the last time she had seen him and four days since she had heard from him. His last bit of communication had been an SMS:

work hectic. see u around

She had told herself that it wasn’t necessarily a brushoff. But the more days passed, the more she started to realise that the only time she would get to hear DJ Ras whisper sweet nothings was over the airwaves. Still, she couldn’t help checking her phone. He might come to his senses.

Rethabile leaned back into her chair and turned her attention back to her e-mail inbox. Her phone vibrated. She whipped her head towards it, her heart pounding, but it was only her twin sister.

“Hello, Thabi.” Reneilwe was like the personal assistant of a mogul – smart, concise, and with an air of overwhelming efficiency. Though identical in looks – from their big, expressive eyes and caramel skin to their broad, infectious grins – the two of them were polar opposites in temperament. “What are you doing after work today?”

Rethabile frowned, instantly on her guard. Her twin wouldn’t disrupt her strict weekly schedule unless something was up. “Nothing. Why?”

“Let’s get together for coffee. Ellen’s in town and I haven’t seen Rebecca all week. It’ll be nice to hang out and chat.”

Chat? Why did that one little word sound so ominous? Maybe it was because Reneilwe had got the whole gang together – their nineteen-year-old half-sister and Rethabile’s oldest friend. This wasn’t an ordinary hang-out session.

Rethabile swallowed hard. “Is everything okay, Reneilwe?”

“Of course. Six o’clock, at that little corner café in Menlyn Park.”

Rethabile put down her phone with a sense of foreboding. She had been born twelve minutes earlier than her twin, but Reneilwe had nevertheless managed to convince everyone, including herself, that she was the first-born. She took it upon herself to guide her twin down the right path – with a little force if necessary.

What have I done? Rethabile wondered, racking her brain for recent indiscretions. She had forgotten her brother-in-law Sfiso’s birthday, but she made up for it. She had been responsible over the past few months. There was only one tiny mistake she had made, and his name was DJ Ras. But Reneilwe had already given her a lecture on that.

So what was up?

* * *

The café was busy, filled with just-off-the-clock professionals and small groups of chattering students. Rethabile spotted her sisters at a corner table and hurried over to join them.

Rebecca jumped up to greet her, squealing with delight. “Thabi!” She flung her arms around Rethabile. “It’s been so long!”

Rethabile held her sister at arm’s length so she could see her properly. Tall, slender Rebecca was dressed – shudder – like a student, in tattered jeans and a statement T-shirt. “It’s been three days, sweetie. Didn’t I buy you a dress? Why don’t you ever wear it? Have I wasted my money?”

Rebecca collapsed into her chair. “It’s for special occasions.”

“Good to see you, Thabi,” said Reneilwe. “Take a seat. Ellen’s on her way.”

Rethabile always got a shiver when she saw her twin. It was like looking in the mirror and realising that she had been dressed by her grandmother.

Reneilwe had very short hair in contrast to Rethabile’s luxurious weave. Today she wore a stylish shift dress, but she had managed to ruin it by adding a conservative beige cardigan and flat shoes. They shared the same petite, curvy frame, with breasts Rethabile thanked God for every time she encased them in sexy lingerie. She showed off her cleavage every chance she got, but she was pretty sure her twin’s cleavage had shrivelled up from lack of exposure.

“So . . .” Rethabile snatched Rebecca’s menu and began flipping through it. “What’s going on?” She let her eyes drift across the page before raising them to her sisters’ faces.

They remained silent. Reneilwe had put on her inscrutable sphinx expression. Rebecca stared into her coffee cup.

“Come on, guys,” groaned Rethabile. “I know something’s up. Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” said her twin, smoothing the front of her cardigan.

Rethabile’s eyes narrowed and she turned to her younger sister, who looked as if she wanted to disappear into her chair. “Are you in trouble? Are you pregnant?”

Rebecca choked on air. “Thabi! No!”

“Stop being so melodramatic,” said Reneilwe.

Just then Ellen, tall and ebony-skinned with piercing eyes, arrived in a wave of fruity perfume and cheery greetings. She and Rethabile had been friends since primary school.

“Hey, Thabi,” she said, hugging her warmly. “You look gorgeous, as usual.”

“Not as gorgeous as you! How’s Cape Town?”

“Spectacular!” Ellen seemed to be in a good mood, so whatever the three of them were about to say couldn’t be all that terrible.

They placed their orders, then Rethabile folded her arms on top of the table and glared at the others. “Enough stalling,” she said. “Start talking.”

The three of them exchanged glances. Reneilwe cleared her throat and took charge. “We want to talk to you about something,” she began. “Because we love you and want what’s best for you. We’re coming from a place of sisterhood and compassion, okay? This is not an attack.”

“We’re just worried about you,” Ellen added.

“And we love you,” Rebecca blurted out.

Reneilwe silenced her with a look. “I already mentioned that.”

Rethabile stared at them in confusion. “Ha ke utlwisise.”

Ellen, who was sitting next to her, reached out and took her hand. “We’re a little concerned about the patterns you’ve been displaying in your relationships.”

“Unhealthy patterns,” Reneilwe clarified. “Unhealthy choices that are bad for you and only cause you to suffer.”

For a moment Rethabile was completely nonplussed. Then, slowly, the confusion began to clear. “Oh, I see. This is an intervention. Like for a drug addict or a suicidal person, except I’m not suicidal or on drugs.”

“Not the usual drugs, but still,” said Rebecca. “I mean, love is a drug, right?”

Rethabile stared from one to the other in amazement. “Are you serious? You lured me here to discuss my love life?”

“It’s not a love life, Thabi,” said Reneilwe. “That’s the problem. It’s the same cycle over and over, flings and infatuations, but nothing solid that you can count on.”

“That’s not true!” cried Rethabile, snatching her hand out of Ellen’s grip. “I’ve had solid relationships. Just because they didn’t work out . . . ”

“Let’s talk about Ras.” Reneilwe’s voice was as calm and steady as ever. “Would you say he was your boyfriend? Were you in love?”

“Of course,” said Rethabile. As soon as she said it she knew it wasn’t quite true, but there was no way she was going to admit that now. “We were two consenting adults in a mature relationship.”

“I guess he didn’t get that memo,” quipped Ellen. “Let’s not forget that after you went out a couple of times, he never called you again.”

Rethabile bristled, stung by the reminder. “He’s been busy.”

Her twin heaved an impatient sigh. “You don’t even know his real name.”

“Nonsense!” Rethabile rolled her eyes and thought back. She had loved the idea of a stage name and always called him Ras, but there must have been a moment . . . sometime . . . when she had thought of asking his name.

Ellen and Reneilwe exchanged a knowing glance that only irritated Rethabile further. “Who cares about his name, anyway?” she exclaimed, exasperated. “The chemistry was amazing! We had a real connection. Kismet!”

“What’s kismet?” asked Rebecca, turning to Reneilwe.

Rethabile clicked her tongue in annoyance. “The point I’m trying to make here is that Ras and I had something special. I felt it!”

Her twin gave her a patient nod. “I’m sure you did feel something, Thabi. You’re a very emotional person. I’m sure you had fireworks and magic and all that jazz. But think back a few months. Remember André?”

Rethabile cringed. How could she forget? After a whirlwind fling with the smouldering French artist, she had almost packed everything up and run off to Europe with him. Then the magic had worn off and she had realised that it would be difficult to live with a man who barely spoke English. She had also remembered the tiny detail of her conservative Sotho parents, who wouldn’t exactly have given her their blessing.

She sighed. “What about him?”

“Remember how incredible you thought he was?” Reneilwe leaned across the table. “Now let’s go back a year or so, to Thulani. Remember him?” she asked her twin.

“Ugh.” Rethabile gave a theatrical shudder. “I’d rather not.”

“That’s only because you found out he was a con artist,” Ellen pointed out. “But at first you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.”

“You said he was exciting and passionate and romantic,” added Rebecca.

Rethabile frowned. Why did those words sound so familiar?

“It was exactly the same thing you said about André,” said Reneilwe.

“And Ras,” said Ellen.

Right. That explained it. Rethabile didn’t like where this was going. She got the sinking feeling that her friend and sisters might have a point.

“Are you starting to notice the pattern here?” Reneilwe’s tone softened. “You meet these guys, get carried away by their dynamic personalities and think you’re in love. We could go all the way back to high school and there would be no difference.”

Rethabile was in no mood to rehash her tainted past. “I was young. We all make mistakes in love, don’t we?” She looked at Reneilwe, who was happily married to her childhood sweetheart. “Well, almost all of us.”

“These aren’t mistakes, Thabi,” said Ellen. “This is a bad habit, and it’s not going away. You’re twenty-nine now! Don’t you want to find someone wonderful?”

“Of course I do,” sighed Rethabile. “I’m a romantic – you know that. Is it my fault that things never work out for me?”

“Yes,” said Rebecca. Ellen and Reneilwe glared at her. “You’re too much of a dreamer. You think every guy you meet is The One.”

Rethabile winced. Getting lectured by Reneilwe and Ellen was one thing, but no self-respecting adult would take advice from a teenager.

“Don’t be upset,” Rebecca pleaded, putting her hand over Rethabile’s. “We have a solution to your problem.”

Rethabile shook her head. “Please don’t set me up with one of your lecturers.”

“She’s serious,” said Reneilwe. “There is a way for you to finally meet the right guy without having to kiss every frog in the country.”

Rethabile was doubtful. Any idea of Reneilwe’s was bound to be boring or restrictive, or both. But then again, her twin did meet her soul mate at thirteen and now had her happily-ever-after. “I’m listening.”

There was a long, dramatic pause before Reneilwe spoke again. “You have to take a temporary vow of celibacy. For three months.”

Rethabile laughed. She had never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. “Thanks. I really needed the comic relief.”

“This is serious, Thabi.” Ellen gave her a stern look. “It’s for your own good. Three months of alone time and you’ll have a whole new perspective on romance.”

Rethabile’s smile faded. She looked at Rebecca, then Reneilwe, then Ellen. None of them were smiling. They looked concerned and expectant. Rethabile understood that they were trying to look out for her, but she wasn’t a child and she wasn’t going to let anyone dictate how she should live her life. “Forget it.”

“I told you,” Rebecca said to Reneilwe. “She can’t do it. She’s never been single for longer than a week!”

“You’re right,” said Ellen with a sigh. “Never mind, Thabi. It was a long shot. We all know there’s no way you could restrain yourself for that long.”

“Haai!” Rethabile bristled. “Ema pele, I never said I couldn’t do it, I just don’t want to. There’s a difference.”

Reneilwe offered her an indulgent smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to prove anything to us. We know you can’t fight your nature.”

“My nature?” Rethabile cried. “I can go without a man! But what happens if I meet a really great guy? Am I supposed to ignore him?”

Reneilwe was prepared for that question. “If you meet a guy you like, you can hang out for the first month. No kissing. No sex for the first three months. Every guy who asks you out should know from the start that he’s going to have to work for it.”

There was a long silence as Rethabile digested the suggestion. Maybe three months wouldn’t be so bad. It would give her a chance to focus on work. Besides, didn’t people always say that men wanted what they couldn’t have? Telling them she was celibate would make her irresistible.

Hmm, she liked that.