Jack was sitting in his veranda under a shade when Augusta turned the corner of the house and saw him. He had his feet propped up on one of the chairs, one hand dangled a half-lit cigarette and his other hand held a cold drink. He looked so very long sitting there. He had on a loose linen shirt and cotton pants, the very image of a colonial expat lounging.

Jack had been daydreaming, if he sat in the heat much longer, he’d fall asleep. He had to have the large umbrella opened so he could get a little shade, as much as he thought he was used to the heat, he couldn’t sit there all afternoon long without some shade. He heard the distant clamor of the pension house staff going about their business. There was the soft rustling of the breeze in the trees, a bird was off complaining somewhere and the odd crow of the ubiquitous rooster sounded. Amidst the cacophony, he heard a soft, shy cough. He thought it was the room attendant (the Presidential Suite and the West Wing each had a dedicated servant) they were often quiet and very discreet. Jack turned his head only to see Augusta standing just off the veranda steps.

She had her wide brimmed straw hat, her canvas tote and her basket of paints and she looked so small and alone, looking at him with expectant eyes. He flung himself off the chair. It felt like he had crossed the 30 yards of so in two large bouncing steps, but the next thing he knew, he was by her side and took the basket from her and led her by the elbow back under the umbrella away from the heat.

“I wasn’t sure if the little boy was telling me the right thing.” He held out a chair for her. “His English wasn’t very good and my Samburan is nothing.”

Augusta smiled at him as she sat down, removed her hat and laid it gently on the table, before she spoke. “I wanted to see you.” It was simple, it was what she wanted to say.