SIXTEEN

Kitty leaned her head against the smooth bark of the baobab. Hidden from view behind the wide trunk of the tree, she could hear sounds of activity in the Mission compound. The nuns were singing as they swept the forecourt. Father Remi called out to Amosi, the cook. A dog barked in the distance.

She had driven out here early, leaving Diana to come in the Daimler at the usual time. She just wanted to get away from Millionaire Row. It felt too close to Head Office, to the Shoebox – to anywhere else in Londoni that Charlotte and Theo might be.

He had stayed out most of the night. When Kitty heard him returning – small sounds jolting her wide awake, proving she’d been listening for him in her sleep – the first light of dawn was already creeping around the edges of the curtains. As she expected, he headed straight to the spare room. There was a thud as he stumbled in the hallway; then came the heavy snoring of a person who’d drunk too much.

When Kitty finally slept again, it seemed only moments before she snapped awake. The sounds of breakfast being served came from the dining room. Throwing on her dressing down, she hurried out to see Theo. She knew she looked a mess – her eyes were bleary, her hair unbrushed – but she wanted to talk to him before he left the house again.

Theo was already buttering a slice of toast, a cup of tea at his elbow. He didn’t lift his gaze as Kitty walked in. She took a slow breath, trying to remain calm.

‘Where were you, all that time?’ she asked.

‘I don’t wish to discuss it.’ He kept his head bent over his plate of fried eggs and bacon.

Kitty clenched her teeth in frustration. Of course he didn’t – he never wanted to discuss anything. Not their marriage, and certainly not his health. She thought of how she’d pleaded with him over the years, to consult a civilian doctor about his nightmares, and the other symptoms of combat fatigue that hadn’t gone away. It was to no avail: he was like a child who believed that by putting his hands over his eyes he could make the world disappear.

‘I waited up for you,’ she said.

‘Well, you shouldn’t have bothered.’ He cut into his egg, letting the yolk spread.

‘You were with her, weren’t you?’

Theo gave no response. He just looked down at his plate while he chewed and swallowed. Then he drained his cup of tea and stood up. After slapping down his napkin next to his plate, he strode out of the room. Kitty could hear him brushing his teeth in the bathroom, then walking to the front door.

When he’d driven away, Kitty sat at the table, numb with dismay. The nothingness Theo had left her with was unbearable. She stood up, her steps drawn to the spare room.

The air was tainted with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Theo’s shoes – normally placed side by side under his bed as he was trained to do in boarding school – had been kicked off carelessly and left where they’d landed. From the chair, Kitty picked up his jacket. Lifting it to her nose, she recognised Charlotte’s distinctive perfume. As she dropped it back down, she noticed his crumpled shirt on the bed. There were red wine stains down the front. On the collar was a smudge of lipstick – dark, muddy red; nothing like the clear tones Kitty wore. And there was something else: a single red hair, long and curly, clinging to the sleeve. She picked it off, holding it between finger and thumb. It occurred to her that Charlotte’s hair was about the same length as her own had been before Theo had forced her to chop it off. Did he enjoy the feel of the long strands draping his skin as they made love? Did he wind Charlotte’s hair around his hand, pulling her face towards his?

Maybe they weren’t actually lovers, Kitty told herself. Maybe they had just kissed and cuddled. But then, why would they have stopped? There was nothing to hold them back – after all, Lady Welmingham was not married. Therefore Theo was perfectly entitled to have an affair with her, and she with him.

Louisa had made sure to explain to her daughter-in-law the rules that governed extramarital affairs between members of Britain’s aristocracy. The ‘little chat’ had taken place not long after Kitty and Theo had moved back to Hamilton Hall. Several times before, Louisa had taken Kitty aside like this. The girl was an Australian, with a family about whom very little information had been forthcoming. Louisa could see there was a lot Kitty did not know about how people like the Hamiltons lived. She was always blunt and to the point.

‘The first responsibility of a wife is to produce a male heir. Until she’s done this, there is absolutely no possibility of her having an affair. For his part, a gentleman will never sleep with a married woman – of his class, obviously – who has not yet had a son. That would be very poor form indeed. So what I’m saying to you, Kitty, is this: no playing around until you have given Theo his heir. Then, you can do as you damn well please.’

Kitty had let out a shocked laugh. Louisa had spoken in the same practical manner she used when discussing topics like floral arrangements or disciplining servants. Kitty had to replay in her mind what Louisa had just said, to make sure she’d understood.

‘So Theo is free to have an affair right now, and I’m not?’

‘Seems unjust, I know – but yes. The thing is, the paternity of the heir simply cannot be in question.’

Kitty stared at her mother-in-law. Was this how Louisa’s marriage had been played out? Had she indulged in affairs? If Yuri had responded to her attempts to flirt with him, would she have taken him as her lover? For his part, the Admiral clearly had an eye for women – especially young ones. Kitty saw it in the way he looked at the girls at church and the female servants. She’d even seen his gaze lingering on her own figure – following the movements of her legs as she crossed one over another, even though she made sure her skirt was pulled well down.

‘So have I made myself clear?’ Louisa’s face was stern; she was deadly serious.

‘You don’t need to worry,’ Kitty said. ‘Neither of us will be having affairs with anyone. We love each other.’

Louisa had given her an odd look, then – it could have been pity, envy, or a mixture of both. Then she’d just nodded and walked away.

Kitty shook the long red hair from her fingers and flung the shirt back onto the bed. She strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Moments later, she was dressed in her work clothes and heading outside to her car.

Now, standing in the shade of the baobab, the painful events of last night and this morning were more distant. Kitty felt steadier – as if by resting her body against the tree, she’d absorbed some of its strength. Father Remi had told her that this particular baobab – he used the Swahili name, buyu – was believed to be up to two thousand years old. She imagined it being here, century after century, while humans came and went, with all their pain and joy, dreams and disappointments.

She tried to think practically about her situation – starting by naming the emotions that churned inside her. She was angry, she was afraid, she was jealous. And she was shocked: it had happened so quickly – Charlotte had barely been here a month! She was also embarrassed. For all she knew, an affair had been going on ever since the apiarist had arrived, and was already the subject of gossip in Londoni. She felt a fleeting irony at the thought that she might be whispered about once more – but this time it was Theo who had caused it. She probed her wounds further, searching for something more heart-rending. But the truth was, she did not feel devastated. Perhaps Theo had hurt her too many times, and let her down too badly. Deep inside, she just felt numb and empty.

So what would happen next? She and Theo would stay together – that went without saying. Charlotte would return to England, eventually, and marry a suitable man. At some stage, Theo would want to have sex with his wife again. After all, he had to father his heir. Maybe they would even make that trip to Nairobi. But there would be no real love or trust between Kitty and her husband any more. They would never be the happy family she’d envisaged. With a shudder of pain Kitty realised she’d failed in her aim to have a better marriage than her mother. In fact, she’d fared worse. Kitty’s father was tough and ungiving, but she doubted he was unfaithful. And there was a basic loyalty between her parents. Come drought or bushfire, illness or other disaster, Kitty felt sure they’d stand shoulder to shoulder and take the blows together.

The sound of a large vehicle arriving broke into her thoughts. It came to a halt just the other side of the tree. Kitty frowned – it was too early to be the prison truck. She edged around the trunk to take a look. From her first glimpse of the old-fashioned spoked wheels and the bulbous headlights set close together, she recognised Taylor’s ramshackle shed-on-wheels. Gili was sitting there on the bonnet, crouched in his wooden box. When the engine stopped he jumped to the ground. Kitty saw Taylor climb down from the driver’s seat.

The pair caught sight of Kitty at the same time. The man was surprised but gave a friendly wave. As Gili bounded over, Kitty wiped her face, hoping she didn’t look like she’d been crying. Then she stepped forward, opening her arms.

She held the monkey against her chest, comforted by his embrace.

‘Good morning,’ Taylor called to her. He’d moved to the rear of the vehicle, where an African man was handing down some boxes of vegetables. There were another half-dozen tribesmen riding on the back tray. Kitty eyed them curiously, peering over Gili’s head. Their faces were painted with red ochre; ash whitened their chests and shoulders. They carried spears, bows and leather quivers spiky with arrows, as if dressed for a battle.

Kitty smiled cautiously as she moved nearer to offer the appropriate morning greetings. ‘Hamjambo. Habari za asubuhi?’

The oldest of the men replied for the whole group. He assured Kitty the morning was good, as were their homes, their families, their cattle and their shambas.

Kitty forced herself to say that everything was fine with her life also. These greetings were about courtesy, not truth. As she spoke, she studied the Africans more closely. Several wore armbands made of hide and feathers, the adornments drawing attention to their well-toned biceps. Necklaces decorated their broad shoulders. They looked utterly different to the plainly attired tribesmen she’d seen around Londoni – exotic and dangerous.

Taylor approached Kitty, reaching out his hands for Gili. The sleeves of his bush shirt were rolled up to his elbows, leaving his tanned forearms bare. The morning light fell across his face, showing up his strong jaw and broad brow. His eyes met Kitty’s and held them for a brief, potent moment. She peeled the monkey’s skinny arm from around her neck.

‘Where are you taking these men?’ She couldn’t imagine why Taylor would be involved in tribal fighting. Then it occurred to her that some kind of ceremony might be taking place – when the Minister of Food had made his last visit to Tanganyika, the Kongara Club had arranged a display of tribal dancing with Wagogo dressed up just like this.

‘We’re going to collect wild honey,’ Taylor said. He gestured towards the plains, in the opposite direction to the plantations. ‘We have to drive for an hour or so – beyond those hills in the distance. You get to an area of open grassland dotted with thorn trees.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s beautiful country.’

There was a brief silence. Kitty’s mouth seemed to open of its own accord. ‘Can I come?’ She bit her lip, amazed at herself for being so forthright. Taylor looked taken aback as well. ‘It’s all right,’ Kitty added hastily. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’ But even as she brushed her request aside, she felt how much she really did want to go. She longed, suddenly, to get away somewhere new, where she could forget about her life. She could sense the mood of anticipation among the men. It reminded her of when she used to set off to muster stock with the farmhands, lunch packed in their saddlebags, a big day ahead. When they found the honey, she told herself, she would stay back, well out of the way of the bees.

‘I’d love you to come,’ Taylor said, still looking surprised. ‘But women aren’t usually allowed on an expedition like this. I’ll have to see what they say.’

The conversation was quite lengthy. Kitty focused on Gili, while men pointed at her and argued among themselves. Eventually Taylor came back over.

‘They have agreed to let you come, because they know you work hard here at the Mission. Also, since you are a European, you don’t really count as a woman.’ He gave a grin. ‘I’ve had to promise to be responsible for you. To make sure you behave in a suitable manner.’

Kitty laughed. ‘I’ll be very good.’

She could feel the despair of the morning falling away. She hurried across the forecourt to let the nuns know what she was doing. Yesterday she’d arranged with Father Remi to spend time this morning discussing her setting up a studio out here. He was encouraging her to explore the options even though she hadn’t yet committed to making the statue – there was still the issue of Theo’s permission. He wanted to show her a spot at the rear of the Mission building that he thought would be ideal. But the plan could be postponed; Kitty knew the Father wouldn’t mind.

Taylor was waiting at the passenger side of the vehicle when she returned. ‘It will be a rough ride, I’m afraid. Not what you’re used to.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Kitty smiled inwardly at the idea she only belonged in saloon cars and limousines. Without waiting to be assisted, she swung herself easily onto the seat and let Gili curl up on her lap.

Taylor looked at her for a second, then went round to take his place behind the wheel. He leaned to turn on a jury-rigged ignition switch that could have belonged in a kitchen. The engine roared into life, a faulty muffler doing little to subdue its noise. As the vehicle picked up speed, it sounded as if there were dozens of things loose and rattling. Kitty shifted sideways, avoiding a broken spring that dug into her hip.

‘Are you all right?’ Taylor shouted over the racket.

‘Fine, thanks!’

Kitty settled back in her seat. She gazed ahead through a windscreen of sorts that had been mounted on the bonnet. The glass was scarred and dirty but it provided some protection from wind and dust. It was way too noisy for any conversation to be possible. With no words travelling between the two, the proximity of their bodies seemed heightened. Kitty stole sideways glances, taking in the deep lines around the man’s mouth and between his brows. His chin darkened by stubble. The sun-bleached hair on his arms. When she looked ahead again, she was aware that now he was glancing at her. She wondered what he saw. A woman who’d made no effort with her appearance, obviously. Did he also see that she’d hardly slept? She felt the words ‘unwanted wife’ must be written on her forehead. Humiliation was surely etched on her face. But if he saw any of this, he gave no sign of it. When their eyes chanced to meet, he gave her a warm look. Then he waved a hand, taking in the sky and the land as if to share with her its beauty.

When they’d only been driving a little while – skirting the foothills – Taylor pulled up beside a man walking on the road with a young child. As they exchanged greetings in Swahili, Kitty heard a reference to a wife who’d been ill. The woman must have recovered, though, because Taylor and the man were both smiling as they swapped farewells. Before driving on, Taylor pointed in the direction of the hillside nearby. For a moment Kitty couldn’t see what he was showing her. Then she picked out the gabled roof and stone facade of a house, almost camouflaged in an outcrop of boulders.

‘That’s my house,’ Taylor said.

Peering more closely Kitty saw it had big windows overlooking the plains and a terrace in front. At one end of the building there was a tower with a fanciful turret. Whoever had designed the place was not only concerned with practicality.

‘It was built by my father.’ The pride in Taylor’s voice was unmistakeable. ‘I was born there.’

‘It looks like a lovely home,’ Kitty said. ‘There must be quite a view.’

‘Best in the land.’ Taylor grinned. When he drove on, Kitty noticed how he let the vehicle pick up speed slowly, so that as they passed the man and his child they did not shower them with dust.

They left the green hills behind, descending to the plains. Amid the red earth, grass, shrubs and small trees were more baobabs than Kitty had yet seen in her time in Tanganyika. While still maintaining a dignified distance from one another, the giant trees were grouped in clusters. As the vehicle trespassed among them, Kitty had the idea that conversations were being suspended – then taken up again when privacy was restored.

The tracks petered out, and Taylor steered cross-country. It took another half-hour to reach the place where the landscape began to change. At first it was subtle – fewer baobabs, larger shrubs, thicker grass. The odd thorn tree appeared, its canopy a perfect curve against the sky. Then there were more of them – and more still. Soon they were in open woodland made up entirely of these graceful trees.

Finally, Taylor brought the vehicle to a halt. Dust settled, coating Kitty’s skin, hair and clothes. Gili sneezed, shaking out his fur. Taylor offered a water bottle to Kitty.

‘Thirsty?’

She took several big gulps – the water was lukewarm but it soothed her dry throat. She used the bottom of her shirt to wipe the top of the bottle, then handed it back. It seemed an oddly intimate gesture when they knew each other so little. She turned away as Taylor tipped back his head and took a few long swallows.

Behind them, the men jumped down from the vehicle and began to organise their weapons.

‘Are they going to hunt?’ Kitty asked.

‘If they see a gazelle or an eland, they’ll go after it,’ Taylor said. ‘But the spears and arrows are mainly for protection. There are lions out here. Elephant and buffalo as well. Don’t worry, though. You’re in good hands.’

‘I’m not worried.’ Kitty glanced around her, hoping for a glimpse of a wild animal. She’d yet to see any of the creatures she’d always associated with Africa. Bowie, the old hunter, had been right – the big game had all fled from Kongara.

‘But stay close to me,’ Taylor warned.

Kitty looked down at Gili, nestled in her arms. He was being very calm and quiet. She guessed he’d learned how to behave on trips like this.

One of the men walked a little way off from the group. He was strikingly tall and strong, with muscles bunched tightly on his slender limbs. Lifting up his face, he began to whistle.

Taylor spoke in an undertone. ‘That’s Nuru. He’s calling the honey guide. A bird. When it hears him, it will answer – with a special whistle it only uses to communicate with humans.’

‘That’s amazing.’ Following Nuru’s gaze, Kitty searched the treetops.

‘It’s the only bird out of seventeen similar species that does this,’ Taylor added.

Nuru whistled again, a clear melodic sound. Then he froze, head tilted to one side, his expression intent. As a reply travelled clearly on the air, he swivelled around, hunting for its source. A grey bird broke from the foliage of a tree up ahead. It flew off, swooping low. Nuru strode after it, followed by everyone else. While their leader watched the honey guide, the other men scanned the undergrowth on all sides, checking for any danger.

The bird flew on, stopping to perch on branches now and then – just until Nuru and the rest of the group caught up – before flapping off again. Kitty watched in amazement; there was no doubt the little bird was actively cooperating in their quest for honey.

Eventually, the honey guide settled on a branch and stayed there.

One of the men said something to Nuru. Kitty picked up a warning note in his voice. She turned to Taylor to see if he would explain what was going on.

‘He said, “I hope you paid this honey guide last time”.’ Taylor’s voice was muted. ‘If Nuru didn’t, the bird will remember. It might bring us to the lion’s den.’

Kitty peered nervously into the surrounding bushes, wondering if he were being serious or not. Nuru was joined by another man and together they searched the nearby trees. After several minutes, he gave a triumphant wave.

‘Nimeipata!’ I have found it!

Kitty could see a hole high up the trunk of the tree. A few bees were coming and going from it. She stared in mixed wonder and alarm – the bird really had led Nuru straight to a bee’s nest! Taking a cautious step backwards, she clutched Gili to her chest. ‘Aren’t these bees dangerous?’ She tried to sound casual, but she was thinking of Cynthia’s husband – picturing his agonised figure covered in stinging insects.

‘They smoke the bees before they take the honey. It confuses them. The men will get a few stings, but the swarm won’t attack.’ Taylor sounded so confident that Kitty felt reassured. She put Gili down, then watched on while Nuru used matches to set fire to a pile of twigs. As a small blaze flared up, another man held something in the flames.

‘Looks like they’ve found some dried elephant dung. It makes good smoke,’ Taylor commented.

Now that the source of honey had been located, lighthearted chatter broke out.

‘How do you know about the honey guide – the seventeen species?’ Kitty asked him.

‘Nuru told me. His ancestors have been living here for a long time. They were Dorobo originally – hunter-gatherers. But they joined the Wagogo generations ago when they took up farming.’

Nuru put the piece of smoking dung in his bag and climbed nimbly up the tree trunk. Kitty noticed that the honey guide, sitting in its tree, was watching on keenly. When Nuru reached the hole, he used a strip of hide to make a sling, holding himself in place, leaving his hands free.

As he pushed the dung into the nest, bees began milling around the entrance. Kitty frowned anxiously, but Nuru showed no sign of concern. Soon they formed a cloud around him. Kitty heard him exclaim as he was stung – but he was undeterred. Reaching inside the hole, he pulled out a large chunk of honeycomb, dropping it into his bag. Then he produced another. The onlookers shared smiles of anticipation.

When Nuru finally climbed down, his bag was bulging. The first thing he did was to take out a hunk of honeycomb and place it on the ground near the tree where the honey guide sat. The bird flew down and began pecking at the comb.

‘It has to be one of the best pieces,’ Taylor said, ‘with larvae in it. That’s what the bird expects.’

‘And would it really lead people to a lion if it wasn’t paid properly?’

‘I’ve heard it has happened,’ Taylor confirmed.

Nuru began handing out chunks of honeycomb. Taylor and Kitty sat on a fallen log, after checking for scorpions. Gili squeezed in between them. The tribesmen broke off bits of honeycomb and chewed them up, closing their eyes in pleasure.

Kitty accepted the piece that was given to her. Gili immediately stole one corner and crammed it into his mouth. Honey leaked onto Kitty’s fingers as she lifted the honeycomb to her lips. It was crunchy, waxy, with pockets of sweetness. The honey was unlike any she’d tasted before – it was velvety on her tongue and had a flavour that reminded her of clover flowers. She was aware of the Wagogo awaiting her verdict.

‘Delicious!’ She swallowed, and licked her lips. But then, as she took a second bite, her jaw froze. There was something in the honey – creamy, with an odd taste. Lowering her hand, she examined the chunk of comb. Like the honey guide, she’d been given a piece containing larvae. She stared at the pale, wormlike shapes for a few seconds, then made herself have another bite. She didn’t need anyone to tell her the special treat was an honour that had to be gracefully accepted.

Taylor nodded approvingly. ‘You don’t have to eat it all,’ he murmured.

Kitty managed another small portion – but was then relieved to see the men were no longer watching her. They were focused fully on enjoying the honey. Nuru handed out second servings, but there was still plenty in the bag to carry home to the village.

‘These bees seem to be hardworking – making lots of honey,’ Kitty commented.

‘That’s bees for you,’ Taylor grinned. ‘Busy.’

‘But I thought African bees were lazy.’ As soon as the words were out, Kitty realised how ridiculous they sounded. She hurried to explain herself. ‘Have you heard about the beekeeping project that’s being run by the Scheme?’

‘No – what project?’

Kitty felt a wave of relief – if Taylor didn’t know about the bees, then he most likely didn’t know about Charlotte. That meant he probably hadn’t heard rumours that Lady Welmingham was having an affair with her husband. ‘They had problems with the pollination rates, so they got an apiarist from England to bring over some European bees. They’re about to install the hives down on the plantations.’

Taylor stared at her. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Everything’s ready to go.’

She told him how the men in the workshops had turned their mechanical skills to the task of constructing wooden hives to Lady Welmingham’s specifications. Colonies of imported bees had since been established in them, each with its own queen. Charlotte had brought a container of queen larvae with her and there had been great excitement when they started hatching. One evening over dinner, Charlotte had described to her hosts how she had checked the new queens over, squashing any she didn’t like the look of, and painting the others with tiny symbols. The marks corresponded with records in her notebook, and also with matching symbols painted on the hives where each of them would reign. The purpose of this, Charlotte had explained, was that their performance could be measured and only the best bloodlines kept going. The way she’d spoken of breeding had reminded Kitty of Louisa.

‘So, right now,’ Kitty told Taylor, ‘the hives are all stacked up in the middle of the football field, ready to be taken out to the Units.’

‘Idiots!’ Taylor exclaimed. He jumped to his feet and began pacing. ‘Who’s in charge, do you know?’

Kitty swallowed. She hadn’t expected this extreme reaction. ‘My husband.’

The Africans were watching the exchange with interest, but showed no sign of understanding what was being said. If they spoke any English, it was obviously not much.

Taylor was quiet for a moment, standing still, then he shook his head. ‘This is complete madness. He has no idea what he’s doing.’ He waved his hand to take in the scene in front of them – the hive, the bees, the tribesmen in their finery, and the honey. ‘Bees are sacred to these people. You can see how they’ve prepared themselves to come out here today. Honey plays a part in every landmark in their lives: courtship, weddings, pregnancy, the birth of a child, death . . . Many of the Wagogo chiefs already resent the Scheme. It’s brought so many new problems. They’ve watched their traditional way of life being undermined. They’ll see this introduction of European bees as an attack on their sovereignty. They’ll be deeply offended.’

Everything Taylor said made sense to Kitty. She wondered if Theo had thought all this through, and had decided the needs of the Scheme were to take priority over concerns held by the Africans – or if he’d not even considered the issues.

‘They’ll also be very afraid,’ Taylor continued. ‘The lives of the Wagogo are tied closely with nature. In the hills we have the spring water to depend on, but in the rest of the country there’s only rain. If it comes at the right time, the people can eat. If there’s drought, they starve. If one part of nature is disturbed – like the bees – there could be terrible consequences, from the ancestral spirits and from the land itself.’ He broke off, his brow furrowed with concern. ‘It simply has to be stopped, at least until there’s been some discussion with the chiefs. No offence to your husband, but I need to go straight to the top. I’ll see Richard first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘Will he listen to you?’ Kitty asked. She’d revised her opinion of the man since their interactions over Diana – he’d shown he was someone who could see reason, and was prepared to change his mind if it made sense to do so. But on the other hand, he was responsible for making sure the germination rate of the crops was increased, or else the Scheme could never succeed.

‘He will when I explain what’s at stake,’ Taylor stated. ‘The last thing he wants is to have the village people up in arms. He’s facing serious problems with the native workers. They still don’t have good water; their families are still far away, or else squatting in the slums. There’s already been a strike at the wharves in Dar es Salaam. The tension will spread here if nothing’s done.’

Kitty nodded – she’d heard about the trouble in the capital. For several days, the women at the Club had been preoccupied with accounts of Africans brandishing spears and clubs, marching on offices, threatening Europeans. In response to the crisis, the Chief Inspector had summoned all the senior staff to Scotland Inch and issued them with pistols. When Theo brought his home, Kitty had been alarmed. People carrying weapons around reminded her of the war years. She was worried about the effect it could have on Theo. But he’d not seemed bothered by the pistol. And he’d played down the threat, saying the firearms were just a sensible precaution. Nevertheless, he carried his gun with him, as instructed, whenever he went to the Units.

‘Richard will have to act straight away,’ Taylor said. ‘I’m just glad you told me.’

Kitty felt a spike of pleasure at the thought that Charlotte’s precious project was about to run into a serious hitch. She half hoped the woman would discover it had been Kitty who had, albeit inadvertently, been the cause of the upset. It would almost be worth the trouble she’d get into with Theo . . .

‘Looks like it’s time to go.’ Taylor gestured towards the men who were picking up their spears, slinging quivers over their shoulders. He offered his hand to pull Kitty to her feet. Their palms met, sticky with honey, making them both smile. ‘We can wash when we get back to the car.’

Kitty laughed. ‘You call that a car?’

‘Well, it was once . . .’

Kitty sensed that Taylor was glad – as she was – to change the subject. The tense words they’d exchanged were out of keeping with the beauty of the setting and the relaxed mood of the Wagogo. A man sang to himself as he cradled the bulging bag of honey against his chest. Another picked idly at his teeth with a stick. Nuru wandered over to the fire he’d lit, which was still burning. He looked back at Kitty, appearing undecided for a second – then he lifted up his loincloth, letting go a stream of urine, causing smoke to give way to steam.

From the corner of her eye, Kitty saw Taylor checking to see if she was offended.

‘We always did that when we left a camp fire,’ she told him. ‘Better than starting a bushfire.’

They set off, joining the end of the line of men. Now that Nuru was no longer following the honey guide, he chose a more direct route, pushing a path through thick grass. Kitty walked beside Taylor, Gili back in her arms. An Mgogo followed behind them with his spear poised in his hands.

‘You’ve spent time in the bush, then?’ Taylor said.

Kitty nodded. ‘My family live on a farm, miles from the nearest town.’

‘That’s why . . .’ Taylor’s words petered out.

‘Why what?’

‘Why you are so different to the other Kongara ladies – not that I know any of them, really. But when you helped me with the pipe that day, you knew how to be useful. You speak Swahili. And, I’ve seen how you work at the Mission.’

Kitty felt warmed by the open admiration in his voice. She realised how much time she spent being subjected to criticism, or trying to avoid it.

‘You seem so . . . unlike your husband,’ Taylor commented. ‘I’ve crossed paths with him a couple of times, and he’s . . . well, very British.’

Kitty could tell Taylor was guarding his words, not prepared to say what he really thought about Theo.

‘We are very different,’ Kitty agreed. ‘We married during the war. We were in love, but we didn’t know one another very well.’ She was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, it was to herself as much as to Taylor. ‘I think we can probably both see now – it was a mistake.’

It was a mistake.

Such a simple statement – and yet its meaning was huge. Part of her was shocked that she’d said the words. And why was she talking so frankly to Taylor, of all people? She looked around her at the thorn trees with their speckled canopies, each the same shape; the clear spaces between the branches; the wide blue sky above. There was something open and truthful about the setting that made her own transparency not only acceptable, but necessary. Social niceties – all the taboos and conventions – were part of another world. ‘I don’t know if it was the war that changed him,’ she went on, ‘or if he just grew up and became his true self. And there were other things that happened . . . But whatever the reasons might be, he’s just not the man I fell in love with.’

They walked on, their feet following a matching rhythm, swishing through the grass.

Kitty wanted to ask Taylor something about his personal life. Father Remi had once referred to him as a ‘single man’. And he’d said Taylor’s parents were no longer alive. But that was all she knew.

‘I lost my fiancée during the war,’ Taylor said, as if reading her thoughts.

Kitty turned to him. Platitudes came to mind but she discarded them one by one.

‘I don’t mean she was killed. She found someone else. I don’t blame her – I was missing in action for years. I was a prisoner of war. She believed I was dead.’ Taylor was quiet for the next few steps. ‘I often wonder how it would have worked out if we’d stayed together. We met in England while I was at agricultural college. She said she liked the idea of living in Africa. But the truth is, it’s not every woman’s cup of tea, being out here. Of course, if she’d hated it we’d have moved away from the farm. But I’m glad I never had to do that. The place is in my blood.’

Kitty eyed him curiously as she took in his words. Her father had often talked of being tied to Seven Gums, but he made it sound like a lifelong curse – one that his sons would be saddled with after he was gone. Theo was stuck with Hamilton Hall, as well. In a few years’ time, when his work with the Scheme was over, he and Kitty would have no choice but to move back there and take care of it for the rest of their lives. Kitty saw the dark side to the devotion Theo’s heritage required, but he simply considered it a privilege. She was amazed to hear Taylor saying he’d move from this place if he had to, for the sake of his wife’s happiness. She could see how much he loved living there on the hillside. But she didn’t doubt that he meant what he’d said. He was the same person, after all, who had set up a scheme to help prisoners. The men saw him as their rescuer, Kitty knew. Working for him gave them a chance to earn a little money to send home to their families and to learn skills they could use later on; it brought them outside into the fresh air, and they got to eat good food from the Mission kitchens. Bwana Taylor was admired by all – and he deserved it.

Kitty looked sideways at Taylor as they walked along together. He’d said nothing more about his fiancée and she didn’t feel she should ask. One thing she knew – whoever the woman was, she’d passed up the chance to marry a man with a kind, strong heart.

Suddenly, it seemed, they were back at the vehicle. Gili hopped down from Kitty’s arms and capered about, burning off pent-up energy. Taylor brought out a jerry can of water, and everyone washed their hands. Then he passed around the drinking water. The men drank without letting the bottle touch their lips. When it was her turn, Kitty tried to follow their example, but managed to pour water over her chin. Everyone laughed at her. Dabbing her face with her sleeve, she joined in. Her mistake didn’t matter. Nothing mattered out here. She felt freer than she had in a long time, removed from all the troubles of her life. And there was a new warmth inside her – a closeness shared with Taylor, after the talk they’d just had.

Nuru produced a huge bunch of bananas that had been stowed somewhere in the vehicle. Kitty accepted one gratefully, feeling suddenly hungry. Gili stood between her and Taylor, carefully peeling back the skin of his banana, then nibbling delicately at the end.

‘Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.’ Taylor said.

Kitty felt a pang of nostalgia at the phrase. It was one her mother liked to use. She wondered if Taylor had also inherited it from his mother. And what was her name? When had she died? What kind of life had she led? Kitty wanted to know so much more about Taylor, and to tell him so much more about herself.

‘I’ve enjoyed today,’ she said.

‘Me too,’ he said simply. But his eyes did not leave hers – those strange, striking eyes with two-toned irises held her gaze. In the sunshine, the blue-green that circled his pupils looked like seawater. The rim of light brown shone like spun gold.