‘I don’t care what my father thinks,’ I told her, as we walked back together that night, ‘I’m glad the Germans are moving into Tanganyika.’

‘You mustn’t say that to my parents.’

‘Why not?’

She put her arm through mine. ‘And how can I believe you? You were so unfriendly when we first met.’

‘I was very friendly.’

‘You barely talked to me.’

‘What are you accusing me of?’ I asked. I stopped her by our usual spot, where the forest first crept down to meet the sand. We were quiet for a moment, the waves rushing at the shore and collapsing gently into foam before they reached us, and night-time creatures cooing to each other in the trees behind us.

I wrapped my arms around Lucy and squeezed. ‘What are you accusing me of?’ I asked again.

‘You only like me now for my looks,’ she said, disentangling herself and smiling up at me.

‘You lie.’

‘You lie.’

‘You’re hideous,’ I said, ‘I swear it’s your mind I’m after.’

‘Horrible man.’

She let me kiss her, and press myself against her, until a screeching came from the forest and she broke away.

‘Just a monkey,’ I said.

‘We’re late already.’

I tried to pull her back towards me. ‘Your parents will be asleep by now.’

‘They trust me,’ she said, staying firm. She took my arm again and we continued walking along the beach. ‘You know – I really like your father, Theo.’

‘He’s not too bad, I suppose. A little obsessed with trains.’

She laughed. ‘I think they’re romantic.’

‘Not when you work with them. What about my mother, then?’

‘I remember being so scared of her when we were children.’

‘Really?’ I smiled in the darkness.

‘Yes, really. She was so beautiful – is so beautiful.’

‘And now?’

Lucy paused. ‘She’s very nice to me,’ she said at last.

‘Isn’t that a good thing?’

‘Women can be nice to people they don’t like.’

‘Can they be horrid to people they love?’

‘Women can hide everything they really feel. Men don’t understand that.’

‘We aren’t always as simple and straightforward as you women think,’ I said, and stopped her for another kiss.

I drove up to Kiboko the next Friday evening. Maud was sitting on the veranda when I arrived, a jug of gin sour and two glasses in front of her, and I wondered if she’d sensed I was going to come back. She was wearing lipstick and her hair was down, rather than in its usual bun; Scotty lay under her chair, barking at the ducks when they chattered on the lake. There were new trees in the garden, and the air smelled of figs and lemons.

‘You’re not bad at this gardening, you know,’ I said, dropping into a chair beside her.

‘Abdullah’s been supervising me – he’s the genius.’