Page 228 of The Sun Sister

‘Of course I’m sure! Helen would recognise her own daughter, wouldn’t she?!’

‘Forgive me, Mama, I’m just so shocked.’

But was she? Cecily thought as she put her arms around her own mother and held her as she wept. It was almost as if last night Kiki had been saying goodbye...

‘They’re keeping it quiet over Christmas, but it won’t be two minutes before all the newspapers get hold of the story and dig into Kiki’s life, so that the whole of America can read about her scandals over their breakfast! Oh my, Cecily, I adored her; we go back such a long way, and she was so very kind to you, wasn’t she?’

‘She was, Mama, yes,’ said Cecily, desperately trying to hold back her own tears.

‘And the worst thing is, she wouldn’t seeme, one of her oldest friends. If I’d have known how low she was, I’d have done anything –anything– to help,’ Dorothea sobbed.

‘Mama, I’m going to ring the bell and get Evelyn to bring us up a little brandy. It will help calm our nerves.’

‘Oh Cecily, how can I possibly carry on celebrating Christmas when she’s no longer here?’

‘Because...you know why, Mama? Kiki would want you to. She was one of the most famous party girls in town. And she said to me just last night how I must decide what makes me happy and go for it. So tomorrow, we will put on our best dresses for her, and’ – Cecily gulped – ‘celebrate her life. Okay?’

Eventually, Dorothea nodded, took Cecily’s handkerchief to wipe her tears, then stood up. She walked to the bedroom door as though she was in a dream. ‘Now,’ she sighed, ‘I must go tell your father.’

Cecily had gone to bed that night realising it wasn’t the moment to ask her mother whether Stella could join them for lunch. After a restless night full of strange dreams in which Kiki was speaking to her from a cloud in her pyjamas and telling her to decide what was really important, she was awake with a start on Christmas morning, feeling tears forming as she remembered the terrible thing that had happened yesterday. Taking a few minutes to gather herself, Cecily got out of bed and donned her robe. Forcing a bright smile on her face, she walked into Stella’s bedroom to find the little girl sucking on a candy cane, her lips smeared with the chocolate she had already eaten from her stocking.

‘He came, Kuyia!’ Stella looked up at her happily and pointed to the toy lion sitting on her lap. ‘I think Santa must have shrunk him to get him down the chimney. Do you think he’ll grow again now he’s here?’ she asked, her eyes wide.

‘I don’t know, maybe he’s a magic lion.’

‘I’ve decided to call him Lucky, because that’s what I am!’ she giggled, reaching up to hug Cecily, who hugged her back very tightly.

‘Ow, Kuyia! You’re squashing me!’ Stella looked up at Cecily. ‘Why are you crying? Are you sad?’

‘I’m fine, honey. I’m just going to call your Uncle Bill now to wish him a merry Christmas – I miss him and our home.’

‘I do too but I like it here very much as well,’ said Stella, who then turned her attention to Lucky.

Still in her robe and suddenly feeling desperate to speak to her husband about Kiki, Cecily went downstairs to her father’s study to use the telephone and was put through to Muthaiga Club, where Ali picked up the phone. Cecily smiled as she heard his familiar deep voice.

‘Hello, Ali, it’s Mrs Forsythe here. Is Mr Forsythe there?’

‘Happy Christmas, Mrs Forsythe,’ said Ali, ‘although I must offer you my condolences. We have had word here of Mrs Preston’s death.’

‘Thank you, Ali,’ said Cecily. She was shocked that the news had travelled so quickly. ‘I need to speak to Mr Forsythe. Could you fetch him for me, please?’

‘I am afraid I cannot; Mr Forsythe went out on a game shoot a few hours ago.’

Cecily’s heart plummeted. ‘Well, when he gets back can you please tell him that his wife called and that she really needs to speak to him. He has my telephone number in New York. Thank you, Ali, and merry Christmas.’

She hung up the receiver and sat down in her father’s leather chair, trying to collect herself. Once again, when she truly needed her husband, he was nowhere to be found.

At noon, just before her sisters arrived, Cecily took Stella into the kitchen where the servants were busy preparing Christmas lunch.

‘Oh, lookie here! Ain’t you a picture, baby girl?’ said Essie, the cook, who had taken a huge shine to Stella. ‘Now you come and help your Auntie Essie wiv dem pies.’

Stella, who was dressed very inappropriately for the kitchen in her orange tulle dress, happily went to assist Essie.

‘Merry Christmas, everyone,’ Cecily said. ‘Can someone take some broth up to my maid? She’s finally professed herself hungry today.’

‘No problem,’ Essie nodded. ‘And don’t you be worryin’, Miss Cecily, we’ll feed her baby girl along with us right here, won’t we, Stella?’

‘I do hope so, Essie,’ Stella replied.