‘Oh Lars, I can’t talk about that. I’m confused. I always feel like I’m the short side of a triangle with you and Piet, and neither one of you rates me as being really capable, or having a brain. You’re a great person, Lars. You’ve kept the farm from going under. You’ve been kind to me, and you’re my brother’s best friend. But we’re all too closely bound in another way, caught in the same old problems all day long.’ She brushed her hand across her eyes, searching for something wise and balanced to say. ‘I can’t think about this now, or talk about it. I’m sorry.’

Dammit, she was thinking as she walked away from him. I didn’t want to hurt him or make him unhappy. But she felt trapped by the idea of Lars. She had never had a chance to finish her education, to travel to Europe, to meet people outside the circle of her own family background. She thought of Sarah at university in Ireland, of Camilla’s fame and her glamorous life in Europe, though that might now be over, and she was saddened by her own narrow limits. There was no money for her to go abroad, or even to spend a weekend in Nairobi. Everything had to be sacrificed for the farm, for Piet’s lodge. And that was right. She did not dispute it. Langani was her home, the place that was dearest in her heart, the centre of her universe. But she longed for some contrast, for a taste of the exotic in her life, for something that would make her feel light-hearted and beautiful and free for just a little while. Like Viktor. Viktor who whispered in her ear, told her colourful stories, and drew pictures with words and with strokes of his pencil. Viktor who had kissed and caressed her and smiled his wicked smile. She thought of him now, tickling behind her ear and making lewd suggestions, and she threw her head back and laughed out loud as she went down to her dairy.

Chapter 15

London, September 1965

‘What the fuck happened to your face?’ Ricky Lane stared at Camilla, his mouth agape. He raised his hands to cover his eyes and dropped them again, groaning and deliberately theatrical. ‘Don’t you bloody realise we’re supposed to be in bloody New York in six days’ time, and you’ve turned up here all bandaged and bruised and looking like Countess bloody Dracula?’

‘You could try “Good morning and welcome back”,’ Camilla said. ‘I was involved in an armed robbery on the farm where I was staying in Kenya. Since you’re kind enough to ask. We were all lucky to get away with our lives. This is just a scratch, compared to what might have been.’