The men were awkward in black dinner suits, from which their sunburned faces and hands emerged. Jill Thompson had poured her stout body into fuchsia silk, while Anne Michaels, another farmer’s wife, was dressed in pale blue lace and pearls. Diana Richardson had on a floral crepe dress and a rose quartz necklace that fell to her waist. Ginie was wearing a simple white gown and a marvellous jewelled snake headband, its head rearing up over her forehead. Stephen felt a surge of pride; she had an elegance no other woman came close to.

‘We’ve heard such interesting things about your house. I am so happy to see it for myself!’ said Anne, glancing at Jill for approval.

They were gazing around the Italian-style courtyard, whose pillars were weighted with bougainvillea so dense with blooms, it looked as though the low, evening sunlight was barricaded behind it. Tubs of plants and miniature palm trees were set against the walls, and the fountain in the centre was laid with a mosaic of Ottoman tiles whose greens, blues, golds and pinks were repeated in the swirling geometric shapes that covered an entire wall.

The Courtaulds led them through the entrance area to the parlour to look at the paintings, the furnishings and the huge arrangements of orchids. The rooms were all clean lines and clear interiors, set off by luxurious materials: marble, hardwood, iridescent colours, silken fabrics. The expressions on the guests’ faces were admiring and slightly stunned.

‘The paintings alone would serve the needs of a small museum,’ said Mark.

Guthrie Hall, a retired government administrator from northern Rhodesia who lived nearby, had already arrived, and they all sat on the veranda, looking out towards the hills rising beyond the garden. Stephen opened the cocktail cabinet and started mixing sundowners. The men asked for whisky and the women asked for gin. He’d noticed the drinking that went on in this part of the world was heavy and hard, and the women consumed no less than the men.

Dixon, splendid in white linen and a red fez, came out with a tray of snacks. His face was completely blank as he offered them around; he did not show that he was listening to anything at all. Stephen had always found this amusing. The guests sat in clouds of cigarette smoke, inhaling and exhaling slowly. An awkward silence had fallen, then everyone spoke at once. As voices hummed and ice clinked in glasses, Stephen began to experience the inner shrinking that often came over him during social occasions. Ginie, on the other hand, was coming alive; there was a vivid glow about her that made her stand out in this company. The men were entranced, the women wary.