On the opposite wall was a decorative Chinese lacquered cabinet containing a collection of fine china that looked hand-painted, and an array of ornaments and curios carved in jade, ebony and ivory.

Moving over to the desk, on top of which was a small stack of notepaper and envelopes, she imagined Douglas sitting here penning his proposal to her – then remembered it had been typed.

Like the drawing room, the study gave onto the garden. Evie looked forward to sitting in this exquisite room in the rainy season, curled up on the chaise longue, devouring a book.

Suppressing the feeling that she shouldn’t be wandering around the house like this, she went upstairs. Didn’t she have a right to explore? This was her home – at least when in George Town. There was of course also the rubber plantation, where she imagined they would spend most of their time after they were married. She wondered if Douglas would take her there straight after the wedding.

Her own bedroom was one of three on one side of the landing – she found another near identical guest room at the far end, looking out onto the street. In between was a smaller, sparsely furnished box room with a single bed, probably intended originally to house the servant of a guest.

She turned her attention to the doors on the opposite side of the landing. The first opened into a room with a single bed and shelves which contained a collection of china dolls and neatly arrayed toys. Jasmine’s room. Despite the prettiness of the soft furnishings, it had a sad, neglected air about it as though it was rarely used. Evie got the distinct feeling that while it had been designed to appeal to a little girl, Jasmine herself had made little or no impression on it – perhaps as she was rarely here. The dolls on the shelves looked unloved and barely touched. A rocking horse in front of the window was in the pristine condition it must have been in when it was delivered – perhaps a Christmas or birthday gift. Everything was too orderly – a child’s room from an illustrated magazine, rather than one inhabited by a real child. She straightened a rag doll that had been sitting on the only chair and had flopped over onto its side, then left the room, closing the door behind her. She had found no clue as to what kind of girl Jasmine was, or what her interests were. Hoping that before long this bedroom would be occupied, she imagined herself sitting here reading a bedtime story to the little girl who one day might come to think of her as her mother.

The room next door was a bathroom, the wall tiles decorated with motifs of shells, sailing boats and starfish.

Hesitating a moment outside the last door, Evie told herself not to be an idiot, and opened it. The master bedroom was larger than the other rooms, and had a dual aspect. She paused for a moment on the threshold, taking in its simple beauty. A white shuttered French window gave onto a balcony overlooking the garden, furnished with a table and two rattan chairs. A perfect place for taking breakfast or drinking tea.