It wasn’t that she was ungrateful to have a roof over her head and somewhere for the girls to come when they finally arrived, but Elsa had been an army wife, and she still had the rather disconcerting habit of issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed to the letter.

Sybil looked at the telephone, wondering if she could call Jim Reilly and ask him if there was any further news on when the girls might arrive. Then she realised she would just be a nuisance to the poor man, for he had quite enough on his plate already. No doubt if there was another telegram, Raffles would either tell Elsa or ring here.

She lit a cigarette and watched the birds preening their feathers in the trees as the rain dripped down on them. She wished she could feel cool, but the humidity was so high that the ceiling fans were really struggling, and Elsa had warned her against taking too many cold baths because despite the rain, clean water was at a premium now the island was so highly populated.

Reaching for a magazine she’d already read from cover to cover, she contemplated having a long gin and tonic – but it wasn’t yet eleven, and she knew how easy it would be to get into the habit of drowning her sorrows. She gave a deep sigh and discarded the magazine. If only there was news of Jock, or Philip. This waiting was agonising.

The tapping on the door was so light she almost missed it. Getting to her feet, she hurried to answer it hoping it was Jim Reilly – or anyone who could relieve this stifling boredom.

She opened the door and was met by the sight of a large black umbrella shielding a tiny, barefoot figure in a mud-stained sari. Thinking it must be some child coming to beg, she was about to send her away when the umbrella was tilted back to reveal a pair of intelligent brown eyes in a face lined with age and painful experience.

‘Oh, Mem, I’m so very glad to see you,’ the old woman said tremulously.

‘Amah?’ Sybil gasped, taking in the withered arms and the thinning grey hair that had once been so abundant and silky.

She put her hands together and bowed her head. ‘Yes, Mem. It is your Amah come to find you.’

Sybil tenderly drew her in out of the rain and, wary of brittle bones and a body so frail a strong wind might blow it away, embraced her. ‘Oh, Amah,’ she breathed. ‘It’s so very good to see you. The girls will be thrilled to know that you’re all right.’

‘Are they here?’ the elderly woman asked eagerly.

‘Not yet. They’ve been held up in Calcutta for several days because of the tropical storms. But I’m hoping they’ll be on their way very soon.’ She took the umbrella and stood it in the hallway, then led her into the sitting room, noting with horror that her bare feet were gnarled with arthritis and absolutely filthy.