She laughed. ‘They think we’re the dissolute old guard out here, agents of our own downfall.’

I played with my matchbook, tapping it against the back of my hand. ‘Freddie told me one time that he didn’t belong there any more.’

‘Why not?’

‘He said it’d changed too quickly. He’d been raised with certain expectations and suddenly they were outdated.’

‘I didn’t think he could be so perceptive.’

‘Was he right then?’

‘Do I think the world is changing? Yes. And people like Freddie find it hard to change – why would they want to? They’ve had it so good for so long.’

‘I suppose so.’ I remembered his face as he fell, and blinked quickly to get rid of the image.

Noel stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Anyway, I’m sure she’ll get better. Just give her time.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Even though Maud’s bump was barely showing, Abdullah made most of the trips into town to post letters and pick up fabric. Once or twice she asked me to deliver letters personally to companies in Nairobi, and once some copy to the East African Standard on the declining numbers of elephants in the Aberdare area. I read a paragraph that compared the white settlers to a plague wiping out indigenous species, and wasn’t surprised when the newspaper refused to publish it.

She was more tired than usual, and more sensitive. The next weekend I stayed over we went down to the lake before breakfast. A fine mist lay across the water like a blanket, slowly rolling away with the sun. The air smelled mossy, as it always did after the rains.

Emmanuel, one of our totos, was coming back with the laundry.

‘Don’t tell me he’s been washing the clothes in the mist,’ I murmured.

‘Good morning Mama, Bwana,’ he said.

‘Good morning,’ Maud said. She stopped, and put her hand on his arm. ‘Emmanuel, remind me I have Josephine’s chapatti board.’

‘You keep it, Mama.’

‘No, please – it was kind of her to lend it. I’ll get it for you today.’

Emmanuel shook his head. ‘Better no, Mama.’

‘What’s wrong? Is she ill?’

‘Mama, I don’t see Josephine no more.’

‘Why not?’

He shifted the laundry basket. ‘She wouldn’t give me sons. I have new wife now.’

He looked so serious I tried not to laugh.

‘But, Emmanuel …’ I glanced over at Maud and saw she was close to tears. ‘What about your daughters?’

‘They stay with Josephine. I don’t see them either.’

‘How do you think that will make them feel?’

‘It’s her fault, Mama. She know I need sons.’

Maud took a deep breath. ‘Emmanuel, you mustn’t – just because –’ She stopped, and turned away.

‘Go hang the laundry up,’ I said.

‘Yes, Bwana.’

He left, and I drew Maud towards me. Her shoulders were shaking.