“Ayanda, let me get ready. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Fine, see you then,” came the reply before Ayanda hung up.
Basetsana looked at the silent cellphone for a second and shook her head. Silently, she reached for the bar of soap and started to wash the kids.
“Aunty Basi,” came Naledi’s voice.
“Mmmm?”
“When are we going to see Grandma?”
“I don’t know. Do you want to see her?”
Ngwedi nodded
“Then we should visit her soon. If we’re lucky, we’ll still find mangoes on her trees. Then we can eat until our tummies explode,” Basetsana said, tickling their tummies. Peals of laughter sounded as the girls tried to escape her fingers.
* * *
Thirty minutes later Basetsana stood in front of the mirror, inspecting herself. This was a ritualistic moment she had set out for herself to prepare for the day ahead. The early, hot sunrays that had filtered through her lace-curtained window had dulled to a depressing grey, promising rain. She switched on the lamp on her dressing table, which was cluttered with make-up and jewellery knick-knacks.
Objectively she viewed herself in the mirror. This morning she was wearing an above-the-knee sky-blue pencil skirt that was moulded to her hips with a matching jacket and a crisp white shirt with a Chinese collar and ruffles, finished off with patent leather courts. Even she had to admit that she looked stunning. Basetsana was a little on the thin side, so almost everything suited her.
As a last-minute touch-up she ran a small comb through her short, springy hair. With very light make-up and medium-sized hoops for earrings the picture was complete. Basetsana had an ethnic beauty that was arresting and made her seem unapproachable. She had a small nose that was balanced by voluptuous lips and large, eloquent dark-brown eyes that were an asset in the courtroom.
Most men described her as aloof. Not that she had time for thinking about men. Nurturing her career and her sister’s twins had taken top priority; bringing a man into that equation could prove to be complicated.
Besides, fulfilment in life did not necessarily include having a man. Look at her mother; she had done very well without her father.
Basetsana took a deep breath and closed her eyes. From the kitchen downstairs she could hear the twins chatting away, the clinking sounds of their spoons scraping their plates as they ate their breakfast.
Basetsana shut all sound out of her mind to listen to her inner voice.
“You know your strong points and you know your weak points,” she whispered her morning mantra to herself. “Hard work will get you what you want; you’ve come this far all by yourself. You are the author of your own life. You set your own wins and losses. You are the master of your own happiness. Now go out there and conquer the world.”
Basetsana opened her eyes. She gave herself one last look, then reached for her handbag and briefcase. She flipped the briefcase open to check her notes; everything was there.
“Girls, it’s time to go!” she called.
Rushing feet echoed from downstairs; they were probably heading for the car. Basetsana smiled. Being in grade one, they found school an exciting and enchanting place. She hoped they would still be this eager to learn by the time they reached high school.
Basetsana made her way downstairs to find Tina already cleaning the mess the girls had made.
“Breakfast?” Tina asked before turning away to the sink.
“No, I’ll get something at the office.” Basetsana caught Tina’s glance of motherly disapproval and went to the fridge to take out a yogurt, just to please her. “Did the girls show you their project? We finished it last night.”
“Yes, I think you used too much glitter,” Tina replied. “Now everything’s all shiny.”
Basetsana smiled as she made her way to the garage.
* * *
At twelve-thirty Basetsana drove into the underground parking of Mogale & Mogale on the corner of Schoeman and Greef streets opposite Sunnypark Mall. She parked her car, gathered her stuff and moved to the lift, where she pushed the top floor button. Old man Mogale hadn’t even waited for the paint to dry on the walls before he moved his nest from central Pretoria to this new building at the very tip of Sunnyside.
I should tell him that it wasn’t such a good idea, Basetsana thought. The lift slid open and she entered a meticulously furnished reception area. The Mogale & Mogale logo hung high, proclaiming the success of the firm. Below the logo, the receptionist seemed to be battling with the phones behind her desk. The late-morning rush was catching up with her.
After giving her a greeting and a sympathetic word, Basetsana pushed through the doors leading to the inner offices. There was a large space with cubicles set in the middle for secretaries and along each wall were offices for associates. The corridors on both sides of the cubicles led to the main offices occupied by the partners and the boardroom.
Basetsana’s office was the third on the left. Before she could reach it, her secretary was there, shoving appointment sheets at her.
“I would ask you how your morning was, but I can see,” Nhlanhla said, taking Basetsana’s briefcase and handbag so she could look at the sheets.
“The only time I hate Pretoria is in January. Unpredictable rain combined with lunchtime traffic. Does Mogale know how inaccessible this place becomes?” Basetsana asked while reading through the papers.
“You can ask him yourself, he wants to see you,” Nhlanhla said with a secretive smile. Like Basetsana’s friends, her secretary knew she was working towards being made a partner.
Basetsana handed Nhlanhla the sheets. “Do you mind taking my stuff to my office?”
“Not at all, ” the secretary said.
Basetsana straightened her clothes. She hoped she didn’t look as anxious as she felt. Taking a deep breath, she made her way down the long corridor. This could be it.
On the first knock, she heard PB Mogale’s gruff voice bid her enter.
“I see you just came in,” he said without lifting his grey head from the book he was consulting. The large desk in front of him was filled with heavy books that seemed to be fixed to its very surface.
“I was stuck in traffic. You know how Pretoria gets during the lunch hour.”
The old man made a gesture and Basetsana came forward to take a seat, knowing full well that this was a courtesy he offered no one. He liked his meetings to be quick.
“Yes, I know. How did the Molefe case go?”
“They postponed, which is an unnecessary delay. Although maybe that will work to my advantage, because I have a feeling that Miss Molefe and I aren’t on the same page. But I’ve scheduled a meeting with her for this afternoon. By our next appearance in court we’ll have everything
