Kitafe

by Michael Ray

  ‘Shot down?’

  ‘Crashed on landing, most of his tailplane shot to bits. By the time he left we were engaged.’

  ‘Fast worker.’

  ‘And very dashing, though a little careless with his planes. After the war we bought the estate, built up a herd of Aberdeen Angus and bred polo ponies.’

  ‘And built the house.’

  ‘That came later; by the time we’d bought the land and stock, we barely had enough left for a shack but Daddy said he didn’t want to visit us if we were living in a mud hut, so he sent over an architect chappy and a great wodge of cash. Knew a lot about Georgian mansions but little else, so something Georgian seemed the safest bet. When he realised how cheap labour and materials were here, they both got a little over-enthusiastic and we ended up with twelve bedrooms. I’d have been happier with something modest, just the six or seven … the ballroom was a complete waste of time. It’s not as if we ever did much entertaining; besides, where can one going to find a decent dance band around here? Then, I bought Reginald this book on the Arts and Crafts movement for Christmas. The servants quarters are based on a small village in Cornwall. Your friend should be here somewhere.’

  They went past a border of marigolds and into a small brick cottage and there was Paul sitting by a small wooden table with a mug of tea.

  ‘Dorothy Straker-Squire, may I introduce Paul Kabuye,’ Graham said.

  Paul started to get up, wobbled a bit and abruptly sat down again. ‘Please excuse me, I feel a little under the weather.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have stopped a chap in my day but never mind, let’s take a look at you.’ Dorothy moved the table out of the way then put a hand on his forehead, stared at his eyes and took his pulse.

  ‘Everything in order down below?’

  ‘I … yes I suppose so, bit loose if you must know.’

  ‘That will be the bananas.’ To his horror, she stripped his shirt back and looked him over. ‘Seen a lot worse.’

  ‘That’s gratifying to know.’

  ’Walk around about a bit; give him a hand someone.’

  Graham helped Paul up and walked him to the door and back.

  ‘Jolly good, I dare say you’ll be fine after a decent meal and a bit of a rest. What about the children, anything wrong with them?’

  ‘I think they may be a bit traumatised,’ Graham said, ‘and brainwashed.’

  ‘Brainwashed? Where do you think we are, Russia? You, girl, come over here!’

  Rachel stared blankly at her.

  ‘What’s the matter, doesn’t she understand English? No wonder she’s traumatised.’

  Paul spoke gently to Rachel and she came over.

  ‘No Swahili then?’

  ‘Just a tribal tongue,’ Paul said.

  Dorothy brusquely turned her round, and then stared into her eyes. ‘Bit skinny. Ask her whether she suffers from headaches.’

  … ‘Sometimes, when she wakes.’

  ‘Have you noticed her staring into space?’

  ‘She’s withdrawn from time to time.’

  ‘Hmm, used to call it the thousand-yard stare in the war, saw it all the time. They pretended it wasn’t a problem, burned a lot of medical files and reports; bloody awful. Still, they obviously walked here with you, so it can’t be that severe. Better get a doctor to look them over when you get back. Now, you were saying something about an army heading this way.’

  ‘Sshh.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Please,’ Graham said, ‘can’t you hear them, Bedfords, coming from the North. Can we make a run for it?’

  ‘Don’t you want your tea first?’

  ‘No, I think we should leave now.’

  ‘Very well. You, boy, you can carry my bag for me,’ and she handed her medical bag to Benjamin. He looked at her, shrugged and took it.’

  ‘You see, he’s perfectly alright. All boys go a little odd when they reach their teens.’

  ‘He’s barely ten.’

  ‘Nonsense. Gerald, go and get the Lagonda out.’

  Gerald left as fast as his aged frame could carry him and a galleon in full sail, she led them back to the house. Gerald was already with the car, a huge prewar contraption. Once, it might have had a touring body but someone with more enthusiasm than design skills, probably Reginald, had turned it into a charabanc, fashioning a long, wooden body onto the back and contriving an extra row of seats. Gerald fired up the engine as they piled in, and then on her command, they shot out of the garage and down the drive.

  ‘Gerald, what have you done with Joyce?’

  ‘She left a few weeks ago, madam.’

  ‘I wondered what happened to the tea … one moment!’

  Gerald slammed on the brakes. Dorothy opened the door and Jasmine joined her in the front.

  ‘As you were. Did you remember to turn off the generator? We don’t want to waste fuel.’

  ‘I’m sorry Madam, I forgot.’

  ‘Never mind, tough situations call for sacrifices to be made.’

  They only got as far as the end of the driveway before they spotted the first Bedford, throwing up a column of dust on the horizon, a mile or so to the South.

  ‘I thought you said they were coming from the North!’ Dorothy exclaimed.

  Graham, in the middle row, leant over Dorothy’s shoulder. ‘I thought they were.’

  ‘Well we can’t head north, so back to the house. We’ll make a last stand there, take as many of the blighters with us as we can.’

  Gerald did a handbrake turn, throwing them from one side to the other and they roared back to the house.

  Dorothy lowered a metal bar across the front door behind them. ‘Door’s made from ironwood, should hold them for a bit. We can open a few windows upstairs and let them have it as they come down the drive.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s a cellar?’ Graham asked hopefully, calculating that the first round from an RPG would turn the door into kindling.

  ‘Of course, why, do you want a glass of wine?’

  ‘I just thought it might have a secret tunnel leading out of it.’

  ‘You’ve been watching too many films … that Clarke Gable … I had a bit of a crush on him. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Gone With the Wind?’

  ‘Sorry, a bit before my time, I was two when it came out.’

  ‘Wonderful film. When I was younger people used to tell me I looked a little like Vivien Leigh …’

  ‘… the cellar?’

  ‘Of course, follow me.’

  The wood-panelled library had almost as many stuffed heads on its walls as it had books on its shelves. Most of the local wildlife was represented, from an elephant down to a hyrax. The walls were lined with bookshelves and display cabinets full of insects and curiosities. Hans Sloane would have been proud of it.

  Dorothy opened a gun cabinet. ‘Always keep them loaded, never know when you’ll need one, particularly in a library.’ She started to pass an elephant gun to Graham.

  He looked at it with horror, wondering if it would blast a hole through a wall as well as an elephant. ’It’s alright, I’ll make do with the revolver.’

  ‘Jolly good.’

  She distributed the rest of the arsenal, then armed with the elephant gun headed for one of the bookshelves. ‘Now, which one is it … Dickens I think.’

  ‘Which one’s what?’ Graham asked wondering if Dorothy was preparing to read them a story.

  ‘The lever of course, you said you wanted the wine cellar? Reginald hid the entrance behind a bookcase, thought I didn’t know about it.’

  ‘Yes, but … Oliver Twist?’

  ‘Something about Paris, A Tale of two Cities, that’s the one.’ She pulled on a book and it flew out of it’s slot in the bookshelf and onto the floor. ‘Blast it!’

  ‘Just try them all!’ Paul said, urgently.

  ‘Don’t rush me,’ she went along the shelf, scattering books. ‘Never read any of them, Dickens uses far too many words.’

  ‘
Where’s he off to?’ Graham asked Paul.

  Benjamin had gone towards the library door and was pointing his rifle towards the hallway. He seemed intent on taking on the invading army singlehanded. Paul shouted at him and he returned to the bookshelf, getting a lecture from Rachel on his arrival.

  ‘You’ll have to make her a sergeant or something, she seems intent on telling Benjamin what to do all the time,’ Paul said, working his way along the Encyclopaedia Britannica. ‘I had the same problem with my sisters.’

  ‘What is it this time?’ Graham asked, pulling out “The Wind In The Willows.” He briefly thought about pocketing it then remembered their dilemma.

  ‘He wanted to delay them and take as many of the devils as he could before they got him. She informed him that, unless you ordered it, he wasn’t permitted to go out in a blaze of glory.’

  ‘Aha, got it!’ Dorothy exclaimed. ‘knew it was Dickens, “Going into Society”.’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ Graham said.

  ‘Be grateful, I never understood what it was about,’ Paul said.

  ‘I see your man is better educated than you are.’

  The bookshelf creaked open revealing a dark tunnel.

  The trucks arrived, crunching the gravel outside. Graham grabbed the two kids and pushed them through the entrance after Dorothy and Paul and pulled the bookshelf closed. ‘Dark in here.’

  ‘Never been down here before,’ said Dorothy ‘and Reginald never let any of the servants near it. Baboo spent a lot of time here though, Italians like wine. Must be a light switch somewhere, try your side.’

  Graham felt along the wall, found a cable and traced it to a switch. A string of lights led down a flight of stairs then along the ceiling of a long cellar; ten-foot wide and lined with rows of bottles.

  ‘Good gracious!’ Dorothy exclaimed, arriving at the far end, where it opened out into a large room.

  Graham just stared, mouth open.

  ‘Wondered what happened to it, must have fired a dozen maids.’

  In front of them was a tailor’s dummy, clothed in an exquisitely ornate dress.

  ‘Norman Hartnell, bought it in the early thirties for a ball. Had it sent from London, cost a fortune.’

  To one side was a rail with another ten dresses. Dorothy went along them, muttering the origins of each one under her breath. Rachel followed her, wide eyed, testing the cloth between her fingers and joining in the muttering in her own language. At the back a number of stockings were loosely draped over the edge of a desk, as if they’d just been taken off. Dorothy went over, lifted one up and blew the dust off it.

  ‘Silk, must have had it before the war.’ She turned to Rachel, smiled and gently rubbed it against the girl’s face. Rachel spoke a few incomprehensible words of appreciation.

  ‘I think you need to keep your voices down,’ Graham whispered.

  Faintly, from the direction of the bookshelf, they could hear muffled voices and the clumping of boots on wooden floors.

  ‘Always thought there was something a little odd about Baboo … apart from being Italian and tell your girl to take that hat off, her complexion’s all wrong for it.’

  ‘Please … quiet.’ Graham whispered again urgently.

  They heard the sound of the bookshelf creaking open followed by voices and approaching footsteps. Nervously, Graham motioned to Gerald, Dorothy and the kids to go behind the row of dresses then he crept behind the desk with Paul and carefully dropped to the floor.

  The footsteps sounded louder. He took the safety catch off the revolver and prepared to leap up from behind the desk and let fly. Next to him he could hear the soft click of hammers being pulled back on the shotgun Paul had been issued with.

  The soldiers entered the room and he tasted adrenaline, felt his pulse rate quicken … all for one and one for all … hoped too many bottles of wine didn’t get caught in the crossfire. He took a deep breath and looked at Paul who started to mouth a count of three …

  ‘Hello, is anyone there?’

  Graham popped his head up from behind the desk then quickly down again.

  ‘It’s the British … I think,’ he whispered to Paul.

  ‘I say, you there, behind the desk, if you wouldn’t mind showing yourself. Don’t want to have to start firing this damn thing, it will make a frightful din.’

  ‘Horace!’

  ‘Mater!’

  Dorothy swept out from behind the dresses and gave the Captain a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Horace, what on earth are you doing here? I thought you were in Nyasaland.’

  ‘Couldn’t leave you at the mercy of the natives old girl, so I got a posting back here. Didn’t you get my letter?’

  ‘Haven’t had any post for weeks.’

  ‘So who are all these chaps?’

  ‘You remember Gerald, of course? The others have just arrived. Actually, I’ve no idea who they are. I think one might be some sort of journalist.’

  ‘Graham Theakston, pleased to meet you.’ Graham came out from behind the desk, his hand outstretched and shaking a little.

  ‘Captain Straker-Squire, East Africa rifles,’ the captain replied, gripping his hand firmly. ‘And the others?’

  ‘Paul’s a friend and fellow scribbler, the others we picked up on the way. We’re on the run from Ngai.’

  ‘Jolly good, well he should be here soon.’

  ‘He’s what! Hadn’t you better set up the defences, clear a line of fire.’

  ‘Gracious no, he’s here to negotiate. Westminster has decided that the Governor has to start talking about independence. We’re here to arrange an official meeting.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you,’ Graham said. ‘I’d rather we disappeared before he arrives.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry, the bells of peace ring out and all that.’

  ‘Seriously, old chap, we’ve had dealings with him. It would be best if we weren’t here.’ Paul said.

  Horace looked at him and frowned.’ Paul, Paul Kabuye? Good God, it’s you isn’t it? Bit thinner than I remember.’ He stepped forward, ‘Horace Straker-Squire at your service. You probably don’t remember me but I remember you. Othello, Oxford, nineteen thirty six, summer play; I played Second Senator. I must say, I thought you were marvellous.’

  ‘I did feel a little typecast.’

  ‘Whatever happened to Desdemona, Caroline something wasn’t it? There were simply masses of rumours flying around that you were having a bit of a fling with her. Had a bit of a squeeze on her myself as it happens.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment. She married Iago, you know.’

  ‘Not Ratarse Russell? Thick as two planks but a damn good fly-half. Didn’t he become a banker?

  ‘I rather think daddy owned the bank.’

  ‘That might explain how he got his degree, certainly wasn’t his acting.’ He paused, digesting the memory. ‘Happy days but back to your problem. I suppose you could wait down here for the duration. I’m not expecting the meeting to last that long, just need to tidy up a few bits of protocol, dot the i’s, cross the t’s and all that. Why don’t you open a bottle of wine? That Italian chap mater married after pops had died was a bit odd but he knew his wines; you should be able to find something decent and there’s bound to be a corkscrew around here somewhere.’

  Fourteen

  Graham spent a couple of days at Paul’s house then moved to The Stardust, renting a small room and reacquainting himself with beer. He thought he could last a month before running out of money, after which he’d have to live on loans, promises and whatever he could scrounge. At first he spent his evenings at the bar; regaling friends, acquaintances and hangers-on with tales of heroism and horror in exchange for pints of beer, but after a while he became irritated by the questions and even bored the horrified looks from the bar girls. The continuous regurgitating memories for the benefit of the mob, started to irritate him, to gnaw away at his soul, so he gave the bar up and, in the hope of some sort of mental release,
started to write a piece about his incarceration. He soon lost the will to continue. So, following a day of picking and putting down a book to read and staring at the wall of his room, he decided it was time to visit The Standard. He greeted a surprised Jenny at reception. She squeaked, leapt out from behind her desk and gave him a big hug.

  ‘Theakston, is that you?’

  He disconnected himself and went along the corridor to Bradley’s office.

  ‘I thought you got back last week, where have you been?’

  ‘Taking it easy for a few days, Mr Bradley.’

  ‘Taking it easy? This is a newspaper, we don’t take it easy. You’re lucky I haven’t fired you.’

  Graham passed him a letter.

  ‘What’s this then?’

  ‘My resignation.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He tore it up and put it in the bin.

  Graham took another copy out of his pocket and put it on the desk. ‘I’m not being ridiculous.’

  Bradley picked it up, scanned through it and put it down. ‘How much do you want?’

  ‘I don’t want a raise.’

  ‘Then go down to the coast. Despite all this nonsense, I assume the trains are still working. You’ve got some holiday owing but I want you back in the office next Monday.’

  He got up. ‘Goodbye Mr Bradley.’

  ‘You’ll be back,’ shouted Bradley after him.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Graham muttered under his breath as he headed for the front desk. ‘See you around, love.’

  ‘You’re not going are you?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘I’ve just handed in my resignation.’

  ‘But you’ve only just got back! … I’ll miss you.’

  ‘No you won’t, I’m not planning on leaving town just yet.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t know if we’re going to stay here, not with independence. Philip seems to think we’d be better off in South Africa.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea. Take care.’