When Freddie was around he had us in stitches with his stories, even when they were cruel. He liked to give out nicknames to people behind their backs. Lord Delamere, who was old, and thought of himself as a natural leader of the settlers and the natives, was called ‘The Young Pretender’. His son, Freddie called ‘Good Time Tom’, because he had a serious streak.

He was good at impersonations, too – never flattering ones – and brought them out at parties. Sometimes the person he was imitating looked uncomfortable, but they never said anything. No one was more sophisticated than Freddie. He didn’t drink as much as some of the other settlers – although he was very good at making sure everyone else had enough – and I thought maybe that was how he stayed so witty and articulate.

Women, especially, were drawn to him. In town he’d be stopped by every other female on the street. They giggled at his jokes and brushed imaginary dirt from his broad shoulders. Freddie was attentive to them, but it was different somehow with Sylvie. Once or twice I caught him gazing at her while she sang, or danced with Maud, with such a forceful look on his face I felt breathless without really understanding why.

In late September Freddie arrived at The Farm with invitations to a Kirlton party.

‘You too, Theo,’ he said, dropping into a chair near me and Sylvie on the veranda. ‘But not Maud – she’s too young and lovely. Where is she anyway? And where’s Nico?’

‘Nico’s walking Samson.’

‘Maud’s in Nairobi,’ I said. ‘Mother took her for lunch with Lady Joan.’

‘Ah – Lady Joan.’

‘I don’t think we’re friends,’ Sylvie said, stretching in her chair. ‘Maybe Maud could put in a good word on my behalf.’

‘I don’t think Maud has any influence over Lady Joan,’ I said.

‘Don’t write your sister off,’ Freddie said. ‘She’s got an iron spirit – you don’t notice it because she doesn’t let herself get angry.’

‘You’re right, as always,’ Sylvie said. ‘How did you become so perceptive, darling?’

‘I’m an observer, like Theo here.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘I mean, you’re not leader of a pride, are you? You’re happy to be a leopard, looking down on everyone from your tree.’ He grinned.

‘And you’re a leopard too?’

‘In some ways.’

‘Baloney,’ Sylvie said. ‘If anyone’s leader of the pride –’

‘Sometimes,’ Freddie said. ‘Sometimes I like to watch instead. But I only watch those worth watching.’

He went to her side, looming over her. Sylvie looked down, smiling, and Freddie cupped her chin in his fingers, turning her face to him. ‘Like you.’