‘The pig houses are on fire,’ she gasped. Tears soaked down her cheeks, forming pale channels in the soot. ‘We don’t know how it started, but because of the wind, it’s ripping over the whole place. Please come.’ She paused, drawing deep, ragged breaths. ‘Eric and the boys are trying to fight it, but there aren’t enough of them. The phone lines are down and we can’t reach the fire brigade. We couldn’t get the pigs out – they were making the most terrible screaming sounds. . .’

She began to sob hard. Stephen gave her his handkerchief and she wiped her face, leaving dark smears on the white cotton.

‘I’ll wake my staff and come with as many as I can fit in the car,’ he told her. He turned to Ginie. ‘You stay here. See if you can get a line to the fire brigade.’

Minutes later, he was on his way with Dixon in the passenger seat, John Mutasa and three of the gardeners squeezed into the back. The sky was hazy with smoke. Hills and the dim shapes of trees rose up on either side of them. The road was littered with snapped branches and once or twice they had to drive onto the fields to get past fallen trees. They had a flask of water, which they shared between them.

‘I wonder how the fire started,’ said Stephen.

‘Yes. . .’

‘With the wind, it must have spread in no time.’

‘I’ve never seen such a wind,’ remarked John. ‘It’s a miracle our buildings weren’t harmed.’

The men shook their heads and clicked their tongues.

‘Yes, yes. And another thing. . .’

‘What?’

‘Nkosi Thompson is always angry.’

‘That is so,’ agreed Dixon. ‘He has plenty of enemies.’

Stephen gave him a sharp look. ‘You should tell that to the police, Dixon.’

There was silence. A long silence. The sky was brightening and the grey-blue light of dawn was stark, yet strangely beautiful.

As Stephen turned in at the Thompsons’ gates, they could see curling wisps of smoke rising from where the pig houses had once stood. ‘It looks as if the fire’s already out,’ he said. ‘They’re lucky it didn’t reach the farmhouse.’

He parked beside Jill’s car and they all got out. He joined Jill, who was standing completely still, gazing at the pile of smoking debris. The staff waited behind at a respectful distance. The burned out pig houses looked desolate and decrepit. On one side, the trees were blackened, their leaves hanging brittle and scorched. The soil was hot underfoot. Coils of smoke hung in the air and there was a terrible smell of charred flesh.

‘We’re too late,’ Jill said hoarsely. ‘That’s our livelihood – gone.’ Her face was flushed and desperate.

‘Where is everyone?’ Stephen’s eyes smarted from the smoke. He was trying to take shallow breaths, so as not to inhale too much of it.