The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,177

the roof has gone on since you last saw it, so at least we don’t have to worry about keeping dry,’ encouraged Cecily.

‘How exciting,’ Katherine said. ‘With all these ideas Cecily’s got, the farmhouse is going to be wonderful.’

‘Let’s hope so, although on the budget I’ve got, it’s hardly going to be The Ritz.’

When Bill said he was retiring to bed, Cecily immediately said she’d come too. The bedroom door closed behind them and Bill proceeded to strip down to his undergarments and climb into his bed.

‘You’re getting bigger, aren’t you?’ Bill said as he surveyed her in her nightgown.

‘I seem to be, yes. Bill . . .’ she said as he was about to switch off the lamp on his nightstand.

‘Yes?’

‘I just wanted to tell you that my parents have wired some money as a wedding gift. For both of us, that is. So, I can at least contribute to furnishing the house and any extra costs that come along.’

‘You mean they’ve provided you with a dowry?’ Bill smiled at her. ‘How very generous of them. Well, I won’t say it won’t come in helpful, because it will. I sometimes wonder why I run a cattle farm for a living; it gives me continual grief and I earn little from it, given the amount of hours I put in.’

‘Maybe because you love it?’

‘Maybe,’ he agreed. ‘I certainly can’t see myself working nine to five in an office, that’s for sure. Joss was saying that if war does come, they’ll be wanting as many men as possible to help out. He’s got an idea to join the Kenya Regiment himself, and I think I should do the same if and when the time comes.’

‘Surely you’re too old to fight?’ Cecily was horrified.

‘Not so much of the “old”, young lady,’ Bill chided her.

‘Do you really have to do it?’

‘I rather think I do, yes. I can hardly sit out in the plains chewing the cud with the local elders while Blighty and my fellow countrymen are under attack, can I? Anyway, it hasn’t happened yet, so let’s wait and see.’ Bill rolled over. ‘Goodnight, Cecily.’

Cecily and Bill finally moved into their new home at the end of June. Perhaps it was the nesting instinct that had taken hold of Cecily, but she had spent the past few weeks choosing paint colours for the walls, as well as curtain fabric (albeit from the paltry selection in the haberdashery shop in Nairobi). She was elated when Bill arrived home in early June to tell her a container of furniture from America had arrived in Mombasa and was being brought out by truck to the farmhouse in the next week.

At least with everything to do for the house, Cecily had noticed Bill’s regular absences less; he was either away checking on his cattle and moving them back up the mountains now the rainy season was over, on a game drive, or disappearing to commune with his Maasai friends.

‘I must bring a couple of them up to the house at some point to meet you, Cecily,’ he’d said in passing. ‘The way they live is fascinating. They go where their cattle go and simply rebuild their homes each time they settle.’

‘Then they’ll find Paradise Farm very strange, I’m sure,’ Cecily had said.

The name for the farmhouse had come about one evening when Bill had arrived back unexpectedly and they’d taken a trip out to see their soon-to-be finished home. Cecily had sat on the steps leading up to the front veranda and sighed as she gazed down at the valley laid out beneath her.

‘It’s paradise here, it really is,’ she’d said.

‘Like Paradise Lost,’ Bill had said, coming to sit next to her. ‘My favourite poem; it’s by John Milton. Heard of it?’

‘No, I’m afraid I’m just not very good with English literature.’

‘Well, the poem is actually in twelve books and contains ten thousand lines of verse.’

‘Wow, that isn’t a poem, that’s a story!’

‘It’s actually a biblical epic, reimagined by Milton. It follows the story of Satan, who is determined to destroy God’s favourite new creatures: humans. Perhaps we should name the farmhouse “Paradise”? It can mean different things to both of us.’

‘Umm, okay, but I hope you won’t feel that paradise has been lost when we finally move in here,’ Cecily had said.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that – the poem that comes after is called Paradise Regained,’ Bill had smiled. ‘Come on.’ He’d offered her his hand and pulled her up from the stoop. ‘Let’s