by Tara Haigh
Raj had picked Ella up from the hospital, as agreed, and had even asked her how Mohan was. He seemed to sympathise with him, despite his strict principles, which included showing complete solidarity with the Fosters and taking harsh measures against any workers who called the local social order into question. They hadn’t discussed Heather any further, but at the end of the trip, Ella took the opportunity to ask Raj about another matter.
‘It’s strange, you know – I’ve not been here for very long at all, and yet I feel completely at home in the guest house.’ Ella had decided to broach the subject innocuously, intending to frame her question as casually as possible – though she nurtured a burning curiosity about the answer.
‘All the Fosters’ guests treasure their time there,’ said Raj.
‘Has it always looked the same?’
‘The house? Of course.’
‘No, I mean the garden. I have the impression that everything out there is growing wild, apart from the oleander. Nobody seems to be looking after the back of the house either,’ said Ella.
‘I’ve already told Mrs Foster she ought to hire a gardener. She only takes care of it when she has time, and she generally only cuts back the oleander on the side you can see from the main house,’ said Raj.
‘What about inside the guest house? Has it always been so beautifully furnished?’
‘There used to be different furniture in there.’
‘So it hasn’t always been a guest house?’ Ella pursued the subject doggedly.
Instead of answering her question, Raj looked at her suspiciously. Then his face softened, and he gave an almost imperceptible smile. ‘No.’
‘I suppose it’s always been a place of relaxation.’
‘Indeed,’ he answered, as the coach drew up to the stables and the boy took the reins.
Raj dismounted and issued instructions in the local language. Once again, he had managed to leave her biggest questions unanswered. Yet the mysterious smile he gave as he looked over at the oleander house had to mean something. He seemed to be signalling that she was on the right track – that she was asking the right questions. But what use were all these speculations when she couldn’t even begin to imagine what the guest house might have to do with Heather’s strange behaviour?
Under normal circumstances, Heather would have met Ella at the stables so that they could spend the rest of the day together, but she was presumably still inside the house, sulking over the offence Ella had supposedly caused. Nor was Marjory anywhere to be seen. Ella therefore decided to take a closer look at the guest house – and once inside, she began to notice things that she had never paid any attention to before.
First, she stood in the middle of the parlour and examined the décor. It was appropriate for a guest house, since it lacked any of the personal touches that lent such an individual charm to the living quarters in the main house and said so much about the people who lived there. And yet the furniture seemed drawn from a different era. Generally speaking, people tended to fill their guest rooms with sturdier, plainer items than these. There were also too many objects that seemed to serve no purpose at all. A bookshelf with just three books about Malacca, for example, or an empty ledge that one would normally expect to be decorated with figurines, vases or books. Now that she looked more carefully, she could see that the room must once have been very lovingly decorated. Perhaps it had been a hideaway for Heather. Ella reflected that the Fosters would have had more frequent social contact while Richard was still alive, and a house like this one, situated away from the hustle and bustle of the main residence, offered the perfect place to enjoy a little privacy. For her part, Ella would probably have turned it into her own personal domain too if she had been in Heather’s shoes. It all made sense – yet that still didn’t explain why Heather was so afraid of it.
Ella’s search through the rest of the house turned up nothing new: no secret compartments behind the landscape painting in the parlour or the pictures in the hallway; no paraphernalia stowed away in the empty drawers. But while the oleander house offered no further hints as to its former use, perhaps there would be more clues outside it. There was little point in rooting around beneath the overgrown oleander bushes, but the garden behind the house was still accessible. It bordered on a wild jumble of rubber trees that had presumably found their way here from the plantation. Ella spotted a fountain that was no longer in use. Although the plants around it had deteriorated into a partially dried-out thicket, it was clear that this place must once have been a shady, cosy spot where one could linger a while, far from the prying eyes of the main house. Like the water feature, the overgrown stone paving also suggested that this place must once have been in regular use. Ella sat down at the edge of the fountain. Despite all these conjectures, she was still no closer to solving the mystery of Heather’s behaviour.
Just as she was about to stand up and go back to the house, her eyes fell on one of the rubber trees. From this distance it looked as though somebody had scratched something into the bark – and not to harvest the rubber. Ella walked up and examined the spot more closely. A vine had wrapped itself around the trunk, but when she pushed it aside, the outline of the carving came into view. It must have been made years ago, for its shape was only faintly visible – but there could be no doubt that it was a heart, along with two letters scratched over it that met at its centre. They were an ‘H’ and a ‘J’, or possibly an ‘I’. The ‘H’ was obvious – but the ‘J’? Hadn’t Mary mentioned a Jack? It slowly dawned on Ella that this must have something to do with Heather’s fears. She was afraid of the memory of a love affair that had broken down. Ella reflected that she herself would probably also avoid places that reminded her of painful circumstances. This matched up with Doctor Bagus’s hints at the hospital too. It really must have been an unhappy love affair many years ago that had turned Heather into what she was now. There was no other explanation.
All afternoon, Ella had agonised over whether to talk to Heather directly about her strange behaviour – yet no sooner had she reached the conclusion that she should than she decided it might be wiser to wait a few days. Then again, what use would that be? And was it really so wrong for her to talk to Heather about her failed love affair? She wasn’t the only woman ever to be abandoned by a man. Ella could remember all too well the stories she had heard from colleagues who had had similar experiences. Looking back, they had always responded in one of two ways. Some women denounced men for evermore, dismissing them as mangy curs who were only ever after one thing, while others blamed themselves and virtually dissolved into self-pity. Ella was aware how painful a broken heart could be from the countless tears shed by her colleagues, and she knew it was possible that a woman might attempt to take her own life because of a man – yet for that to happen, their relationship would have had to be particularly close, and the disappointment correspondingly extreme. In the end, however, there was one thought that prompted Ella to pluck up her courage and head over to the main house. It had done all her colleagues good to confide in somebody and unburden themselves of all the pain they had been nursing in private. Why should Heather be any different?
Ella met Jaya at the door, and was relieved to hear that Marjory had gone to bed.
‘Miss Foster is in her room,’ said Jaya. ‘Should I let her know that you’re here?’
‘Is that necessary?’ Ella asked, for she was afraid that Heather would refuse to see her.
‘Unannounced visits aren’t the done thing in this house,’ Jaya objected, visibly discomfited by Ella’s idea.
‘I’ll answer for it,’ Ella assured her.
It took Jaya a moment to bring herself to let Ella through to Heather unannounced.
‘The second-to-last room at the end of the corridor,’ she finally said.
Although Ella told herself that she was just paying Heather a visit, and that there was nothing objectionable about that, she still felt as though she was breaking into the Fosters’ house as she climbed the stairs. She ma
de her way stealthily so as not to wake Marjory from her afternoon nap, and on reaching the first floor, she quickly scanned the corridor for signs of her presence. Thankfully, she saw only two statues – though they still gave her a fright, for they were life-sized and she briefly mistook one of them for Marjory. Ella’s heart was pounding by now, and her footsteps were clearly audible, despite the carpet running down the hall. The floorboards beneath it creaked and groaned and she felt increasingly tense with every step she took towards Heather’s room – but once she reached her door, she gathered herself and knocked.
‘Heather. It’s me. Are you busy?’
Silence from behind the door. Perhaps Jaya was mistaken and Heather wasn’t in her room after all. Ella knocked again, hoping she wouldn’t wake Marjory.
‘Ella?’ came a voice from inside.
‘Should I go?’ asked Ella.
Steps approached the door. Heather opened it and seemed to be debating whether to invite her inside.
‘Are you feeling better?’ Ella enquired.
Heather nodded, and then threw the door open to let her in after all.
Ella was on the verge of asking why she had been indisposed – but since Heather was probably aware that she already knew the reason, she held her tongue and examined Heather’s room instead: wall-to-wall apricot-coloured upholstery, with a matching carpet and a four-poster bed draped in mosquito netting.
‘What a delightful room,’ said Ella.
‘It’s cooler on this side of the house. The heat is more bearable here,’ answered Heather.
‘Do you embroider?’ A half-finished piece of needlework had caught Ella’s eye. Heather was working on a blanket on which the initial outline of some oleander blossom could already be seen.
She nodded and seemed to relax somewhat.
As she looked into Heather’s eyes, Ella thought she could detect sparks of the joie de vivre that she knew and loved her for.
‘This one is already finished,’ said Heather, pulling out an embroidered shawl. It must have taken her days to complete, and the oleander blooms were simply ravishing.
‘You love those flowers, don’t you?’
Heather nodded.
‘I suppose that’s why there’s so much oleander around the guest house,’ said Ella.
‘No – it was Mother’s idea to plant that,’ said Heather.
‘Did you ever live there?’ Ella thought her question was harmless enough to avoid plunging Heather into a depressive mood, but she was mistaken, for Heather’s smile instantly vanished. She nodded, but avoided Ella’s eyes, preferring to stare at the embroidery and run her hands over it.
‘I can embroider something for you too, if you like,’ Heather announced abruptly.
Ella didn’t reply to her offer. She was tired of this cat-and-mouse game, even though she could tell that remembering the past would cause Heather pain. If only she could let that pain out, for once.
‘I wish I had a little house like that for myself. The garden behind it must have been very beautiful. I decided to sit in the shade there today and listen to the birdsong. Were there once lilies in the fountain?’
By now, Heather’s hands were moving almost mechanically over the cloth. She stiffened.
‘What’s the matter, Heather?’
She didn’t respond.
There was no point in beating about the bush any longer. After all, it was for Heather’s own good. ‘Heather. I saw the heart carved into the tree trunk.’
Heather began to tremble and she grew pale.
Ella regretted broaching the subject like this, but it was too late. ‘Was his name Jack?’
Heather’s fingers dug into the shawl and her breath quickened. Why didn’t she speak?
‘Is that the reason why you’re so unhappy? Did he leave you? Spurn your love?’
Heather began to whimper. Ella could see her eyes filling with tears.
‘But it’s happened to so many other women too.’
Heather stiffened even more. Then she suddenly whirled round to face Ella. Her eyes glittered with rage, as though she had been possessed by a demon. ‘That’s not the reason!’ she snarled.
Ella was so shocked at her furious reaction that she stumbled back a couple of steps.
Heather’s hands were now gripping the shawl so hard that Ella could see the muscles on her forearms.
‘Go away!’ Heather demanded.
‘Tell me. Please. Tell me. You’ll feel better, believe me.’
Heather was trembling like a leaf in the wind. Tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘Why won’t you stop asking questions? I love spending time with you, but you never stop.’
‘I want to help you, Heather.’ Ella refused to give in, though it pierced her heart to see Heather in such a desperate state.
‘Why do you keep hurting me like this? Why can’t you leave me in peace?’ she whimpered.
‘Whatever happened back then, I’ll understand. Just tell me, please.’
Ella sensed that Heather was battling inwardly with herself. Her body looked like a puppet dangling from strings, but then she stiffened once more and her eyes grew cold.
‘Get out!’ she screamed like a fury.
Ella was so shocked that for a moment she was unable to move, let alone speak – not even to apologise.
The door flew open. Ella didn’t need to turn round to know that Marjory must have heard them.
‘Mother, tell her to leave.’ Heather had become a little girl, with tears rolling down her cheeks.
Marjory was instantly at her side, ready to take her child in her arms and console her. Only now did Heather let go of the embroidered shawl, wrapping herself around her mother and sobbing unrestrainedly against her shoulder.
At that moment, Ella fervently wished she had left Heather alone. Seeing her suffer made her ache to the very depths of her soul.
‘I would be grateful if you would find yourself some alternative lodgings,’ Marjory hissed in a cutting voice.
‘Heather. Do you really want me to go?’
She didn’t reply, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.
‘Raj will drive you back into town, and if I might give you one final piece of advice: keep your nose out of British affairs in future.’ Marjory’s threat was underlined by her determined expression.
Ella turned on her heels and ran out of the room; Heather’s sobs rang out after her, and almost broke her heart.
Ella was so shaken that she had trouble concentrating on packing her bags. She had to be quick, for Raj was already waiting with the coach in front of the oleander house. Shortly after she had been thrown out, Ella had seen Jaya running towards the stables. It seemed that Marjory couldn’t get rid of her soon enough. Ella hoped that Jaya wouldn’t get into any trouble or lose her job over the unannounced visit. The fact that she hadn’t come to bid her farewell implied that she had at least been given a stern telling-off. She had probably been too afraid to say goodbye too – or perhaps Marjory had forbidden her from doing so.
Yet much as it pained Ella to have caused Heather so much anguish, she was at least relieved to realise that she didn’t belong here after all. The hatred Marjory bore for her was indelible. It was better not to be around such people. But what about Heather? Shouldn’t she try to fight for their friendship, once this had all died down? Yet what was the use? Marjory’s influence over her was too great. It was probably she who bound Heather to herself, chained her up in the house, instead of encouraging her to face her fears and live once more as a free – and above all emotionally healthy – woman.
Heather had behaved like a little girl at Marjory’s side. Sometimes she was wilful, like during Compton’s visit, and sometimes she could be as cheerful and carefree as a child skipping through a meadow – but whenever she was confronted by her own past, it caused her great pain. That was probably why she withdrew into the supposed idyll of the plantation and avoided all contact with men – to shield her heart from emotion for the rest of her life.
Once again, Ella realised that she was standing in front of her suitcase and staring into space. She seemed paralysed by all these thoughts.
‘Do you need any help?’ came a voice from outside. It was Raj. He was probably wondering why she was taking so long.
Ella had to virtually force herself to put her shoes and the two remaining blouses into her bag. Everything else was already packed. It was time to say goodbye, and yet she found it so hard that yet again she stood indecisively in front of her case. The idea that she might never see Heather again cut her to the marrow. Ella had to admit that she loved her – she felt close to her in a way you only felt with your own family. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she took a deep breath and wiped them away with the sleeve of her blouse, then fastened her second case.
Raj was already knocking on the door.
‘I’m ready,’ she called to him.
It was obvious that Raj found the situation uncomfortable. Wordlessly, he lifted the bags and walked out to place them in the coach.
‘What did you do?’ he asked.
‘What did she tell you?’
Once again, Raj smiled a faint smile that gave her the impression that he knew more than he let on.
‘That sympathisers with the resistance are not welcome at the Fosters’ home,’ he said.
‘That’s what she said?’ Ella could scarcely believe her ears. On the other hand, she could hardly tell him the truth.
He nodded bashfully, then looked her directly in the eye. ‘I feel sure you’ve done the right thing.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Ella.
‘You were in the garden. I saw you.’
‘Have you been watching me?’
‘When I have a reason to,’ he answered, with another almost imperceptible smile.
Ella looked into his eyes and strove to understand who this Raj really was: a brutal overseer, or a friend who was sympathetic to her cause?
‘His name was Jack, by the way,’ he whispered.
Hot and cold shivers ran down Ella’s back. He really did know the truth, and now he was telling her.