As Grace turned into the hotel grounds she caught a glimpse of Nyoman collecting fallen palm fronds from the immaculate lawns. The gardens were flourishing; she noticed some plants had grown even in the short time she had been here. Artfully trained bougainvillea spilled in controlled clumps, while frangipani, white jasmine, hibiscus and trailing orchids looked as if they’d always been there. The huge hibiscus, heliconia and, in the shady spots, exotic anthuriums all made for a dramatic backdrop.

She picked a sweet blossom and, waving to Nyoman, turned off the path and went through the bamboo and pandanus grove to the hidden back garden and the remains of K’tut’s hotel. A startled bird screeched at being disturbed and darted away into the greenery.

Passing the crumbling, lichen-covered remains of a carved stone gateway, Grace spotted a simple shrine with the sculpture of the Hindu deity, Vishnu, on top. A flower offering had already been placed on the pedestal. Grace tucked her blossom in her hair, its perfume trailing behind her.

She recalled reading about K’tut’s despair – coming back here to see her beloved hotel in this peaceful setting ruined by the Japanese invaders. It was almost unfathomable to Grace that K’tut had suffered torture and solitary confinement for many months on another island, only to return to further hardship and disappointment – and yet she had survived it all, and gone on to make a positive difference to the world around her in spite of it. Grace thought about K’tut’s strength, perseverance and fortitude. It didn’t seem right to her that K’tut Tantri had been forgotten. She sighed and turned away, taking the short cut through Nyoman’s kitchen gardens to the back of the hotel.

She followed the smell of pungent Balinese coffee and the murmur of voices and found Johnny, his father and, to her surprise, Madame Pearl, seated at a table on the terrace.

Johnny waved her over. ‘Grace, hello. Have you had breakfast?’

Grace grinned and walked towards them. ‘Not yet. Good morning, Pak Pangisar . . .’

‘Harold, Harold,’ the older man said, smiling.

Johnny pulled out a chair for her and Grace sat down. ‘Thanks, Johnny. How are you, Madame Pearl?’

‘I am doing quite well,’ the elegant older woman replied. ‘Very much looking forward to this evening.’

Grace wondered if Madame Pearl was spending the day at the hotel, as she was already dressed formally enough to be ready to go to the evening’s art auction in a silk dress with multiple strands of fat pearls and large diamond and jade earrings. She was wearing a narrow Cartier Tank watch. Daywear, thought Grace, rather bemused.

‘Oh yes, please tell me about this evening.’

‘Breakfast first. Have anything you like,’ said Johnny.

A waiter who’d been standing nearby came over and smiled at Grace, ready to take her order.

‘I’ll have creamy eggs with smoked salmon,’ she said, ‘and sourdough toast, please.’