‘But it’s true,’ she insisted. ‘They don’t judge me or have hidden agendas.’

‘You cannot know what the grind of their lives is like, when you live in such luxury.’

‘No, of course, you’re right,’ she replied. ‘What I mean is that I find refuge here and I feel as though they do too. But it’s true that we’re not escaping the same problems.’

Guthrie smiled at her, and she slipped her hand through his arm. A warm breeze was flowing through the open windows and as they walked, patches of sunlight would catch a copper bangle, a bright scarf, or the solemn eyes of a baby with its thumb in its mouth.

Guthrie’s blue eyes were resting on her face: kindly, patient, quizzical. ‘Do you mind if I say something?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Your taking such an interest in these people’s lives is wonderful, and I am sure it’s making a real difference.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s just that. . . how shall I put this? Um – just be careful your own motives never eclipse the real needs of others.’

‘What on earth does that mean?’

‘Your desire to do this work seems to have something to do with working out your own complexes.’

Ginie gave him a rueful smile. ‘I suppose so. But what if I am achieving some good in the process?’

‘Then of course I approve.’

14 Catherine, Rhodesia, 1950s

14

Catherine, Rhodesia, 1950s

Mufaro and I lay in the long grass under the spreading branches of a mopane tree. It was a majestic old tree, the roots hard under our backs. I was drowsy, lulled by the heat, by the swaying of leaves overhead, the cooing of doves. A cloud of yellow butterflies hovered over the grass close by and one of them settled on my foot with beating wings. I held my breath, but it fluttered off almost immediately. I could still feel the soft brush of its legs on my skin.

‘We should always meet under this tree,’ I said dreamily. ‘Even when we’re grown up.’

‘That’s if you still want to know me when you’re a white madam.’ Mufaro’s voice was teasing, but tight.

‘What a horrible thing to say,’ I snapped. ‘Didn’t I just tell you we’d always be friends?’ Rage flashed through me like lightning, but it was mingled with shame. Mufaro’s face was a mirror of my feelings.

‘Yes, but you’re going to go away to college and I will still be here, working my father’s land. Blacks can’t go to college.’ He ripped handfuls of grass out of the earth as he spoke and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

‘It’s unfair,’ I said. ‘It’s so unfair.’

‘You’ve only just realised that?’

‘Is it my fault?’ I glared at him through tears.

‘No, of course not,’ he replied evenly, but he seemed glad that I was upset.