‘Spent it too. On safaris and other foolish things.’

‘Don’t worry, darling. I’ll always take care of you. In any way you choose. You can be sure of that.’

There was something about his tone that was unfamiliar, and she turned from the sink where she was scrubbing the black line from the inside of a coffee cup. He was watching her, his casual expression betrayed by a tic at the corner of his mouth. An awkward silence hung between them, and then he rose to his feet.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and finalise this jewellery whats-it and do the pictures for the magazine, so you don’t wind up in a shelter for the homeless next week. You’ve got bloody great bags under your eyes, by the way. I’d nip into the bathroom if I were you, and put on another layer of something. What with that and the limp, you look a wreck. Lucky you’ve got me around to protect you.’

Back in her own flat she made herself a cup of tea and lit a cigarette. Edward Carradine and now Tom. Could one or both of them really have some special feeling for her? And if so, why was she unable to respond? She had tried to rid herself of Anthony, telling herself over and over that she had been just another witless girl who had become fodder for the insatiable appetite of the white hunter. He did not care about her, had never cared about her, had not called or written to find out what had happened to her body or to her soul. She wished that she could hate him, despise him for his callous lack of feeling. But she was too honest to fool herself into believing that he did not matter any more. Her foot was throbbing, and she pulled a rug over her legs and propped up her ankle with a cushion. She had been dozing for a good half-hour when the telephone rang.

‘My dear, your mother’s not well at all.’ Mrs Maskell was clearly frightened. ‘She has a fever – she’s very hot and her breathing sounds strange. Dr Ward is on his way. Your father’s plane is held up by fog in Geneva and he telephoned to say he’s going to be very late. He doesn’t know what time he’ll get in. I think you’d better come over, if you can.’

Marina lay in bed, her face clammy. She had a rash on her arms and her back, small red dots that looked inflamed and painful. Her breathing was shallow and laboured, and every time she moved her swollen joints she cried out. Dr Ward examined her briefly and turned to Camilla.