There were twenty of us at the dinner party, scattered between the veranda and the sitting room. Music floated scratchily between the two through the open French doors. I’d hoped Sylvie would stay with me, but Freddie drew her into conversation as soon as we arrived, and an old man with a purple face pounced on Maud. I knew I should be looking after her, but I wanted to watch Sylvie, so I sat by myself on the sofa on the veranda. After a while I noticed Martha watching her and Freddie too, with a pale, intense face; she didn’t take her eyes off them until eventually the strange woman I’d seen driving away from Mahalbeth appeared and dragged her off.

Boy Long – Edie’s former fling – joined me and we clinked martini glasses. I didn’t know him well, but since I’d returned from Edinburgh I’d seen him around town a few times in his Somali shawl and cowboy hat, and I’d always liked the look of him – he seemed young and fun and handsome, like Freddie.

‘Was that your sister you arrived with?’ he said.

‘Maud, yes.’ I looked around and saw she was still nodding politely at the purple-faced man.

‘Very pretty. And what about you? Your father’s the railway man, isn’t he? Are you working with him?’

‘For now.’

‘What would you rather be doing?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t have enough money for farming. I could get into law, I suppose.’

‘What about politics?’

‘I’m not charming enough.’

Boy took out a cigarette case and offered one to me, grinning. ‘I can’t believe that.’

Jack Soames, the tall Englishman I’d last seen playing with records at the Kirlton party, joined us.

‘Women are so bloody obvious,’ he said. ‘Gwladys Delamere spent the last half an hour destroying Carberry’s new wife to me. As if I didn’t know it’s because Freddie is tupping her.’

I looked over at Gwladys, leaning next to Freddie against a side table. She was Delamere’s third wife – now his widow. She’d been described as a great beauty when she’d first come out to Africa, the year I’d left for Edinburgh, but she’d filled out since, and had the beginnings of a moustache. As I watched, she licked the tip of her finger, and rubbed it on Freddie’s cheek. Sylvie had been cornered by Martha and her gaunt friend and had her back to the scene, otherwise I knew we would have shared a smile at it.

‘Who’s the woman with Martha and Sylvie?’ I asked.

‘Kiki Preston, I think,’ Boy said. ‘I don’t know her well.’ He shook his head. ‘Lives too fast for me.’

Jack took a long drink of his cocktail. ‘You should get out more, Long. You don’t want to turn into an old fart like Freddie’s new friends.’