The Pearl of Penang

by Clare Flynn

  Susan was living with her elderly parents in the north of England and Stanford was to attend Reggie’s old boarding school. Hugh had kept up a constant barrage of requests to be allowed to join Stanford but, at only five years old, Evie told him it was out of the question. How could she send her little boy to a distant place where the discipline was probably tough and where he would grow up too quickly and too far from her? The thought of Hugh becoming as emotionally stunted as his father had been was intolerable.

  Usually Hugh could prevail on his mother to get his own way, but in this one decision Evie was determined not to budge. In a war of attrition, Hugh had won the concession that, if he still wished to board once he turned eight, he could join his friend. She hoped and prayed that, by then, time and distance would have caused Hugh and Stanford to grow apart and each of them to form new attachments. Meanwhile she would make the most of keeping her son at home with her and Jasmine, who was to attend the local girl’s grammar school.

  The café windows were steamed over, and the place was crowded with shoppers and theatre-goers, all divesting themselves of coats and hats and drinking cups of tea served to them by the Lyons’ nippies in their neat black uniforms and starched white caps and aprons. Evie took a sip of her tea and, under the table, gratefully slipped off her shoes, seizing the chance to take the weight off her feet before they had to set off for Waterloo and the journey home to Surrey.

  ‘In the war, Lyons used to make bombs,’ announced Hugh. He was always a gatherer of facts and information and was developing an encyclopaedic brain.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Jasmine. ‘It’s a restaurant. Maybe they made food in the war but not bombs.’

  ‘They did too. They had a great big factory.’

  A passing nippy looked over her shoulder and said, ‘Your little brother’s right. Lyons was in charge of running a bomb factory. I know ‘cause I worked in it. My sister too.’ She winked at Hugh and went off to whisk another table clear of crockery.

  Jasmine rolled her eyes then pulled one of her woollen gloves from her coat pocket and rubbed the steamy window so she could look out. Crowds of people were trudging by, collars turned up against the chill air. None of them appeared to be enjoying the experience. Red double-decker buses and motor cars splashed puddles of water up from the road. It all felt depressing to Evie and she found herself feeling nostalgic for the sunlight of Penang, for the colours and noise and the bustle of Marine Drive.

  Yet when she had paid her brief visit back to George Town en route to England from Australia, she had felt dispirited there too. The island had taken a hammering – not only from the Japanese when they invaded, but more significantly from the Allies in 1945. Evie had intended to visit the Temple of Harmony, but it had been badly damaged in the first round of bombing. Of the monk there was no sign. She’d stood outside the ruined remains of the colourful building and said a silent prayer that he hadn’t been harmed.

  Penang with no Arthur, Douglas, Susan, and with a changed Mary, determined to cut herself off from everything while she regained her strength, made Evie feel sad. Just as Mary believed she had no place anywhere else, Evie wondered where she herself belonged. It wasn’t Penang, nor London. For her children’s sake she had to make some kind of life in England, but it felt like a chore, not a positive choice. Perhaps she belonged nowhere – one of the many people made rootless and displaced by war.

  She told herself to buck up. Her role was to make things as right as possible for Jasmine and Hugh, to give them stability, security and love, and to support them in whatever choices they made as they grew up. She stretched out a hand and pushed a stray lock of hair away from her son’s forehead. He looked so like Douglas - the same thick brown hair and intense blue eyes. Sometimes there would be an echo of Doug in a small mannerism, an inclination of the head or an intonation of voice. But there was none of Doug’s dark brooding or abrupt mood changes in Hugh. The little boy had a sunny disposition and Evie was increasingly sure if it had not been for the loss of his mother and brother and the cruelty of his unloving father, Doug might have been a different man.

  Jasmine was looking out of the window, still watching the passers-by.

  Evie glanced at her wristwatch. They needed to think about heading for Waterloo soon. Reluctantly, she pushed her feet back into her shoes.

  Jasmine gave a little cry. ‘Look Mummy! I’m sure that was him.’

  Evie looked up. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know… Hard to tell as he’s on the other side of the street.’ Jasmine peered through the window

  ‘Who? What are you talking about, darling?’

  ‘Uncle Arthur. He used to come to see us when Daddy was alive. You––’

  Before Jasmine could finish speaking, Evie was on her feet. ‘Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be back.’ She rushed out of the café, bursting through the door and onto the crowded street.

  Dodging behind a bus and weaving between taxicabs, she reached the other side of the street, looking about her, frantically. If Arthur had indeed been there, how could she possibly spot him among all these people? Which direction had he gone in? She ran one way, stopped, and ran back the other way, panic mounting inside her. Why hadn’t she been looking out of the windows herself? How could she have come so close, only to lose him in the crowds? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just. Tears of frustration pressed at her eyes and she stood on the pavement, coatless but oblivious to the cold of the day. If Arthur had been here, he had gone now. And maybe Jasmine had been wrong. After all, it was five years since she’d seen Arthur Leighton. Evie moved towards the kerb to return to Lyons’. A bolt of recognition shot through her and she froze, then spun round.

  He was bent over, tying a shoelace. As he stood up, he saw Evie and his face contorted in shock. His skin was pale, his features gaunt, his eyes haunted. But it was Arthur. They stood facing each other on the edge of the pavement as people moved past them.

  ‘Evie. Is it really you? I thought you’d died in the bombing. In Singapore.’

  She stared at him, still trying to absorb this was actually Arthur. ‘I wasn’t in Singapore. I never got off the train. They wouldn’t let us. They took us straight to the port. I left Malaya the day after I said goodbye to you in Butterworth.’ The two feet of pavement between them felt like a widening chasm. ‘And you? Everyone said you must have been killed. I asked everywhere. The Colonial Office. I went back to Penang. But no matter what they said, I knew if you were dead I would have known. I’d have sensed it.’

  He winced and she felt unsure of herself. The cold of the advancing January afternoon made her shiver, standing there in just a skirt and jumper.

  ‘You’ll freeze to death. Where’s your coat?’ He undid his own and draped it around her shoulders.

  Evie was shocked at the thinness of him. Arthur had had an athletic figure, tall, muscular, strong, even if he was often a sloucher. But his shoulders were stooped and he had the same gnarled and bony hands she had seen in Mary. He seemed to be avoiding her gaze.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ he asked.

  ‘Over there.’ She gestured across the road. ‘Lyons Corner House. Jasmine saw you through the window. Come,’ she said. ‘Come and see the children.’

  He guided her across the street. The noise of horns and the rattle of the trams preventing him from replying until they reached the other pavement.

  ‘I can’t stop, Evie. I have a meeting. Where are you staying?’ He was still avoiding her eyes.

  ‘I’ve rented a house. In Surrey. Near Reigate.’

  There was a distance between them which Evie found inexplicable. As if they barely knew each other. Polite. Awkward. Strained.

  ‘Look. I can’t talk now. I have to go to the Colonial Office. I’ve given my notice and the Permanent Secretary wants to talk to me. I’m going to be late.’

  ‘You’re leaving the Foreign Service?’

  ‘I’ve accepted a position at Oxford. Teaching and resea
rch. Colonial History.’

  ‘I see.’ She didn’t at all. She didn’t understand anything. Why he was so cold. So distant. As if they were mere acquaintances. Barely even that.

  ‘How can I get in touch?’ His voice was quiet. No enthusiasm. Evie realised he hadn’t smiled once.

  She pulled a scrap of paper from her jacket pocket. ‘Do you have a pencil?’ He handed her his fountain pen and she scribbled her address down and passed it to him.

  ‘Thanks. We’ll talk.’ He put the paper in his pocket and, nodding, walked away.

  Evie was crushed. Deflated. Didn’t he care for her any more? He had behaved like a stranger. Her heart was breaking.

  The journey home passed in a daze. After explaining to Jasmine that yes, it had indeed been Uncle Arthur, but he’d had to rush off for a meeting, she gathered their things together and ushered the children out of the restaurant.

  On the train, Evie left Jasmine to respond to Hugh’s chatter, and stared unseeing through the grimy train window, remembering that other train taking them through the Malayan night, away from Arthur and into an unknown future. She remembered the way he had held her on that station platform five years ago, when he’d promised they would one day be together. The feel of his lips as they brushed lightly against hers, amid the chaos of the platform at Butterworth. The way his eyes had looked into hers as though he were looking into her soul. Yet, the same man, the man she loved beyond reason, had stood in front of her, unsmiling, avoiding her eyes, before leaving her without even so much as a touch of his hand.

  32

  Not for the first time, Evie had cause to be grateful for the kindness and perception of her daughter. Jasmine sensed that all was not well with her mother. When they arrived home, Jasmine offered to cook the supper. When Evie sat listlessly at the table without eating, Jasmine saw Hugh to bed, telling Evie she herself would be having an early night and suggested Evie do the same.

  The last thing Evie wanted was to go to bed. It would be a sleepless night. Better to delay the inevitable. She poured herself a rare gin and sat down to think through what had happened that afternoon.

  Arthur had treated her like a stranger. How was it possible? Evie began to doubt everything. Had he been playing a game with her all along? But that was inconceivable. She knew as clearly as she knew her own mind, that there had been no dissembling in Arthur’s declarations of love.

  She asked herself if Veronica’s presence had enabled him to love Evie at a protected distance and now that Veronica was dead, he was no longer interested, wanting only what he couldn’t have?

  None of it made any sense. Over and over and round and round she went, trying to imagine what had wrought such a change in Arthur.

  She remembered how Mary had been. How she had said she’d feel awkward and out of place in Britain. Perhaps that was more a result of what had happened to her at the hands of the Japanese than a case of her not knowing England. Was it his wartime experiences that had made Arthur so closed and cold towards her?

  She got up and poured herself another drink. She rarely drank at all these days and never alone, but she needed something to blot out all these confused feelings and the loss and grief that had hit her like a train. For it was indeed grief. She was mourning the loss of a dream. Of a man that perhaps no longer existed or maybe had only existed inside her head.

  Sipping the gin, feeling the warmth of the spirit in her throat, she started to cry. Big silent tears. She let them flow. After tonight, she wouldn’t allow herself that indulgence again. But now, in the moment, there was no point in trying to stop the tears. Forget Arthur. Forget Penang. Forget everything except those beautiful children sleeping upstairs, she told herself.

  The gin must have made her drowsy, as she woke with a start, curled up on the sofa, at the sound of the doorbell. Evie got to her feet and went to the door. No one called in the evenings. And she knew so few people. Scarcely able to breathe, she opened the door, knowing with absolute certainty that Arthur would be standing there.

  As soon as she saw him she knew her love for him was as strong as ever.

  He looked wretched. ‘I’m sorry, Evie.’ He drew her into his arms and they stood there for a couple of moments on the doorstep, her face buried in the rough tweed of his coat.

  ‘May I come in? I need to explain.’

  Evie stepped backwards and took his hand, leading him into the drawing room. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she said. ‘I have no whisky but you’re welcome to have a gin.’

  He shook his head. ‘A cup of tea would be nice.’

  Still nervous, and unsure where things stood between them, she went into the kitchen and busied herself making the tea, her hands shaking. When she got back, he was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. She handed him the tea but he put it aside on the mantlepiece.

  ‘I wasn’t completely straight with you before. I knew you hadn’t died in Singapore and had got to Australia. I’d been a party to the evacuation plans. All the records were destroyed in the war but I found out the ship you would have left on got safely to Australia.’

  ‘Why didn’t you contact me?’ She looked at him helplessly, as he continued to pace up and down. She sank into a chair.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want to see me. To have anything to do with me.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because so much time had passed. You must have built a new life.’ He hesitated. ‘And because of what happened to me. Because of what I’ve become.’

  ‘You’re speaking in riddles, Arthur.’ Evie felt bewildered. ‘Nothing you’ve done can make any difference to how I feel about you. I love you and I always believed you loved me too.’

  He went towards her, bending down to kneel on the floor in front of her chair. He took her hands in his. ‘I do love you. It was only the thought of you, of seeing you again, that got me through those dreadful years. My first thought each morning and my last thought at night was of you. I’ll love you, Evie, till the day I die. Nothing will ever change that. But I’ve changed. I’ve seen such things, done such things. I’ll never be able to wash the stain of that away from me.’ He leaned back on his heels. ‘And look at me, Evie. See what’s become of me. What they did to me. Under these clothes, my body is covered in welts. My back will never heal. I’ll carry the marks the Japanese guards made on me for the rest of my life. I’m a broken man, Evie. A collection of scars and bones. How can I expect you to love me? If you could see me you’d feel only disgust.’

  Evie’s heart swelled and she slipped off the chair to join him kneeling on the floor. Bending forward, she kissed him, softly, feeling the warmth of his lips against hers. ‘I can never feel anything but complete love for you, Arthur. You are the love of my life and I thank God for sending you back to me.’

  She kissed him again, tentatively at first, then as he responded, their kiss deepened and his arms went around her, holding her as if he wanted never to let her go.

  Evie let her lips explore his face. His thin lined face. The dark sunken area around his eyes. ‘Come to bed,’ she said at last. ‘Show me those scars and I’ll show you how much I love you.’

  Arthur gave a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘You need to know. I’m going away, Evie. The Permanent Secretary offered me a new posting this afternoon. I’ve accepted. I’m going to turn down the Oxford job. I’m leaving England.’

  ‘Where? When?’

  ‘In a couple of weeks. Kenya.’

  Fear closed her throat and she felt her mouth dry. He had come to say goodbye. She felt a conviction that, come what may, she belonged with this man. She stroked a hand over his face. ‘Where you always wanted to return. You’ve finally got what you wanted and deserved. Back to those primeval plains – that savage beauty you love so much.’

  ‘You remembered?’

  ‘I have remembered everything you ever said to me, Arthur. It’s what’s kept me going all these years.’

  ‘Will you come with me?’ His voice was quiet, disbelieving.
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  Her heart leapt inside her ribcage. ‘Of course, I will. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Arthur Leighton.’

  ‘Really? You’d leave everything here and come to Africa with me? A broken wreck of a man?’

  ‘Try and stop me.’

  ‘What about the children?’

  ‘We come as a package. That’s the only condition. As long as they want to come too. And knowing how Hugh feels about lions and elephants I think it’s a foregone conclusion. I’d like Jasmine to want it too – but I have a feeling she will. But what about you, will you have us all?’

  ‘Nothing would make me happier.’ Arthur gave a rueful smile. ‘He knew, you know.’

  ‘Who knew? And knew what? You’re speaking in riddles again.’

  ‘Doug. He asked me to take care of you and the children. He said he knew you loved me.’

  Evie was distraught. ‘He knew?’

  ‘He told me he was glad. That we would have each other.’

  ‘But you were married to Veronica.’

  ‘Doug never liked poor Veronica. And maybe he knew what would happen. A dying man’s vision. You heard Veronica died in a camp?’

  Evie nodded. ‘Mary Helston was interned with her. Mary told me Veronica saved her life. She said Veronica was the only reason Mary and several others survived. Veronica was incredibly brave and stole food and medicines. But the Japanese caught her in the end.’

  Arthur’s mouth twitched and a look of sadness darkened his face. ‘Is that how she died? They executed her? Do you know how?’

  Evie shook her head. ‘Mary wouldn’t tell me anything else. She can’t bear to talk about her experiences under the Japanese but she wanted me to know what Veronica did for them all.’