The flight to Johannesburg was uneventful. Cliff had asked whether she’d mind him taking a nap and held her hand throughout the entire flight, his thumb stroking her palm.
At the sound of the pilot’s voice announcing their landing, Cliff opened his eyes and squeezed Mishka’s hand.
“Hello again, beautiful.”
Mishka smiled. She liked that he called her beautiful.
The plane landed with a slight jolt and taxied along the runway until it came to a stop in its designated apron. Cliff got up and retrieved their hand luggage from the overhead compartment. They deplaned and were soon on the road in the hired car.
“It’s about a twenty-minute drive to Mondeor.”
“I’ve never been to that part of Johannesburg.”
“It’s a quiet suburb away from the noise of the city yet only fifteen minutes from the city centre. You might think you’re still in Cape Town,” Cliff explained.
They drove on in silence and when Cliff turned into a driveway, Mishka was dumb-struck by the sight before her. The house was built into rolling hills with a circular driveway and had a traditional Cape Dutch appearance – with shuttered windows.
They were greeted at the door by a homely looking woman, who took their bags and introduced herself as Sophie.
“Mrs Powell is at the pool area.”
Cliff took Mishka’s hand in his and led her through a spacious lounge. They stepped through sliding patio doors and Mishka was stunned by the sight of a deep blue, rim flow, Olympic sized swimming pool surrounded by lush green vegetation and flowering shrubs in an array of colours. Six white loungers with matching bamboo umbrellas and wrought iron glass topped tables completed the picturesque view.
Emily Powell was seated at one of the tables and looked up when she heard them approaching. She smiled and rose to greet them.
“Welcome to Eagle’s Rest, Miss Harris.”
“Thank you, Mrs Powell.”
She kissed Cliff on the cheek.
“I’ll show you to your room. Miss Harris. Dinner will be served at eight.”
Emily Powell walked briskly and Mishka lengthened her stride to keep up. They walked back through the lounge and up a staircase with a polished oak bannister. At the top of the stairs her hostess turned left and stopped at the second door.
“This is your room, Miss Harris,” she said, opening the door. “I know modern women have no qualms sharing their beds before marriage, but I’ll have none of that improper behaviour under my roof.”
“I understand,” Mishka said, stepping into the room. She turned around and lowered her eyes. “I haven’t been with a man in that way yet, Mrs Powell.”
Emily Powell stared at Mishka for a few seconds, not blinking.
“Join us in the lounge when you’re ready and don’t be late.”
She turned on her heel and walked away slowly as though deep in thought.
Mishka closed the bedroom door and surveyed her surroundings – rich hues of cream and pale yellow decorated the interior. Her bag sat on the bed – empty. She looked inside the armoir where she found her dresses hanging on padded hangers. The rest of her clothes were neatly stacked in the adjoining space; her underwear bag left as she had packed it.
In the en-suite bathroom she found her toiletries arranged above the basin.
Sophie was certainly efficient.
She splashed her face with cold water and patted it dry before arranging her hair in a bun on the crown of her head, slipping on a white and gold ballerina band to free her face of any wayward strands.
Back in the bedroom she stripped off her clothing, folded it and placed it in the laundry bag she’d packed and pushed it into her bag. She had just slipped into a white wrap dress and peep-toe shoes when she heard a soft knock at the door.
“Come in, please.”
Sophie entered and looked around the room.
“Does Miss need anything before joining the family for dinner?”
Mishka felt uncomfortable at being addressed so formally. “No, thank you. May I ask what your surname is?”
“It’s Roberts, Miss.”
“Thank you, Mrs Roberts and please call me Mishka.”
Sophie stared at Mishka wide-eyed. “Miss should call me Sophie. I am not a lady of the house.”
“My dear mother would rise from her grave and slap me if I didn’t show you the proper respect, Mrs Roberts. You are my elder,” Mishka explained.
“Very well, if Miss insists.”
“I do,” said Mishka, giving Sophie a warm smile.
When she entered the lounge, Cliff rose to meet her.
“You look beautiful, as always,” he said, greeting her with a light kiss on her lips.
“Thank you. You look rather beautiful yourself.”
He chuckled and led her to the intimate two-seater sofa.
“Would you like something to drink before dinner?”
“Just a glass of water, please.”
As he walked to the drinks cabinet, Sophie entered and announced that the guests have arrived.
“Good timing,” Cliff exclaimed.
Sophie stepped aside and in walked Mike – with her aunt.
“Aunt Vi?”
“Hello, petal. Cliff invited us. Good evening, Mrs Powell… Cliff.”
Emily Powell rose to welcome her guests.
“Make yourselves at home, please. Drinks, Cliff.”
Cliff poured champagne and handed everyone a glass. Mishka looked at him confused.
“I’m hoping for a celebration tonight,” he said, sitting down next to her.
She looked up and saw everyone looking at her expectantly.
Cliff took her right hand and slid off the sofa onto bended knee.
“Mishka Harris, I have waited a long time for you. There’s nothing about you I would want to change, except perhaps your last name. Will you marry me?”
“Cliff?” This is all so sudden,” she spluttered.
“Not to me. I have wanted to meet you since the first time I saw you at the Style Awards last year. I think I fell in love with you then.”
“You did?”
“Yes. The design commission was part of my master plan to get close to you and the more I got to know you, the deeper I fell in love with you,” he said smiling – still on bended knee.
“I know you feel the same, Mishka. We belong together. Say you’ll marry me.”
Before she could answer, she heard her aunt’s voice.
“Go on. Say yes or I will.”
Mishka laughed. She looked at Cliff and swallowed. “I love you, Cliff Powell and want to share my everything with you. I will be honoured to be your wife.”
Cliff jumped up and pulled her into his arms.
“It was meant to be, Miss Harris. By design.”
Emily Powell was the first to reach them. She took Mishka into her arms and embraced her warmly.
“Congratulations, Mishka.”