‘Here.’ Martha threw a pack of cigarettes at him. The chimp took two and tucked one behind his ear, placing another in his mouth. ‘Can you light it for him, Theo?’

‘Does he really smoke them?’

‘Yes.’

I leaned forwards and lit the cigarette. Jules took a deep drag, closing his eyes.

‘He’s our surrogate baby,’ Martha said. ‘We’ve been trying for a real one, but none of them live beyond six weeks.’

I shifted in my seat, surprised that she was so open with a relative stranger. Or maybe she was still in shock, I thought. ‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘That’s what Freddie said the last time I told him.’ She laughed; it sounded pinched and she stopped abruptly.

Waweru appeared with a tray and placed it on the coffee table in front of us, then disappeared again.

Martha fussed around with the cups. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘Neither, thanks.’

‘Just like Freddie.’ She went to hand me my drink, then put it down again abruptly. ‘Do you want the tour? It’s quite special.’

‘I’d love it.’

I followed her into the house and around the ground floor, admiringly. The ceilings were high, much higher than usual, and one of them had a night sky painted onto it – hundreds of tiny white stars against a deep, rich blue. Dark beams held up the library ceiling, and a large refectory table took up most of the floor space. The paintings on the wall were all fifteenth- or sixteenth-century religious scenes with plenty of blood and gold, except for one full-length portrait of Freddie.

‘I commissioned that,’ Martha said.

Outside the dining room was an Art Deco bar, with spirits lined up in front of a gold mirror and a beautiful mosaic counter in red, blue, gold and black. Martha took me through an intricately carved wooden doorway and into several bedrooms and bathrooms until we reached the master suite.

The bathroom was at least eighteen feet long by fifteen wide. The floor and walls were white, and arched windows looked out on the courtyard; they were wide open now, and potted ferns bobbed in the incoming breeze. In the middle of the room, a bath was sunken into the floor, and decorated in black and gold tiles. Lit candles had been placed around it, and the whole room smelled of a mix of cinnamon, honey, tobacco and leather.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.

‘The gardens are even better,’ Martha said. ‘Freddie had a pool built overlooking the lake. He put in squash courts too.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘He’s President of the Naivasha Club now, you know.’

We returned to the veranda. Through the trees, I could see flashes of azure.

‘He sounds busy,’ I said. ‘I was hoping he was still a farmer of leisure.’