Mary didn’t answer, but kept a firm, guiding pressure on Ginie’s linked arm. Ginie glanced at her face, but it was inscrutable. Ahead of them was the home crafts hall. Ginie hadn’t thought about it for a long time. She had deliberately put it from her mind as she didn’t want to face their disappointment in her. The grass around it had grown long and there was a fine crust of reddish earth over the walls, with creepers stealing up them.

The hall seemed like a brittle skeleton that could easily sink back into the bush. She thought how, if they left La Rochelle, one wet, fertile season would be enough to engulf the buildings and the cultivated spaces. After a few months there would be nothing left to show that she and Stephen had ever been here, except for heaps of debris among the ant-hills and bushes and trees.

Mary started to lead her through the door. Ginie tried to pull away, suddenly panic-stricken. ‘No, no, wait a minute—’ but Mary took no notice.

All the women were inside, waiting for them. They were smiling and welcoming her back; there was no reproach on any of their faces. She opened her mouth to thank them, but no words came. She was deeply moved and close to tears.

‘You are not a drain on anything,’ Mary said quietly.

Ginie cleared her throat. ‘Thank you for coming and for giving me your trust. It means the world to me.’

She took out her handkerchief, blew her nose and drew herself upright. Mary had lost her husband and the father of her children, the others faced oppression every day of their lives. It put her own ordeal in perspective and strengthened her resolve not to let them down a second time. She would stay in Rhodesia and finish what she had started.

‘So, what would you like to do today?’ she asked.

‘Our children need warm jumpers for winter,’ called Zandile.

There was a chorus of agreement. Ginie went to the cupboards, took out bundles of wool and knitting needles and proceeded to hand them around.

After dinner, Ginie couldn’t find Stephen in the house. Strips of light lay across the steps and down the dim path to the lawn. She could just about make him out – a dark, motionless figure beyond the reach of the light. His love of darkness came from his time as an Air Raid Precaution warden during the war, patrolling blacked-out London streets.

‘If you stay in total darkness, it’s amazing what you can see,’ he would say. ‘In the dark, you develop an extra sense.’

Drawing her shawl around her, Ginie left the house. Moths blundered into her with papery thuds as she walked down the path, enticed by the light in the doorway.