The Old Sugar Plantation sprawled on the side of the densely wooded volcano, which was really all the island consisted of, so that from the air it looked like a green pimple on the face of the Caribbean ocean. Stella and Mike Burrows had bought the place in a seedy condition, but were in the process of turning it into one of smartest small hotels in the West Indies . . . or rather Stella was. Since she had more than enough drive for two, Mike saw no reason to exert himself. He came in for enough criticism from his wife whatever he did, so it suited him better to be berated for indolence than to be yelled at for making mistakes.

Luciana could hear Stella doing her welcoming routine now. Stella’s voice was sweet and sour like a Chinese meal – especially when she caught Mike having one of his little siestas. She liked to insist that she treated all her guests as if they were personal friends, though she was more successful at doing this with the titled or famous than with those who she did not consider added to the tone of the place.

‘Come and have a lovely refreshing drink. I’m sure you both need it. Your first drinks are on the house,’ cooed Stella, leaving no doubt that the next ones would be on the bill, and through the nose as well.

Luciana watched through half-closed eyes. She could tell from the sugar content of Stella’s voice that the new arrivals were highly prized, as she herself had once been, though she knew that she had become a sad disappointment, insisting on dining at a table for one and resisting all efforts to draw her into a group. Still, she supposed Stella prized her name on the guest list.

‘Patsy and Colin will be thrilled to see you – such a sweet couple, we’re loving having them here,’ said Stella to the new arrivals.

This was a lie. Luciana had heard Sir Colin Fowler, the young, prosperous but already slightly fleshy-looking husband in question, complaining about everything it was possible to complain about, and a good deal more besides. Luciana imagined that his charm factor was not as enlivening as the weight of his wallet: his pretty, pouting American wife looked bored out of her mind for much of the time, and they had committed the ultimate tiresomeness in Stella’s eyes – they had brought a child with them. Luciana guessed Stella had no more liking for children than she had herself. Not suitable for the very young or the infirm, the hotel brochure stated firmly, on no very obvious grounds as regards the safety of the terrain, but certainly reflecting the owners’ preference.