‘Are we running late?’ Diana asked. ‘My watch has stopped.’ She was sitting in the front passenger seat of the Hillman; these last weeks she’d finally overcome her fear of being near the driver.
‘I don’t think so,’ Kitty answered. ‘We don’t have to meet the others until three. That’s when the tennis roster ends.’ They were bumping along the shortcut track. In the rear-view mirror the bell-tower finally disappeared in a haze of dust. ‘It seems such a waste of time.’
The two had promised to join some of the ladies to help decorate the marquee for the Christmas Ball. A lot of the work had already been done. The huge tent had been erected in the open space next to the Club. Men from the Tractor Workshops – the same ones who had constructed Charlotte’s beehives – had made giant plywood cut-outs of angels and reindeer, and Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. They’d been installed outside the front of the marquee. The schoolchildren had made yards and yards of paper chains. Now it was up to the ladies to add the final touches.
Diana rolled her eyes. ‘I couldn’t agree more. I wanted to stay on and talk to Chalula. There’s so much I have to do before I go.’
Kitty picked up a tense note in Diana’s voice. ‘You can leave me a list of things to do, if you like.’
‘I expect I’ll have to. I’ve arranged for the post office to let you check my mail. You must look out for something about Daudi’s appeal hearing. If the letter comes, make sure the boy’s parents are contacted. Chalula knows the name of their village. And if the bail hearing for Ndele comes up, you’ll have to act on my behalf.’
‘Don’t worry. I will,’ Kitty said reassuringly. She’d already heard Diana give these same instructions to Father Remi – and more besides. Chalula had written everything down. Kitty understood Diana wanted to make sure everything ran smoothly in her absence, but it was still a couple of weeks before she was due to leave for England. Kitty couldn’t help thinking all this forward planning might be Diana’s way of managing her anxiety about the trip itself.
Kitty could only imagine how hard it was going to be for Richard and Diana – returning to the town where they’d lived when their son’s tragic death took place, and then visiting their families and seeing Phillip’s cousins looking older, taller, while their own little boy would only ever be five years old. Kitty wondered if Diana now felt daunted by the journey that had been planned – and whether she should ask her about it.
The pair had become close during the time they’d been working together. They’d shared so much. Not just everyday experiences like changing a flat tyre or picking beans in the vegetable garden, but things that had left them exhausted, distressed and even frightened. Only a week earlier, just after lunch had been served, a fight had broken out between two prisoners. Father Remi had been knocked to the ground when he’d tried to intervene. The assault on the priest had infuriated other prisoners and for a few terrifying minutes the conflict had spread. The askaris had responded with heavy use of their batons. By the time the incident had been brought under control, nearly a dozen men needed to be treated for injuries, the Father among them. Diana had had to join Kitty in the clinic, tending the wounds. She’d been helpful and effective, but Kitty had noticed her hands were shaking. It had taken her some time to calm down afterwards. Kitty was worried now that this incident – coming on top of the stress of the trip home – might have been too much for Diana.
‘How are you going with making plans for England?’ she asked carefully.
‘Everything is in place, I think,’ Diana said. ‘We just have to decide whether to take a train north to Richard’s family or arrange to get a car.’
‘Are you worried about it – what it will be like?’ Kitty felt she could push a bit further.
‘Yes, I am,’ Diana said. ‘Sometimes I wish I could call it off. But I know we have to go.’ She was quiet for second, as if reaching inside herself. ‘Richard and I need to stand in the street where Phillip was killed. We need to go to his grave and read his name, the date of his death. We have to accept what happened. It’s the only way we can face the future.’ She put her hand to her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low. ‘But I am afraid.’
Kitty swallowed a lump in her throat. She felt a wave of admiration for Diana. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d tried to commit suicide only a couple of months ago. The transformation seemed almost miraculous. Occasionally, there were glimpses of the old unstable Diana. She would become brittle and tense, or else silent and withdrawn. She’d smoke constantly. Sometimes when she was cheerful there was an extreme edge to her behaviour. But Father Remi was a steadying presence, drawing her out or calming her down. And regardless of her mood, Diana was always completely devoted to her work. Whatever was going on around her, she listened carefully to the prisoners who came to her desk, then wrote the appropriate letters in her new neat style. She’d proved to be strong and resilient, Kitty reminded herself. Diana might be feeling stressed, but when she got to England she would rise to the occasion.
‘You will get through it,’ Kitty said to her. ‘I know you will. You are so strong now.’ She waited for Diana to nod. ‘And I’ll be thinking of you,’ she added, ‘every day that you’re gone. And so will the Fathers, Chalula, Tesfa – everyone.’
‘Thank you,’ Diana smiled, blinking away a tear. ‘I’ll remember that.’
They drove in silence for a while. The bond of their friendship was a warm cloud in the air between them. As they reached the edge of Londoni, Kitty glanced at her watch again, then drove a bit faster to make up time.
‘I have to talk to you, Kitty.’ Diana’s voice broke the quiet without warning. ‘Before we have to deal with the others.’
‘Of course.’ Kitty rehearsed in her mind some more words of encouragement and sympathy.
‘I believe Theo is having an affair.’
Kitty gripped the steering wheel in shock – not just at the unexpected change of subject, but at hearing these words spoken aloud, so blunt and clear. It made what she already knew seem much more real. Her stomach twisted; she felt she might be sick.
‘It’s that beekeeping woman.’ Diana sounded matter-of-fact, rather than outraged.
Kitty nodded mutely.
‘So you already know.’ Diana sighed. ‘Poor you. Everyone’s talking, of course. That’s one of the worst parts about it. You just have to brave it out, Kitty. Think of it as a storm coming through. Hold up your head and walk straight into the wind. The thing is, it will pass.’
Kitty turned to Diana. ‘You sound as if you know what it’s like.’
Diana waved her hand vaguely. ‘Richard’s had his flings. Nothing too serious. It’s to be expected, isn’t it?’ She sounded as reconciled to the situation as Louisa had been, years before. But that was hardly surprising – Diana was the daughter of an earl. She’d no doubt been taught all the rules. Perhaps it was part of the debutante training Louisa loved to describe.
‘Are you terribly upset?’ Diana laid a hand gently on Kitty’s arm. ‘Stupid question. Of course you are.’ She moved her hand to Kitty’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. ‘You must always remember, Theo is your husband. He belongs to you. People like Charlotte come and go. They don’t mean anything.’ Her upper-class accent added a comforting weight to every phrase she put forward. ‘That woman will be back in England before long. Next thing you know you’ll be reading about her engagement to Lord So-and-So in The Times.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘Actually, she might be leaving sooner than she planned. Richard’s instructed Theo to suspend the honey project until the chiefs have been consulted.’
‘I’ve heard,’ Kitty said. Theo and Charlotte had aired their dismay and anger about the decision over the last two evenings while sitting at the dining table with her. ‘She still comes over every day, you know,’ Kitty went on. She shook her head, at a loss as to what to say about such a bizarre situation: a husband and his lover, sharing dinner each night with his wife.
‘That’s good!’ Diana said. ‘You know what they say – keep your enemies close to your chest. If she’s there in your home, she’s acknowledging your place. Above hers.’
‘Should I say something to her?’
‘Definitely not. It’s beneath you.’
Kitty shook her head helplessly. ‘Sometimes I can hardly stand it. I sit there at the table, and I feel like killing her.’ It was true. Even though Kitty no longer loved Theo in the way she once had, some primitive part of her felt like a cat whose territory had been invaded. She wanted to scratch that porcelain skin to shreds.
‘There’s only one thing to do, Kitty. Take care of yourself.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kitty frowned, puzzled.
‘Choose a new hairstyle. A new bottle of scent – quite different to whatever you usually wear. And, of course – lingerie.’ Diana clapped her hands. ‘Tell me your size and I’ll bring you something beautiful from London. Lace. Ribbon. Silk. Those are your weapons . . .’
Kitty almost laughed, but she knew Diana was deadly serious. The woman was applying a strategy she firmly believed in – as rigorously as she did when intervening on behalf of the prisoners. Diana may have changed a lot since Kitty first met her, but underneath she was still an English gentlewoman, just as Kitty was still an Australian farmer’s daughter.
Before long, they were passing Head Office. Kitty couldn’t help watching out for Theo and Charlotte – but the Land Rover was not in its parking space. They drove on towards the roundabout.
‘Now, Kitty, listen to me,’ Diana instructed. ‘At the Club, everyone will be watching you. You must look happy. If you can’t manage that, then lift your chin and look haughty. It’s not as good, but it will do. If anyone asks you leading questions, simply change the subject. Be quite blunt about it if necessary. If you need me to help, just give me a little nod. I’ll step in.’
Kitty smiled bleakly. She sensed the cat rising up in Diana as well. In the midst of pain and humiliation it felt good to know she had such a strong friend at her side.
‘What’s that?’ Diana pointed ahead.
A thick plume of smoke rose up from beyond the trees that hid the Club from the roundabout. Kitty sped up. She saw flames – leaping flashes of red – along with the billowing smoke.
‘Good Lord!’ Diana exclaimed. ‘The Club’s on fire.’
But then the curved outline of the Nissen hut came into view. The fire and smoke were coming from somewhere else.
‘It must be the marquee.’ Diana’s voice was hushed with shock.
As they rounded a corner, the blazing tent appeared. The fire had taken hold; the whole structure was burning – canvas, wooden poles, ropes. Flames licked at the plywood figures standing out in front.
The road was lined with jeeps, trucks and other vehicles all parked hastily at random angles. Kitty left the Hillman half on the road and hurried after Diana, who had jumped out before they had completely halted. The fire engine was parked near the blaze. The crew of khaki-clad askaris was hard at work – red fezzes bobbing as they dashed about hauling buckets and hoses.
A large crowd had gathered. The Club must have been emptied of patrons. Kitty ran her gaze over the various groups, relocated from inside but still keeping to themselves. She saw Alice and the other women who held court behind the Japanese screen; the mothers with their ayahs and children, standing well back. The men in suits. The staff in their white tunics. Then there was the solitary figure of old Bowie, frowning at the fire as if he could not believe his eyes.
Some distance away stood a much larger number of Africans. Quite a few of them were probably plantation workers – they wore ragged shirts and trousers. But others were in traditional dress: men, women and children, all staring wide-eyed at the spectacle. Moving among them, Kitty saw, was a team of askaris. While she watched, they pulled a man aside, handcuffed him, and then dragged him across to where a separate group of Africans were sitting on the ground. The Chief Inspector stood over them, talking through a translator, making notes on his pad. He was grim-faced, his movements heavy with intent.
Diana stopped to wait for Kitty. They stood for a few moments, regarding the burning tent. Sections of canvas fell, leaving the structure standing bare, like the bones of an animal.
‘I heard someone say it was arson.’ Diana looked anxiously in the direction of the crowd of Africans. ‘They’re trying to find out who to blame.’
Kitty studied the rows of black faces. Some of the onlookers were still absorbed by the spectacle of the fire, but many had been distracted by the actions of the askaris. A shudder of fear ran through Kitty as she saw in their eyes the smouldering resentment and derision she’d seen expressed by Alfred and several other members of staff at the Club, and by the servants in her own home.
‘There’s Richard and Theo.’ Diana tugged at Kitty’s arm.
Kitty stiffened as she stared towards her husband. Diana’s blunt statement about his infidelity still rang in her ears. She didn’t feel like facing Theo – or Richard – right now. But Diana was already leading the way over to them.
The men stood side by side, hands in pockets. They could have been watching a game of polo, except that their faces were tense and strained. An askari stood nearby.
Richard greeted Kitty and Diana as they arrived, but Theo just nodded briefly before turning back to the fire.
‘Was it deliberately lit?’ Diana asked her husband.
‘Apparently it was. The fire started in five places at once. Petrol was used.’ He shook his head. ‘I assume it’s meant to send a message of some kind to us Europeans. Maybe it’s to do with the trouble in the labour camps. But it could be something else.’ He was addressing Theo as well as the two women, but his colleague showed no sign that he was listening.
‘It’s a bad time for me to be leaving,’ Richard continued. Kitty saw Diana frown with alarm, and then relax as her husband gave her a smile. ‘Don’t worry, Diana. We’re still going. But this incident will have to be handled very carefully.’ He turned to Theo, waiting for a response. A few seconds passed before he got one.
‘Absolutely,’ Theo said, his attention still fixed on the fire.
‘You’ll have to make some concessions to the workers. Give them a pay rise. Do whatever it takes to restore calm.’
As Richard talked, Kitty kept her gaze on Theo. He was mesmerised by the fire – the flames were reflected in his wide, staring eyes. He was not looking at the remains of the marquee – his focus was on the wooden figures. Mary, Joseph, the angel. They looked like real people being burned alive. The top half of Joseph bent forward as the flames devoured him. He could have been writhing in pain.
Kitty put her hand on Theo’s arm. She recognised the expression on his face – it was the one he wore when she’d shaken him out of a nightmare but not yet managed to wake him up. ‘Are you all right?’ When he gave no reaction, she nudged him gently. ‘What’s happening?’
Suddenly he stiffened, pulling away. He seemed surprised to see Kitty there. He murmured something, then began looking around him, his eyes raking the crowds.
Scanning the faces herself, Kitty picked out Charlotte’s red hair – she was standing only a short distance away. Beside her was a man Kitty identified as one of the Unit Managers, Larry Green. Strikingly handsome and single, he was the subject of constant speculation at the Club. The two were chatting excitedly, showing no concern about the situation – the fire could have been put on purely for their entertainment. Kitty examined Charlotte’s outfit, the first casual clothes she had seen her in. She wore a tailored safari suit made from honey-yellow cloth instead of khaki. It hugged her figure much too closely to be practical but it showed off the curve of her bottom and her tiny waist. As Kitty watched, Charlotte tossed her long mane of hair. Then she tilted back her head, showing off her teeth as she laughed. Larry’s whole body leaned towards her as if drawn by her magnetism.
Theo must have located the pair too. His face darkened as he watched them interact.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be back.’
Kitty swapped looks with Diana as he marched over to Charlotte. Diana gave a faint smile of satisfaction: perhaps Charlotte was already tiring of Theo. But the thought gave Kitty little pleasure. She would almost rather Theo was involved in a real love affair. What was going on here seemed so pointless and tawdry.
Kitty stared at the fire, which was subsiding into glowing ashes. The angel was almost gone; Mary too. The baby was just a smudge on the ground. The bottom half of Father Christmas had been saved by the efforts of the askaris, however. The reindeer had survived as well, but without its head. Kitty was reminded of classical sculptures she’d seen at the British Museum: remnants of ancient figures that were no longer whole. She seized on the connection – desperate for anything that would take her thoughts away from Theo. In her mind, she linked the museum pieces to the statue that was needed for the grotto. She would have no qualms now about taking on the task of making the sculpture, whatever Theo had to say on the matter. He’d broken the rules, as far as she was concerned, and had forfeited any right he might once have had to prevent her. Becoming an artist again would be her compensation for having to tolerate his unfaithfulness. Deliberately dwelling on the details, she made a mental list of the materials she’d need for the project. Clay, rope, metal rods, hessian, plaster . . . But Theo’s voice kept drawing her attention. He’d reclaimed Charlotte from Larry and was now talking to her about the fire.
‘Well, obviously,’ he said in his most authoritative tone, ‘some fellow burning down a tent is not going to have the slightest effect on anything. One can’t give in to such people.’
‘Absolutely,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘Where would it end?’
Kitty moved away out of earshot. She was downwind from the fire now, and smoke brought tears to her eyes. When she closed them, the air felt even hotter, one sense striving to make up for the loss of another. Sweat beaded on her skin, then trickled down. She felt desperation building inside her. She wished she could just run off and hide, leaving Theo and the others here. But that would cause a scene that she didn’t have the strength to face.
She forced her thoughts back to the safe subject of the statue. It was going to be a huge undertaking. First, she would have to choose a child model from the village and make lots of drawings. She’d collect careful measurements so that all the proportions were correct. Next would be the task of making the armature – the basic bones of the figure formed from metal rods forged over an anvil. Then she would use rags and pieces of old rope to build up a rough shape of the child. This she would cover with clay. Now came the part she loved most: the careful sculpting, using fine tools and fingers to mould the clay. The challenge was to capture the essence of the child – her life, personality, spirit. Moment by moment, the statue would become ever more alive.
Standing by the fire, picturing the task unfolding, Kitty felt the old excitement about a project brewing inside her. The work would take months; it would fill her days. This, she realised, was how she would survive. She would lose herself in her work – blocking out Theo and all her other griefs. When she finished the statue of the child, she would move on to another. She might even train an assistant, passing on the skills Yuri had taught her. In the calm of her studio out at the Mission, she would return to the purpose in life she’d had when she first travelled to England. Back then, she’d had no plans to become someone’s wife. She’d wanted only to be an artist.
Kitty turned away from the fire. Her skin was dusted with ash, her mouth tasted of soot. But she barely noticed. A great sense of relief flooded through her. She had chosen her path. One part of her would go on being Theo’s wife, but the other would be devoted to the same quest that had shaped Yuri’s existence after he lost his beloved Katya. Like him, she would devote herself to seeking honesty, purity, the perfection of skill. To capturing that essence of life that lay beyond human pain and failure – that would always remain beautiful and true.