glass of champagne to perk you up.’
‘I . . . What time is it?’ Cecily murmured. Her voice sounded croaky and she swallowed hard, due to a dry and painful throat.
‘It’s five in the evening, sweetie. You’ve slept solid for the past six hours.’
And I could sleep for another six weeks, Cecily thought as she raised her head from the pillow and stared up blearily at her godmother.
Kiki was looking as fresh as a daisy, her dark hair drawn back into a chignon, her make-up perfect. The long green silk robe she was wearing set off her emerald and diamond earrings and matching necklace. In short, she looked utterly beautiful, and not at all like she had just crossed continents by plane, boat and motor car. Whatever it was that her godmother kept in her sparkly purse, Cecily thought she could do with some of it right now.
‘Drink up, darling; I promise you, it’s the perfect pick-me-up.’ Kiki proffered the glass but Cecily shook her head, wondering why her elders continually insisted she should drink liquor.
‘I can’t, really, Kiki.’
‘Well then, I’ll leave it by your bed just in case you change your mind. I’ve chosen something from your trunk to wear tonight and had Muratha iron it. It’s hanging up in your closet just there.’ Kiki pointed to an oriental-style cupboard as she wafted across the room and began to pull open the shutters. ‘You just have to hurry to get ready, my darling, or you’ll miss your first sunset at Mundui. However blue I’m feeling, it never fails to cheer me up.’
Cecily watched her godmother pause for a few seconds as she gazed out of one of the windows. A small sigh escaped her lips before she turned and smiled at her goddaughter.
‘I am so glad you came, honey. We’re going to have such fun together and mend that broken heart of yours. See you downstairs no later than six.’ Kiki left the room, leaving her signature scent – which was as unusual and exotic as she was – lingering in her wake.
Now fully awake, Cecily was aware of how incredibly thirsty she was. Pulling the top off the flask, she gulped back some lukewarm water that had a slightly sour aftertaste. There was another knock at her door, and a young Negro girl with wiry hair that looked as though a razor had been taken to it, so close did it sit next to her scalp, entered the room. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, beige in colour, that hung off her slender frame. She looked to be around thirteen or fourteen . . . Little more than a child, Cecily thought.
‘Bwana, your bath drawn.’ The girl indicated the door behind her, then beckoned to Cecily.
Reluctantly, Cecily climbed out of bed and followed her next door into a room that held a large tub and a lavatory with an enormous wooden seat. It looked rather like a throne.
Muratha indicated the bar of soap, flannel and the pile of cotton towels folded neatly beside the bath. ‘Okay, bwana?’
‘Okay, thank you,’ Cecily nodded and smiled at her.
If Cecily had ever felt she’d ‘luxuriated’ in a bath before, she now knew she hadn’t known the true meaning of the word. The journey had begun in Southampton and had taken three – or was it maybe four? – days. They had made several stops to refuel the plane, the last of which had been somewhere called Kisumu by Lake Victoria, although Cecily had lost all sense of time and direction by that point. She had staggered off the small plane and Kiki had ushered her into a tin hut beside the airfield, where they’d merely thrown some water over themselves before boarding another flight headed (eventually) for Nairobi. Her body had not seen a bar of soap the entire time. Nor had it seen sleep, or for that matter peace of mind, since she’d left England . . .
Having soaked herself thoroughly, Cecily surveyed the water around her, which looked distinctly murky and had a layer of grit floating around the edges of the tub. She longed to climb into another bath to clean off, but there was no time and who knew how many gallons human hands had had to carry in to fill this – there was no faucet that she could see.
Back in her room, Cecily comforted herself with the fact that Kiki’s house was certainly not the mud hut she’d been expecting. With its large square-paned windows,