‘Oh. That’s fine, then.’ Her delight at the first sound of his voice was now polluted by doubt. Bye, then. Hugs and kisses.’ She did her best to sound casual.

‘Kiss for you too. Salaams.’

Camilla’s eyes clouded with disappointment and fading hope. There was something evasive in his voice and she was afraid he would never change, never be hers. She decided to telephone Hannah and dialled the international operator. The number was engaged, but she kept trying, desperate for a connection. After two hours she got through.

‘I’m really glad to hear from you,’ Hannah’s sigh of relief was clearly audible on the phone. ‘We’ve been so worried. I phoned twice yesterday, but there was no answer.’

‘How are you managing at Langani – how is it, being back there? Have the police come up with anything? What about Lars?’

But there was very little news from the farm and no progress with the investigation. Lars would be out of hospital soon, and he was planning to spend a few days on his uncle’s coffee farm before returning to Langani. Obviously Hannah missed him. Piet was working like a madman, and they really meant to open the lodge early in the new year. They were determined to go on, to fight their corner.

When Camilla hung up she felt isolated, caught in a web, trapped a million miles from where she wanted to be. Marina rang and tried to persuade her to come to Burford for the weekend. But Camilla wanted space, time to savour the too-brief moments of Anthony’s voice on the line.

‘Maybe next weekend, Mother,’ she said. ‘I’d like to stay here and just be quiet. I feel much better today, and that’s what I’d like to do.’

Later in the afternoon she left the flat, walking quickly out of the square into the maelstrom of Knightsbridge traffic. At Vidal Sassoon she had her hair cut straight and precise across her forehead, with the back very short to emphasise the length of her neck and the shape of her head.

‘Looks good. I’ve been telling you for months you should cut it, and now you can see I was right. I’m sorry it took such rotten bad luck to bring you round to doing it. Look here at the back.’ Sassoon held up a mirror. ‘It’s like a golden cap, cut close like that. Even with the problem of your forehead you look beautiful this very moment. Like an elf, you are. Not like Veronica Lake or some forties film star any more, with the long hair. You’re a new person.’