Dr Gilbert looks at me kindly from the sofa where he is leaning back against one of my feather cushions. ‘You lived in Mandalay, I understand, before you moved to Rangoon?’

I nod.

He questions me, asks if there’s anything I want to say about it. I take a moment before I speak and, as I do, I shiver at the memory of my husband’s irrational rage, his face scarlet with fury. I tell him Douglas was terribly angry with me, although that barely describes it.

It was foolish, but I wanted a child so badly and couldn’t seem to conceive. When I went to her the burning red sun had softened into a sultry Mandalay evening. The heavily made-up woman, wearing satin and silk, danced for me and the other women, almost in a trance. She drank beer and we all pinned banknotes to her shiny costume sleeves. The spirits liked a party, it seemed. When it was over she said the spirits had spoken, though she didn’t reveal what they’d said. I tell the doctor how the people loved their spirit mediums. How they believed a Nat Gadaw, for that is what they called them, spoke to them and they thought the spirits could make wishes come true.

Douglas was immovable. He’s a very rational man and was outraged I’d given in to one of their dark superstitions.

‘Did it work? The spirit medium?’ Dr Gilbert asks.

I nod. Instead of feeling helpless I had taken matters into my own hands. I felt different afterwards. Hopeful. The next day came, the sun shone, and before long I became pregnant with Elvira.

‘And your husband forgave you?’

‘Apart from once more, we never spoke of it again.’

‘And does it still trouble you?’

There is a long, unsettling silence.

‘The one time we spoke of it again, Douglas blamed the Nat Gadaw for the voices I began to hear.’

I find it hard to say anything more.

‘A rational man, you say?’ Dr Gilbert smiles at me oh so gently.

‘Yes. Queer, isn’t it? He said I had brought it on myself by dabbling in perilous superstitious practices.’

44.

Oliver dragged Harry from his chair and narrowed his eyes. ‘This is what we are going to do.’

Harry was shaking visibly, too scared to speak.

‘I’m going to take you straight to the police station and tell them what you did. I will explain how you lured us into a deadly trap. Attempted manslaughter, at the very least, and who knows how many of the injured might not recover.’

Harry found his voice. ‘They won’t listen.’

‘No kidding? And why is that?’

‘Because …’ He paused. ‘It’s the police who … who threatened me.’

Oliver stood completely still. ‘And by the police you mean?’

‘Er, not exactly the police.’

‘Then who?’

‘The Rangoon Intelligence Unit.’

‘That’s more like it. Who in the unit, Harry?’