‘London, we are going to London!’ shouted Jitu. Fatima gazed at her husband adoringly.
She snuggled into his shoulder. ‘I will miss this place,’ she admitted, ‘we can always come back for holidays can’t we?’
‘Yes, of course, my dear,’ he lied, ‘now, I must get off to work to support my holiday-minded family.’ He kissed her lightly on her forehead.
*
At the factory, Patel did his usual quick tour and in the office he responded to the more immediate e-mails and orders. He paused in these tasks to call Azizza with instructions to get the next hundred title deeds from the land office.
‘Are you sure?’ She queried. ‘It’s a lot of money to outlay.’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Patel, ‘we need to get things moving. You got the note I left about a further advance to Evans?’
‘Yes,’ she confirmed.
Patel continued. ‘And remind Evans I need the information I asked him for yesterday, as soon as possible.’ He cleared his desk of the most pressing business and instructed his secretary to get hold of the managing director of Poppy Buckets, one of his main rivals in Mombasa. She quickly connected him.
‘Farook how are you - it’s Patel from Malindi.’
‘Ahh, Patel, king of Malindi,’ Farook responded.
‘I have a proposition for you,’ said Patel.
‘Oh really,’ Farook said warily. ‘Are you looking for a merger, competition to hot for you?’ Leaning back in his chair, intrigued.
Patel got straight to the point. ‘No, I wondered if you would like a distribution centre in Malindi. I have decided to sell my factory, are you interested?’
Farook sat up in surprise. ‘Really,’ then in disbelief. ‘Why?’
‘Listen Farook, I’m a busy man. You’re the first one I have called.’
‘Yes, Jugdish my friend, I am interested, what sort of price are we talking about?’
‘How soon can you get down here to assess the product?’ Then you can make me an offer.’
Farook, picking up on the urgency, looked through his diary. ‘I can be there on Thursday by ten; would that be good for you?’
‘Yes,’ Patel replied, ‘perfect, and bring your engineers with you.’
‘Ok, but tell me my friend, why the hurry?’
‘It’s my wife,’ Patel replied not elaborating.
‘Nothing serious I hope?’
‘No, no - you know, women.’
‘Ahh, yes, if the woman unhappy, the man cannot stay.’
‘Yes, exactly, can deny her nothing,’ Patel giggled.
‘You will let me have first option won’t you, keep it amongst ourselves, right?’
‘Yes of course, I can do that, see you day after tomorrow, thanks.’
*
Evans arrived at work hung over and in a bad mood, made worse by the questioning looks on the security guards faces as he drove up in the small Toyota. He had gone home from the golf club the previous evening, nervously thinking over the lie for his wife about the Mercedes, only to find her absent, and a message on the answering machine; she and the two boys had missed their flight from Nairobi and would not be back until Thursday. With no cooked food in the house, he went out to the Day and Night Club for chicken and chips and decided to stay and have a few beers. Inevitably, he drank more than he had intended to, drove home, and made a complete fool of himself trying to bed the house maid.
She had rejected his advances politely trying to reason with him and when he drunkenly persisted, curtly informed him that his wife had anticipated he might attempt this and to inform her if he tried. Thwarted and outmanoeuvred, he had angrily slammed the door to her room shouting out that he was going to fire her. He was her boss, not his wife.
This morning she was nowhere in sight. His white work shirts lay un-ironed in the laundry basket. Dismissing the idea of attempting to iron one for himself, he resorted to wearing his used shirt, which smelt of yesterday’s sweat and now sported a tomato sauce stain just under the left pocket. Childishly feeling sorry for himself, with a throbbing hangover, he sat in the small Toyota lamenting his lot. No Mercedes, no wife, no clean shirts, no breakfast, no maid and recalling in a sudden panic, he couldn’t remember where he had hidden the package Patel had given him. That bloody Indian it was all his fault.
Arriving at work he grunted a greeting at the security guards and fled to the safety of his air-conditioned office. ‘Florence,’ he barked as he passed her desk, ‘get me the file on small loans, the ones handled by Golden Palm.’
‘Yes, sir, good morning sir,’ she said.
Evans was uncharacteristically rude. ‘And hurry up with my tea!’Drinking tea and leafing through the Golden Palm file, he quickly added up the money out on loan and calculated his cut. Reassured at the size of the figure, he relaxed, it was time to yank that Indian’s tail. How dare he take my car. He then busied himself with work.
An hour later he was interrupted by Florence. ‘Excuse me, sir.’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Azizza from Golden Palm is on the phone.’
‘Hello Azizza,’ Evans greeted her breezily.
Azizza returned his greeting and relayed Patel’s message.
Evans responded pompously. ‘I’m not processing any more loans, until our original agreement is honored.’ Pleased at the stunned silence on the other end. ‘Furthermore if we can’t clear up this oversight by your company as soon as possible, it might necessitate a reconsideration of our favorable lending rates.’
Azizza recovered quickly and responded in the same tone. ‘Thank you, I will contact my director and get back to you as soon as I can,’ and rang off.
Evans was enjoying himself. Hah! That should make them think about messing me about. He didn’t have long to wait. His mobile rang. He didn’t recognise the number.
‘Evans, it’s Patel here. Azizza has relayed your message to me regarding the loans, your percentage is twenty five percent right?’
‘Yes it is, and I want it now,’ he chuckled confidently, leaning back in his chair.
Patel went on. ‘At present that would amount to 125 million, if you want to keep the Mercedes at 8 million, your cut would now be 117 million right?’
Evans sensing he was losing ground said belligerently. ‘I want my money and my car!’
Patel continued unfazed. ‘With all the advances you have had including the one yesterday, your cut would be 110 million.
‘Listen to me, I want my money, can’t you hear?’
‘Evans, you can confirm your cut on the Golden Palm small loan scheme is at present is 110 million, including the Mercedes, right?’
‘Yes, that is right,’ he said slowly and clearly, ‘and I want it now.’
‘Thank you,’ said Patel.
‘For what?’ The manager asked puzzled.
‘Evans, listen to me,’ Patel said with a giggle. ‘This conversation has just been recorded. Azizza has more applications to process this morning,’ the steel in his voice rose in timbre. ‘Be a good fellow and do as you’re told and stop messing us all about. I’m sure you don’t want to go to jail. You’ll get your cut once this project is completed, until then, behave yourself.’
Evans stared at his mobile in disbelief as Patel hung up, he fumbled with the buttons and hit the re-dial button in anger, but stopped as the reality dawned on him. He slumped in his chair, tears of frustration welling up behind his eyes. ‘Bloody bastard,’ he breathed, ‘bloody bastard.’
Florence walked into his office and put documents into his in tray. Among the papers were more loan applications for Golden Palm awaiting his signature.
*
Patel replaced his sim card in his mobile. ‘What a clown.’
She grimaced. ‘Do you think it was a mistake to take the car?’
‘No it’s totally inappropriate for his bank salary; you know we only gave it to him to hook him up, besides I can now use his resentment against me to control him.’
‘Yes, but c
an we trust him?’ she asked.
‘No, but then we never could, so what’s new?’ He shrugged dismissing the notion. ‘I’m selling the factory,’ Patel announced abruptly, ‘and sending my wife and kids overseas. Better get organised to leave Malindi,’ he advised her.
Azizza was shocked. ‘What, when?’
‘The wife and kids as soon as possible, and as for us,’ he rocked his hand, thumb and forefinger extended between them, ‘once we have got the rest of the money.’
She stared at him frowning and he smiled. ‘For now it’s just precautions, but we can’t just sit here. We need to prepare a back door for a clean getaway.If you need any advice just ask, ok?’
Azizza said carefully, her mind reeling. ‘I need time to think and will let you know thanks,’ wondering if this was one of Patel’s nasty tricks trying to panic her, her intuition told her that he was genuine, but he was a tricky bugger, a really tricky bugger.
‘So who are you selling to?’ She asked hiding her fear.
‘I have a meeting with my main competitor, tomorrow.’
‘Wow, that’s fast work,’ she murmured.
He grinned at her. ‘That’s me baby fastest crook in town!’ mimicking a western gunslinger, chuckling at his own joke.
Despite herself, she burst out laughing with him, releasing the tension between them; life was never dull around this man.
THREE
Brian Nicholls looked forward to his first trip to the coast. To this end he had collected a number of travel brochures on Malindi. He stared at glossy pictures of pristine white beaches, dive boat excursions with dolphins and whale sharks, deep-sea fishing in azure blue water and safaris to tented camps in the nearby game parks with elephants and lions. Nightclubs, restaurants and modern hotels all close to one another; it seemed ideal, the perfect small town resort.
Brian was an eager new broom, having been unemployed for two years in England after a bank take-over. His subsequent divorce hadn’t helped and at forty-five he had felt all washed up. His luck it seemed had now changed with this new job, with a place in the sun at last and he had every intention of keeping it. It was Brian who had pushed to examine the accounts of the NNB Malindi bank. The manager Evans Njugu, seemed to really know his stuff. He was hoping to discover what methods Evans was using and replicate them countrywide.
Brian had only been in Kenya for a month. One of the perks of the job was a 4x4 Range Rover, which he had been learning to drive, loving the powerful burble of its V8 engine, its style and stance on the road captivating him with the promise of rugged adventures and best of all, it was a British car.
He had done the rounds of cocktail parties, meeting a whole cross section of nationalities from all walks of life. The most stuck up so far were the other expatriates, but then he was used to that having worked for a while in Hong Kong - his only other foreign posting. He knew it took a while to get accepted, however, he didn’t lack company in his social life. His colleagues at work had welcomed him into their fold, with invites for a drink after work or on weekends. It seemed easy to make friends and after overcoming his inhibitions, the active promiscuity of the Kenyan girls made him feel like a kid in a candy shop.
The work was a pleasure; his salary beefed up with a third world hardship allowance. His job description of auditor and personnel training consultant gave him plenty of scope to be creative. Brian was in his element. He had bought a road map of Kenya in anticipation of touring the bank’s branches countrywide in his 4x4. This job was going to be fun.
*
Back in Malindi, Evans reluctantly got on with his morning. Seething at Patel, he buried his anger in work until Florence interrupted him. ‘Sir I have a call for you from Nairobi.’
‘Who is it?’ he asked, distracted.
‘A Mr. Brian Nicholls from head office, shall I put him through?’
His head snapped up at the name, a grip of fear. Could anything possibly get worse. He wanted to run. What an earth should I do? ‘Ok put him through,’ Evans said accepting his fate. ‘Hello,’ he answered the phone stiffly, ‘Evans Njugu here, NNB Bank. How may I help you?’
‘Good morning Mr. Njugu, my name is Brian Nicholls.’
They went through the formalities, Evans straining for every nuance and inflection in the unfamiliar voice for clues to his impending downfall. ‘I’m impressed with your performance over the last few months,’ Brian was saying. ‘I don’t mind telling you, that your bank has outperformed all the other branches.’
‘Yes,’ said Evans woodenly waiting for disaster.
Brian droned on. ‘In fact you have been so successful; I’m considering adopting your methods to improve the performance of our banks countrywide.’
Evans, embarrassed at this rare and unfamiliar praise responded. ‘Yes, Sir, I had no idea.’
‘Yes indeed, I’m looking forward to meeting you when I drive down next week.’ Brian said.
‘Drive?’ Evans blurted out remembering Patel’s instructions.
‘Yes, I thought I might safari njema down to you, anything wrong with that?’
‘Our roads are very dangerous; it’s much safer to fly. Driving on your own is not safe.’ Evans warned. ‘Highway robbers lurk everywhere, a simple puncture can turn out badly, and it’s a long way.
‘Hmmm,’ Brian responded, ‘maybe I should re-think my trip.’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Evans hopefully.
‘I have been looking at a map and was planning to drive across the game park. That would be safer wouldn’t it?’
‘Game parks lots of wild animals and Shifta,’ Evans ventured.
‘Shifta?’
‘Yes Shifta, you know, Somali bandits, cutlasses,’ he made a cutting motion across his throat, ‘poachers.’
‘Really?’ Brian asked, surprised.
‘Yes, you’d better fly sir, it’s much safer.’
‘Thank you for your concern Evans, you have certainly given me food for thought, I have not heard of these shiftis?’
‘Shifta,’ corrected Evans.
‘Yes Shifta.’ Brian agreed. ‘Maybe I will fly this time until I learn the ropes a bit. Thank you for the advice.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Evans breathed a sigh of relief.
They exchanged more information on bank business with Brian once again praising Evans for his abilities. ‘Evans, I had better let you get back to work.’ He brought the amiable conversation to a close. ‘See you next week.’
‘Thank you sir, I will look forward to it. Goodbye sir,’ and put the phone down.
Evans called out to Florence. ‘That was a V.I.P. Mr. Nicholls from head office,’ he said buoyed up by the compliments. He went on. ‘I need you to find out which NNB house in Nairobi he is staying in.’
‘In Nairobi?’ a puzzled Florence asked.
‘Yes in case of emergencies. He arrives on Monday and while you’re doing that, I also need his flight number.’
‘Yes sir.’ Florence said with a frown. Her boss had been behaving strangely since his funny turn the other day. He had failed to get to his Dr.'s appointment and seemed to be in a bad mood all the time, and this morning; his dishevelled appearance was most unlike him.
Evans looked at his watch, time for lunch. He wanted to rush home and look for his missing package. ‘I will be back this afternoon, have that information ready by then,’ he instructed, grabbing his jacket and heading out of the office.
The maid was nowhere in sight when Evans got home, the house was as he had left it, fuelling his suspicions that she had found the money and stolen it. He searched his bedroom for the missing package, opening drawers, cupboards, looking under the mattress, tossing pillows and blankets on the floor. He moved onto other rooms in the house, his search getting more frenetic. Tears of frustration and fear welled up inside him, as he sat at the kitchen table pounding it with his fist roaring aloud in anguish. Suddenly he stopped, an insight, the car! Trembling in anticipation, he opened the boot slowly and spotted the package lying in t
he trunk. He snatched it up confirming the money was there. The missing maid sauntered into the compound as Evans walked back to the house. He started in surprise. ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded.
‘I was ill. Been to see the Doctor,’ she replied sulkily.
‘My shirts were not ironed this morning,’ he complained standing erect. ‘The house is in a terrible mess; you’d better iron a new shirt for me right away and tidy the house.’
She just looked at him, making no move towards the house. ‘I will wait for mamma,’ she replied, stoically.
Evans glared at her, swore and went into the house. Shit! What can I do? This cow is going to get me in a load of trouble with my Rose. He looked around him; the mess in the house now worsened by the efforts of his desperate search. If I give her money, she might not say anything, he brightened.
Taking a few notes out of the package, he went back outside and knocked on the door to her quarters. ‘Listen I'm sorry about yesterday, I was drunk. You know me I’m not that sort of man. Listen to me. Be reasonable, if you tell mama you will lose your job anyway, surely you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I have a small present for you,’ holding the money out, ‘please accept it as an apology from a foolish lonely man.’ The door opened a crack and then widened as the maid saw the money. Evans leaned on the door and pushed his hand forward. ‘Please,’ he pleaded.
Without looking at him she took the money. ‘I forgive you,’ and shut the door in his face.
Evans breathed a sigh of relief, and then said to the closed door. ‘And you will clean up the house now?’
‘When you have left,’ came the muted reply.
*
Azizza was relieved when Patel left the Golden Palm house. She had collected another hundred title deeds from the land office and needed to go through each one, searching for anomalies or duplications before submitting them to the bank. The stop start crisis over the last forty-eight hours had upset her, especially now that Patel was making plans to leave.
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