The ride back to the farm was a silent progress. In the stables Sarah leaned against Chuma, the chestnut gelding. She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the ritual they had just performed, remembering Piet’s expression, the crinkles that appeared around his eyes and the curved line of his mouth when he laughed. When he had handed her down from the saddle, her skin had prickled and she had shivered as he held her lightly for a moment to steady her. His wrists were very strong, and he wore a bracelet woven from the hair of an elephant’s tail. To bring him luck and protection, he said. She could smell his skin and see the band of sweat on his forehead, just below the brim of his leather hat. Her sense of him was so unnerving that she had not been able to thank him as he helped her undo the horse’s saddle and bridle.

‘See you at dinner, kid. I’m off to catch up with Pa.’ He gave her hair a little tug and then he was gone, to put away the tack.

In the guest bedroom she found Camilla varnishing her nails.

‘Where on earth have you been? I’ve already had a bath and washed my hair. That was a wild ceremony this afternoon,’ Camilla said.

‘God, you’re almost ready for dinner.’ Sarah ignored the reference to their promise, not wanting to make light of the event. ‘How do you always manage to be painting your nails or putting cream on your legs when I’m rubbing down horses or—’

‘I intend to dedicate my life to the pursuit of glamour.’ Camilla’s tone was sly. ‘Lucky devil, that Piet, with his great life plan already underway. Is that why you’re late? Stayed on with the golden boy for a little private je ne sais quoi?’

‘What rubbish,’ Sarah’s face was burning, and she was trembling slightly as she turned away to hunt for her hairbrush and sponge bag. ‘What should I wear? What are you wearing?’

Camilla had already chosen a skirt and sweater that her mother had bought for her in Italy, and some high-heeled shoes. She slipped into her clothes, smoothed some sort of glow on to her cheeks and ran a lipstick across her mouth, making it full and shiny.

‘I’m going to chat to Hannah,’ she said. ‘You can borrow my blue shirt if you like. The colour suits you. Don’t worry – you’ll look great. But you’re going to have to find a way to stop your face turning puce like that. It’s a dead giveaway. See you later.’