Gently she clicked off the bedside lamp and softly closed the door on her sleeping mother.

*

With light streaming into her room, Grace pushed the plantation shutter doors wide and walked out to see her mother and Daisy sitting at the table by the pool eating breakfast.

‘You slept in, Mum!’ Daisy ran to give her a hug. ‘I made an omelette, by myself. Well, Kamsi helped a little bit.’

‘Hi, sweetie, what time is it? We have to get ready so I can take you to school.’

‘It’s okay. I still have ages,’ Daisy said. ‘I was there on time yesterday, remember.’

‘Yes, well, but today we need to arrive before the bell goes at eight.’ Grace rubbed her eyes, knotted her sarong more firmly and smiled as Kamsi came outside with juice and fruit.

‘Thank you, Kamsi.’ She sat down and peeled a tiny banana. ‘How was your dinner with Daddy, honey?’

‘I had a mocktail! It was yummy.’

‘How was your night?’ asked Tina.

‘Amazing. The food was fabulous.’

‘Nice, but I meant the art auction.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ Grace chuckled and shook her head. ‘I’m not awake yet. Actually, it was disappointing. Odd, in a way.’

‘Really, why was that? The art didn’t live up to the hype? Or was it out of Johnny’s price range? Though I can’t imagine that, especially if he wanted it so badly.’

‘Yes, that was it. He seemed to know one of the other bidders and after he missed out on a few items he dropped out altogether. However, I came home with a fabulous painting.’ Grace smiled.

Tina put down her cup. ‘Good grief! You bought a painting at that auction?’

‘What’s an ock-shun, Mum?’ Daisy interrupted.

‘Well, it’s when a group of people get together in a special place to buy things, and whoever says they’ll pay the most for something – that’s called bidding – is the one who gets to buy the item.’

‘Did you . . . bid . . . a lot of money?’

‘Gosh no, honey, those pictures were really expensive. The one I got was a gift from Steve. Let me get it and show you.’

Grace unrolled the painting and took it outside, pausing to look at it in daylight. She handed it to her mother as Daisy squeezed in to look too.

‘It’s our beach! I can do a painting like that.’

‘It’s by a lady called K’tut Tantri, Daisy,’ Grace said, then turned to her mother. ‘She fancied herself as an artist and sold some of her work to tourists here.’

‘Really?’ Tina leaned over and studied it. ‘The woman who wrote the book you’re reading? The amazing one? This could be valuable.’

‘Not in the art world. But as a memento of an extraordinary woman, I think it’s fantastic.’

‘That was very thoughtful of Steve.’