On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘They’ll talk about us.’ Amar didn’t need to explain what he meant by that. Naturally, Ella’s experiences so far had made it clear to her that it would be considered indecorous for a European woman to appear at a party in the company of a Malayan man. Yet for one thing, she wasn’t British, but was passing as a Dutchwoman; and for another, Ella had no intention of hiding her feelings for Amar. If she did, people would only talk about them all the more when they inevitably saw them together. The best course of action was to remove all grounds for gossip about a European woman and her secret native lover altogether, as soon as possible. In the end, her argument won Amar over, but only for a few minutes. Then he began to look around rather helplessly and tug at his linen trousers.

  ‘But what should I wear? I can’t exactly go to the party in my work clothes.’ His objection was a valid one, but a solution was at hand.

  ‘Rudolf’s suits ought to fit you.’ Amar froze at Ella’s suggestion. The thought of wearing a dead man’s clothing obviously didn’t appeal to him in the slightest.

  ‘Nobody is going to make you a new suit in two hours,’ Ella remarked with a smile.

  Amar nodded and shrugged. What choice did he have?

  They didn’t have time to fetch Rudolf’s bags from the boarding house and bring them back to Mohan’s house to make adjustments, and Ella hoped she had gauged Amar’s size correctly – but unfortunately she had miscalculated, as they soon discovered when he tried on Rudolf’s trousers in one of the unoccupied bedchambers that Lee had allowed them to use as a changing room. They were the right length, but the waistband was much too big. Otto couldn’t help them either. For one thing, Amar would easily have fit twice into a pair of his trousers, and for another, he was already at the party, as Lee had informed them at the reception desk.

  ‘Wait a moment. I have my sewing kit here.’ Lee volunteered her help and returned barely five minutes later with her equipment. She looked the other way while Amar removed the trousers.

  ‘I learned this from my mother,’ she explained, inserting pins into the waistband.

  Meanwhile, Amar tried on the shoes. Fortunately, there was one pair big enough for him to wear without grimacing in pain – yet Ella hadn’t stopped to consider that Malayan men generally didn’t wear closed shoes due to the high temperatures throughout the year, which meant that Amar’s first attempts at walking were very unsteady. Ella had difficulty suppressing her laughter as he wobbled his way across the room, clad in elegant shoes and white linen underwear.

  Lee really had managed to take in the waistband in just a few minutes. Amar slipped into the trousers and put on one of Rudolf’s white shirts and his jacket, while Lee averted her eyes once more.

  ‘You look like a true English gentleman,’ she cried enthusiastically once she turned round and saw him in his full outfit.

  Ella had to agree.

  Amar’s disconcerted expression made it clear that he didn’t take ‘English gentleman’ as a compliment. All the same, he admired his reflection in the mirror – and with good reason, for he looked quite gorgeous. The suit certainly suited him better than it had Rudolf.

  Ella hadn’t the faintest idea what was in store for them at the Hamiltons’, but she hoped their party would be less formal than Mary Bridgewater’s had been. The fact that the attendees could bring a guest of their choice suggested as much. All the same, Ella wished that in his letter Otto had named a specific time to meet him. She would have preferred to arrive in his company.

  Amar knew the plantation from hearsay. The Hamiltons were Scottish, and were generally considered to be hardworking and kind-hearted people, about whom he had heard only good things. Their plantation was also a good deal smaller than the Fosters’, as became clear after just ten minutes’ drive when the road through the rubber forest opened out into a clearing, in which stood a two-storey house that seemed rather humble compared to the Fosters’ residence. It appeared to be made of wood, and had a barn attached to it. Although it was far from grand, Ella thought it had a certain charm. The large veranda was already packed with guests, and bunting dangled from the roof posts. It almost felt like a children’s birthday party. The garden was lit with torches and teeming with guests of all ages, and Ella could tell at a glance that the atmosphere was relaxed and informal. Unlike Mary Bridgewater’s party, Chinese guests had been invited too, and there were finely dressed Indians and Malays standing by the buffet, which extended a good fifteen feet into the middle of the garden. The best part was that nobody took any notice of her and Amar. There was no welcome committee, and no obligation to shake anybody’s hand.

  Another carriage pulled up a few yards behind their own, and a mixed couple got out – a Chinese man with a Malay woman. They too were dressed up to the nines. Compton would certainly have changed his mind about bumiputras and Orang Asli if he had been here. Even Ella was astonished. It was clear that the non-Europeans here hadn’t simply put on a costume for the occasion, as Amar had.

  ‘You won’t stand out in the slightest,’ Ella remarked. Amar’s eyes likewise lingered on the couple next to them, and she could see that he was surprised too. This party was shaping up to be a colourful evening.

  All the same, they didn’t have long to wait before they attracted their first curious looks. People had begun to notice that there were mixed couples in attendance. Ella expected that the other partygoers would start to whisper among themselves, but they didn’t – instead, every guest they encountered greeted them with a friendly nod. The other mixed couple also joined the crowd. Their arrival had been fortuitous, for Amar began to look much more relaxed.

  Wasn’t it said that ‘clothes make the man’? It seemed to be true for Amar, at any rate. Although she would have preferred him to throw his arm around her hips, Ella was delighted to see that he had blossomed into a true gentleman as he held out his arm for her, just as the couple in front of them had done. He was a quick learner.

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Otto,’ said Amar. Ella had told him about Otto on the way here – his warm-heartedness, and his disagreements with Rudolf too.

  Ella was looking out for him, but she couldn’t see him anywhere in the dim torchlight. He must be elsewhere.

  ‘We should go straight to the buffet,’ she said, speaking from experience. People stood close to the food and drink in order to see and be seen. Besides, the drive had taken them down some dusty roads, and her parched throat was calling out for a glass of wine.

  The moment they arrived in the glow of the nearest torches, however, they encountered their first raised eyebrows. As Ella had expected, people began to whisper – but she had the impression that it was purely out of surprise rather than for more negative reasons. There could be no doubt that the partygoers here were very different to Mary Bridgewater’s guests.

  ‘There you are, at long last!’ called a female voice that Ella recognised.

  Of all people, Ella now saw Mary Bridgewater hurrying towards her out of the gloom. She too was surprised to see Ella in the company of Amar, but she recovered quickly and scrutinised him, giving him the smile of a woman who knew how to appreciate a handsome young man.

  ‘Otto told me you were coming . . . but aren’t you going to introduce me?’ Mary prompted her.

  ‘This is Amar,’ said Ella, though she was still amazed to hear that Mary and Otto knew one another. Then again, who didn’t Mary know?

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ Mary addressed him. Then she looked at Ella, as if to ascertain whether she really was involved with a Malayan man. Why else would she have taken his arm?

  ‘Isn’t Otto here yet?’ asked Ella.

  ‘He’s inside somewhere, loitering with those tedious, cigar-smoking Scots. I couldn’t stand it in there any more. Men. Just give them a few cigars and a bottle of Scotch whisky and they gather like a pack of wolves.’

  ‘Have you known Otto for a long time?’ Ella enquired.

  ‘Not at all. He told Victoria and Anthony about you, and when Victoria he
ars anything, it isn’t long before her best friend hears it too.’

  Ella finally understood how everybody knew each other. She wasn’t in the least surprised to see that Mary felt at ease in these more informal circumstances.

  ‘Admit it. You didn’t expect to see me here,’ said Mary frankly.

  Ella nodded.

  ‘Some meetings are written in the stars. That’s what the Indians believe, anyway. Come, I simply must introduce you to the Hamiltons. I’m sure they’ll take to you right away. Now, where are they?’ Mary scanned the garden, but to no avail.

  ‘Would you ladies like anything to drink?’ asked Amar. He could easily be taken for an English aristocrat.

  ‘A gin and tonic, please,’ said Mary, delighted with his manners.

  ‘And a glass of wine for you,’ Amar suggested. That was easy for him to guess – he’d already noticed that she had bought three bottles of the local rice wine in Johore.

  Mary watched in fascination as he disappeared towards the buffet.

  ‘A most attractive man . . . Oh, to be young again. What does he do? Is he a doctor?’

  Ella was tickled. Amar seemed to be exactly Mary’s type.

  ‘No. He used to work on the Fosters’ plantation.’

  That evidently took Mary by surprise, but she recovered quickly. ‘I admire your courage. I wouldn’t have been brave enough for that at your age . . . but then again, things were different back then,’ she said. ‘How are Marjory and Heather?’ she asked next.

  ‘I’m no longer staying with them.’

  ‘Really?’ Mary gave Ella a penetrating look – naturally enough, since she had previously offered Ella some discreet hints about Heather’s past. It was impossible to get anything past Mary, so Ella gave up trying to think of an excuse.

  ‘I simply couldn’t stop thinking about what you told me, and then I found a heart carved into a tree in the garden of the guest house. It had the letters “H” and “J” on it. “J” for Jack. I raised it with Heather, but I shouldn’t have. I think she wants me to leave her alone in future.’

  Mary was obviously deeply touched.

  ‘And there I was, thinking it might have something to do with the fact you make no secret of your enviable affinity with your charming companion . . .’ she said.

  ‘No, that definitely isn’t the reason,’ Ella assured her.

  ‘I’ll talk to Marjory about it, when I get the chance. We can’t have Heather locking herself up just because of this damnable Jack . . . She should come here, rejoin the world. Scots make good lovers after all,’ remarked Mary with a wink.

  ‘If only I could work out why Heather is so sad,’ said Ella.

  Mary grew serious for a moment. ‘We all have our little secrets. Yourself included, no?’ She grinned as she spoke. It didn’t sound like a threat, so Ella decided to ask her what she was getting at.

  ‘Secrets?’

  ‘You didn’t turn up at Marjory’s door by accident, did you?’

  Ella grew hot, although she didn’t have the impression that Mary was ill-intentioned.

  ‘Come now, there’s no need to pull such a long face. My lips are sealed – like a vault. I can tell when I have a good and kind person in front of me. You are just such a person, and I feel certain that you didn’t have any base motives.’

  ‘But . . .’ Ella objected, determined to explain herself to Mary.

  ‘No buts, now . . . It’s time I hauled Otto out of this bandits’ den. If we wait much longer, he’ll be so drunk that he’ll have forgotten why he came here in the first place.’

  All the same, Mary waited until Amar had gallantly handed over her drink, and she gave him another lingering stare before turning back towards the house. That was the look of a woman who was reputed to have an Indian lover, Ella smiled to herself.

  Otto was presumably rather the worse for wear, since it had been a good quarter of an hour since Mary had vanished through the veranda door. Ella had used the time to exchange a few words with Victoria Hamilton – though that hadn’t been easy, for her Scottish accent posed a challenge. At times, it sounded as though she wasn’t even speaking English. Ella was unsurprised that Victoria and Mary got along so well. They seemed to be cut from the same cloth, and were anything but starchy and status-conscious. A man like Compton would stand out like a sore thumb here, Ella reflected.

  In the end, Mary managed to tear Otto away from the smoking room, and he stood on the veranda waving at them almost frantically.

  ‘Otto has already told me how delighted he will be to see you again. He wouldn’t stop talking about your journey from Hamburg,’ said Victoria.

  Ella thought that he must have left out a few parts of the story – namely, the rift between him and Rudolf.

  ‘Miss Kaltenbach!’ he called over to her jubilantly.

  Ella froze. She had introduced herself to Mary Bridgewater as a Dutchwoman named van Veen.

  Otto now bore down on her so exuberantly that he managed to lift her mood, despite her now highly unfavourable situation.

  Mary had also just arrived where they were standing. ‘Otto was telling me that he has much to discuss with Miss Kaltenbach,’ she declared, with a wink at Ella. So that was what Mary meant by ‘little secrets’.

  Ella was standing beside Victoria Hamilton and Amar was positioned a few feet away from her, so Otto merely greeted him with a polite nod.

  ‘Indeed. You must tell me everything that’s happened to you,’ demanded Otto.

  ‘Come, Amar. My bridge club are dying to meet you.’ With that, Victoria took Amar’s arm, and Ella was unsurprised to see Mary go with them too. It looked as though the two ladies were abducting him, the poor thing. He gave Ella an imploring look, which she answered with a mischievous laugh that drew Otto’s attention.

  His curious glance prompted her to add Amar to the list of topics she had to discuss with him.

  ‘Well, there’s an awful lot I need to tell you,’ said Ella, debating where she ought to begin.

  Although she was burning to know what Otto had to tell her, he insisted that she bring him up to speed with everything that had happened to her first. Ella had intended to work through the events of the last few days in chronological order, but there was one recent fact – Rudolf’s death – that stood out and prevented them from continuing their short stroll through the garden. Otto stood rooted to the spot. ‘Poisoned?’ The pathologist’s opinion gave Otto a good deal of food for thought, so it was understandable when he plucked a glass of whisky from a passing waiter’s tray.

  ‘They think he must have eaten something toxic.’ Ella repeated what Officer Puteri had said.

  Otto drained his glass and stared thoughtfully into the distance for a moment.

  ‘It seems that it’s fairly common for travellers to believe that a fruit is edible, and then . . .’ she continued.

  ‘What nonsense,’ Otto interrupted. ‘Since you got here, have you ever thought to pluck some unfamiliar fruit from a shrub?’ he asked.

  Ella shook her head.

  ‘But then how did the poison get into his body?’ Otto wondered out loud.

  ‘There were no insect or spider bites,’ she added.

  ‘A robbery, perhaps? I know that the natives used to go hunting with blowpipes filled with minuscule poisoned darts. Just a tiny prick would be enough to kill you in a matter of seconds. Perhaps the pathologist didn’t see the mark,’ Otto conjectured.

  ‘We can rule out a robbery, as he still had his gold watch on him when he was found,’ Ella pointed out.

  ‘Where did it happen?’ enquired Otto.

  ‘He was on his way back from the Fosters. They were on the list of names you gave us – but the strange thing is that Rudolf had already marked the plantation on a map of his own. None of it makes any sense. When we arrived in Malacca, we passed through the Foster plantation and we were told there was no one there called Richard Foster. So why would Rudolf still note down the location of that plantation? At first, I thought he w
as copying each of the marks across one by one as he visited them, to make his own map clearer. The markings on the south part of your map were so dense that you could no longer read some of the names of the roads and villages.’

  ‘I don’t think that was it. I think he marked it in advance. Though I couldn’t tell you why I think that. It’s more of a feeling – but it ties in perfectly with what I’ve found out about him.’

  Ella pricked up her ears, and gave Otto an astonished look.

  ‘I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. The racecourse. He gambled away a lot of money, and then that preposterous story about being robbed in the stables . . .’

  ‘Yes, I’ve come to exactly the same conclusion myself. I found his betting slip, and can you guess where?’

  Otto gave a perplexed shrug.

  ‘In the wallet they supposedly stole from him.’

  He nodded knowingly.

  ‘Then I truly didn’t misjudge him,’ declared Otto.

  ‘Rudolf gambled all his money away and wanted me to pay his way without him losing face.’

  ‘Exactly as I suspected. And on top of that, Rudolf was a swindler and a fraud,’ he added.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Ella in shock. His harsh judgment didn’t seem to fit the Rudolf von Stetten she had known.

  ‘I made enquiries among my contacts in Hamburg. My good friend Gustav works for a credit bureau, and I can assure you that Rudolf von Stetten – to put it as bluntly as possible – was completely broke.’

  ‘Rudolf?’ Now it was Ella’s turn to freeze.

  ‘He took over his father’s company when he died, but they hadn’t been doing well for at least a year before that. The business model was unprofitable, with a focus on tenanted properties in expensive neighbourhoods. You can imagine how often those come up for sale. The bank refused to honour his cheques, and he was rumoured to be an inveterate gambler too. His visit to the racecourse would seem to bear that out,’ Otto explained.