Up until the moment I heard Mum had died, I hoped against all odds that my father would forgive her, that she’d get better and we would live together as a family again. But when my mother took her life, I realised that the worst can happen. I was able to hang on until my aunt came from England to look after me, but I fell ill shortly after she arrived. I had a sort of nervous collapse and was in bed for months. I don’t remember much about that time – it was like being inside a tunnel where everything was grey and depthless. My aunt took me back to England, and there, I slowly recovered.

I wish I could tell you that Mufaro became a political leader, that I went back to Rhodesia and married him and together we steered our country towards a bright, new future. It would make a good story, but it wouldn’t be true. I stayed in England. I wanted to be as far away from Africa as I could get. I never heard from him again, though I expect he was one of the first to volunteer for the Liberation War. I only hope he survived it. I still have the elephant hair bracelet he gave me. I keep it in a blue, velvet-covered jewellery box, along with my mother’s engagement and wedding rings. I don’t open the box very often, because whenever I do, something in me starts weeping.

Dad never left Rhodesia. He grew reclusive as the years passed and our letters dwindled. We didn’t know what to say. We were unsure if words would bridge the chasm between us, or send us plunging back into darkness and grief.

His contributions to the natural history of Africa were published in zoological and botanical papers and were publicly acknowledged by the Natural History Museum in London. Some of his beautifully prepared specimens, along with his detailed notes about the habits of various species, are still held in the Museum. I think that part of his life, the pursuit of knowledge and his passion for the natural world, was the only part that remained pure and safe for him.

No record of his deeds for the CID survive. As Robert Mugabe was getting ready to take power in Zimbabwe after the 1980 elections, Rhodesian Intelligence burned all its records. To speed things up, they requisitioned the hospital furnaces and even the crematoria. Convoys of trucks were loaded with files and sent off to be destroyed.

Years later, after Dad died, I went through all his papers and found only one letter from De Quehen:

I am sorry to learn of your decision to resign from the CID and your reasons for it. You served the government well. . .