At about the same time in Chiang Rai, Pin was told that her ex-husband was in a critical condition with ‘bullet wounds to the head and side’. She jumped in her car and motored to Chiang Mai, arriving three hours later at the Central Chiang Mai Memorial Hospital on the Changklan Road, a mustard-coloured, former colonial-style hotel.

Pin burst into the operating theatre to see Cavalier lying unconscious on an operating table. A saline drip and blood transfusion tube were attached to him.

She composed herself and asked for a report from the medico in charge.

‘The head wound is minor and we’ve already stitched it up, and he was concussed,’ the young Thai doctor said. ‘The other bullet wound in the abdomen is the issue. We need your permission to operate. He may have internal injuries. Can’t tell unless we open him up. Are you next of kin?’

‘No. I’m his ex-wife.’

‘We need permission.’

Pin took a deep breath.

‘Cut into him,’ she said, the pragmatic, professional side taking charge over her emotions. For the moment, her former partner, the father of her children, was just another human on a slab to be saved, if possible.

‘What are his chances?’ Pin asked.

‘Fifty-fifty.’

Pin looked despondent. Seeing Cavalier lying there, helpless and his life slipping from him, she was touched. She admitted to herself that he had been a devoted, if an often absent, father and a good husband. Her trust in him had slipped when she became suspicious of his activity on missions, which he alleged were journalistic. But he had been evasive rather than lied to her. On everything else apart from his secret work, he had been trustworthy.

Pin stayed at the Chiang Mai hospital until after the operation, in which bullet fragments were removed from several points in Cavalier’s lower abdomen. The doctors had removed his spleen and saved his pancreas.

At midday, the chief medico took her aside.

‘Are you a religious person, Doctor?’ he asked.

‘Spiritual. I am a practising Buddhist.’

‘Then it may be best to pray to the Buddha.’

Later that night, when alone, she prayed to her spiritual doll, Serena. At midnight Pin drove from her hotel on the river to the hospital for the second time to check on Cavalier. He was in a coma, his condition still precarious. The next morning she rang the hospital. His condition had slipped during the early hours.

In desperation, Pin contacted an acquaintance, a 33-year-old Burmese deaf near-mute named Swe Win, who lived outside Yangon City. The disabled psychic was nicknamed ET, because she looked like the extra-terrestrial in the movie. She was a respected soothsayer whom many prominent people—from generals and film stars to prime ministers and presidents—went to see for guidance. Pin didn’t want guidance, just comprehension of whether the future would be with or without her ex-husband.