‘Later, maybe, when the lodge is open. We’ll talk about it again in a few weeks, I promise you. Now, toroka and tell Memsahib Hannah we’re ready for lunch.’ He watched as Kamau trudged away, stiff with displeasure, and then turned to Lars. ‘That son of his is a good boy, but he hasn’t had enough education to work in the office at the lodge. Hannah says he sometimes helps Kamau in the kitchen, and he’s quite good. So maybe she can train him to cook. Meantime, I think I’ve got myself some potential with Simon. It will be interesting to see how he turns out.’

‘He is eager,’ Lars agreed. ‘That was quite a speech, about the loss of his family.’

‘A Kikuyu like that would feel the lack of a family unit. It would affect his marriage prospects and all sorts of things. He wouldn’t have a right to clan lands, and there are other issues. I suppose he feels bad that his relatives didn’t keep any contact with him. But they were probably so poor that they felt Kagumo was his best chance. You get a lot of orphans dumped on the missions and the charities like that. Their extended family has no resources to feed them or house them. As you saw from that letter, they don’t really know how old he is. My guess is they might not even know his clan or tribal name. Anyway, the priests seem to think well of him. Now – where’s lunch? We need to eat quickly before the vet arrives.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hannah, where are you? We’re starving!’

In the afternoon Hannah was smiling to herself as she returned to Jan’s old desk. Things were moving steadily towards a new order. Piet had come up with a good idea as they drank their coffee, and she was looking forward to telling Kamau that she would start training his son David as a cook. It was an important, face-saving gesture, and she would summon both father and son this evening, to give them the news. She bent to take a file out of the drawer and heard a knock on the door. Lars was standing on the verandah, his big frame blocking out the light, choosing his words with care.

‘I’m going to Nanyuki this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I was thinking you might like to come with me. There’s someone making good printed cloth, hand-dyed, that you could use for your curtains, maybe. At the lodge. It’s being made by a Dutch girl who lives just outside town. I could take you there, and then we could go to the club for some tennis and a drink.’

She understood at once his offer of cooperation and encouragement, and she put away the files on her desk and picked up her wallet.