Tentatively she moved her stiff neck and stretched out her legs. She was alone. Daniel had gone, and there were no signs that he had slept near her last night. The peace of La Petite was all around. A smile came to her face as she thought of the day ahead with Daniel, and no more worries as to where she was going or who she was. A scraggy black claw touched her arm. Sandy almost shrieked but choked back the cry. Surely not a monkey, not on these islands? The claw withdrew, timorously. “Sorry to fright you Miss-Sandy. It’s only old Flora. Mr. Kane said to bring you tea and paw-paw, and see, I have made little coconut cakes for your breakfast. You like?” It was the old woman Sandy had last seen coming ashore looking decidedly seasick. She was very old, her face a web of lines, her eyes yellowed with years, her skin crumpled like a wizened fruit. But there had once been beauty in a curiously Chinese slant to her bones. And her nostrils were not flat and flared but small and delicate.
