He hung up and she saw that her hand was shaking as she put the receiver back on its cradle. Why could Viktor not come up to Langani, if he had any real feelings for her? Even he, a man who had certainly seduced many women in his time, had said that he could not get enough of her, that he could not exist without her for any measurable length of time. But how did Viktor measure time? And surely she was more important to him than an exhibition. She wondered where Lars was right now, and she felt profoundly saddened by the idea that she might never see him again. An hour later she decided to phone Viktor. If she could not see him, at least she could talk to him. The telephone rang for a long time before anyone answered.

‘Bwana Szustak is not here,’ the voice said. ‘He has gone away. I am the houseboy taking a message.’

A dark mood settled over her as she went to sit by the fire in lonely silence. She poured herself a stiff measure of whisky and turned on the radio, but the music made her sad. She fixed another drink and waited for dinner to be served, dreading the solitary meal under Mwangi’s sympathetic eye. When he announced that it was ready she stood up, weary and dispirited, and took her glass to the table. She heard the sound of the car as she unfolded her napkin. Her skin crawled as she grabbed the rifle that stood next to the sideboard and rose from her chair. Then she planted her feet firmly and aimed the gun at the door. Seconds later, Viktor’s loud laugh filled the room as he rushed in and lifted her off her feet. When he set her down she was still holding the gun, stunned and disbelieving.

‘I could have killed you,’ she said. ‘My God, Viktor, what are you doing here?’

‘Come, Hannah – I have brought champagne. Then we will eat.’

She could not think beyond the sight of him. ‘I have to find out what’s in the kitchen and—’

‘I would like to eat quickly,’ he said. ‘And afterwards I would like to take you to your bedroom, and fuck you until you are exhausted and crying out for mercy. And then my hunger will be satisfied. That is what I would like.’

When she lay beside him later, happy and sated, he propped himself up on his elbow.

‘Where is your Viking guard tonight?’ he asked. ‘I have become accustomed to him, glowering at us, casting his Northern gloom upon our pleasures.’

‘He’s gone.’

‘Gone where? For how long?’ Viktor demanded.

‘He’s gone to Norway,’ she said, but her voice was hollow. ‘Someone in his family is very sick and he had to go home. No. He didn’t.’ There was no reason to lie to him. ‘He’s gone for good. Lars has left the farm.’