by Clare Flynn
But at least Douglas was talking to her. Listening to her. They had actually had a conversation. Eager not to lose the moment, risk him falling asleep or returning to that other bedroom, Evie asked him how the past two weeks had been for him. She wanted to ask why he had left without telling her, but decided to avoid saying anything he might perceive as confrontational.
‘Just doing my work. You wouldn’t be interested.’
‘But I would. I’d love to know about what you do.’
‘I just plant trees, wait for them to grow, collect the sap from them, turn it into rubber and sell it.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Look, Evie, they’re just trees. Go to sleep.’
‘No. I’m interested. Tell me what’s involved.’
Douglas made a sound that she took to signify exasperation. ‘Not a lot to tell. I tap the trees, collect the sap in cans, tip it through strainers and let it coagulate, then turn it into sheets, roll it and squeeze the water out, smoke it for ten days, grade it and sell it.’ He rattled it off like someone reading a manual.
‘You do all that yourself?’
He laughed. Genuine laughter. No note of irritation this time. ‘There are thousands of trees, so no, I don’t harvest them all myself. I employ hundreds of coolies to do that.’
‘So what do you do? Just watch them?’
His tone was sarcastic more than annoyed. ‘Yes, sometimes I just watch them working. Make sure they’re doing it right.’
‘You’re laughing at me,’ she said.
‘I do a lot of other things too.’
‘Like what?’
He gave a long sigh, which Evie took to signify resignation, and said, ‘It’s like the army. I inspect the troops, issue orders, ensure they have the right kit to get the job done, that morale is high, that discipline is maintained, that they’re rewarded or punished as appropriate.’
‘Were you in the war? I never asked you.’
‘Yes. One of the lucky ones.’
She was about to ask him to elaborate, when he went on. ‘Of course I have assistants to do most of the day-to-day management. Like the armed forces, there’s a hierarchy. Clear responsibilities. It’s not just growing and harvesting - it’s also building roads and bridges, filling in disused tin mine shafts – the country’s full of them – and clearing the jungle.’
‘Gosh. I’d no idea so much was involved. I didn’t think there’d be a lot to do since they’re just trees. I thought it would have been quite easy. Well easier than crops that you grow every year.’
‘Easy?’ He sniffed.
‘I thought you just left them to grow and then cut them down to get the rubber out.’
He gave a snort of derision. ‘Didn’t you learn anything at school? Rubber’s not like timber. We don’t cut the trees down; we tap them.’ Evie shifted slightly to edge closer to him. Above them she could make out the dark shape of the motionless ceiling fan.
‘When I first came out east, I intended to sell the plantations to one of the big rubber companies, return to England and live on the proceeds. That was what I told my wife. That was why she never forgave me when I didn’t.’
‘Why did you change your mind?’
She could see the whites of his eyes, pale ghosts in the dark of the room.
‘The Depression knocked the bottom out of the rubber market. Prices collapsed. Costs rose. It was like being sucked into quicksand. I thought I was going to lose everything. I couldn’t have given the land away. But secondly, and more importantly, I’d fallen in love with rubber.’
‘Seriously?’ Evie suppressed the desire to laugh. ‘That sounds a bit odd.’
‘It gets under your skin. Everything about the business.’
Taking advantage of the way they were actually talking at last, Evie suppressed her nervousness and said, ‘I’d love to see the plantation. Will you take me? Show me around.’
She felt him stiffen in the bed beside her. ‘The estate’s not a place for you.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘It’s called work, Evie. I can’t just swan about showing you around as if it were a day out. I’ve far too much to do. Besides, most of the time I’m not even here on the island.’ He thought for a moment. ‘The manager at Bellavista, Reggie Hyde-Underwood, could show you around I suppose. Benny can drive you up there.’
‘I’d prefer it were you.’
‘Reggie’s more than capable. I’m needed over at Butterworth.’
‘Butterworth?’
‘My estate on the mainland is near there.’
‘I didn’t know you had two estates. I thought it was just up in the hills here on the island.’
‘I inherited Bellavista, here on Penang, but when a chance came up to buy land on the mainland I took it.’
‘I could come over to Butterworth one day. It’s only twenty minutes on the ferry to the mainland. Or I could come with you and stay in your bungalow for a while. Just for a few days.’ She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice. If he agreed and she liked it there, maybe they could eventually live there together.
‘Out of the question.’
‘I just want to see the place. Isn’t that where you and Felicity lived when you were first married? I might like it. I’m not the same person as her.’
‘No, you’re not.’ He flung back the sheet and got out of the bed, gathered up his discarded dressing gown from the bedroom floor and putting it on, moved to the door.
Evie was open-mouthed at the sudden violence of his reaction.
‘Goodnight,’ he said and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Left alone in the bed, Evie began to shake, suddenly cold, despite the warmth of the night. She pulled the sheet back over herself and curled into a ball. How had that happened? More to the point, why had it happened? All she had done was express an interest in his life and his work. Just as she’d believed she was beginning to make some progress in getting to know Douglas, in penetrating his indifference. Why had she rushed it, pushed him into a corner? Why hadn’t she shown more patience, bided her time until he was ready? Or raised the subject over dinner? But there had been something about the intimacy of being here in bed that had made her bolder. And it had been going well.
She rolled onto her other side and punched the pillow with her fist. It was unfathomable. He was so touchy. One minute he’d seemed amused, interested, relaxed, then he had snapped shut like a clam. It must have been the mention of Felicity. Four years on, he was still clearly grieving for his late wife. Evie cursed her own stupidity. They were back to square one. She’d handled it clumsily. How was she going to regain his trust? She could never replace the beautiful Felicity, but she had to find a way to make him comfortable in her presence, to get him to see her for herself and not as a poor substitute.
9
When Evie came down for breakfast the following morning she was surprised to find Douglas still at the table, reading the Straits Times. After their argument last night, she’d expected him to have risen early and already left, avoiding an embarrassing encounter.
He looked up as she came in. ‘I’ve given Benny the day off once he’s dropped Jasmine at school. We can drive up to the estate at Bellavista and collect her on our way back.’
Evie was astonished. Fearing he might change his mind again if she hesitated, she hurried through her breakfast, put on some sensible flat shoes and they set off.
The road to the rubber estate was rough and winding, slowly climbing up through the hills at the centre of the island. Instead of the sleek vehicle that she had been driven in by Benny, they travelled in a battered old truck, its interior full of clutter and smelling of diesel. They drove past traditional stilted houses, the scent of fruits and spices heavy in the air – lime, mango, coconuts, nutmeg – and chickens and goats wandering free by the roadside.
Despite his evident change of heart since the previous night, Douglas had resorted to his usual silence. Evie was nervous about speaking up again
and risking his anger once more. Eventually, unable to stand the silence any longer, she told herself that he was her husband and she had to focus on the fact that last night he had spoken more to her than ever before. Surely that was something to build upon?
‘The island here’s very steep,’ she said, thinking she must sound fatuous.
‘Bellavista’s on an escarpment so it’s terraced and that means a lot more maintenance and effort. That’s why I bought the estate near Butterworth. There was jungle to be cleared there – still is – we’ve barely touched the reserves – but the land is lower and flatter and easier to work and there’s more of it.’ He sounded relaxed, friendly even.
‘You expanded onto the mainland since coming to Penang?’
‘Yes. The previous owner wanted to return to England and I believed I’d got it for a good price.’ His voice lowered and the enthusiasm was suddenly absent. ‘Then the price of rubber collapsed and soon hit rock bottom. The big producers started laying men off right, left and centre. I thought I was going to lose everything. I couldn’t have got out even if I’d tried. But I didn’t try. I was determined to hang in and make a go of it. I knew things would eventually get better.’
‘And have they?’
‘Things are better. But it’s taken years. The reason it’s improved is because of the likelihood of war. Every country wants rubber for aircraft and lorries. But we’ve got a damned quota system now. They’re trying to keep the prices high by keeping supply low. It’s like trying to run a business with your hands tied behind your back.’
‘Who’re “they”?’
‘All the rubber producers.’
‘Why do you have to take notice of them? Aren’t they your competitors?’
He gave a dry laugh. ‘That’s just how it works. You have to join the industry body if you want to sell anything. You have to abide by the rules. And like most rules, they’re dreamed up by a committee. If you want to trade, you have to go along with it. Simple as that. But you can’t possibly be interested in any of this?’
‘I am,’ she said. ‘I want to know all about it. You obviously work very hard.’ She wasn’t going to admit that her assumption had been that as plantation owner, all he did was stroll through the ranks of trees, nodding sagely, while once a year, at a mythical harvest time, the workers leapt into action to collect the rubber. On the other hand, if she were truly honest, she had to admit to herself that she hadn’t actually thought about it at all.
Douglas had warmed to his subject. ‘It’s the hardest, but most rewarding work I’ve done in my life.’ His voice was full of rare enthusiasm. ‘Each day brings a new challenge. Problems among the coolies, cyclones destroying nursery crops, a tiger prowling around the lines, machinery failures. So many things. In the City, I had to wear a suit and be shut inside an office all day. Here, I’m out on the estate, walking the divisions, talking to the men, solving problems, making decisions all the time.’
His voice was animated and Evie felt a rush of pleasure. The conversation was cut short when they pulled onto a track between two crumbling brick pillars, one carved with the name Bellavista.
The bungalow was surprisingly grand for such an isolated dwelling in the highlands. Built by Douglas’s grandfather in the first half of the last century, it was constructed from brick and half-timbered so it had a Mock Tudor appearance that made it look more appropriate to Surrey than the Tropics. Back in England, Evie had understood the word bungalow to denote a single-storey dwelling, but here in Malaya it appeared to mean any white man’s home. Surrounded by a wide veranda on three sides, the interior was cool and dark, the house being overshadowed by tall rubber trees. They went into a central wood-panelled hall, hung with incongruous oil paintings of stags and Scottish highland scenes, as well as an imposing portrait of what must have been Douglas’s grandfather. Her own great-grandfather she wondered? Or was it the other side of Douglas’s family? She was about to ask, when a fair-haired, florid-faced man in his early thirties burst into the hallway and pumped Douglas’s hand in greeting. ‘Good to see you, sir. If I’d known you were coming and bringing a visitor we’d have rolled out the red carpet. Afraid you’ll have to take pot luck today.’ He glanced at Evie quizzically.
Douglas introduced him as Reggie Hyde-Underwood, the estate manager. When the manager found out Evie was the new Mrs Barrington, he pumped Doug’s hand, shook Evie’s more gently and called into the interior of the house. A few minutes later, a young woman appeared and was introduced as his wife, Susan. She was small, heavily pregnant and her face had a damp sheen of perspiration.
‘So sorry, Mrs Barrington, I had no idea we were expecting company today.’ She threw a look of irritation at her husband and wiped a hand over her brow.
‘It was a last-minute thing,’ said Douglas. ‘My wife was keen to see a rubber estate.’
The couple exchanged glances, then Mrs Hyde-Underwood said, ‘Well it’s an unexpected pleasure.’ She turned to Evie. ‘I can’t remember the last time Mr Barrington came up here.’
A look of annoyance flickered across Douglas’s face. ‘That’s because I know the place is in good hands with Reggie here.’
Hyde-Underwood glanced at his wife again. They appeared to have a means of communicating without speech. He said, ‘Why don’t I give Mrs Barrington a tour of the estate while you find out what Cook can rustle up for us, darling. After tiffin you can show her round the house and garden while the tuan and I talk business.’
This plan appearing to suit all parties, Evie followed her husband and the estate manager. Once they were outside, she turned to Reggie. ‘It looks like Mrs Hyde-Underwood is soon to have a baby.’
The man grinned from ear to ear. ‘Our first. We’re very excited.’
‘Congratulations.’ She couldn’t help noticing a pained look cross her own husband’s face.
Douglas let Hyde-Underwood do all the talking as he led them around the estate, pointing out the ‘lines’ where the coolies lived – long rows of corrugated-iron roofed single-storey dwellings. The roof slopes jutted forward beyond the buildings to provide a shelter and there were a few women, sitting on mats in the shade, preparing vegetables or tending to children.
‘Bellavista is quite small,’ said Hyde-Underwood. ‘Less than a thousand acres. We have two hundred tappers working here. Mostly Tamils.’ Beyond the lines was a large open area of bare flat ground. ‘We do the muster here each morning at five-thirty,’.
‘The muster?’
‘Roll-call. If they’re not present they don’t get paid for that day. The muster’s also the time we do any briefings, and allocate duties and work details.’
Evie glanced at Douglas. ‘Five-thirty’s awfully early.’
Reggie Hyde-Underwood answered. ‘We have to tap the rubber in the coolest part of the day. The latex runs better then. It coagulates when the temperature gets too hot and seals up the cut. We break in the middle of the day for tiffin and a bit of a snooze and start again with other tasks in the afternoon until five. When I show you, you’ll understand.’
He plunged into the ranks of rubber trees and they followed him. The trees were tall and straight and planted even distances apart. The branches, instead of spreading outwards from the trunk, grew upwards towards the light, the leaves small and glossy. The mottled silvery bark was spotted with patches of lichen with the areas of the trunks where tapping had taken place darker and nobbled in texture. It was a gloomy place, the trees creating a dark arched canopy over their heads, like the crypt of a cathedral.
Taking a hooked knife, Hyde-Underwood cut a diagonal slit in the bark of a nearby tree. ‘When it’s cooler, the latex is more liquid and runs down the slit into the collecting cup.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘See here. It’s already a bit too sticky and it’s sealing over where I made the cut. But if you do it before dawn, the rubber runs freely.’
He led them through the groves of regimented trees. Ignoring these and the little tin cups attached to their trunks, he strode on un
til they reached a small group of workers, moving along the rows, collecting the latex from the cups. The smell of rubber caught the back of Evie’s throat. It was everywhere. She realised she had even smelled it in the Hyde-Underwoods’ bungalow.
Swinging sharply away, Reggie guided them towards a large tin-roofed building. ‘We process the rubber in here, ready to send to the godowns in George Town and onwards to the buyer.’
‘Godowns?’
‘Warehouses.’
Evie was beginning to get bored by all the explanations. She wanted to show an interest in the business – particularly as it was the one thing she had discovered so far that Douglas was genuinely passionate about. But it was irritating that he was leaving all the explaining to Hyde-Underwood. Evie would have preferred it if Douglas had taken her on the tour himself. After all he did own the estate – maybe he didn’t want to put his manager’s nose out of joint. She told herself that was creditable of him and tried to feign interest in what Hyde-Underwood was saying.
Inside the building was a series of large metal holding tanks. ‘The latex from each division is weighed so we can monitor the yield constantly. It’s all about how much we can squeeze out of every tree. Conditions were hard for several years. Some planters have switched into spices or palm oil. But things are looking up.’ He stroked his chin. ‘And talk of the possibility of war in Europe is helping push the prices up further.’
Evie shuddered. ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that.’
‘Of course.’ Hyde-Underwood’s already ruddy-cheeked face grew redder. ‘I mean it’s the talk that pushes demand up. Crikey! I don’t want there to be an actual war. That’s unthinkable. Not so soon after the last one.’