Green City in the Sun (24 page)

     "The chameleon!" said Valentine, shifting impatiently in his chair. If the servants wouldn't remove her, then by God
he
was going to.

     James said, "The chameleon is a symbol of the worst bad luck to the Kikuyu. By inviting a chameleon into your house, she is wishing you—"

     "Until this land is returned to the Children of Mumbi," she said in a deadly tone, "your children will drink of the dew."

     "Now what the bloody hell does
that
mean?"

     "It's a Kikuyu proverb. To drink of the dew means to vanish."

     "All right," said Valentine, standing. "This has gone on long enough. Get out of my house."

     
"Thahu!"
cried Wachera. "A curse upon you and your descendants until this land is returned to the Children of Mumbi!"

     "I said get out!" He looked around. "Where the devil is Mathenge? I thought these people kept their women in line! You there!" He pointed to two terrified Africans. "Show this woman the way out." But they were frozen with fear. By tomorrow morning they planned to be far away from this house with
thahu
upon it.

     "Very well then!" shouted Valentine. He strode toward Wachera and reached out to seize her arm. At that exact moment a great clap of thunder shook the house. And then came the soft whisper of rain.

     "Hey!" cried one of the guests. "It's raining!"

     The crowd broke up as everyone ran to the windows and doors. They dashed outside into the downpour, faces and hands lifted to the glorious wet, hugging one another, laughing and delirious with joy.

     The rain pounded the roof, drove against the windows, while thunder filled the thirsty valley.

     "Well!" said Valentine in a triumphant tone. He faced Wachera squarely, feet apart and hands on his hips. "If this is your idea of a curse, then I
welcome it!" He threw back his head and laughed. Then he turned on his heel, took hold of Rose's hand, and led her across the room to join the rain-soaked crowd on the veranda.

     Only Sir James and Grace remained behind, and little Mona in her high chair. Wachera paused to give the three a long, considering look, then she turned to walk away, her hand holding fast to David.

     "Wait," said Grace. "I have something to tell you. It's about Mathenge." Wachera stopped and leveled a poisonous gaze upon Grace. "My husband is dead," she said in Kikuyu, and although she did not add,
And you killed him
, it was in her eyes.

     T
HERE WOULD BE
no polo match or fox hunting tomorrow; the field where the guest tents stood would be a knee-deep mud morass by morning; travel back to distant homes and farms would be nearly impossible and wretchedly uncomfortable. But no one minded. The long-prayed-for rain had come at last, and it was coming down so torrentially and steadily, with no end to the rolling black clouds, that everyone knew crops and investments were going to be saved.

     Grace had returned to Birdsong Cottage to find that wild animals had already dragged Mathenge's body away, and she decided sadly that this was probably how he would have wanted it. Now she was asleep in bed with Sheba, the great, snoring cheetah, pressed against her back. Sir James and Lucille were comfortably situated in one of the guest rooms in the big house, as were the governor, and Lord and Lady Delamere, while the two hundred other guests were inconveniently but happily making do with leaky tents and damp cots. Only one person was not at peace with the outcome of the evening. Lady Rose, as she sat at her vanity table brushing her newly cut hair, was puzzled.

     After a decorous frolic in the rain she and Valentine had bidden good night to their guests and retired to the second floor, where hot baths awaited them. She had been pleasantly surprised to see how nicely Valentine had furnished and decorated the upper half of the house: the tubs with hot and cold taps; indoor plumbing with ceramic toilets; Turkey carpets on the cedar
floors; paintings and photographs on the walls. There was a homey warmth to it all, especially with the storm raging outside. And yet...

     Rose felt strangely unsettled. Valentine was in the bath, singing above the steam. He had shown her into this bedroom and told her he would join her soon. Here Rose had found her trunks unpacked, with everything hung up and put away, her toiletries and cosmetics laid out on the vanity. Clearly this was her bedroom. Then which was Valentine's?

     He came out of the bathroom in silk monogrammed pajamas and dressing gown, his black hair moist and curling over his forehead. "Merry Christmas, darling," he said as he came to stand behind her. "Did you have a good time?"

     She looked at his reflection in the mirror. She felt the warmth of his body through her satin peignoir. How handsome he was, how perfect.
Let him hold me tonight before I go to sleep.
"It was wonderful, Valentine. It was better even than I dreamed. But, oh, this rain will spoil the rest of the fun. I had so looked forward to luncheon on the front lawn tomorrow. Mrs. West was going to serve a proper high tea."

     He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "The rain is badly needed, darling. Now James's cattle won't die and our coffee won't fail and Mr. Acres won't have to foreclose on just about every mortgage in the protectorate."

     Valentine came around and knelt at her side. "I have a present for you," he said.

     Her eyes twinkled. The champagne, the altitude ...

     He handed her a small box wrapped in Christmas paper. Rose tore it open and exclaimed at the jade and emerald necklace it contained. "Four continents went into making that," he said. "Do you like it?"

     She threw her arms about his neck. "Valentine, dearest! It's exquisite! But I haven't wrapped
your
present yet. I was going to give it to you in the morning."

     "It can wait." His arms went about her waist. "Happy?"

     She buried her face in his neck. "I've never been happier. The house is perfect, Valentine. Thank you."

     He felt like shouting with joy. It was turning out exactly as he had planned. All the months of hard labor, of driving the natives with his whip,
of making those wretched long trips down to Nairobi, of aching for his wife, wanting her ...

     His mouth sought hers.

     Valentine kissed her gently and chastely while Rose rested content in his arms. But when the kiss grew passionate and his mouth moved on hers, she drew back and laughed. "It's been
such
a day, darling! And I am so very tired."

     "Then we shall go to bed."

     He drew back the covers on the four-poster, folded the comforter at the foot, and bent to remove Rose's slippers for her. She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed languidly. How was it possible, she wondered, that she had found and married the very man she had dreamed about since girlhood? He was so gallant, such a gentleman, like a knight in armor—

     He removed his dressing gown and draped it over a chair. "What are you doing, darling?" she asked.

     "I know it's been my habit to sit up late after a long day," he said, coming around the bed and drawing back the covers on the other side, "but tonight I will make an exception."

     She was sitting up with the sheets drawn to her chin. Rose had no idea about a habit of sitting up late; she and Valentine had barely seen each other in the evenings of the past ten months. What she had meant was, Why was he getting into her bed?

     "I really am tired," she said cautiously. "Wouldn't you prefer to go to your own bedroom?"

     He laughed. "Darling, this
is
my bedroom."

     She stared at him.

     Valentine stood by the bed and looked down at her. "When we were in the tents, it was reasonable to have separate quarters. But we're in our own house now, darling. And we
are
married."

     "Oh," she said.

     "It'll be all right," he said gently. "You'll see. We just have to get used to one another again. Like we were back at Bella Hill."

     Bella Hill! Rose shrank into her pillows. At Bella Hill he had abused and humiliated her, and she had hated him for it. But these ten months in East
Africa had made things better. Surely he didn't mean to—Surely Grace had explained to him—

     "What's wrong?" he asked. Valentine reached out to touch her, and Rose recoiled. Thunder rolled down from the mountain and exploded overhead.

     "I thought you were going to have your own room."

     Now he saw the fear on her face, the stiffening of her body. Thunder clapped again and the house shook.
Christ
, thought Valentine,
not again! Not still!

     "Rose, you're going to have to accept the fact that I'm your husband, not a fond cousin or brother. I have a right to sleep with you."

     She started to tremble. Her eyes grew big and frightened, like a gazelle's, as if he were about to shoot her. He had seen the look on many a hunting safari; he didn't deserve it in his own bed.

     "Damn it, Rose," he said, grabbing her arm.

     "No!" she cried.

     "Rose, what on earth—"

     "No! Please ..." Tears filled her eyes.

     "Oh, for God's sake."

     "Leave me alone!"

     Lightning flashed and illuminated the room. Rose was ghost-pale; her skin went cold beneath his fingers. Then came the thunder again, closer now. The air was charged; it was electrified, as if the storm had somehow invaded the bedroom. Valentine felt his anger grow, and his passion.

     "I will not put up with this any longer!" he shouted. "It's been ten months since the baby was born. There is nothing wrong with you."

     She yanked free and tried to run, but Valentine pulled her back onto the bed. With one hand he pinned down her wrists; with the other he tore furiously at her peignoir. The satin came away from her white skin, and she screamed again.

     "Go on," he growled. "Let our bloody friends know. Do you think I care?" She struggled beneath him, tried to escape; one hand came free, and she clawed his neck. "I want what's mine," he said. "And if you won't give it to me, I'll take it any way I can."

     Lightning tore across the sky around Mount Kenya, casting a brief,
harsh light on the craggy summit of Ngai's lofty home. The walls and foundation of Bellatu trembled; the trees in the forest, the tall eucalyptuses of Rose's little glade all were whipped in a frenzy. The storm came down upon the Treverton Estate like a punishment, washing away soil, drowning tender coffee seedlings, driving the new river into a raging flood that broke its dam and swept up over its banks.

     Wachera, the Kikuyu medicine woman, sat inside the hut that was going to be her home for the next seven decades and stared up at the windows of the white man's house on the hill. In one of them, on the second floor, the lights winked out.

W
ELL!" SAID
A
UDREY
F
OX AS SHE TESTED THE SOAP IN THE
cooking pot to see if it was cool and dry. "We're legitimate now! Not a protectorate anymore, but a colony! Still, I don't much care for calling it
kee-nia.
That means 'ostrich' in the local tribal language, doesn't it? Wasn't that why they named the mountain
kee-nia
, because it resembles a male ostrich? I rather liked the sound of British East Africa. And besides, it sounded
British
, which is what we are. Kenya is an
African
name.

     Mary Jane Simpson, who was holding her wriggly son while Grace examined his ear, echoed her friend's sentiment and then shouted, "Lawrence! I'm telling you for the last time, leave that cat alone!"

     They were in Lucille Donald's kitchen at Kilima Simba, five women and a host of noisy children. While Mrs. Fox sat down to roll into balls the soap she had been making all morning from mutton fat and banana-leaf ashes, Cissy Price checked the diapers of the two toddlers in the playpen. Mona was dry, but Gretchen was wet. After clearing a spot on the crowded kitchen table, Cissy laid Gretchen down and proceeded to change her. Despite the
cold June day, the kitchen was hot and the faces of the five women glowed.

     "This'll do it," Grace said as she dipped some cotton into simsim oil and packed it into the boy's ear. "Mind where he sticks his head from now on, Mary Jane. This country is a menace to ears."

     As she reached for the next child, Grace could not help a quick glance out the kitchen window. Sir James had not yet come out of the barn.

     This morning he had said he had a surprise for her, something special he wanted to show her, and had asked if she would wait around a bit before running off home. But then a stockman had come to say that a cow was having difficulty calving, and James had dashed off, leaving Grace to wonder,
What sort of surprise?

     "Being a colony will benefit us greatly," said Lucille. She was kneading bread dough and dividing it up into baking tins. This evening, when her guests departed, each would leave with a fresh-baked loaf. She in turn would receive some of Audrey Fox's homemade soap, as would the others, as well as some wool, which Mary Jane Simpson had brought from her sheep farm to exchange for bread and soap and medical services. Grace had come with her doctor's bag.