ONE

Kitty shifted impatiently in her seat. The journey seemed to have dragged on forever but now at last the end was near. Soon, she would be reunited with her husband. They were going to make a fresh start together, beginning their marriage over again. With the past left safely behind them, everything would be new, clean, undamaged. She couldn’t wait for the plane to land – and her life in Africa to begin.

To distract herself, she straightened her jacket and brushed away crumbs from her cream linen skirt. Then she rested her head against the seatback, closing her eyes. They felt gritty and hot – she’d hardly had any sleep in twenty-four hours. Somewhere between Rome and Benghazi the flight crew had made up beds for the nine passengers, but even though Kitty had been comfortable enough she’d found it hard to relax. The throb of the propellers, coming straight in through the unlined metal of the fuselage, was distracting. And there was the awkwardness of lying down in the midst of a group of men who’d been complete strangers to her before this journey began. Kitty felt she’d only just drifted off to sleep when the crew had returned to fold up the beds and serve breakfast.

Opening her eyes, she turned to the passenger beside her. Paddy showed no sign of being tired. He was sitting up straight, reading a well-worn paperback with pages bent at the corners. As though sensing Kitty’s gaze, he looked up.

‘Not long now. Bet you can’t wait to see that husband of yours.’

Kitty nodded. ‘Six weeks feels like forever.’

‘That’s true love, then.’ He gave her a cheeky grin.

Kitty smiled back. Paddy had none of the constrained manners of the English. She couldn’t imagine him standing about like Theo always did, waiting for a lady to sit down before he could do the same. In that way, the Irishman was like an Australian – perhaps that was why she felt so comfortable with him. There was also the fact that he was short and plump, with a demeanour that reminded her of a friendly puppy. It was impossible to imagine him posing any kind of threat.

‘Got to finish this before we get there.’ Paddy fanned the remaining pages of his novel. ‘I’ve got the feeling we’re going to be busy.’ He resumed reading, moving his finger over the page to find his place.

Kitty thought back to the draughty hangar at the airstrip outside London where she’d first encountered Paddy, along with the other passengers who were to set off with her to Tanganyika. The war had been over for three years, but the men still identified themselves by military rank as well as names. They were all engineers and mechanics, bound for the Kongara Tractor Workshops. Standing in a little group, suitcases at their feet, they’d begun talking about the Groundnut Scheme – what they’d heard, what they knew . . . Kitty had listened in, storing up every piece of information. She wanted to be well informed when she arrived, so that from the very beginning Theo would be able to come home each day and discuss his work with his wife.

Paddy had arrived late, puffing and red in the face. He had a kit bag hanging from one shoulder, crumpled travel documents in his hand. The official from the Ministry of Food looked torn between annoyance at Paddy’s lack of punctuality and relief that the last name could now be ticked off the embarkation list. He began shepherding his charges towards the hangar door.

As she stepped outside, Kitty held the fur collar of her coat close around her throat; the country was in the grip of a cold snap. The concrete was icy, and she kept her eyes on her feet as she made her way across the runway – so she heard rather than saw the man who came striding up beside her.

‘My name’s Paddy O’Halloran.’ He gave her a cheerful smile. ‘I didn’t fight in the war.’

Kitty raised her eyebrows, taken aback by his direct, almost teasing manner. ‘I’m Mrs Hamilton.’

‘Indeed you are,’ he said. ‘I know all about you.’

Kitty’s step faltered, alarm tingling through her body. In a flash of memory, she heard Theo’s voice, tight with anger.

My wife, it seems, is famous.

Then the slap of a newspaper dropping onto the table, teacups rattling in their bone china saucers.

Kitty swallowed, bracing herself for whatever was going to come next. But Paddy’s tone remained casual. ‘You’re going out to join your husband. Wing Commander Theo Hamilton. Manager of Administration. They told us at the briefing that you’d be on board.’ He winked at her. ‘I think they wanted to make sure we all behaved ourselves. Some of the fellows are not used to having a lady around.’

Before Kitty had a chance to respond, she felt one shoe begin to slide on the ice. Paddy grabbed her arm and held it. ‘Bloody slippery. Take care, now.’

As they neared the aircraft, he pointed up at the line of square windows running along the body. ‘It’s a converted Lancaster bomber, you know. Let’s just hope they added seats as well as windows!’

‘My husband flew a Lancaster.’

‘How many missions did he do?’

‘Forty-nine,’ Kitty said proudly.

Paddy whistled between his teeth. ‘Must be immortal.’ He stood aside to let Kitty go ahead up the metal stairs.

She gripped the railing, the chill of the metal reaching in through her kid gloves. She tried to ignore a feeling that the Lancaster was a huge beast, about to consume her. Newsreel scenes flashed through her head. She saw cockpits bursting into flames, the frantic clatter of crippled engines. Dark trails of smoke streaming out behind planes that looked like toys, falling against the sky, then plunging into the sea. During the three long years that Theo had been on active duty, she’d lived in fear that sooner or later he would be lost to her this way. It had almost happened: his plane had been hit during a night bombing raid into Germany. He’d managed to bring the Lancaster back to England, crash-landing in a field – but he’d been the only one of his crew to survive the flames that engulfed it. The next day, he’d been back in the air again. The nightmare had gone on and on – his friends dying, one after another. Kitty had almost begun to feel it would be a relief when she finally received the telegram that brought her fears into reality. Now, placing her foot on the first rung of the stairs, she drew in a deep, calming breath. Against all the odds, Theo had survived. The war was in the past. And today, the might of the bomber was being turned to a different use.

Amid the fug of wet woollen coats and the bustle of bags and newspapers being stowed, the flight crew helped the passengers take their seats.

‘First time in the air for me.’ Paddy settled into the spot next to Kitty. ‘I’m more at home in a boat. What about you?’

‘I’ve been in a small plane quite a few times – but it’s not the same.’ It wasn’t just the Lancaster’s link with the war that Kitty found unnerving: the sheer scale of the bomber was daunting. The pilot and the controls were so far away. It was nothing like being in the Tiger Moth with Theo sitting behind her only just beyond her reach.

‘Don’t you worry,’ Paddy had said to Kitty. ‘We’ll all be fine.’ She had the sense he was comforting himself as much as her.

In the long hours that had passed since then, there had been bouts of turbulence when the passengers had gripped their armrests and sick bags were passed around. When the flying was smooth, people began to tell stories or make jokes about the food. There were even quips concerning the lavatory, though Kitty knew she was not meant to have overheard them. During re-fuelling stops in Italy, Libya, Uganda and Kenya, they’d waited together in exmilitary sheds that stood in for reception halls. With the smell of fumes in their lungs, they’d drunk warm Coca-Cola and cups of over-brewed tea. At the last stop, in Nairobi, they’d eaten delicious snacks called samosas. They’d all made a mess, scattering flakes of pastry, licking their fingers shamelessly. It was not surprising that each time they’d returned to their places in the cabin, they’d felt more and more like friends.

Now, with the journey nearly over, Kitty looked around the cabin at her companions. They were going to spend their days in the workshops repairing heavy machinery, and would be accommodated in the single men’s quarters. Kitty knew she would be living in a proper house – the delay in renovations being carried out was the main reason she’d had to wait behind in England for all those weeks after Theo had come here. But beyond that, she didn’t know what to expect. Along with the excitement of being reunited with Theo, Kitty felt an undercurrent of tension. She comforted herself with the thought that Kongara was not such a big place – she’d at least cross paths with these men now and then. It would be good to see some familiar faces in the midst of so much that was new and strange.

Kitty ran her fingers through her hair, pushing untidy strands back from her face. The fashionable bob was new. She was still shocked by the sudden nothingness below her chin-line; she missed the long dark hair that had draped her shoulders as far back as she could remember. She hadn’t wanted to cut it all off – the new look had been part of the deal she’d made with Theo. He didn’t want to risk anyone recognising her. Neither, of course, did Kitty. But as her long hair had disappeared snip by snip, she’d watched the mirror through a blur of tears. She knew that, in truth, the transformation had more to do with Theo reclaiming her than anything else. Her new appearance was an acknowledgement that she really was ashamed of what she’d done – who she’d been. She shook her head, feeling the tickle of hair brushing her cheeks. Shorter hair was a sensible choice, she told herself. It would suit the hot climate.

Picking up her handbag and clicking it open, she took out her powder compact. She was about to flip up the lid when she paused, staring uneasily at the gold embossed monogram. She was meant to have left behind everything that linked her to Katya, but the compact was one thing she’d been unable to relinquish. Now, she began to think she’d made a mistake. She should get rid of it as soon as possible, before anyone saw it. But as she held the case in her hand, feeling the smoothness of the tortoiseshell, a nub of resistance formed inside her. Theo would be unlikely to notice it. And as for anyone else – the initials Y K A were so ornate they were almost impossible to read.

In the small pink-dusted mirror she examined her lips, coated in matte ruby red. Then she glanced over her eyebrows, plucked thin and lined with pencil. As with her hair, she wasn’t used to the new style yet. She felt she was looking at a stranger.

There was a slight shine on her nose and forehead. Kitty’s hand hovered over the powder puff. She could almost hear Theo’s mother expressing her views on the kind of woman who would powder her nose in public. It was just one of the many small crimes she’d warned the Australian girl about. Kitty closed her eyes briefly, wanting to block out the memory of Louisa impressing upon her the need to keep a refined distance from the common world.

A lady’s name appears in the newspapers three times in her life. When she is born, married and buried.

Because of what had happened later, the words had grown large and daunting in Kitty’s mind. As if she could make amends in some tiny way, she gave up the idea of powdering her face. She knew that even the walk to the lavatory, with all those male eyes watching her, would have an unseemly quality to it. She closed the powder case and slipped it into her bag.

Beside her, Paddy put down his book, then left his seat to look out one of the windows. He stood with his legs apart, but still had to stoop in order to peer downwards.

‘See anything yet?’ Kitty called to him.

He shook his head.

She sighed. She thought of getting out her Teach Yourself Swahili book and doing some practice translation. Janet, the retired missionary who’d given Kitty language lessons before she left England, would have approved of that – she’d stressed that every spare moment should be devoted to learning lists of vocabulary. But Kitty didn’t feel able to concentrate. She gazed idly down at her shoes. Though they were a bit dusty, they still looked smart. She studied the way the leather hugged the contours of her feet. And how the high heels made her calves appear long and elegant. She just hoped the extra height wouldn’t mean she’d stand taller than her husband.

Paddy suddenly straightened up, calling over his shoulder. ‘There it is! Come and see!’

Kitty went to stand beside him. During the last four or five hours, there had been only wilderness below – the kind of unremarkable countryside that reminded her of home. But now, as she pressed her face to the glass, she caught her breath in surprise.

The ground below had been transformed. The surface layer of bush, grass and trees had been stripped away, revealing bare, red earth. The cleared land, stretching away into the distance, was broken up into huge sections by a grid of straight lines. They were roads, Kitty guessed; they reminded her of the tracks that traversed the wide paddocks of her father’s farm back in Australia. Looking more closely, she could see the wavy lines of windrows marking the earth. She wondered if they were there to prevent wind or water erosion, or both.

‘Just look at the scale of it.’ Paddy whistled through his teeth. ‘Each of those plantations is a hundred times the size of most English farms.’ He smiled at Kitty. ‘I was listening carefully at the briefing. They told us the Tanganyika Groundnut Scheme is to be nearly two-and-a-half-million acres. Apparently a hundred thousand ex-soldiers have already signed up to it.’ He grinned. ‘So that’s us – the Groundnut Army.’

The other passengers gathered at the windows. The magnitude of what lay below made them stare as well.

‘You know how all this began?’ Kitty recognised the voice of Billy, an engineer from the Middlesex regiment, who still had a limp from a shrapnel wound. ‘The Minister of Food, Mr Strachey, got the idea during the war while he was watching trucks setting off to the front. He dreamed of seeing another kind of convoy. Ploughs instead of arms, bound for Africa.’

Everyone was watching Billy now. He had told plenty of jokes during the journey, but now his tone was almost reverent.

‘That’s what this is,’ he continued, ‘a chance to do something good, to make up for all the destruction and death. That’s what we’re all a part of. A war on hunger.’

Kitty swapped looks with Billy and Paddy, and then with all the others – Nick, Jimmy, Jamie, Robbie, Ralph and Peter. The sense of a shared mission was almost tangible in the air. Kitty felt all her concerns about what lay ahead at Kongara fall away. Her new life was going to be busy and exciting, her days filled with purpose.

The men stood back, letting Kitty disembark first. As she stepped out onto the metal stairs that had been wheeled up to the plane, she was met by a rush of hot, dry air – the kind of heat she’d grown up with. Amid the aircraft fumes she picked up the familiar smell of the bush: dust, cow dung and the musky scent of leaves. Her gaze darted over the small crowd gathered below her, searching for Theo’s red-blonde hair, or for a figure with his distinctive stance – the body leaning forward a little as if pushing into a headwind. There was no sign of him. She frowned, checking again. There were some men standing together, dressed smartly in suits, shirts, ties and hats. There was another group wearing khaki shirts and baggy shorts, walking socks and boots. None of them looked like Theo.

Lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon glare, Kitty peered further afield. The only other white person she could see wore blue overalls and appeared to be part of the airstrip staff. She fought against a fear that Theo was ill, or had been involved in an accident. She tried not to think about the fate of the man he’d come out here to replace: what had happened to him had been so terrible that Theo would not even describe it. But it had been a freak accident, she knew. Her husband’s job was not normally dangerous in any way. She walked down the steps. Behind her, she could hear the heavy beat of Paddy’s boots. She lifted her chin, determined not to let her anxiety show. She told herself there would be some simple, ordinary reason why Theo was not here to greet her.

The moment she set her foot down on the tarmac, one of the men in suits stepped forward. He held out a bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane.

‘Welcome to Tanganyika – and welcome to Kongara.’

As she accepted the bouquet, Kitty searched his face for some hint that he had bad news.

He held out his hand. ‘Private Toby Carmichael, your husband’s assistant.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ she replied. She was struck by his pale skin – it didn’t look as if he spent much time outside.

‘Most unfortunately, he’s been called away. Urgent matter. Unavoidable, I’m afraid.’ Toby had the shortened vowels of a Midlands accent but his choice of words reminded Kitty of Theo. ‘He’s down at the Units. He’ll be back by the end of the afternoon.’ He gestured towards a girl standing nearby holding a clipboard. Kitty took in a young plump face, red lips and elaborately styled hair offsetting a plain khaki skirt and blouse. ‘I’ve arranged for Lisa to take you to the house. Mr Hamilton will join you as soon as possible. I trust your journey was not too exhausting – though it is, of course, very long.’

‘Where did you say Theo has gone?’ Now that Kitty knew Theo was not ill and hadn’t met with an accident, she felt let down by his absence.

‘There’s been some trouble with the Irish contractors down at the Units.’ Toby lowered his voice, like someone giving out confidential information. ‘Absolutely nothing to worry about.’

Kitty pushed her hurt feelings aside. Work had to come first. That was why they were here. The war on hunger.

‘Did you say “the Units”?’ she queried.

‘That’s what we call the plantations.’

She stored the term away. She’d already discovered that roads were called ‘traces’. The OFC was the Overseas Food Corporation. The UAC was the United Africa Company, which provided contract labour to the OFC. And of course ‘groundnuts’ was just another name for peanuts.

‘Now,’ said Toby, ‘let’s do some introductions.’

The exchanging of name and rank, the smiling and shaking of hands, seemed to go on for ages, with Toby turning from one person to another and back. Kitty stifled a yawn, covering her mouth with her hand. But then, movement at the edge of her vision made her instantly alert. A car was coming fast towards them over the tarmac. A big, shiny sedan, the same blue as the sky.

As it drew nearer, Kitty recognised the car as a Daimler – there were two of them garaged in the stables at Hamilton Hall. This one was a more recent model, but it still had the old-fashioned grandeur of huge wheel arches and a wide, low-slung chassis.

The car came to a halt just a few feet away. Close up, Kitty saw there was an African at the wheel, his dark features almost lost behind the shine of the windows. She peered towards the rear of the vehicle, expecting to see Theo there. He’d escaped from his work! He couldn’t bear to miss her arrival.

Sitting in the back was a woman in sunglasses, wearing a large lemon-yellow hat.

The driver jumped from his seat and came around to open the door; though he looked middle-aged, he wore an outfit that resembled a sailor suit.

A white high-heeled shoe was lowered to the tarmac, followed by another. A pair of stocking-clad legs appeared. Then, the woman emerged. She wore a yellow dress to match her hat and white gloves to match the shoes. After pausing for a second, surveying the scene, she removed her sunglasses.

‘Damn. I knew I’d be late.’ She looked accusingly in the direction of her driver. Then she turned to Kitty, fixing her with a pair of grey-green eyes, carefully made up with eyeliner and shadow. ‘You must be Theo’s wife.’ She had the same refined English accent as Theo, but it was overlaid with a languid drawl. ‘I’m Mrs Richard Armstrong. My husband asked me to come and meet you, since Theo was called away.’

‘How kind of you to come,’ Kitty said.

There was no hint in the woman’s manner as to whether the task was a pleasure or a chore. She offered the rest of the group a half-smile, before turning to address Toby. Kitty saw him draw up his shoulders, almost standing to attention. ‘Please arrange for Mrs Hamilton’s luggage to be sent to the house. We’ll go ahead.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Toby threw a glance at Lisa, the one with the clipboard. She appeared disappointed at having her role so abruptly snatched away.

Kitty searched her memory for the name Armstrong. Was he Theo’s superior, the General Manager? Or perhaps his offsider, the Manager of Agriculture?

The woman turned back to Kitty. ‘You can call me Diana.’

‘Thank you. Please call me Kitty.’

Diana’s eyes travelled over Kitty’s face and figure. She was glad now that she’d kept her promise to Theo about changing her appearance. Under Diana’s scrutiny, the skirt and jacket outfit seemed much too plain and even the new shoes uninspiring – but at least her haircut and eyebrows were up to date.

‘Let’s go, then,’ said Diana.

Kitty glanced around, seeking out Paddy. He gave her an encouraging grin along with his farewell wave. She was about to follow Diana towards the car when a sudden gust of wind sprang up. Men grabbed their hats and hunched over for protection from the stinging dust. Papers flew, swooping and flapping, from Lisa’s clipboard. As Kitty screwed up her eyes she stole a look at Diana. The woman stood there, tall and unflinching. She just lowered her gaze, mascara-layered eyelashes making dark crescents against her skin. One gloved hand rose to grasp the yellow brim of her hat.

The Daimler left the airstrip, driving along a newly made road – a neat ribbon of gravel cutting through a swathe of cleared bush. The two women were sitting side by side in the back of the car. Diana kept her eyes fixed ahead. Close up, her skin was still flawless – powdered to a flat, even tone and touched-up with rouge.

‘You’re Australian.’ Diana spoke without shifting her gaze.

Kitty eyed her uneasily. Theo wouldn’t have told her this, which meant Diana must have picked up an accent. The elocution teacher had assured Theo’s mother that her daughter-in-law’s origins were virtually undetectable. Talking to Paddy must have lured Kitty’s buried accent out of hiding. Perhaps it had crept back to the surface while she was telling the Irishman stories about growing up on the outback farm.

‘Yes, originally,’ she said finally. ‘But I’ve been living in Britain for years. I moved over just before the war.’

Diana made no further comment. She rested her head against the seat back, seeming exhausted, as if she’d just undertaken a difficult task. As the silence lengthened, Kitty looked out of the side window. The red soil was rich enough, but the vegetation quite sparse. Everything appeared very dry. Her father had spent his life battling with country like this, struggling to draw out an income that was barely sufficient to support his family. Yet this was the area that had been chosen as the site of one of the world’s most ambitious farming projects. Perhaps it was just the time of the year, Kitty told herself – the effect of extreme tropical seasons; things she didn’t yet understand. She glanced around her at the interior of the car with its polished woodwork, gleaming nickel fittings and mulberry-red leather seats. It belonged in a completely different world to the scene outside.

The road led on into an area where the cleared bush was dotted with outcrops of rock. The Daimler wove its way between mounds of pale stone crusted with bushes, before emerging again into the open. At the same time, the road took a sharp turn. Kitty sat up, her lips parting in surprise. A range of mountains rose up ahead – abruptly, as though they’d been dropped there by accident. She hadn’t seen them from the aircraft during the approach to the landing strip; they must have been on the other side. She traced the outlines of steep pointed peaks made of rugged stone, piled up tall. They were perfect pyramids, like images from a children’s book.

She turned to Diana. ‘Those mountains . . . They’re beautiful!’

Diana lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘I’d call them hills. I think of mountains as a place to ski.’

There was more silence then, broken only by the smooth hum of the motor. In contrast to the mountains, the close-up landscape looked even more unremarkable. Then, in the distance, some kind of settlement came into view. Kitty peered ahead, trying to make sense of what she could see. As they drew nearer, the odd shapes and colours began to make sense.

It was a sea of tents stretching away into the distance – identical dirty-white triangles laid out in dead-straight rows.

‘What’s this place?’ Kitty asked Diana. There were lots of high wire fences as well, and parking bays marked with white painted stones. ‘It looks like an army camp.’

‘This is Kongara.’

Kitty hid her confusion. From Theo’s comments after his briefing in London, and the two letters he’d sent back from Tanganyika, she’d formed a picture of a small town consisting of buildings that were simple but solid. There had been mention of a club with a swimming pool, and a row of shops. ‘You’ll love our new home,’ Theo had written. ‘It’s been fully furnished by the OFC, right down to pink towels in the bathroom.’

The Africans call it Londoni.’ Diana gave a short laugh. ‘That’s Swahili for London – though you’d hardly know, the way they pronounce it. The name has rather caught on. We all use it, now. Not for the whole area – just the town.’

Kitty repeated the word in her head. Lon-do-ni. The middle syllable was drawn out, making the name sound melodic and intriguing. She scanned the rows of tents. She noticed, among them, some groups of round huts with mud walls and canvas roofs. Then she saw a long narrow building with a verandah. One end was painted white and had a sign over the door that read DINING ROOM. The other end was built from plain wood and was labelled MESS. In front of both sections were fences surrounding what could have been gardens except that nothing was growing. She recognised a few Nissen huts – the long, half-cylinder tin structures had become a familiar sight in England during the war. There was an outdoor cinema with a screen and rows of seats.

The car slowed almost to walking pace as they reached an area of larger tents. Quite suddenly, it seemed, there were people everywhere. Fair-skinned Europeans, Africans, a few Indians – they were all dressed in shades of khaki, adding to the atmosphere of an army camp. The vast majority were men, but Kitty saw a few young women in shirts and skirts, like Lisa. Everyone moved around briskly. A man in a tropical suit checked his watch, then broke into a run.

‘Head Office,’ Diana said.

Outside the largest tent was a flagpole. A Union Jack hung limply at the top. Nearby was a black Rolls Royce. An African soldier wearing a smart belted jacket, a maroon fez on his head, stood to attention beside it. Kitty craned her head, hoping to see inside the tent. All she glimpsed was a large desk, a typewriter and a crooked pile of folders.

The car rolled on, passing hundreds more of the small tents, before entering an area occupied by lines of wooden bungalows. They were identical, and looked as if they contained just a couple of rooms. Most had washing lines erected to one side. The laundry hanging there consisted mainly of khaki work clothes, with the odd bright splash of a dress, blouse or child’s pyjamas.

‘And this,’ Diana said, ‘is known as the Toolsheds.’

‘Is this where you – we – live?’ Kitty asked tentatively.

‘Good lord, no.’ Diana responded. ‘It’s for the field assistants, medical staff – people like that.’ She pointed further on towards the mountains, where a band of green marked the foothills. ‘We live up there – on Millionaire Row. That’s not the real name, of course. It’s Hillside Avenue. The grandest address in Tanganyika.’

Kitty detected a mocking tone in Diana’s voice. She was trying to frame the right response, when Diana’s face suddenly froze. Her hand shot out, reaching towards the driver’s shoulder. ‘Look out!’

The car came to an abrupt halt, throwing both women forward against the seats in front. There was a dense quiet. Then came the sound of a child laughing.

‘Praise to God,’ the driver said. ‘She was not hit.’

A little girl ran from the road, blonde plaits swinging behind her as she chased a bouncing red ball.

The two women regained their seats. Kitty sighed with relief. But beside her, Diana remained rigid and wide-eyed.

‘It’s all right,’ Kitty said. ‘She’s fine.’

Diana nodded, but seemed unable to catch her breath. Sweat broke out over her face. She snatched off her hat, tossing it to the floor, revealing crimped auburn hair. Then she covered her face with shaking hands. Kitty caught an impression of polished nails, fingers laden with rings, before turning tactfully away.

In the rear-vision mirror, Kitty met the concerned gaze of the driver.

‘Let’s go,’ she instructed him. ‘Mrs Armstrong might like a glass of water.’

He let off the brake, easing the car forward. They left the Toolsheds behind, heading on towards Millionaire Row.

Gradually, Diana’s breathing grew more even. Finally, she lifted her head, peeling a strand of damp hair from her brow. ‘I don’t know why people can’t look after their children properly.’ She leaned to pick up her hat, smoothing dust from the brim, and resting it carefully on her knees.

Kitty nodded politely, then averted her gaze once more. She was uncomfortably aware that she’d witnessed something she shouldn’t have – Diana had been exposed in a way that was deeply embarrassing. From both their points of view, it had not been a good start.