Anak Agung Nura had given instructions that the firearms be delivered to a certain hideaway. It was almost midnight when I reached the place. Anak Agung Nura was astonished at first, and then – after hearing my story – horrified that I had undertaken such a risky venture. ‘How could Frisco Flip have been so foolish?’ he raged. ‘Letting you travel with geisha girls, and on a warship! You might have been taken to Japan.’

‘Please, Nura,’ I replied, ‘it was not at all that bad. I was safe and comfortable and we had no trouble. We could think of no other way of getting the things here.’

The arms were removed, and the books replaced, with speed.

Good sense dictated that I remain in the house, in hiding, for the next few days. But good sense has never been one of my conspicuous features. My thoughts now turned to my beloved hotel, and to Wyjan, Njoman and Maday. I must find them. Nura had told me that the hotel had been completely destroyed but I wanted to see for myself. Early the next morning I found a local with a dokkar and set out for Suara Segara, my ‘Sound of the Sea’ hostelry.

My heart leaped as we came in sight of the sea, and the lovely white sweep of Kuta Beach, and my grove of date and coconut palms along the shore. But where was the hotel? And where were the beautiful guest bungalows that had blended so perfectly with the landscape that they were almost part of it?

As the rugged little horse pulled nearer, I could see that not one brick stood upon another. The great carved-stone statues were gone. The grove looked as though it had not been disturbed. The driver, seeing my distress, turned his eyes away. He murmured, ‘I thought you knew.’

Stumbling to the ground, I ran to the spot where my own cottage had stood. Not a piece of bamboo remained. I ran about frantically, looking for a brick, a stone, some evidence that there had been a building anywhere. The only sign of human habitation was a row of ketalas, or native yams, planted across the ground.

My legs gave way under me. Sinking into the grass, I burst into tears. Could wars planned and declared in far lands do this to peaceful Bali? Why should such beauty, so lovingly wrought, be so wantonly destroyed?

After a frantic day and night of phone calls, emailing and making plans, Grace, Daisy and Tina, Steve, Henry and Andy all crowded into the hotel’s minibus after breakfast, and Putu took off.

‘Where’re we going, Mumma?’ asked Daisy.

‘Into the mountains, where it’s cool and beautiful. We’re going to visit a special house. Well, a big family compound.’

‘What’s a compound?’

‘It’s where all the family live, the grandad and nana, brothers and sisters, cousins, uncles and aunties. You’ll see.’

‘Are they expecting us?’ asked Tina.