I took a sip of my whisky. Ned was bound for teaching, Douglas the civil service. George was joining an engineering firm. I was travelling back to Nairobi to work for my father. The others claimed to be envious of me, but I could imagine the days in the office stretching out ahead of me, muffled and monotonous, and already felt suffocated. Apart from the secretaries, I would be the youngest there by at least twenty years. If only I could work with Freddie, I thought, and couldn’t help smiling to myself. I’d seen him a few times when I’d been back at Kiboko over the holidays, and once in Edinburgh. He’d divorced Edie two years ago to marry a woman called Martha, who’d left her husband for him, too. I’d met him at the Muthaiga at the start of it all. ‘It’s the real deal this time, Theo,’ he’d said, grinning. ‘She’s a red-head, Martha, like your mother. Very passionate. And fabulously wealthy, which doesn’t hurt.’

He’d brought her along the next day. She was short, shorter than Edie even, and very slim. Her hair was bobbed and auburn-coloured, framing a round face with delicate features. Her lips and nails were painted a dark, shiny red, almost purple, and she wore emerald earrings that brought out the colour of her eyes. She drank her champagne in large gulps, and I saw some trickle down her chin that she wiped off quickly.

They’d stayed in London during the divorce, and Freddie had driven up from there for a visit, pulling up in a silver Daimler, wearing a very expensive suit. I smiled again. Freddie would never change, at least there was that. And now we were equals, both men together, and he was living only on the other side of the lake, in Mahalbeth, the palace Martha had got in her settlement.

‘Did I tell you?’ George leaned forwards and tapped my knee. ‘I ran into Winnie earlier.’

The other two whistled.

‘Behave yourself,’ I said, and they laughed.

‘Was she heartbroken?’ Ned asked.

‘She put on a brave face.’ George shrugged. ‘I can’t understand how you could let something that pretty go?’

‘Maybe there’s someone else back in Kenya,’ Douglas said.

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘There is,’ Ned said. ‘You sly dog.’

I thought of Sylvie, chain-smoking and laughing, kicking off her shoes and draping herself along sofas. She’d written to me last year to say that she’d married Rupert and she was on holiday with a friend in Slovakia; Rupert wasn’t with her. Since then I’d seen one more communication that Edie had passed on through Freddie. Dearest, it had said, I’m coming home, I can’t stand being away any longer. She hadn’t given any indication of a timeline.

‘Any photos of her?’ George asked. ‘More of your mother will do if not.’