by Clare Flynn
‘Wait,’ she said, her own voice barely audible. She lifted her frock over her head and immediately felt his mouth on her neck as his hands moved behind her to release her brassiere. His mouth closed around her left nipple and she gave a little cry of pain then he pulled down her pants and entered her quickly. Evie cried out again. He wanted her. He desired her. There was nothing of husbandly duty about this. It was raw desire. She gave herself up to the moment, oblivious to the hard wood of the wall, rough against the bare skin of her back.
Douglas drew her downwards, and she found herself lying on the bare concrete floor as they moved in unprecedented harmony. She entwined her fingers with his. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his back, feeling the rough linen of his shorts – he was still full clothed while she was completely naked. All Evie knew was that she didn’t want him to stop. She drew him closer, deeper, wanting it to go on for ever, to be doing what they were doing, to feel the sensation she was feeling, the ripples of pleasure running through her body. Looking up she sought his eyes.
Douglas drew back his head and looked down at her. ‘Give me a son, Evie. I want a son.’ With a cry he was done and rolled off her onto the floor. They lay side-by-side panting while Evie tried to gather her thoughts.
It was not what she’d hoped to hear. What happened next was not what she’d hoped would happen either. Douglas got up, adjusted the front of his shorts, ran his hand through his hair and moved to the doorway. ‘You’d better get dressed. I’ll wait in the car.’
Stunned, Evie lay on the concrete floor for several moments, staring at the closed door of the hut. She gathered up her clothes and put them on, trying to suppress the tears that were already rising. Whether they were tears of sorrow or anger she was unsure – probably a mixture of both. She bit her lip. Don’t let him see you cry, Evie. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurt you. She brushed the cobwebs off her dress and opened the door.
He started the engine as soon as she emerged from the hut. She climbed in beside him, trying to read his face, but he was staring straight ahead. Speaking in his usual clipped tone, he said, ‘I apologise. That was wrong of me.’
Her heart lightened a little, waiting for him to explain why he’d left her lying on the floor in disarray.
‘I don’t know what came over me. I think it was Susan Hyde-Underwood so evidently pregnant. Seeing Reggie preening with pride that’s he’s soon to be a father. Hearing him say they’re both certain it’s going to be a boy. I kept thinking that could be you. My son inside you. I just had to act. It was a kind of madness. I’m sorry.’
‘I liked it.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘I liked what you did. I liked the way it was so sudden and unplanned.’ She gave a little sob, her efforts at control failing her. ‘For a moment I thought you might actually care for me.’ She swallowed, fighting back the tears and realised she was shaking. ‘But I was wrong about that, wasn’t I? You weren’t excited by me. You were excited by the thought of having a son. How do you imagine that makes me feel?’ As she said the words, she wanted to retract them, wishing she hadn’t told him how much he’d hurt her.
Beside her, Douglas continued to keep his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his jaw set in a hard line, his mouth tightly closed. He drove fast. Too fast, she thought, as they swung round the sharp bends, descending the mountain. Evie clung onto the door handle, trying to control her shaking, and struggling to hold back the incipient tears.
‘I told you, this is a business relationship. I was very clear to you, Evie, my intentions towards you have never been romantic. I’ve apologised. It was the heat of the moment. It shouldn’t have happened. It was inappropriate. Undignified. And it won’t happen again. Not like that.’
He took one hand off the wheel and scrabbled in the glove compartment, producing a pack of cigarettes. Evie drew away when his hand accidentally brushed against her knees as he reached to close the catch before expertly lighting his cigarette. The rest of the journey passed in complete silence.
When they reached George Town he pulled up outside the house. ‘I’ll pick up Jasmine from school and drop her back here on my way to the ferry. Goodbye.’
Without waiting for an answer, he drove away, leaving her standing alone on the pavement.
11
After Douglas had left, Evie stumbled through the rest of the day in a daze. Eating supper, seeing Jasmine to bed that night, sitting by her bedside listening to her reading, kissing the child goodnight – she did all this as if in a trance, her body acting automatically, while her brain was elsewhere. When Jasmine was asleep, Evie went downstairs. The house was silent and there was no sign of Benny. She went into the garden from where she could see Aunty Mimi silhouetted at the kitchen window washing the supper dishes.
The garden was dark, with a sea breeze stirring the leaves, helping cool her down and keeping the mosquitoes at bay. Evie breathed in the sweet heady scent of frangipani, and the soft, subtle pine smell of the casuarina trees. Moths circled in the light spilling from the drawing room onto the lawn.
From further down the street, cockerels were crowing, even though it was only late evening. She’d asked Mary why they did that – often breaking into full crowing in the middle of the night. Mary told her it was because the poor birds were kept in cramped bamboo cages, starved of food, in readiness for cock fighting. Evie shivered at the thought. So much about this place was alien to her, almost savage, far removed from everything and everyone she had ever known.
Utter loneliness swept over her, depressing her spirits, making her want to run upstairs, pack her suitcase and take the next ship back to Britain. She would never fit in. Never feel welcome or comfortable in this godforsaken country.
Evie’s fragile self-confidence had been bolstered by her blossoming friendship with Mary Helston, and today she had enjoyed the company of Susan Hyde-Underwood. But Mary was occupied at the school each day and Susan, up in her highland eyrie, would soon be occupied herself with a small baby. That same self-confidence had been utterly shattered by the treatment Douglas had meted out to her.
She couldn’t help running over and over what had taken place in that wooden hut amid the rubber trees, torturing herself with the way her husband had slipped from what had appeared to be a consuming passion into a cold distance and undisguised self-disgust. He had made his feelings clear. Evie was just a body to him. A vessel to carry his child. Douglas had no interest in her as a person, as a woman, as a wife. He saw her only as the means to an end.
It was an obsession, this need for a son, eating away at him. Evie felt sick to the pit of her stomach at the thought that the passion and excitement she’d believed she had engendered in him had originated with the swollen belly of Mrs Hyde-Underwood. Even standing here alone in the dark of the garden, her face burned with shame and embarrassment.
Hearing a footstep behind her, she spun round to find Arthur Leighton standing in the shadows, watching her.
‘I’m sorry, Evie. Did I scare you, creeping up on you like that?’
Evie breathed in relief when she saw he was alone. Facing Veronica tonight would have been unbearable.
‘Not at all. I’d fallen into a brown study, lost to the world.’ Evie forced a smile to her face. ‘Let me get you a drink, Arthur. It’s delightful to see you. You’ve saved me from myself.’
‘Feeling melancholic, eh?’ He nodded. ‘And yes, I’d love a drink. Seems you and I are both spouseless this evening. I’ll have a stengah, please.’
They walked into the drawing room and she mixed his whisky and soda, and a gin and bitters for herself. ‘Benny’s off today,’ she said. ‘I hope I’ve got the proportions right.’
He took a sip. ‘Perfect.’
Wandering back out to the lawn, they moved, without comment, to sit on the wooden garden chairs in the half-light from the drawing room.
‘Where is your wife tonight?’ She couldn’t bring herself to say Veronica’s name.
‘Playing bridge. I was over
in Butterworth and after a quick supper at the club I thought I’d drop by and see how you were getting along.’
Evie tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. ‘I’m beginning to settle in.’
‘Doug not around?’
‘He left this afternoon for Batu Lembah. We went up to Bellavista today so he could show me how a rubber estate works.’
Even in the half-light she could tell Arthur was frowning. ‘He doesn’t plan for you to move to Batu Lembah with him?’
Again she tried to sound cheerful but her voice was hollow. ‘With Jasmine at school here, it’s more practical for us to be in George Town.’
‘I see.’
‘I was very taken with Bellavista though. So much cooler up there.’
‘Maybe you should suggest moving up there. It is his family home after all.’
‘I’m pretty sure the Hyde-Underwoods would never agree to switch to Batu Lembah. Susan Hyde-Underwood lost no time making that clear to me today. I think she finds the humidity a trial. Doug can’t afford to lose her husband and it’s pretty clear that’s what would happen if he was asked to relocate. And apparently there are a lot of challenges at Batu Lembah that Doug wants to tackle himself. Lots of jungle to cut down and re-plant.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
Evie felt herself reddening. ‘Well not in so many words. The main reason is Jasmine.’
‘I see.’
‘Look, Arthur, is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘No! Not at all.’ He spoke quickly. ‘I was just wondering though, why he didn’t leave Jasmine at the convent school in Butterworth as a day-girl. It’s less than twenty miles from Batu Lembah. You could all have been under one roof.’
Evie didn’t know what to say. Why was she feeling the need to defend her husband’s inexplicable behaviour? She took a gulp of gin too quickly and began to cough.
Arthur leaned forward. ’Forgive me, Evie. I shouldn’t be speculating. I’m sure Doug has his reasons – or rather you both do – it’s none of my concern… Only…’
‘Only what?’
His voice was low. ’It’s just that I’ve become very fond of you and I can see you’re unhappy and that pains me.’
‘Unhappy? I can’t imagine why you should say that.’ She tried to sound indignant, but knew she just sounded lost.
Arthur leaned towards her again and this time took her hand. ‘I wish I could help you. I wish…’ He looked at her and she saw something different in his eyes.
She turned away, uncertain where this was leading and suddenly nervous.
Perhaps Arthur was similarly affected, as he dropped her hand, got up, and said, ‘Remember, Evie, I’m always here for you. Any time you’re in trouble I’ll be here. Please, don’t hesitate to call me.’ Then he turned and went inside. On the threshold he looked back to say, ‘Thanks for the scotch. I needed that.’ A few moments later, she heard the front door close behind him.
Swigging down the remains of her gin, she got up, went inside and mixed herself another one. She craved oblivion tonight. A need to wash away the memory of Douglas and herself on the floor of that hut. A need to wipe out the knowledge that he didn’t care a fig for her and she knew he never would.
It was only as she was climbing into bed, her head whirling from the copious amount of gin she had drunk, that Evie thought again of Arthur Leighton and remembered the surprise she had felt when he took her hand. The look in his eyes at that moment had scared her. It had been so intense. If she didn’t know that Arthur was devoted to Veronica and if Douglas hadn’t made her only too aware how unattractive she herself was, she would have sworn that he had looked at her with longing. Pushing the thought from her head as being preposterous and surely a product of her inebriation, Evie curled into a tight ball and fell immediately asleep.
It was just over three weeks before Evie saw Douglas again. She was glad of the long time, as it had dulled the pain a little.
Instead of arriving at the weekend he turned up mid-week and told her that the following evening they would be entertaining guests for dinner.
Evie’s heart sank at the prospect. Would the party include any of those awful people she’d met at the club on her wedding day? She didn’t think she could survive a whole evening with the likes of them. ‘Who have you invited?’ she asked, curtly.
‘One of the inspectors for Guthrie’s and Reggie Hyde-Underwood – his wife is in the hospital over in Butterworth. They’ve just had a boy.’ His mouth twitched.
‘That’s wonderful news. What have they called him?’
Douglas looked away. ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’
This reminder of what had happened between them made Evie nervous. She didn’t know how to behave around Douglas any more. Not that she ever had.
‘Oh and the Leightons.’
She’d expected as much. ‘The man from Guthrie’s what’s his name? And what is Guthrie’s?’
‘Rogers. Clifford Rogers. His wife will be with him. Don’t know her name.’
‘And Guthrie’s?’
‘One of the big rubber companies.’
‘But I thought you said you own your estates directly.’
Douglas sighed pointedly. ‘Don’t ask so many damned questions, Evie. Everyone knows everyone here. As the chief inspector for all Guthries’ estates throughout the Straits, Rogers knows the lie of the land. I want to talk to him. It’s called doing business. I expect you to keep his wife happy while we do that.’
Evie swallowed, feeling battered. ‘And the Leightons? Why will they be here?’
Douglas’s eyes narrowed. ‘Because Arthur is my friend.’ The sub-text was that it was not her place to ask why. But as an evident afterthought, he added, ‘And because I suspect Clifford Rogers will want to pick Arthur’s brains about the political situation. As I said, it’s called “Doing Business”. Your part in that is merely to keep his wife entertained. Surely that’s something even you can manage?’
It was like a slap in the face. She burned with suppressed rage. What right did he have to treat her this way? As if he resented her for his own bad behaviour.
That night, after a silent supper, during which Evie felt too intimidated and angry to attempt conversation, she told Douglas she was going to bed early and went straight up to her bedroom. She sat in bed reading, finding it hard to concentrate on the words on the page as her head whirled with all the things she wished she’d said to him but had been too afraid to utter.
About five minutes after she’d turned off the light and turned over onto her side to sleep, she heard the bedroom door open and Douglas’s footsteps crossing the wooden floor. Furious, Evie pulled the sheet up over her ears and called out. ‘Go away! I don’t want to be with you.’
She heard the sharp intake of breath. ‘Damn it, Evie. You’re my wife. We talked about all this. I ask little enough of you.’
He reached a hand out to pull back the sheet on his side of her bed.
‘I meant what I said. I won’t be treated this way.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The way you behaved to me on the way back from Bellavista. The way you talked to me this evening. I won’t have it.’ She could feel herself shaking.
‘I told you I was sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did.’
‘And I told you it wasn’t what you did, but what you said afterwards. How do you imagine it made me feel? To be told that it was the sight of another woman’s pregnancy that made you want to have relations with me. You made me feel like… I’m just a … just … a brood mare on a farm. I am not an animal. I am a human being.’ Tears of rage ran down her cheeks and she hauled herself up into a sitting position.
Douglas said nothing. He turned away from her and walked out of the room closing the door quietly behind him.
When he was gone, Evie hugged her arms around her. She couldn’t believe she’d just said all that. But it had to be said. If he decided to call a stop to their joke of
a marriage, so be it. He could send her back to England. She’d be glad if he did. Anything would be better than feeling the way he made her feel. She thumped the pillow with her fist. How had she ever harboured the delusion that they could make this marriage work?
12
The following morning, Evie went to speak to Aunty Mimi about the menu for the dinner. It was immediately apparent that the Chinese woman already knew of Douglas’s plans and had decided with the cook what the menu would be. Evie left the house, feeling superfluous.
As tonight could well prove to be her swan song in Penang and in her brief marriage, she was determined to look her best. There wasn’t time to follow Veronica’s advice about using her local Indian tailor, so she decided to go to a dress shop that Mary Helston had mentioned, which sold ready-made garments.
She took the road along the coast to get there – about a fifteen-minute walk. Evie loved seeing the marine traffic on the busy strait that divided the island from Butterworth. Sampans with strange pleated sails were dotted about on the azure blue water, interspersed with the curved straw roofs of junks. Beyond, plumes of smoke rose from steamer funnels – the ferry to Butterworth and an array of small tramp steamers carrying goods around the Straits Settlements and Sumatra and on towards Java, Ceylon and India.
Lines of palm trees alternated with telegraph poles and bright bursts of orange from the flame-of-the-forest trees along Marine Drive. Bicycles, rickshaws, motorcars and small vans wove between each other and occasional ox carts with their palm-leaf canopies protecting sugar cane, coconuts, or vegetables, stacked in precarious towering piles. In between the various vehicles, people hurried along, on foot and on bicycles or in rickshaws, many wearing wide straw coolie hats tied under their chins. Evie noticed a Malay woman standing beside a water pump, trying to scrub the dirt off her small wriggling children. A grassy sward separated the road from the beach, where the golden sands were lapped by the whispering waves of a calm blue sea.