Girl with the Golden Voice Read Online Free Page B

Perhaps soon she must think of moving on. The thought of this brought a rush of guilt. That, too, melted quickly away.
    In the months that followed Rafaella and Rebecca were often together in that lower sitting room. Rafaella had to convince Angela that it was all right for her daughter to be idling away her time like that when there was proper work to be done. Sometimes their idling was to read poetry to each other in English, Swahili, Italian and French. Sometimes Rebecca would sing. Sometimes there was a proper idleness when they sat quietly like a pair of quakers, speaking only when the compulsion to do so was too strong.
    The family all noticed the stages in what Maura came to call Rafaella’s return. She began again to take an active part in discussions about farm business. She and Poppy Taylor, a widow from Ololushwa Farm up the road towards Hell’s Gate, went on outings together. The landmark visit was the week they spent in the arid lands around Lake Baringo and Lake Bogoria.
    Sheila du Fond, one of the Gilgil witches, had her home on a small island out in the milky-green warm waters of Baringo. There was no proper house, just a shelter built on the highest patch of land with the front open to the humid air. It was basic living with her rusting boxes neatly organised in one corner and her radio tuned to BBC World Service on her table. The tiny atoll had rich soil and there was no shortage of fresh water. Sheila’s greatest luxury was her fibreglass long-boat powered by a motor to give her a lifeline to the mainland and the world.
    The three friends had a hilarious time. Poppy and Rafaella were breaking moulds every day from the dawn bathe to the late evening sundowner. They made an excursion to the closed off world of Bogoria to enjoy its hot springs and the company of a million flamingos. Mostly it was a time of social weeding and planting with very long breaks for reading and sharing.
    This first landmark visit made Rafaella ready for the second. She asked Tom to fly her to the farms up at Meru. The family plane had been repaired after the accident. The damage had been surprisingly slight. The familiar look and smell of the cockpit surprised her with its power to recreate a sense of Don’s presence. They had spent many of their happiest hours in this tiny place. The mountains, plains and forest had been their private landscape.
    It was midmorning and they were having coffee in the garden of Vince and Sophie Allan. Unexpectedly and inexplicably the clouds that usually covered the upper parts of Mount Kenya parted. Those clean-lined, craggy peaks triggered more memories. She was transported forty years back in time. She was sitting on Point Lenana with her binoculars fixed on Don and his brother, Freddie, as they picked their way up the jagged, snow-covered faces of Nelion and then Batian.
    Tom took off for the return journey well before sundown. They shared long, companionable silences and Tom sought out the plains where he knew the game would be plentiful. As the last of the engine sounds died away back at home base, grandson and grandmother did not move, did not speak. Tom did not want to break the spell of tenderness. Rafaella had the bitter-sweet realisation that her life had moved on.
    Rafaella loved Tom a lot. During those hours in the sitting room with Rebecca, she discovered how much the girl loved him too. Rebecca had made no direct declaration. She would not have dared. But, even at the beginning, she found so many ways of bringing Bwana Tom into conversations. She lingered over them. She lit up. Rafaella had her suspicions confirmed over and over. Unwittingly Rebecca was making it difficult for a grandmother to pretend that she had noticed nothing.
    It had been months since the last time the two of them had been together in that sitting room, but Rebecca had not forgotten the exact position of the blue armchair where the signora was sitting. And her eyes were adjusting to the half light.