When the servant returned with a tray of drinks, he was accompanied by several maids carrying buckets of hot and cold water. Sarah handed him their reply to be sent directly to Raffles Hotel in Singapore, tipped him a few rupees and waited for the maids to fill the baths.

Their creased clothing was whisked away to be ironed, and the silent-footed women left the room, their bright saris and scarves drifting elegantly around their slender figures.

It was amazing how quickly she’d fallen back into the easy life of servants, thought Sarah as she slid into warm water fragrant with rose petals and basked in the joy of feeling clean again, and the delights of icy gin and tonic.

Singapore

Sybil had gone to the ship’s radio room before disembarking in order to send her girls the telegram. She had their itinerary written down, so was confident it would find them. She realised she was a few days earlier than planned, but the crossing from Australia had been quick and untroubled. Once she was satisfied that her girls knew she’d arrived safely, she hailed a couple of rickshaws to take her and her luggage to Raffles.

The sounds and smells of Singapore hadn’t changed much, she realised as the rickshaw boy pulled her along the busy streets, but the sight of what war had done to this beloved island playground shocked and saddened her. Some of the old buildings were gone, or reduced to rubble in which ragged children foraged for anything they could use or sell. Other buildings were crumbling, and the once fine parade of stores, bars and cafés where she used to spend hours window-shopping or meeting friends for drinks had become nothing more than makeshift kiosks selling second-hand goods, fly-blown fruit and meat, or tawdry trinkets.

The people too had changed, for despite the end of hostilities, most of the natives looked half-starved and as downtrodden, weary and decrepit as their surroundings, and she noted a marked absence of the usual number of Chinese traders. There was a smattering of European faces amongst the milling crowds, but they seemed to be dressed in tropical service uniform, though Sybil noticed that some of the women looked far from healthy, and their skirts and shirts bore no regimental markings. It was all very strange, and didn’t feel like coming home at all.

She stared in horrified fascination at a line of manacled Japanese prisoners, bare-footed and wearing loincloths, being herded along like cattle by a British army officer. None of them met her gaze, hanging their heads so the conical straw peasant hats hid their shame. Sybil had heard enough from the wireless and newspapers of their heinous crimes to regard this treatment as rather tame. In her opinion, the lot of them should have been shot.

She looked away and deliberately turned her thoughts to more pleasant things even though she knew she was being foolish to cling to her fantasies. However, those dreams had kept her going from the moment she’d fled Singapore with baby James, and she would hold tightly to them until it was proved to her absolutely that her faith in Jock and Philip’s survival had been misplaced. But that was something she didn’t dare contemplate.