It was the last week in October and Sarah was wading through the latest batch of almost indecipherable doctors’ reports on patients who’d come in the previous day. The heat was stifling despite the ceiling fan, and she was looking forward to the end of the day when she could relax with a long cold Tom Collins and think about seeing the plantation house again.

It wasn’t known what sort of state it was in after the Japanese had left it, but Sybil had decided they all needed a break from Singapore and that it would do them good to go back there just for the weekend, and perhaps lay a memorial stone for Jock. Sarah had been dubious, for it wouldn’t feel the same without Pops, and every nook and cranny of the place would just be a sad reminder of him. There was also the fact that she hadn’t heard anything about Philip, and it would be awful if she was away when news came.

Sarah had pored over the long list of the dead, and checked the names of the passengers of every plane and ship coming in. She’d even gone through the seemingly endless list of those who’d been sent home to Australia in case the authorities had heeded Sybil’s pleas and sent him there. But there had been nothing, and she was beginning to accept that he must have been one of the many who’d died anonymously.

She paused in her typing and leaned back in the chair. The whole thing was tragic, for Philip had been young, virile and energetic. If anyone could have survived it should have been him. The knowledge that he must have been cut down in the prime of life and left in an unmarked grave tore at her heart. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer that he hadn’t suffered like so many others, and had died as her father had done – silently and in an instant.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the desk and lit a cigarette. Throwing open the shutters and thereby risking an invasion of flies and bugs, she leaned on the sill to watch Jumbo patiently instructing the Japanese labourers on how to lay a line of bricks.

The sight of him made her smile, for she liked Jumbo enormously, and was delighted that he and Myfanwy had tied the knot in a simple church ceremony the previous weekend. Jim had been the best man, and given a rousing speech at the reception, which Sarah had abridged in her letter to Peggy. The celebrations had lasted long into the night and Jumbo had serenaded his bride with a stirring rendition of ‘Road to the Isles’ on his new set of bagpipes. Where the heck he’d found those was anyone’s guess, but they certainly made the party go with a swing.

She finished her cigarette and was about to return to trying to decipher the doctors’ writing when there was a soft tap on the door, and Matron stepped in.