‘I’m sorry,’ she said, gulping for air, rubbing her hand over swollen eyes. ‘But I’m so scared. I’m frightened to go home. I don’t know how I’m going to manage to do it, and it’s so stupid and cowardly. So bloody stupid.’

They had stood with their arms around one another, offering words of comfort and reassurance. They would all be together again soon. It was a promise. Hannah had straightened her shoulders and disappeared into the cottage they had shared, closing the door, so that she would not be there to see them drive away. She had spent several days in Nairobi, staying close to Lars as he lay recovering from his surgery. Now she wished she was back in the hospital room, instead of here in her own sitting room where fear threatened to extinguish her love for her home.

The drive back to Langani had been tense. It had been a bright morning, the air dappled with small clouds racing across the sky. Piet had insisted on coming down to collect her and was deliberately cheerful, whistling through his teeth as they travelled north. But he watched his sister with growing concern as she sat, mute and wan, gazing out the window, making no comment on the landmarks she loved the best. At the farm, Hannah stepped down from the vehicle and greeted the staff. She was determined to be courageous, to stand shoulder to shoulder with Piet and to do whatever was needed to protect their heritage. Just as her great-grandparents and her grandparents and Jan and Lottie had fought for their home and their land. But she did not feel ready for the demands that would now be made of her. She clenched her hands and prayed that she would remain strong, that she would show only loyalty and valour.

In the office she sifted through letters of support from friends and neighbours, answering several of them and paying urgent bills. An account of the raid had been in the newspapers, and she read the clippings and filed them away. Then she unpacked and made her way to the sitting room where she found Piet waiting for her. She sat down and tried to make conversation with him, talking incessantly about the chores she would take care of on the following day, clutching her glass in tight fingers, trying to ignore the gun that lay on the table beside her armchair and the rifle standing up against the wall. The doors leading out on to the verandah were locked, and the accustomed sounds and scent of evening no longer drifted into the room. It was claustrophobic. Around her there were gaping spaces where Lottie’s pictures and ornaments had stood, and they seemed to Hannah like empty eye sockets.