‘What will you do until the ship sails?’ Edie asked.

‘Drink cocktails,’ Sylvie said. ‘Admire the sailors in their little suits.’

‘We’re going to miss you like hell.’

‘I will too,’ she said. ‘I’ll be thinking of you out here while I’m in grey old Europe, dying of jealousy.’

‘Don’t die,’ Freddie said. ‘But by all means be jealous.’

Sylvie kissed each of us in turn, then climbed into the driver’s seat.

‘I’ll see you later,’ she called.

The car jerked forwards; I felt an urge to throw myself at it, cling to the door and go with her to Mombasa. I knew somehow that everything was about to change, and not necessarily for the better.

‘I’ll be back,’ she called.

Freddie rested his hand on my shoulder, and I stayed where I was, waving mutely.

‘Write,’ Edie called. ‘That’s an order.’

Then the car was turning out of the gate and onto the road leading away from the house, and finally it was gone.

Part Two

1933–1937

Chapter Twelve

Through the windows of the New British Hotel, I could see the rain coming down on Princes Street. It was late May, and the sun hadn’t set until well after nine pm, but the clouds above had made it dark for most of the afternoon, the grey stone buildings in New Town absorbing the gloom. Even now, with their windows lit up against the night-time, they seemed cheerless; I could imagine exactly how cold they were inside, too, with their high ceilings, and the wind that came through the cracks in the walls.

Inside the bar, there was just the orange glow from the fire, and a small candle on each table. There were four of us, grouped in a vague circle in our leather armchairs. Some time ago we’d lapsed into silence, and now all I could hear were the trams passing by outside, the click of pieces in a game of backgammon being played somewhere behind us, and the crackle of logs disintegrating in the fireplace.

I checked my watch: ten thirty pm. The other three looked up from their glasses: Douglas, George and Ned, my closest friends from my time at university; I wondered if I’d see them again.

‘How long to the train?’ Douglas asked.

‘Half an hour. But I should leave sooner than that.’

‘It won’t be the same without you,’ Ned said. ‘Who’ll provide the women at parties now?’

‘You’ll be lucky,’ Douglas said to him. ‘From what I hear, teachers barely make enough to live, let alone enjoy themselves.’