She waited for the sound of Piet’s departure for Nairobi before going to breakfast. Mwangi told her that Bwana Lars had gone out early, and that he would not be back until the evening. Hannah ordered toast and coffee and found that she was starving, that everything tasted like nectar, and that she could not keep Viktor out of her mind. Her instinct told her to go to his room and take off her clothes so that he could touch her and they could start to make love again. But she knew that she must wait here for him so she sat in her chair, filled with impatience and wondering if he would look at her in the same way that he had regarded her last night. When she heard his footsteps she thought she was going to be ill. But he stood behind her chair and placed his hands on her shoulders and then lightly trailed his fingers across her shirt to caress her breasts. The muscles in her legs disintegrated into a jellylike substance, and she was thankful that she did not have to stand up. Mwangi came to take the breakfast order, and she did not know whether he was looking at her particularly closely, or whether it was her imagination.

They spent the day beside the river, taking a picnic and binoculars and fishing rods. The banks were alive with bird calls and they watched a troupe of colobus monkeys flying through the trees above them, trailing their black-and-white capes like wings. When Hannah heard the grating sound of a leopard in the distance she clung to Viktor with mock alarm, and he kissed her and slid his hand under the waistband of her jeans to reawaken her excitement. They made love, hidden in the trees along the river bank. Later he made her laugh as he tried to fish for trout, spending much of his time retrieving his fishing flies and untangling his line from logs and branches where they were firmly caught. Finally, he landed a plump rainbow trout almost by accident, and Hannah caught two.

Lars was sitting at the desk when she returned to the house. He looked up and she recognised the jealousy and the misery in his eyes, and regretted it. His hands were folded in front of him and he was outwardly calm, but she saw that his fingers were clasped tightly together and his nails were white with the pressure.

‘How are things?’ she asked, as casually as she could.

‘Busy.’

‘I told Kamau we’d have dinner around nine.’

‘That’s very late,’ Lars said. ‘We always eat around eight. I’ve had a pretty long day.’

‘Viktor’s gone for a sleep, and I haven’t cleaned up yet.’