‘If that’s my father, I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see him. I’m going to do the shopping now, but I’ll be back in a while.’

Camilla took her bag and left the house, walking away down the lane towards the High Street. Marina picked up the phone. It was Sarah Mackay on the line. Sarah who was going back to live in Kenya, in spite of all that had happened there. Sarah, who might persuade Camilla to go too, in search of her bushman, or to start up a business on that terrible farm. Marina felt a shiver of panic pass through her. Camilla must not go away now, when time was so short.

‘Camilla’s not here, my dear,’ she said smoothly. ‘She’s gone away for a while. Until her next doctor’s appointment. Yes, her face is healing well. Some surgery later on should prevent permanent scarring. No, I’m not sure where she went. Somewhere on the Continent, I think. If I hear from her, I’ll let her know you telephoned. Goodbye, Sarah.’

She replaced the receiver and knew that she had done the right thing. When Camilla came back from the village they would talk about her love affair, try to find comfort in sharing the sadness. They would spend time together in London and here in the quiet of the countryside as the autumn passed. She would try to effect a reconciliation between her husband and her daughter, make plain to them how much she loved them both. No one would be allowed to threaten this last chance she had at happiness, during the final months of her life.

Chapter 18

Kenya, November 1965

The morning air was heavy, laden with moisture from clouds that bulged, sullen, grey and threatening, over the plains. Sarah scanned the throng for a glimpse of Piet, but there was no sign of him. She picked up her baggage, and walked out into the arrivals hall with a fluttering sensation in her stomach. A group of hunters and safari guides were waiting at the barrier, and she spotted Anthony in their midst, his bush hat pushed back off his face, his eyes searching the line of emerging passengers.

‘Sarah!’ He waved to her, above the noise and press of reunions that swelled around them like surf on a distant reef. Her spirits plummeted, and he saw her expression of chagrin before she was able to mask it. She smiled as he pushed his way through the crowds to take her hand. It was good to see him, but what had happened to Piet?

‘Salaams. Welcome back. Piet asked me to do the honours. I’m a poor substitute, I know. Sorry. Pole sana.’ He took her bags, and she followed him out of the building.

‘Thanks for turning out so early in the morning. There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ Anxiety made it difficult for her to sound offhand.