He laughed, and she wondered if he could possibly have forgotten kissing her here in this same place, such a short time ago. Since then she had waited patiently for him to take another step, watching for any small sign that he loved her. But although he had often chosen to sit beside her in camp, or on their game drives, he had made no further attempt to touch her or to turn their friendship into something deeper. She wanted desperately for him to say something. Anything that would confirm what she hoped was true. When they left the lodge, Piet held the door of his Land Rover open, and asked Sarah to come with him. As they bumped along the rough track, and he leaned across and placed a hand on her knee.

‘I’m happy you’ll be back quickly,’ he said. ‘There are so many things we have to talk about, you and I, when we’re together again. When there’s just the two of us.’ He gestured up towards the ridge. ‘We’ll sit up there and talk. I hope we’ll do that very soon.’

She felt light-headed with joy and he smiled at her undisguised happiness and squeezed her hand, before turning his attention back to the road.

‘Where’s Mwangi with the drinks? And where on earth are the dogs?’ Piet was the last to join the group in the sitting room before dinner. ‘They’re always around looking for a snack before we eat.’

‘Lars had to go over to the Murray farm,’ Hannah said. ‘Probably he took them.’

‘He’d never take all of them,’ Piet said. ‘I think I should send Simon to look for them, or go myself.’

At that moment they heard heavy footsteps in the corridor leading to the kitchen. The door burst open and Hannah stared, aghast, at the five men standing in the sitting room. They all held pangas, the blades shining in the lamplight. Their faces were taut and angry, and they were shouting. Piet bent down, reaching for the knife he kept in the side of his boot. But two men leapt on him, overpowering him instantly, and within seconds he was lying helpless on the ground. Hannah watched in terror as one of them lifted his machete and cut the telephone lines. He squatted down beside her brother, and bound his hands and feet with the wire.

‘Do not make noise,’ he said. ‘If you cry out we will kill you. Do not look at us. Get down on the floor. Keep your eyes away from us, or you will die. Take off your watches and bracelets and rings, and give them to us. With any money you have. And guns. We want guns. You, Mama, take off your jewellery.’ The words were directed at Camilla as she slid from her chair, the gleam of the raised machete reflected on her face.

‘We don’t have guns here in the house. They’re out in the storeroom.’ Piet spoke through clenched teeth, his face pressed on to the floor by his attacker.