The only person able to advise him was Chege Muthuri, but he was seldom available. It was therefore only by chance that his boss was around to mention a very important matter - he needed travel papers before he could set foot in America, or anywhere else in the outside world.

'You need to go to the admin office with your kipande pa.s.s,' Muthuri said. 'Find Joe Mbale. He will help you.'

'Who is Joe Mbale?'

'A Ugandan friend of mine. And don't worry, he is easy to find. Look for a man with a moon face and a big belly.'

Muthuri was right. Joe Mbale was a big man with, improbably for a government employee, a big smile - after Jelani introduced himself as a friend of Muthuri.

Mbale said, 'And how is my good friend Chege? Why is he such a troubled soul and always fighting with everybody?'

'He is very well, thank you. And I'm surprised you ask why he is fighting. I'm sure that even in Uganda you are facing the same struggles as we are here in Kenya.'

'Ai, ai!' Mbale said, his smile unaffected by Jelani's outburst. 'I see you are from the same kali tribe as your boss.'

'There is much to be angry about,' Jelani said, trying to remain calm.

'Mmm, but not for you,' Mbale said, turning his attention to Jelani's papers. 'I see you are going to America next week.'

'I am. If I can get my travel papers. Can you help me?'

'I'll try. Give me your kipande and I'll fill in the form for you.'

Jelani slipped the cord over his head and opened the small tin box containing his kipande.

Mbale took it and commenced to fill in the details. 'This is your full name?'

'Jelani Karura. Yes.'

'No other names?'

'No.'

'These British.' He shook his head. 'They like to see many names.'

'Why?'

Mbale shrugged. 'Who knows? It is their way.'

'I see ... Maybe you can add Zesiro. It was a name I had as a child.'

'That is very good. See, it fills the s.p.a.ce nicely.'

With Jelani's help, Mbale worked his way through the form. 'There, it is done,' he said, running his finger over the entries, but stopping at the name box. 'This name, Zesiro: it is a Ugandan name.'

Jelani's childhood discomfort surrounding his appearance and his name fleetingly returned, but now he could put it aside. 'Yes,' he said. 'My mother's friend was Ugandan. She suggested the name.'

Mbale nodded, and continued checking the form.

'It is all done,' he said. 'Come back in three days for your papers.'

Jelani thanked him.

'By the way,' the big man added as he clipped a cover note to Jelani's form, 'does your twin also have a Ugandan name?'

'My twin?' Jelani asked, puzzled. 'I don't have a twin.'

Mbale smiled. 'Surely you have ... otherwise that Ugandan lady has been having a big joke on you, my friend.'

Jelani made no attempt to hide his annoyance. 'What do you mean?' he demanded.

'Your name ... Zesiro.' Mbale's belly wobbled with his suppressed chuckle. 'It is a popular Ugandan name. It means first born of twins.'

Jelani felt the blood rush to his face. He s.n.a.t.c.hed his kipande from the desk and stormed from the building.

Once outside, the full significance of his name hit him. First born of twins. Could it be possible that he had a sibling, a twin, somewhere? Surely his mother would have told him if she knew. She'd said that they dropped the name Zesiro because they didn't know what it meant. They also said the Ugandan who had brought him to Kobogi wouldn't give any details of his birth mother. What could it mean?

It seemed to him that the mystery of his birth had just doubled in size.

With all the uncertainty of his ident.i.ty returning, his thoughts and dreams for his life with Beth came into sharp focus. How could he hope to hold onto her - a beautiful young educated Kikuyu woman of a good family - when he was a half-caste; a n.o.body?

Jelani met Beth at the River Road bus station on Sunday afternoon; they again walked together to Jeevanjee Gardens. The sun shone from a clear, pale blue sky and the park was crowded, but they found a bench seat under a tree where Jelani took Beth's hand in his.

'I thought about inviting you back to my house, but ...'

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. 'It's nice here,' she said.

Jelani looked about them. There were family groups picnicking and young people like them with their heads together, talking and giggling. A small boy collected empty drink bottles and put them into a woven fruit sack held by a friend.

'Beth, I'm leaving in three days.'

'I know,' she said softly.

'Will you miss me?'

She looked at him and her beautiful eyes made him melt.

'You know I will.'

'Do you also know how much I loved you when we were kids?' he said, now taking both her hands in his.

'Were we kids? It was only five years ago,' she said, dropping her eyes to his hands resting in her lap. 'But yes, I know how much we both felt.'

'And now?' he dared to ask.

She took her gaze from his hands and looked into his eyes. 'I haven't changed my mind over these five years. Have you?'

'No. Never once.'

He swallowed. The time was perfect. His intention was to tell her of his love and then to raise the subject of his involvement in the freedom movement. It was important that he tell Beth of his pa.s.sionate wish to help to change their world to one that was better for their future together, but he didn't want to risk losing her over an argument about politics. Beth had already indicated that she agreed with the missionaries' view, and he'd heard that they were using the pulpit to turn their congregations against the Mau Mau.

He weakened, and simply said, 'We have a lot to talk about when I get back.'

'I'll be waiting,' she said.

The engine roar grew louder. Vibrations, which began at his feet, continued up Jelani's legs until he felt them in his chest, pounding and juddering among his ribs. The whole cabin of the Solent flying boat shook and rattled. Whatever fear he felt was subjugated by a great rush of excitement as the plane moved forwards.

Above his window he could see two of the four engines, their propellers a blur. They turned the water below them on Lake Naivasha into a flurry of flying droplets that hit his window and trickled down it in rivulets rainbowed by the morning sun.

Gathering speed, the vibrations merged with staccato b.u.mps coming from below as the keel pounded the wavelets.

The plane struggled to overcome the lake's persistent drag; Jelani hoped the engines would win the battle. They slowly did so as the plane's momentum gathered, and the surface of the lake melted into a blur of blue and white. The b.u.mping stopped, the spray disappeared and the roar of engines increased as the sea plane defiantly hauled itself skyward against the drag of water and gravity. Below them the papyrus and fever trees flashed by, then farm houses and villages. They climbed to the level of the Rift Valley escarpment and Jelani could see the gra.s.slands rolling up to the distant and densely wooded Aberdare Ranges.

He turned his attention to the thirty or so white pa.s.sengers inside the aircraft, all of whom had regarded him with suspicion as he boarded the plane. They seemed uninterested in the miracle that was evolving around them; most now had their heads buried in newspapers.

Below him was another lake, this one fringed with a filament of pale pink flowers. While he watched, a strong wind seemed to lift a cloud of pink petals from the flowers and send them whirling over the lake surface, but then they wheeled and spread and he realised they were flamingos - millions of flamingos. The vision flashed in and out of view as the Solent b.u.mped through the clouds, until the plane was totally engulfed in white fluff.

He sat back and closed his eyes, reflecting again on the night at the bar in Mathare discussing the purpose of his visit to New York. He was to absorb all he could of the protest movements in the union organisation and elsewhere. The impression Jelani gained from Chege Muthuri was that when he returned, he would be given an important position within Mau Mau. One that would bring him into close contact with the enemies of the organisation - the police and the government members who opposed true freedom.

And from what he'd already witnessed of Mau Mau tactics, he knew the leaders expected him to fight their enemies, not by words as he'd done in the union, but with violence.

He knew it was not the life that Beth had in mind for them. But was Beth's vision of their future realistic? Even if the two of them were somehow exempt from the injustice visited on black Africans by the Europeans, how could they find contentment and happiness while the white government continued to force the Kikuyu and others into native reserves, or to condemn them - the rightful owners - to become squatters on their own land?

PART 4.

EMERALD.

CHAPTER 44.

1951.

Emerald Kazkusi Northcote-Middlebridge strolled down Piccadilly swinging her hips, aware that the cab drivers outside the Park Lane Hotel were watching her. She had her mother's olive complexion and startling green eyes, which she accentuated with a little eyeliner uplifting the corners so that she had a touch of the feline about her. But her curves were more rounded than Dana's, which made her look older than her nineteen years.

The outfit she'd chosen that day suited the May afternoon with its hint of spring in the air and low western sun struggling to break through London's nondescript sky. Her suit was navy blue - a popular colour that season. The skirt hugged her hips and the short flared jacket emphasised them. The cuffs and collars were turned back to reveal a leopard-skin print. A loosely tied scarf of identical material and a three-row choker of pearls circled her elegant neck. Her hat, perched perkily towards the back of her head, matched her ivory-coloured gloves.

One of the hotel's boys gave a low whistle. She ignored it, of course.

She could have been going to a tea party in Mayfair, but instead she was taking a bus to Chelsea for her friend's twentieth birthday do. It was in a marquee in the grounds of Chelsea Hospital, adjacent to the flower show.

Emerald's mother had almost insisted on driving her, but she would have none of it. At nineteen, Emerald told her, and in that day and age, she was quite capable of going to a late-afternoon party on her own. What she didn't tell her mother was that she had arranged to meet a very nice young man at said party. She and her girlfriend Fiona had met Peter and his friend Michael at a boat race in April. They were in the Oxford Blue's reserve boat, and the girls had enjoyed two rendezvous with them since.

Peter was a tall young man, square chinned and broad shouldered. She had chosen him over his friend Michael because of his mop of fair hair and cheeky smile.

Emerald was quite taken with her first conquest. The thought of seeing him again made the nape of her neck tingle with excitement.

Dana had only reluctantly agreed to allow Emerald to go to the party in Chelsea on her own. She trusted her daughter, but she didn't know the Parke-Hollaway family and wondered if they were the right type. Fiona seemed a rather quiet, introverted young person, in contrast to all Emerald's other friends, who appeared to be more sophisticated and worldly than her daughter. But Dana still had her concerns. Emerald had shown indications she was developing an awareness of the many young men in her social life, and Dana could well remember what had followed that revelation in her own life.

Dana's teenage pregnancy may well have been kept a secret, but she didn't want a similar episode to risk Emerald's chances of inheriting the Middlebridge fortune.

Oswald had inherited the Middlebridge collieries in Lancashire. Unfortunately, he was childless, and the family had only ever entrusted one of their own to take the reins. His options were to anoint either his brother's idiot son or his stepdaughter Emerald as his successor. If Emerald were to get involved with the wrong boy, she would risk losing Oswald's confidence - and control of his family fortune after his death.

Emerald had no shortage of distractions from the opposite s.e.x. At first it was her interest in the latest fashions. She would drag Dana through endless stores, seeking the right outfits for the many society events she had begun to attend.

Then it was the theatre. Although Dana preferred the more expensive seats, she agreed to attend a Henry Wood concert at the Royal Albert Hall and join the prom - the milling crowds in the cheaper seats. It was while promming with Emerald that Dana realised her daughter was too rapidly growing up. She turned a lot of male heads, which was understandable given her eye-catching gown, but it was the way that Emerald handled those glances that surprised Dana. She realised that Emerald already knew when a man was looking her way. Furthermore, when Emerald wanted to take a closer look at an admirer, or to send him an encouraging signal, she would turn and bend as if to see if her stockings were straight, or she would touch the brim of her hat and steal a glance, or simply take a sweeping scan around the crowd without making obvious eye-contact with the person who took her interest.

She also sent signals, ranging from a brief glance, to a twitch of amus.e.m.e.nt on her lips, to an alluring smile. They all seemed to find their mark as a constant stream of young men presented themselves to Dana, begging to be introduced. Dana felt it had been only moments since young men had clamoured for her attention too. At fifty-one, she felt extremely old in comparison.

The following week they would attend the Royal Windsor Horse Show, were already booked for the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, and were considering Wimbledon. Emerald wanted to see the Henley Regatta on the Thames, but at this Dana had baulked. Standing in July sun was not a prospect that enthralled her. Unless they had an invitation from someone with a comfortable barge or a riverside lodge, she would not attend.

Oswald showed no interest in any of the season's social events, and none of the sporting events except for the cricket. This year it was the South Africans, and Oswald said they would see the second test at Lord's.

But Emerald was not content with even this whirl. She insisted it was time for her official coming out, when she would be presented to the King. Dana knew it would be difficult to postpone this for much longer as she and Oswald had always indulged the girl. She could see through her daughter's plan, though: once Emerald had made her debut, she would expect to have more freedom than her mother presently allowed her. Dana hoped nevertheless to prevent what she feared was her daughter's journey down the same path she had herself taken so many years before.

Emerald knew most of the girls at the party - there must have been thirty of them - either from school or through her school friends. Many had escorts: either male relatives foisted on them for the occasion or boyfriends.

Emerald and Fiona had colluded with Clarice, the birthday girl, to have Peter and Michael added to the guest list because neither had yet told their parents they'd commenced a friendship with Oxford boys - who in some circles were considered characters of dubious reputation. In Emerald's case, she wasn't sure if her relationship with Peter could be called more than a friendship because there'd been very little physical contact. From what she'd heard exchanged in confidence among her closer girlfriends, a certain amount of caressing, either attempted, permitted or encouraged, had to occur for a relationship to exist.

'h.e.l.lo, Em,' a girl in a floral dress said.

'Oh, h.e.l.lo, Miriam,' Emerald replied, thinking the cut of the floral number emphasised her friend's ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She wondered if she should add some padding to her own bra.

'Wasn't this simply divine?' Miriam went on. 'People are starting to leave. But it has been nice, hasn't it?'

'It has. I suppose we'll be leaving soon too.' Emerald avoided adding that her mother had insisted she send the driver to collect her at nine.

'It's been ages. What have you been doing with yourself?'

'Not much. Switzerland.'

'Lovely,' said Miriam.

'Not really, but I did have a chance to practise my watercolours.'

'Oh, you too! Isn't it fun?'

'It was,' Emerald said. 'But now I'm back Mother has insisted I do something n.o.ble for a couple of days a week.' She rolled her eyes.

'What do you mean n.o.ble?'

'Oh, you know, charity work and such. She's insisting I go down and volunteer for work at the Red Cross.'

'Ghastly.'