Читать книгу An Unsuitable Woman - Kat Gordon - Страница 11

On Friday morning my father said he’d take the afternoon off to show us around Nairobi. By midday the sun was fierce, and the lobby, where we were supposed to meet, was busy. I escaped into the garden and found my mother and Maud already out there. They were with another couple, a tall, dignified-looking man with thinning hair and a bristly moustache, and a slim, serious woman with dark, bobbed hair and a pretty, oval-shaped face. He was probably a little younger than my father, and she was probably a little younger than my mother. They were all standing on the garden path, and the woman was naming the flowers growing in the beds nearby.

My mother waved me over. ‘This is my eldest,’ she said. ‘Theo, say hello to Sir Edward and Lady Joan Grigg. Sir Edward is the Governor of Kenya.’

‘How do you do?’ I said.

Lady Joan looked me up and down and smiled at my mother. ‘I’m glad we don’t have a daughter,’ she said, which I thought was an odd remark.

‘Joanie’s trying to twist your mother’s arm,’ Sir Edward said to me. When he talked his moustache bristled even more. ‘She wants her to help out with the Welfare League she’s going to create.’

My mother spread her hands helplessly. ‘I don’t know anything about nursing or midwifery. What exactly could I do?’

‘Fundraising.’

‘I don’t have much experience of that, either.’

‘Every woman’s had to extract money from someone at some point,’ Lady Joan said. ‘And it’s a good cause.’ She nodded at me and Maud. ‘You’ve had children of your own. White settlers think the natives don’t feel pain when giving birth, but that’s completely ridiculous. We need to provide proper midwifery training for them.’

Sir Edward made a show of looking at his wristwatch. ‘I think I’ll head back to Government House. Leave you ladies to discuss the … finer points.’

‘No, don’t go,’ Lady Joan said. She turned back to my mother. ‘I won’t force you, of course. Just think about it.’

‘Well …’

‘She won’t leave you alone now,’ Sir Edward said, laying a hand on his wife’s arm. ‘It’s much easier to give in, believe me.’ He looked at Lady Joan as if he admired her and she rolled her eyes.

I felt the sun beating down on my head and shoulders, and wondered how much longer we were going to stand around.

‘You must come over for supper,’ Lady Joan said. ‘I can put my case across properly.’

‘Do you have any wild animals?’ Maud asked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Sir Edward said. ‘We have lots of dogs, though. Do you like dogs? One of our bitches has just got pregnant.’

‘I like dogs,’ Maud said solemnly.

‘Perhaps we can find a puppy for you,’ Sir Edward said.

‘Then it’s decided,’ Lady Joan said. ‘Come around for supper and choose your dog.’

‘It’s very kind of you,’ my mother said. ‘But we leave for Naivasha in a few weeks, and of course, there’s Christmas before that …’

‘And Race Week,’ I said, suddenly more awake. ‘Freddie’ll be showing us around then.’

‘Lord Hamilton?’ Sir Edward asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know him before you came out?’

‘We met him the other night,’ my mother said, frowning at me.

Sir Edward raised his eyebrows. ‘That might be his fastest work yet.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The government officials have a name for that crowd,’ Lady Joan said. ‘The Happy Valley set.’

My mother looked helpless again. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘The “Valley” is because they live in the Wanjohi Valley region. The “Happy” …’ She glanced at Maud and then me. ‘I wouldn’t really like to say.’

‘Freddie’s a decent sort,’ Sir Edward said. ‘He takes his farming seriously. And he’s going to be High Constable of Scotland when his father dies. That’ll force him to grow up.’

‘I liked him,’ I said.

‘He’s very charming,’ Lady Joan said, ‘and you’re very young. But he’s not a good friend to have.’

I fixed my gaze over her shoulder so I wouldn’t have to look at her properly. I’d changed my mind – she wasn’t pretty at all.

‘He’s her third husband,’ she continued. ‘And I’ve heard bad things about their new guests – the de Croÿs. I don’t believe Madame de Croÿ is a good influence.’

‘You don’t know her,’ I blurted.

Lady Joan gave me an odd look.

‘We shouldn’t keep you,’ my mother said, holding out her hand again. ‘And it’s very kind of you to invite us over. I know William will be delighted to meet you.’

Sir Edward touched his wife gently on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Joanie,’ he said. ‘We should be getting back.’

‘I’ll be in touch about the League,’ she said.

‘Please do.’

They headed off.

My mother turned to Maud. ‘Can you run out to the front of the hotel, darling, and see if your father is there yet?’

She waited until we were alone before beckoning me to her and twisting my ear viciously until it couldn’t go any further. I bit my tongue to stop myself from crying out. ‘Don’t be so stupid,’ she hissed, and shoved me away. ‘Do you want us to have a chance out here or do you want to ruin it?’

I pressed my palm against the ear, trying to stop it throbbing. ‘Why can’t we have a chance with Freddie and Sylvie?’

My mother started walking away. ‘You don’t understand people,’ she said over her shoulder.

My father hadn’t arrived yet, so Maud and I waited on the terrace. I sat with my head against the cool of a pillar, boiling with anger; Maud sat next to me.

‘Lady Joan’s a bloody old witch,’ I said.

‘I liked her.’

‘She’s got something against Freddie and Sylvie, and now Mother’s bound to stop us being friends with them.’

Maud turned her face to me, eyes serious. ‘Mother only ever does something because she thinks it’s right.’

‘She does whatever she wants at the time.’

‘But she loves us, Theo.’

‘I don’t –’

‘There you are.’ Our father appeared before us and I bit my tongue.

Maud was sent to fetch our mother. We piled into the Model T Box Body my father had hired and drove away from The Norfolk, down Government Road and into the centre of the town. After a while, it got too hot with all of us in the front seat, and I switched to standing on the running board, hooking my arm through the door to stay on. Some of the roads had been laid properly, but many were made of a type of crushed gravel and a slight breeze blew its dust into my eyes and mouth. Every time my forearm touched the scorching metal a white-hot pain went through me, but it felt cleansing. My mother wouldn’t look in my direction, and I dreamed of catching her attention somehow – throwing myself off in front of another car maybe – and forcing her to see me, apologise to me.

Nairobi reminded me of the frontier towns in the Westerns I’d seen, with hitching posts outside the buildings and troughs for the horses. Only the people made it clear we weren’t in America. I tried not to stare at the women wearing skirts and nothing else, carrying large earthenware jugs on their heads.

My father showed us ‘railway hill’, where George Whitehouse had built his first house. He’d been the chief engineer of the railway, and my father used his church voice when he spoke about him.

‘The town was founded as a railway depot,’ he said, ‘and now it’s the capital of British East Africa.’

We turned onto 6th Avenue at the corner where the Standard Bank of South Africa stood. Groups of white settlers were standing on the bank’s porch, talking and smoking, and thick blue clouds had gathered around their heads. As we drove past my eyes began to sting.

Further up the road was the post office, with a white flag hanging from the tall flagpole in front of the building.

‘A blue flag means the mail ship’s left Aden for Mombasa,’ my father said. ‘A red flag means overseas mail has been received. The white flag means the mail’s ready for distribution. Not very sophisticated, but the couriers will find you anywhere – even on safari.’

‘Can I send a postcard to Grandma?’ Maud asked.

‘Good idea,’ he said.

The car juddered to a halt in front of the building, and I stepped down from the running board, stretching my back and arms. The sun was almost directly overhead and my skin felt tender from exposure to it. My mother made her way to the shade of a gum tree, fanning herself with the two wide-brimmed, floppy hats that all the women wore out here. She was still ignoring me and I suddenly couldn’t bear to be near her.

‘Maud, choose a postcard,’ my father said, mopping his forehead. ‘I need to send a telegram to the Glasgow office, and then we’ll head back.’

‘Can I stay out?’ I asked him. ‘I don’t mind walking home.’

My father looked to my mother and I felt my heart sink. Out of the corner of my eye, her expression was impossible to read. I scuffed my shoe in the dirt.

‘Don’t walk in the sunshine,’ she said eventually. ‘Here, take some money just in case.’ She held out some coins and I stepped towards her warily. ‘Remember – stay in the shade.’

‘I will,’ I mumbled.

She surprised me by kissing my forehead. ‘And be back at the hotel by four o’clock, or we’ll start to worry. We don’t want to lose you.’

My anger dissolved into gratitude at how quickly my punishment seemed to be over, and I started down the road with no clear idea of where I was going, relishing the opportunity to explore. Leaving the main streets behind me, I ended up in a more residential area, where most of the houses were bungalow mansions with tiled roofs, smallish windows and verandas supported by brick pillars. Perfectly straight paths ran between veranda and white picket fence, where flowers bloomed in pinks, purples, blues and creams, and in front of each house immaculate green lawns lay like carpets rolled out for important visitors. The road was wide, and dappled in the sun. I thought of the red tenements in Edinburgh, five storeys high and always cold inside, and felt a smile forming on my face.

These streets were mostly empty, but after a while I started to pick up a buzzing sound and, turning a corner, I stumbled on an open-air market. Stalls had been set up displaying all manner of produce: carnations, violets, tomatoes, large brown eggs, limes, courgettes, green bananas, aubergines, sacks of flour and dusty potatoes. People were thronging the aisles, squeezing and weighing the vegetables, and swatting away the flies that hovered at face-height. I hesitated, overwhelmed for a moment, but when I finally ventured in no one paid me any attention until I reached a crossroads in the market and paused, trying to decide where to go. A few shoppers knocked into me, and I felt a tap on my shoulder and smelled amber and peach. ‘You’re a lone beast, aren’t you, Theo?’

It was Sylvie. She was wearing a loose-fitting black blouse with a plunging neckline that ended just above her bellybutton, and black velvet trousers. Roderigo was wrapped around her neck, nibbling her earlobe. I got the impression she was laughing at me in a friendly way, although she wasn’t actually smiling. I felt a rush of panicked excitement at being alone with her.

‘I see you’ve found Mr Sand’s market,’ she said. ‘Here every Tuesday and Friday.’

‘Oh?’ I cursed myself for being so tongue-tied.

‘And what are you up to?’ she said, with that bubble in her voice again. ‘Buying provisions for The Norfolk kitchen?’

‘Just looking.’

‘Mm-hmm?’

It was hard not to stare at the apricot-coloured skin stretched taut over her stomach. She was still watching me, her head cocked to one side. I tried for the most grown-up conversation I knew, ‘Would you like to have a drink?’

Now she laughed for real, throatily. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

Blood thrummed in my ears. ‘I’m …’

‘I’d love to have a drink with you.’

She fell into step with me. My body moved automatically, steering a path through the crowds and towards a bar on the side of the square. Despite all the people around, it was empty, and several of the tables had dirty glasses or overflowing ashtrays on them.

She sat in a chair on the porch, and I sat opposite her. When she leaned towards me I saw that she wasn’t wearing a brassiere, and her small, firm-looking breasts had dark nipples. My hand was on the table, and for a moment I thought they might brush against it. I bit my tongue, desperately trying to distract myself.

Roderigo scampered onto the table between us, exploring the ashtray, picking up the butts and tasting them before spitting them out onto the floor.

Sylvie folded her hands neatly in her lap and smiled mischievously. ‘I’ve never been taken here for a drink – I hear it’s quite unwholesome.’

I jumped up, my face burning. ‘We can go somewhere else.’

‘I want to stay here.’ She laughed at me again and signalled for the waiter. ‘I’ll have a whisky sour,’ she told him. ‘And this gentleman will have some wine-and-water.’

The waiter went away without saying anything, but I thought I saw him sneer at me. Freddie would have known exactly where to take her, I told myself, and he would have done the ordering.

Sylvie took out her cigarette case and lit a cigarette. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now I can get to know you properly.’

‘There’s not much to know.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. People are talking about you already, you know.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re absurdly handsome, Theo.’

I felt my heart beating violently in my throat. I’d never been made to feel handsome by people my own age – it seemed too manly a word – but maybe adults had a different idea of beauty to children and I thought how wonderful it would be to be part of a world where I was appreciated rather than laughed at.

Sylvie gave me her special smile and breathed blue smoke out of her nostrils. ‘Freddie noticed it,’ she said, ‘the first time we saw you at the hotel. He said “Who’s that beautiful boy over there?” You were like a wild animal, the way you were watching us with your big eyes. Then you ran away as soon as we’d spotted you.’

Knowing that Freddie thought that made me feel hot and cold at the same time. I flailed around for something to say. ‘Sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘For running away – it’s rude.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ She leaned back again in her chair. ‘Now, I know you were born in bonny Scotland, but have you lived anywhere else?’

‘No. Have you?’

‘Born in Buffalo twenty-five years ago,’ she said, pulling on her cigarette. ‘Mother died when I was seven, father remarried.’ She parted her lips slightly to let the smoke curl out of her mouth. ‘I actually liked my stepmother, but my father was a bit of a kook, so I went to live with Aunt Tattie in Chicago when I was thirteen. Then she decided I was running with some unsavoury characters so she took me to Paris, where I met my husband, the Comte de Croÿ.’

The Comte de Croÿ; I rolled the title around in my head – he was probably old and rich and fat.

Our drinks arrived and Sylvie waited until the waiter had gone before continuing, ‘We lived for a little while in Beaufort, his castle in Normandy, but I felt … trapped. So he agreed to bring me out here.’

So he was some provincial Frenchman who didn’t speak a word of English and ignored her. I remembered Lady Joan’s disapproving face when she mentioned Sylvie, and felt a surge of protective anger. Why should she stay with her husband if she was unhappy? If someone younger came along who could make her laugh, and look after her, then why shouldn’t she be with them?

Sylvie dropped her cigarette on the floor and ground it out, then scooped Roderigo up in one arm. ‘And that’s the potted history.’ She held her glass up and I chinked mine against it. ‘Salut. Your turn.’

‘Born in Scotland,’ I said, shifting in my seat. ‘Lived there until a month or so ago. Both parents alive. One sister.’

‘She’s charming. She reminds me of my eldest daughter.’

I took a sip of my wine, but it went down the wrong way and I broke into a coughing fit. Sylvie took out another cigarette and lit it, pretending she hadn’t noticed. I took a second sip of the wine, trying to calm my throat. ‘I didn’t know you had children. You don’t look old enough.’

‘I’m not,’ Sylvie said. ‘I wasn’t. I should have waited.’ She drained her whisky sour and gestured to the waiter for another. ‘They’re both living in France with Aunt Tattie. Great Aunt Tattie now.’

‘Oh.’

‘They’re adorable, but they’re …’ She leaned back in her chair, resting her head against it. ‘People. Human beings.’ Roderigo climbed back up to his perch on her shoulder and she scratched him behind his ear.

‘I suppose so.’

She smiled. ‘I mean – they’re real. And they’re so small and they need you so much, and I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t going to mess up their lives.’

She looked so beautiful and fragile. I knew I should say something, but I didn’t want to disturb her, either.

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t. You’re very nice.’

‘I’ll give you a tip.’ She pulled on her cigarette. ‘That’s not really a word that women want to be called.’

‘Sorry.’

She was laughing at me again, but I didn’t mind.

The waiter brought over her second cocktail and we clinked glasses again. I was suddenly, idiotically happy.

‘To Africa,’ she said. ‘And new friends.’

‘To new friends.’

When we finished our drinks I tossed the money down onto the table and hurried over to pull out Sylvie’s chair for her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her tip the contents of the ashtray she’d been using onto the floor, and slip the ashtray into her purse. I stopped just beside her, feeling my cheeks flare up.

‘Well,’ she was saying. ‘Now I can cross this bar off my to-do list.’

‘Yes,’ I mumbled.

She looked up at me expectantly. My mind was racing – maybe her husband controlled the money and wouldn’t give her any. Maybe she was keeping it as a souvenir of our drink together.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I can’t get up with you standing there.’

I looked at her properly and she smiled. I felt her perfume envelop me.

‘Let me,’ I said, and moved her chair back for her as she stood.

‘You’re a rarity, Theo,’ she said. ‘Beautiful people don’t usually have beautiful natures.’

My breath caught in my chest, making me feel dizzy. Without thinking about it I offered her my arm, as I’d seen young men do to young women before. Sylvie considered it gravely, then slipped her arm through mine. I knew I would be late back to the hotel, and my mother would probably be angry, but it didn’t seem to matter any more.

‘Where shall we go?’ I asked.