She told herself she was being fanciful. The dogs wandered around the property day and night and Jongy seemed to know exactly who came and went. Her animals were the best security system she could get. Though she recalled Sandra and Max had been unusually restless early that morning; there had been a rally of frenzied barking. Tensely, she gazed along the road for Stephen’s car. The dust kicked up by an approaching car could usually be seen long before the vehicle was visible, but the road was empty. She knew it was too soon to expect him home.

As she turned back to the veranda, something caught her eye. An envelope was lying on the table, addressed to her. Had it been there all morning? A feeling of nausea tightened her stomach and her skin pimpled despite the heat, for she recognised the handwriting. She opened it with clumsy fingers.

YOU THINK YOU’RE SO SAINTLY, BUT YOU ARE DANGEROUS IDIOTS, TOO BLIND TO SEE THE DAMAGE YOU WREAK.

STOP HELPING THE KAFFIRS IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES.

The veranda darkened for a moment and Ginie sat down. Someone had been loitering in the trees, perhaps a hundred yards away, watching her movements. She looked again to the Dell, but the foliage was so dense, she couldn’t see anything. She began to tremble, half with anger, half with fear. Who was doing this to them?

Stephen returned from town at two o’clock, weary and on edge after a long morning of driving and dealing with the bank and post office. Dixon brought him a jug of iced water and a ham sandwich and Ginie told him what had happened. She tried to be as calm as possible, recounting the incident as matter-of-factly as she could. He looked at her gently.

‘It’s unpleasant, darling, but it’s only words. Some craven person is trying to scare us into taking a different path, that’s all.’

‘But who do you think it is – is it Eric? Is he angry that we took Mary and her children in?’

Stephen put his half-eaten sandwich on the table. He closed his eyes, pressing his knuckles against them.

‘I am sure he’s angry. I mean, he would see it as a personal attack, though Lord knows that wasn’t our intention. But the letter writer could just as well be another farmer, or anyone in town. We’ve earned a reputation for sympathising with the Africans – to most whites that makes us traitors.’

‘It’s dreadful to think that someone out there hates us so much.’

Ginie’s lips began to tremble and she surrendered to tears. Stephen crossed the veranda and took her in his arms. She leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling the roughness of his jacket against her cheek and inhaling the familiar scent of soap and sweat. It was a relief to give way, to be taken care of.