She nodded at her lap; the dog was lying perfectly still.

I caught my breath. ‘Minnie? Why?’

‘She was so frightened all the time.’ Her face almost crumpled but she held it together. ‘She didn’t know how to go on living, but her body wouldn’t stop.’

I put my hand on Minnie’s head; it was still warm to the touch. ‘How did you do it?’

‘I gave her Nembutal.’ She took a deep breath. ‘In some pâté. She licked it off my fingers … She was so trusting.’ She picked up the little body and cradled it in her arms, crying properly now. ‘I had to do it. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘The vet would have done the same.’ I put my arm around her shoulder and after a moment she snuggled into me, smelling like peaches and salt. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here.’

Her sobs subsided after a while, and I kissed her hair. ‘My poor darling. Where will you bury her?’

‘Under the irises.’

‘Do you want me to help?’

‘Could you?’ She kissed the top of Minnie’s head.

We dug a small grave in the iris beds. The milky sun had given way to a soft, indistinct moon. Sylvie changed into a black cotton dress and stood at the head of the grave holding a candle. I gently heaped the earth back on top of the cold body. My hands were shaking and I was thankful for the darkness. Afterwards, the servants came forwards with glasses of wine and wrapped blankets around our shoulders as we stood on the lawn. Sylvie went without shoes. I saw her curl her toes into the grass and loved her for it.

‘You know, I used to think they were dead people,’ she said, nodding at the stars. ‘I wonder what they look like close up.’

‘Not as pretty.’

‘Everything looks better from far away. Even Rupert. I can’t think badly of him now that he’s in England. Isn’t that strange?’

I didn’t want to think about Rupert. ‘I wonder what our friends are doing right this moment.’

‘Boy will be sitting on his veranda, drinking.’ She slipped her hand in mine. ‘Edie will be surrounded by admirers in some bar or club in Tiwi. Or maybe she’ll be reading naked in her hammock.’

I looked over and saw she was smiling.

‘Gwladys is reading romance novels in the sitting room,’ I said. ‘And Dr Gregory is busy saving the life of a young boy who stepped on a puff adder.’ I took a sip of the wine.

‘Freddie is writing me a letter from Egypt,’ Sylvie said. ‘In his tent, by candlelight. He’ll be telling me about the food, and how awful it is. Tinned pork and beans every day. And about all the sand.’

‘And Nolwen and Paola?’