Piet had changed into freshly pressed khaki slacks and a green shirt open at the neck. To Sarah he looked like a burnished god, standing there in the flickering light of the fire. He swallowed a draught of beer. She saw the froth cling to his lip and felt an immediate yearning to reach up and smooth it away with her finger. Taste it perhaps. A maddening flush of embarrassment crept up towards her face and her neck felt hot. He was watching her with a smile. Could he read her mind, see the ridiculous thoughts churning around in there? He wiped away the beer slowly with the back of his hand. Sarah took a gulp of sherry and began to choke. He came to stand behind her, patting her hard on the back.

‘Sorry. It went down the wrong way!’

She was gasping, spluttering, her eyes were streaming. The mascara she had so carefully put on her lashes must be running down her cheeks. She fought to control her breathing, digging in her pocket for a handkerchief. God, what a mess – what a stupid, clumsy impression she had made. She began to protest.

‘Hey! I’m not dying, you know!’

The incident turned to laughter as everyone surrounded her, offering advice and consolation. Piet’s hand was resting on her shoulder and the sympathetic pressure of his fingers burned into her skin. The gong sounded for dinner and she rose shakily to her feet.

Lottie had lit candles and in the centre of the long table there was a bowl of scarlet blossoms from the Nandi flame tree. They sat with heads bowed as Jan said grace and then the door to the kitchen opened and Mwangi the houseboy, dressed in a white kanzu, carried in a large tureen of soup.

‘Where did that old rogue come from?’ Jan asked, when Mwangi had retreated back to the kitchen. ‘I thought you said he was going off to his shamba for a few days.’

‘He told me he was going to see his brother who was on the brink of death and would soon have to be buried,’ Lottie said, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘He wanted an advance on his salary and a week’s leave. Oh, and his bus fare there and back. When I asked him his brother’s name he said it was Kariuki. He had forgotten that he’d taken leave to bury poor old Kariuki last year. So I told him he could have half of what he was asking for, five days off with no pay, and I would dock the loan from his salary at the end of this month. That was yesterday, and it seems the brother has experienced a miraculous resurrection.’