In spite of her worries and her troubles, Donna found herself fascinated by the small city and its inhabitants. The sheer heat and excitement were enough to take her mind off her mission. As the car was gridlocked in the traffic and the incessant shouting and horn-blowing went on around her, Donna relaxed against the faded cloth seat of the Nissan and smiled grimly. In all her married life she had always shared every new experience with Georgio. Never once had she travelled abroad without him. If he had been with her now, he would have been making funny quips about the people, the taxi and the surroundings. He would have been relaxed, sure of himself, would have read up on his subject and pointed things out to her.

The hot steamy day seemed suddenly chilly to her, the scenes before her eyes less bright. Thinking of Georgio had reminded her of why she was here. Of why she was alone.

In another twenty minutes the car had taken the coast road and they were travelling along narrow dirt tracks towards Moratuwa, on the first leg of their journey to Hikkadoa.

Raj, relaxed now and happy to have a customer, started chatting to Donna in his near perfect English.

‘How long you stay in Hikkadoa?’

Donna flicked her cigarette out of the car window before replying.

‘I’m not sure.’

Raj looked dangerously over his shoulder as he drove. ‘Are you meeting with someone?’

‘I’m here on business actually.’ Donna hoped this answer would shut him up, hoped that when she said she wasn’t a tourist he would leave her in peace.

‘What kind of a business would a nice lady like you have in Hikkadoa?’ His voice sounded doubtful.

Donna sighed heavily. ‘Just business, that’s all.’

Raj shrugged. He knew the British well enough to realise when to shut up.

Donna watched the perfect coastline and relaxed once more in her seat, half-afraid of what she’d find in Hikkadoa and half-relieved to be on her way there.

Mario walked into Amigo’s and smiled at the waiter who walked forward.

‘Have you a booking, sir?’

Mario took in the dark eyes and the slightly too long look and knew that each had recognised the other as his own type. He smiled sexily as he answered.

‘Can I see Alan Cox, please? Tell him it’s Mario Brunos, he’ll see me.’

The waiter nodded, offered him a seat at the bar and disappeared up the stairs to Alan’s office. Five minutes later Mario was being led up the stairs by the young man, who took a drinks order from him before he left him with Alan.