Colonel Gorter was especially filthy-tempered that day. Burma’s dry season had reached its sweltering apogee and his saggy face was sweat-slicked as he read a telegram reporting fresh uprisings in the south.

'We gave these people civilisation!' he barked at his wife. 'Would they return to savagery?'

Elizabeth said nothing, knowing she wasn’t expected to, and glanced at Wai-Yan. The butler’s handsome features remained impassive as he stooped and served the colonel’s iced tea. He then brought a plate of lemon cake, its scent heavy even in the heat. The colonel didn’t acknowledge the butler’s final bow. Even if he had, he would never have suspected mockery in its exaggerated depth.

The colonel read the telegram again as he sipped his tea. He took a glutton’s bite of cake but wrinkled his nose, and washed it down with more tea. 

'The Empire’s gone soft, that’s the problem,' he said, a familiar refrain. 'More hangings, that’s wha—'

The colonel coughed, spluttered, and gagged. He slapped his throat, struggling to breathe, and looked at Elizabeth with imploring eyes. When she didn’t run to his aid, a disbelieving expression spread across his flushed, glistening features. His gaze fell on the cake, aghast. He tried to rise, but his legs gave way and he tumbled heavily to the tiles, like a wounded water buffalo.

The colonel dragged himself, gasping, towards Elizabeth. She moaned with disgust, pulled out her chair and ran into Wai-Yan’s opening arms. The Ex-Colonel’s lungs wheezed for the last time.

Elizabeth kissed Wai-Yan and he pulled her against him. 'We’re finally free,' she sighed, nestling her head against his shoulder.

'Not quite.' Wai-Yan said, looking past her to the window, eyes glittering in the Burmese sun. 'But we're getting closer.'