by Anne Weale
“You’d better not. I don’t make a habit of playing guardian. You will have to extricate yourself the next time you’re in a tight corner. Good night.”
Before she could reply, he gave her a formal bow and strode away toward the bar.
Next morning they began the last lap of the journey, stopping for an hour at Bangkok, the gleaming capital of Thailand, and arriving at Singapore by early afternoon. Vivien preserved a dignified silence throughout the final stage of the flight, but against her will she felt a faint pang of disappointment when Dr. Stransom did not say goodbye to her when they landed.
She was met in the reception hall by Robert Adams, her godfather’s solicitor, a genial gray-haired Scotsman in a white drill suit and panama hat. As soon as her luggage had been cleared, Mr. Adams drove her to the Raffles Hotel. He had evidently expected her to be older or different in some way, and kept shooting speculative glances at her as if she perplexed him.
“The plane to Mauping leaves at eleven tomorrow, Miss Connell,” he said, as they had tea in the palm lounge. “I’ve instructed your late godfather’s manservant to meet you. His name is Chen and he speaks excellent English, so you will have no difficulty in making your wishes understood. I shall be coming up country myself in about three weeks, by which time you may have formed some idea of how you wish to administer the property.”
When they had discussed the estate for some time, Vivien said casually, “Do you know a Dr. Stransom at Mauping, Mr. Adams?”
“Indeed I do.” The solicitor nodded. “He was a close friend of Mr. Cunningham’s and a beneficiary under the will. No doubt your godfather has mentioned the doctor in his letters to you.”
Vivien shook her head. She had heard from her godfather twice a year, on birthdays and at Christmas. He had never referred to any of his compatriots.
Mr. Adams was fidgeting with his pipe as if he had something to say that embarrassed him.
“I think I should tell you, Miss Connell, that your godfather was something of a recluse. He hadn’t much time for his fellow countrymen, and he made enemies in certain quarters. As far as I know, Dr. Stransom was the only British resident on intimate terms with him, so if you find yourself in any difficulty I advise you to seek him out.”
Vivien bit back a laugh. She wondered what Mr. Adams would say if he knew that she had already met the doctor and that he had already washed his hands of her.
“Now is there anything else you want to ask?” Mr. Adams inquired, unaware of the irony of his advice. “To tell you the truth, Miss Connell, I expected you to be older. Not that it makes any difference, of course. Young ladies are accustomed to traveling by themselves nowadays.”
Vivien smiled. He could not know how sheltered her life had been until the last few days.
“Mr. Adams ... this may seem an odd question, but do you know why my godfather left me his property? After all, there was no blood relationship between us and I hadn’t seen him for years. We were virtually strangers.”
The solicitor regarded her thoughtfully.
“Yes, in many ways it is an unusual bequest,” he agreed after a pause. “But then John Cunningham was an unusual man. He made his will only a few months before his death—I think he had a premonition that something was going to happen—and at the time I suggested to him that it might prove impracticable. The normal procedure would have been to arrange for the sale of the estate and leave you the proceeds. But he was most insistent that you should inherit the property as it stands.”
“Then he did intend for me to come out here?” she put in quickly.
“Oh, yes, he hoped you would. There’s no doubt of that. The reason he did not state his wishes in the will was that he did not want you to feel under an obligation to do so. He thought it possible that you were engaged to be married or that you might have a career, which you could not interrupt.”
“So I was right!” she murmured under her breath. Then aloud, “You see, that was what I thought when I received your letter, yet in some ways, it seemed so farfetched. For a while I thought I was mistaken. It’s rather a relief to know that I was right after all.”
“May I ask you a personal question, Miss Connell?”
“Yes, of course.”
“These relatives with whom you have been living, were you happy with them?”
Vivien traced a pattern on the arm of her chair, her delicately marked eyebrows drawn together in a troubled frown. Then she gave him a frank look and said, “No, I wasn’t happy. They were good to me and in many ways I’m grateful to them for taking me in, but I was never happy.”
“Hmm. That’s what your godfather suspected,” he said shortly.
“But why? He didn’t know them.”
Mr. Adams knocked out his pipe and refilled it from an ancient pouch. It was some minutes before he had completed the operation to his satisfaction, and then he had to hunt through his pockets for matches. When at last the pipe was drawing well, he settled himself more comfortably on the cane sofa and said slowly, “Maybe I ought not to tell you this, but I think it might help you to see your way more clearly. When your parents died, John Cunningham was traveling in China. As soon as he heard what had happened he went to England to see your aunt. He wanted to adopt you. She refused to part with you but accepted his offer to pay for your education and other expenses.”
“What?” Vivien sat forward, staring at him aghast. “But ... I had no idea! My aunt never mentioned such a thing!”
“No ... somehow I imagined she hadn’t,” he said dryly. “So you see the bond between you and your godfather was stronger than you thought.”
It took her a few minutes to recover from the impact of this startling news.
“So all the time I thought I should be grateful to her, it was really my godfather who was supporting me,” she said flatly.
“That is so.”
“But if he wanted to adopt me, why did she refuse? She was never fond of me.”
“The workings of human nature are often obscure. People’s motives are seldom clear-cut. I hope I haven’t upset you by telling you the facts, my dear, but I had a great affection and respect for John Cunningham, and I think you should know the truth. It may influence your decision on the future of the property.”
“I’m very glad that you have told me, Mr. Adams,” she answered quietly. “I wish I had known long ago. It clears up many things that I never understood.”
Mr. Adams was not a demonstrative man. He was a bachelor and rather nervous of the usual run of modern women with their makeup and cigarettes and casual manners. But now, for the first time in many years, he felt an odd tenderness for this wee slip of a lassie with her clear eyes and air of uncertainty. To his surprise he found himself patting her hand.
“I think you should rest now,” he said with a kindliness that was usually hidden under a mask of disciplinarian severity. “You’ve come a long way, and there’s a busy time ahead of you. Once you reach Mauping you’ll find Chen will take good care of you and, as I said, I’ll be up myself in a week or two. In the meantime, you can always telephone me at my office. Chen knows the number. I wish you luck, my dear, and if I may say so, I think your godfather has left his land in good hands.” When he had taken his leave, Vivien sat thinking over the astonishing revelation he had made. At first she was completely mystified as to why her aunt should have refused consent to her adoption. Then, gradually, she began to see a possible motive.
John Cunningham had been her father’s closest friend They were probably much alike. By her refusal to surrender the custody of her niece, Mrs. Sinclair might have felt that, in some obscure and perverted way, she was having revenge against Michael Connell whom she had disliked so bitterly. Yet, she had accepted money for Vivien’s keep.
The longer she thought about it, the more Vivien felt sure that this was truth. It was so cold-blooded, so mercenary, that she felt an uprush of revulsion.
I will never go back, she thought vehemently. Never!
It was n
ot until a Chinese waiter asked her if she wished for an aperitif before dinner that she realized she had been absorbed in her thoughts for more than an hour. Smiling and shaking her head, she went to her room and unpacked her night things When she had tidied herself, she called at the reception desk and wrote a terse cablegram to the Sinclairs informing them of her safe arrival. She also checked the time that her plane left for Mauping in the morning and ordered a taxi to take her to the airport.
She was walking toward the dining room, wondering how to spend the evening when a voice said, “Excuse me, but did I hear you say you were going to Mauping?”
A slim, fair-haired man in immaculate white drill trousers and an open-necked shirt was standing beside her.
“Please don’t be annoyed at my speaking to you like this, but you see there are only about thirty Europeans in Mauping, and whenever we hear of a new arrival we naturally prick up our ears.” He grinned disarmingly, showing very white teeth. “My name is Barclay, Julian Barclay. I’m going back on the morning plane myself, so I might as well introduce myself now, Miss, er ...?”
Vivien told him her name.
“You aren’t angry, I hope, Miss Connell?”
“No. Why should I be?” she asked in surprise.
He looked a little amused. “Pretty girls are always warned not to speak to strange men, aren’t they? And Singapore is supposed to be swarming with dissolute characters. Look, why don’t we have a sundowner together, and I can tell you all about Mauping. Or are your people with you?” He gave a quick glance at the third finger of her left hand.
“No, I’m here alone,” Vivien said.
“Oh, fine. Shall we go into the cocktail lounge then? It’s cooler there and it won’t be too crowded for some time yet.”
While he was ordering the drinks, Vivien took stock of him. He appeared to be about twenty-seven and had a rather rakish air. It crossed her mind that he was the very antithesis of Dr. Stransom both in looks and manner. Odd that her first acquaintances in Mauping should be such contrasting types of men.
“How long have you lived in Malaya, Mr. Barclay?” she inquired when their drinks—a whiskey and soda for him and an unknown concoction containing tendrils of cucumber for her had arrived.
“Six months—unfortunately!” He produced a gold cigarette case and offered it to her. “I’m what used to be known as a remittance man. My family didn’t think I was taking life seriously enough, so they packed me out here to live life in the raw for a couple of years. It could be worse, I suppose. What brings you out? You don’t look like a welfare worker, and I’m sure you’re not a missionary.”
“Oh ... just business,” Vivien said evasively. She had taken an immediate liking to Julian Barclay, but after what the solicitor had told her about her godfather having enemies in certain quarters, she felt it would be unwise to confide in him until she knew him better.
“Well, if you’re putting up at the Rest House, I warn you that you’ll need a gas mask. This is the durian season.”
“The what season?”
“Durian. It’s a tropical fruit that tastes delicious but smells like rotten eggs. During the season the whole town reeks of the stuff and the Rest House is opposite the fruit market.”
“Then it’s just as well I’m not staying there.”
She laughed at the frank curiosity on his face.
“Is Mauping a large town?”
Julian leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. She noticed that he wore handmade shoes. Both his cigarette case and lighter were obviously gold, and so was his wrist watch. Evidently he was a young man of means as well as charm.
“Fairish size,” he said. “There’s a swim club, a couple of movie houses and one European-type store. Socially, it’s pretty dead. Everybody knows everybody else, and there’s nothing much to do but eat, drink, sleep and gossip. Now that our local mystery man is dead, even the scandal market is pretty slack.
“The mystery man? Who was he?”
He grinned reminiscently.
“A queer old boy who lived by himself in an enormous mansion just outside town and refused to have anything to do with the rest of us. Quite a character, I can tell you. He used to drive about in an ancient Rolls-Royce with a huge Union Jack flying on the hood. Mad as a hatter, of course. Still his antics gave us something to talk about.”
Recalling what Mr. Adams had told her earlier, Vivien asked, “His name wasn’t Cunningham by any chance, was it?”
“Mm, that’s right. You’ve heard about him then?”
She now had no choice but to reveal her relationship.
“He was my godfather,” she said calmly.
“Ye gods!” Julian’s eyebrows shot up and he looked comically embarrassed. “I say, I’m most frightfully sorry. Naturally, I hadn’t a clue. Good heavens, this will start the grapevines buzzing. Do you mean you’re going to live in that mausoleum? Oh, lord, I didn’t mean that. I mean, they say it’s practically a palace once you get inside. Rather like the castle in the tale about Sleeping Beauty, you know. It’s surrounded by an impenetrable barrier of jungle.”
Vivien accepted his profuse apologies for having dropped a brick and admitted that she would be living at her godfather’s house for a time.
“You’d better prepare yourself to be the chief topic of Mauping chitchat for weeks. Everyone in the place will want to see you,” he told her. “By jove, I wonder what old Doc Stransom’s reaction will be?”
“Dr. Stransom? I’ve already met him on the flight from London.”
“Have you, indeed? Oh, yes, now I come to think of it he went to England for some conference or other just after old Cunn—your godfather died. What did you make of our Spartan physician?”
“I hardly know him. Why should he have any special reaction to my arrival?” Vivien asked.
“Because he is the only European with whom your godfather was on speaking terms. And because he has no time for women,” Julian informed her with a certain relish as if he envisaged a provocative situation. “I take it he didn’t know who you were on the plane?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Aha! Miss Connell, I foresee that life in Mauping is going to be the livelier for your coming. We need waking up and if I’m not mistaken, your arrival will start quite a furor.”
“Oh, dear, I hope not,” Vivien said uneasily. “I’ve no desire to be a focus of interest.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who hadn’t. Most of them lap it up. The more fuss the better. It’s being overlooked that gets their goat,” Julian said knowledgeably.
“I must be different then. I much prefer peace and quiet. Mr. Barclay, I wonder if you would mind not mentioning that you’ve met me? If I’m going to be talked about I would like a day or two to settle down first.”
Julian threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“I’m sorry,” he said when his mirth was over. “But, you see, you obviously haven’t the least idea what a small Malayan town is like. For one thing the natives will be just as interested in you as the English crowd, and for another you haven’t a hope of getting through town without someone spotting you.”
Seeing her concern, he added, “Don’t worry about it, my dear girl. A bit of talk never hurt anyone, and it will soon die down when they see you’re a human being. Gossip must have something to feed on, and you look very normal and charming to me.”
He said this with a special kind of smile and there was no mistaking the admiration in his teasing brown eyes. Vivien felt a faint blush stealing up from her throat.
“I tell you what, will you have dinner with me? You can’t possibly spend your first evening in Singapore alone. Besides, I want to discuss this interesting situation. Please say yes.” Vivien tried to visualize how the Sinclairs would react if they could see her sitting in a cocktail bar with a strange man who had just asked her to dine with him. She could almost see the shocked disapproval on their faces. For that matter, Dr. Stransom would probably d
isapprove, too. She knew instinctively that he would regard Julian as a bit of a bounder.
“You look very doubtful,” Julian said teasingly. “Would you like me to call the manager? He’ll reassure you that I’m a respectable, law-abiding citizen.”
She laughed, liking his devil-may-care approach to life, his easy friendliness.
“Thank you, Mr. Barclay, I should be delighted to have dinner with you,” she replied demurely.
CHAPTER TWO
“There it is! Mauping—mystic heart of the Orient!”
Julian Barclay grinned derisively as he indicated a cluster of rooftops glinting in the afternoon sun. Eager to see her journey’s end, Vivien leaned forward in her seat and studied the aerial view. From this height and distance, Mauping looked little more than a sprawling village.
“What are those white domes?” she asked, catching sight of what looked rather like three huge glistening meringues.
Julian peered over her shoulder.
“Aha, that’s the sultan’s palace. The largest dome marks the harem where he keeps his fifty beautiful wives safely under lock and key!”
“Really? But I thought...”
His mouth quivered, and she saw that he was teasing her.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said, grinning. “Actually, the domes are a misguided attempt to glamorize Mauping station.”
The aircraft began to turn in a wide circle, and the town was hidden from view. Unlike the B.O.A.C. Stratocruiser, this Malayan Airways Dakota was not air-conditioned, and the atmosphere in the cabin was as close and moist as a hothouse. Vivien’s hands were unpleasantly clammy, and she could feel a trickle of sweat coursing down her spine. Even Julian, who was acclimatized, kept mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief.
Having turned almost full circle, the Dakota began to lose height, and now she could see a wide grass-bordered road with driveways and spacious gardens on either side. A car stood outside a garage; two children ran across a lawn; a dark-skinned man pedaled an ice-cream cart along the road. But for the whitewashed walls of the houses and the vivid flowers entwined in the neat hedges, the scene was remarkably similar to an English suburb on a fine midsummer day.