‘Love doesn’t win wars,’ he said, ‘and this one’s not over — and as far as we know there may no longer be another contender.’

‘I don’t think,’ Blanche said slowly, thinking that she was at last seeing him as clearly as Liz did, ‘that will make much difference to your chances.’

‘That is your opinion. I hope in the near future to have the pleasure of making you change it.’

She took a moment to remember that this man was going out to try to find and bring back Liz. She hoped he did not think it entitled him to lay some kind of claim on her. She had to frame her words very carefully, she decided.

Her pause gave John Sturgess the chance to smile and bow and for them both to register the sound of yet another vehicle coming to the gates.

‘No one else is due,’ Sturgess commented.

‘I’m expecting someone,’ Blanche said, following as he walked out and adding under her breath, ‘and it is my house.’ But it was a police jeep that had arrived.

Inspector Aba shook hands with John Sturgess and bowed to Blanche. ‘I have bad news,’ he began, ‘I think we should go inside and sit down.’

‘My daughter Liz?’

‘No, no.’

‘Lee Guisan?’

‘No.’

‘Who then, or what then?’

As they reached the verandah chairs, Inspector Aba signalled for Anna to come forward as if she were a waitress in a restaurant. ‘A drink for mem,’ he said, and turned back to Blanche. ‘I have just come from the Kose estate ... ’ he began.

‘Joan?’ An awful fear swept over Blanche, her friend so late. ‘Joan?’ she repeated.

‘I am sorry, Mrs Hammond. Both Mr and Mrs Wildon have been killed, shot dead, very quick, and the bungalow fired.’

‘Christ!’ she murmured like a paternoster, waving away the drink the inspector took from Anna and pressed upon her.

‘Mrs Hammond, Blanche ... ’ John Sturgess came forward. ‘I’m so — ’

‘Go and save my daughter,’ Blanche interrupted.

Chapter Twenty-One

The strange world was sometimes light but mostly dark, with unintelligible sounds, sometimes like language, sometimes like the wind or the waterfall. Alan strained to keep the sound of water, it seemed to mean much more than anything else, and yet the effort made him weary.

Light or sound, never both together, came in flashes as if his brain had loose connections which occasionally sparked across a void.

Then he was vaguely aware of slipping away from the rim of consciousness, sliding away with a vague feeling of unease as if it was something he should not do, a kind of self-indulgence.

Pa Kasut boiled roots in great hollowed bamboo stalks and told his women they must keep the soldier’s lips and mouth moist with the solution all the time. Then he looked above the high peaks and saw the signs of a great wind bringing the greatest rains. He sent his son Bras to look for Sardin and the soldier’s woman to bring them quickly to the hill camp.

At first light on the third day Sardin drew the girls’ attention to the man coming beaming towards his fellow, teeth shining momentarily white even through the sheeting monsoon. Standing exhausted, soaked, heart labouring, Liz realised that the storm worried this man about as much as rush-hour traffic bothered a Londoner. The two Sakais shouted to each other above the din of the rain, just as two Cockneys might shout across Oxford Street at sale time.

She watched the new man come nearer and just wanted the whole experience over. If Alan was dead, she too wanted to be dead — and that moment felt like a reasonable time to want to go, while she felt so absolutely awful in mind and body. Poor Lee, now making the journey for the second time, was slumped to the ground. Every time they stopped, Lee, fast reaching breaking point, her legs buckling under her, just fell on the spot. Liz knew her friend laboured on only for her sake, and she only for Alan, for the hope that he was still alive.

Then, as her pounding heart managed to push more blood over her brain, she realised that the arrival of another Sakai who had obviously come to meet them might mean they were near the end of their journey.

‘Sardin,’ she gasped, ‘ask him if the soldier is still alive.’

The man, whose name she learned was Bras, understood her. The smile vanished but the answer was that he was alive but sleeping deeply the way he had been the whole time Bras had helped carry him up to their hill camp. He pointed almost vertically up into the air. Lee groaned.

‘How long will it take us?’ she asked.

‘Seven hours,’ Sardin answered, but then, glancing at Lee, he corrected himself. ‘Two days.’

‘No!’ Liz was overcome by a terrible fear that she would reach the hill camp just too late, that just for the want of one last supreme effort Alan would slip away without her having the chance to talk to him. ‘No,’ she repeated, ‘I’ll go on with Bras and you stay with Lee and come in two, three days, take time for Lee to rest.’

The two Sakais talked rapidly together in their own tongue that she could not follow, but after a moment, they nodded.

‘Lee, darling, do you mind if I leave you with Sardin? Would you understand?’

Lee smiled ruefully. ‘Wish I had boyfriend,’ she gasped, ‘make me like god, walk forever.’

‘You want come now?’ Bras asked.

‘Yes.’ She took Lee in a gentle embrace, kissing both her cheeks and pushing her hand up under the soaked, jet-black hair, easing it from her friend’s neck. ‘You will come on to the hill camp? Sardin thinks your mother may be there by now.’

‘I shall see you there,’ Lee confirmed and waved her on her way.

They had not been travelling long before Liz was consumed with wonder that Bras could travel with such ease yet cover so much ground. She felt like a small child trailing behind an officious nurse in an endless hospital corridor, the pace seeming ever to increase.

The green corridor grew rockier as they climbed for a time, following minor watercourses re-created by the recent storms. Then they travelled against the natural lie of the land, walking up and down the hills, ignoring the valleys.

Bras appeared to sense her unspoken comment for he turned and grinned. ‘Quickest way,’ he said, then added, as if it made his credentials as a guide indisputable, ‘I go cinema Ipoh one time.’

With no breath for conversation, she widened her eyes at him and nodded, genuinely impressed. She wondered what Bras had seen and what he would have made of a film like Tarzan and the Western version of a jungle.

She had the greatest admiration for the steady pace he could keep up, whatever the terrain. It was a great relief when they reached and followed the banks of a river which had the look of swirling whisked chocolate. The walking was easier and she tried not to look as the water roared past her right shoulder, tearing great chunks of soil from the banks and spinning them into the dizzying swirl of its waters.

As time went on, her exhaustion made her stumble more and more often. When she faltered or slipped down to hands and knees, she forced herself up, drove herself on, saying ‘Alan’ with every footstep, ‘Alan, Alan.’ In the back of her mind the words ‘beyond endurance’ were wanting to take over. She drowned them out with the repeated mantra, ‘Alan, Alan, Alan,’ more quietly sobbed than spoken.

Once for a few blessed strides they crossed quite a board beaten track, but before relief could take over Bras plunged across and into the jungle on the other side. But it was easier than before because they were travelling alongside a large water pipe — the need to pipe water anywhere seemed ludicrous at that moment when it gushed and gurgled in every crevice.

Now she felt she fairly flew along, with the padding footsteps of an athlete. It was suddenly quite intoxicating and she didn’t hurt any more. She recognised the state as ‘second wind’. Bras, seeing her keeping up, increased his pace. She felt as if everything around her was dropping away. This, she thought, was not second wind, this was more like being a kite, snaring over the ground. she had no feeling of her feet on the ground though she was going forwards. She felt drugged, her heart seemed to be beating gently, her head seemed wonderfully clear. After a time she giggled.