The New Year brought with it an unexpected visit from Tayo’s uncle and the first chance for Vanessa to meet someone from Tayo’s family. They were all to have afternoon tea at the Randolph Hotel, which was where Vanessa now waited for Tayo and his uncle Kayode. She sat in the lounge next to an open fire feeling uncomfortably warm but this, she guessed, was where Tayo would prefer to sit.
While she waited, she watched people serving themselves tea from fat china teapots while sampling scones and cakes. This was Oxford’s finest hotel, but Vanessa did not care for the musty, stuffy feel that came from the large upholstered armchairs and the carpet in sombre shades of green and mustard. The walls were wood-panelling and several large chandeliers hung low from the ceiling. She wondered what Tayo’s uncle would make of the Randolph and, more importantly, what he would think of her. This wasn’t just any old family friend, but Tayo’s favourite uncle and, while she looked forward to meeting him, she worried.
Tayo had once told her (though she suspected he might now have forgotten) that in his culture one never introduced a girlfriend to family unless the relationship was serious. So this was surely a good sign for her, but what if she disappointed his uncle? What would Tayo think of her then? Everything had been going so well since the New Year and she desperately wanted it to stay that way, especially now that Tayo only had a few more months left at Oxford. She secretly hoped he might propose before leaving. Nervously, she ran through her list of greetings. ‘Ekaasan. Salafia ni.’ She was still practising when Tayo arrived with his uncle.
‘Ekaasan. Salafia ni,’ she said, curtseying as she’d seen it done.
‘Vanessa, my dear, lovely to meet you,’ the uncle said, in such a reassuring tone that it made her feel at ease. He was taller and younger than Vanessa expected, and more effusive too.
‘Splendid!’ he exclaimed when the waitress arrived with their Darjeeling tea, scones, sandwiches and cake.
Uncle Kayode had insisted on ordering everything.
‘Now Vanessa, do tell me, what does one begin with? Scones, sandwiches, or cake? I’ve never known. And does one put cream on these things first, or jam?’ He waved at the plate of scones.
‘Whatever catches your fancy, I think,’ Vanessa smiled.
‘Ahh, but everything catches my fancy and that, my dear, is the problem,’ he laughed as he peered eagerly at the top tray. ‘Now, here we have a most exquisite collection of gateaux, a little almond marzipan, shortbread, some macaroons, petit fours, and what do you suppose this is?’ He pointed to a rectangular slice. ‘Something German, I think, to render the platter a true representation of Europe. A Bavarian torte, or some such thing, wouldn’t you say? But just look at these other two trays — so quintessentially English!’
‘And crust-less sandwiches like the ones we were served at school cricket games,’ Tayo added.
‘Indeed,’ Uncle Kayode winked conspiratorially at Tayo. ‘For what is good for the English, must also be good for their protégés abroad, and especially at those elite institutions like Fiditi Boys. Vanessa dear, did this chap ever tell you about the first-class schools he attended?’
Tayo tried to interrupt, but his uncle was keen to boast of his nephew’s academic achievements as well as his sporting prowess.
‘I wasn’t captain of every team,’ Tayo laughed.
‘Yes, but nobody’s talking about silly sports like table tennis or hockey!’ Uncle chuckled, adding something extra for Tayo’s benefit in Yoruba. ‘But look, let us partake of this wonderful tea.’ He opened a scone and spread it generously with clotted cream. ‘I don’t think there’s anything that beats warm English scones with a dab of butter, a dollop of cream, and strawberry jam. So, I say, what’s the good of touring dusty old barracks when some other occupation would allow me to travel, and visit my nephew and his charming young lady over this most civilised afternoon tea? Enough of army life!’
‘Are you really thinking of leaving the army, Uncle?’ Tayo asked.
‘Indeed, I am,’ Uncle Kayode nodded. ‘Engineering is what I’m considering and I would do it at the Institute Français du Petrole in France. What do you think, Vanessa?’
‘Why engineering?’ she asked, flattered to be asked for an opinion.
‘Ahh, now that’s what I like, a woman who asks questions,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair to explain that the future of Nigeria was no longer in its army, as some used to think, but in the oil business. ‘Of course, there are many places here in Britain where I could study, but who can turn down an offer from France? Ce pays de liberté, égalité et fraternité.’
‘Ahh, vous parlez français?’ Vanessa replied.
‘Mais oui!’
‘I think that’s enough of the French,’ Tayo interrupted.
‘Absolutely!’ Uncle Kayode laughed. ‘In any case, I’m afraid that was the limit of my French. But Tayo, didn’t your mother teach you French?’
‘Does my mother speak French?’ Tayo looked surprised.
‘Why of course! How do you think she conducts her business? Let me tell you, Vanessa. Tayo’s mother is the most successful trader along the West African coast. Tayo hasn’t told you? She regularly visits Benin, Dahomey and Ivory Coast, and she’s chief of all the textile traders in Ibadan – which is a very revered position in our Yoruba culture.
‘But Uncle …’ Tayo protested.
Vanessa smiled at Tayo, for it was obvious that Uncle Kayode was enjoying telling the stories and she was enjoying listening.
‘But do tell me something about you now, my dear. Tayo tells me that you write beautifully, so tell me about your writings and those writers you admire.’
She didn’t know at first how much of her work might be of any real interest to him, but as she spoke it was clear that he was listening closely. Twice, he let his tea go cold. It was only when Tayo reminded them that Uncle Kayode had a train to catch that they noticed how much time had passed.
‘How unfortunate,’ Uncle Kayode grumbled. ‘With Vanessa’s talk of women’s issues, I was going to impress you both by telling you about my recent encounter with Anaïs Nin.’
‘Anaïs Nin!’
Uncle Kayode nodded, smiling at their joint surprise.
‘Then we can’t possibly end the conversation,’ Vanessa insisted.
‘So come with us to the station and I’ll tell you about the lovely Anaïs.’
‘The lovely Anaïs,’ Vanessa smiled to herself, wondering how much Tayo knew about Anaïs and what he thought of his uncle, who seemed not at all embarrassed by this writer of erotica. She didn’t know much about Anaïs Nin herself, but enough to find it surprising that an African man, whose training had not been in the arts, would not be critical. With an uncle like this, Vanessa felt certain that she would love the rest of Tayo’s family.