Cape Town - 1962
“Be honest now—are you in love with Matthew or just that sports car of his?” Susan’s voice carried a hint of mockery as she joined Philippa by the window, both shielding their eyes from the late afternoon sun as the sleek green MG wound its way up the avenue toward Cape Town University’s women’s residence.
Against the grandeur of Table Mountain’s backdrop, the sports car appeared diminutive, but Philippa had grown up amid even more impressive peaks in neighbouring Basutoland. The shimmering ocean embracing her beautiful, recently adopted city was more of a novelty, and she hoped that after Angela’s party, Matthew might propose a visit to the beach.
“The sports car, of course!” Philippa pretended to play along as she reached for the burnt-orange, full-skirted evening dress draped over her desk chair. “But don’t tell Matthew. Now, won’t you help me into this? I should have been ready ages ago.”
Susan followed Philippa to the small mirror near the door. “Matthew’s always late,” she said as she zipped up the dress, her tone no longer lighthearted. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to make him wait every now and then.”
Ignoring her, Philippa pulled on her elbow-length gloves and smoothed her dark chignon before twirling around. “How do I look?” Her confidence was wavering, replaced by sudden nerves.
“Not bad,” said her friend, helping herself to Susan’s Revlon mascara.
“But what do you really think?” Philippa’s heart began to flutter. Matthew’s approval mattered more than she cared to admit.
Susan darkened her sandy lashes, then turned back to Philippa with a sigh. “Come on now! Are you asking if Matthew will approve? Of course he will. You’re stunning—and this year’s Rag Queen!” Susan returned to the mirror to tame the light brown curls framing her freckled face before glancing out of the window. “Now, where has Matthew vanished to? Oh dear, it seems Eliza has captured his attention.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you at the party—“
Philippa hesitated. Susan’s words from last week echoed in her mind: Matthew Myburgh is rich and entitled. He’ll play with your heart and then trample on it. But then, Susan was small and plain and freckled whereas Philippa was—
“I’m sorry there’s only room for two in the car.” With so much to look forward to, Philippa decided she could afford to be gracious. “You could sit on my lap—”
“Don’t be ridiculous! And crease your mum’s beautiful dress?”
Philippa smoothed the lovely Ciel creation her talented mother had given to Philippa on her nineteenth birthday nearly two years before. Each stitch represented a connection to the mother she’d lost too soon.
Then, slipping her feet into her new kitten-heeled pumps, she paused in the doorway. “See you at the party, then.”
Susan waved her off distractedly. “Just make sure he takes you to Angela’s and doesn’t whisk you off to see the whales instead. You know how unpredictable Matthew is, and you know how much I hate parties when you’re not there to help me talk to people.”
* * *
“Matthew!” Philippa greeted him with a smile, taking the last step with the poise that had been drilled into her at Finishing School, curving her lips the way her mother, a celebrated English beauty, had shown her for such situations: welcoming, but not overenthusiastic.
Matthew Myburgh might be rich, but Philippa’s mother had been one of the Richmond sisters, featured in magazines throughout the thirties and forties, famed for their ivory skin, lustrous dark hair, and violet eyes.
And their propensity for marrying into the aristocracy.
Except for Eleanor Richmond, Philippa’s mother. The Black Sheep of the family. Arguably the most beautiful of the three girls, and certainly the most wilful, Eleanor had been disowned when she’d eloped with a Colonial to live in the tiny mountainous kingdom of Basutoland just eight months before Philippa had been born.
The scandal had been enormous. The sacrifice, greater still. Eleanor had given up wealth, position, and family for love—a choice Philippa had never fully understood, having grown up craving the glamorous life her mother had abandoned.
Still, Philippa’s family could hold their own, she reminded herself as she assessed Matthew’s handsome tousled head and muscled torso from the other side of his sports car as he chatted with his rugby mate, Hugh, and Hugh’s girlfriend, Eliza.
Square-jawed, blue-eyed and fair-haired, Matthew had the Adonis good looks that made the girls either tongue-tied in his presence, or over-talkative. Philippa fell into the latter category, though she’d worked hard lately to emulate those sultry, dark-haired beauties of the screen who made more impact by being silent and enigmatic.
“Philippa! Sorry I’m late!” Matthew looked up from his conversation as Hugh farewelled him with a salute and a ‘good luck’ for their rugby match the following day.
His white teeth gleamed as he came round from the driver’s side to greet her.
Why did his smile always make her knees feel weak? Literally, weak. And why did it also stir something uneasy in her chest—a quiet voice that whispered this was too easy, too perfect?
Interpreting her frown, Matthew gave a sheepish glance at his filthy rugby jersey and mud-stained shorts. “I got caught up at rugby practice.”
“Philippa! Your father’s on the phone!” Susan’s voice floated down from the first-floor window.
Philippa ignored her. “But, Matthew… the party starts in ten minutes.”
“Philippa! It’s long distance!”
“And it’ll only take me ten minutes to get changed.” Matthew’s tone was soothing.
No, it won’t. Philippa didn’t need to put that into words. She managed a shaky smile, though she felt like stamping her foot or crying as she stepped back from his approach.
“Come on, darling, don’t give me that cross look.” He flashed her his familiar lazy, confident smile while all the disdainful things Susan had said about him flashed through her mind. As usual, Matthew expected Philippa to forgive him.
Yet the things Susan said were true. Many of them, anyway. Matthew was always late. And he was selfish.
And maybe it was time to stop making allowances.
“Tell daddy I’m coming now!” she shouted back to Susan, turning on her heel but saying in clipped tones over her shoulder to Matthew, now lounging against the spotless green duco of his car, “I’ll see you at the party, later. Daddy’s probably waited an hour to get put through. I wouldn’t dream of keeping him waiting.”
