Chapter 2
Steve left for KL after breakfasting with Diana on their shady veranda. Despite the relative coolness of the morning, she could already feel the humidity rising.
Di tidied their room and slipped into her bathing costume. The longer than usual top covered her stomach and her bump was barely noticeable. After filling her beach bag with the necessities for a quiet swim followed by a read in the shade, Di left the room and walked down to the pool.
The clear, turquoise-coloured water looked enticing and she was soon doing some easy breaststroke laps of the pool. Recognising the other guests from last night in the dining room, Di exchanged pleasantries while she swam. She had learned that their hotel was only half full, which accounted for the space and quietness about the place. Cool and refreshed, Di dried herself off and sat down with her e-reader for a morning of peaceful relaxation.
She had started a new novel on the flight but had only read two chapters. The story so far was far-fetched; the main character had begun to irritate her. She wondered if she was actually going to finish it. The writer had a good reputation, but Di felt she was trying too hard. There was just too much happening for the story to ring true. Di's mind wandered and putting the reader down, she examined her surroundings.
The hotel had begun life as a family home for the wealthy Chalcot family from England. The large house occupied a prominent position in the middle of the estate, and Di supposed the family money came from the rubber which was always in demand. Now the estate had diversified, like so many other businesses, with a hotel.
Beyond the pool, Di could see a building which resembled an English summer house. Built in brick and glass it was topped with a green-tiled roof which matched that of the main house. Despite its obvious English beginnings, the green tiles definitely gave an oriental feel to the place.
Restless with her tedious and unreadable book (she had now decided), Di thought she would go for a walk and explore more of the grounds. The day was heating up fast and she was glad she had remembered to bring her straw sunhat. She had suffered from sunstroke before, and Steve would be annoyed if she was careless again.
Following a gravel path meandering between neat flower-beds, she eventually arrived at the summer house. A shallow flight of steps led to a small patio with a large brick barbeque in one corner, and at the back of this paved area there was a pair of closed glass doors. Trying the door handle, she found they were unlocked. Inside, she saw a row of wooden table and chairs neatly stacked against a side wall, suggesting that the place was used as a function room for parties and private lunches.
"My father built this place on a whim. He really wanted a folly, but the local architect and builders couldn't or wouldn't understand what he was aiming for, so he ended up with this. We use it for wedding breakfasts or birthday parties, but mostly it's ignored. No air conditioning you see. I suppose I could get round to having it fitted, but it's hardly worth the bother."
Turning, Diana met those grey, appraising eyes again. She was standing just inside the doorway and Di couldn't understand how she had failed to hear her footsteps on the gravel outside.
"I think it's lovely. I've always fancied a place like this, but we haven't the room and like you, I doubt we'd use it enough to justify the expense."
"Oh, Father didn't worry about expense. If he wanted something, he just took or bought it."
Di couldn't help recognising the touch of bitterness in Miss Chalcot's voice. She felt a frisson of excitement well up within her. She just knew there was some mystery concerning this family and place. "About those papers you mentioned yesterday, would you like me to take a look sometime?"
"Yes please. When would be convenient? I realise this is a holiday for you but--"
Much more interested than twenty-four hours ago, Di interrupted her, "How about now?"
~~~~~
Diana was surprised on entering Miss Chalcot's private study; the room was out of keeping with the rest of the light and airy house. It was dark and sombre, more masculine than feminine. Old English hunting prints adorned the walls, together with a collection of photographs which Di supposed were family portraits. An enormous desk took up almost the entire right-hand wall with a huge chair behind it. Set into another wall were French windows which led to a partitioned balcony. Because of the sloping lawn, this part of the building was higher than the rest and the balcony was set some feet from the ground, not high enough to deter determined intruders, but enough to give a lofty view of the grounds.
Casting an eye round the study, she noticed a photograph of a beautiful blonde woman in her wedding gown, while another portrayed a tall brunette with striking good looks. Amongst these, there were various poses of children at different stages in their lives. Di couldn't discern how many there were or to whom they belonged and she didn't know her hostess well enough to comment or ask.
Ignoring Diana's obvious interest in her family portraits, Miss Chalcot indicated Diana should join her at her desk. "Here you'll find some interesting reading no doubt," she said, casting a hand over a pile of slim, leather-bound volumes lying on the polished wood.
Diana turned from the photographs and walked over to join her. Picking a book up at random, she flicked open the pages exclaiming, "Why, it's a diary!"
"They all are," Miss Chalcot agreed drily.
Diana looked up at her words. "So what exactly would you like me to do with them?" she asked. She turned over another page, noting the small, neat handwriting. "Are they yours?"
"Um no, not really, mostly they're my mother's. I would like you to write them into a book. It doesn't have to be a biography. In fact, I'd prefer it to be written as a novel. Can you do that?"
"Ye-es. It depends on the content and whether it catches my interest."
"Oh, you'll find it interesting enough. There's plenty to get your teeth into."
"But why? Forgive me, but why me? Why don't you do it yourself?"
There was a pause. Miss Chalcot looked away, and Diana noticed a spasm cross her face before she replied.
"Because I don't have time. When I recognised your name on the booking form, I took it as a sign. I knew you for an acclaimed author of repute and considered you the best person for recording our story."
"I appreciate that. I am flattered you consider me worthy. But this is about you. I think if you write it, with your family name and everything, it will sell better."
"I'm neither interested in selling nor marketing it, and I've just told you I haven't the time."
"I understand, time is precious and I'm busy too..." Di's voice trailed away as she caught the stricken look on Miss Chalcot's face.
"You don't understand." Again there was a pause. "I'll pay you handsomely. I just don't have time, full stop. Perhaps not even a month."
Shaken, Diana felt a shock pass through her as she realised what she was saying.
"I have untreatable pancreatic cancer, and the doctors and surgeons have done all they can. This is important to me. I have this yearning for the complete family history to be recorded accurately and put in order. It should have been done years ago. I should have done it, but I let the years slip by and want to put things straight while there is still time."
Diana didn't know what to say. She was embarrassed by her earlier reticence to help the woman. "I'm very sorry. That's such awful bad luck. An uncle of mine had the same and he lived for four years after the treatment, maybe you--"
"Maybe. But for now they've told me to expect the worst. I was stupid and delayed seeking medical help when I had the first symptoms. Now I'm to pay for my stupidity. It is nobody's fault but my own, and I'm prepared for my death, but first I have to put one or two things straight."
Realising Miss Chalcot had made up her mind; Diana knew she would take no advice from a stranger. Diana recognised her as being strong-willed, stubborn and used to having her own way.
"Okay. So if I take this project on, am I to understand that you want me to make a story from your family's
history?"
"No, I want you to take it from my mother's entry into the Chalcot family when she married my father up to the final diary entry. You'll soon get the gist."
"May I ask? Are there any other members of your family still living?"
Again, there was a brief pause. "I have a sister. She lives in England."
"I see." Diana did. From Miss Chalcot's terse reply, Diana guessed there was some bad feeling between them, and as she obviously wasn't going to say anything else at that time, Diana had to ignore it.
"Well, I'd better make a start. I'll read through the diaries and give it some thought."
"We haven't discussed your fee yet."
It was Diana's turn to pause while she thought. "Let me have a read-through first. If I like the idea and consider I have the makings of a creditable novel, then we'll talk about it."
Diana felt she had to keep control of the situation. Miss Chalcot was educated and strong-minded. It would be all too easy for her to completely dictate terms on her home turf. Diana was her own woman and would not let herself be bullied. She didn't need the work, but she was interested enough to read about this mysterious woman and her life.
She had a sudden premonition that these diaries were likely to wake some sleeping dragons.
Chapter 3
"Di! Can you get your head out of that book for five minutes, please? I want to know if you'd like a hire car for a few days to explore the area."
Aware she was being spoken to, Diana looked up from the diary with a questioning look on her face. "Sorry? What did you say?"
"Oh forget it!"
"No I am sorry, really. What do you want?"
"I was just wondering if you'd like me to organise a hire car."
Catching Steve’s eager look, Diana realised she had been neglecting him.
"That's a good idea. When for and how long?"
"I thought for a week or so. We can always arrange to have it again at the end of our stay."
Her face fell. "Oh."
"'Oh' what? I thought you wanted to find some of those places you used to visit when you were a kid?"
"I do. It's just that this part of the book is so interesting and I want to finish it. Here, take a look."
She passed the diary over to Steve who glanced at the page she was reading.
"Mmm. So what? This bit doesn't make much sense to me. Who's Hermione?"
Diana gave an exasperated sigh. "It does if you start at the beginning. Look, read this first…"
~~~~~
…Kebun Pertama Plantation, Kuala Lumpur, Malaya, 1950s
Devastated by his words and barely able to grasp their significance, Eleanor was momentarily struck dumb. She felt her face growing taut, the blood draining away, leaving her ashen and chilled. Not now. Not again. After all these years, she had begun to feel safe. Sinking back into the brown, worn leather upholstery of the surgery chair while his words droned on, she barely listened, her mind numb.
Lady Chalcot, twenty-nine years old and still considered a beauty in a fair and ethereal manner, was deeply chagrined upon discovering she was not ill.
For the past three weeks Eleanor had experienced some rather violent sickness bouts and vague aches and pains, and her husband Sir Winston was becoming more ill-tempered and brusque than usual. That morning, not wanting to displease him further, Eleanor ordered the car and driver to take her into hot and fumy Kuala Lumpur to visit the family doctor.
The ride in the Bentley from their vast acres of rubber, usually took an hour and Eleanor made good her time, contemplating life with her husband.
Eleanor met Winston bang in the middle of her coming-out season in the late forties. She was an only child of doting, elderly parents and was thoroughly enjoying being one of the year's debutantes. At the time, Eleanor Gresham, as she was born, did not appear to suffer from the self-doubt that afflicted at least half of the season's hopefuls. This made her stand out in a crowd as someone special. She possessed a gentle remoteness which captivated the older Winston those eleven years ago.
Born into an upper middle-class family, Eleanor was not affected by monetary pressures, her father having made a fortune before the war and was cleverly hanging on to it, unlike many unfortunate members of the Old World whose fortunes crumbled away in the post-war years. Brought up in Surrey, Eleanor's father had chosen a house in the Lutyens style: a rambling warren of a place built at the turn of the last century. Surrounding the house were gardens, terraced, clipped and criss-crossed with well-tended, trim paths.
The household boasted a chauffeur-cum-gardener, a house-maid and cook, all of whom had served the Greshams for many years.
The house, 'Long Acre', was remarkable, boasting sensational bathrooms with huge baths and walk-in showers, shiny taps on tall pipes and enormous fluffy white Egyptian cotton towels. A particular feature of the house was its cavernous drawing room with a vaulted ceiling, excellent early eighteenth century furniture and fine mid-nineteenth-century pictures of Italianate scenery. Huge bowls of waxy flowers covered the highly-polished table tops. Everything was ordered and perfectly displayed without a hint of any ragbag of tastes these country houses were inclined to represent.
It was in fact a good analogy of Eleanor's own life.
Winston was a surviving member of the select Old World, who had retained ancient houses, pheasants for shooting and packs of hounds. Perhaps, since the war there were fewer servants at the beck and call of the Chalcot family: one chef, one butler and three housemaids instead of six. Otherwise, most had remained as it was in Winston's great-grandfather's time.
Great-grandfather was astute enough to understand that judicious investment and a far-sighted marriage would provide and maintain the family for years to come. Most of the estates in Yorkshire and the enormous London house in Kensington were intact and in almost pristine condition, with the rubber estate in Malaya being just one of the foreign ventures which were more than surviving the rocky seas of the twentieth century.
Sir Winston, son to Edward Chalcot, was an enormously rich man in his own right. He enjoyed his wealth as much as he enjoyed fine wines, works of art, horseflesh and desirable women.
Eleanor was beautiful with long blonde hair which curled naturally over her smooth shoulders when she brushed it out last thing before retiring. Serene features and a calm exterior hid whatever her true feelings were.
Arriving at the doctor's surgery, Eleanor was shaken from her musings. Doctor Hugh Kilbraithe had been the family's doctor for as long as Eleanor had lived in Malaya. Tall, dark and taciturn, he was a perfect model of his profession. Alighting from the Bentley and feeling unusually nervous, Lady Eleanor slowly walked up the steps to escape the heat and stepped inside the shady inviting house.
~~~~~
"My dear lady, there is no doubt about it. You are indeed expecting. I estimate you to be in your thirteenth or fourteenth week. The bouts of irregular nausea have masked the first few months of early morning sickness. Yes my dear, you are to experience motherhood once again."
Dismay settled on Eleanor like a heavy cloak upon her shoulders. Another baby! She had two living children, both daughters, but no son. Winston still demanded that she bear him an heir. After the last painful and heart-breaking miscarriage, Eleanor was filled with a feeling of great despair. Was she to suffer all that once more? Would this pregnancy end in misery too? Another little bloodied body to be wrapped unseen and bundled away before she had regained her senses.
Repressing a shudder, Eleanor turned her attention back to Hugh Kilbraithe.
"You know what I think you should do?" He gave her a deep look, showing the concern in his eyes. Eleanor raised her large blue eyes to his, her lips pale in contrast.
"No," she whispered.
"Go back to England. Go as soon as it can be arranged. I know your husband." Pausing, he looked towards the open window; sounds from the city came to them upon the fickle breeze that lifted the moist tendrils from Eleanor's brow. He didn't want to dwell up
on her moist brow or her temple or the delicate spot behind her ear.
"I know he is desperate to have a son, but I believe you will have better care back home in England. The last two miscarriages were particularly hard for you. This is a cruel climate here and the monsoon will soon be upon us. Go and have the baby in England. I know of a splendid nursing home which specialises in obstetrics. The matron is an old friend of mine, and they have all the latest equipment to take care of you and your infant. They have special incubators for sickly new-borns too and all the modern up-to-date equipment, still lacking out here. I'm not saying you'll need any of it, but you should be prepared. You don't want to have to rely on just basic care. There, you'll have perfect rest and the best medical attention. Eleanor, I--"
"Hugh - don't."
"You know I would rather you didn't have this child at all. Your last miscarriage was almost too much for you. Do you understand what I am saying? I would risk everything if you wanted me to. He shouldn't have forced you again--"
"Hugh, please! We've been through all this before. Winston is desperate for a son and it's…it's my duty." She looked away in embarrassment.
"Duty!" he thundered. "Duty! For God's sake, Eleanor! This is the fifties, not the Victorian or even Edwardian times. Having an heir is just part of his huge ego. It is so out of date. Dear God! Your health should come first."
Biting her lip, Eleanor looked away lest he see her tears welling up.
A silence hung between them. The swish from the overhead fan seemed loud and out of place. Eleanor struggled to her feet, not wanting Hugh to see her fear and distress.
"My dear, I am so sorry. I had no right to say that." Springing from behind his desk, Hugh took two large strides and was by her side. "It's just that…..well, you know how much I care for you." His face was stricken as if he'd given too much away.
"Sssh! Please Hugh, we've spoken about this and I know how you feel. I--" she tried to stifle a sob.
2 Children of the Plantation Page 2