Читать книгу In Love with the Enemy - Kholo Matsha - Страница 4

1

Basetsana Tefo woke to the sound of her alarm announcing the arrival of another day – Monday. It was half past five, and the January sun was already sending hot rays through her upstairs bedroom window.

Basetsana’s left hand shot out to slam the clock to silence. She groaned. She’d slept for about . . . she quickly did a mental count . . . only three hours. Last night she had almost pulled an all-nighter, because she needed extra hours put into the legal case she was solely in charge of. Today the opening statements were being presented to the court. She felt ready for that; the long hours would definitely pay off.

She knew that the best way to impress her boss was to win cases, and win them convincingly. That was what she’d been doing for the past five years – putting in long hours and suffering every morning when she had to wake up.

Hard work, Basetsana thought while burrowing under the covers, that was what had got her where she was today. After completing her bachelor’s degree in law at the University of Pretoria thanks to NSFAS’s financial support, she had served her articles, then got her dream job at the most prestigious black-owned corporate law firm in South Africa, Mogale & Mogale.

With her first pay cheque she had spoilt her mother and sister senseless, commissioning builders to refurbish and extend her mom’s four-roomed RDP house, which they did with style. She’d paid them off within nine months of getting her job. And then it was her turn . . .

Now, five years later, she was lying in bed in her own two-storey house in Brooklyn, Pretoria. She opened her eyes to look at her room. It was elegantly furnished and decorated in ethnic colours. The house suited her with its elegance and ethnicity. It was amazing to think that all this belonged to her, Basetsana Tefo, an ordinary girl from one of the many rural villages of Limpopo.

Hard work, that would get her a partnership. That was her dream now. If it were to come true, she’d be the youngest partner in the firm at twenty-eight. Her dream was but a moment away, she blissfully thought, sinking in further under the covers. She would rest her eyes for a few more minutes.

“Aunty Basi, are you up yet?” a young voice asked through the door.

“You said to wake you if you didn’t come out in five minutes . . . We counted,” another voice added.

Shoot! The girls! Basetsana jerked up, flung the covers off her and shot out of bed. “Have you bathed yet?” she called, her hands frantically but systematically straightening the bed.

Every morning the same rush . . . How do I do it, juggle a career and two young girls?

“Naledi, Ngwedi, have you bathed?” she asked again, opening the door. The small faces looking up at her were adorable. Seven years old, and they had claimed her whole heart.

“No, you know we need help,” Naledi said, looking at her sister for affirmation. They were identical twins, but even though they looked like each other, they had different pieces of Basetsana’s sister within them. She was still mourning her sister’s passing two years ago; her death had been sudden and inexplicable. One minute she had a minor headache and the next minute she was gone.

Basetsana’s sister had steadfastly refused to tell the twins who their father was or where he lived. Because of this, Basetsana had applied for sole custody of the two little girls after their mother’s death – to prevent any surprises, as the father could easily appear and claim the children, since that was in his right as the surviving parent.

Being an instant mother to two five-year-old girls and juggling a career at the same time had proved to be a very thorough test of her character. But with the help of an all-round housekeeper and nanny (Tina was heaven-sent – a plump, motherly woman who would always come through for Basetsana), she had managed to achieve a manageable routine, fitting in the girls as well as her demanding job.

For two years now she had built her career and striven to create a secure home for the twins. She would fight tooth and nail with anyone who threatened that world, which had almost happened when the phantom that was the girls’ father made an appearance at her office. He had walked in, looking polished in his military regalia.

“Pitso Tsamaya,” he’d simply said, extending his hand politely. He tried to explain himself and his presence. He said he hadn’t known of the twins’ existence, or else he wouldn’t have left. Late 2004, before the girls were born, he’d joined the African Union troops and had been deployed to Burundi and Sudan during the ceasefire.

Basetsana didn’t want his explanations. All she wanted to know was what he wanted. Pitso had quickly put her mind at rest. He just wanted to be part of his girls’ lives. They had gained a mother in her, and he was happy with that.

What a relief!

Forcing herself back to the present, Basetsana walked to the bathroom across the hall to run the girls a bath. Giggles followed her, mingled with the sound of her cellphone ringing.

“Bring that phone and yourselves in here!” she called.

“Here,” Naledi said, preparing to get into the bath, her sister close behind.

Basetsana looked at the caller ID and answered. “Hello, Ayanda.”

“Morning, Basi. I just called to make sure you’re awake.” Ayanda’s sweet voice sounded half asleep.

“Thanks, but the girls beat you to it,” Basetsana answered with a chuckle.

“They’re young, wait till they turn twenty-something. The body goes downhill from there. Anyway, that’s me mourning my youth. Are we doing lunch this afternoon?”

“The Cook-Out,” Basetsana said, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, Yandi will have our heads if we don’t make an appearance at her restaurant. You know how she can get.”

“Don’t start on her Black Consumer Theory. I’ll see you then; right now I have to bath these babies and get myself to work.”

“You work too hard. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Once I’m made a partner it won’t be so bad,” Basetsana said, knowing that was true.

“You better move it. I’m tired of having to wake you up,” Ayanda teased. “And I’m tired of seeing your single status on Facebook. I can’t even double-date with you.”

“Sizwe doesn’t mind, and Thabo hasn’t said a word about it.” Basetsana smiled while thinking back. She hadn’t been in a serious relationship since . . . wow . . . since varsity. And what was that guy’s name again?

“Sizwe is my boyfriend, so I speak for him . . . We mind. And Yandi’s boyfriend is too nice to say anything.”

“Be serious, Ayanda. And don’t start on the man subject, I have a full plate in front of me.” Basetsana looked at the two girls playing in the bath. She wouldn’t put them through that – men have a tendency to come and go, which is unhealthy for everyone concerned.

“Don’t make the girls an excuse. You know you need someone . . .”

“Ayanda, let me get ready. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Fine, see you then,” came the reply before Ayanda hung up.

Basetsana looked at the silent cellphone for a second and shook her head. Silently, she reached for the bar of soap and started to wash the kids.

“Aunty Basi,” came Naledi’s voice.

“Mmmm?”

“When are we going to see Grandma?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to see her?”

Ngwedi nodded

“Then we should visit her soon. If we’re lucky, we’ll still find mangoes on her trees. Then we can eat until our tummies explode,” Basetsana said, tickling their tummies. Peals of laughter sounded as the girls tried to escape her fingers.

* * *

Thirty minutes later Basetsana stood in front of the mirror, inspecting herself. This was a ritualistic moment she had set out for herself to prepare for the day ahead. The early, hot sunrays that had filtered through her lace-curtained window had dulled to a depressing grey, promising rain. She switched on the lamp on her dressing table, which was cluttered with make-up and jewellery knick-knacks.

Objectively she viewed herself in the mirror. This morning she was wearing an above-the-knee sky-blue pencil skirt that was moulded to her hips with a matching jacket and a crisp white shirt with a Chinese collar and ruffles, finished off with patent leather courts. Even she had to admit that she looked stunning. Basetsana was a little on the thin side, so almost everything suited her.

As a last-minute touch-up she ran a small comb through her short, springy hair. With very light make-up and medium-sized hoops for earrings the picture was complete. Basetsana had an ethnic beauty that was arresting and made her seem unapproachable. She had a small nose that was balanced by voluptuous lips and large, eloquent dark-brown eyes that were an asset in the courtroom.

Most men described her as aloof. Not that she had time for thinking about men. Nurturing her career and her sister’s twins had taken top priority; bringing a man into that equation could prove to be complicated.

Besides, fulfilment in life did not necessarily include having a man. Look at her mother; she had done very well without her father.

Basetsana took a deep breath and closed her eyes. From the kitchen downstairs she could hear the twins chatting away, the clinking sounds of their spoons scraping their plates as they ate their breakfast.

Basetsana shut all sound out of her mind to listen to her inner voice.

“You know your strong points and you know your weak points,” she whispered her morning mantra to herself. “Hard work will get you what you want; you’ve come this far all by yourself. You are the author of your own life. You set your own wins and losses. You are the master of your own happiness. Now go out there and conquer the world.”

Basetsana opened her eyes. She gave herself one last look, then reached for her handbag and briefcase. She flipped the briefcase open to check her notes; everything was there.

“Girls, it’s time to go!” she called.

Rushing feet echoed from downstairs; they were probably heading for the car. Basetsana smiled. Being in grade one, they found school an exciting and enchanting place. She hoped they would still be this eager to learn by the time they reached high school.

Basetsana made her way downstairs to find Tina already cleaning the mess the girls had made.

“Breakfast?” Tina asked before turning away to the sink.

“No, I’ll get something at the office.” Basetsana caught Tina’s glance of motherly disapproval and went to the fridge to take out a yogurt, just to please her. “Did the girls show you their project? We finished it last night.”

“Yes, I think you used too much glitter,” Tina replied. “Now everything’s all shiny.”

Basetsana smiled as she made her way to the garage.

* * *

At twelve-thirty Basetsana drove into the underground parking of Mogale & Mogale on the corner of Schoeman and Greef streets opposite Sunnypark Mall. She parked her car, gathered her stuff and moved to the lift, where she pushed the top floor button. Old man Mogale hadn’t even waited for the paint to dry on the walls before he moved his nest from central Pretoria to this new building at the very tip of Sunnyside.

I should tell him that it wasn’t such a good idea, Basetsana thought. The lift slid open and she entered a me­ticulously furnished reception area. The Mogale & Mogale logo hung high, proclaiming the success of the firm. Below the logo, the receptionist seemed to be battling with the phones behind her desk. The late-morning rush was catching up with her.

After giving her a greeting and a sympathetic word, Basetsana pushed through the doors leading to the inner offices. There was a large space with cubicles set in the middle for secretaries and along each wall were offices for associates. The corridors on both sides of the cubicles led to the main offices occupied by the partners and the boardroom.

Basetsana’s office was the third on the left. Before she could reach it, her secretary was there, shoving appointment sheets at her.

“I would ask you how your morning was, but I can see,” Nhlanhla said, taking Basetsana’s briefcase and handbag so she could look at the sheets.

“The only time I hate Pretoria is in January. Unpredictable rain combined with lunchtime traffic. Does Mogale know how inaccessible this place becomes?” Ba­setsana asked while reading through the papers.

“You can ask him yourself, he wants to see you,” Nhlanhla said with a secretive smile. Like Basetsana’s friends, her secretary knew she was working towards being made a partner.

Basetsana handed Nhlanhla the sheets. “Do you mind taking my stuff to my office?”

“Not at all, ” the secretary said.

Basetsana straightened her clothes. She hoped she didn’t look as anxious as she felt. Taking a deep breath, she made her way down the long corridor. This could be it.

On the first knock, she heard PB Mogale’s gruff voice bid her enter.

“I see you just came in,” he said without lifting his grey head from the book he was consulting. The large desk in front of him was filled with heavy books that seemed to be fixed to its very surface.

“I was stuck in traffic. You know how Pretoria gets during the lunch hour.”

The old man made a gesture and Basetsana came forward to take a seat, knowing full well that this was a courtesy he offered no one. He liked his meetings to be quick.

“Yes, I know. How did the Molefe case go?”

“They postponed, which is an unnecessary delay. Although maybe that will work to my advantage, because I have a feeling that Miss Molefe and I aren’t on the same page. But I’ve scheduled a meeting with her for this afternoon. By our next appearance in court we’ll have everything sorted out.”

“She’s having misgivings,” the old man said. “Maybe you should encourage her to settle out of court. She and Mr Mathe, her partner, were once best friends. They built the business with their bare hands; maybe they could come to terms.”

“The opposition doesn’t want to meet her conditions.”

“Well, then you could persuade her to back off.”

“If my client wants to fight, I’ll fight for her,” Base­tsana countered with feeling.

“I know you will. But remember, human emotions are very complicated. Even the law cannot deny the feelings that tie them together,” the old man said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Basetsana said as she got to her feet and moved to the door. “Was that all?”

“Yes.”

Still looking back at the old man, Basetsana opened the door and headed out, only to bump into a hard chest. The force of the collision sent her staggering. But suddenly she felt strong arms reach around her waist to prevent her from falling.

Basetsana went warm all over. Her stomach did a somersault. Gooseflesh dotted her skin, sending electric sparks down her spine. A tantalising masculine scent filled her nostrils.

“Are you all right?” a husky voice asked close to her ear. Shivers ran down her neck to settle in her stomach. “I didn’t mean to bump into you like that. I didn’t see you coming.”

“It’s fine,” Basetsana said, thankful that her voice didn’t sound as shaken as she was. She untangled herself from the stranger’s embrace, putting a few steps between them. Only then did she look up at him. Something slammed into her gut. In front of her stood the handsomest man she’d ever seen.

He wore a suit that had obviously been tailor-made for him. His powerful physique was unmistakable in it. His white shirt formed an alluring contrast with the charcoal suit and his dark-brown skin. He didn’t wear a tie, as though he refused to conform to convention.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said, clearly enjoying having unsettled Basetsana. He gave her a smile that caused her stomach to flip over.

Basetsana’s face flushed with embarrassment. She hadn’t been this strongly attracted to a man in the past five years, so why did he have to be so arrogant? Someone should give Mother Nature a better recipe for how to make irresistible men.

“Excuse me. I have to get back to work.” Basetsana nodded her head in a polite gesture and then sidestepped the man to go to her office. She heard him say something to someone but didn’t stop to find out who it was. She just kept on walking.

“Did he find you?” Nhlanhla asked from her cubicle in front of Basetsana’s office.

“Who?” Basetsana entered her office. She was irritable because she had acted like a fool, staring at that stranger as if she’d never seen a handsome man before.

“Me.” The simple word said with that husky masculine voice seemed to bring everything to a standstill.

Basetsana felt her heart thud in her chest. Something fluttered in her stomach. She felt certain parts of her body come alive. Taking a deep breath, she composed her features and then turned around to face him.

“What can I do for you, Mr . . . ?” Basetsana looked at him and saw something flicker in the dark-brown depth of his eyes. He was losing patience, she could tell. He was probably used to women falling over themselves because of him. He wasn’t going to get that from her, but she couldn’t blame those women. This man was utterly irresistible. If virility came in measures, he’d be ten out of ten.

For a few moments he silently stared at her, assessing her. Then he stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. Basetsana moved behind her desk, but remained standing. He was too tall and big for her to sit; she would feel as if he was towering over her, exerting his power.

“Ramathe. Nare Ramathe,” he said, confidently folding himself into one of the chairs next to the desk. “You know, for someone who’s proclaimed to be the best lawyer this firm has, you’re very ignorant and much too quick to dismiss things – in this case me – as useless before you even investigate. However did you make it this far?”

Deeply offended, Basetsana opened her mouth to defend herself.

But he lifted his right hand to forestall her. “I’m not finished,” he said, looking at her and taking his time. “You know what I find really annoying? A modernised black woman who has no sense of who she is.”

“Excuse me! You don’t know me.”

“No, and I don’t have to, because in the few minutes I’ve been in your company you have displayed yourself as such. But since you and I find ourselves in a situation not of our own making, I’ll forgive your behaviour. Does the name Mathe mean anything to you?” he asked, arrogance and confidence emanating from him like heat waves.

“Yes.” That was the name of her current client’s business partner. Basetsana looked at the man in front of her and wished the floor beneath her feet would open up and swallow her. She’d made an utter fool of herself. Ignorance indeed.

“I’m his new representative,” Nare Ramathe continued. “And I’ve come to tell you that he wants to settle out of court.”