‘I’ve never been to Tanganyika,’ Sylvie said, ‘but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.’

‘It is,’ Lucy said. ‘It was hard to leave.’

‘That’s where we first met,’ I said, taking her hand.

‘When?’

‘Just before I came to Kenya. I was fourteen.’

‘I thought he was very handsome,’ Lucy said.

‘Were you in love?’ Sylvie asked, smiling.

‘A little.’ Lucy blushed and I kissed her hand.

‘When she wasn’t busy being terrified of my mother,’ I said.

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you have a run in with Mrs Miller too?’

I grinned, wondering how my mother would feel about this little lunch, and the company I was keeping now.

Lucy seemed taken aback. ‘Did you?’

‘She certainly disapproved of me at first.’

‘But Theo was fourteen when you met, so you must have been too old –’ She turned red. ‘I didn’t mean old – surely you were just friends?’

‘We were very good friends,’ I said, surprised and irritated at how graceless Lucy was being. I looked at Sylvie, hoping she wasn’t offended.

‘I know what you meant,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t that.’ She waved her hand. ‘And fourteen isn’t that young after all. My oldest daughter is eleven. She’ll be falling in love soon.’

Lucy paused. ‘Theo didn’t say you had children,’ she said eventually.

‘Two girls. They live with Nicolas – their father – in Paris.’

‘Do you have photographs?’

Sylvie lit a cigarette. ‘I don’t, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh.’

I picked up my cutlery and speared a piece of perfectly tender duck. Lucy was chewing bread again, looking at her plate.

‘Have you seen Edie recently?’ I asked Sylvie.

‘No. I’ve seen Freddie though – he finally made it over here.’

‘Lucky you.’ I’d been trying for a joke, but my voice sounded petulant to me. The last thing I wanted was a long discussion about Freddie.

She looked away. ‘Rupert came back too. A few days ago.’

‘From Australia?’

‘Apparently he was too wild for his hosts out there.’ She finished her champagne in one long gulp. ‘He wants to get back together.’

I speared another piece of duck savagely. ‘Where is he now?’

‘At a farm in Njoro.’

‘You don’t want him here?’

‘He’s drunk all the time. And threatening.’

‘Is this your husband?’ Lucy asked, wide-eyed.

Sylvie stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I suppose you could call him that. We were married for three months before I sent him off to Melbourne. I gave him enough money to stay away much longer than this.’

‘What happened?’

‘He was always bad,’ I said. ‘No one knew what you saw in him.’