He signalled to Juma to come forward with cans of petrol, which they sprinkled over the timber. Then Kamau and Mwangi brought lighted brands and thrust them into the pyre. In a roar of flames the tower ignited, so that the mourners had to step back from the searing heat that formed an orange ball and rose into the African morning. The Kikuyu men began to sing, a deep-throated hum, interspersed with sounds resembling the animals of the wild, and the women’s voices rose to join them in a long, ululating wail. A group of Maasai herders stepped forward and placed ceremonial spears and shields into the fire. Hardy gave the signal for his askaris to fire several rounds into the air. Fragmented lines from the psalms that Sarah had recited at school sprang, suddenly, into her mind. She found her voice, and over the crackle and spit of the burning wood, she called out the words, very loud and clear above the sound of the fire.

For my days pass away like smoke,

And my bones burn like a furnace.

My heart is smitten like grass, and withered;

I am like a vulture in the wilderness,

Like an owl in the waste places;

I eat ashes like bread

And mingle tears with my drink,

For thou hast taken me up and thrown me away.

My days are like an evening shadow;

I wither away like grass. . . .

My God, My God, Why have you forsaken us?

They stood together on the ridge till the last embers had died and only the ashes were left. Then Juma signalled his men, and they poured sand and earth on to the remnants of the fire, to quench it. As the last wisps of smoke died, they walked in procession down the track.

Chapter 26

London, December 1965

‘I don’t want to be here for Christmas. In London, I mean.’ Marina looked at her husband, biting her lip, on the brink of tears. ‘It’s too much, George. I’m so tired. I didn’t know I’d be this tired. I was so glad when I was allowed home that I thought I’d be able to do anything. But just having visitors today has made me see that I haven’t the strength to talk to people. I don’t want to see any more friends. I look so frightful. I could see their faces – the shock and the pity – and I can’t face it. Please, George. Let’s go down to Burford tomorrow and stay there until the new year.’ Her lip quivered and her hands moved across the bedspread, clutching the quilted silk.

Camilla sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Mother, we can’t just up and disappear into the country. And things have been organised just like Daddy says.’

‘You can ring everyone and tell them I’m not well enough for tomorrow. It’s only special friends, darling. They’ll understand.’