It was an anticlimax, our arrival in Banjuwangi: the purchase of a train ticket to the village nearest where I had first seen Pito; the giving of a little money, food for the journey, some new clothing; and the writing down of my name should Pito ever wish to come to Bali, with the address of the American consul who might know where I could be found. At the end Pito was calm, silent and somewhat moody. His glances were sidelong and his underlip quivered a little. He removed the new and tightly rolled sarong from around his waist and drew forth an oddly shaped and hammered silver box. From this he took out a small carved wooden figure.

‘This is a good luck charm,’ he said. ‘Saved me many times from evil spirits. Very powerful. So you take this, kind American lady, and keep it with you always. The train comes now. I go. I thank you very much.’

‘Selamet tinggal!’ he shouted as the train moved away. That means, Live in peace.

‘Selamet djalan, Pito.’ Go in Peace.

It is difficult for me to describe how I felt as I stood there, once again alone. My adventure had now begun in earnest.

Grace stepped from the plane and took a deep breath, wishing she had her own Pito beside her, guiding her. Still, it was a good feeling to be familiar with the bustle of passengers on arrival at Denpasar and know her path would be smoothed as much as possible, thanks to the influence and connections of MGI.

Mr Angiman’s assistant, Sutini, met her at the airport this time, ‘In case there are any problems with your KITAS,’ she said with a smile. But all went smoothly, and they were soon driving towards Grace’s accommodation.

‘I think you’ll find Villa Ramadewa very comfortable,’ Sutini said. ‘The Carrefour supermarket has everything. And the local fresh market close by is excellent. Or you can use the Recreational Club.’ She smiled. ‘The expatriates seem to have everything they need.’

‘They certainly do,’ said Grace.

The villa was an enclosed world of its own, with a luxurious pool surrounded by open-sided pavilions for dining and relaxing. The indoor sitting, lounging and entertaining areas opened onto the pool and garden or could be closed off in the rainy season if needed; the bedrooms upstairs each had a verandah overlooking the grounds but were discreetly private. It was beautifully furnished in the up-market ‘modern Balinese’ style that Grace knew could be found in most tropical five-star-plus locations throughout Asia.

Sinking into a rattan chair and stretching out her legs, sipping an exotic drink with fruit and flowers in it that the chef had whipped up, and looking at a frangipani flower that had fallen onto the emerald grass, disturbing the perfection, Grace sighed. As over-the-top as this all was, she appreciated it.