Rosalind Cook

I arrived in the Lucretia’s lounge quarter of an hour before our agreed time the following morning. This time I was the keen one, anxious not to miss a moment of what my cousin Edgar had to tell me. I had barely touched the breakfast that was brought to my suite, and had managed to drink only half a cup of tea.

Edgar sauntered into the lounge a few minutes late and even paused to pass the time of day with a moustachioed gentleman in the middle of the room, who had been noisily shaking the three-day old newspaper he was reading. I was a little annoyed at the delay, but too impatient to begin complaining. Edgar threw himself into the armchair opposite me, crossed his legs with a sigh, and rested his hands lightly on the arms of the chair before looking at me directly.

‘So tell me,’ he said. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

I took a deep breath and leaned forward a little.

‘Well,’ I said, clasping and unclasping my hands, ‘why did you want to go to Borneo in the first place? You and I both know the story of my father’s wild dreams of wealth and opportunity in the East after his humble beginnings. Your background is rather different though, Edgar. What drove you to ask my father to send you out to work for our family business?’

Edgar’s eyes narrowed a little. Light splashes of rain speckled the window to Edgar’s left.

‘That’s not exactly how it came about, Polly,’ he said.