SINGAPORE

1963. Someone calls the Singapore hotel where Mr Chow is staying, but he is not there at the time. Shortly afterwards, he appears on the screen, rummaging through the furniture: someone has entered his room. The scene shows an ashtray with a barely smoked cigarette with a lipstick mark on its mouthpiece. Fade to black. We hear footsteps. A female hand appears caressing the bedspread. Continuing along the body, we discover the face of Mrs Chan, who continues into the room, delicately pausing over some objects. The phone rings again, this time in the editorial office of the Singapore Daily. It’s for Mr Chow. “Who is it”, he asks. Intensely moved, she doesn’t utter a word and hangs up.