‘Word’s already out,’ Alex protested. ‘It’s the worst kept secret around.’
Tim Boland just looked at him politely.
‘Pass the pen,’ Alex said.
Alex and Madison found their land. Nearly 6,000 acres of the best Botswana bushland, near Marv and Pru. They built their house overlooking the Limpopo River.
They were married in November. Paul was best man. He announced his engagement to Ingrid, the stunning blonde daughter of the Swedish Ambassador, during the reception.
Pa, who was staying with Paul in Gaborone for a while, looked happy and proud enough to burst.
Pat came to the wedding with a feisty auburn haired Zambian girl called Jill and the news that he was setting up a construction business in Gaborone. When Alex asked him if he and Jill intended to get married, Pat said, ‘Jesus, mother of Mary, boyo, I’m too old for all that sentimental stuff.’ But Alex could see the deep affection between them.
Marthe and Jacob were there. Older and more craggy, it didn’t stop them demonstrating the Charleston during the reception.
Willie actually wore something other than American cowboy boots.
Artie came down from Rhodesia. He had misread the invitation and was the only man there in a dinner suit. No trouble to Artie, who whipped off his coat, tied the cummerbund around his head, rolled up his sleeves and danced all night. He was surprisingly light on his feet.
Bob smiled a lot.
Pamela Carter looked almost as stunning as her daughter. ‘I always liked you, Alex. Thank God my daughter has had the good sense to marry you.’
Marv and Pru, still very much in love, confessed that Alex’s marriage was an event they’d almost given up ever attending.
It hasn’t all been plain sailing, Alex mused, sitting on his verandah watching the rooster. There have been downs as well as ups.
Their first child, a boy, had not gone full term and had been stillborn. It had taken Madison nearly a year to contemplate another child. She became convinced that there was something wrong with her, that she would never be able to bear Alex children, despite medical opinion to the contrary. Alex watched his lovely young wife suffer and grieve. He offered love and understanding but he knew he could never know the same sense of loss.
Claire was born in 1977, a beautiful replica of Alex, who captured his heart and had Marv saying smugly, ‘That girl’s got you around her little finger.’ Pa visited them three weeks after her birth and fell in love with the baby as much as Alex. He planned to return to Shakawe but stayed four weeks, reluctant to return to his solitary existence. One night he simply died in his sleep. ‘A heart attack,’ the doctor told them. Alex thought not. Pa was a wily old man—Alex believed he died because he did not believe he could be happier now his sons were settled. He had gone to join his beloved Peta, whom he had never ceased to love. His responsibilities on this earth were over. Alex missed Pa but he was happy for him.
Mickey, or Michael-John as he had been christened, was born the year after Claire. He was the image of Madison.
‘A boy and a girl,’ Madison said. ‘That’s perfect. I don’t want any more.’
Sam had other ideas and arrived two years later. He had Alex’s looks and Madison’s personality and was more demanding than the other two put together but they loved him to pieces and wondered how they had not planned to have him.
When Mickey suffered complications from measles at five, and the doctor told them to expect the worst, Alex went into the desert to search for !Ka’s old clan. The San danced a curing dance for the boy. Alex returned home to find Mickey wan but recovering. ‘By rights, the boy should have died. He obviously has a strong constitution,’ the doctor told them. Alex and Madison knew otherwise.
Paul married his beautiful Ingrid a year after Alex and Madison’s wedding. She was a gifted commercial artist and photographer. Economists continued to be in demand but Paul, seeing the way the country was heading, set up a marketing consultancy so he and Ingrid could work together. This led to their handling advertising budgets as well as offering marketing advice and Paul, much to his surprise, found himself at the head of Botswana’s first, and most successful advertising agency. With his head for figures and practical mind, together with Ingrid’s creative flair the two of them were quickly in demand. They lived and worked together happily, Ingrid taking time out to have two daughters.
In 1976 Botswana withdrew from the Rand Monetary Area and issued its own currency, pula and thebe. It took a while to get used to buying things with rain and shields but, in time, the translations lost significance.
In 1980, when Sir Seretse Khama died, Alex and Madison joined the other citizens of Botswana in mourning. The man had given Botswana its headstart. With his wise and calm leadership, the country was well able to look after itself. It was a legacy to be proud of. He took one of the world’s poorest nations and led it through a political and financial minefield, to emerge at the other end as a peaceful, fully democratic and economically strong country. The new president, Dr Quett Masire, friend and political partner of Sir Seretse, said, ‘We have no option other than to continue on where this great man left off.’
A severe drought in the mid-eighties had Alex selling their cattle at prices so low he wondered if they would ever recover. A freak flood and heavy rain brought good grazing back but the drought wasn’t over and the grasses dried up again. With not enough cattle on the property, a fire raged through the tinder dry bush. They lost two sheds, a set of cattle yards and nearly nine miles of fencing.
The world was changing and Botswana changed with it. But no-one was prepared for the year the waters from Angola failed to flow into the Okavango Swamps. The Delta remained dry. Some people believed the earth had tilted on its axis by the merest whisper, upsetting the natural flow of the water. Others blamed interference by the Angolans who, now their war was virtually over, had turned their attention to technology and, as part of this, water conservation. No-one knew for certain but some believed the Angolans had diverted the flow. But when the waters failed to come three years in succession and the birds and animals either died of hunger and thirst or migrated away, Alex knew his Botswana would never be the same again. It was still, however, the only place on earth he ever wanted to be.
Pat and Jill had been regular visitors. They had not married but lived together in a very large house overlooking the Gaborone dam. On a visit to South Africa in 1996 Pat had been pulled up for speeding and, while the policeman was writing out the ticket, the driver of an articulated lorry which was also going too fast had seen the police car, hit the brakes and jack-knifed, killing himself, the policeman and Pat and Jill.
Marv and Pru, who called a halt at seven children, had grown portly with contentment. They were a delightfully noisy family, secure in their numbers, with love in abundance for each other. Madison and Pru became close friends.
The screen door banged. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, coming to him and picking up Sam’s letter.
‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that you are more beautiful now than when I first laid eyes on you.’
‘About Sam?’ Her eyes sparkled.
‘I think I love you more now than I did then.’
‘Alex!’ she protested. ‘You get like this every August. What about Sam?’
He looked at her. The curtain of hair had been sensibly cropped but she kept it longish on top which gave her a classic elegance. There was no hint of grey as yet in that black silkiness. Her eyes remained clear grey. No wrinkles, no worry lines. Her body showed no signs of four babies. ‘Come,’ he said, rising.
‘Sam,’ she said gently.
‘Bugger Sam,’ he smiled back.
‘Sam,’ she repeated.
‘Okay, okay, we’ll up his allowance.’
‘You’re a darling.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘I know that.’
Her hands were on his shoulders. He looked into her eyes. Her face was no longer just his future, it was his past and his present to
o. He was content. He wrapped her in his arms. ‘I want you,’ he whispered.
‘It’s the middle of the afternoon.’ Her voice in his ear sent a shiver through him.
‘The servants are off duty.’
‘I know,’ she said dreamily. ‘I told them not to hurry back.’
Edge of the Rain Page 38