Stephen silenced him with a hand on his shoulder. He and Ginie were doing what they knew was right. If the gift of a theatre wasn’t enough to win the acceptance of the white community, then they would give up seeking it and would do things on their own terms.

Ginie slept poorly that night, slipping in and out of dreams and nightmares. She dreamt she waded through swamps, or climbed mountains which crumbled underfoot, sending her hurtling through space. At seven o’clock, she gave up trying to rest. She checked the mosquito net for poisonous insects and reptiles, then tied it into its daytime knot and got out of bed. Pulling on her flowered silk kimono, she walked through her boudoir and out onto the back veranda. It was enclosed by hedges and led straight down to the pool, which allowed her to swim in privacy.

At the pool’s edge, she shrugged off her robe and let it slither to a heap at her feet, feeling the yellow morning sun on her skin. The air was still cool. Ginie lowered herself down the steps, one rung at a time. The water slipped over her body, enveloping her legs and belly in a chilly embrace.

She pushed away from the side and with a strong downward pull of her arms, she was underneath the surface. Water closed above her head, muffling the sound of birdsong. She swam half a dozen strokes under water and when she came up for air she felt strong and clear, all traces of her uneasy sleep forgotten.

She began to swim lengths in front crawl, enjoying how the rhythmic activity ironed out the knots in her mind. What happened at the theatre had upset her deeply, but as her limbs cut through the water, she found herself able to stand back and observe it more dispassionately. It was clear what she and Stephen must do: if the townspeople would not allow a multi-racial theatre, the Courtaulds would have to walk away from it.

Ginie turned onto her back and let the water hold her, savouring the sensation. Weaver birds’ nests dangled from the trees around the pool, like woven-grass tennis balls. Every now and then, a swallow skimmed the water. She remembered how Jongy used to settle at the edge of the pool to sunbathe while she swam, sitting upright with his forelimbs resting on his hind limbs, his pale underside facing towards the sun. Finally, she was able to think of him without pain.

Stephen was already sitting at the breakfast table, unfolding the Umtali Post. Ginie kissed him and sat down. He asked how she’d slept.