‘Is everything well with you, Mary?’

‘Everything is well, thank you.’

‘Who was that man?’

Mary turned into the low sun, squinting. ‘Eliot’s cousin. He is visiting.’ The sunlight showed droplets of sweat on her upper lip.

At that moment, something caught Ginie’s eye: a strip of cloth caught on a thorn bush, fluttering in the light breeze. Her eyes flashed to Mary. As they carried on their way, she reached out a hand and slipped it into her pocket. Had Mark seen it? If he had, he’d given no sign. She hoped that he was too distracted by what had just passed between them.

Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get rid of him. They walked back to the house and said goodbye in the courtyard. ‘When can I see you again?’ he asked.

She shrugged, unsure what to say. ‘Uh. . . we have houseguests arriving from Salisbury tomorrow. Perhaps after they’ve gone?’ It was a white lie, she was trying to let him down gently but his disappointment was clear.

She stayed in the courtyard, waiting until she could no longer hear the sound of his truck. Only then did she take the piece of red-and-white-striped calico out of her pocket. She fetched her cigarette lighter, struck a flame and held it to the fabric. As it took light, she let it fall to the ground, watching as the fire flared, swallowing the cloth and burning itself out, until all that was left was a heap of ash.

31 The Courtaulds, Rhodesia, 1950s

31

The Courtaulds, Rhodesia, 1950s

Stephen stood at the window of his study and watched Mark and Ginie wander across the lawn. Their demeanour was relaxed, as though they had all the time in the world. They looked perfectly comfortable together. Mark said something and Ginie put her hand on his arm and smiled up into his eyes. Pain sank its hooks in Stephen and his heart began to beat faster.

His gaze followed them up to the Dell where they were hidden by the trees. He knew what it cost Ginie to enter the Dell, and was incredulous and angry that she had done it with Mark and not with him. He sat down at his desk, but the words in front of him had turned into a series of dark squiggles that looked like stick insects dancing and sliding on the page.

When Mark had gone, the Courtaulds ate their usual Sunday supper of cold meats and salad. Ginie was unusually quiet and preoccupied and Stephen felt rebuffed by her reserve. Doubt had stolen into his heart and spread.

‘Mark told me that Eric found two of the escapees in his kitchen last night, helping themselves to dinner,’ she said, eventually. She was picking at a tomato. She gazed up at him, lamplight flickering in her eyes. He had never seen her look more beautiful. ‘I hope we don’t get a visit.’