As the argument grew louder and the shoving became more violent, Sybil heard the coarse vowels of the East End of London mixed with the plummy tones of Mayfair, the twang of Australia and the clipped accent of a Dutchwoman – or was it German? Astonished, she found she was rooted to the spot and could only stand and stare.

And then a tall, dark-haired, handsome man dressed in the uniform of a British lieutenant stepped into the fray. ‘Now, ladies, please try and calm down,’ he said reasonably. ‘I know you’re tired after your long journey, but there’s no need for this.’

‘There flaming well is,’ retorted a short, skinny blonde with a strong Sydney accent and terrible sores on her face. She grabbed hold of one of the other women by the scruff of her neck and shoved her towards him. ‘This bitch has no right to be here after what she got up to. She should be thrown into jail like the rest of the collaborators.’

A chorus of agreement went up, and the woman who’d been singled out drew her young son close to her side to protect him. ‘I didn’t do nothing wrong,’ she protested in a Cockney whine. ‘Me kid were starving, and any decent mother would have done the same.’

‘You’d better come with me,’ the officer said calmly. He looked at the others who were spitting venom and complaining about unfair treatment. ‘I’m taking her and the boy to arrange for another billet,’ he said, shooting them a smile that made him more handsome than ever. ‘I suggest the rest of you go to the bar and cool off.’

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a wad of paper. ‘These chits can be exchanged for any drink you want,’ he said, handing them over. ‘Your rooms will be ready by six, and dinner’s at eight.’

Sybil saw him walk away with the woman and her son and breathed a sigh of relief as the mob broke up, giggling, and rushed into the bar. Feeling slightly shaken by it all, she found she needed to sit down for a while.

Having restored her spirits with a Singapore Sling, she finally approached the reception desk.

‘I’d like to book my two usual rooms,’ she said. ‘The name is Mrs Jock Fuller. I don’t know how long my daughters and I will be staying, but it could be for some time.’

‘I’m sorry, Madam, but the hotel is full,’ said the Malay receptionist.

‘Surely you must have something,’ said Sybil, drawing some money from her purse in the hope that a bribe could still ease the way.

‘I do apologise,’ he said, ignoring the notes with a rather snooty air. ‘But the hotel has been requisitioned by the British Administration, and all the rooms have been set aside for the women and children who have been released from the prison camps. In fact, all good hotels have also been requisitioned. There is hardly a room to be had anywhere in Singapore.’