The table was laid with white linen, crystal, silver and great bowls of amaryllis, winter jasmine and poinsettia. Sam had sent the flowers all the way from Eltham, a gesture that touched Ginie and Stephen deeply, yet made them homesick. There were bottles of red and white wine, a huge baked ham, roast potatoes, buttered vegetables, a dish of glistening cranberry sauce and a splendid stilton that had arrived alongside Sam’s flowers. Stephen carved the turkey at the sideboard.

‘Why is there no stuffing?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Ginie retorted, ‘of course there is.’

‘There isn’t.’

Ginie rang the bell and Gideon came in, dressed in his whites. He was a very tall and thin man, with the thinness of those fired by nervous tension.

‘Gideon, where’s the stuffing?’ she asked.

Gideon walked over to the sideboard and took the carving fork out of Stephen’s hand. He dug into the middle of the turkey and, raising the fork aloft, walked to Ginie and deposited a joined string of sausages onto her plate. Thunk, thunk, thunk.

‘Thank you, Gideon,’ said Ginie, at last. ‘It looks lovely.’

‘It’s not exactly like home,’ remarked Stephen, when Gideon was out of earshot.

After the meal, the children of their staff were invited to the house for Christmas gifts. On the lawn, the Courtaulds and Guthrie handed out packages they had wrapped the previous day, containing chocolate bars and sweets, paper and coloured pencils, clothes and blankets and toys. Stephen had learnt a few sentences of Shona.

‘Manga muri vana vakanaka pano?’ he asked, smiling broadly. Have you all been good children?

‘Hongu!’ they shouted. We are very good children!

There were about forty of them with their parents, all different ages. Few could contain their excitement, sucking sweets and comparing gifts as they chattered away. However, some of the smaller children were frightened and wary of being handed to these strange white people.

As Ginie gave the last rattle to a baby on his mother’s back, a few heavy drops of rain began to fall. There was a flurry of wind and dust. Thunder rolled overhead, lightning streaked from one hill to another and a curtain of rain plunged down, so dense that the trees looked shrouded and ghostly.

Yelling joyfully to the heavy sky, they ran to the veranda for shelter, where they huddled and watched water pour off the edge of the roof in sheets, their voices competing with the sound of the rain. The gutters were overrun, everything streamed and splashed. From the pool came the sound of frogs exulting. Some of the ­children stayed on the grass, stamping in puddles that were already forming, their heads thrown back in ecstasy, eyes shut and mouths open to catch the raindrops.