The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,73

people and the animals.’

A mosquito suddenly buzzed in Cecily’s ear and she brushed it away, wondering whether she should respect it.

‘And don’t worry about those,’ said Kiki, catching her movement. ‘You’ll inevitably get bitten – hopefully you won’t die of malaria – and then you’ll be a local and immune. And aloe vera works a treat on the bites. Champagne?’ Kiki asked her as they walked back up to the terrace where a number of Kiki’s staff – all dressed in variations of beige cotton – were setting up the bar on a table. Cecily recognised Aleeki, who had helped her earlier. His clothes set him apart from the other servants. As well as a grey waistcoat, he wore a long piece of checked fabric fastened at the waist which looked more like a skirt than pants. A snug patterned cap that resembled a fez sat on his grizzled head. He regarded Cecily with his dark serious eyes, and gestured to the bar.

‘Or maybe a martini?’ suggested Kiki. ‘Aleeki makes an excellent one.’

‘I don’t think I should be drinking liquor tonight, Kiki. I’m so tired still from the journey and—’

‘Two martinis, please, Aleeki,’ Kiki ordered, then tucked Cecily’s arm into hers. ‘I promise you, honey, I’ve been travelling between continents for many years and the best thing you can do is to start as you mean to go on. Sit,’ she said as they stood in front of a number of café-style tables that had been set up on the terrace.

‘You mean, we should get drunk all the time?’

‘I guess I’d be dishonest if I didn’t say that everyone out here drinks more than they should, but it numbs the pain and makes everything just a little more pleasant. I mean, who wants to live until they’re eighty anyway? Everyone I’ve known who was any fun has died already!’

Kiki gave a short hoarse laugh as Aleeki brought over the martinis. Kiki picked hers up immediately, and Cecily – not wanting to be rude – did the same.

‘Cheers, sweetie, and welcome to Kenya.’

They clinked glasses and as Kiki drained hers in one, Cecily took a delicate sip and nearly choked on the strength of the liquor.

‘Now,’ Kiki said, indicating to Aleeki that she needed another by tapping her glass, which was swiftly removed for a refill, ‘tonight you’ll meet some of the characters who live around these parts. And rest assured, they’re all characters. I suppose one has to be if one is going to travel across the world and settle in a country like this. Life here, in every way, is pretty goddamn wild. Or at least it used to be. Aleeki, darling, wind up the gramophone, why don’t you? We need some music.’

‘Yes, memsahib,’ he said, furnishing Kiki with a further martini.

Cecily studied the woman sitting next to her, her perfect profile set against the dusky amber sky, and decided that Kiki was the most confusing human she had ever met: on the journey across to Africa, Kiki had either been euphoric – dancing down the narrow space between the aircraft seats, singing Cole Porter songs at the top of her voice as the plane bumped and dived through the clouds – or she had been passed out cold, sleeping the sleep of the dead. When they’d boarded the plane that would fly them on the final leg of their journey, she had noticed Kiki staring down below at the landscape.

‘It’s so beautiful, yet so brutal . . .’ her godmother had whispered, almost to herself, with tears in her eyes. Even though Cecily knew how many losses Kiki had suffered in the past few years, Kiki rarely spoke about them directly, only collectively. And although they had spent four days crammed together in a flying tin can, Cecily felt she knew no more about this woman than when they’d left Southampton. Despite her great beauty, and what her mother called Kiki’s ‘extraordinary’ wealth, never mind her supreme social confidence which Cecily could only dream of emulating, she sensed a vulnerability lying below the surface.

No trace of it was in evidence as Kiki’s first guests arrived, led onto the terrace by Aleeki.

‘My dears, I’m back!’ Kiki stood up and went to embrace the couple in a huge hug. ‘You must tell me everything that’s happened since I left – knowing the Valley, it’ll be a lot, and after almost dying of pneumonia in New York, I can’t tell you how swell it is to be home. Now, come and