Gerhard grinned. ‘If you insist . . . Some nights, I would drive home after the building work stopped, because, well, as great as it was to camp out under the stars, it wasn’t as great as being with Saffron. There are two or three main tracks that cross the estate. They aren’t tarmac, or anything like that, but the earth is packed hard, so you can drive at a decent speed. One night I was coming up to a corner that goes around a grove of trees, so you can’t see around the other side. You’d think that’s not a problem. I mean, there are no other cars on the road. So I went around the corner at quite a speed because I was in a hurry to get home and, right in the middle of the track, was a female rhino with her young. She took one look at me and went away up the road with her kid at her heels. Let me tell you, the great big, leathery, fat backside of a female rhino running away from you is not a pretty sight. But it is a lot more attractive than the sight of the same rhino from the front, charging in your direction.’

Gerhard paused and added, ‘Another time I drove into a pride of lions who were having an orgy that reminded me of a few Berlin clubs I knew, back in the wild days before the Nazis. But that is a long story and not suitable for a respectable restaurant in broad daylight.’

‘Tell us about the native population,’ said Peter Churchill. ‘One sees rather disturbing stories about Kenya in the press these days. You know, those rebels—’

‘The Mau Mau,’ Saffron said.

‘That’s the bunch. Do you get any trouble from them where you are?’

‘Not yet, thank heaven,’ said Saffron. ‘The Mau Mau belong to the Kikuyu tribe. The Kikuyu are farmers and we have quite a few living and working on the part of the estate that’s given over to farmland and plantations. But out in the wild, where Gerhard and I live, the people are Maasai, cattle herders, and they aren’t involved in Mau Mau at all.’

‘The chief of the Maasai on the Lusima estate is an extraordinary man,’ Gerhard said. ‘He’s called Manyoro. Many years ago, when Leon was a young army officer, Manyoro was his sergeant. Leon saved his life.’

‘Manyoro was injured in a fight with a rebel tribe called the Nandi,’ Saffron explained. ‘My father carried him on his back for days to get him to the sacred mountain, Lonsonyo, where his mother lived, so she could treat Manyoro’s wounds. She was a healer, she had amazing powers, I’ve experienced them myself. Ever since then, Manyoro and my father have considered themselves to be brothers.’