Just before they left, they were given the diamond stylus and asked to sign the window, adding the date of their visit. They enjoyed this; it was a novelty that salvaged the appearance of the evening. As Mark took the stylus from Ginie and she indicated which pane of glass he should inscribe, Stephen noticed how deliberately he touched her hand and sought eye contact.

They all said their goodbyes in the courtyard. Eric shook Stephen’s hand and Stephen saw Eric’s resentment still seething below the surface. When he said goodbye to Mark, he wondered if his own resentment was as visible. A chill crept over him, despite the warmth of the evening, and he shivered as he watched the guests climb into their cars and pull away.

That night, they both waited for Ginie’s owl. They sat up till very late, but it did not arrive. That was it, they realised, the owl’s time was up, and they would never know why.

5 Catherine, Rhodesia, 1950s

5

Catherine, Rhodesia, 1950s

Our house was not large. Just two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living room. The floors were covered with thin, cracked linoleum and the furniture was simple. My parents had a lot of books, mostly about natural history and the classics. They also had display cases for my father’s butterfly collection and plant specimens, and a desk where they wrote letters.

The living room opened on to a veranda, which was supported by brick columns and covered with a tin roof. It looked out over the garden and the birds that came to my father’s bird baths and tables. On a clear day, you could see the forested hills stretching to the blue border of Mozambique. My room was next to my parents’; the walls were thin. During humid nights, it was hard to fall asleep in my narrow, iron bed with the mosquito net tucked tightly down around me. Sometimes, sounds came from their room that I did not want to hear, sounds that made me press my hands over my ears.

On the evening they came back from dinner at the Dragon Lady’s house, I overheard them talking in bed.

‘What’s the matter, Di?’ Dad asked, sounding exhausted.

‘It’s nothing, really.’ My mother’s voice was raw, as though it physically hurt her to speak. ‘It’s just. . . I felt so stupid tonight.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t know how to talk to them. Stephen was kind. You know where you are with him; I can’t imagine him saying one thing to your face and another behind your back. But I didn’t take to her at all.’

‘I thought she was lovely,’ said my father, with surprising warmth.