‘You think Bulawayo is concerned with that?’

‘He’d have to be blind not to be. We built all the social institutions, and we built them to serve us. We’ve embedded our interest in every fabric of society. The Africans started to realise this a long time ago.’

‘What would you suggest?’

‘I don’t know.’ She played with the sugar spoon.

‘What’s wrong? You always have a plan.’

She pulled a face. ‘The last few months have been harder than I thought.’

‘You’re tired—’

‘It’s not that. Before, when I was fighting the politicians, at least some of them thought they were doing some good, even if I didn’t agree with their methods. Now, talking to businesses …’ She shrugged. ‘They don’t see the elephants as living beings. It’s about money, everything else is secondary. How can I appeal to them?’

‘Are you giving up?’

‘How can I? The people in power won’t just give it up voluntarily. It suits them to keep things this way. We have to fight for change. Think of the suffragettes.’

I tried to meet her eye. ‘You’re not doing anything stupid, are you, Spanish? Nothing dangerous?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Promise me.’

‘Yes.’ She pushed her chair back. ‘I’ll go ask for sandwiches myself.’

My mother joined us a while later and watched Maud pick at her food with a hard look on her face. After Maud excused herself to go and lie down we moved into the sitting room in silence.

‘Your sister isn’t good at keeping secrets,’ my mother said eventually.

‘How can you tell?’

‘It’s making her ill.’ She lay back against the sofa. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It can’t be nothing.’

Clanging and singing came from the kitchen. Abdullah padded around the house overseeing the cleaning with a worried look on his face. ‘I’d like a glass of wine, please,’ I told him, and he brought me one. I took a long sip.

‘Where’s Bulawayo?’

My mother looked up to Heaven. ‘I saw him leave the compound a while ago. He’s too big for his boots, that boy.’

She screwed up her eyes. The fine lines around them bunched up as she did, and I realised with a jolt that she was almost fifty now. Apart from her hair, which had turned silver, and a loosening of the skin on her neck, she could have passed for ten years younger. ‘What about you, Theo?’

‘What about me?’

‘You seem quiet too.’

I shrugged. ‘I suppose Freddie’s death affected me more than I thought.’

‘My poor darling.’ She put her hand on my knee. ‘Sometimes I wonder what sort of a world we’ve exposed you to. Maybe we should go back to Scotland.’

‘I’m twenty-six. We call that shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’