‘They have,’ she said. ‘But it’s a slow process, and in the meantime they’ve had problems with cattle being killed, poachers after the elephants, and recently an armed robbery. All the things that are bad for tourism. So I thought you might be able to speed up their request. See that they get funds soon, or . . .’

‘Perhaps I could do that, yes.’ He was openly bored. His face and tone had changed and she recognised the shift in him, his growing desire, his determination to seduce her. It was not the first time she had looked pure lust in the face. She moved back from him and reached for her coat.

‘I’m afraid I have to leave now,’ she said. ‘But I hope you’ll remember Langani when you return to Nairobi. I’m sure Piet van der Beer would arrange to fly you up there, to have a look around.’

He lunged forward to take hold of her, and she felt one large hand groping, and then his mouth clamped down on hers. His other hand took hold of her head, and Camilla struggled, unable to breathe, feeling the pressure of his onslaught on her forehead as he tried to force his tongue into her mouth. She thumped at his chest, trying to push him away from her, squirming under his weight. He pulled at the buttons on the front of her dress, but she fought free and leapt up from the sofa. His arm shot out to pull her back and she jumped sideways and lost her balance, tumbling down and hitting her head on the arm of a chair as she fell. Her cry of alarm brought him to his senses and he reached out again, this time to help her up.

‘I think we have both made a mistake,’ he said. ‘I apologise. I’m afraid I am more accustomed to young ladies coming up here for a different reason. You seem to have hurt your head. It’s bleeding from underneath that bandage. Let me help you.’

She scrambled to her feet, picked up her coat and handbag and ran from the suite. In the safety of the lift she looked at herself in the mirror and saw a grotesque reflection that seemed only faintly familiar. Her dress was hanging open at the front and her lipstick was smudged across her cheek. The fringe that she had carefully set into place had been pushed aside, revealing the dressing on her forehead. A trickle of blood was making its way down her temple and she found a handkerchief and dabbed at it. As the doors slid open she found herself standing face to face with Short and his photographer. There was a second of blinding light and then she realised what was happening.

‘Oh God. Please, don’t use this, Keith,’ she begged. ‘Please. I’ve made a mistake – an awful misunderstanding.’