Sybil let her mind wander through the visions of how it would be when Jock and Philip were released. She could see it all so clearly that it was impossible to think it might not happen. She would hire a car and they could all go back to the rubber plantation where they’d been so happy. There, the men would be able to rest and relax, get all the food and medicines they needed, find their bearings after what was bound to have been the most awful ordeal, and slowly pick up the threads of a normal life again. Her parents would bring little James over and stay for a while; Philip and Sarah would marry and move into the Tarrant house as they’d planned before the fall of Singapore, and everything would be perfect.

Except perhaps for Jane, who seemed to have grown a very uppity stubborn streak since living in England and constantly refused to have anything to do with all the meticulous plans Sybil had put together for their family reunion. But her father would soon sort her out. Jock had never stood for any nonsense from either girl, and she was sure that wouldn’t have changed.

Sybil’s parents hadn’t approved of her almost desperate need to remain positive, and had warned her not to make too many plans, for none of them had any idea of what she might find in Singapore, and she could be heading for a terrible fall. The same caution had been repeated frequently in Sarah and Jane’s letters, but she’d chosen to ignore them. Without hope there was little point in carrying on, and she was absolutely determined to keep that flame of hope alive. After all, she reasoned silently, Jock had probably done the same thing throughout his ordeal, and she wasn’t about to let the side down now.

She was snapped from her thoughts by the boy coming to a sudden halt. They’d arrived at Raffles, and the joy of seeing it again stopped her from reprimanding him.

The building looked so wonderfully familiar, and it was clear that even under Japanese occupation it had been regarded with respect – and quite rightly. The gardens were lush, the palm trees were still there, and everything looked freshly painted.

With eager anticipation, she paid off the two rickshaw boys, adjusted her broad-brimmed hat and waited for the Raffles servants to collect her luggage and carry it into the reception hall. Following them inside, she came to an abrupt halt.

The place looked the same, even smelled the same, but it was full of army officers and scurrying women who she guessed were aides or secretaries – and there was a group of rough-looking European women, some with equally ragged children, who were conducting a furious row involving a good deal of swearing, finger-pointing, pushing and shoving.

Sybil clutched her handbag to her chest, certain that a fight would break out at any minute and she might get caught up in it. What had Raffles become? Who were these ghastly people – where on earth had they come from – and why wasn’t someone throwing them out?