Ford came out in a towelling robe. ‘What did you do with the mosquito stuff? The spray?’

Frightened at once, she said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know? You must know. I gave you the aerosol at the hotel and said to put it in that make-up case of yours.’

She opened the case, though she knew the mosquito stuff wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. She could see it on the bathroom shelf in the hotel, left behind because it was too bulky. She bit her lip, looked sideways at Ford. ‘We can get some more at the shop.’

‘Tricia, the shop closes at seven and it’s now ten past.’

‘We can get some in the morning.’

‘Mosquitoes happen to be most active at night.’ He rummaged among the bottles and jars in the case. ‘Look at all this useless rubbish. “Skin cleanser”, “pearlized foundation”, “moisturizer” – like some young model girl. I suppose it didn’t occur to you to bring the anti-mosquito spray and leave the “pearlized foundation” behind.’

Her lip trembled. She could feel herself, almost involuntarily, rounding her eyes, forming her mouth into the shape for lisping. ‘We did ‘member to take our pills.’

‘That won’t stop the damn’ things biting.’ He went back into the shower and slammed the door.

Marguerite wouldn’t have forgotten to bring that aerosol. Tricia knew he was thinking of Marguerite again, that his head was full of her, that she had entered his thoughts powerfully and insistently on the long drive to Thaba. She began to cry. The water went on running out of her eyes and wouldn’t stop, so she changed her dress while she cried and the tears came through the powder she put on her face.

They had dinner in the restaurant. Tricia, in pink flowered crepe, was the only dressed-up woman there, and while once she would have fancied the other diners looked at her in admiration now she thought it must be with derision. She ate her small piece of overcooked hake and her large piece of overcooked, breadcrumbed veal, and watched the red weals from mosquito bites coming up on Ford’s arms.

There were no lights on in the camp but those which shone from the windows of the main building and from the chalets. Gradually the lights went out and it became very dark. In spite of his mosquito bites, Ford fell asleep at once but the noise of the air-conditioning kept Tricia awake. At eleven she switched it off and opened the window. Then she did sleep but she awoke again at four, lay awake for half an hour, got up and put her clothes on and went out.

It was still dark but the darkness was lifting as if the thickest veil of it had been withdrawn. A heavy dew lay on the grass. As she passed under the merula tree, laden with small green apricot-shaped fruits, a flock of bats flew out from its branches and circled her head. If Ford had been with her she would have screamed and clung to him but because she was alone she kept silent. The camp and the bush beyond the fence were full of sound. The sounds brought to Tricia’s mind the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch, imps and demons and dreadful homunculi which, if they had uttered, might have made noises like these, gruntings and soft whistles and chirps and little thin squeals.