‘I’m nearly ruined by the number of books she buys from London,’ Mark said, giving Diana an affectionate look.

He turned back to the others and Stephen said, ‘I have a question. Perhaps you can help me?’

Diana nodded. ‘Happy to try.’

‘The grave on our land – I’m told it belongs to the daughter of the previous owners, the Zietsmans. We never met them, you know. They left the area before we bought the property.’

‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘They found it too difficult to stay here after little Jessica died; it felt like an unlucky place for them. They moved to South Africa to try and make a fresh start.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Jessica was the liveliest, most curious little girl you can imagine. She had these big sparkling green eyes. . . Of course, if you lose a child, you’re never the same again.’

‘I can imagine. Was she very young?’

‘She was only six.’

‘How terribly sad.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Diana. ‘Oh, it was.’

There was a pause, then he said tentatively, ‘The thing is, nobody will tell us how she died.’

When Diana didn’t answer straight away, Stephen leaned towards her. ‘My staff believes that Jessica’s spirit is still here. They think she’s trapped in limbo between this world and the next. I don’t believe it, obviously, but I’d be better equipped to talk about it if I knew what had happened.’

Diana looked at the melting ice cubes in her gin and lime, and gave them a little shake before draining the glass, tilting it high to catch the last drops of liquid.

‘One morning, Jessica was shopping in town with her mother,’ she said, wiping her lips. ‘She managed to slip away and went to watch the men laying the railway line into Umtali. She loved all things to do with trains, you see. There was a freak accident. . . heavy pieces of track were being loaded and one of them fell on her. Her leg was completely crushed. They managed to lift it off, but major arteries were severed – the leg was hanging on by a few threads. She bled to death right there, crying for her mother. By the time Amy Zietsman reached the scene it was too late, Jessica was dead.’

They fell silent. Stephen was trying not to picture the small, mangled body, the girl’s terror and agony, her fingernails clawing at the hot, dry soil as her blood drained away. What a ghastly way to die. Perhaps the violence of it really had left her spirit unable to rest in peace. Even on hot days, there seemed to be a cool breeze by the grave, the wind murmuring secret messages through the leaves.