Further along the beach, where old coconut palms arched over the sand as if weight and age were tiring them, a rock wall of artfully tumbled rocks formed what looked like a natural barrier, subtly dividing the beach from the other resorts further along towards the township. Tucked away on this southern end, the Kamasan was blooming in splendid isolation. In the distance she could see figures moving, probably early morning surfers, walkers and hawkers. But if she turned her back on that end and looked to the golden horizon, the empty beach and trees, the shining unbroken line of endless waves, she felt she was on her own desert island.

Sitting on the sand, drying off after her swim, Grace tried to put in words how she felt, but Andy cut her off.

‘Just soak it up. I get it. Some places grab your heart the moment you see them. Why do you think I never went back home to live? My friends in Australia think I’m an old hippy seeing out my days here. Which I am. Since my wife died, as I told you the other day, I don’t really have anything keeping me here. But I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.’

They sat in silence for a moment.

‘I just can’t help feeling there’s a reason I’m here. I don’t mean for a job; I mean for my soul. It’s very special.’ Grace sighed. She wasn’t ready to share her problems yet. Giving voice to them would spoil the moment, she thought.

‘Yep. I can imagine how old K’tut Tantri felt. Why she flung herself into everything she did here.’

‘Who’s that?’

Andy turned to Grace. ‘The heroine of Indonesia, although she’s not known as that anymore. Sadly she’s mostly been forgotten. Hey, come with me, there’s something you should see.’ He pulled her to her feet.

They walked along the beach, then Andy turned into a grove of coconut palms, pandanus and tangled bushes. As the dried palm fronds crackled beneath their feet, he pointed into the undergrowth and Grace saw a tall, carved pole. Near it were several large stones that were pitted and covered in lichen.

‘What was this?’ she asked.

‘The remains of the Suara Segara. It means “Sound of the Sea”. K’tut Tantri’s hotel.’

‘A hotel? Here? How fabulous this must have been. When was this?’

‘In the 1930s. She claimed it was the first hotel on Kuta Beach. There was no one like K’tut. Her original name was Muriel something . . . Walker, I think it was. She was a film reporter in Hollywood for a while. Had a big run-in with Noël Coward, apparently.’

‘Really, Noël Coward? He was such a big name. She must have been pretty brave to take him on.’

‘She was a legend. I don’t know all the details. After the war, she kind of disappeared. But she stayed here after everyone fled when the Japanese came in. She wasn’t Balinese; Scottish, I think, but she fought for the Balinese. As you can understand, she adopted Bali and they her.’