‘Go to your room and pray and return to this office at eleven a.m. I need to contact the Mother House. I should have sent you back to Nigeria when they wanted to recall you for your novitiate, but I argued to keep you here for another six months because you’re a good teacher. What a fool I was. Get out of my sight,’ Germaine dismissed her, puce with temper.

It’s done now, thought Keelin, feeling strangely liberated, lying on her bed, overcome by weariness. She yawned and closed her eyes, her hands slipping down to her belly, hardly able to believe that she was pregnant. Her eyes drooped. She slept.

A loud rapping on the door woke her and she sat up hastily, not knowing where she was. Flashes of memory filtered into her consciousness. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was eleven-fifteen. She was late for her meeting.

She opened the door to find Mother Germaine standing there. ‘I do not appreciate being kept waiting, Soeur. Pack your case, please. You’re leaving immediately.’ She handed Keelin her suitcase.

‘Leaving! Now? Where am I going?’ Keelin was shocked.

‘Ismael will drive you to the convent in Abidjan. From there, you will be put on a flight to France. Please hurry. Your sinful presence dishonours our convent,’ Germaine added viciously.

‘Wait a minute, Reverend Mother,’ she protested. ‘I’ve people I wish to say goodbye to, my friends, my colleagues, the—’

‘You are allowed to speak to no one. Pack!’ Mother Germaine hissed, the nostrils on her sharp aquiline nose flaring. ‘Be ready in ten minutes.’ She turned on her heel and stalked wrathfully along the corridor.

Keelin was stunned. ‘Horrible bitch,’ she muttered, closing the door. Although she didn’t have a lot to pack, her hands shook as she folded her habits and nightwear and few small personal items and books that she owned. She hadn’t expected instant dismissal and so swift a return to France. Would the Mother General in Paris be as unforgiving as her subordinate in San-Pédro? What was to become of her? Keelin’s stomach knotted in anxiety. Was there any way she could contact Armand to let him know what was going on?

She wasn’t a prisoner! But she’d no money, not even enough to phone her father to get him to wire some to her.