‘Good evening.’ The man who opened the door was surprised. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone until much later. Are you a friend of Fiona’s?’

‘I heard there was party, from a little bird we both know,’ Camilla said, opening her eyes wide, tilting her head to one side and smiling. ‘I’ve just come back from Kenya, actually, so I’d love to join you if I’m not gatecrashing.’

‘Come in and have a drink.’ Johnson Kiberu led the way to the large sofa. He was a tall man with fine features, and his skin was very black. There was an ice bucket with champagne on the table, and a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres. ‘There is always room for another beautiful woman in my quarters.’

The jacket of his impeccable suit was hanging over a chair, and Camilla saw that his shirt was monogrammed. He wore gold cuff links and shoes that must have been custom-made to fit his broad feet. She found it easy to talk to him, and was not surprised when he remembered her father. He had a charming manner and she was not offended at his obvious attempts to flirt with her. He had come up through the usual political channels, along with the brilliant Tom Mboya who had been his friend. Now he travelled a great deal, often to conferences concerned with economic aid. He was pleased that she knew Kenya well, and it was not difficult for Camilla to steer the conversation to tourism and the country’s game parks and reserves. His attention drifted, however, when she introduced the subject of Langani. As she talked about the new lodge and Piet’s efforts to protect the wildlife on the farm, he leaned over and slid his hand along her thigh. She moved away from him a little, but he shifted his position and then pounced, kissing her clumsily on the corner of her mouth. She wriggled out of his grasp and pushed him away.

‘I don’t think we’re ready for this so early in the evening,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘I want to talk to you more about Langani.’

‘Is that why you are here?’ He sat back and eyed her with a gaze that was shrewd. ‘To talk about this place?’

‘Yes, it is,’ she admitted, judging it preferable to tell the truth.

‘And what is it you want to say about Langani?’ he asked, still close but not touching her now.

‘They urgently need help,’ she said. ‘They need money for patrols to stop poaching, and to make the place secure for tourists. The owners have put all they have into building this game lodge and conservation area, but they need help from the government for security, and since you are involved in tourism and conservation—’

‘Why have they not applied for it through the usual channels?’ His hand was back on her knee.