The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters)

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Sure they are. The birth was a breeze according to Mamie – she keeps asking why so many women complain about it.’

  ‘It must be all those calisthenics classes she took,’ said Cecily. ‘Please send her my love and tell her I can’t wait to see my new niece. You will send me a photo of her, Mama, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will. How is Kenya?’

  ‘I . . . It’s good, Mama.’

  And so hot that I can’t breathe sometimes, and it’s so very weird and lonely here at Mundui House and I nearly got eaten by a hungry lion and I’m missing you so much . . .

  ‘So, when are you coming home? Papa says everyone here is getting concerned about the war. Some are saying that it’s inevitable now.’

  ‘I know, Mama, I’ve heard that too but—’

  ‘Well now, I was wondering whether it might be an idea for you to fly to England as soon as you can, honey. Then at least, if anything does happen, you’re only a steamer’s trip across the Atlantic away. Audrey says she’s happy to have you back at Woodhead Hall until . . .’

  ‘After Jack and Patricia’s wedding is over,’ Cecily finished for her. Her body gave a small shudder, not only at the fact her mother would put the embarrassment of the wedding of her ex-fiancé above her daughter’s safety, but also at the thought of ever setting foot in Woodhead Hall again.

  ‘Really, Mama, even though I’m desperate to come home as soon as I can, I’m fine right here. If war does break out, my friend Tarquin swears it won’t affect Kenya immediately. So how about you book me a ticket for the middle of April?’

  In other words, just after the nuptials have taken place . . .

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go stay with Audrey in England?’

  ‘Totally,’ Cecily replied firmly.

  ‘Okay, I’ll tell Papa to look into making the reservation. Oh, I’ve missed you so much, honey, and we all . . .’

  Dorothea’s voice disappeared into the ether as the crackling grew louder. Cecily replaced the old-fashioned receiver onto its cradle and, arms folded, walked out onto the terrace and surveyed the view.

  Maybe she should just return home next week and to hell with Jack’s wedding.

  ‘Who cares?’ she whispered to a baboon, who was staring at her, wondering whether he should risk making the leap onto the table on the veranda to steal the breakfast that had just been set up by Chege, the junior houseboy who was second in charge to Aleeki.

  ‘Boo!’ She clapped her hands as she walked towards the baboon, who sat where he was, regarding her slyly. ‘Off with you!’ she shouted and, eventually, he retreated. Sitting down at the table and drinking the hot, strong coffee, Cecily listened to the now familiar caws, cackles and calls that heralded the start of the day here at Mundui House. She’d breakfasted alone here every day for almost three weeks now. On her return from the safari, she’d been handed a letter from Chege.

  ‘From memsahib to memsahib,’ he had said.

  The letter from Kiki had informed her that she had gone to Nairobi to support Alice through her illness, and had taken Aleeki with her. She’d added that she would ‘return in a trice’, but a few days later, Aleeki had come back to collect a trunk of his mistress’s clothes. He’d explained that Kiki was staying in Nairobi for longer and had disappeared off back to her soon after.

  Cecily knew full well that what Aleeki had told her was a lie; she’d met Katherine only last week when she’d joined Makena and Chege on a trip into Gilgil.

  ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ Katherine had apologised, ‘but the wedding has rather taken over, amongst other things.’

  When Cecily had asked her how Alice was and when she might be leaving hospital, Katherine had looked surprised.

  ‘Oh, she’s been back home for the past two weeks. She insisted she couldn’t stay in hospital a moment longer, so I’ve been taking care of her at Wanjohi Farm. She’s much better now and talking about going off on safari in the Congo, although, of course, she’s concerned, as we all are, about the situation in Europe and how that might affect things in Africa . . . Gosh, I’m amazed Kiki didn’t tell you Alice was back.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Kiki for weeks,’ Cecily had explained. ‘Aleeki told me she was in Nairobi.’

  ‘Well, maybe she is – probably staying at Muthaiga Club, although I must say that it’s pretty bad form to abandon her goddaughter. Anyway, once this wedding of mine is over and I’ve finally moved into our new home, you’ll be terribly welcome to come and stay with me and Bobby. You must be lonely at Mundui all by yourself, poor darling.’

  ‘Oh, I’m okay, Katherine. I’m sure Kiki will be home soon.’

  ‘Well now, darling, I’m afraid I must fly – I have the order of service cards to take to the printer’s and they close at noon. See you at the wedding next week.’

  ‘Yes, and good luck!’ Cecily had called after her.

  Two days on from meeting Katherine in Gilgil and Cecily had still not heard a word from Kiki. None of the staff at the house spoke much English, and besides, it wouldn’t be right to ask them where her own godmother had got to . . .

  On top of all this, she’d obviously picked up some kind of virus, for every morning after breakfast she felt nauseous, and by two in the afternoon, she could hardly lift her feet up the stairs to go take a nap. She’d expected it to pass, but, she thought with a sigh as she picked up a piece of bread and eyed it, feeling bile rise to her throat, it had only gotten worse.

  Realising there was every chance that she might actually vomit up her coffee, Cecily rose and walked swiftly across the terrace. Aware that she wouldn’t make it to the restroom in time, she darted behind some bushes and was sick into a flower bed.

  ‘Oh my, oh my,’ she moaned, wiping her streaming eyes. ‘You sure are in a state, Cecily.’ She made her way slowly into the cool interior of the house and staggered up the stairs to drink some water, then lie down for a while until the nausea eased.

  ‘Oh Cecily,’ she muttered, ‘what are you to do?’

  Muratha arrived a few minutes later to tidy her room, then stopped in surprise as she saw Cecily lying down on her unmade bed.

  ‘You sick, bwana?’

  ‘I’m afraid I might be, yes,’ she admitted, feeling too terrible to continue lying.

  ‘Maybe malaria.’ Muratha put down her pile of fresh sheets and walked over to Cecily. She tentatively reached out a cool palm to feel her forehead, snatching it back quickly.

  ‘No hot, bwana, so okay. We call doctor, yes?’

  ‘No, not yet. Maybe tomorrow, if I’m not better.’

  ‘Okay, you rest.’ Muratha nodded and left the room.

  Cecily dozed off and by lunchtime, felt well enough to get up and eat a little soup and some bread. Choosing another book from the library and comforted that she hadn’t brought up her lunch, Cecily took up her usual spot on the sunbed beneath the shade of a sycamore tree. A few minutes later, she heard the tinkling laugh of her godmother as she appeared on the terrace, Captain Tarquin Price and Aleeki bringing up the rear.

  ‘I’m home, my darling!’ she shouted across the lawn, spying Cecily. ‘Forgive me for leaving you alone for so long, but we’re back now, aren’t we, Tarquin?’

  ‘We are, my love, yes,’ Tarquin said as he smiled fondly at her.

  ‘Come give me a hug, Cecily.’ Kiki threw her arms wide open and Cecily went into them. ‘My, you’re looking a little peaky. Are you quite well?’

  ‘I seem to have had a virus of some kind, but I’m all better now.’

  ‘Why, you should have told one of the servants and I’d have come running home and sent for Dr Boyle. Aleeki, let’s have champagne to celebrate! Tarquin has a few days’ leave, so we’ve come away from the city for some fresh air.’

  It was only then that the penny dropped – Kiki was looking up adoringly at Tarquin, who must be, had to be, a good ten or fifteen years younger than she was.

  Ten minutes later, they were sitting around the table on
the veranda, Kiki smoking and downing champagne with Tarquin, Cecily sticking firmly to tea. Kiki recounted tales of high jinks at what Cecily now thought of as the infamous Muthaiga Club and the fun they’d all had at some polo match.

  And there was me, worried to distraction about your health, when you were almost certainly love-nesting with your young British officer and living it up in Nairobi, Cecily thought to herself, suddenly feeling nauseous again. Whether it was from the small slice of cake she’d nibbled, or her godmother’s selfish behaviour, she didn’t know.

  ‘Excuse me, Kiki, Tarquin, I’m still not feeling so good. I’m going to go take a rest in my room.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tarquin replied. ‘Do let us know if you need us to call Dr Boyle, won’t you?’

  Upstairs, she lay down, the hum of conversation continuing below her. Even though there was no reason why Kiki shouldn’t take comfort in the arms of another man – after all, she was a widow with no attachments – Cecily couldn’t help thinking about how Kiki had introduced her to Tarquin on New Year’s Eve. In those precious minutes in his arms on the dance floor, Cecily had wondered whether this handsome, charming Englishman might have designs on her. But no; almost certainly, Tarquin had already been Kiki’s lover, despatched as a favour that night to keep her goddaughter from social embarrassment.

  Jack, Julius and Tarquin . . . within the space of a few weeks, they’d all played their part in reducing Cecily’s self-confidence to a non-existent status. New York, England, Kenya . . . Holy moly! She was a female failure across the globe. And she hated herself even more for leaving her Kenya address with Doris to give to Julius just before she’d left Woodhead Hall . . .

  ‘You are so pathetic, Cecily,’ she muttered miserably. And even more pathetic, she thought, for asking the servants every day if any letters have arrived for me from England.

  Cecily rolled restlessly off the bed and walked to the window, just in time to see Kiki, now clad in a chic striped bathing suit, walking hand in hand towards the lake with Tarquin, whose tanned and supple physique was on show in a pair of trunks.

  She watched them splash into the water, laughing together, then Tarquin taking Kiki in his arms and kissing her in what Cecily could only describe as a very thorough way. She thought of Bill Forsythe and his self-professed claim not to like human beings.

  And wondered if she was right there with him.

  Thankfully, over the next few days, Cecily’s sickness abated. By cutting out her usual cup of strong coffee in the morning, she found she could eat a little bread and cereal. Any kind of alcohol was off the menu, a fact that seemed to irritate Kiki intensely.

  ‘Goodness, you sure have lost your zest for life since I’ve been away. Won’t you please try a sip?’ Kiki said for the umpteenth time as Aleeki proffered a martini.

  ‘Kiki, darling, leave the poor girl alone, won’t you?’ Tarquin said, giving Cecily an apologetic look. ‘She’s obviously still getting over her illness.’

  Even if Cecily was grateful to Tarquin for tempering Kiki, she kept out of their way as much as she could, which was really quite easy, given that they rarely rose until lunchtime, when she’d meet them briefly on the veranda, before scuttling upstairs for an afternoon nap. The window seat in her bedroom had become her favourite place in the house. Sitting curled up on it, with a cool breeze from the overhead fan alleviating the heat outside, she’d use binoculars to study the comings and goings of the wildlife both in and around the lake.

  Today, the pod of hippos, whom she had all named in her head, were taking their customary afternoon naps, sprawled together on their sides. Around them, small horned antelopes were nibbling at the dense water lily pads at the lake’s edge, not perturbed at all by the huge creatures snoring beside them. Further out in the water, the trunks of dead trees reached up into the sky and provided convenient perches for all manner of birds, from tiny kingfishers to heavy pelicans.

  ‘How can I sit here and watch this and feel so blue?’ Cecily berated herself. ‘If Mamie was here, she’d be out there, swimming in the lake, rowing a boat, living! “You’re in a funk,” she’d say and . . .’

  The thought of her sister and her newborn baby so far away sent her desperately searching for positive thoughts, which spiralled away from her mental grasp as quickly as they had arrived.

  There was a sharp knock on her door and Muratha appeared, cradling the green silk dress she would be wearing at Katherine and Bobby’s wedding party in a couple of days’ time.

  ‘It beautiful, bwana,’ Muratha said as she hung it carefully in the closet. ‘Tomorrow we pack trunk, yes?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Muratha.’

  ‘Never see Nairobi, big city,’ said Muratha. ‘You lucky. I run bath, yes?’

  Before Cecily could reply, Muratha had disappeared, leaving Cecily to berate herself further for her inability to stop wallowing in her own misery like one of the hippos. She knew that Muratha would swap lives with her instantly.

  She walked over to the mirror and gazed at her own reflection.

  ‘You will go to this wedding and you will darned well enjoy yourself, do you hear me?’ With that, Cecily turned away and headed for the bathroom.

  ‘Just be sure they give you my usual room at the Club, won’t you? It faces the garden, not the road,’ Kiki said as Cecily climbed into the back of the Bugatti. ‘You did call ahead to tell them, didn’t you?’ Kiki turned to Aleeki, who was standing beside her.

  ‘Yes, memsahib.’

  ‘Now, you send my best love to Alice and anyone else there who doesn’t hate me,’ Kiki said to Cecily, forcing a harsh chuckle. It was obvious that she was hurt by her lack of an invitation to the wedding. ‘And just have the best fun, okay?’

  ‘I will, I promise,’ Cecily agreed.

  ‘In the meantime, we’ll make our own party here, won’t we, Tarquers?’

  ‘We will indeed, darling,’ Tarquin said as he walked up and kissed Kiki on the top of her dark head. ‘Goodbye, Cecily, and tell any of the chaps you meet in khaki that I’ll be back tomorrow morning to sort them out.’

  ‘I will. Bye.’ Cecily waved gaily then let out a sigh of relief as the Bugatti pulled smoothly out of the drive.

  Even though she was anxious about going to the wedding party alone to face a sea of strangers, as they headed along the lake towards Nairobi, she felt excited too. After weeks of being cooped up by herself at Mundui House, it might perk her up to be in a bustling city. She was also intrigued to see Muthaiga Club for herself, having heard so much about it. She had given her reflection a last glance in the mirror before she’d left and, in an emerald-green silk gown, as well as a matching hat with a white satin band fashioned into a starched bow, she thought she looked presentable at least. She removed her long white satin gloves and put them on the leather seat next to her, and as the journey progressed, wished she could remove her dress, which seemed to have grown awfully tight since she’d last worn it for dinner at Woodhead Hall.

  ‘What do you expect, Cecily? Apart from the safari, you’ve hardly stirred from your room,’ she muttered, promising herself that when she returned to Mundui House, she’d take a dip in the lake every morning.

  As they approached the city, Cecily glanced eagerly out of the window, but could only glimpse the buildings of central Nairobi spread out to her left, interspersed by endless shacks built haphazardly along the road.

  ‘Manhattan it is obviously not,’ she chuckled as Makena steered the Bugatti off the dusty main road. Stopping at a set of gates, he stuck out his head to speak to the security guard on duty. The gates were opened and they drove past pristine green lawns, planted with oak, chestnut and fever trees, which reminded Cecily of an English parkland. They pulled to a halt in front of a two-storey salmon-pink building with a smart red-tiled roof, its windows edged by clean white shutters. Palm trees and neat hedges lined the walls, and small Doric columns graced the entrance. Cecily had not seen a building in Kenya that seemed to insist more on its own civility. She s
tepped out of the car and was greeted at the double-fronted doors by a man who resembled a younger version of Aleeki.

  ‘Good afternoon, memsahib. May I enquire as to your name?’

  ‘I am Cecily Huntley-Morgan, sir.’

  ‘You are here for the wedding of Mr and Mrs Sinclair?’

  ‘I am,’ Cecily said as the man ran a fountain pen down a long list of names.

  ‘Mrs Sinclair has already signed you in. Ali!’ The man turned inside the shadowy interior and clicked his fingers. A servant appeared immediately by his side. ‘Please see Miss Huntley-Morgan to her room.’

  Ali took her cases from Makena, who gave her a salute, then stepped back into the Bugatti. As she followed the man through the wooden-floored reception area and along a couple of narrow corridors, Cecily could already hear the hum of voices coming from somewhere in the building.

  ‘Here, memsahib. Room number ten,’ said Ali.

  Cecily walked into a spartan cell, with only a narrow single bed, a chest of drawers with a washbasin atop it, and a closet which resembled an upturned coffin wedged into the corner.

  ‘Okay, memsahib?’

  ‘Perfect, thank you.’

  As Ali left, shutting the door softly behind him, she shook her head in disbelief; she’d imagined that Muthaiga Club would be the Kenyan version of the Waldorf Astoria. Not that she cared – it was simply a place to lay her head for the night – but she could hardly imagine Kiki sleeping in a room like this.

  Refastening her hat in the mirror, then applying some fresh lipstick, Cecily surveyed the door that would lead her out to the party. Taking a deep breath, she opened it, then with absolutely no idea of which way to turn down the corridor, decided to follow the hum of the crowd. Eventually, she found herself in a deserted dining room, the many tables set with creamy roses and garlands, the silver cutlery polished to a high shine. The tables flowed out into a veranda, beyond which stood a large crowd of guests, sipping champagne. She felt rather like she was walking through a beautiful garden filled with exotic birds of paradise. Well, that was the women at least, she thought, because they all seemed to be dressed in colourful silks and their jewels sparkled in the late afternoon sun. As for the men, they looked like a flock of penguins in their white tie and tails. She emerged at the other side of the crowd and saw Bobby and Katherine, who was wearing a simple but beautiful lace gown, which hugged her generous figure and showed off her creamy bare shoulders. Ivory roses adorned her lovely red hair and Cecily smiled, thinking she looked the picture of happiness.