The raffles affair, chapter one.

A silver Daimler glided round gently onto Beach Road.

Victoria West laid her iPad to one side and glanced out of its window, her gaze settling on the grand, white façade of Raffles Hotel. She leaned back and sighed. She seemed to have been travelling for days. It was nice to finally arrive. Although part of her wished she had just landed in London and not Singapore, she was beginning to miss home.

Still, she did love Raffles with its colonial architecture and huge, white, airy verandahs; it always felt so tranquil and timeless. Aside from her last visit, which hadn’t been particularly tranquil—the dead Chinese spy in the laundry basket had taken care of that. Fortunately, this time she was only here for her friend, Peyton Latchmore’s wedding.

She scooped her long, brown hair up in her fingers and let her head fall against the backrest of the seat. The cold leather sent goose bumps tingling down the back of her bare neck. She closed her eyes. It had been a long day; the flight from Ethiopia had taken over seventeen hours and she had scarcely managed to get any sleep, the night before. No wonder she was feeling as if she were ninety-seven, not thirty-seven.

The Daimler crunched on to the gravel driveway and rolled to a stop.

Before the chauffeur had time to cut the soft purr of the engine, a small, balding man with a lively face dashed out from the doorway, dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit, a starched white cotton shirt and a pair of fastidiously polished, black, leather shoes.

He darted across the strip of red carpet at the entranceway, hastily secreting his mobile phone into a pocket, and descended the three small steps on to the driveway. With a tremendous flourish, he flung open the passenger door, offering his hand and an effusion of compliments. Victoria smiled. Mario Fabrizio had lost none of his exuberance since she had last seen him.

She placed her hand into his and stepped from the Daimler, pausing for a moment to savour the intense Singaporean heat, as it hit her skin. She towered, almost comically, above the pint-sized general manager. Fortunately, the largesse of his personality made up for his diminutive stature. With a series of commanding gesticulations, he issued instructions to the doorman, resplendent in his distinctive white Gieves & Hawkes uniform, for the collection of Victoria’s luggage. She loved the tradition of the doormen at Raffles. Their grand, military-style uniforms with white turbans, black sashes and gold braiding, took her back to the Golden Age of Travel, when everything was slower and more glamorous.

The doorman hauled her old rucksack out of the Daimler’s boot, then gingerly lifted the Hermès suitcase by its calfskin handles. ‘It looks like you have been away travelling again, Miss West,’ he said.

Victoria’s green eyes sparkled with fondness. ‘I have, indeed, Narajan, you’re getting to know me too well.’

A broad smile broke out behind Narajan’s greying beard as he slung the rucksack over his shoulder and wheeled her suitcase, with great care, into the cool, pillared lobby. With a low bow and an outstretched arm, Mario gestured for Victoria to follow.

‘We are delighted to have you back with us again,’ he said, falling into step beside her, ‘We all hoped you wouldn’t give up on Raffles after your last visit. Such a fiasco! How it would have ended without you, I cannot imagine. You saved us, Miss West. And at Raffles, we never forget a friend—especially one so charming and beautiful.’

Victoria attempted to parry his compliments in good humour, but he would hear none of it. That she had resolved ‘that small business with the Chinese’, little more than a year ago, without the slightest blemish on Raffles’ (or rather, Mario Fabrizio’s) reputation, was a matter for which – he fervently insisted – he would remain indebted to her until he drew his last breath.

‘This time, your stay with us will be more comfortable,’ he declared.

He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and with a majestic sweep of his arm, withdrew a tan leather keycard to one of the Presidential Suites. He then offered his arm to Victoria – seemingly incognizant of the extraordinary difference in their heights – and proceeded to escort her towards the staircase.

But they had scarcely advanced ten paces, when a woman – her naturally pale face flushed and excited – rushed towards them. ‘Victoria! You got here! I was so worried you were going to get held up.’ She threw her arms around Victoria and hugged her tightly.

Victoria smiled at the enthusiastic welcome. She had never seen Peyton in such high spirits. Despite being American, she had always behaved as reservedly as an Englishwoman, probably because she spent so much of her childhood living abroad. ‘Getting married clearly suits you,’ she said.

Peyton laughed. ‘It definitely does. I mean, I know it took me a while to find the right guy, but I got there in the end.’

‘It sounds like he was worth waiting for.’ Victoria ran her gaze over Peyton’s blonde hair. ‘You’ve cut it.’

Peyton nodded, fingering the blunt ends. ‘I had it trimmed this morning, although I’m worried they’ve cut it a bit short.’

‘No, I like it; it sits on your shoulders perfectly.’ Victoria took a step back from Peyton and looked her over from head to toe. ‘You look fantastic. This new Englishman of yours is clearly doing you a world of good.’

Peyton gave a small, contented sigh. ‘He is so wonderful—and so totally different from American men. Why didn’t you tell me Englishmen were such gentlemen? I would have started dating them years ago!’

Victoria laughed. ‘Most of them aren’t, I’m afraid. But I’m glad James is. And I’m pleased he makes you so happy; you deserve it.’ She turned to Mario, waiting in polite silence behind them, ‘Would you mind if I take the key from you and show myself up to the room? Peyton and I haven’t seen each other in such a long time, we have a bit of catching up to do.’

Mario leaned forward, giving a small inclination of his head. ‘But, of course.’ He presented the room key to Victoria with both hands. ‘Your suite is on level two, at the far end, overlooking the Palm Courtyard. I shall have your luggage sent up. And of course—’ he held his hands out in a wide gesture towards Peyton. ‘If either of you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

With another low bow, Mario stepped backwards and spinning on his heel, disappeared towards the concierge desk, where Victoria’s luggage was waiting.

Victoria linked her arm through Peyton’s and slowly led her across the white marbled floor of the lobby, towards the Grand Staircase. ‘So tell me, what’s been happening - aside from meeting a gorgeous Englishman and getting married of course? Last time we spoke you were in the middle of negotiating the sale of your company; has that all gone through now?’

‘Yes, thank God. Everything’s finally been settled. Honestly, it has been a crazy year. But James has been such an angel; I don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s organized the whole wedding.’

‘It sounds to me like you’ve found the perfect man.’

‘I have. I didn’t think men like him existed and I can’t wait for you to meet him. Will you be able to join us for dinner or are you totally exhausted?’

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to make it to dinner, I just need to have a shower first.’ Victoria ran her fingers through the knots in her long hair. ‘I’ve got half the Omo Valley in here.’

‘Is that where you’ve been, Ethiopia?’

‘Yes, I had a few days to spare before coming here, so I went down to the Omo Valley to do some photography. And you know what the drive from Jinka back to Addis is like.’ Victoria gave an exhausted sigh. ‘It’s been a long two days.’

‘You are incredible. You come straight out of the bush, drive for ten hours over pot-holed roads; sit on a plane for another twenty and still manage to look like a supermodel. If it were me, I’d look like one of the Hamer tribesmen with my hair all matted and the rest of me covered in a layer of dirt.’

Victoria laughed and lifted her arm. ‘This is a layer of dirt; it’s not a suntan.’

Peyton smiled and shook her head. It astounded her that Victoria had no awareness of how stunning she was. She had always envied her tall, dark elegance. When they were younger, she had even tried dyeing her hair dark brown and cutting heavy bangs just like Victoria’s—but it looked terrible on her. Even now, they were both in their late thirties and Peyton still couldn’t stop admiring Victoria. She kept glancing across at her as they ascended the polished wooden staircase, trying to work out how she managed to appear so graceful in a pair of cargo pants and a white singlet. Her deportment had a lot to do with it. But she figured it had also partly to do with her accent. Peyton loved the way the English spoke—it sounded so much more refined than her American twang.

‘Have you been working in Africa?’ she asked.

Victoria nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve been there for the last few months.’

‘I thought you were going to take a break when you left MI6.’

‘I was, but this job was too interesting to turn down. Speaking of which, have you said anything to any of the guests about what I do for a living?’

‘I’ve told everybody that you’re a travel photographer, like you asked me to. I’ve told Granny and Grandpa to say the same thing.’ Peyton’s gaze dropped to the pale pink tote bag Victoria had slung over one shoulder. ‘Although I’m not sure exactly how you’re planning to explain being able to afford Chanel on a travel photographer’s salary.’

Victoria smiled. ‘Every woman should have her secrets. Besides, I am a travel photographer in my spare time. I’ve just spent the last three days with the Karo people taking some shots for a friend’s magazine.’ She took her iPhone from her bag. ‘It’s a quarter to six now. What time is dinner?’

‘Oh gosh, sorry, you’re going to need to get into that shower. Drinks are from six-thirty in The Writer’s Bar and then dinner is booked in La Dame de Pic for seven-thirty.’

‘Will everyone be there?’

‘Yes, but it’s not a big wedding. We didn’t want the media finding out about it and turning it into a circus, so we kept it small. That’s why we asked you all to keep it quiet. So there are only fourteen people coming—plus James and me, of course.’

‘The happy bride and groom.’

Peyton gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘It sounds so weird when you say that. I mean I know the wedding is the day after tomorrow, but it still feels so unreal. I guess I wasn’t one of those kids who grew up dreaming of her wedding day, so I can’t quite get my head around the thought of being somebody’s wife.’

Victoria smiled. ‘It’s not too late to pull out.’

‘God! Could you imagine it? James’ Aunt Patricia is already complaining about the long flight we made her take from the UK to get here. She’d murder me if I called it off.’ They reached the door of Victoria’s suite and Peyton glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better get going. I’m the guest of honour, I can’t be late.’ She gave Victoria another hug. ‘Thank you so much for coming, it means a lot to me. I’ll see you down in the bar, soon.’