Narayan Shah had done well for himself, much better than Julianne, since they’d last met. It was obvious he was pivotal to the everyday running of his private security firm, that much was clear from the second they had walked in here, with the appearance of four of his underlings, bearing news they thought he must hear or documents he must see. More impressive, from her point of view, was the man’s enduring grace and calm under pressure. Shah dismissed them all courteously but firmly, instead instructing that tea be served upstairs for his English guest and himself.

The old soldier had partitioned off at least half of one shipping container as his private office. This particular giant metal crate sat atop the L-shaped arrangement of identical, faded-orange containers that formed the entrance to his compound. A quiet young Nepalese woman was performing the duties he’d requested, filling two coarse-looking stone mugs with piping-hot green tea. She was dressed in western clothes, but carried herself with the demure reserve Jules thought characteristic of many Asian societies. Shah smiled at her while she poured.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said as the young Nepali withdrew.

‘You are welcome, Father,’ she replied, answering a question Julianne had kept to herself.

‘It is a rough environment for a young lady, I will admit,’ said Shah, once the two of them were alone. ‘I hire the best men I can find, and I insist on civility in the workplace. But this business attracts a very particular type, and I worry sometimes about exposing my daughters to that.’

Julianne leaned forward and carefully picked up the tea. The simple pottery mug had no handle, forcing her to hold it carefully around the rim, lest she burn her fingers.

‘But you would rather have your girls close by,’ she ventured. ‘It’s nice, Shah, and understandable, especially now. My father did something similar, although his motives were less admirable.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘He often dressed me up to distract the chaps from whom he was intent on milking funds.’

Shah grinned so widely at this that his head – which had always reminded her of a giant, inverted brown pot – seemed to split right open.

‘Ah, Miss Jules, I do recall with fondness the many stories you told of your father on our voyage to Australia. Hard times they were, but very simple in some ways. Sail the boat, fight the pirates, do not die. Now . . .’ He waved his hands around the room, encompassing the unseen compound, and perhaps the whole city beyond it. ‘Now complications are all I have.’

Jules took a cautious sip of her drink. She didn’t much fancy green tea, given a choice, but this blend was sweeter and less smoky than usual. She would’ve preferred a pot of Taylors Scottish Breakfast Tea, with milk and sugar, but found herself taking longer drafts of Shah’s brew as it cooled down. It settled her nerves.