The Nanny Affair. Nani Khabako

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      Dedication

      This book is dedicated to my mother . . . whose love fills all the empty spaces.

      Chapter 1

      1

      Seated in the front row of a flight heading for Cape Town, Sam fought disbelief and sadness. She couldn’t help but wonder at the about-turn her life had taken in the blink of an eye – or, more specifically, in the instant that a devious man’s revenge had succeeded.

      Samkelo Ntuli had only been to the Mother City a handful of times for modelling jobs and every time she’d left again as soon as she was done. Though some of her colleagues would stay to enjoy the pristine beaches and historical haunts, she’d always found the city cold and indifferent – an intolerable contrast to the connectedness of her hometown of KwaMashu in KwaZulu-Natal and the joviality of her temporary home in Johannesburg.

      The air hostess babbled on about the safety procedures, yet Sam felt that no tragedy could be worse than her current situation. Who would have thought that she’d find herself broke, desperate and banished from the only industry she’d ever worked in?

      The “it” face of the moment!

      South Africa’s answer to Naomi Campbell!

      That was what newspaper and magazine headlines had called her only a few short months ago. Once celebrated, in demand and revered, she was now on her way to join the ranks of the unknown faces . . . Sam was heading for obscurity and a job as a nanny to the two children of one of Cape Town’s most successful black entrepreneurs.

      The plane soon landed and people went about their business. Some were greeted by excited loved ones and some rushed for the nearest taxi. Sam, on the other hand, wandered around, searching the crowd for whoever was supposed to fetch her.

      Nervously she touched her impeccably styled Brazilian weave. She frowned, beginning to wonder whether her employer had forgotten about her. Her eyes travelled the room. She felt forlorn, confused and alone.

      “Samkelo?” a cheery voice suddenly asked.

      Sam turned around to find a smiling man who had a middle-aged body, yet the buoyant countenance of an infant. She was set at ease by his kind smile and found herself reassured by his modest looks. She couldn’t handle one more arrogant stud treating her as merely a physical amusement.

      Podgy and sweet she could do, even though it was hardly what she had expected. The little that she’d read about her employer – she’d been too distraught to do a thorough job – described him as a drop-dead gorgeous widower and restaurateur who had his fingers in all areas of the culinary business pie. Obviously he’d paid most of the journalists who’d written about him, because their descriptions were now proving to be misleading, if not downright false.

      “Are you all right? You seem a bit frazzled. Was your flight troublesome?”

      “Oh no,” she hurried to reassure him. “I’ve just had a very trying time recently. I could use a change of pace and scenery.”

      “I’m Odwa, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.

      “But I thought your name was Vusi?”

      “Me? No, little one, no! I’m his driver.”

      “Oh,” responded a deflated Sam as the man led her to the parking garage.

      On the way to the house that would be her home until she found alternative employment, Sam thought back over the past couple of years and the events that had led to this tragic point in her life. She was grateful to her new employer. He had kindly agreed to hire her as a favour to her father, who had been his soccer coach during his younger years.

      There was nothing more shameful to Sam than having disappointed her old and frail father. She was supposed to be taking care of her parents, not the other way around. She knew there was nothing they wanted more than for her to settle into a good job and have her own family. Though she’d always doubted she could have the latter, she’d certainly strived to establish herself in the modelling industry and be successful.

      It had all been in vain, she thought angrily. Her modelling agency had deserted her, owing to “financial difficulties” and a partnership that was no longer “fruitful”. They might as well have told her the truth: that any association with her and her soiled name was financial suicide for any agency, brand or client.

      Her career had bombed overnight and no one in the industry wanted to touch her. All because of one vindictive international playboy who had simply refused to accept the word “no”.

      Her BlackBerry – thank goodness she’d been able to continue those payments – rang with the sound of an incoming e-mail. Sam smiled when she saw her friend Nobuhle’s name on the screen. They had gone to the same primary and high schools.

      Nobuhle was now married to an accountant and lived in Durban suburbia. The two young women tried to see each other from time to time, mostly when Sam went back home to visit her parents. Though their lives had taken completely different turns, their friendship endured and Nobuhle was the only person Sam trusted to be on her side, no matter what.

      Hello, dear

      I miss you. Thought I’d e-mail you before you start your new job, just to encourage you. Blessings often appear to be tribulations at first. But who knows? Maybe modelling wasn’t your path, maybe something much bigger is waiting for you.

      Please don’t be discouraged. I’m here for advice, or if you simply need to talk.

      Love – always

      Nobs

      Sam smiled tenderly. Next to her wonderful parents, Nobuhle was the person she loved most. Of the two of them, Nobs was the one who always seemed to have it all figured out. It came as no surprise to Sam when by the age of twenty-five her friend had a thriving career and had married a lovely man.

      There was a part of Sam that had always felt as if she was living in Nobuhle’s shadow. In retrospect, she understood that running to Jozi to “find herself” had been involved with her need to form an identity separate from her perfect and blessed friend. She wished she hadn’t been so quick to move away from that connection. Especially now that she knew what the so-called friends she’d acquired in recent times really thought of her and how easily they’d abandoned her in her time of need.

      After her arrival in Johannesburg at the tender age of twenty-one, it took Sam two years of constant effort to crack the modelling industry. She started off with small appearances in the occasional advert, and then did fashion shoots for magazines before getting her big break as the face of a new energy drink. The media buzz that followed fast-tracked her on the road to success. Soon she was booking the most coveted jobs and became the face of the most respected products and brands.

      Ramp work eventually came after she’d started working with a personal trainer and dietician, and Sam ended up being the body to book for all the top lingerie and swimwear lines in the country. Now she was five kilos heavier than back then.

      After everything had gone wrong, Sam had been too stressed to eat and lost a considerable amount of weight, but when it seemed her situation couldn’t be resolved, she’d turned to food for comfort. It was hard not to blame the fickle industry and the people who ran it, the same people who’d initially refused to give her a break.

      It was even harder not to hate the man who had caused all of her troubles: Gérard Malvaux.

      Sam balled her hand into a fist just thinking of him. The sought-after and internationally renowned photographer had ruined her life. Gérard, who boasted the likes of Beyoncé and Leona Lewis as some of the superstars he’d photographed, was particularly known for his ability to capture the unique beauty of ethnic women.

      SureLove, an innovative cosmetics company that had revolutionised African women’s beauty routine in less than a year on the market, had managed to convince