Читать книгу Cherry Marbles - Shukie Nkosana - Страница 4

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Standing in front of the board members, Langa tried to suppress the memory of her wrenching the tubes of thrush cream from the hands of the owner of Mabhena Oil Limited. Avoiding any eye contact with him, she settled for his arched eyebrows as she pitched her company to Sasol Wax.

Adrenaline rushing in her blood, she carried her head with poise, assertively making it clear that Buthelezi Events had thus far not organised anything like the annual Innovation Cosmetics Exhibition, though she was certain they could deliver a creative showcase that would reaffirm Sasol Wax as the world’s leading producer and marketer of synthetic and petroleum derived waxes.

Langa emphasised that her company would implement an African theme, making the exhibition proudly South African. After a brief address on her proposed financial breakdown, she sat down and let Zandile outline their anticipated venue, catering companies and entertainment. Langa kept her eyes on her event coordinator, breathing steadily and ignoring the impulse to look at the reactions around the boardroom.

When Zandile sat down, Langa squeezed her hand under the table and they both drew deep breaths. Mr Zanier stood up, thanked Buthelezi Events for their presentation and told them they would know whether they’d secured the contract or not in a few days.

With the meeting over, Langa surveyed the room for Regile Mabhena and saw him engrossed in a conversation with one of the other board members. Regile’s eyes met hers and briefly held the stare. Langa felt herself blush. She packed her laptop in its bag and made a final check that Zandile hadn’t left anything behind. When she looked up again, Regile was gone and she felt relief wash over her, but also an unsettling disappointment.

“Well done, Zandile, that was a great presentation. Even in the unlikely event of us not landing the contract, that was great practice for many more presentations to come,” Langa said confidently. She wasn’t sure what to think, especially after seeing Regile again, but she needed to keep a positive air with her employees.

“So what was that about?” Zandile asked as they left the hotel and walked to Langa’s car.

“What was what about?” Langa was absent-mindedly looking at her reflection in the car window. The black power suit fitted her well, showing off her full figure and curvy legs she thought, a little vainly. She opened the car door.

“The Ndebele guy. You two know each other, neh?” Zandile inquired, chewing on her lip as she clicked her seat belt into place. She had graduated from university a year before with a degree in Economics and apart from being extremely intelligent, she also had a knack for interpreting Langa’s actions with irritating accuracy.

“Well, not really,” Langa said and changed the subject by saying, “Please turn up the volume.”

Zandile took the hint and silently sat back in her seat.

Langa half smiled; her event coordinator reminded her of Nandi, her younger sister. She made a mental note to call Nandi once she got to the office. She knew from past experience that her sister probably needed money by now but was too proud to ask her. Nandi was six years younger than her and however much Langa tried to understand her, she simply couldn’t bear the way Nandi seemed to float on in life. At her sister’s age, Langa had known exactly what she wanted to do with her life, while Nandi’s aspirations appeared to transform completely from one telephone conversation to the next.

The sisters rarely saw each other, even after Nandi had moved to Joburg two years before. The last time they’d spoken, Nandi informed Langa she’d evolved into an avid poet, whereas the time before she’d been set on becoming the country’s next top model! Let alone that she’d first moved to Joburg to pursue an acting career.

Langa sighed. She knew she owed it to their mother to assist Nandi where she could, though she was fast running out of patience and had suggested that her sister work for her until she decided what she wanted to study at university, but to no avail. They hadn’t spoken much since then, Nandi resorting to her usual long spells of silence when she felt Langa was intruding on her life.

Langa remembered a time when the two had gotten along, after their mother’s death. The sisters had moved from Soweto where the three of them had stayed to KwaMashu in KZN to live with their mom’s eldest sister and her family, which consisted of their aunt’s husband and three children. The family had warmly welcomed the girls in their midst; Langa had just turned ten and Nandi was four. Like their mother, their aunt was a steadfast and spiritual woman who encouraged her children to pray without ceasing and realise their full potential in life. After Langa and Richard’s last visit to KZN, her aunt was so concerned about their arguing that she called and advised Langa not to rush into a marriage she believed neither of them were ready for.

Buthelezi Events was situated at the corner of Cradock and Biermann Avenues, above a Greek restaurant in Rosebank. The reception was a hive of activity when Langa and Zandile walked in. The company was organising two minor events for the next day: a government sod-turning event and the Gauteng Book Fair.

The receptionist beamed when she saw them. Connie was on the phone but mouthed, “How did it go?”

Langa gave her a thumbs-up just as Justin appeared. The head of visual production had a furious expression on his face. “We’ll have to hire some cameras and cameramen from those rats at Sisonke, or else tomorrow will be a disaster . . . nina? Is Sasol Wax ours?”

“They’ll let us know in a few days,” Langa replied, taking her phone from her handbag. “Kahle, I’ll ask Vusi for a favour. There’s no way we’re using Sisonke after last time.”

She walked briskly to her office, Justin running behind her. But Zandile waited for Connie to get off the phone so she could tell her about their boss and the Ndebele guy.

The afternoon flew by. Langa first organised another production company for Justin and then did a security check on a catering company that turned out to be non-existent minutes before Zandile paid a deposit to them. Annoyed with the girl’s incompetence, Langa ordered her to make coffee before shutting herself in her office and instructing Connie not to transfer any calls to her.

Savouring the silence, she sipped on her coffee and called Naledi to tell her about the dramatic turn of events. Her friend, a financial advisor at Standard Bank, picked up the phone after two rings.

“You’ll never believe who has the final say whether or not Buthelezi gets this contract,” Langa blurted.

“Hey, Langa, slow down, what are you talking about?” Naledi inquired, sounding puzzled. “How did your presentation go?”

“The thrush tubes guy. Remember the Ndebele man I was so rude to at the pharmacy?” Langa explained. “He owns the corporation that’s merging with Sasol Wax; he’s overseeing the exhibition.”

Naledi was silent for a few moments as she took it all in. Then she exclaimed, “Hhayi bo!”

“Yeah, I know! What am I going to do, girl?” Langa whined.

“Pray, my darling!” Naledi said, laughing. “Oh, it can’t be that bad. I’m sure he’s professional enough to award merit and not let his personal opinion get in the way.”

“His name is Regile.” Langa let the name roll off her tongue. She felt another blush rise to her cheeks and was glad Naledi couldn’t see her.

“So did he say anything?” her friend asked. “When will you know if you landed the contract?”

“I’m not sure. He disappeared after the meeting.” Langa brought the mug of coffee to her lips. “I guess we’ll only find out after a few days. They still have a couple more presentations to sit through before the board decides.”

“Let’s Google him. What did you say his name was again?” Naledi’s voice sounded naughty.

“Regile Mabhena,” Langa replied with a smile. “But that’s invasion of privacy.”

“No, it’s not if it’s on the net. Come on, are you on your laptop? You know you want to do it.” Naledi giggled.

“Okay-ke, only because you insist!” Langa laughed and put her mug safely away from the laptop as she punched in his name.

“Wow!” they both exclaimed at the same time as all the articles with his name appeared on screen.

“There’s also a link to Mabhena Oil Limited’s website,” Naledi said absentmindedly into the phone. Langa could tell she was reading about the company. She clicked the first icon. There was enough information on Regile to make you wonder if there was any privacy left in this age of technology.

“He is good-looking, I must say . . . Let’s see . . . He’s forty-two, was born in Mpumalanga and is an Ndebele prince . . .” Naledi’s voice trailed off. After a brief pause, she resumed reading: “Attended private schools in the UK, studied at Oxford University, then went on to New York State University.”

“He inherited the company from his father, King Mabhena III. It’s on the Johannesburg stock exchange; it produces fuels and chemicals and is currently constructing the Escravos GTL plant in Nigeria,” Langa read. “The oil company was the first to discover the Agbami Field off the central Niger Delta in 1998 and is Africa’s main exporter of crude oil.”

“He’s the CEO of the company and employs over five hundred people . . . blah blah blah. I don’t see anything about a wife or kids,” Naledi went on.

“Mabhena Oil Limited is merging with Sasol Wax and will now expand from petrol and diesel to petroleum waxes. The corporation will be jointly listed on the Johannesburg and New York stock exchanges,” continued Langa. Below the article was a picture of Sasol Wax CEO, James Davies; senior MD, Tshepo Mathlaka; junior MD, Andre Zanier, and CEO of Mabhena Oil Limited, Regile Mabhena. The picture had been taken recently at the Gallagher Estate in Midrand. Other archive pictures included Regile at a children’s charity in Mpumalanga, Regile with Nelson Mandela, even Regile with Salif Keita in Switzerland!

“What have I done?” Langa said into the phone. “Are you still there, choma?”

“Yes, yes, I am. Goodness, this guy is loaded! Of all the people you could choose to be rude to, you had to pick him!” Naledi replied, snapping out of a reverie of her own. “Apparently he’s single, so any ideas?”

“Choma!” Langa squealed. “Firstly, this isn’t about getting the rich guy and, secondly, I’m engaged to Richard, remember?”

“The way things are going you’ll be engaged forever! Have you two even set a wedding date yet? It’s almost as if you’re both stalling,” her friend countered. “Anyway, I like this Regile guy.”

“Then you have him. Maybe then I can get my contract.” Langa laughed, logging off and shutting her laptop. It was all too much to take in.

“Well, if Thabo got hit by a bus . . .” Naledi resolved with a snigger.

“Got to go, girl; I want to beat the traffic madness,” Langa told her friend as she got up. “We’re still on for later this week, right?”

“I’m game. Keep me posted on this Sasol Wax business; I sense some drama ahead.”

Langa drove home, going over all the articles she had read on Regile in her mind. She hadn’t read anything about a family, although that hardly meant he didn’t have three wives and eight kids, with two of his wives heavily pregnant. After all, he was a prince! Passing by at Woolworths, she picked up some fruit and juice for the prayer group that came to her apartment on Wednesday evenings because she knew she wouldn’t get the chance to do so the next day.

The weather had warmed up and as she drove past Mary Fitzgerald Square, Langa sighed contentedly and took in the Market Theatre and Africa Museum. The building her apartment was in had been an old factory. It was recently renovated into spacious rooms with high windows that overlooked the museum and a few nightspots. When she saw her twenty-four-year-old sister waiting for her at the guard’s booth, a small bag in her hand, Langa suddenly remembered she had meant to call Nandi.