Ginie shook her head, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. Her heart had started to beat quickly and painfully, gasping for oxygen. She had often feared this moment would come, but had refused to know it.

‘Surely this is a mistake?’ she queried.

Sergeant van Niekerk looked pained. ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Courtauld. Mary is wanted in connection with assisting felons, not only in evading capture, but also in the arson of Hookwell Farm and the murder of Eric Thompson.’

‘Those are serious charges,’ said Stephen. ‘What evidence is there?’

‘We found fingerprints and other evidence in her house, sir. And she was spotted with one of the men.’

Ginie’s mind flew back to the man she had seen Mary speaking to on the walk with Mark, the strip of prison calico caught on the thorn bush. . . Could Mark have reported Mary? Realisation crept down her spine like a cold drop of water.

‘Is it true?’ Stephen asked Mary, who had come onto the veranda in time to hear this.

‘Yes.’ She let out a barely audible sigh. Suddenly she looked smaller, this brave self-contained woman who was fighting battles Ginie knew nothing about.

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Ginie asked, quietly. ‘We could have helped you.’ Stephen shot her a warning look, which she ignored. ‘Don’t you trust us?’

‘How could I put you in danger, Missus Ginie? You were always so good to me.’ Mary’s voice sounded distant, as though she was repeating lines she’d learned by heart. She drew herself upright and tossed her head. It was a proud, audacious gesture that expressed the accumulation of months and years of pent-up defiance.

‘They have crossed the border into Mozambique,’ she said to van Niekerk. ‘You won’t find them. And anyway, they’re not criminals. They were imprisoned for holding a political meeting and if Eric Thompson hadn’t murdered my husband, they wouldn’t have harmed a hair on his head.’

Van Niekerk responded by reaching for his handcuffs. ‘Put your hands out in front of you,’ he said tersely. Mary did as she was told and he snapped the cuffs on.

‘They’re too tight!’ Ginie exclaimed, unable to bear the sight of the metal digging into Mary’s wrists. ‘Can’t you loosen them?’

Van Niekerk ignored her. He led Mary to his car and opened the back door for her. She climbed in clumsily, hampered by the cuffs.

‘Ask Zandile to look after my children,’ she entreated Ginie. ‘Please tell her they—’