All best wishes,

Sincerely,

Katie Flynn.

Prologue

IT WAS A hot day, but then most days are hot in Malvonia, a small South American republic, and the tall, dark-haired man appeared to be sunk in thought and not taking much interest in his surroundings. Below him the water of the dock had small fish investigating the mud, but the man hardly seemed to notice. There were few people about, for it was siesta, when all the shops and offices closed and respectable people took to their beds and slept away the hottest part of the day.

The man was scarcely aware of the heat, for he was thinking of his home and his children. His mind played wistfully with a mental picture of snow on holly branches, children skating on the nearest pond and gifts beneath the Christmas tree.

He had already bought presents for his son and daughter and wrapped them with great care in several layers of tissue. Then he had placed the gifts in a stout box, sealing it with what seemed to be yards and yards of sticky tape, and enclosing the whole thing in brown paper, adding string and even some sealing wax. Then, with the parcel well secured, he had walked up from the docks into the seedy little town, found a post office, bought the necessary stamps and left the parcel with the clerk, who would dispatch it by the first ship heading for England.

He had left the post office feeling relieved that the job was done, and headed for the dock where his ship, the Mary Anne, lay at anchor. The heat was beginning to get to him, and he ran a hand through his tightly curling dark hair, then produced a large handkerchief and wiped his glistening forehead. He was thinking again of snow and red berries, so he did not even glance at the group of men coming towards him. They were talking and laughing, and just as he reached the Mary Anne‘s anchorage one of them addressed him. The man began to say he did not speak Portuguese, but even as his mouth formed the words he felt a sickening blow on the back of his head and found himself face down in the water of the dock. Desperately he struggled and managed to rise to the surface, but then something struck him another stunning blow, this time on the forehead, and he lost consciousness.

Chapter 1

IT HAD BEEN raining when Jimmy emerged from No. 4 Solomon Court, but by the time he had run his little sister to earth, playing shop in the Latimers’ woodshed, the rain had turned to sleet and a sharp wind was blowing what felt like icy needles into his unprotected face. He had looked at Mo, happily selling a piece of broken china to Nelly Latimer, and grinned ruefully. It would have been nice to have her company, but he acknowledged that to request it would not have been fair. Mo was six, too young to be able to help with the laundry. It was far better to leave her playing happily whilst he undertook the errand which might or might not result in the sixpence that Aunt Huxtable had promised, so he had leaned down, patted Mo’s curly head and told her he was going to the wash house for Aunt Huxtable and might not be back before dusk, for the December days were short and in a few days it would be Christmas.