Piet stepped back, still holding her. He seemed dazed as he let go of her and he stared at her for a long moment, as though he was seeing her for the first time. She tried to regain some semblance of composure before anyone else appeared. Camilla would know at once. She had an eagle eye, and Sarah knew that she must look dishevelled at the very least. Her hair was tangled and her cheeks felt as though they might have turned puce. Oh shit! Shit! Glorious, fabulous, happy shit! Lars came through the lounge on to the viewing platform, in a couple of easy strides. Hannah followed, exclaiming at the furniture and cushions and rugs that Simon had put in place. Camilla drifted in behind her, trailing her fingers across the smooth stone and polished wood, murmuring compliments. Piet was clearly discomforted, greeting everyone much too heartily. He called Simon to pour drinks and they stood together on the viewing platform, glasses raised. Sarah hung back, unable to look anyone in the eye, least of all Piet. Camilla raised her eyebrows enquiringly. Then they were doing the tour of the lodge together, and all seemed as it had been before she had set out that morning.

But for Sarah the world had changed into a new place of pure exhilaration, and she stood looking out at the African evening in a trancelike state, as though the whole earth on which she stood had opened up to offer her, at last, her life’s dream of love and fulfilment.

Chapter 12

Kenya, September 1965

‘What a bunch of princesses,’ Anthony said. ‘I thought I’d escaped from Park Avenue ladies for a while, but you’re almost worse. There are drinks in the back of the car if you’re that thirsty, but we’ll be stopping in a few minutes. I need to call in at Charia’s duka to pick up a few last-minute supplies. Piet should be waiting for us there, and it’s the last pit stop where you can take a pee without getting pounced on by lions as you squat behind the car.’

They had left Langani with the early-morning mist still hanging in the blue air. Two hours later they were peeling off sweaters and socks, and demanding cold drinks. Anthony pulled up at a squat building, with a rusted roof and peeling paint. Piet’s Land Rover was parked outside, with the trailer behind it, covered by a canvas tarpaulin that was already layered with dust. There was an overpowering smell of paraffin and disinfectant within the dim interior of the shop. Camilla saw Anthony greet Mr Charia, the owner, and discreetly slip some money to the African who worked for him.