It was very large and white and there was a garden in front of it. Wide marble steps led down to wrought iron gates. People of importance must live here, Mistral thought, and they, too, would be angry at being left behind at the Restaurant while she drove away in their carriage. Nervously she rehearsed an explanation of what had occurred.

The carriage stopped, the door was flung open by a native servant in a red coat over voluminous Eastern trousers which were of white lawn like his turban. Several other servants dressed in the same manner came hurrying down the steps. Mistral got out of the coach.

There has been a mistake,’ she said clearly. ‘I was brought here from the Restaurant des Fleurs, but I wish to go back to the Hôtel de Paris. I would be grateful if the carriage could take me back.’

Another servant with a beard, who seemed older and more distinguished than the others, stepped forward. He bowed very low, said something in a language which Mistral did not understand, then pointed to the open door of the Villa a few yards away.

‘Is there anyone here who can speak French or English?’ Mistral asked.

The servant shook his head and again, speaking in a strange tongue, he pointed to the door.

‘Perhaps someone inside will understand,’ Mistral said.

Feeling there was nothing else that she could do, she walked up the steps and went in through the big double doors of the Villa. She found herself in a large pillared hall of black and white marble. The servants followed her. The one with the beard led the way up a flight of stairs, which were closely covered with a thick, soft-piled carpet so that his feet made no noise, and the whole of the house seemed curiously silent.

Mistral suddenly felt terribly afraid. Where was she going? What did this mean? Somehow she must get back to the Hôtel de Paris even if she had to walk. They had reached a wide landing when Mistral made her one last desperate effort to make herself understood.

‘I wish to speak to the mistress of the house,’ she said. ‘Oh, isn’t there anyone here who can understand French, or English, or German?’

The man muttered something and opened the door. Mistral saw a huge room dimly lit by flickering golden lamps. There was the exotic perfume of sandalwood and everywhere the glitter of gold – gold-spangled curtains, gilt furniture and low tables of beaten brass laden with gold ornaments.

Mistral stared about her in bewilderment. Then someone came from the shadows at the far end of the room and walked slowly towards her. Mistral saw a flash of white teeth against dark skin, the glitter of sparkling jewels on a pale turban, and recognised the Rajah.

She gave a little gasp of horror. As she did so, she heard the door close softly behind her.