‘I am,’ she said. ‘I want to know all about it. You obviously work very hard.’ She wasn’t going to admit that her assumption had been that as plantation owner, all he did was stroll through the ranks of trees, nodding sagely, while once a year, at a mythical harvest time, the workers leapt into action to collect the rubber. On the other hand, if she were truly honest, she had to admit to herself that she hadn’t actually thought about it at all.

Douglas had warmed to his subject. ‘It’s the hardest, but most rewarding work I’ve done in my life.’ His voice was full of rare enthusiasm. ‘Each day brings a new challenge. Problems among the coolies, cyclones destroying nursery crops, a tiger prowling around the lines, machinery failures. So many things. In the City, I had to wear a suit and be shut inside an office all day. Here, I’m out on the estate, walking the divisions, talking to the men, solving problems, making decisions all the time.’

His voice was animated and Evie felt a rush of pleasure. The conversation was cut short when they pulled onto a track between two crumbling brick pillars, one carved with the name Bellavista.

The bungalow was surprisingly grand for such an isolated dwelling in the highlands. Built by Douglas’s grandfather in the first half of the last century, it was constructed from brick and half-timbered so it had a Mock Tudor appearance that made it look more appropriate to Surrey than the Tropics. Back in England, Evie had understood the word bungalow to denote a single-storey dwelling, but here in Malaya it appeared to mean any white man’s home. Surrounded by a wide veranda on three sides, the interior was cool and dark, the house being overshadowed by tall rubber trees. They went into a central wood-panelled hall, hung with incongruous oil paintings of stags and Scottish highland scenes, as well as an imposing portrait of what must have been Douglas’s grandfather. Her own great-grandfather she wondered? Or was it the other side of Douglas’s family? She was about to ask, when a fair-haired, florid-faced man in his early thirties burst into the hallway and pumped Douglas’s hand in greeting. ‘Good to see you, sir. If I’d known you were coming and bringing a visitor we’d have rolled out the red carpet. Afraid you’ll have to take pot luck today.’ He glanced at Evie quizzically.

Douglas introduced him as Reggie Hyde-Underwood, the estate manager. When the manager found out Evie was the new Mrs Barrington, he pumped Doug’s hand, shook Evie’s more gently and called into the interior of the house. A few minutes later, a young woman appeared and was introduced as his wife, Susan. She was small, heavily pregnant and her face had a damp sheen of perspiration.

‘So sorry, Mrs Barrington, I had no idea we were expecting company today.’ She threw a look of irritation at her husband and wiped a hand over her brow.