‘She’ll visit sometimes, but she’s happy to be based here. I can’t wait to go back, though.’ She looked at him across the table, enjoying the lack of artifice in him and the open, natural rhythm of their conversation. In his company she could be herself. There was no hidden agenda, no need to impress or deceive. ‘Maybe you’ll come up to Langani while we’re all there,’ she suggested. ‘You can join Piet and show us the lodge, since it’s your project too.’

He nodded, evidently pleased with the idea. ‘I have a gap between safaris, in late August. How about camping with me somewhere, for a few days?’

‘All of us? Just like we dreamed it up, that night at Watamu?’ She deliberately steered him into extending his invitation.

‘Why not?’ He could not find a way back to his original intention. ‘I could set up a camp, maybe in the north, and perhaps Piet can get away. I’ll provide the tents and the staff, and everyone can chip in a little towards food and drink and fuel. What do you say?’

‘I say we’re going dancing now, and I’ll work like a maniac for two months, and then we’ll come camping with you.’

In the packed nightclub they were given a table immediately and she sat close to him in the dim light, talking to him easily, admitting her disappointment over the drama-school rejection.

‘I see that you’re famous and successful. But you’ve got to really care about what you’re doing to make life seem right.’ He reached for her hand. ‘So, if this modelling is a second-best situation, then you’ll have to find a way back to where you really want to go. I can’t imagine having to compromise on what I do. I have to be out in the bush, taking people on safari, sitting around the fire with my watu, doing my bit towards saving what we’ve got in East Africa.’

‘You’re lucky to be in that position.’ Her voice was sad. ‘In the autumn I’ll probably try to join a theatre company, and start by working backstage. Make my way up via that route. Daddy knows someone who might give me a try. Or I’ll just reapply for drama school next year.’

‘Are you happy, Camilla?’

‘What on earth does that mean?’ She tried to laugh off the question, but it had unnerved her. The pressure of his hand was making small shivers dart through her, and she looked away.

‘If you can’t answer straight, then maybe you should take a look at your life,’ he said. ‘Decide what you want most and set out to reach it. Now, get me on to that dance floor to work off that huge dinner.’