chapter threeAnona walked from the garden into the house.
She was carrying in her arms a huge bunch of orchids that grew profusely everywhere.
When she had first come to Malaya, she could not believe anything could be lovelier than both the wild and the cultured orchids.
“They are so beautiful, Mama,” she sighed, “that I think even the angels in Heaven must be jealous.”
Her mother had laughed.
She too was thrilled with the house that her husband had built for them.
It was on the coast about four miles from Singapore.
Their neighbours were Malayans, who lived in tree-like houses and their children spent the day splashing in the smooth sea as it lapped onto the golden sand.
They had been very happy until Anona’s mother had died.
For a long time she found that it hurt her to go into
