‘Would you come home with me, to the flat?’ Marina was reluctant to end their meal. ‘I’d like to show you some photographs of the cottage. It’s really adorable.’

‘I’m going straight to Tom Bartlett’s office from here.’ Camilla looked at her watch. ‘I’m a little late, actually.’

‘Of course. How silly of me to have forgotten. I’m sure the doorman can get us a couple of taxis. I’m rather tired, all of a sudden. Not quite steady on my feet for some reason. It’s been a busy week, and some things didn’t go as well as I had hoped. You do look exceptionally lovely today, darling, I must say.’

Marina paid the bill and rose to her feet. She took her daughter’s hand, some silent request hanging in the air between them. Camilla suppressed the temptation to mention Anthony’s visit, to say his name out loud. Her mother would not approve of her having an affair with a Kenya cowboy.

‘We must do this more often, darling,’ Marina said, as the taxi rolled up. ‘I do hope I’ll see something of you once in a while. I know you’re busy now, but perhaps we could meet for lunch once more before you go off to Kenya. Or dinner. Even a drink at the flat. Anything you like. You’re very precious to me, you know.’

The taxi growled away and Camilla was left standing alone in the street, surrounded by a hint of her mother’s scent in the air, and disturbed by a feeling of uncertainty. There was something about Marina that she could not define, something that seemed almost like fear. For a moment she wished she had said something about Anthony, but it was too late now. She did not see her mother again before she boarded the plane for her flight to Nairobi.

Chapter 9

Dublin, May 1965