In the last week of January, Lankenua woke Cecily with a knock on her bedroom door.
‘Come, Missus Cecily.’ Lankenua mimed a telephone receiver held up to her ear. Cecily put on her robe and padded along the corridor to take the call.
‘Hello, darling, it’s Bill here,’ her husband’s voice crackled down the line. ‘I just wanted to warn you that I’ll be home late tonight. Something bloody awful has happened.’
‘What?’
‘Joss has had a motoring accident out near Diana and Jock’s house in Karen. He’s broken his neck apparently . . . Oh God, Cecily . . . Joss is dead!’
‘Oh no!’ Cecily bit her lip. She knew that Bill adored Joss, despite his friend’s appalling antics with women. ‘I . . . is there anything I can do?’
‘No. Obviously I’ll have to take over his duties here whilst they sort everything out. I’m going to drive over to the mortuary now to . . . see the old chap and say goodbye,’ Bill added, his voice breaking.
‘Oh darling, I am so very sorry. Perhaps it’s better if I come to you?’
‘Whatever happens, they’ll arrange his funeral pretty quickly. They have to out here, you see. Well, if you’re sure you want to come, I’ll see you at the club later then. Take care on the drive, Cecily.’
She put down the receiver and went into the kitchen to make herself a strong cup of coffee. Sipping it, she stared out of the window at another glorious morning; a morning that Joss – so full of life and vitality – would not see. She remembered how her father had often used a rather archaic saying, something about if one lived by the sword, one died by it too. For the first time, Cecily really understood what it meant. Joss had cut a swathe through his own life, hardly pausing for breath. And now he was gone.
Lankenua appeared in the kitchen with Stella in her arms.
‘Okay, Missus Cecily?’
‘I have to go to Nairobi,’ said Cecily. ‘You take care of Stella, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Cecily packed the one black dress and hat she owned, and a little after noon, set off in Bill’s spare pick-up for Nairobi. Even though she’d been nervous at first to drive by herself, she’d learnt to enjoy the freedom of getting around under her own steam.
The atmosphere at Muthaiga Club was muted to say the least. She saw through the small window that men were huddled together in the Gentlemen’s Bar, drinking whisky and talking in low voices. A few women were sitting out on the terrace, raising their champagne glasses in a toast to Joss. Cecily went to her room intending to change after the dusty drive, but soon heard the door open behind her.
‘Hello, darling, they told me you’d arrived.’ Bill looked grey and tired, as if he’d aged ten years since the last time she’d seen him. Cecily walked towards him.
‘I am so, so sorry. I know what he meant to you.’
‘Well, despite his faults, life will never be the same around here again. But it gets worse, Cecily. I went to see him in the mortuary and spoke to Superintendent Poppy. This cannot become public knowledge until Government House announces it tomorrow, but it looks as if the old boy was murdered.’
‘Murdered? Oh my God, Bill. What happened?’
‘He was shot in the head. Apparently the bullet had travelled in a straight line from his ear, and ended up in his brain. He didn’t stand a chance.’
‘But who would want to murder Joss? Everybody loved him! Didn’t they?’
Cecily searched her husband’s face for the answer, then thought again.
‘Oh,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, I’m afraid that’s what everyone thinks, especially as it happened very close to Jock and Diana’s house. Joss had apparently dropped Diana off there and . . . God only knows what exactly happened, but it’s not looking good for Jock Broughton.’
‘Well, to be frank, Bill, even though I know how fond you were of Joss, I wouldn’t entirely blame Jock if he had shot him.’
‘I know, darling, I know.’ Bill sighed and sat down on the bed. ‘Obviously this is all top secret – the funeral will go ahead tomorrow and after that the police will interview Jock.’
‘Do you think he did it?’
‘As you say, he certainly had the motive. Anyway, mum’s the word for now. I just wanted to tell you. Now, I need to get back to the War Office and try and man the ship there. Will you be all right?’
‘Of course I will,’ Cecily nodded.
‘I’ll be back in time for dinner.’ With a sad wave, Bill left the room.
The funeral of Josslyn Victor Hay, 22nd Earl of Erroll, took place the following day at St Paul’s Church in Kiambu, just outside Nairobi. Cecily, sitting with Bill in the front pew, looked behind her and saw that everyone who was anyone was there, but she could not spot Diana. Last night, Bill had told her that only hours before Joss’s death, Jock had agreed to divorce Diana so she could marry Joss. He’d toasted to their happiness at Muthaiga Club in full view of the other diners.
‘Please remember that only the police authorities know that Joss was murdered; everyone else still believes it was just a tragic car accident,’ he’d cautioned her before they’d left for the funeral.
Yet it was obvious during the wake afterwards at Muthaiga Club that murmurings were already afoot. Both Alice and Idina looked devastated and there were few kind words for Diana. Jock made an appearance, looking half-cut and distressed, and was taken off by his friend June Carberry before he ‘made a fool of himself’, as she hissed to Bill.
‘It feels like the end of an era,’ Bill said as he helped Cecily into the pick-up later that day. ‘Happy Valley was Joss, and even if I found some of his antics deplorable, the world will be a lesser place without him. Please take care on the journey home and telephone me when you arrive, won’t you?’
‘I will.’
As she drove off, Cecily fervently hoped that the blow of the death of Bill’s closest friend would not put a damper on their own new and wonderful relationship.
Jock Broughton was arrested three weeks later for the murder of Joss Erroll. The scandal made headlines across the world, with even Dorothea calling her for an update.
‘So you knew this Joss personally?’ Dorothea said breathlessly.
‘Yes, he’s . . . he was Bill’s close friend. He, Diana and Jock came to stay with us for a weekend in December.’
‘Oh my!’ There was an enthralled silence. ‘So you actually met Diana? Is she as beautiful as she looks in the papers?’
‘She is very attractive, yes.’
‘Do you think Sir Jock shot him?’
‘Mama, I don’t know, but Joss and Diana did nothing to hide their affair in front of him.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve had them to stay under your roof . . .’
Cecily had to smile, because her mother sounded positively star-struck, however gruesome the situation.
‘Were they in love as the papers say?’ Dorothea asked.
‘Oh yes.’ Or in lust, Cecily thought. ‘Anyway, I have to go,’ she said, hearing Stella’s complaints that it was time for a bottle. ‘Love to everyone.’
‘Wait, is that a baby I can hear in the background?’
‘Yes, it’s Stella, my maid’s daughter. She’s awful cute, Mama.’
‘Well, if this war ever ends, I’ll be straight out on that boat to see you, honey. Kenya sounds like such an interesting place.’
‘Oh, it is certainly interesting,’ Cecily said. ‘Bye, Mama.’
News of the war, which had dominated conversations for so long, had been temporarily cast aside in favour of the juicy gossip surrounding the murder investigation. Although Cecily was happily occupied with Stella, her heart ached for her husband who was spending all his time in Nairobi, not only helping to take on Joss’s old job, but also sorting out his friend’s personal affairs.
Katherine telephoned Paradise Farm regularly. She was spending most of her time with Alice at Wanjohi Farm, doing what she could to ease Alice’s grief over Joss.
‘I’m worrie
d for her,’ Katherine had confided to Cecily. ‘Her father recently died too, and she is absolutely destroyed by Joss’s murder . . . She’s not well, Cecily, I don’t know what to do.’
Jock Broughton’s trial finally opened at Nairobi’s Central Court at the end of May.
‘Honestly, it’s like an audience come to see a show, darling,’ Bill sighed when he called after the end of the first day. ‘All of Happy Valley is here, dressed in their best, of course, and there are reporters from all over the world too. At least Diana’s done her bit by hiring her poor husband a gifted barrister. Mind you, she arrived at court this morning dressed in black and ready to play the widow. I hate to speak ill of anyone, but it’s almost as if she’s enjoying the attention.’
Quelle surprise, thought Cecily.
‘Come up to town if you want, but it is a rather lurid spectacle, especially with the war still on.’
‘I think I’ll stay right here,’ Cecily said, knowing how disappointed her mother would be that she was missing one of the most sensational murder trials of modern times. She was far more interested in watching Stella – now almost six months old – as she grew. The scrawny baby had developed into a chubby and adorable little thing, whose every move delighted Cecily. Stella was fully alert now, and Cecily would lay her on a blanket in the garden under the shade of a fever tree and watch as her huge eyes – so like her mother’s – followed the scudding clouds overhead and the birds singing happily from the branches above her. Wolfie adored her and would lie outside the nursery door at night.
‘You do seem to spend an awful lot of time minding Stella,’ Katherine – who was due to give birth any day now and had made an increasingly rare visit – commented as Stella sat on Cecily’s knee on their veranda.
‘Lankenua is so busy with the house, someone has to care for her. And she’s too heavy to be carried around in a papoose,’ Cecily replied quickly.
Katherine eyed her. ‘Stella doesn’t sound like a very Maasai name, does it?’
‘Actually, her name is Njala, which means star; isn’t that beautiful? Stella is simply the Latin word for it,’ Cecily lied easily.
‘Just take care you don’t become too fond of her and end up looking after her all the time. Otherwise, you’re just swapping one job for another, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, I don’t mind at all. It’s better than scrubbing floors, after all,’ Cecily smiled.
‘So, the jury has finally gone away to deliberate on the verdict,’ Bill said to his wife on the telephone two months later. ‘To be honest, I’m at the point where I don’t much care one way or the other. The whole thing has become a circus and I’ll be very relieved when it’s over.’
‘What do you think they’ll come back with?’ asked Cecily as she spooned pulped apple into Stella’s mouth, holding the receiver at the same time.
‘The evidence against him is pretty damning, but Morris, his barrister, gave a spectacular closing speech. He was worth every penny Diana spent. Anyway, I’ll call you as soon as the verdict is in. And then perhaps dear old Joss can finally rest in peace.’
‘I really hope so,’ Cecily murmured to herself as she replaced the receiver. ‘And that Bill can begin to find peace too.’
‘He’s been acquitted!’ Bill called again at ten o’clock that night. ‘He won’t hang after all.’
‘Holy moly! I thought that most people expected him to be found guilty.’
‘They did, but . . . to be honest, after hearing all the evidence, I’m not so certain either. I’m just glad it’s over, and darling, I’m so sorry but I’m afraid I won’t be home this weekend; I have to visit an internment camp in Mombasa.’
‘Oh gosh, you won’t be in any danger there, will you?’
‘No, not at all. I just have to check that the POWs are being treated all right. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Chin up, this simply can’t go on much longer.’
Cecily hung up, then went out onto the veranda. Although the sky above her was clear, it was an unusually humid evening for July, and the air was heavy with fragrance from the flowers in the garden. She couldn’t help but think back to that night when Joss and Diana had danced together right here . . .
Going back inside, she decided she’d call her mother tomorrow with the news. Despite believing in her heart that Jock was guilty, she was glad he hadn’t ended up with a noose around his neck. Slipping into bed, Cecily wished fervently that the war would come to an end soon; she’d hardly seen Bill in the past few months. If she hadn’t had Stella, she thought she might have gone mad.
At least Katherine was in the same position and could visit Paradise Farm once again, since her son Michael had been born at the end of May. Together, she and Cecily knitted socks and balaclavas for the soldiers at the front, with Stella and Michael positioned on the rug in front of them. Stella, who could now sit up, would stare solemnly at tiny Michael.
‘Roll on the end of the war so Bill and I can finally be a normal couple,’ Cecily sighed as she reached to turn off the light.
It wasn’t for another four years that Cecily got her wish. And it was the longest four years of her life.
When she’d received news that Pearl Harbor had been attacked and that the United States had joined the war, Cecily had clutched Stella tightly to her and sobbed, terrified for her family back in New York. As the food shortages became more severe, Cecily had only been thankful that her vegetable patch was thriving, and that they had eggs and milk from their livestock. Belle, her beautiful mare, had been given over to the war effort, and on the day that Bill had taken the horse away, Cecily didn’t think she had any tears left to shed.
Although Paradise Farm had not been touched, she had lived in constant fear for Bill’s life. In his role as a commander in the King’s African Rifles, Bill had been true to his word and had fought with his troops where necessary. The military engagements had been limited at the start of the war, but in 1943, to Cecily’s horror, Bill and the 11th Division shipped out to Burma to fight. Cecily had existed in an agony of suspense as she didn’t hear from him for weeks on end, with only a few brief letters telling her of the intense heat and humidity of the jungle, and several sentences blacked out by the censors. He had returned briefly to Paradise Farm, gaunt and haunted, only to be shipped out to fight again.
The telephone and the wireless had become her lifelines to the rest of the world, as she’d battened down the hatches, trying at the same time to create a homely atmosphere for Stella, who was growing into a sweet and precociously bright little girl.
During a torrential May downpour in 1945, the telephone rang.
It was Bill, imparting news that set Cecily’s heart pounding as she put down the receiver.
‘It’s over, it’s really over! Lankenua, it’s over!’ she cried as she ran down the corridor to the kitchen, where four-year-old Stella was sitting at the table drawing, while Lankenua cleaned. ‘It’s really over!’ She laughed, clasping the startled Lankenua in a hug.
‘What over, Missus Cecily?’
‘War! It’s finished for real,’ she said, going to pick up Stella, who was already a head taller than Michael, even though there was only six months between them. ‘It’s all over.’ She kissed the top of her beloved child’s neatly braided hair. ‘Now Bill can come home for good and we can finally be a family.’
‘Why are you crying if you’re happy?’ Stella asked her.
‘Oh, because it’s just so wonderful! I can finally take you home and show you New York and . . . oh, a million other things. Now, I’m going to Nairobi. There are all sorts of celebrations planned. Lankenua, will you pick out my blue dress with the ribbons on it and give it a steam? Oh, and my old straw hat will have to do.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Stella asked plaintively.
‘Not today, town will be far too crowded and you might get lost. But another time, I promise.’
‘But I like looking at the shops with you and Yeyo.’
‘I know you do, my darling, but the
re’s nothing left in them. Soon there will be, though, and we’ll go and buy you lots of pretty dresses. Here’ – Cecily held out her hand – ‘come and help me get ready.’
Stella sat on the bed as Cecily pinned up her curls.
‘Why do we have different kinds of hair?’ Stella asked.
‘Lots of people from different places have different hair.’
‘But we’re both from here,’ Stella insisted.
‘Well, I originally came from the United States of America – remember, I showed you in the atlas? It’s all the way across a big ocean. You and Yeyo both come from here in Kenya.’
She and Bill had decided that it was best if Stella grew up believing Lankenua to be her mother. Since Stella first began to speak, she had called Lankenua ‘Yeyo’, the Maasai word for mother, whilst Cecily had been called ‘Kuyia’, the short form of ‘Nakuyia’, which meant ‘aunt’. Stella spoke in rapid Maa with Lankenua, her ‘brother’ Kwinet – who had turned into a strapping young man and worked tirelessly for Cecily to keep the gardens in order – and with her Uncle Nygasi. She had also adopted Cecily’s Upper East Side accent when she spoke in English, a fact that had made Bill laugh on the few occasions he had been home.
‘I hate my hair,’ Stella said, pulling at her braids, which Lankenua had nimbly put in the day before. ‘It feels all wiry. Yours is soft and smooth. And why do you paint your face? I look silly if I paint mine,’ Stella commented as Cecily smoothed some pink rouge onto each cheek.
The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters) Page 56