She idled away an hour, chatting to a neighbour about the weather and other trivial matters, bought some soap and a handful of hair clasps, and headed home again.

Her heart leaped when she saw a herd of Abyssinian horses in the holding pens outside the stable; when she drove up to the house, Sam was standing there, hands in his pockets, wearing an uncertain smile.

She hadn't seen him in more than two months. Although she knew she should have contacted him in some way, she hadn't been able to bring herself to do so. On her infrequent visits to Nairobi she had avoided the m.u.t.h.aiga Club in case he was there. She'd imagined her emotions would hold sway if she saw him; now she knew that was true. The memory of his body on hers, of his mouth and his strong presence came flooding back with such intensity that it took her breath away.

She sat for a moment behind the wheel, trying to regain her composure, but when she climbed out of the car she was immediately aware she was naked under her thin cotton dress. She fluffed out the folds and tried to pat her hair into some form of shape.

'h.e.l.lo, Dana,' he said as she approached the veranda.

'Sam! It's so nice to see you.'

When she'd reached the top of the steps and stood before him, he searched her eyes, but she avoided them by giving him a brief hug.

'You've been back to Abyssinia,' she said, dragging her eyes from him. The herd of about a dozen horses was barely able to fit into the stable enclosure.

'Yes ... I haven't heard from you, but I presumed you're still looking for a stallion for stud.'

'Of course. Yes, I am. And I've been so busy I've hardly been out. But look at me - where are my manners? Come inside, I'll get you a cold drink.'

'Thanks, but I've already had one.' He nodded to the table and the empty gla.s.s.

'Oh, then Edward's here?'

She knew he wasn't because the farm truck was not in its place behind the house.

'No, Mary brought it for me.'

'Wonderful.'

Dana clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her, desperately trying to find something to relieve the tension between them. Sam didn't help by studying her in silence.

She was racked with guilt for not contacting him and explaining that she couldn't sleep with him again. Now she realised it appeared that she had simply shrugged the whole affair off as unimportant.

'Well ...' he said at last, 'I'll take the herd up to the top enclosure ... I mean, to let them graze for -'

'Yes! Of course. The agistment. As we agreed.'

'It'll only be for a day or so before ... before I move on to Nairobi.' He smiled self-consciously, and started towards the veranda steps. 'Oh, before I go -'

'Yes?'

'You'll want to see your stallion.'

'What? Yes, I do.'

'I've put him in a spare stall.'

They walked in silence to the stable. Dana was aware of his discomfort, but she felt powerless. Her life was so complicated. How could she explain Edward's offer to let him join their group and her refusal to share him? How could she begin to explain her extramarital life to him?

The stallion was black with a splash of grey on his withers. He lifted his head as they entered the stable. He was big for an Abyssinian, maybe fifteen hands, and wasn't afraid to show his temperament, snorting loudly when Dana came closer.

'He's beautiful,' she said, reaching out to stroke his neck. The stallion stepped back and shook his head.

'He'll take time to settle down, but he's the best I've found up in Abyssinia for months. Mating him with Dancer, who has the speed, should throw foals with good staying ability.'

'Thank you, Sam. I'll take good care of him.'

'I know,' he said, and took her hand in his. 'Dana, I wondered if I should be here at all. When I didn't hear from you, I thought you might have had regrets about what happened. I mean, you're married and -'

'It's not that, Sam.'

He reached out to her, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. It sent a shiver through her.

'We were very indiscreet,' he said. 'I presume your husband has found out about us and you've had second thoughts.'

'It's not that. Edward and I don't have a conventional marriage.'

She didn't know how to continue and knew he was confused by her reserve. She so desperately wanted to explain. But how? 'Sam ...' she began. 'Sam -'

The rattle of the old Albion coming through the home gate interrupted her. Edward had returned. She led Sam from the stable and sighed with relief. Until that moment she'd never regretted the decision she and Edward had made to live an unconventional life together, but the prospect of explaining that decision to Sam made it seem at once mad and shameful.

The Abyssinians were at that stage of their journey where they had become accustomed to the routine. Sam found that if he kept the numbers down to around a dozen horses they were easier to drive when he was working them on his own during the final leg of the journey. Now, as he headed them up towards the Northcotes' high pastures, they were very willing. They seemed to know they would find good gra.s.s and cool air there, reminiscent of the highlands of their home.

Sam needed the easy ride. He'd hoped Dana would have explained why she hadn't been in touch, but she'd said nothing. He regretted coming. He would stay the night and perhaps another to rest the horses, then leave her. He'd obviously made a big mistake.

How ironic, he thought to himself. I let down my defences just once and again the woman I have chosen has not chosen me.

CHAPTER 25.

After Sam left for the high pastures with his horses, Edward had been unusually kind and solicitous. He brought Dana a gin and tonic at sundown, and sat with her on the veranda watching the sun go from gold to blood-red.

'You came back early,' Dana said, referring to his visit to the Banfields'.

'Yes. John's in Tanganyika and Eliza's gone to Nairobi for the day.'

'Did you collect the scarifier?'

'The scarifier? No.'

'But you had arranged to pick it up. Surely John wouldn't have minded.'

'No. I'll go another day.'

Dana dabbed at her throat with her lace handkerchief, and sighed. 'I'm so listless in this heat,' she said.

'It's ghastly, especially for you, apparently.' He added more ice to her gin and tonic. 'Do you miss England, my dear? The cool days; the cold nights?'

'I do, sometimes.'

'I must admit, I'm finding it difficult myself this year. And it's not just the weather. I've been giving this a great deal of thought ... maybe it's time we went home.'

'Home? You mean, to England?'

'Yes. Prices are falling. Blasted socialists. Farm produce is worth nothing these days, and by the time you include the freight to market or the docks, you're lucky to break even. I'm fed up. To be honest, I've started putting things into perspective. I'm having second thoughts about what we're doing here in Kenya. I mean it's not home, is it?'

'Edward, what on earth ...? This is quite a revelation.'

'I know you didn't want to come in the first place, and I should have listened to you. We have so much more in England. So that's what I've been thinking. Maybe it's time to go home.'

'Can we? What about your creditors?'

'The family have come into a little extra money and they've offered to sign it over to me. They're calling it an advance on my inheritance. I think it's a d.a.m.n decent show of them. I'd like to accept. Will you come with me?'

'Edward ... this is so sudden.'

'I know. I'm sorry.'

He reached a hand across the gap between their chairs to take hers.

'I'm very fond of you, Dana. You know that. And I know I am a little abrupt at times. I've learned something about myself since being here - and it's not just that I'm not a farmer. This is a very strange place. We amuse ourselves, I suppose, but we had a good life in England too. I think we could make a new start there. What do you say?'

'Edward, I ... I'm not sure. Can I have a few days to think about it?'

It had been an odd night. Edward had been charming and amusing, as he could when he left the whisky in the bottle. His regrets about his behaviour seemed sincere; and now, after many years of her persistently asking that they abandon their pointless quest to make a success of farming in that most unusual of climates, he was now suggesting they should leave. She didn't instantly agree and that was also rather strange. As she lay in bed later that night she wondered why.

Although life in Kenya was comfortable, it was not home. There was nothing about it that reminded her of England unless it was the rare occasion where a glimpse across a misty hillside, with the green gra.s.s tinged golden by the dawn, and when the air was still and fresh, brought to mind the moors of the south-west. But five minutes later, when the sun burst from behind the hills with its characteristic and unseemly haste and laid its hot hand on the skin, the illusion would be lost. Or else what might have been a Dartmoor pony turned out to be a zebra, and spoiled the illusion.

And the sun. It was inescapable. Although she made every attempt to hide from its rays, her skin was as brown as a washer-woman's. It would take months in England for her colour to become suitable for an evening frock. The saving grace was that in the White Highlands it was at least cool on most evenings. She felt quite sure no Englishman could survive at sea level.

Kenya was certainly not home, and quite unsuitable for a normal life. But there was a part of her that would miss that stark landscape with its endless skies and exotic species.

Dana didn't think of herself as a particularly adventurous person, but when she thought of her previous life in England, it seemed quite insipid compared to the frequent clashes with the wildlife that even a colonial life as ordinary as hers involved. There was nothing in England to compare with the thrill of tracking a wounded lion in a thicket. An evening ride on one's own property here might reveal a stalking leopard or an angry young bull elephant or buffalo. A rifle was a more useful component of her accoutrements than a parasol.

She thought of her friends and wondered if she'd miss them, or they her. The fun-loving Polly was closest to her, but Polly had a demon within her that drove her to lengths that might ultimately bring disaster. Her taste for cocaine had tempted her to experiment with heroin. She now went nowhere without her little silver syringe.

Averil was family, but without the wider context of aunts, cousins and other older members, the relationship had no depth. Averil was like a playmate at a birthday party with no adult supervision. The life her group of friends had, sharing each other's partners, was superficially exciting, but she sometimes wondered if they were doing it for the sensual experience or as some form of s.e.xual compet.i.tion where the winner was the one best able to convince the others that he or she was having the most fun.

From the darkness she heard a soft knock, then her door opened.

'Dana? Darling? Are you awake?'

'Yes, Edward. I'm awake.'

'Sorry ... it's just that ... I was wondering, if I might, you know ...'

'Come to bed, Edward,' she said, and lifted the sheet on the other side.

He slid in beside her and kissed her gently on the cheek then moved to her lips as he rubbed her midriff and slipped his hand under her nightdress.

Dana tried to put her troublesome thoughts from her mind, but she hadn't been able to resolve all the issues - they threatened to intrude upon the moment.

Edward was becoming excited. He smothered her with kisses and his fingers played gently in her wetness. She reached down to return his caresses.

He was above her and she opened herself to him.

Suddenly, she was suspended high over the Aberdares, but able to see all the details of her bedroom. It was as if she and Edward were characters on stage or in a silent moving picture.

A moment later, Edward rolled from her, breathing heavily, and Dana regained her equilibrium.

Long after Edward had kissed her tenderly and gone to his own bedroom, Dana lay awake, trying to understand what had happened in the moments after Edward had begun to make love to her. The answer had some connection with unresolved thoughts about leaving Kenya. It dangled in the darkness just beyond reach.

She tossed and turned. Distressed and overtired, she used an old trick to bring sleep. She imagined a life in England with Edward, concentrating on feelings of acceptance and support, security and comfort. It didn't work perfectly this time, though; and she finally allowed herself to admit that her distraction - and her indecision about the return home - came from her unresolved feelings for Sam.

Dana awoke thinking of Sam. She had been a coward not to tell him about her open marriage. Now she felt she had no way forward with him; by letting him go without some explanation, he probably felt hurt and believed she had no further interest in him.

She had allowed her remorse to fuel other emotions, like loneliness, so that when Edward had arrived at her bedroom door the previous night she was grateful, and welcomed him into her bed. Making love had always been her escape from feelings of vulnerability, and she knew that Edward understood it, and probably preyed on it. Now she was angry that she had succ.u.mbed.

She couldn't blame Edward for her cowardice with Sam. He had stuck to their agreement about avoiding relationships outside the group and believed a new life together back in England was what she wanted. But as the day wore on, Edward became increasingly troublesome. Having broached the subject of going home, he couldn't let it rest. Throughout the day he pestered Dana with a recitation of all the attractions of England and insisting she make her decision.

'Edward, this is all new to me. You might have been planning it for some time, but you didn't take me into your confidence. As I said last night, I have to think about it.'

'What's to think about? You're my wife.'

She glared at him. 'There's the farm. And the horses.'

She hadn't meant to mention the horses. She knew he'd have no sympathy for her desire to overcome the disaster with Dancer by putting her to stud.

'The horses? The horses!' he raved. 'What is there to think about? You get rid of them, of course. I don't doubt there are plenty of fools out there dreaming of fame and fortune on the track. That new chap Whiteman, for one.'

'Edward, for G.o.d's sake! Leave me be. I've told you, I need time.'

He stormed off, returning minutes later to announce he had work to do and that he'd be gone for a couple of hours.

Dana was pleased to see him go.

Mary was spending her day off on a visit to family in Naivasha, and the isolation played on Dana's mind. To take her thoughts off it, she decided to organise her wardrobe, which was untidy and had been annoying her for some time. She found a few garments she thought needed to be discarded, but after half an hour she lost her enthusiasm.

She wandered down the hall and opened the door to what had been Sam's bedroom that night. The darkness suited her mood. She lay on the bed and imagined she was again in his arms, recalling his hands and mouth as he made love to her.

He was only a few miles away. She peeped out the window. A strong wind had arisen, blowing dust and leaves through the barren garden. It was a lonely, dismal sight, but she had to do something with this restlessness - something that kept her from Sam.

She went downstairs and stood at the door. The sky was dark and heavy with cloud. It wasn't the first time the weather had teased her with promises of a break in the doldrums, and was typical of the fickleness of nature at that time of year. The clouds would promise much but deliver nothing for weeks, until one day the heavens would open and the first torrential downpour would bring blessed relief to human and animal alike.