‘Our great-grandparents dug this whole farm out of the wilderness.’ Piet gestured at a dense wall of bush and tangled trees on the far side of the river. ‘They lived in huts made from mud and thatch, until they could use the ox wagons to drag oak up here, and big cedar logs, to build their houses. Then their sons and grandsons took over, and worked like slaves to make what we have now. I’ll be next, and there’s so much I want to do here.’

‘Like what?’ Sarah was surprised. ‘It seems perfect already. But I suppose that’s because your dad is always out there working away at it.’

‘A farm never stays in the same condition from one day to another. But apart from working with Pa to keep the livestock going, and the wheat, I want to turn part of it into a conservation area for game. He thinks it’s a good idea.’

‘You mean, like a national park?’ Sarah stared at him. ‘How would you do it? You can’t fence it in, can you?’

‘No. It would be too expensive at first. But we’d put a stop to the shooting or hunting of any animals in that area, even for food. I’d like to set aside part of the northern plain and the forest on the west side of the farm, just for the game. There’s plenty in that area – leopard, buffalo, elephant, plains game. Even bongo, though they are the most shy of all the forest creatures and you hardly ever see them. I’ll train some of our labour as game scouts and rangers. And I plan to build a lookout, somewhere to stay overnight and watch animals. Like Treetops, but very small. I wouldn’t want mobs of people up here, ruining the place.’

‘I’m going to have a clinic,’ Hannah said. ‘Not like Ma’s dispensary for the labour and their totos. Mine will be for animals that are hurt or orphaned, like small buck or bush pigs that have lost their mothers, or a lame zebra. Remember the newborn giraffe that was abandoned, Piet? I’m going to start a place and look after them.’

‘What noble schemes. I’ll drop in to admire your dedication when I’m famous. Of course no matter where I go, I’ll always have a home here. At the coast, I think.’ Camilla waved an elegant hand. ‘At Kilifi or Watamu – right on the sea. Everyone in Europe will think it so exotic, and they’ll beg for invitations. You can all come down for my scandalous house parties. Piet, you’ll be the glamorous rancher. All the American ladies will fall madly in love with you and try and get into your tent on safari, when their filthy rich old husbands are soaked in gin and fast asleep.’