‘I wanted to see the real Rhodesia,’ said Elizabeth. There was a small, charged pause. ‘The visit went peacefully. The people I met couldn’t have been more kind or more welcoming. I even found my picture, torn out of a magazine, in one of the homes. As you know, I do not make mistakes,’ she was smiling, but Stephen detected an edge of steel in her voice, humour ­masking unshakeable conviction. Then her smile faded and she said, ‘Frankly, I was upset by the dreadful poverty I saw. I’m going to raise it when I get home. To ­paraphrase Procopius, “One cannot understand why God Almighty inflicts such misfortunes on the human race”. . .’

After lunch, in a quiet and intimate ceremony, Stephen knelt before Elizabeth on a gold and crimson velvet knighting-stool. He thought he would be nervous, but he felt at peace with himself and humbled by the honour.

Elizabeth placed the side of the blade gently on his right shoulder. Then she raised the sword just up over his head and laid it on his left shoulder. After he had been dubbed, the new Sir Stephen rose to his feet and Elizabeth presented him with the Badge of a Knight Bachelor.

He thanked her and she said warmly, ‘You have shown exceptional generosity towards this country, and I am glad to have the opportunity to acknowledge it.’

The Courtaulds arrived back at La Rochelle just as the sun slipped below the horizon. The dogs came hurrying to greet them and they all went to sit on the veranda. The air was fragrant with drying leaves and grasses. Before long it was dark.

Their days in Salisbury had been full to overflowing and the house, by contrast, felt quiet and somehow withdrawn. Dixon brought sandwiches and tea on a tray. The rest of the staff were finished for the day.

‘Remember the dances we planned to throw, the many friends we were going to make?’ Ginie asked wistfully, when Dixon had gone.

Stephen nodded. ‘I guess it didn’t work out like that.’

‘No, but I don’t regret the choices we made.’

For a time, they ate in silence, looking at the enormous stars and listening to the clicking of the crickets and the drums thudding from the staff houses.

‘I have an idea,’ Stephen said suddenly.

Ginie looked at him quizzically, but he got up without a word and walked through to the parlour, where he began to push the furniture against the walls. Next, he rolled back the Persian carpet, unveiling their sprung dance floor, as smooth as the day it was built. He went to the gramophone and a slow waltz filled the room, drowning out the sounds of the African night.

He took Ginie’s hand and kissed the soft skin on the inside of her wrist.

‘Would you dance with me?’ his mouth curved into a smile.