A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) Read online

  Later that day, Lacey sat in her room with her laptop open on the table in front of her. She’d written up her early observations from her first day at Matshana, but then she’d saved the file and opened up another document that she’d called “Manuscript”.

  It was her book. The very thought of it gave her a real sense of purpose; of freedom. This book was her dream. She’d created it all by herself. She was developing it alone, without help or support from anyone. It was nothing to do with the magazine; nor her father; nor Mortimer for that matter. It was her creation. Her baby. And it meant the world to her.

  Unusually though, she was finding it hard to concentrate right now. Writer’s block, she told herself. But she knew it was more than that. For once her imagination wasn’t free to wander among the pages of her novel.

  It was tethered to Matshana. To Tate Maddox. She could picture him now as they drove back from the lodges. His dark eyes silent and brooding. Cold, like gunmetal. His mouth was set in a determined line. But rather than spoiling his good looks, it made him look even more attractive. He drove with his right elbow resting on the open window to catch the breeze, guiding the steering wheel with his other hand. It was a big, heavy truck, yet he managed to steer the vehicle with ease.

  He was tough. Immensely masculine. And Lacey had to force herself to look away. The man drew her to him like a magnet – and she didn’t like it one little bit!

  Even now, as she sat in her room staring out at a dusky-pink and magenta sunset, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. It took a lot to drag her imagination away from her precious novel, but Tate Maddox had managed to do it – and he wasn’t even trying! In fact, Lacey wasn’t sure whether he even liked her. He certainly seemed to resent her presence in his home.

  No matter, she told herself briskly. She’d just get what she wanted for her feature and then she’d be gone. Back to Cape Town. To her own world. And Tate Maddox could get back to the kind of solitude he so clearly preferred.

  She dressed for dinner in a flowing gypsy skirt and off-the-shoulder embroidered top. She wasn’t sure whether it was a good choice. The top skimmed the swell of her breasts and made them look enormous. Big mistake! Self-consciously, she tried to hoick the flimsy cotton as high as it would go as she took her seat opposite Tate at the dining table. But the wretched thing wouldn’t budge.

  That was something else she had to do when she got back to Cape Town - bin this top!

  ‘The food smells delicious,’ she said, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘You must have a very good cook.’

  ‘She’s more than just a cook,’ Tate replied. ‘She’s very special to me. She’s practically family.’ Lacey looked up as a beautiful young Zulu woman came into the room. She had the classic soft moon face of her race framed by a ring of tight black curls. Her huge eyes were the colour of dark chocolate, and they glimmered against her warm caramel skin tones. She walked with her head upright, her hips swaying to some unconscious rhythm. She looked at Lacey and her beautiful, friendly face broke into a massive smile. Lacey liked her at once.

  ‘This is Nandi,’ said Tate, standing up to take the tray from her hands. ‘Nandi – meet Lacey Van der Zyl.’

  ‘Oh my!’ Nandi’s fingers flew to her mouth. ‘What a beautiful name, Madam. Lacey… like lace. So pretty.’

  Lacey blushed. ‘Thank you, Nandi. But please - call me Lacey.’ ‘You’ll be lucky,’ Tate interjected. ‘I’ve been trying to get this woman to call me “Tate” for years.’ Nandi tutted, and shook her head. ‘ Sah, you are the Nkosi. It is not my place to call the Nkosi by his given family name. You are my employer. You are in charge here. I must respect that.’

  ‘Old fashioned nonsense!’ Tate grumbled. ‘And since when have I ever been in charge? Eh? You never do a thing I say! You just go off and do what you think is right regardless of what the “Nkosi” says. If anything, I’d say that you’re the only one who’s boss around here. I, for one, certainly wouldn’t dare to cross you.’

  Lacey laughed, delighted by the cheerful banter between the two. This was a side of Tate that she’d never seen before. She’d definitely never seen him smile like that – except with his dogs, perhaps. It lit up his face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. She wished she could make Tate Maddox smile like that.

  ‘What have you prepared for us, Nandi?’ Lacey asked, desperate to steer her thoughts into safer waters. ‘Lamb bobotie with apricots and almonds, Miss Lacey. South Africa’s national dish. It is the Nkosi’s favourite. I thought it would be a fine meal for him to share with his guest. He does not have many guests to stay here at Matshana.’

  ‘Don’t start all that again, Nandi,’ Tate moaned. ‘No-one would ever believe that you’re only a couple of years older than me. You act like some old mother hen. Always fussing and clucking over me.’

  ‘The Nkosi needs a woman to fuss over him, Miss Lacey. It is not right for a man to live alone. It is time he found love.’

  ‘Maybe I have found love,’ Tate muttered, stubbornly. ‘I just haven’t bothered to tell you about it. I don’t tell you everything, you know.’ Lacey’s thoughts flew to Tilly, but Nandi merely harrumphed. ‘If you do fall in love, Nkosi, I, Nandi, will be the first to know of it. Before even yourself, I think.’

  Tate roared with laughter and lifted his hands in a mock helpless gesture. ‘See what I have to put up with, Lacey? I’m dominated by my cook, for God’s sake. No wonder I don’t have many guests. They’re too scared to come here in case they get on the wrong side of Nandi!’

  Nandi cast a warm glance at her beloved Nkosi and withdrew to leave the two of them alone.

  ‘She’s a very beautiful young woman,’ Lacey said. ‘Does she have a family?’ Just for a moment, Lacey detected the edges of a dark cloud flit across Tate’s features. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, and she wondered whether she’d imagined it.

  ‘She does. She’s got a five year-old son. Themba. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s wonderful.’

  Tate nodded. ‘He’s a great kid. He’s brought a lot of joy to Nandi. But then she deserves a shot of happiness in her life. She’s been through a lot.’ ‘In what way?’ Lacey was intrigued as to why such a lovely, young woman should have suffered in any way. Nandi seemed so content. And she clearly adored Tate. But she realised at once that she shouldn’t have asked, because Tate’s expression changed in an instant. He lowered his eyes and his whole manner appeared guarded.

  ‘It’s nothing. No big deal.’ he declared abruptly. It was obvious to him that Lacey was fishing for a juicy story to pad out her feature, but there was no way that he was going to let Nandi’s personal details be paraded across the pages of Style Concepts magazine.

  Lacey was puzzled, but she knew instinctively not to press him. He was like a coiled spring. Edgy. Defensive. And she couldn’t begin to understand why. He may look like a movie star with his shirt open at the neck, revealing a tanned, hairy chest underneath, but Tate Maddox was a complicated individual. Secretive and solitary. A man of massive contradictions and conflicts. Lacey wasn’t sure she could handle such a man.

  Mortimer might be spoiled, vain and selfish, but at least he was easy to understand. Easy to rub along with - if you didn’t expect too much from life. And Lacey had learned not to expect too much from life. She had promised to make it up to her father …. after Michael. To try to put everything right. If marrying Mortimer Schutte was part of the deal, then she would marry Mortimer Schutte. And no-one could say that she hadn’t done her duty.

  On the opposite side of the table, Tate’s eyes were watching her. He felt bad that he’d been a bit sharp with her, but there were some things he just couldn’t talk about. Not now. Perhaps never. It didn’t really bother him that he carried the load alone. He preferred it that way. No questions. No emotional issues for him to deal with. But there was something about Lacey Van der Zyl that made him want to open up. To share the load a little. And it scared him.

  It w
asn’t just that she was hot. Although she was. By God she was! More so tonight as she sat there in that floaty skirt and peasant top. She kept fiddling with the neckline, but it didn’t do much to conceal those voluptuous breasts that pressed against the soft cotton. In fact, the more she fiddled, the more Tate wanted to cross the room and rip the damn thing off her and pull her to him so that he could feel her flesh against his.

  But no. It was more than that. Lacey seemed decent, honest and kind. And thoughtful, too. Quite different from Tilly and the other women he dallied with - women who looked good, but who couldn’t even hold a conversation, let alone have an opinion about anything. Women who cared only about a man’s social standing in the world. And the amount of money he had in the bank.

  It was tempting to let himself get closer to Lacey Van der Zyl, but he knew he’d have to resist it. There was no way that he was going to let down his guard and open up to some city journalist. It was too risky. There was too much at stake. And, besides, he was no fool. Not now.

  But when he looked up and saw the dying embers of the sun reflected in Lacey’s hair, and her rosy cheeks glowing in the candlelight, he felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t go away. Lacey Van der Zyl was just the kind of woman who could get right under his skin. The kind of woman he could easily have fallen in love with. Once - a long time ago

  - before it all went wrong.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lacey was enjoying a glass of lemonade on the veranda when she heard the dogs barking at the front of the house. She dropped her notebook on the chair and went to see what was causing the commotion.

  When she got there, the dogs were barking furiously, chasing their tails and crashing into each other in a frenzy of excitement. They cocked their ears, listening for any tell-tale sounds, then scooted off down the drive yapping noisily. Minutes later they came hurtling back, followed cautiously by Tate’s black Mercedes.

  ‘Oh, now I understand.’ cried Lacey. ‘Your daddy’s come home. I guess that is a pretty exciting event – if you’re a dog, of course!’ ‘Crazy mutts!’ Tate got out of the car, and paused while his pets unleashed their pent up hysteria by pirouetting on two back legs like ungainly ballet dancers with their front legs pawing at the air for affection. Tate ruffled their heads. ‘What’s the point of me training you guys not to run in front of my car when you go and - run in front of my car! One day you’ll get flattened under my wheels. And then you’ll be sorry!’

  Lacey giggled. ‘I can’t quite match their enthusiastic displays, Tate, but I guess it is nice to have you back.’

  ‘It’s good to be back,’ Tate replied. ‘And I’ve got someone very special here I want you to meet.’ With that, Tate went round to the passenger side and pulled open the door. ‘Out you come buddy. No need to be shy. This is the friend I’ve been telling you about. She’s a really nice lady. Her name’s Lacey.’

  ‘Lacey? That is a funny name.’ Two big, round eyes squinted into the sun. ‘Does she know I am called Themba?’

  ‘She sure does. And she said it was a great name. She’s dying to meet you.’

  ‘Really?’ The little boy’s expression broke into a grin.

  ‘Really.’ Tate echoed. ‘Now go say hello, and show her how smart you look in your new school uniform. Don’t you think he looks smart, Lacey?’ Lacey bent down to Themba’s level and held out her hand. ‘Very smart indeed. Hello Themba. I’m Lacey. You must be a very big boy to go to school in a proper uniform.’

  ‘I am almost five-and-a-quarter. Themba declared, proudly shaking her hand like a real grown-up. ‘So I have to go to school.’ He glanced down at his pale blue shirt and grey flannel shorts. ‘It is a bit creased now. I spilled my milk on my shirt one day, but I was still allowed to go to classes. The matron washed it for me. She gave me a new shirt to wear. Why is your hair red?’

  Lacey couldn’t help warming to the boy. ‘I was just born like this. It’s the same reason that yours is curly and black - as black as the shiniest piece of coal I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Can I touch it?’ Themba reached out to feel the lady’s soft, silky hair. ‘It is very nice. And your eyes are green. My eyes are grey. See?’ Lacey held the boy at arms’ length and peered at him. Themba raised his chin and opened his eyes as wide as he could.

  ‘See?’ he repeated, waiting for her affirmation. ‘They are grey. Like Baba’s.’ Lacey’s heart missed a beat. It was true! The child had Tate’s eyes! The same colour, the same shape, and with that same curtain of long, black lashes. In fact, the more she looked at Themba, the more she could see Tate in the child. And those beautiful, creamy skin tones made it clear that Themba was mixed race. Why, he even had the same crooked sideways grin that Lacey had found so devilishly attractive in her host.

  Good God! Was this Tate’s lovechild? Themba had called Tate “ Baba”, which was a Zulu term of affection and respect for one’s elders. It was also the name that African children called their own father. Was Tate Themba’s father?

  ‘Themba! My child! You are home!’ Nandi came running on to the porch with her arms outstretched so that Themba could fling himself into her embrace. Jabu and Kaya wagged their tails excitedly, tongues lolling. ‘Come child. Give your Mama a big hug. I have missed you so, so much.’

  ‘I have missed you, too, Mama. I do not mind sleeping in the big school with all my friends, but I would rather sleep in my own bed here with you.’

  Nandi glanced up at Tate over the boy’s head. ‘The Nkosi is kindly paying for you to go to the very best school in South Africa, my son. You are a very lucky boy. And you will always come home for the holidays. Just like you are doing now. And Mama will always be waiting here for you.’

  ‘Baba, too?’ Themba asked, breaking away from his mother’s cuddle to look questioningly at Tate.

  ‘That was the deal, buddy,’ Tate replied, nodding solemnly. ‘And have I ever gone back on a deal?’ Themba shook his head delightedly and wrapped his arms around Tate’s legs. ‘I did what you said, Baba. I was a good boy at boarding school. And I learned lots of things about letters and numbers and things like that. And we got to play in the sandpit and climb the rope ladders.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Tate swept the boy up into his arms and spun him round at shoulder height in a gloriously giddy twirl. Themba squealed with delight.

  Lacey watched them. It was a joy to see Tate so happy. He clearly adored the boy. His son? Together, the three of them - Nandi, Tate and Themba - made up a perfect family unit. But if that was the case, why would Nandi refuse to call Tate by his first name? She was the mother of his son after all.

  Something wasn’t right. And Lacey couldn’t quite put her finger on it. ‘Did you remember to brush your teeth at night, child?’ Nandi asked, taking the boy from Tate’s arms. Themba looked abashed. ‘Sometimes I forgot… but Matron always knew and made me do it.’ Themba turned to Lacey. ‘Do you remember to brush your teeth at night?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ Lacey confirmed.

  ‘Every night? All by yourself?’

  ‘Every single night.’

  ‘But if you did forget, your Mama would make you do it, wouldn’t she?’ Suddenly, Lacey’s heart began to pound in her chest and she realised that she couldn’t speak. She felt that familiar knot in her throat and the tears start to prickle at the backs of her eyes. She looked away, anxious not to let anyone see the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, as they always did when she thought about her mother.

  Completely oblivious to her turmoil, Themba waited patiently for her reply. Hurriedly, she pushed the painful images back into that secret place; a place hidden deep in her memories. ‘My mummy always made sure I remembered to brush my teeth when I was a little girl. Now, she… Well, I’m grown up now, so I can do it all by myself.’

  ‘That is enough, child,’ Nandi took Themba by the shoulders and pointed him in the direction of the house. ‘You must go and change out of your school uniform before you spoil it.’

  ‘Can I
wear my amabhetshu now that I am home?’ Themba enquired over his shoulder as he skipped into the house. He wanted to wear his little loincloth that was suspended from his waist with a thong, like all the other African boys in his village. He didn’t really like having to wear so many clothes at school. His blazer was hot and scratchy. And the sleeves were too long and dangled around his wrists. Now that he was back home, he could wear his proper clothes.

  ‘I’ll leave his trunk in the car,’ Tate called after them. ‘I’ll drive you both down to the village when he’s got some grub and a cold drink inside him.’

  ‘What a beautiful child,’ Lacey said when she and Tate were alone. ‘What school does he go to?’ ‘I managed to get him a place at Whitestones Academy in Pretoria. It’s the best prep school in the country. He’s only just started there, but I think he’s okay with it. He can be a bit shy sometimes, but he’s in with a good bunch of lads. He seemed just fine with you, though. Took to you immediately. You sure have a way with kids … and dogs, too, come to think of it!’

  ‘I love children,’ Lacey said. ‘And Themba is so sweet. It’d be hard not to love him. I think it’s great that you’re putting him through school. Nandi must be really grateful.’

  ‘It was the least I could do,’ Tate stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared into the distance. ‘Given the circumstances ….’ Lacey bit back to urge to ask more questions. For a moment there, she’d thought that maybe Tate wanted to reach out to her, to share his thoughts and feelings. But she sensed that something was holding him back. He seemed troubled at times, perhaps even a bit lonely?

  Her heart went out to him. ‘Well I for one think it’s brilliant that Themba’s enjoying school. He’s clearly a bright boy. He’ll go far. And Nandi’s so lucky to have you here for support. Right now, though, I reckon I should go and do some work. Matshana seems to have this incredibly relaxing quality about it. Just being here makes me forget all about Cape Town and the stresses and strains of life.’