The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,236

‘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.

‘Because I have pasty white skin that needs some help, whilst yours is so beautiful, it doesn’t need anything. Right,’ Cecily said, putting her make-up and other odds and ends into the small beauty case. ‘You can help me by getting my peach nightgown out of the chest of drawers.’

Stella opened the top drawer and pulled out one of Cecily’s brassieres instead.

‘Why do you wear this? Yeyo never wears one. Will I wear one when I’m older?’

‘If you’d like to, yes. Now, where’s that nightgown? I need to get to Nairobi as soon as possible.’

Lankenua and Stella waved her off, with Cecily promising she’d be back at home tomorrow. On her way to Nairobi, she joined a line of other cars filled with people who had obviously heard the news and were heading there to celebrate. Cecily thought about the conversation she’d had with Stella that morning. There was no doubt the girl adored her ‘Yeyo’ but she had recently become confused as to why she slept in one of the spare bedrooms (which Cecily had turned into a little girl’s paradise), while Yeyo slept outside with Kwinet. Equally, why Lankenua was dressed very plainly, yet Stella always had pretty dresses. Whereas Kwinet had shown no interest in lessons and preferred to work outside, Stella could already read and write – Cecily gave her lessons every morning and she had proved herself to be an exceptionally quick learner.

‘You’ll have her going to university by the time she’s ten, darling,’ Bill had said, only half joking one weekend when he was home on leave. ‘Just be careful you don’t give her ideas beyond her station.’

That comment had incited one of the worst arguments the two of them had ever had, Cecily accusing Bill of having double standards and assuring him that in the US, black women were able to go to college.

‘That’s as may be, but we live in Africa, where there are no such opportunities for Stella.’

‘Then I’ll just have to take her to New York, won’t I?!’ she’d raged at him.

Bill had apologised, but in the past few weeks, Cecily had begun to understand his concern. Stella was confused about her identity – and it was a situation Cecily did not know how to solve.

‘That’s not for today,’ she murmured as she drew to a halt just outside Nairobi and joined the queue of honking cars, their cheering passengers eager to get into town. The skies had miraculously cleared, and the traffic around Delamere Avenue had come to a standstill. Cecily could hear the sound of the brass band as the victory parade got underway. Giving up all hope of finding Bill, Cecily left her car where it was and went to join the crowds cheering the victorious troops as they marched proudly alongside their comrades.

Bill finally came home for good a month later. Cecily had had Kwinet decorate the front of the house with Union Jack bunting she’d stolen from the victory parade. Katherine, Bobby and Michael were there, with Stella dancing excitedly around her ‘Uncle Bill’. Bill looked old, Cecily thought, his hair streaked with grey, and there was a haunted look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before the war.

‘To friends reunited,’ he toasted, ‘and to those we miss who are no longer with us.’

‘To those we miss,’ they all toasted.

Cecily knew Bill was thinking not only of his fallen comrades, but of Joss, and also Alice, who had shot herself at home only a few months after Jock Broughton had been acquitted of the murder of her beloved Joss. There had been whispers that perhaps Alice herself was responsible, but then again, so many possible murderers had been suggested. Cecily had learnt not to listen to idle gossip, and had mourned Alice’s death.

‘To the start of a