Episode 3 — The Heat Beneath the Water
The morning sun slid over the Duplan estate, gilding its marble edges. Ama hadn’t slept. Her father’s call from London had been brief: “Your mother’s arriving this week. Be civil.”
Civil. The word stung.
Yvonne Duplan had been a ghost for years, appearing only on glossy magazines or in whispered family gossip. To Ama, she was a stranger wrapped in Chanel, someone who loved attention more than affection. When the Rolls-Royce finally rolled into the driveway, Yvonne stepped out as if the world were her runway.
Poised. Perfect. Untouchable.
“Darling, you’ve grown,” she said, air-kissing Ama’s cheek.
Ama nodded stiffly. “You look… the same.”
The silence between them was a blade. Yvonne’s eyes wandered across the house, expensive, spotless, yet lifeless. Henri wasn’t there; he rarely was when emotions might be required.
That night at dinner, their talk was all surface (fashion, London, charity events), but underneath, Ama’s resentment boiled. Every compliment from her mother felt like judgment disguised as grace. Yvonne noticed the coldness, but smiled through it; she’d built her life on performance.
Yvonne Duplan had mastered the art of escape.
Whenever emotions threatened to wrinkle her composure, she vanished into boutiques, champagne lunches, or the company of people who expected nothing real.
By the third day of her visit, the chill from Ama had become unbearable. Every attempt at conversation met a polite wall, every smile returned with restraint. Henri was in London, as usual, and the house felt like a museum of unspoken things.
So Yvonne fled to Azure Club, Accra’s oasis of exclusivity. The kind of place where problems didn’t exist, only perfectly mixed cocktails and discreet laughter.
She was greeted at the entrance by Mara Tandoh, her longtime friend, a woman whose wealth was whispered about almost as much as her reputation. Mara was beautiful in that ageless, slightly dangerous way; she collected younger lovers the way others collected art.
“Yvonne!” Mara exclaimed, kissing both cheeks. “You look divine, as always. London’s treating you too well.”
Yvonne smiled, slipping into her old rhythm. “Darling, I had to get away. My daughter barely tolerates my presence.”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Mara said with a knowing smirk. “Daughters never forgive beautiful mothers. They grow up resenting the mirror.”
They laughed, but Yvonne’s smile wavered for a heartbeat, then vanished under another sip of champagne.
They lounged by the poolside cabanas, their handheld shades casting soft shadows over gossip and gin.
Mara leaned in. “You’ve been gone too long, Yvonne. Azure has changed. So many… delightful young men here now. You should meet the new pool staff?”
Yvonne arched a brow. “Shouldn’t I?”
“Oh, my dear,” Mara purred. “They’re practically a work of art. My last ‘trainer’ was twenty-six, a former footballer. Strong, silent, and utterly devoted. Until he wasn’t.”
She laughed, a low, wicked sound.
Yvonne rolled her eyes but couldn’t help chuckling. “You haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you. You just need reminding of what it feels like to be desired.”
Mara’s words hovered. Yvonne sipped her drink, her gaze drifting across the pool, sunlight shining off the water like liquid gold. That was when she noticed him.
A tall, athletic man, bare-chested, cleaning the tiles with measured strokes. His movements were unhurried, confident. There was something about the quiet intensity of his posture, as if the world could watch, and he wouldn’t flinch.
“Who’s that?” Yvonne asked, her voice softer now.
Mara smiled knowingly. “The new pool staff. Name’s Kwesi, I think. Came from Nima. Works hard, keeps to himself. The women adore him.”
Yvonne’s eyes stayed fixed on him. “I can see why.”
Mara chuckled slyly. “Careful, darling. That kind of fire burns differently. You play, you get scorched.”
But Yvonne wasn’t listening anymore. For the first time since she’d returned to Ghana, she felt something stir beneath the layers of detachment, dangerously close to curiosity.
And as Kwesi looked up briefly, meeting her gaze, he caught her mischievous wink, the kind that promised a thrill.
To be continued….
Link to episode (4):
LOVE AND TENNIS. Episode 4 | By Kafui Avaworyi | Crowdpen
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