💃A man worth knowing🤔🤔

💋Chapter Eight💋

‘Shall we have coffee on the
balcony?’
‘That sounds nice.’ She tried to
quell the nervous flutter in her
stomach with a smile.
‘It’s more private and there’s a
lot more sun.’
Mandi followed Nosiswe Dlane
through the elegant Hyde Park
apartment towards the French doors
opening up to an enclosed balcony.
She’d worn a smart pair of black
fitted trousers and a crisp white
blouse for the meeting. Nosiswe was
far more relaxed in a pair of
expensive blue jeans and a caramel-
coloured turtleneck sweater. The
clothes made her look younger.
Mandi looked around the huge
balcony. The creamy white of the
wicker patio furniture was broken
with bright multi-patterned cushions.
It was an airy, inviting and casual
sitting area.
‘Please take a seat. I’d forgotten
how lovely the sunny late winter
afternoons can be in Johannesburg,’
Nosiswe said, as a housekeeper in a
starched duchess uniform poured
coffee from a silver pot.
Mandi had a slight trace of a
hangover – all that alcohol at the
club last night – and she looked
forward to a cup of black coffee.‘That’s true,’ she said.
‘Although personally, I can’t wait
for spring.’
Themba’s mother smiled as she
handed Mandi a delicate bone china
cup and saucer.
‘I got these in Paris,’ Nosiswe
said. ‘They were a gift from a
French couple I knew there.’
‘Paris?’ Mandi echoed softly. ‘Is
that where you were in exile?’
Nosiswe nodded. ‘The French have a
gracious flair for accepting the
disenfranchised, regardless of what
caused the disenfranchisement. It
makes the French a special people
and Paris a special place.’
And here she paused. ‘Of course it
isn’t home ...’
She looked out at the window
wistfully, giving Mandi time to digest
this new fragment of information.
Paris. She hadn’t realised
Themba’s mother had spent her
exile in Paris. Was this the reason
Themba had left South Africa so
suddenly five years ago?
He’d said he’d been to Paris. He
even said he had a good reason for
travelling to France. Is it
another woman? Her words came
back to haunt her. Yes. Another
woman. His mother? Could it be
possible that he’d travelled to Paris
to be with his mother, rather than
chasing a career promotion as she’d
previously thought?
The older woman’s voice sliced into
her reverie. ‘Have you been to
Paris?’
Startled, Mandi looked up. ‘I’d
love to go. It’s the capital of
fashion, after all.’
‘You’ll love it, my dear.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
‘Maybe Themba will take you one
day.’
Time to change the subject , Mandi
thought. Setting down her cup and
saucer, she cleared her throat.
‘Thank you for seeing me ...
especially at such short notice.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ Nosiswe said.
‘What can I do for you?’
Mandi folded her hands in her lap to
stem her anxiety.
‘I’m thinking of hosting a fashion
show to launch my latest collection.
I feel it’s important to make a
splash with the new line I’ve
designed.’
‘I hope I’m invited?’ Nosiswe
smiled, an amused glint in her dark
eyes.
‘Of course,’ Mandi rushed to
answer. ‘In fact, I need your
help.’
‘Now my curiosity is aroused.’
Warming to her theme, Mandi
continued, ‘I was hoping I could
use some of the female dancers from
the Isiduko theatre as models for the
show.’
Nosiswe clapped her hands together.
‘That’s a marvellous idea,
Mandisa.’
Mandi held up a hand and smiled.
‘I wouldn’t be able to pay them
for their services; I don’t have the
budget. However, you did mention
you could use my services in your
costume department –?’
Nosiswe summoned a knowing smile.
‘So you’re suggesting a trade
exchange. My dancers as
models in exchange for some
fabulous new costumes for our next
production?’
Mandi let out a breath. ‘Something
like that.’
Nosiswe leaned forward. ‘Can I
make another suggestion?’ she
asked. ‘Why not have Isiduko’s
musicians provide the music? It
would create the right ambience and
we could use the opportunity to
promote the theatre.’
‘I love the idea.’ Mandi felt a
flutter of excitement. ‘Africa is the
inspiration for the collection, so
cultural music would be an ideal
backdrop.’
‘Perfect.’
Mandi reached for the coffee pot and
poured another cup. She didn’t need
it. Her hangover was gone, replaced
by euphoria.
‘Perhaps we could open the show
with the young poet?’ she
proposed. ‘And the dancers for a
break in the middle of the show?’
Nosiswe agreed it would add a lovely
touch. ‘What will you end the
fashion show with?’
‘Mmm.’ Mandi cocked her head.
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘It has to be something
spectacular.’
‘That goes without saying,’ Mandi
said. ‘I’ll have to brainstorm that
one.’
‘No doubt you’ll come up with
something great,’ Nosiswe said.
‘More coffee?’
‘I don’t want to keep you.’
‘One more cup,’ the older woman
smiled. ‘I do so enjoy your
company, my dear.’
Over coffee, the two women
discussed Mandi’s other ideas for
Midnight Rose. Mandi told her
about her website idea. Nosiswe
suggested expanding the Midnight
Rose brand to include jewellery and
perfume. Mandi got excited about
that idea.
She said, ‘I wouldn’t have been
able to do any of this without
Themba. He’s been such a help.’
‘Is that how you two met?’
Nosiswe asked. ‘Through
business?’
Mandi’s head jerked up. Obviously,
Themba hadn’t told his mother the
details of their
romantic past, or their less-than-
romantic break-up.
‘We knew each other before.’
‘In Johannesburg?’
‘No, it was a while ago. Didn’t he
tell you?’
‘No.’
Mandi felt her heart sink. Was she so
unimportant to him that he hadn’t
told his mother about their
relationship?
Nosiswe took another sip of coffee.
‘I knew there was a girl he was
crazy about. He didn’t say much,
but I think he met her when he was
still in Cape Town.’
This time her heart did a somersault
in her chest. Crazy for her? He
hadn’t forgotten her then? Was it
possible he still loved her? No, she
couldn’t think of any of that right
now. She had to focus on her career,
the boutique, the fashion show.
A soft voice brought her back to the
moment. ‘Do you love my son,
Mandisa?’
Mandi looked into the woman’s dark
eyes. She knew she couldn’t lie.
‘Once, yes. I loved him.’
‘And now?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
‘It’s complicated. I don’t know
what’s going on in Themba’s
mind.’
‘I’m afraid my son doesn’t show
his emotions easily,’ Nosiswe said.
‘But that doesn’t mean he
doesn’t possess any, or that they
aren’t powerful.’
Mandi said, ‘I should get going.
Thanks for the coffee and for
agreeing to my proposal. I will be in
touch.’The older woman walked her to the
door of the apartment.
Mandi was taken aback when Nosiswe
hugged her, enveloping her in a cloud
of expensive
perfume, whispering into her ear:
‘Just remember. You don’t need
someone’s permission to love
them.’
Mandi didn’t even want to think
about what Themba’s mother had
told her. She had too much to do. If
she wanted to get this fashion show
on its feet, she’d have to spark into
action.
Driving back to Morningside, her
cellphone rang. She connected the
call on her hands-free kit.
‘Mandi ...’ Themba’s rich, warm
voice filled the interior of her car.
‘How’s my pretty one?’
Even though he wasn’t physically
there with her, she experienced a
visceral reaction to his voice.
Her stomach knotted with desire; her
throat burned.
‘Themba! I was hoping you’d
call.’
‘You driving?’
‘Yes.’
‘Call you back later?
‘No, no,’ she bubbled. ‘I have so
much to tell you ...’
As she negotiated the heavy traffic
down William Nichol Drive, she filled
him in on her plans for the fashion
show. By the time she swung her
little red car into Sandton Drive, he
was up to speed.
His voice reverberated in the interior
of the car. ‘Sounds like you’ve
been busy.’
She laughed. ‘You have no idea.’
‘You sound tired.’ Concern
threaded through his voice.
‘A bit,’ she said, ‘but I’m
loving every minute of this.’
‘When are you planning this fashion
extrava-ganza for?’
‘Spring Day,’ she answered. ‘You
will be there, won’t you?’
There was a pause, static on the line.
‘Themba – you there – ?’
‘I’m still on the line,’ he
responded. ‘I don’t think I’ll be
able to attend. I’m in Botswana
that week. I doubt I’ll be able to
get away.’
Disappointment crashed through her,
leaving a dull, sour taste in the back
of her throat. ‘Oh.’
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I’d love to
be there. You know I would. You
sound sad. Please don’t be. I’ll
make it up to you.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘I don’t know; I’ll have to call
you later and let you know.’
Fighting back tears, she gripped the
wheel tighter. ‘No problem. I’m
busy myself. With the show and
everything.’
‘It will be soon,’ he promised. ‘If
you need any help, just shout.’
‘I’ll manage. I know how busy you
are.’
Themba’s voice sounded distracted.
‘I have to go into a meeting. Call
you tonight.’ The call disconnected.
‘I love you,’ Mandi said to the
silent interior of the car. ‘I wonder
if you know how much, Themba
Dlane.