PROLOGUE

Nassau, The Bahamas

February, 1955

TOM HAMILTON TURNED from the glittering sea beyond the window and surveyed the room, as though he might never see it again. The only sound was the lazy hum of the ceiling fan. He examined an intricately carved jade figurine on the bookshelf, feeling a pang of sadness and regret, and glanced at the headline on the British racing sheet: SIR PHILIP SASSOON DIES – FOUR EPSOM DERBY WINNERS. Hamilton smiled at the photograph of Sir Philip and visualized him in his favorite chair, surrounded by his cherished Kipling, looking rakish despite his age and infirmity.

‘Tom….’

Hamilton turned toward the stairs. ‘Hello, Marnie,’ he said with an affectionate smile. ‘You’ve caught me.’ He stared admiringly at her.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve caught you. After all these years, you haven’t changed. Never could stand a crowd.’

‘Well, not that crowd.’

‘I suppose you’re right. All the local higher-ups and their dreadful wives. Here to pay their respects and, if they’re lucky, get their names on the society page.’

Hamilton stared at her, thinking how little she’d changed in the decade since the war. From a distance, she still had film-star looks, though she was well over forty, but, as she came closer, he could see that years of constant exposure to the sun had taken their toll. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. ‘Marnie,’ he said, ‘I could use a drink.’

She walked to the stairs and called down, ‘Henry … Mr Hamilton would like a drink. You remember?’

‘Yes, ma’am, for sure.’ The voice that drifted up was velvety smooth, in the distinctive Bahamian accent.

‘And I’ll have a Bellini,’ she added. Lady Sassoon – ‘Marnie’ to Hamilton since the day they’d met in 1942 – walked back to him, stopping within inches and gently taking his hands. ‘Tom,’ she said softly, gazing up into his eyes. ‘With Philip gone … it’s going to be so lonely here. If only you’d stay for a while. For old times’ sake.’

He briefly studied her face, thinking that her sadness accentuated the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. ‘You’ll be all right,’ he said at length. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back to visit.’

She lightly squeezed his hands. ‘Well,’ she said with a shrug. ‘What was I thinking?’

An elderly black man with close-cropped silver hair ascended the stairs carrying a polished salver with slightly trembling hands. ‘Here you are, Mr Hamilton. Martini with two olives.’ He handed a fluted glass of a sparkling peach concoction to Lady Sassoon, as Hamilton lifted his drink from the tray. ‘Mighty nice havin’ you back, Mr Hamilton,’ said the old man.

‘Thanks, Henry,’ said Hamilton. ‘It’s good to be back.’ He slumped down on the rattan sofa. ‘God, Marnie,’ he said with a sigh, ‘it’s hard to believe Sir Philip’s really gone.’ She stared at him, biting her lower lip and holding her glass as though unsure what to do with it. He took a sip of the ice-cold martini and said, ‘Mmm, that’s good. What is it about taste and smell that brings back memories?’ He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. ‘So many memories.’

She tilted back her head and took a sip of her drink. ‘You know, Tom, I used to think …’ A blush radiated across her tanned face. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, her voice breaking as she turned away and walked to the window. ‘I used to think,’ she began again, ‘that if something happened to Philip, we might … there might be a chance for us.’ She stood with her back to him, staring at the turquoise sea. As he rose from the sofa, her eyes shifted to his reflection in the glass. ‘But now that he’s gone …’

He walked over and placed one hand on her shoulder.

She spun around and beamed at him. ‘It’s going to be all right, isn’t it?’ she asked.

‘Of course it is.’ He tenderly placed a hand on her cheek and brushed away a tear.

She buried her face on his shoulder. ‘Oh, Tom,’ she murmured. Breaking away, she said, ‘You’re not leaving? Not now, I mean?’