Steve looked at Grace, nodding slowly. ‘It would be fantastic if we could use this somehow. How are you going with K’tut’s book?’

‘I’m not far in – she’s in Indonesia and about to arrive in Bali, I think. I can’t wait to read about Sound of the Sea. She was such an adventurous woman – so brave, really, so intrepid. Her journey across Indonesia sounded hair-raising, but also fun. I wish I could have met her.’

Steve nodded. ‘Me too. Not many people take real risks anymore . . .’ He looked around again. ‘Why was the land abandoned? I wonder why they aren’t developing here.’

‘All I know is that it’s family land.’

‘Maybe they think it’s haunted. The Balinese – and the Chinese – are very superstitious.’

Clambering to their feet, they walked back along the beach, and when they reached the spot where Steve had picked up the shell, Grace paused, pulling it from her pocket and putting it to her ear.

As if from some far-away place she heard the gentle breath; the sound of the sea, like a soft sigh. All of her troubles – Lawrence, finances, doing the best for her dear, dear daughter – seemed to blow away.

Gently she put the shell back on the sand to be touched by the incoming tide.

Chapter 6

6

After a casual drink and dinner with Steve and Andy, who’d stopped by after work, Grace headed to bed. It had been a long week of meetings, research, brainstorming and filming, with dawn starts most days, and she was exhausted. But she also felt wired and very much alive. She admitted to herself that she hadn’t felt so engaged with a project in years, and apart from the separation from Daisy, which she was finding very tough, she was enjoying the experience hugely.

Now curled in her bed, a mosquito net dropped around her and the door open to let in the breeze, Grace felt safe and cocooned. She opened her book, ready to unwind and keen to see what Muriel was up to now that she’d arrived in Bali.

My plan was simply to fill the car with benzine, drive into the interior of the island, and keep on driving until the car ran dry.

When the car finally spluttered and died, I found myself in a beautiful, medieval village high up in the hills and outside a handsomely carved wall of red brick with an open archway guarded on both sides by four stone figures representing Balinese gods. Behind the stone wall seemed to be a mysterious-looking temple hidden in tropical foliage. Hearing weird music coming from within the imposing-looking walls and knowing that the Balinese people have no objection to strangers entering the temples if they do so with proper respect, I timidly entered the courtyard.