‘Thank you, Remy. The lift is much appreciated.’ Mann was sitting in the co-pilot seat.

Remy looked more Mexican than Filipino. His luxurious thick black hair, lightly dressed with coconut oil, sat on his head in waves of black. He also had an impressive handlebar moustache ‘No problem. I have to see my wife’s cousin who lives here. I am always happy to help the Fathers; they do a great job. I was a priest myself, you know. Got caught up wid a woman—same old story, huh? Ha Ha…’

He started singing the words to ‘Come fly with me’

.

Remy Bulgaros was doing his favourite thing—singing Sinatra songs and flying his planes. They were in safe hands; Remy knew how to fly almost any small plane there was. This was one of two he owned. The other was used for crop spraying and extinguishing the odd small fire. He lined up the plane with the runway and put the flaps down.

‘Don’t worry if it’s a bit bumpy, huh? It’s a good wind today, great for the beach, not so good for small planes.’

Mann glanced behind and saw that Becky’s knuckles were white as she clutched the seat belt. Her head stayed absolutely still whilst her eyes flicked side to side as the tops of trees came into view. He heard her sigh with relief as they touched down and taxied off to the hard standing area. Remy parked up and switched off the engine.

‘I will be ready to fly you to Angeles whenever you want. Just call me on my cell phone. You have the number, no? You can get a phut phut from here to the resort. Ask anyone inside. Okay? Juz call.’ Remy burst into song again.

Mann and Becky stepped out. Before they’d gone ten paces from the aircraft they were surrounded by a dozen men all gesticulating and grinning, all wanting to carry their bags.

‘It’s not heavy,’ Becky told them.

‘It doesn’t matter—it’s their job,’ Mann said, smiling as he handed them over. ‘There’s not enough work to go round so they invent jobs—keeps them in food for the day.’

At the airport door the bags were passed on to another set of men whose job it was to carry it another twenty metres to a line of phut phuts which were bigger versions of mosquitoes with more roof space and larger luggage baskets at the back. Some of the phut phuts were already loaded with children on the roofs as well as on every available space on the bike itself. Sometimes up to six managed to sit with the driver, clinging around each other’s waists. The phut phut drivers sized Mann and Becky up and the biggest trike driver stepped forward, chosen to balance the load. He offered to take them to their resort, and put their bags into the seat at the back of the bike whilst they squeezed into the sidecar.

The road ran down narrow lanes, past scooters and tricycles with loaded side cars. A long, narrow road was flanked on both sides with stalls, workshops, the odd house and small hotel. It was all lush and green with forest in every gap between the houses and as far into the island as could be seen. The twenty-minute trike ride came to an end when the road ended and the beach began. There were several porters waiting. Mann recognised the man with the Paradise Hotel shirt logo.

‘Welcome, Mr and Mrs Black. I will take you to the resort.’

BONG

was written on a name badge and pinned to a blue and cream floral shirt, which made up his uniform along with ivory-coloured shorts and flip-flops. He took both their cases from them and marched in front to a waiting

barca

—a boat that looked like a large insect sitting on the water. The boat had

Paradise

written on the side. They loaded Mann and Becky onboard and set off.

‘I can’t believe we’ve got our own boat. What a place!’ Becky sat back and smiled. It was impossible not to. Under the shade of the canvas roof she looked out across the water to the island that lay some way off.

‘It’s a tropical paradise—swaying palms and white beaches—such a contrast to the city slums. So, this place we are going to, it’s not for your average sex tourist?’

‘Some areas are made for sex tourism; others are purely for the divers and the families. It’s a great resort—spread out, covering several beaches. We are going to Sabang, which is not the prettiest place—lively and trashy; not really for families but we need to look up a couple of people—two men on the list of prominent westerners working the system out here. The good places, unspoilt, are not far from where we are staying—just a twenty-minute walk away is La Laguna—some of the best diving in the Philippines. Some of it is so unspoilt it’s breathtakingly beautiful. But can’t see us getting to see it, sorry. This is a one-night stop-over. It would be nice for you to come back and see this place properly one day,’ Mann said.

‘Definitely.’ Then she thought about it. ‘Don’t think Alex would get it, though. He’d be irritated by the slow pace. He just doesn’t do “lying around on beaches” stuff. For him it’s all action and decisions.’ She closed her eyes and settled back against the wooden seat. ‘But I love it—it’s stunning—like a postcard: white sands, tall, swaying palms.’

‘What’s Alex up to whilst you’re away?’ ‘This and that. He’s fine. Says he’s busy making money. He didn’t seem to mind.’ She opened her eyes, looked at Mann and looked away quickly. His expression said it all. ‘All right, Detective—he said it was the same old bullshit. Work always comes first. And maybe he’s right.’ She dipped her hand in the water and watched the wake. ‘I am not really trophy wife enough for him. Nothing I do is right. My hair is too short, my hips too broad. My bloody eyes are probably the wrong colour. I can’t do anything right any more. Maybe I never could.’ She sat up and smiled sadly as she looked out to the turquoise water. ‘I can’t get over how beautiful it is here.’

‘Nature’s an awesome thing. I have the utmost respect for her. She can give you life and she can snuff life out in a second.’

Becky opened her eyes a tad. ‘Like triads, you mean?’

‘Yes. I guess so.’ He looked quizzically back at her. ‘But, if you have certain values, believe in certain things, then they are worth dying for.’

‘That really

is

you, isn’t it, Mann?’ She sat up. ‘You are willing to give up your life for others—people that don’t even exist in other’s heads, nameless victims—you will die for them. Why?’

‘Because I understand what it’s like to be helpless—to be vulnerable.’

‘What about personal happiness, Mann? What about you finding contentment in

your

life?’

‘I get my happiness where I can. A lasting love is not for everyone.’

‘Alex told me that when he first saw me he knew I was the one.’ She stared out at the glistening sunlight on the water. ‘Not sure I believe in that kind of thing either, really.’

‘Are you faithful?’

‘Of course.’ She was flustered, almost insulted by the question. ‘When I spoke my wedding vows, I meant them. Till death do us part, all that stuff. I am not a quitter, Mann.’

‘What about him? Is he faithful to you?’

There was a pause. ‘Truthfully? I don’t know. I hope so, but I am not sure. There have been times when he’s come back from a business trip and he’s been different.’

‘In what way?’

She became flustered.

‘Well, in bed for a start. He’s made love differently. Almost as if he was making love to someone else. But everyone wants to be with someone—no one wants to be alone. Except for you, it seems. Have you never fallen so hopelessly in love that you would have cut your arm off for her?’

‘Never wanted that kind of love. I don’t want love that you can’t control. My father’s death, Helen’s, it’s not worth loving someone at any cost. I would far rather never love than feel that loss again. And anyway, I don’t believe in love at first sight. I’ve had plenty of other feelings at first sight. So far none of them were love. Maybe I’m not romantic enough.’