In the Mouth of the Tiger

by Lynette Silver

  ‘I have no money myself at the moment,’ I said frankly. ‘But I am going to see Mr Mayhew on Wednesday afternoon. If I can, I will get him to give you the bail money for Mr Srinivasan. How much is owing?’

  Dr Mahmood spread his hands. ‘Bail was set at ten dollars. It is a kind offer you have made, but I do warn you that there is little chance you will see the money again. These people have no opportunity to earn money in Penang, and if Rajeev were to be released he would leave for Kedah immediately. In fact, that would be my advice to him. There are only so many bench warrants that can be executed, and there are so many issued these days that the chances of anyone executing one on Rajeev are remote in the extreme.’

  Ten dollars! I was a schoolgirl with only pocket money to my name – remitted by postal order whenever my mother thought about it – but even to me the amount was so contemptibly low that I blushed with shame. To value a man’s freedom at ten dollars seemed the height of indecency.

  We turned to the matter that had brought me to Dr Mahmood’s office, and I told him the whole story of Saturday evening, beginning with Molly telling me that Burnbrae was to be sold. ‘I had no idea it had been left to me by my stepfather,’ I said. ‘Nobody ever told me it was mine, and now that I know about it I don’t want it to be sold.’

  Dr Mahmood folded his hands together on his blotter and leaned back in his rather squeaky bentwood chair. ‘The nub of the matter is whether your trustee is doing the right thing by you,’ he said. ‘Or whether there has been some hanky-panky. I find it hard to believe that Peter Mayhew would deliberately set out to breach the conditions of a trust that had been given him. He is an arrogant and often thoughtless man, but there has never been any accusation made against his integrity.’

  ‘So what should I do?’ I asked.

  ‘You will be seeing Mr Mayhew on Wednesday. You should ask him to tell you if he is administering a trust of which you are the beneficiary. You must ask him the details of any such trust. Then you must ask him to put his answers in the form of a letter to you, signed by him. Then you can come back and see me and we will take it from there.’

  ‘Is that all?’ I asked. It sounded an extraordinary simple solution.

  ‘That is all. If we have any doubts about what Mr Mayhew puts in his letter, I will make inquiries at the Probate Court. But why waste money making those inquiries if everything is above board and to our satisfaction?’

  I still hesitated. I had built such significance into this interview that I could not believe it was already over. But Dr Mahmood was firm. ‘Now, Miss Roberts, you must excuse me. I have other clients waiting to see me. Some of them have quite serious matters to deal with.’

  I left his little office feeling quite chastened. My suspicion that Molly had directed my business to Dr Mahmood as a favour to him seemed particularly unworthy. It had in fact been the other way around. Dr Mahmood was a busy, competent professional who had taken me on pro bono as a favour to Molly.

  I was blushing a little as I walked through the crowded waiting room and down into busy Chulia Street. How easily we get things out of proportion, particularly our own importance in the scheme of things.

  But by the time I was sitting in the tram rattling down Argyll Street, with a glorious tropical sunset illuminating the air around me, I was beginning to feel quite pleased with myself. I had after all taken charge of my affairs, seen my first lawyer, and in a way stood up to my mother.

  I had even had the courage to intervene, in a modest way, to help the fierce-eyed but gentle Tamil revolutionary. The confidence given to me by my dream was proving real and durable. It seemed to me I was no longer a child but a confident young woman of the world.

  There was a cable waiting for me when I got home. It was from my mother, and was no more and no less than I had expected. Arriving Penang Tuesday stop Staying E&O Hotel stop Meet me there 4 PM stop Julia. No terms of endearment, just a summons specifying time and place. And not even signed ‘Mother’.

  I waved the message absently in front of my face, disappointed but not surprised. Then I frowned. The E&O was the centre of Penang’s social life, and I could hardly roll up wearing one of my cotton print sundresses. Apart from the social disgrace of such a faux pas, my mother would kill me. But four o’clock would be far too early to wear an evening dress, or even one of the simple cocktail dresses I had run up. That left only one alternative: my long-suffering school uniform. The uniform for the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus was a cream cotton blouse, pale blue-and-gold tartan skirt, and long white socks. I hated wearing uniform out of term time, but that couldn’t be helped. It did need a wash and press, and my shoes could do with a fresh coat of brown stain . . .

  Preoccupied with these practical, mundane thoughts, I did not notice Irma until I turned and bumped into her. She had been standing just behind me, obviously trying to read the message as I flapped it in the air. It surprised me that she had not already opened the envelope herself. She had done that before.

  I took her reticence as a sign of my burgeoning status as an adult, and felt a heady surge of pleasure.

  ‘It’s from my mother,’ I offered with a friendly smile. ‘She’s arriving tomorrow and wants me to meet her at her hotel.’

  Irma opened and shut her mouth, surprised at my easy friendliness. It completely disarmed her, and the cutting remark I read in her eyes died unborn.

  ‘No doubt Mother will want to pay what is owing on my board,’ I said, following up my advantage. ‘Perhaps you might make up an account for me to give to her?’

  That night a storm lashed Penang, roaring in from the Malacca Straits and tearing down trees and power poles all over the island. Lying in my bed I flinched as bolts of lightning cracked viciously in the blackness and sudden bursts of rain thundered on the roof. The violence of the elements outside matched a growing turbulence within me as I wrestled with the thought of tomorrow’s meeting with my mother. I did not know what concerned me most – the prospect of an even stronger gust tearing the house apart or the thought of my mother’s face when I told her I had gone behind her back and seen a lawyer of my own. I had decided I would have to tell her everything, and as soon as possible, because I was absolutely determined that Burnbrae would not be sold. I don’t think I had ever felt more determined about anything in my life before.

  Around one o’clock I gave up trying to sleep and reached for my book. The electricity was off, as it so often was in those days, so I lit the lamp on my bedside table.

  The small ceremony of lighting the lamp, and the warm glow it cast, took me back to my dream of Denis. Instead of reading I lay with my arms folded behind my head, staring through the mosquito net into the golden shadows above me. The turbulent thoughts in my head settled into a warm fuzziness, full of half-formed images of the man in my dream, of our future wedding, and of walking with him down to the farm in Happy Valley. Somehow or other Robbie was also there, with his rather sad smile and his battered copy of the poetry of Rupert Brookes. The images became a comfortable dream, and I awoke to a magically transformed world of still, pearly morning light and the sound of birds.

  When I asked for my mother’s room at the E&O’s ornate reception desk, the suave Chinese clerk consulted a chit in front of him. ‘Mrs Roberts is waiting for you on the Seaside Terrace,’ he said, gesturing towards the wide-open doors on the other side of the lobby.

  I had visited the E&O only once before, to attend a birthday party for a girl I’d met at school, but I had never ventured onto the famous seaside promenade. It was sacred territory in Penang social circles. Tuans and their ladies sat there under sun umbrellas, drinking stengahs while they waited for curry tiffin. Administration wallahs used it as a meeting place outside the heat and confinement of their offices. Languid planters lounged there while on furlough from their responsibilities up country.

  It was not the place for a fifteen-year-old girl in school uniform – with a black eye to boot. And naturally Mother made this perfectly plain the instant her eyes
alighted on me.

  ‘For why are you dressed like that, Nona?’ she snapped, sitting up abruptly in the deck chair in which she had been reclining. ‘And with a black eye, too. You have been fighting? You disappoint me so much! Is it that you do not wish to look good for your mother?’ My mother’s English deteriorated when she was angry, and I could tell by the heavy Russian inflection in her voice that she was very angry indeed. Madam Tanya, sitting beside her, at least had the grace to get out of her chair and offer me a limp hand from a distance.

  ‘I had nothing else to wear,’ I explained meekly. ‘I’ve only got summer prints, and I thought this would be more appropriate.’

  ‘I left you my sewing machine, did I not?’ Mother retorted. ‘What have you been doing with it? Making your silly dolls for the stupid children in that boarding house? You must wake up to the world, Nona.’

  I did not know what to say, and just stood there. My mother let the moment drag on, to teach me a lesson. It had happened like this so often, but it hurt just as much every time.

  And then she was on her feet, all smiles, and had wrapped me in a great bear hug. ‘But we should not be arguing like this!’ she said. ‘I have not seen my little girl for so long!’

  ‘More than five months, Mother,’ I couldn’t help saying. ‘I was beginning to worry that something might have happened to you. Couldn’t you have cabled me just once or twice, so that I would know you were all right?’

  ‘Complaints, complaints. Nothing but complaints from my daughter!’ She held me at arm’s length, scrutinising me from head to toe. ‘Nona is turning into a lovely woman, don’t you think, Tanya?’

  Madam Tanya had returned to her deck chair and taken up her drink. She turned her head lazily in my direction. ‘Perhaps.’ The word hung in the air, a calculated slap in the face. Tanya hated me and always had. I was her rival, and because I was my mother’s daughter, as far as she was concerned I would always have an unfair advantage.

  ‘Nona, go and tidy yourself up, and then get a chair and join us. Someone is coming to talk with us. Someone that I particularly want you to impress.’

  Tidy myself up? I walked back to the lobby, shoulders drooping, looking for the powder room. I was a child once again, sent out of the room for being naughty. Pain touched me deep inside. A mixture of anger at my mother’s brusqueness, and disappointment that I had so easily fallen back into the role of awkward child. But also apprehension: how on earth was I going to summon up the courage to tell her about Dr Mahmood?

  I breathed deeply in front of the mirror. A small, rather frightened face stared back. A pretty face with level brown eyes, a somewhat snub nose, and thick brown hair cut at shoulder length. I tried a brave smile. It looked grotesque, and I grinned in spite of myself. Remember, Nona, I told myself, you are an awful lot better than the crowd you are with now. Don’t ever let them frighten you.

  I squared my shoulders, tried the smile again. It looked a lot more assured. Tidy myself up, indeed! I didn’t even put a comb to my hair, but turned on my heel and walked straight back to my mother’s table.

  A man had joined the table, a thin man with sleek black hair and a pencil-line moustache. A blue handkerchief hung foppishly from the breast pocket of his fashionable cream suit, but the eyes he turned on me as I rejoined the group were anything but foppish. They were hard brown agates, cold and calculating.

  ‘This is my daughter Nona,’ Mother introduced me. ‘Nona, meet a very important gentleman who is going to make our lives very different. Mr Aubrey and I are business partners, are we not, Mr Aubrey?’

  Mr Aubrey shook my hand. ‘I am considering a business proposition with your mother, Nona,’ he said, addressing me directly. ‘You are very much involved, so I am glad you can join us.’

  I sat down feeling curiously breathless. Something was happening very fast and I had no idea what it was.

  ‘How am I involved?’ I asked.

  ‘Let me tell the girl what we have arranged,’ Mother snapped, shooting a glance at Mr Aubrey. ‘Nona, Mr Aubrey has offered to help us establish a hairdressing salon in his building in Kuala Lumpur. A lot of details need to be settled, but it does mean we will be able to live like a family again. Madam Tanya will help me run the salon, and you will work there as an apprentice. It will give you security and a career. You will even have a share in the business.’

  ‘All depending on what you decide,’ Mr Aubrey interposed. ‘You need to think about this very carefully, Nona. It is a big commitment, and I am sure you will want to discuss it with your advisers.’

  ‘What’s to discuss? What’s to discuss?’ Mother cried, opening her arms theatrically. ‘This is the best thing that has ever happened to our family. Nona will be seeing Mr Mayhew tomorrow and he will tell her how lucky we are.’ She turned to Madam Tanya. ‘Is this not the best thing that has ever happened to us?’

  Madam Tanya smiled enigmatically. ‘I’m not sure Nona sees it the way we do, Madam. Perhaps that convent of hers has given her ideas above her station. Perhaps Nona thinks it is below her to be an apprentice hairdresser.’

  I shook my head. ‘It seems a good idea,’ I said a little uncertainly. In truth I was horrified at the thought of leaving the Convent. I hated living with the Ulrichs, but I was almost happy at school. After a slow start I had begun to make friends, and I had developed a great deal of affection and respect for my tutor, Sister Felice.

  ‘I think it important Nona discusses her decision with Mr Mayhew . . .’ Mr Aubrey began, but Mother interrupted him again.

  ‘I will make sure Nona makes the right decision,’ she said sharply. ‘It is not for Mr Mayhew to run her life. Nona is my daughter and I know what is best for her.’

  Mr Aubrey was not used to being interrupted and he made this clear by rising abruptly. ‘Perhaps we should talk tomorrow,’ he said, ‘when we know if this business is to proceed or not.’ He had no particular accent but his voice did have a curious, flat quality that made me think that he was not English. Armenian, or perhaps Persian. My school had such a mix of students that one became quite expert at detecting people’s backgrounds, however hard they tried to hide them.

  ‘Oh, do what you like,’ Mother exclaimed impatiently. She turned her shoulder on Mr Aubrey like an angry child. Then turned back, her eyes suddenly wide and pleading. ‘Don’t go back on all we have agreed to, Eugene,’ she said, her head tilted slightly to one side. ‘It is so important to me that we become partners in this venture. Come and sit down with me.’

  Of course I’d seen Mother do it before: her little-child-deprived-of-atoy act. Most men were putty in her hands but Mr Aubrey stuck to his guns. ‘Perhaps we could talk again tomorrow, after Nona has made her decision,’ he suggested. ‘A sherry in the Palm Court about eight?’ And then he touched his hat and was gone.

  Madam Tanya was the first to speak. ‘So you see how important you are, Nona?’ she said bitterly. ‘If you don’t want to come to KL with us, we might not be able to go at all.’

  ‘Shhh . . .’ Mother said, holding up her hand. ‘It is not Nona’s fault. Come and sit beside me, child.’ She patted the chair vacated by Mr Aubrey. I moved seats with trepidation. For some reason I could not fathom, the famous Julia charm was to be turned on me.

  And what charm it was! We retired to Mother’s room where she unpacked some trinkets for me from her trip, presenting each one – a paper fan, hair ribbons, a tortoiseshell comb – as if they were treasures from Far Cathay. We had cocktails in the Palm Court Bar, and then Mother invited me to stay for dinner, dismissing my protests about being underdressed with an imperious wave of her arm: ‘You are young enough to look wonderful in anything, Nona. Take advantage of it while you can!’ Over dinner, she told funny stories about her fellow passengers on the cruise. She had met Mr Aubrey the first night at sea, en route to Surabaya, and they had apparently been inseparable from then on. The idea of a salon had blossomed during the voyage, and cables had flashed between the ship, Mr Aubrey’s solicitors in KL, and M
ayhew, Jones & Tan. Mr Aubrey owned a building in the heart of KL, the Tamarind Tower, and was trying to turn it into the city’s centre for haute couture. There were already dress shops, jewellers, a gift shop – but no ladies’ hairdresser. Madam Tanya had trained as a hairdresser at the Trade School in Ipoh, and so the idea had been born.

  As the evening wore on, I became quite infected by Mother’s enthusiasm. It seemed a great opportunity – at least for Mother and Madam Tanya. But I was still uncertain that I wanted to be any part of the scheme, and I was puzzled that my participation was regarded as so crucial. I wanted to complete my senior school year, a target Sister Felice and I had jointly agreed on.

  Surely they could quite easily recruit someone else as an apprentice?

  Another, more important matter was pressing on my mind. I was utterly determined to mention the business about Burnbrae that evening, and promised myself I would do so as soon as the dessert plates were taken away. I needed to make such a promise to myself because the longer I was in my mother’s company, the less confident I was that I could keep my resolve.

  I remember, even though it was over sixty years ago, exactly how I finally raised the subject. As the dessert plates were being collected, I turned my chair slightly towards Mother’s, placed my napkin beside my plate, and clenched my hands tightly under the table. My heart was beating like a trip-hammer.

  ‘I have something to say, Mother.’

  Mother was holding a heavy Bohemian glass wine goblet, and she put it down carefully as if she knew that what I was about to say would be a bombshell.

  ‘I was told – just a few days ago – that Robbie left me the Burnbrae tea plantation in his will. You know how much I loved Burnbrae, Mother. Apparently I own it. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘You think I try to cheat you?’ she asked quietly. ‘You think I am a mother who cheats her own daughter?’