At the poolside, there was much interest in the arrival of Morag. I tried to put them off on the grounds she would be very busy at the teaching hospital.
‘Ah, Korle Bu. They opened the maternity wing last year. We helped to pay for it. Our ambassador and some of his staff attended the unveiling.’ Darya laughed uncontrollably, as did her fellow sun worshipper.
I tried to interpret what was said. I drew a blank. When the laughter died down, she continued her story.
‘Brigadier Amaney was the health minister. He drew back the curtain and announced that he was very pleased to be able to unveil the plague at the hospital.’
It made me laugh too, but the subject soon returned to Morag. They asked my intentions and I told them I had not seen her for such a long time. I’d have to see how we feel.
‘So she is arriving this Saturday?’
‘Yes, early. British Caledonian airways from Glasgow,’ I replied realising an early dip in the pool tomorrow was out of the question.
‘Then I’ll ask my husband to give you a driver.’
‘That would be appreciated,’ I replied with an eye squeezed, sun-avoiding smile at Darya.
‘And he can bring you both back here for us to meet her,’ she said looking at her friend.
I wanted to make the situation plain before they laid plans for her. ‘You know she does not speak Russian?’
‘But we speak English don’t we,’ she smiled with a glancing nod.
‘I’d almost forgotten. Of course, your English is good. I’ve always spoken Russian to you.’
‘Yes, and we love your accent.’
‘My accent? How do you hear me,’ I asked with interest.
‘I’d say you speak with a Byelo accent.’
‘A Byelo accent? My Russian teacher would be pleased to hear that.’
‘You have a Russian tutor?’
‘She began as a pen friend. I was studying modern languages at Glasgow University and she helped me a lot, especially in the Cyrillic writing.’
It was perhaps clear from her nod that Darya understood how I had been caught up in the spy net. She knew that Russian pen friends were used to enticing westerners. They always gave female pen friends to male contacts and vice versa.
And so the morning came. I was up at 5 a.m. and dressed, awaiting the driver. It was the First Secretary’s car with Corps Diplomatique number plates. That meant we could park anywhere without restriction.
We arrived in good time. I entered the airport and found myself in a sea full of cleaners wielding mops and shop owners unlocking their doors.
I enquired about the flight. It was expected to be a few minutes late. There was time for a coffee while my driver, Samuel, sat with his Milo chocolate drink.
I drummed my fingers on the table while sipping the hot coffee. There was a churning inside me—I was sure our relationship was strong but I had to nip myself and accept that she was here to further her medical career, not sit and listen to all my woes.
I finished my coffee and went to dispose of the plastic cup. As I was dropping it from my hand I saw a speck of dirt on the lounge window. No, it was getting larger. Then I saw the lights, this was the plane. I stood mesmerised as it grew before my eyes.
The flight arrivals board confirmed the British Caledonian flight from Glasgow was about to land. I watched as the slender fuselage seemed to float past on the runway with its flaps at right angles to slow the brute down. It almost came to a stop, but then turned round to taxi into gate 4.
I watched as the passengers got off the plane in an orderly line, heading for the customs. I saw Morag. She looked pale, unsurprisingly. She was not looking my way. The sun would have been in her eyes. My heart seemed to want to jump out of me. My pulse rate was up. Was that because I had so much to tell her; so much to explain? Would she believe me and, either way, could I repair the damage? My mind was in a fankle, like a rugby scrum.
I stood awaiting her to appear from the customs’ room. First out were three nuns in their light grey habits. They seemed like a gang of excited school children. A Christian father welcomed them and amid excited chatter, they left, inevitably heading off to some mission station. A pram with a child appeared and a couple guiding it with a case-laden trolley. Seven, presumably Ghanaians, appeared showing their Harrods’s attire from the city store in London—and then there she was.
I opened my arms wide. She saw me and her mouth opened in excitement. Then she stroked her chin. I did the same and knew the beard was not an instant put-me-off.
She dropped her bags as I approached. I ran to her and we lingered in a satisfying hug. I squeezed her as she did me and I felt my life was changing back to normal once more. My lips settled on her cheek. She moved her head away and returned to kiss me full on the lips.
‘I’ve missed you like… like the last bus to Govan,’ I said.
She laughed at my nonsense. ‘I’ve missed you and dreamt of you most nights.’
‘And the other nights?’ I asked with a grin.
‘Studies, seminars and practicals. Then more dreams of you.’
The scent of something appealing was behind her ears. Carbolic soap was all I had at the embassy, but at least my morning shower made me feel fresh.
‘Your beard… it suits you. It’s not too hot for one in the tropics is it?’ she asked as we separated, and she took a step back to view the change.
‘It is not a permanent fixture,’ I said without thinking. ‘I’d love to tell you I grew it for you. But it’s a long story.’
‘Don’t shave for me. I think I like it. It suits you.’
Her words were very welcome. No further explanation was required, there and then. We came forward once more and in those loving moments, we talked in syncopation about missing each other, looking forward to the next six weeks.
‘Our car is waiting outside. When have you to report to the hospital?’ I asked hastily.
‘By this evening, so we can spend half of today together, yes?’
‘Then let me show you where in Accra I’ll be for the next few weeks.’
She pondered what I had said. ‘The Pioneer Peanuts factory will come to a halt without you, surely?’
All I could do was smile. Too much information as she faced a new medical challenge was not what she needed. I’d have to drip feed my story like intravenous fluids, at the right time.
Morag did not look often at me as she tried to soak up the smells and sights of a new country, on a new continent. The crickets gave uninterrupted applause to her ears as we got into the back seat of the car.
As we drove off, I pointed out to her the wayside trader’s goods and explained that the car swerved so much to avoid potholes. She was thrilled to see the vibrant cloth the women wore and I told her that the women were the economic gurus of the market and the knots they made in their waistbands contained many cedi notes. The women usually earned more than their husbands, I added. She noticed that many of the men offered car maintenance services and tailoring facilities which seemed to occupy every third kiosk. Then the car entered the more affluent embassy residential district.
Chapter 18
Morag and Robert at the Pool
As the car swept into and up the Embassy drive, Morag let out a gasp. ‘You are living here—in the Russian embassy?’
‘Yes, for the time being, to be near you. Wasn’t that kind of them?’
‘Kind of whom, Robert?’
My response needed more time, so I simply raised my finger to my lips. She gave me a quizzical look taking my silent instruction to heart.