Her spirits rose. Viktor could help her to forget her fears, fill her head with nonsense and new ideas and strange poetry that she could not understand. She looked forward to it, and when he arrived on the following evening she had discarded her jeans in favour of Italian wool slacks and a silk shirt that Camilla had given her. Piet looked at her in surprise as she came into the sitting room before dinner. She had pinned her hair up in a French twist, and she was wearing lipstick and something on her eyes that made them look very bright. Viktor sprang to his feet and kissed her hand, and she looked at him a little self-consciously. His raven-black hair curled over his shirt collar, and a cigar hung from his lips. His face was dominated by a large nose and heavy black eyebrows that made him look like some predatory bird. He drew hard on the cigar and smiled broadly. His mouth was fleshy and sensual, and there were deep lines down each side of it.

‘You are beautiful,’ he said to her, still holding her hand. ‘Like a warrior queen. Burnished and strong and magnificent. Later, I will recite to you a poem that describes the way you are tonight. Now, tell me what you have been doing, while we have dinner.’

Hannah was surprised to find herself recounting the happenings on the farm, and describing her attempt to immerse herself in its workings and to put aside the traumatic experience they had undergone. She talked about her day with a new enthusiasm. Piet sat silent for the most part, glad to see his sister so animated, the shadows gone from her eyes. Viktor listened, spurring her on, expressing interest in everything she said. And she was flattered. He had called her beautiful, a warrior queen. He knew a poem that described her, he’d said. She was not just a shadow of her brother, a big Afrikaans farm girl who would make good breeding stock for the likes of Willie Kruger and his brother up in Eldoret. Here was a man who had been educated in Europe, a poet and an architect who was part of Nairobi society, and he was flirting with her. She began to respond to the messages in his black, flashing eyes.

‘But you cannot always be working,’ he said. ‘You must take time to laugh a little, play sometimes, not always be so serious. And I will teach you to do this.’

‘Not right now, you won’t,’ Hannah said, smiling. ‘My eyes are scratchy, and it’s time for bed.’

‘I’ll go along with that,’ Piet said. ‘We’ll visit the workshop first thing in the morning, and take a look at the chairs and tables. Hope you have a good night.’

‘The generator will stop in about twenty minutes, Viktor,’ Hannah told him. ‘So you need to light your lamp when you get to your room.’