Ginie was enthralled by her studio and christened it ‘the Fantasy’. It was her private space and nobody else was allowed to cross the threshold, not even Stephen. He didn’t like this at all, hurt and baffled by her need to withdraw.

In the Fantasy, Ginie read, wrote letters, sewed, or simply watched tinted rays of sunlight falling through the stained glass windows, turning different colours as the sun moved. Sometimes, she would spend the entire day there. There was still a darkness and pain in her that was harder to throw off. Sometimes it would grow so strong that it shut her off from other people. When this happened, she went to the Fantasy and waited for it to run its course. She would then return, restored and full of plans for La Rochelle and the wider community. A new idea was growing in her mind – she wanted to support the cultural life of Rhodesia. It wasn’t hard to get Stephen on board, as they both missed London’s plays and concerts. They had begun to consider building a theatre in Umtali, something sophisticated yet intimate. A little gem.

After years of not being interested in religion, Ginie decided she would like to go to church. It was one of those sudden about-turns that she couldn’t, and wouldn’t explain, to Stephen. One Sunday, they drove to the small, grey-stone church in Umtali, which sat about thirty people. It was multi-denominational and ministers came in rotation; Presbyterian, Anglican, Dutch Reformed and Roman Catholic.

The inside looked like a Catholic church. The walls were whitewashed, the pews and lectern were plain pine and a brass candelabrum hung from the ceiling. There was a large brass crucifix, candlesticks on the altar and carved angels in each corner. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting patches of colour on the stone floor. The circular window above the altar depicted the figure of the risen Christ, while the others showed African animals: lions, elephants and leopards.

Anne Michaels played hymns on a piano whose keys kept sticking, and the congregation’s singing echoed around them. Stephen hummed as tunelessly as a lethargic fly, but Ginie’s voice was clear and beautiful. As they sang, they had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Stephen was sure he heard the muttered words Dragon Lady.

Today, it was a Roman Catholic service. The priest, a stooped man with a gaunt face and close-cut dark hair, read from the book of Genesis. Stephen’s mind wandered back to his prep school days. Chapel services had been taken by Reverend Browne, a short, fat, kindly man, who was fond of explaining the Holy Trinity in terms of cricket.

‘You needn’t worry yourselves about the Trinity,’ he would declare. ‘It’s all quite simple, and just like the wicket, you see. Off stump Jesus Christ, middle stump, God the Father, leg stump, the Holy Ghost. There you are – three in one and one in three.’