by Alec Waugh
‘Yes, I heard.’
Angus started. His father couldn’t have heard last night. If he had he would have mentioned it. Who had been here this morning?
‘It’s a ridiculous business.’ Forrester was going on. ‘What good did the fellow imagine he was doing? A million to one chance of hitting her, and the absolute certainty of being caught. I’ve seen some stupid things done in my time, but this was the very stupidest.’
‘I suppose he was a Communist.’
‘I imagine so, a kind of Communist. I doubt if he has got the brains to understand what Marx and Lenin stood for; one of the have-nots whom the Communists exploit. That’s how I’d sum it up.’
‘There are a good many Communists in the country now, I take it.’
‘They’re coming in all the time. These Indians, you know.’
‘I hope you are on your guard against them.’
‘If we weren’t, I wouldn’t be running around the country in this heat.’
He chuckled, a low, deep, rumbling chuckle. He looked very comfortable, very much at his ease, as he lay there, sipping at his gin and lime, munching at his sandwich. Nothing malevolent about him; it was hard to believe that he was laying a trap for the old sick man who in contrast had to sit upright. What could his father have done that he should be subjected to this examination? How had he got mixed up with this? With whom had he got mixed up? How could he be a Communist?
‘What will happen to this Communist?’ Macartney asked.
Forrester shrugged. ‘It depends upon the King. If I had my way I’d treat him as a lunatic and send him back to where he came from. He’s an Indian, not a Karaki subject. Let India look after him.’
‘Mayn’t he make trouble there?’
‘That’s India’s concern. Well, we must be on our way. I’m very grateful. I’ll be bringing Angus back later.’
He swung himself on to his feet. He walked over to the chess-board. He examined it for a moment. ‘Looks quite a problem to me; looks beyond me in fact,’ he said.
Once again he remained silent in the car. After a little while he dozed off to sleep. He looked like a dormouse curled up in the corner. What detachment he must have to be able to sleep so soundly when he had so much on his mind.
Forrester did not wake up till they had reached the fence. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, shook his head.
‘The afternoon shut-eye, one of the chief pleasures of middle age. When you’re young you sleep too heavily, you wake like death, but now … If only more middle-aged men would follow Winston’s example, there’d be a great many more octogenarians. Where shall I drop you by the way?’
Angus told him. He wanted to fix up some cricket and football fixtures for the coming season.
‘Then let’s meet at the pool as near to six as possible.’
He had not told Basil Hallett he was coming out. Sometimes he liked to make an appointment well in advance, so that the other man, if he had anything on his conscience, could brood over it, worry, get distraught. He learnt a lot by looking at a man’s face and deciding whether or not he had spent a sleepless night. Hallett, because of his frequent hangovers, as often as not looked as though he had. In his case surprise might be more effective.
He went into Hallett’s office unannounced.
‘Sorry to be so unceremonious but I’ve so much on my hands that I haven’t time to make or stick to a fixed schedule. Can you spare me five minutes? It doesn’t look as if you were over-busy, with that chess-board set out there on your desk; though really it’s an aid to work; that’s what I find at least. Some men do a crossword puzzle after breakfast; I do a chess one. Eases my mind; another kind of concentration, releases the tension, gives me confidence in myself. If I can work out this problem that has been set by an expert, surely I can cope with a muddle-headed thief. Now about this present problem. We might as well shut the door, hadn’t we? Little pitchers have long ears. I’ll tell you what I’ve learnt. As I imagined, our friend is a kind of Communist. A party member from Calcutta. Not a very serious one. He was recruited here, and this is what I came to tell you, by an Indian whom he met on the way to a racing meeting. The Indian gave him a tip which didn’t turn out right, so our friend was in the red. The Indian had backed the beast both ways and was in the black, so he paid half of our friend’s losses. That began a friendship that led eventually to that little incident by the repair shop. From the way Rajat talked, I wondered whether this wasn’t a regular gambit of the Indian’s: picking people at race tracks, befriending them, wheedling his way into their confidence, getting them into his debt, then making use of them. It’s something to be on the lookout for anyhow: this is how Rajat Singh described him.’
Basil’s hands closed tightly on the arms of his chair. This is a nightmare, he thought, this can’t be happening. ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ Forrester was saying. ‘But if you know what you’re on the lookout for, it is astonishing how often you stumble on that very thing. Take note of any member of your staff who goes to race meetings. This chap may try the same thing again. Keep your eyes and ears open. That’s what I’m going to tell the G.M. Anyhow, I’ve put you in the picture. Let me know if you suspect anything or anybody: never mind how trivial it may seem to you. It may be the very thing that fits into my jigsaw puzzle. I’ll be on my way. Remember me to that pretty wife of yours. Maybe I’ll be seeing her later at the pool.’
Basil sat very still at his desk for several minutes. What next? he thought. What does A do now?
6
Blanche Pawling had no reason to complain of the warmth of her husband’s welcome.
‘Wonderful, what already. Why didn’t you let me know? I’d have had the plane sent in; as it is, well, I don’t think I can have it sent in at this short notice. I’d come in myself only that would take too long. Can’t have you waiting around at the airport: I’ll ring up Kingsford. That’ll be the best thing. He’ll send out a car from the town office. What’ll you do about lunch, have it on the way?’
‘I’ve had so many meals on the plane with the clock going forward that I feel I never want to eat again.’
‘Then call me as soon as you get in. Oh, by the way, not knowing you were coming I’ve a rehearsal of the play at home this evening. I can cancel it quite easily.’
‘Don’t bother to do that. I shall enjoy it. How is it going, by the way?’
‘It’s going fine.’
‘How is Iris making out?’
‘Fine. She looks the part, anyhow.’
Blanche smiled. That was so like Harry. He could do the acting; let the others look the part.
‘You call up Kingsford right away,’ she said.
She reached Kassaya soon after two. The house had an untended look; drab flowers in the vases; the magazines piled anyhow upon the window. This time yesterday, dozing in the plane after a luxurious lunch, she had pictured herself twenty hours later picnicking in that dark, cool flat. She had heard Angus’s excited answering of her voice over the telephone; had visualized his eager welcome. Lunch had been laid out, but they could not wait for lunch. He would be too impatient. It would be later, much later, that they had their picnic. ‘This is what I’ve missed,’ she would be saying. ‘A picnic lunch with you.’ It was so rare that they’d been able to. She’d always had to have an alibi for lunch. ‘So little leisure,’ he had complained. ‘If I’d have known you were coming here,’ he would be saying, ‘there’d have been caviare and champagne in the frig.’ That was how she had planned it. This was how it was. What a fool she’d been. She might have known that you couldn’t walk back unannounced and find everyone with their time at your disposal.
She looked round the flat. She shivered. She couldn’t take this at the moment. She had dozed in the car driving out and was in no mood for a siesta. She had lost all sense of time. It was breakfast time in London. Better go round to the pool and freshen up; get some clean air into her lungs and stretch her limbs. She’d work on her house tomorrow.
She called up Harry. ‘Join me at the pool, as soon as possible.’
It was the children’s hour; the small shallow pool was filled with noise and splashing. She had been away a month, but half the people here would scarcely have been aware of it. Her return was not an occasion. She showered and plunged into the water; ah, how good it was after the chill of England to feel this tepid water round her, with the sun hot upon her face. This was home. Soon, very soon, she would be in that dark cool flat again.
‘What, Blanche, already?’
She turned and saw Julia, reading under an umbrella.
‘I’ll join you in half a minute,’ she called back.
It was a long half-minute. She did not realize how much she had missed this water. The gossip of the camp could wait. It could not be all that novel; she knew the camp too well to expect anyone to be interested in her news. They would only want a new audience for theirs. When you came back from a leave, people would say, ‘I can’t wait to hear about everything you did,’ but in fact they could not wait to tell you about the new school teacher’s flirtation with the camp’s most confirmed bachelor.
Julia did not even pretend to be interested in what she might have to tell.
‘I suppose you’ve heard the news, haven’t you?’
‘I haven’t seen a soul yet.’
‘Then it isn’t in the morning papers.’
‘What isn’t in the morning papers?’
‘About a man trying to shoot Annetta Marsh.’
‘Where?’
‘Here.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday. Basil was there at the time.’
Julia was full of details. It was quite a while before they got round to local gossip. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t much,’ said Julia. ‘Nothing that’s come to the surface anyhow. Everyone’s saying that the Sinclairs can’t last much longer. He’s drinking like a fish.’
‘And who’s she flirting with?’
‘Nobody as far as we can see. There’d probably be bloodshed if she did. He’s not the tame type, not by any means. They dined with us the other night. My, were they on edge.’
‘I’ll be seeing her tonight, at a rehearsal.’
‘That’s the only thing she really can enjoy here, something away from him.’
‘How is she doing in the part?’
‘Not bad at all. So everybody says. I haven’t seen her yet.’
Julia had not got a part this time. She was a junior stage manager.
‘And how about Shelagh Keable? Has she found a beau yet?’
‘Nothing definite. But Barbara seems to think she has a crush on young Macartney. She keeps going into town to stay with the Studholmes. Lila’s the alibi, but Barbara’s pretty sure that Angus is the bait.’
‘It would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Is Barbara promoting it? I should think she would be glad to get a stepdaughter off her hands.’
‘She’s not said much to me about it, but she sounded pleased.’
‘I should be in her position.’
Did my voice sound natural, did I look surprised, did I show the right amount of interest? Blanche thought. ‘What about Barbara herself?’ she asked. ‘Is she still finding enough here to amuse her?’
‘I think she does. She enjoys the position of being the G.M.’s wife. It would bore me stiff, at her age anyhow, but it seems to please her.’
‘It’ll please me if Harry ever gets that far.’
Had she changed the subject too quickly? She didn’t think she had. She had shown enough interest, but not too much; interest but not surprise. She had not given herself away. She could return to the subject in a few minutes’ time; discuss camp politics, promotions, new contracts, new postings, new appointments: then come back to Shelagh, ask about Angus, how was he supposed to feel, was he in love with Shelagh? Shelagh might be going up to Kuala Prang, but was Angus coming to Kassaya? No, she thought, no, that would show too much interest. She’d ask another day, ask another person. Barbara perhaps; or somebody from Kuala Prang; find out how Angus feels; most probably he doesn’t feel a thing. He doesn’t like young girls; he’d told her that himself; he liked experienced women: most young men did. The heroines of French novels were always over thirty. It was one thing for Shelagh to fall for him. Quite another for him to fall for her. They’d be laughing over this together in a few days’ time. And she’d be giving him a lecture. ‘Now listen, darling, you must be kind to her. You mustn’t hurt her feelings. She had that trouble at home, remember. You must be very, very gentle with her. But not too gentle.’ That’s how it would be … if only she hadn’t to wait so long for it to be that way.
‘I’ve quite forgotten to ask about your boy,’ Julia was saying. ‘Was everything all right? Where was the operation done? At one of those new health hospitals?’
They discussed the pros and cons of medical attention under the Welfare State. ‘You get as good service as you ever got,’ said Blanche, ‘probably better. In a crisis the best man’s available. The only trouble is that it’s so impersonal. You can’t see the doctor, any more than when your son’s a private you can see the colonel.’
Blanche had instances to quote. A distraught mother who had travelled away in the same bus. ‘I kept ringing up to ask about my Jim and all the answer I could get was “Everything is satisfactory”. What did that tell me?’
She talked with feeling. She felt strongly on the point. Julia couldn’t possibly say afterwards, ‘You should have seen Blanche Pawling when I told her about Shelagh and young Macartney; she made no sense for half an hour.’
‘I suppose there are a lot of people,’ Blanche concluded, ‘who would prefer an indifferent doctor with a good bedside manner to a first-class doctor with a brusque bedside manner; which is what you get from the Welfare State.’
No, no one could say she was anything but her usual self.
By the entrance to the pool, she saw the familiar Chevrolet swing round into the parking place.
‘There’s Harry.’
She jumped to her feet. No one should say she was not glad to see him. And she really was. He was solid, reliable; it was good to be caught up again by those large massive arms, to smell again that mixture of whisky, talcum powder and tobacco that was so personal to him. Strange how everybody had a different smell. She slipped her arm through his, pressing it against her side, as they walked together to the pool. The feel of his arm gave her reassurance in stability, in continuity. Things did not change because you were away a month. How could there be anything between Angus and Shelagh? On her part, yes, perhaps, but not on his.
When Harry had changed she dived back into the pool. He was soon beside her grunting and spluttering like a grampus, as he always did. The pool was filling up. The children had been taken home; the shouts from the shallow end had ceased; under every umbrella along the water’s edge there were family groups taking tea together. Everything was the same. No change, no likelihood of change; why should there be any change for her? Why should she be an exception? She ordered tea and found to her surprise that she was hungry. She ate more than her share of the sandwiches. She could not be hungry, could she, if she had any cause for worry?
‘What’s been happening while I’ve been away?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘What could have happened? One day’s like any other.’
‘Except that revolver incident.’
‘Ah, that! But that wasn’t really in the camp. That was island politics.’
‘That’s all that’s happened in a month?’
‘That’s all there’ll be to happen in a year. You know the way it is.’
How good to hear him say it. Don’t worry, she adjured herself, don’t worry.
The sun was low among the palm trees. The breeze began to freshen. ‘What time is your rehearsal?’
‘Six o’clock.’
‘We’d better change then.’
By the time they w
ere changed, the pool was practically deserted; most of its patrons were at the bar.
‘What about a quick one to celebrate your return?’ said Harry.
She shook her head. ‘Let’s wait till we get home.’
‘O.K. If you really think so. All the same …’
He looked yearningly towards the bar; he hesitated, peered. ‘Why, look who’s there, the old sleuth himself. I must say “hello” to him.’
Forrester had a small group round him. Pawling pushed his way towards it.
‘I wanted an excuse for a celebratory round. But Blanche said “no”. She can’t say “no” now, can she?’
‘She certainly cannot.’
‘Please, Harry, please. I’m not unpacked yet.’
‘Just one little one.’
‘No, Harry, no. …’
‘Oh well, if you insist.’
‘Maybe she’s wise,’ said Forrester. ‘Maybe I’d be the better too without another; but I can’t very well avoid it since there’s the young man that I’ve been waiting for.’
Blanche turned and there was Angus. This time she did have the feeling that she would not be capable of making the slightest sense for at least five minutes. What was he doing here, why had he come? To see that girl? Why hadn’t he told her that he was coming out? A date with Forrester, he had said, but never added that it was at Kassaya: he had relied no doubt on her not seeing him, on not having anyone tell her that he’d been out. ‘This is my round,’ Forrester was saying. ‘Sure you won’t change your mind now, Mrs. P.?’
‘I’m quite sure, thanks.’
She would have given anything to stay, to listen to the talk, to find out what Angus was doing here, why he had come; but having been so insistent about getting home, she could not change her mind. She smiled at Angus.