As she walked, absorbing the chaotic yet beautiful scene, an image of the Hampshire village where she had lived with Mrs Shipley-Thomas formed in her mind, dull and tame in comparison to the East. But at least when she was back in England she’d be free of the humiliation that was her constant diet here in Penang.

She turned off the waterfront, into a wide street lined with stores and shop-houses. Colourful posters advertised Tiger Balm and Tiger Beer as well as cigarette brands, and there were numerous signs in Chinese characters. The dress shop was a large establishment with windows that gave onto the street. Evie peered through the glass and was reassured to see a wide selection of European day and evening dresses. She went inside.

Later that evening, as she sat in front of the looking glass adjusting her hair and applying a light touch of lipstick, Evie wondered if her new dress was suitable. It had been an extravagant purchase, but Douglas had been as good as his word and paid her a generous allowance. And soon he would have nothing more to pay for, once she was on a ship heading back to England.

Evie wasn’t the type to want revenge, to try to get as generous a financial settlement as possible. She was used to making her own way in the world and had no wish to profit from this sad and sorry episode in her life. Better to move ahead. Find a new path. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried – she’d met Douglas more than halfway. But she wasn’t going to lie down and let him trample over her like a doormat.

She was nervous about the evening ahead. Apart from dealing with her husband’s quixotic behaviour, she was worried about seeing Arthur Leighton again, after their conversation in the garden. Had she imagined the look in his eyes? Suppressing the thought, she convinced herself it was her imagination. After the coldness of Douglas, it was only natural that she should seize upon any form of kindness in a man and misinterpret it. Besides, odd as it might seem, Arthur was a married man and had to be in love with Veronica. Why else would he forgive her marital infidelities – if, as Evie was sure, Mary Helston had told her the truth?

Standing up, Evie surveyed her image in the cheval mirror, smoothing the silk fabric over her hips. She liked what she saw. Maybe she wasn’t a sylph, like Veronica Leighton – she was more statuesque – but she did look elegant. The bias-cut of the gown was flattering, hugging her body as it curved, before flaring softly below the hips, and the pale mauve shade perfectly complemented her green eyes. Not bad, she told herself. Not bad at all.

Feeling more confident, she went downstairs. Douglas was at the open French windows of the drawing room, a stengah in his hand. He glanced at her as she came in but said nothing.