Grace glanced at him. ‘Hmm, funny you should say that. I’ve been talking to my mother about this. She reminded me I should take control of my life again. I used to manage very well. Then I got married and handed over my money as well as my head and my heart. Thanks, Andy. I’ll pay more attention.’

He smiled. ‘Glad to be of service. Now, I better go and do some work and leave you to yours. See you tonight.’

*

They were filming in a quiet corner of the gardens as the sun set. Nyoman, the retired head gardener, was setting an offering in front of the remains of a mossy, carved stone statue at the temple ruins, the afternoon sun’s rays lighting the grooves in the old man’s gentle face.

‘Cut. Lovely,’ said Steve softly.

‘You’ll take a movie of my garden now?’

‘That would be great, if it’s okay with you,’ replied Steve.

They followed Nyoman through the coconut trees to a fence, where he unlatched a bamboo gate.

‘Oh, wow,’ said Grace, stopping in surprise.

She had known the hotel had a kitchen garden, but had not expected what she now saw in front of her: the area was filled with an abundance of vegetable beds and lush climbers on trellises, different types of lime trees, as well as mango and pawpaw trees.

‘We pick all the Kamasan coconut trees,’ explained Nyoman. ‘For meat and oil. Much of our cooking oil is from our trees. And used in the spa.’

‘Yes, I remember, the spa products are all coconut based. They’re divine,’ said Grace.

‘You did all this?’ Steve asked the elderly man as the crew trailed in behind them, exclaiming in admiration.

‘I make the garden using permaculture,’ said Nyoman. ‘I get seaweed from the beach and make fertiliser.’

‘Look at those capsicums and eggplants – oh, and little beetroots. They look perfect but they’re all miniature,’ exclaimed Grace, looking at a tray of fresh beetroots.

‘I grow baby vegetables for Chef. He likes them.’

‘Where did you learn all this?’ said Grace, after she asked Mateo to set up the camera.

‘My family were from Bedugul. We all lived on farm. I bring some seeds from there.’

‘What’s in the shed over there?’ asked Mateo, pointing. ‘Anything to film?’

Nyoman chuckled and replied, ‘Many chickens. And quail. For their eggs. They spend the morning running around and go inside when the sun starts to set.’

‘I’ve heard about the indulgence breakfast the Kamasan is going to be serving,’ said Steve. ‘Twenty quail-egg omelette garnished with these baby vegetables. Unreal.’