Every penny Stella brought her was to Chrissie the elixir of life. It was also her revenge on Stella for being pretty and desirable. If she suffered to obtain it, all the better. Why should things be easy because she had a pretty face and a well-formed body?

A face out of the past confronted Chrissie with a leer. She remembered Lord Wrotham whom Stella had hated. He was a notorious blackguard, but rich and powerful. Stella tried to avoid him for he was a by word in the theatrical world. One evening he sent her a bouquet of orchids and an invitation asking her to have supper with him after the show. Stella shuddered and thrust the flowers away from her.

‘I’ve not sunk so low that I have to take a meal off him,’ she said firmly. ‘Send a message, Chrissie, and say I’m otherwise engaged.’

Chrissie made no reply, but when the next act started, she wrote Lord Wrotham a note of acceptance and signed it with Stella’s name.

Stella was hopeless, though, Chrissie sighed. One could never teach her common sense. She had to be instructed on every point as if she were a child or an imbecile. Her behaviour with the Rajah was a case in point. Chrissie felt her gall rising again at the thought of the thousand francs Stella had wasted last night. A thousand francs! In England it would keep them for a month or two.

She heard the handle of the door turn softly and raised her head.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked.

The door opened wider and Stella came into the room.

‘Are you awake, Chrissie?’

‘You can see I am,’ Chrissie replied sullenly.

‘I wanted to speak with you for a moment.’

Then draw the blinds,’ Chrissie commanded, ‘It’s time I got up anyway.’

Obediently Stella crossed to the window and after several fumblings drew up the Venetian blinds. The windows of Chrissie’s bedroom looked over the garden at the side of the Villa, and from her bed Chrissie could see the soft green branches of the olive and palm trees and beyond them the sharp sides of the mountain climbing skywards.

Stella stood for a moment looking out, then she turned towards her sister. She was wearing a dress of green tarlatan trimmed with a vivid green and red plaid which was matched by the quills in her hat of chip straw. Chrissie thought she had never seen her look more elegant or for that matter prettier. There were no longer any traces of tears on her face, her eyes were shining and her lips were smiling. But as the eyes of the two women met, the radiance vanished from Stella’s face and her expression became serious.

‘Are you going out?’ Chrissie asked.

‘Yes,’ Stella replied. ‘That’s what I came to tell you.’