Her spirits low, she went downstairs, hoping a cup of tea might revive them. So far everything was telling her she had made a terrible mistake.

3

It was three days before Douglas Barrington turned up.

Evie passed the time exploring the streets of George Town in the early mornings, before it became too hot to venture out. Even in the cooler part of the day, it was stifling, and she had failed to understand how much the humidity affected the body. Penang was like living in a Turkish bath with no reprieve. As she gradually began to acclimatise, she took increasing pleasure in the novelty of being on this sub-tropical island, with its crowded streets, colourful fruits and spices and exotic smells. It was impossible not to be intoxicated by the sweet fragrance of hibiscus, frangipani, sandalwood and ylang-ylang, the whiff of salt from the sea mingling with the smell of fish, the heady scent of incense which caught the back of her throat as she walked past the many small temples, the aroma of nutmeg and cardamon and the unspeakably foul stench of durian fruit. Passing the Chinese shop houses, the smell of food cooking pervaded the air, as meat was stirred into smoking hot coconut oil or mingled with sesame and soy. She marvelled at how the cooks were able to stand beside steaming vats of noodles and rice, rapidly stirring the food in their woks, in this oppressive heat.

In the afternoons, Evie sat in the relative cool of the garden reading a book. Even under the shade of the tall hardwood trees, it was hot. There was little or no breeze to cool her, and the air hung heavy and damp, wrapping her in a suffocating blanket. No wonder Felicity Barrington had hated the climate.

She supposed she ought to write to her mother and fill her in on her new location and circumstances, but decided to put it off until she had something concrete to report. She could hardly tell her she’d travelled all the way to Malaya to get married, only to find her husband-to-be had yet to put in an appearance. As to how Mrs Barbara Winchgate would react to her daughter marrying her cousin, she couldn’t imagine. Douglas’s age fell between the two of theirs, and neither mother nor daughter had known him well. No. It was better to wait until the deed was done. There was something appealing about the prospect of, for once in her life, astonishing her mother.

Late on the third afternoon, as Evie sipped iced water and tried to concentrate on the collection of poetry she was reading, she sensed a presence in the garden. She put down her book and looked up. A sleek black dog with a white flash on his head ran across the sun-dappled lawn and came over to sniff her. Evie reached a hand out to pat him. ‘Well, hello there, fellow, what’s your name?’ As her hand moved to stroke the dog’s head, he curled back his lips, bared his teeth and growled at her.