Page 83 of The Sun Sister

Over supper, Cecily was thankful that Bill’s attention was diverted from her as the others talked over how soon Bobby could make a profit on the cattle farm versus how long he could hold off the bank from wanting its loan repaid.

‘It mostly comes down to how much time you’re prepared to let Bobby spend with the animals up in the hills or out on the plains during rainy season, Katherine. I was only away for a week last November, as I had business to attend to in Nairobi. I reckon I lost at least a hundred heads.’

‘Where to?’ Cecily asked, interested for the first time.

‘To the Maasai, of course.’

‘But I thought they cared for your cattle, worked for you...’

‘Some do, but there are many different clans of Maasai around these parts. The Maasai see all cows in Kenya as belonging to them. They are sacred to the tribe, you see, and even though they rarely kill the cattle themselves, they can trade them for maize and vegetables with other clans.’

‘But the cows belong to you?’

‘Technically, yes, but money exchanging hands withmzungusmeans little to them.’

‘Mzunguis the local term for a white person,’ Katherine explained.

‘Can’t you dismiss them and find other people to look after your cattle?’ Cecily asked.

Bill stared at her. ‘No, Miss Huntley-Morgan, I could not. I have an excellent relationship with them – many have become my friends. And if the price I must pay is a few dozen heads of cattle per year, then so be it. The Maasai were here first and despite various attempts by the authorities to move them on and enclose them, they continue with their traditional nomadic ways. They have a symbiotic relationship with the cows; they drain blood from them and drink it, believing it will give them strength and well-being.’

‘That sounds perfectly revolting,’ said Cecily.

‘Well, at least the cows don’t like the taste of human blood, unlike lions,’ retorted Bill.

‘I am yet to see a lion, or an elephant.’

Bill regarded her silently for a while, as though mulling something over. Eventually, he spoke. ‘I’m off to the Bush tomorrow, Miss Huntley-whatever-you’re-called. Are you free to come along? Or are you going to bottle out now that you’ve been asked?’

‘Oh Cecily, you have to go! We’ll come with you, of course,’ said Katherine quickly. ‘Bill took me out when I was eleven. Do you remember you told me then that it was the age when Maasai girls became women?’

‘At eleven?!’ said Cecily.

‘Many of them are married and pregnant by twelve or thirteen, Miss Huntley-thingummy,’ said Bill.

‘Oh, please! Call me Cecily,’ she sighed, now exasperated by the fact she knew he was doing his best to rile her.

‘Must I? I’m afraid I loathe that name. I had a great-aunt who lived in West Sussex. Even though she was an utter dragon, my parents always sent me and my older brother to stay with her in the summer holidays. Her name was Cecily.’

‘Then I apologise for bringing back such bad memories, but I can hardly be blamed for it, can I?’

‘Honestly, Bill,’ Katherine admonished him, ‘leave the poor girl alone.’

But Bill was still staring at her. And in that stare, and the mention of West Sussex, Cecily finally realised who he was.

‘And your name is Bill? Bill Forsythe?’

‘Yes, and a jolly good solid British name it is too.’

‘Your brother is a major, isn’t he? And he lives where you said your great-aunt did, in West Sussex?’

‘Well, yes. He is and does. How did you know?’

‘I met him recently in England.’ Cecily was pleased that this seemed to rattle Bill momentarily.

‘Did you indeed? Where and when?’

‘At Woodhead Hall in Sussex, about three weeks ago. I was invited there by Lady Woodhead, and he lives nearby.’