A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) Read online

  And Lacey had just wandered in, unannounced, and interrupted what? It just didn’t bear thinking about. Mortified, she could only stammer a belated response to the man’s earlier observation. ‘I’m so sorry for… for being early that is. I’m Miss… I’m Lacey. Lacey Van der Zyl.’

  ‘And I’m Tate Maddox,’ Tate extended a hand in her direction. ‘But as you can see, Lacey, I’m not quite ready to receive you.’ Lacey slipped her fingers into his hand. She could feel his strength and the toughness that came from hard, physical work. It was the feel of a real man and it sent an unexpected tingle up her arm. Desperate to hide this uncharacteristic reaction, she pulled away and dropped her hands to her sides. She was engaged to be married for heaven’s sake. She had no right to be feeling tingly just because she’d shaken the hand of some guy she didn’t even know!

  ‘And this is Tilly Du Preez,’ Tate’s voice was deep and calm with only a slight South African twang. ‘A friend and neighbour.’ Hurriedly, Lacey recovered her wits in time to greet Tilly, and pray that Tate’s “friend” didn’t bear any grudges for her untimely intrusion into their lovemaking. ‘Nice to meet you, Tilly. I’m really sorry if I interrupted anything. I mean, I’m… sorry for blundering in here unannounced.’

  ‘She wasn’t interrupting anything was she, Tate?’ Tilly beamed at her with teeth so white they must surely have cost a fortune. Cherry red lipstick matched the colour of her long, manicured nails, and Lacey wondered how on earth she managed to avoid breaking them. Or maybe they weren’t real, but acrylic? They certainly looked real though. Selfconsciously, Lacey stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans to hide her own fingernails, clipped short so they didn’t get in the way of keyboard when she was typing.

  Tilly was tall and thin, like a catwalk model, and her expensive clothes hung on her frame without any lumps or bumps to interrupt the exquisite tailoring. In comparison, Lacey knew that her full breasts and wide hips made her look like an elephant, and she promised herself that she would definitely go on that cabbage soup diet when she got back to Cape Town.

  ‘Anyway, I was just about to leave,’ Tilly continued. ‘Mummy and I are booked in for a pedicure later.’ A pedicure? Lacey cast a quick glance at her own feet encased in comfy driving sandals and instantly wished that the earth would swallow her whole. To make matters worse her cropped denims were all crumpled from the long journey and her T-shirt was tight enough to accentuate, rather than conceal, her unfashionable curves.

  She shot a swift glance at Tate who was watching her with those strange grey eyes. It was hard to read his expression, but Lacey felt certain he was comparing her to the willowy vision at his side. He was probably wondering why a woman who spent her life interviewing glamorous people would possess such a distinct lack of style herself.

  ‘What magazine are you with?’ Tilly asked as they made their way to her car.

  ‘Style Concepts.’ Tilly’s mouth formed a perfect O. ‘Style Concepts! That’s amazing! I get it every month. The people in it are so amazing. I love it. How’d you manage to get a job there? I’d love to do something like that.’

  ‘Her father owns it,’ Tate said with a cynical twist to his mouth. Immediately, Lacey felt her hackles rise. Here we go again. Another man who seemed to think that she had no talent to call her own; that everything she’d achieved must be due to her having a successful father. It was old-fashioned. It was unfair. And it really made her mad!

  ‘Of course! Van der Zyl. I thought I knew the name.’ Tilly was impressed. ‘Oh my goodness! Is that your father? No wonder Tate agreed to let you come here. Your article will make him really famous.’

  ‘Not me,’ Tate argued. ‘The lodges. I don’t intend to be the focus of the piece. You do know that, don’t you, Lacey?’

  ‘My father did brief me on the story,’ Lacey replied, irked that Tate should question her professionalism. ‘I know I’ve got to plug the lodges.’ Tate raised an eyebrow at the hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘That was the deal. You’re here to raise the profile of the lodges, not turn me into some kind of minor celebrity.’

  Lacey baulked at being told what to do. She was perfectly capable of meeting a brief, even if it had been agreed with Mortimer and her father without her being involved.

  Tilly, on the other hand, was ecstatic. ‘Imagine that, Tate. You – a celebrity! I can just see you on the front cover of Style Concepts. Wow! That is just so exciting.’

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ Tate’s voice deepened to a growl. ‘It’s not going to happen. Okay? Lacey’s job is to raise the profile of the lodges, not me. I want the story to appeal to the kind of people who read that magazine.’

  ‘People like me!’ Tilly cried. Tate shrugged. ‘I guess so. Main thing is, Lacey, I want those lodges to make a shed load of money. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that they do.’ With that, he tightened the towel at his waist and opened the car door for Tilly.

  Lacey couldn’t believe what he’d just said. How much money did he need for heaven’s sake? He probably already had more than he could spend in a dozen lifetimes. And it still wasn’t enough. Mind you, she thought, casting an eye over Tilly’s red, open-top sports car, a high maintenance girlfriend like Tilly Du Preez would quickly eat into any man’s fortune.

  ‘Call me soon, especially if you change your mind about the party,’ Tilly reached up to brush Tate’s cheek with her fingers.

  ‘I will, but I won’t change my mind,’ Tate said. He closed the car door and stood back as Tilly pulled away. Lacey couldn’t help noticing how he’d failed to respond to Tilly’s touch with any real affection, and that he seemed to forget all about her as soon as her car disappeared from view.

  Clearly, this was the kind of man who was motivated not by love, but by money, Lacey decided. The kind of man she’d spent a lifetime trying to please in her own world. The kind of man that secretly, in some hidden corner of her heart, she really didn’t like very much.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tate was up early the next day. That in itself was nothing new, he was always up by dawn, but last night he’d been unable to sleep. Now that was unusual. Normally he slept like a log. His days were spent on his estate, or out in the bush, doing the hard, physical labour he loved. His farm workers were always amazed to see their boss with his shirt off, sweating and lugging timber or manhandling livestock just like them. And they loved him for it. Then, at the end of each day, Tate would fall into bed. Exhausted, but content.

  But not last night. Last night he’d lain awake thinking about Lacey Van der Zyl. She wasn’t what he’d expected. She didn’t look like a typical career woman, driven solely by a desire for money and prestige. And she didn’t seem overly impressed by them either, which Tate found very refreshing. But then, given her own family’s wealth, she probably took such things for granted. A bit like Tilly, whose whole life revolved around shopping and parties without a moment’s thought for the cost.

  But that was where the similarities between the two women seemed to end. Where Tilly was stick thin and angular, Lacey was soft and curvaceous. So much so that Tate had felt his stomach tighten the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. She was wearing a fitted T-shirt, that had enhanced her full, round breasts. She’d tucked it into her jeans under a tight leather belt, which hugged her waist and made her hips look even more shapely. Last night, lying in bed, Tate couldn’t help wondering how those gentle curves would feel beneath his touch.

  On first impression, he’d liked her as a person, too. Surprisingly so, given that he normally had little time for glamorous city women. He’d been there once before. And he sure as hell wasn’t going there again. But Lacey had been refreshingly… natural. Normal. No makeup, no nail polish, just a lovely, creamy complexion and sexy smile. But then, in his opinion, this was a woman who didn’t really need make up. With seagreen eyes that shone like a cat’s, and the longest lashes he’d ever seen, it’d be a crime to try to improve upon that kind of beauty with lipstick and mascara.

 
No doubt about it - Lacey Van der Zyl had surprised him. And as he sat at the breakfast table the next day, with both hands wrapped around a coffee mug, he realised just how long it had been since any woman had managed to do that!

  ‘Hi there,’ Lacey breezed into the room dressed in a crisp, white cotton blouse and navy-blue Bermuda shorts. Tate stood up to help her into the chair. ‘Did you sleep okay?’ he asked, handing her a fruit bowl. ‘They’re Matshana’s own. We grow mainly citrus fruits. The cereals are home grown as well.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Lacey plucked a mango from the bowl. ‘And yes, I had a brilliant night’s sleep. It’s amazingly quiet here. And my room is great. I just love those incredible tapestries.’

  ‘They’re made by some of the women who work on the estate. They also made that collection of Zulu pots over there. You’ll find quite a few of their pieces dotted around the place.’

  Lacey had expected to find the house filled with expensive works of art from Tate’s travels around the world. Instead, she was delighted to find that he’d honoured the spirit of Matshana by using only traditional African decorations. It was exactly how she would have chosen to furnish such a beautiful home.

  ‘I thought you might like to take a trip down to the lodges today. They’re down by the Sabie River.’ ‘I’d love to. After all, that’s why I’m here,’ Lacey replied. She didn’t want him to think she was intending to just lounge around enjoying the scenery. He wanted something from her and she intended to deliver it. ‘This trip is for business, not pleasure.’

  Tate leaned back in his chair and looked at her. Just for a moment there he’d almost forgotten that she was a magazine reporter. He’d forgotten that her primary purpose was to get a good story that would send the magazines flying off the shelves and make the Van der Zyls even more money. Like the woman said – this trip was strictly business. And she was a businesswoman, no doubt about that. Crazy that he should have forgotten it.

  With that thought in mind, he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin before dropping it on to his plate and standing up. ‘I’ve got a couple of things I need to do before we set off. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.’

  Half an hour later, Lacey discovered Tate pinned against the side of a pick-up truck with two fat paws pressed against his chest. He was laughing as a huge Rhodesian ridgeback gnawed at his fist with gentle jaws.

  ‘Stupid dog!’ he muttered. ‘Think you can beat me in a stand-up fight? No way!’ The dog panted joyfully, not understanding the words, but loving the teasing tone in his master’s voice. His two back legs danced to keep him upright as the two of them tussled playfully for dominance.

  ‘Ready to roll?’ Tate asked as he spotted Lacey walking towards them. ‘Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.’ Lacey braced herself as almost eighty pounds of solid muscle came hurtling towards her.

  ‘Just ignore Jabu. He’s quite harmless.’ ‘An animal lover herself, Lacey held out a passive hand for Jabu as he skidded to a halt in front of her. Tentatively, he sniffed at it first, then slurped it trustingly with his tongue. Tate was impressed. Here was a woman who understood animals. He liked that.

  ‘Jabu? That’s an unusual name.’ ‘It’s Zulu. It means Rejoice.’ Tate hooked his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and whistled. Immediately, a second dog bounded into view. ‘This is Kaya. It means Restful, but she’s more stressful than restful, I’m afraid. She’s a bundle of energy. Never stops! I’m just waiting for the two of them to grow old and senile so they’ll just sleep all the time.’

  Tate waited while the two dogs jumped into the back of the pick-up before climbing into the driver’s seat alongside Lacey. With one glance in his rear view mirror to make sure they were both behaving themselves, he thrust the truck into gear and headed out into the bush. The cab windows were open to make the most of the cooling breeze.

  ‘I should have tied my hair back,’ said Lacey, brushing aside the wisps that tickled her face. Tate glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. She looked lovely sitting there with her shoulder-length hair blowing in the wind, her chin tilted towards the sun and her eyes half-closed against its light. At breakfast, he’d noticed a hint of jasmine when she came into the room. He could smell it now. Sweet. Sensual. A lovely, exotic perfume. He found it incredibly distracting and he jerked his eyes back to the track to clear his head of crazy thoughts.

  ‘Are they finished? The lodges.’

  ‘The construction work’s done. I’m just waiting for the bits and pieces

  -paintings, pottery. The kind of stuff that’ll make them homely.’ ‘Are they coming from the estate workers?’ Lacey liked the thought that wealthy tourists from all over the world would get the chance to see the local skills that rural Africa had to offer.

  ‘No. I’ve commissioned the works from a guy based in Johannesburg. He’s an internationally-renowned artist. The pottery’s imported from London.’

  ‘London! Why London? Why not use local crafts?’ Tate swung the steering wheel round a giant granite kopje then took the path that led directly down to the river. ‘I’ve got to strike a balance between rustic and luxury. These lodges will cost a bomb to rent. I don’t want people thinking they’ve been short-changed on fixtures and fittings.’

  Lacey bit back the urge to argue. As far as she was concerned, the only people who’d been short-changed were the estate workers. Nothing was too good for the wealthy paying guests, so it seemed. Clearly, Tate hadn’t been joking when he’d said he wanted the lodges to make him loads of money. And it obviously didn’t matter how many ordinary people got ditched in the process.

  ‘Here we are,’ Tate slowed down and drew the truck to a halt in front of a stunning hillside complex. In the back, the dogs began to bark excitedly. Tate jumped out of the cab to let them out before opening the passenger door to help Lacey down.

  He supported her arm as she slid down to the ground. Once again, she felt that treacherous tingle run through her veins. She stumbled on the uneven ground as she landed and Tate tightened his grip to steady her.

  ‘You okay?’ he said, looking at her with concerned eyes. He was so handsome, so strong. For one fleeting moment, Lacey could imagine what it might be like to be completely engulfed in his arms, not just gripped above the elbow. It was a feeling quite unlike anything she’d ever experienced with Mortimer. And she felt a sudden, crippling sense of betrayal.

  Mortimer! Her fiancé.

  Swallowing a surge of guilt that almost overwhelmed her, she nodded and moved away from Tate’s arms. ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m just clumsy that’s all.’

  ‘So? What do you think?’ Tate stood beside her as she turned to view the development. ‘Stunning, huh?’ Lacey smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. ‘They certainly are. I think this must be one of the most beautiful places on earth. I’d certainly want to come here for my holidays.’

  And it was beautiful. No doubt about that. A dozen thatched huts had been designed in the traditional rounded style of a rondavel. Some had been built into the side of the hill, complete with balconies on stilts that looked across the Sabie. The outdoor areas were huge with space for a dining table and chairs, luxurious sun-loungers and outside Jacuzzis. A network of highly-polished teak walkways led to the facilities, which included tennis courts and an oval-shaped swimming pool fringed with paw-paw and banana trees. Frangipani, in vivid oranges and reds, were in full flower, and Lacey’s favourite, yellow jasmine, grew wild. In the background, a larger building housed the main reception area and restaurant.

  ‘They’re going to bring in some serious money!’ Tate grinned, clearly delighted by her response.

  Lacey’s heart sank. ‘So what do you plan to do with all that money?’ Tate glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. Did she really want to know? Would she understand? Would she care? The silence hung between them like a lead weight. In his heart, Tate wanted to share his secret with someone who could appreciate his needs. His hopes.

  Was Lacey
Van der Zyl that woman? Or was she just a journalist out to cover a money-making story for her father’s glossy magazine? Was she the kind of woman who would destroy people’s hearts and lives in pursuit of riches and glamour? The simple answer was that he just didn’t know. And he wasn’t prepared to risk anything on gut instinct alone.

  He’d trusted people before. He’d be a damn fool to trust anyone again. ‘You want to know what I’m going to do with the money?’ he asked, his jaw rigid with tension. ‘I’m going to spend it! Blow the lot! Does that answer your question?’

  ‘I guess so,’ Lacey muttered, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. ‘I guess that’s what it’s for after all. And we all know you can never have too much money!’

  Why, she asked herself, was this man so obsessed with money? Why did he measure the value of everything by its monetary worth? It was as though he hadn’t noticed the glorious location where the lodges were situated. Africa, with all its majesty and awesome beauty, was just some fancy backdrop as far as he was concerned.

  ‘Come on. I’ll show you inside, then I’m going to have to get back. I’ve got work to do.’ Tate had noticed the coolness in her voice, but he hadn’t read it as sarcasm. He’d heard the voice of a woman who lived and worked in a world where money counted for everything. Where making money was all that really mattered.

  He’d been able to hear the greed in her father’s voice, too, while Jasper pondered how many magazines Tate’s story might sell. And that guy, Mortimer Schutte – whoever he might be. Now, he was a real jerk as far as Tate was concerned. Definitely not the kind of guy he’d normally want to do business with.

  But then splashing his home across the pages of a glossy magazine wasn’t the kind of thing he normally did either; letting some woman into his private world wasn’t the kind of thing he normally did. It just wasn’t his style. And he didn’t like it at all. But he knew he had to do this if he wanted the lodges to bring in the kind of money he needed. He had no choice. He just had to hope it was all going to be worth it in the end.