Numb and barely able to think straight, Evie nodded and followed the doctor into the room. ‘Five or ten minutes,’ he said before leaving her alone to face her husband.

Doug was lying on his back, eyes closed, his brow furrowed with pain, his face ashen. Evie stood beside the bed for a moment, uncertain what to do or say. She reached for his hand.

‘Evie,’ he said, opening his eyes.

She bent over him and dropped a kiss on his brow. It was ice cold but clammy with sweat. With her handkerchief she wiped his forehead. His skin felt as though death was imminent.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve made an utter hash of things. I went crashing through the jungle without paying attention to what was under my feet. I should have known better.’ He closed his eyes for a moment and winced with pain. ‘I’m a damned fool.

She stroked his brow. ‘Never mind all that. The doctor has told me he needs your permission to perform an operation.’

‘Damned quack. Wants to cut my leg off. I told him to bugger off.’

She tried to keep the fear out of her voice. ‘But Doug, the doctor knows what he’s doing. He says if he doesn’t amputate, your life is in grave danger. Worse than that. He says you will almost certainly die.’

‘My life’s over anyway.’ He turned his head away on the pillow. ‘Whether he chops it off or not I’ll never be whole again.’ He turned back to look at her again. ‘I’d be a cripple for the rest of my life. I can’t live like that.’

Evie could hold back the tears no longer. The dam had broken. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly in her own. ‘Please, Doug. Don’t do this. You have so much to live for. Little Hugh. And Jasmine. And me. We need you.’

He sighed. ‘They’re not taking my leg. I’ll go to my grave with it. I intend to stay whole. How can I run the estates from a wheelchair?’

‘The surgeon says you can be fitted with an artificial leg. You can learn to walk again.’

He snorted derisively. ‘He’s no idea what’s involved in running a rubber estate. I’m an active man. That’s my life. You know that, Evie. I won’t be carved up like a piece of meat. I’d rather be dead.’

He looked away from her. ‘Anyway it’s right that I should be punished for what I did to my brother. My death isn’t going to be as quick as Bertie’s, but it will be soon.’

Her tears were driven by anger as well as sorrow. ‘Don’t speak like that. You were not to blame for your brother’s death. You were a little boy. You meant your brother no ill.’

‘I’m too tired to argue. Please go, my darling, so they can give me another shot.’ His face contorted with pain and he clutched her hand. ‘I’m grateful to have a chance to say goodbye to you. Seeing you again was the only thing that stopped me using my gun to shoot myself when I was in that hole. Now go.’