An Unsuitable Woman

Kat Gordon

First published in hardback as
The Hunters

Praise for An Unsuitable Woman:

‘A rich reimagining of a colonial Eden in which multitudes of serpents lurked’

Sunday Times

‘Kat Gordon has written a gloriously dark tale, packed with heat and glamour, and shot through with a fine, sharp edge. An absolutely compulsive read from beginning to end’

Liza Klaussman, author of Tigers in Red Weather

‘An evocative coming-of-age tale’

iPaper

‘Equally at home evoking the landscapes of east Africa and those of the flawed, capricious human heart … a seductive, troubling journey into Britain’s colonial past’

Anna Hope, author of Wake and The Ballroom

‘An outstanding achievement. This thrilling, evocative novel will transport and absorb you: brilliant’

Emma Chapman, author of The Last Photograph

Dedication

To my son, Noah, and the Somerville girls, for everything.

Her heart stopped at 20:57 exactly. She had looked at her watch only moments before, and asked the totos to turn on a lamp. She had been reading and hadn’t noticed it getting dark until her eyes had smarted suddenly with the strain.

It had been a warm evening – a warm end to a hot, sticky day that had wrapped itself around her, dampening her upper lip and armpits and the backs of her knees – and she was wearing a thin blue cardigan over the white dress. It made her laugh, wearing white, after everything that had happened, or maybe it made her cry. She stopped the totos again and asked for some tea. Her stomach was still delicate. Her whole body had changed since childbirth, in fact. But she didn’t like to think about that.

She turned her head towards the door, as if she’d heard a noise outside. A crunch and a low purr, but not an animal’s; this was a car pulling up. She wondered for a moment if it was Theo – he often dropped by unannounced. She held the book up. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to see anyone, except the totos passing in and out of the shadows cast by the lamp.

Through the screen door she could smell the magnolia tree, and the roses she’d planted. The sweetness of the flowers mingled with the sharpness of the limes that the totos used to polish the furniture, filling the room with a powerful haze. It made her feel tired, or was that the sudden quiet? The cicadas had stopped their humming, and she couldn’t even hear the water. Peace.

A toto stood in front of her with the cup of tea and she shook her head. She’d changed her mind. She didn’t want tea, she didn’t want anything. Go back to the kitchen, she said. Or anywhere; just stay out of this room. She closed her eyes.