I followed her stare and saw an African woman walking just behind the Courtaulds. Wearing a simple navy-blue dress, she gave off an air of quiet dignity. She sat down next to Ginie, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Murmurs of shock rippled through the hall.

‘Who is that?’ my mother asked, her hand plucking at Dad’s arm.

‘It’s Mary, Ginie’s housekeeper.’ He shook her off, his eyes never leaving the Courtaulds’ group. ‘Shh, Di.’

‘You don’t let a kaffir woman sit next to you as if she’s a duchess,’ said Bob. ‘Jesus Christ, man!’ His face had turned purple and a dark vein bulged in his temple.

‘She’s got some bloody cheek,’ hissed Anne.

‘It’s against the constitution.’

‘Will Llewellyn stand for it?’

‘I suppose now they’ve bought us with their fancy theatre, they think they can do as they like.’ Saliva sprayed from Bob’s mouth as he spoke. Flecks of it fell onto my arm and I wiped them off in disgust. Listening to the adults made me feel like I was part of a conspiracy I didn’t want to belong to.

A few rows in front of us, Jill Thompson got to her feet. Stepping and jostling over people’s legs until she reached the aisle, she turned and marched out of the auditorium, her head held high. Eric followed close behind. His face was white, and I knew that was worse than when it turned red.

They nearly collided with the Governor General and the rest of the vice-regal party, who were just coming in at the top of the aisle. The group consisted of a few MPs and their wives and the Mayor of Umtali, Dr Wessels, who was busy adjusting his mayoral chain. As they made their way to their seats, the audience rose to its feet in a shuffling, rustling wave.

We sat down again when the VIPs did. On stage, Mr Dendy Lawton, chairman of the Umtali Players, introduced Ginie. There was a scatter of applause as she came to the footlights and stood in front of the fiery emblem of the Umtali Players, which was embossed in gold on the crimson curtains. She was wearing the most beautiful dress I had ever seen, it made the clothes in Mum’s trunk look ordinary. It had a form-fitting bodice with a sweetheart neckline and a gently flaring skirt. The rose-coloured fabric shimmered under the lights. It was almost transparent, her snake tattoo clearly visible. Every time she moved, the creature seemed to wriggle up her leg.

‘Shocking,’ Anne whispered to Mum. There was a bright flush on her cheeks and she was fanning herself with her programme.

Mum shook her head, raising her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh my Lord.’

I waited for Dad to hush her up, but he was sitting forward in his seat, very still, oblivious to everything but Ginie.