As the truck drove along the narrow road the next day, Snowy caught glimpses of the jungle they had so recently left and felt a deep shudder within him at the thought of returning there, for despite the fact that there was not long left before he would go back home he knew he would have to do more patrols before that happy day dawned. That meant nights spent in his basha, the hut the army provided for jungle patrols, lying beneath his mosquito netting and trying to sleep, trying to tell himself that the horrible cacophony of sounds which made a jungle night hideous held no threat provided one lay still and quiet and waited for morning. But of course it was at night that the bandits were most active . . .

The truck, jerking to a stop just outside the Capitol Cinema in the heart of the city, brought Snowy back to the present. He and Capper descended on to the pavement and exchanged delighted grins. The street was lined with stalls, each one brightly lit and containing mouth-watering displays amongst which were affordable gifts for those back home. The two men plunged into the crowds already milling along the pavements and proceeded to wander, stopping every now and then for the sheer pleasure of not being in the jungle but back in civilisation. Snowy found the necklaces and Capper began to compare bangles. Snowy had actually picked up a necklace which he thought would suit Tess, paid for it, and slipped it into his shirt pocket, when he noticed a girl coming towards him. She was slim and straight-backed, with gleaming black hair and skin the colour of honey, and she came over to the stall, picking up a couple of bangles and eyeing them wistfully before replacing them, with finicky care, on the stall.

Snowy stared at her, a frown creasing his brow. She looked familiar; in fact he was sure he had seen her somewhere before. But she was a local girl, what the other men on his patrol would have called a ‘bint’, so unless she worked at base camp . . .

As though his glance had been intense enough to be felt she rearranged the bangles and turned towards him, her delicate brows rising. Snowy felt his face grow hot; she was a respectable girl, no matter that she was a Malay, and it was rude to stare, he remembered his mother telling him so as a small boy. She might think that because she was in the bazaar and looking at bangles he might assume her to be a bad girl. She might think he was ‘pricing her up’, as his fellow soldiers would say. But as she turned back to the array of jewellery on the stall, he realised why he had thought her familiar. There was something in the way she moved, straight-backed and slim, and in the way she bent her head over the display, which reminded him of Tess. He was so surprised that he was unable to stop himself from smiling; how could he possibly think this girl was like Tess Williams? But it was not her face, or her hair; it was the way she moved, even in the delicate way she touched the many-coloured bangles. And this decided him that he had been right. She was what his mother would describe as a ‘real little lady’ and it was this that had reminded him of Tess, not the golden skin or the gleaming, coal-black hair.