Sarah was there when the box arrived at Langani. She watched Hannah open up the folds of tissue paper, and stared down at the contents before lifting them out. The floor-length dress was a rich, cream-coloured silk cut on the bias. The hem and seams were bordered with satin ribbon and sewn with glass beads and pearls. But it was the jacket that took her breath away. It was short and made of the softest suede, banded with tiny white feathers, African beads and seed pearls. The mandarin collar and the cuffs had a similar trim, and there was a silk tassel at the neck, strung with silver and glass beads and finished with the same feathers. With it came a suede cap embroidered in the same style, with a collection of white feathers and a short tulle veil attached to the back. Camilla had written in her card that the agave silk and the suede came from Morocco, and all the trimmings had originated on the African continent. She had designed the dress and the jacket herself. They were her contribution to Hannah’s celebrations, and came with her love.

‘It’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw, Han.’ Sarah stroked the folded gown. ‘Try it on.’

‘I thought you were organising my dress,’ Hannah said. ‘You took my measurements.’

‘I sent them to Camilla. She wanted to do this for you.’

Hannah reread the card. She had hoped that they would be together, the three of them, on her wedding day. But Camilla had said she could not come. Pressures of work, commitments she couldn’t get out of. It was wonderful news, she said, the best, and she would be thinking of them, wishing them joy, but she would not be there.

‘I don’t think I could wear this,’ Hannah said, holding up the dress and jacket against herself. ‘Look at me. I’m a pregnant Afrikaans farm girl. This is like – this is Paris catwalk. It’s too elegant for me. And think what it must have cost?’

‘Put it on, you fool.’ Sarah’s look was stern. ‘It’s her wedding present. She’s created it for you and it’s something that’s all about Africa, not London or Paris. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride ever seen. Lars will be mesmerised! And think of that wagon, Hettie Kruger! She’ll be sick as a parrot when she sees you in this.’

Hannah had to laugh. And when the dress was fastened and she had slipped on the jacket, she barely recognised herself in the mirror. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude.