The Cupid Club. Cheryl Ntumy S.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ glared at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

      “She must still be traumatised by that cake you baked for Father’s Day,” her father told her, chuckling. “If you can call it a cake. I never tasted anything so terrible in my life!”

      “Tata, I was nine!”

      “Ja, nothing has changed,” he replied, making everyone laugh except Senzeni.

      “Now that we’ve ticked ‘Mocking Senzeni’ off the to-do list, can I get some help in the kitchen?” she asked in an icy tone.

      “Of course,” said Litha, linking her arm through her cousin’s.

      “We wouldn’t want any accidents,” Amarava added with a wicked grin, earning another dirty look from Senzeni.

      The huge kitchen was filled with a delicious aroma. Amarava could remember all the times the three girls had played under the counter, using pots and pans as pretend cars for their dolls. When they saw Ausi Seipati coming they would bolt into the garden, but the abandoned pots always gave them away.

      “Mama cooked,” Senzeni explained, handing Amarava a dish.

      “Really?” Amarava was thrilled. Olivia didn’t cook often. The three women carried the rest of the food to the table.

      The doorbell rang just as Amarava was settling into her chair, and her sister jumped up to answer it. She reappeared a moment later with Senzeni’s husband, a stocky man with an infectious grin.

      “You’re late,” Senzeni chided him.

      “Sorry, s’thandwa sam, I was picking up the wine.” He held up a bottle. “Hey, Ama. I hear you have a hot date tomorrow.”

      “Date?” Olivia’s eyes widened.

      Amarava sighed. She didn’t like to discuss her dates with her aunt and uncle, especially since most of them didn’t lead anywhere. They took a lively interest in her love life, and Olivia especially was always asking whether she was seeing anyone.

      Amarava hoped that some day soon she would bring home a wonderful man, but until then she preferred not to get anyone’s hopes up. “Yoh, some people have big mouths,” she grumbled, eyeing her cousin.

      “Are you still part of that matchmaking club?” asked Clement, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

      “She’ll never leave,” said Litha, taking her place next to her sister. “Tomorrow she has a date with a photographer named David.”

      Olivia beamed. “A photographer! I dated a photographer once.”

      Her husband snorted. “And only once,” he said, making everyone laugh.

      After Mandla had said a brief prayer, the meal began. They had never been a quiet, subdued family; they talked and joked while they ate.

      “Tell us more about the contract with the TV show,” prompted Clement as they dug into their food. “Did they make you a fair offer?”

      “It was more than fair,” replied Senzeni. Her father ran a construction company and often offered his daughter and nieces sound career advice.

      Olivia cleared her throat. Amarava grinned behind her glass. Her aunt had a strict “no business at the dining table” policy, which her husband always seemed to forget.

      Clement caught his wife’s eye and sighed. “So, Ama. Do you think this club of yours is really going to find you a man?”

      “Why not?” She took a sip of wine. “The men are friends with at least one member in the group, so it’s safer than going out with complete strangers. We already know they’re decent guys; we only need to find out whether or not we get along.”

      “I can picture you dating a photographer,” her aunt remarked. “You’re a make-up artist, you love glamour and fashion, and he probably works with a lot of people in fashion and beauty. This could be a good match.”

      “Are you getting good vibes, Mama?” asked Senzeni slyly.

      Amarava groaned. “Don’t mind her. Anyone for dessert?”

      “I’ll get it,” said Olivia, getting to her feet. “It’s banana bread with ice cream, and frozen yoghurt for you, Ama.”

      “Thank you, Auntie.”

      Amarava loved being with her family. Nice as it was to have her independence, there was something special about coming home and enjoying a meal with the people she loved most.

      * * *

      “I’m nervous,” Amarava admitted as she stood in front of her full-length mirror, checking her white-and-purple dress.

      “You look gorgeous,” Sheila assured her. She had come over to offer moral support and finally pick up the Amarani mascara she had ordered weeks earlier.

      “Thanks.” Amarava frowned at her sleek ponytail, pressed her red lips together and slipped her feet into a pair of peep-toe ankle boots. “I think I need more shoes.”

      “If you buy any more shoes, you’ll have to sleep in the lounge,” Sheila told her. “Relax, he’ll love you.”

      “Have you met him?” Amarava glanced at Sheila as she picked up her bag.

      “No, but Angie says he’s cute.”

      “Cute or hot?”

      Sheila laughed and pulled Amarava away from the mirror. “Hey, you’re going to be late. Can you get a move on?”

      Litha was curled up on the sofa with the TV on and her laptop in her lap. She looked up and whistled. “Is that a new dress?”

      “I bought this last month!” Amarava rolled her eyes.

      “Exactly, new,” said Litha, grinning. “You look spectacular, as always, but aren’t you a little overdressed for sushi?”

      “A woman can never be overdressed,” replied Amarava with a wink.

      Sheila walked her to the car. “Remember, he’s going to be in an orange shirt.”

      Amarava nodded. “It better be a nice shirt, or I’m walking right out of there!” She got into the car and started the engine. “Litha will give you the mascara. See you later!”

      “Have fun!”

      Amarava waved and pulled the car into the road, tyres screeching, and sped off.

      When she arrived at the restaurant, it was five to seven. The restaurant was dimly lit, with Japanese paintings on the walls and lovely wood panelling. A sliding door led to the smoking area on the left, and the waitresses all wore black kimonos. The place wasn’t full, so she took her time scanning the tables, searching for an orange shirt. There he was, near the back.

      Her heart started to pound. Besides the rusty-orange shirt – which got her approval – he wore black jeans and black СКАЧАТЬ