Stephen drove home slowly. The moon was nearly full; a hard, silver disc in the sky. The car’s headlights nosed along the road, illuminating the darkness left between the glow of street lamps. Buildings loomed out, pale and black-shadowed, their outlines sharply defined.

They didn’t speak much, other than to ask Mary if she’d enjoyed her first trip to the theatre. She said yes, very much; she thanked them for bringing her and made a few comments about the play, but she was subdued. Stephen longed to be alone with Ginie, so they could talk freely.

He was shocked and saddened by the reaction to Mary’s presence. He could only imagine what she must be feeling. Not only had half the audience walked out, nobody but the vice-regal party had spoken to them at interval. The other guests had made a point of leaving a small space around them, as though they feared contact could contaminate them. Why couldn’t black and white people coexist gently, with respect for each other’s differences – why was that so hard? It seemed that there were several different versions of reality in Umtali. You could be a supporter of Rhodesia run by the white minority government and heavily influenced by farmers. You could accept the status quo and achieve an easy place in the hierarchy. Or you could set yourself apart.

He and Ginie were apart, even though they, along with all the other whites, existed in a bubble. They were sealed off from a much larger reality: the trauma, violence and dispossession suffered by the Africans. The whites’ entire existence was designed to separate and benefit themselves from the plight of the indigenous people. They were out of Umtali now, driving through the night-time bush. The dim shapes of rocks and trees flashed past. Every few minutes, he had to slow the car to let animals bound into the bush – a bushbuck, a wild pig and once, a small herd of eland.

Stephen’s mind drifted to the conversation he’d had with John Llewellyn at interval. Ginie and Mary had excused themselves to go to the powder room and Llewellyn had approached him.

‘Your guest caused quite a stir,’ he said, puffing on a large cigar.

‘Yes, wasn’t it dreadful? Why shouldn’t everyone enjoy some culture?’

Llewellyn fixed him with thoughtful eyes. ‘As far as the whites are concerned, this theatre is for whites only.’

When Stephen didn’t answer, Llewellyn said, ‘Surely you realize the consequences of openly supporting and fraternizing with the Africans?’ He drew on the cigar, holding smoke in his mouth for a moment before blowing it towards the ceiling. ‘I’m speaking as a friend, who likes and respects you,’ he added. ‘Not as Governor of the Federation.’