‘He had a girl with him. An American. They seemed to be, well, they were obviously . . . Oh God, the fellow’s a complete cad. She was all over him and I suppose it’s hard to fob that kind of woman off, but I wasn’t impressed. I really didn’t want to tell you about this, Camilla, and I can see that you’re upset. I’m sorry, darling, you don’t deserve this.’ He swirled his drink in the bottom of his glass, avoiding the pain in her eyes.

‘He told me he didn’t want anything long-term. I made an idiot of myself, if you want to know the truth,’ she said bitterly, tears sliding down her face. ‘I’m only upset because of being tired, and because of Mother. And I still can’t believe I fell for the big white hunter thing. But I’ll get over it.’

‘What about Sarah and Hannah?’

‘I haven’t been in touch.’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I thought you’d had such a wonderful time in Kenya. Until that terrible incident. When I saw you in Nairobi, after your time at the coast, you were all so happy to be together again.’

‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘But there’s something I’d like to talk to you about tomorrow. Something you might be able to do for me. For them, really. Goodnight.’

There was no opportunity to discuss Langani on Christmas Eve. Camilla found herself fully occupied, shopping with Edward, caught up in the humdrum activity of making lists, and searching the village for the ingredients of a Christmas dinner.

‘The first thing I need is a cookbook,’ Camilla said. ‘I’ve never roasted a turkey in my life, and you may have to flee to the Bear or some other local hot spot.’