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The smile of compassion, the feminine purity reminded her of the face of the angel painted on the wall behind the altar of Saint Veronica’s Church in the village of her own grandmother.
    Rafaella did not secretly chide herself for not being a good mistress. That would have been unfair. But had she been guilty of pride, a sense of superiority? She was not allowed time to dwell on this unexpected new piece of gloom that had entered her life.
    â€˜Memsahib, tomorrow you and I will go on a small journey together. We have work to do.’
    When would these strange happenings cease? Angela loved her life on the lakeside. Her three girls had been born there. On the night, many years before, when she had fled her home village in the north to escape the fate of becoming the second wife of Ahmed, the rich man who was old enough to be her father, she had cut herself adrift from family, friends and settled patterns of life. It had been a desperate move for an innocent country girl to go down to the city where hundreds of young Somali beauties like herself survived by hiring out their bodies. But Angela had met first the Shah family and then the big coastie boy on his way up-country to take up a job in the flower business. She thanked God every day for protecting her.
    She was a woman who enjoyed being in the background. She had a husband who was known and respected in Naivasha town and the villages ‘round about. Her firstborn had been acclaimed for her beauty and her voice in the great United States. So to be in the laundry garden, thrusting her arms into the warm, soapy water of the deep metal troughs or being in the kitchen at Londiani with two mistresses who treated her like a friend, what more could she ask for?
    And now, this self-effacing woman was giving instructions to her older mistress. This was not the way things were done in the farms in the White Highlands. And this was why everyone sitting out in the garden of Rusinga Farm was riveted into silence, especially Stephen and Rebecca. Had the housemaid crossed an invisible but real line in the antiquated system of hierarchy?
    â€˜And may I ask where this journey will take us? I hope it will not be too far. You know that I am not happy driving a car these days.’
    There was no hint of sarcasm in Rafaella’s tone. Quite the opposite, Rafaella’s spirits had been given a lift by Angela’s bold move.
    â€˜It is a long way, but I shall ask Bwana Thomas to take us.’
    â€˜Bwana Thomas will be happy to drive two beautiful women to the North Pole, if that’s where they want to go.’
    Tom was also excited and wanted to know more.
    â€˜North Pole is too far to go in one day. Too cold for Kenyan people. Last night I sat up by the village fire. You know that Isaac is there every night. He was reading his Bible to me. And we prayed together. Many hours. Many times, over and over, the words came. Every time the same. I spoke to Isaac about these things. He tells me that I have been blessed. I must obey. Rebecca will come, too. And one other.’

Chapter Eight
    eorge, the day porter at the Karen home of the Rubai family, was having a busy morning. Since eight o’clock hospital vans and cars had been coming and going. Bwana was coming home in the afternoon. The doctors had warned him about the dangers of leaving the hospital environment too early. Abel had insisted that he was ready to leave and a compromise had been reached which involved temporarily converting a large ground floor room into a hospital ward.
    Just after ten, three unexpected visitors had arrived at the lodge gate. George explained to Sally.
    â€˜Yes, Madam, there was a car. I did not recognise it. Three passengers stepped out and crossed the road to our gate. No, Madam, I have not seen them before, but two of the names are familiar. Certainly, Madam. Rafaella McCall and Angela Kamau. The third is a white toto. They will not give his name. Yes, I will escort them