For a rather tall woman, Kuki Coetzee seemed small. There was a haunted expression in her eyes that had probably been placed there by the son whose image, in some shape or form, adorned many surfaces of the living room in which they sat. The other woman, the one sitting next to Kuki, was genuinely small, but seemed larger than life. Her personality created a reputation that always preceded her: Beatrice Beit-Beauford. Both women lived the kind of exciting lives whose episodes periodically graced the pages of The Chronicle.

Saskia picked up one of the framed photos of the son, Everleigh, on the mantelpiece, and tried to find a resemblance. ‘He looked so much like his father,’ she said, turning to Kuki with the sad smile she had practised over the years whenever she visited the family of a fallen soldier.

‘Yes. He was a precious and beautiful child,’ Kuki said as she stood up. ‘We did not deserve him.’

‘I wrote about Everleigh several times. His wins at eisteddfods. He really had the voice of an angel.’

‘Yes. He was a precious and beautiful child. We did not deserve him,’ Kuki repeated as she took the framed photo from Saskia’s hands, wiped it with the cuff of her blouse, and placed it back in its rightful place on the mantelpiece.

‘So many pictures of him and none of your husband—’

‘Ex-husband,’ Beatrice corrected.

‘There are no pictures of your ex-husband – or of you, for that matter.’

Kuki looked around the room as though this realisation was new to her.

‘You are wonderfully observant. You have a journalist’s eye for detail. Bravo to you. Now do you mind telling us why you are actually here?’ Beatrice said.

Saskia was not surprised by the hostility. Women of a certain age tended to dislike her for obvious reasons.

‘I am working on a piece on Emil for The Sunday News, but my bigger plan is to write his biography – Emil Coetzee: A True Patriot.’

‘A biography?’ Kuki asked. ‘Is this … is this something he wants?’

‘Yes. He is very excited about it. Unfortunately, he seems to have gone walkabout and—’

‘The preening popinjay,’ Beatrice interrupted. ‘Are you sure you’ll have enough material for a book – or even an article? All you need to know about Emil Coetzee can be summed up in three sentences. He came. He saw. He destroyed everything in his path.’

‘B!’ Kuki protested.

‘Don’t “B” me. Look at what he did to you, Kicks!’

‘You don’t like him very much, I take it,’ Saskia said to Beatrice.

‘Definitely no love lost here,’ Beatrice said.

‘I must say, I find that very interesting.’

‘Interesting? Why?’

‘Well …’ Saskia said, trying to sound as if she was being sensitive as she looked at Kuki. ‘I got the impression that women …’