The first people we told were the Deans, who were spending Christmas down in Singapore at the Sea View Hotel. But when Denis spoke to Alec on the phone he couldn’t get a word in edgeways. He cupped his hand over the receiver. ‘The man is raving about some house they’re thinking of buying outside Changi,’ he grinned. ‘I think the blighters might have beaten us to the punch.’
Within a fortnight the Deans had left KL, leaving an empty space in our lives. They told us that they felt the emptiness too, but for them the parting would have been much easier because they were busy adjusting to their bright new lives. Alec was enjoying his new job with Shell Oil, and Margaret was pregnant again. I think she felt a little guilty at being so happy, and sent me long letters and photographs of her new home overlooking the beach. I read and re-read the letters, and pored over the photographs, my imagination colouring the black-and-white pictures with green lawns and bright flowers, my memory adding the sound of Margaret and Alec’s happy chatter and Mark’s delighted gurgling. The home was one of several built as a commercial enterprise by a Chinese developer called Win Lung, a business friend of Denis. There were four houses on the estate, each one set on an oceanfront block of several acres. Of course we inquired immediately whether any of the other homes were for sale, but they had long since been snapped up. The Tanah Mera Besar Estate, as it was called, had been highly sought after from the moment its plans had been approved, and the Deans had secured their property only because its original purchaser had been unexpectedly posted back to England.
In February 1939 I too was pregnant again, and feeling the loss of Margaret even more keenly. I wanted so much to talk with her that I would compose whole conversations in my mind, complete with questions and answers, quips and extempore observations, then ring her in the evening and try them out. But our real conversations never kept to the script: something exciting would always have occurred that took precedence, or the comments I had prepared would seem suddenly banal.
‘I wish we were closer,’ I said one day. ‘The world would be a perfect place if only the old team was together again.’
‘Come to Singapore!’ Margaret pleaded. ‘The place is filling up, you know. People are trooping down the peninsula in droves. The price of houses is going up in leaps and bounds.’
I thought about Margaret’s comment all night, and in the morning scanned the Straits Times with something like desperation.
‘We could just take pot luck,’ Denis said, sitting up beside me in bed. ‘Simply arrive on the island and rent some place until something turns up.’
I looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Could we do that? Could you just toss in your job with Guthries and take off?’
Denis chuckled. ‘Of course I could. We’ve got quite a nice lot of loot stashed away against a rainy day, you know.’
I had long been curious about our financial position, and now seemed as good a time as any to ask about it. ‘How well off are we, Denis?’ I asked. ‘And how do you actually make your money? Do you need to work for Guthries at all?’
Denis didn’t answer but rolled off the bed and went over to the wardrobe, taking an envelope from the inside pocket of his white cotton jacket. ‘I’m glad you asked about money, my dear,’ he said, ‘because there are one or two things we need to discuss. And with baby number two on the way, the sooner the better.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ I asked.
‘I think you need your own money,’ Denis said. ‘For all sorts of reasons. For example, we might get separated. If the war should spring on us we might be apart for years. That sort of thing does happen in a war.’
Separated. For some reason my heart was suddenly beating fast and I didn’t want to know what Denis was going to tell me. He saw my sudden concern and laid a hand on my arm. ‘Come on, darling, I’m just being practical. I think we should set up an account in your name so that you are financially secure whatever the future might bring.’
‘That’s . . . thoughtful of you,’ I said quietly. ‘But I don’t want any future if you’re not in it. And if you are in it I won’t need an account of my own.’
Denis turned my face towards him with his fingers and smiled into my eyes. ‘Why so morbid?’ he asked gently. ‘I fully intend to be in your future, Mrs Elesmere-Elliott. But I still think you need your own funds.’
We sat on the patio and Denis spread out some papers on our rattan breakfast table. There were some legal papers and a bank statement from the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. The statement was in my name and it showed a credit balance of over seventy thousand Straits dollars. That was an absolute fortune in those days: with it I could have bought any house I liked in Singapore ten times over.
‘This is an awful lot of money,’ I said weakly.
‘It’s enough to get by with at a pinch,’ Denis said. ‘But that’s not the point. It will give you the sense of freedom you deserve.’
I took a long, deep breath. ‘It’ll let me make a real mark at Robinsons,’ I said, trying hard to lighten the moment. ‘And leave me a bit over for lunch.’
Denis laughed. ‘Bargain with them hard enough and they might let you buy Robinsons.’
I signed the various papers and shoved them all back to him. ‘Now, can we get back to looking for a decent house in Singapore?’ I asked. The fact that I was a wealthy woman meant nothing to me, but the fact that we could move to Singapore with the snap of a finger made my head spin.
Later in the morning I realised that of course Denis had not answered either of my original questions. I still had no idea how rich he was, nor why he bothered to work for Guthries.
In February we spent a weekend with Tanya and Eugene in Penang. Tanya had often pressed us to visit them but I had hesitated, wondering if it would be wise to parade our lovely baby before poor Eugene. I thought it might upset him to see what he was missing, living as he was with a wife who could not even contemplate children. On the other hand, I thought, Tony might have a beneficial effect on Tanya. Perhaps ignite her maternal instincts.
In the end, Denis decided for me. ‘You can’t go on treating the two of them as cot cases,’ he said after we had received yet another invitation and I had explained my reservations. ‘For heaven’s sake, Tanya is the closest thing in the world you have to family. You must make the effort.’
Once the decision was made, I found myself quite looking forward to the visit. If I had roots anywhere they were in Penang, and I was curious to see how I would react to going back there. So far, the island had occupied a very ambivalent place in my heart. At times I thought I hated it, remembering the bad times. Being left at the Convent after Robbie’s death, feeling for all the world like a piece of unwanted baggage abandoned in a boxroom. The loneliness and fear I had felt while living with the Ulrichs. The feelings of desperation whenever I had thought of the future because there had seemed nowhere to go, no future I could depend on.
But sometimes I found myself thinking about good times. Running barefoot on a rain-wet beach as a child. Discovering Sister Felice and her magic world. Sitting with my friends in the shady Convent garden and its elusive scent of frangipani. The dream of Denis, and how it had transformed my life.
Yes, it would be good to go back to Penang and confront all my ghosts, both the good ones and the bad.
We drove up in the Alvis, taking the ayah to look after Tony. It had been a long drive through hot, humid weather and we arrived in a thunderstorm, Tony crying fretfully, Denis in a bad mood because the recently-repaired canvas hood had leaked, and even the ayah sulky and out of sorts. I remember laughing to myself as our bedraggled, wailing little party decamped under the shelter of the porch: this was not exactly a brilliant advertisement for the joys of parenthood!
Eugene was the Eugene I remembered – a little pompous, a little overdressed, but solicitous and friendly – but Tanya looked extraordinarily different. She had grown her hair and wore it in a loose ponytail, making her look young and carefree. She embraced me affect
ionately, and then swooped on Tony, scooping him to her breast to the manner born. I just stood there, boggling. The tight-faced ice maiden had disappeared completely, replaced by a charming, natural woman at perfect peace with herself. Even Tony stopped his whimpering and began playing with her hair, tugging the ponytail experimentally, then peering into her laughing face with curiosity.
I was dying to find out what had happened to bring about such a dramatic change and got my chance after dinner. We had dined in some state, with the houseboys dressed in a uniform of white coat over dark blue trousers and serving us from ornate, monogrammed silver. After coffee, Eugene suggested that the ladies might wish to withdraw for coffee while the men had port and cigars. I was startled by the Edwardian formality of the suggestion, but Denis gave me a quiet wink and I fell in with the charade, offering Tanya my arm as we retired to the drawing room.
Once in the sanctuary of the drawing room, I could not resist a mild fit of the giggles and was pleased to see that Tanya was also amused. ‘He so likes the old European formality,’ she explained tolerantly. ‘And it does no harm.’
‘It also gives us a chance to talk,’ I said frankly. ‘Tanya, you are looking so relaxed, so much at ease. Obviously married life agrees with you.’
Tanya was immediately serious. ‘I am still . . . frigid,’ she said bluntly. ‘I can’t bear the thought of sex. But it isn’t a problem between Eugene and me anymore. We talk about it quite openly, which helps. And Nona – we are now such good friends!’
Tanya’s frankness, and her obvious happiness, affected me deeply and I couldn’t help but reach out and squeeze her hand. ‘I didn’t want to pry,’ I said. ‘But of course I have been worried.’
Tanya shook her head so that her ponytail jiggled behind her neck. ‘We have been through a lot together, Nona. You have every right to pry and I hope you are going to let me pry too. Can I ask what your feelings are towards your mother?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked a little defensively.
Tanya placed her coffee cup down on the table. ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Nona,’ she said firmly. ‘I would like to know what your feelings are towards your mother. I meet her regularly, you know, because Eugene and I are often in Singapore. She is not a happy woman and it would be nice if I could take some message to her from you. You know, some small offer of friendship. You two do need to make up your differences.’
I bit my lip. How did I feel about my mother? I hadn’t faced the question properly since the awful day she’d hurled a teapot at my head. In fact, I had been quite happy to leave the matter hanging in the air. I’d been so busy building my new life, learning to run a household, learning how to become a mother, that I had not really had time for introspection. But of course Tanya was quite right. My mother was my mother after all, and I did owe it to her and to myself to face up to our differences, to resolve them one way or the other.
‘Has Mother asked about me?’ I asked curiously. ‘About the baby? I did send her a telegram when Tony was born but she didn’t reply.’
Tanya looked a little uncomfortable. ‘You know your mother when she gets a bee in her bonnet,’ she said. ‘Well, she has a bee in her bonnet that you and Denis want her to stay out of your lives. In fact, she rather thinks that the gift of money Denis made her was a bribe to ensure she stayed away from you both. She has her pride, you know.’
Of course she would think like that, I thought to myself. And I had to admit that there is an element of truth in what she thought. Denis and I had bought her out of our lives. It must be an incredibly hurtful thing to know.
‘What do you suggest I do?’ I asked.
Tanya leaned forward, her brow furrowed earnestly. ‘I think you should give me a message for your mother. Let me tell her that you love her and that you would like her to be part of your life. Let me tell her that you want a meeting with her as soon as possible, so that you can say sorry for upsetting her.’
I shook my head. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ I said quietly. ‘You know Mother as well as I do. If I give her an inch, she will see it as weakness. And Mother hates weakness. If she thinks I am being weak, it will make her want to pounce and tear me to pieces.’
Tanya clicked her tongue. ‘You are being pig-headed, Nona. Someone has to give an inch, as you say, or this separation between you and your mother will last forever. Do you really want never to see your mother again?’
I stared at Tanya without speaking, and she must have read in my eyes what I was thinking because she sat back with a sigh. The truth was that I really didn’t mind if I never saw Mother again.
Fortunately Denis and Eugene joined us at that point and the conversation had to be put aside. But as we were saying our goodnights I did have a chance for one more word. ‘Tell Mother I would like a photograph of her,’ I said, ‘to show to Tony when he is old enough to understand. But don’t say anything more.’
In bed that night, I couldn’t help wondering at the change in Tanya. Iceberg Tanya was now actually lecturing me about the need to be more loving, more forgiving. She was a profoundly different woman, and the credit had to go to the stiff, rather pompous, rather humourless Eugene Aubrey, the most unlikely man to transform a woman through love that one could ever imagine.
I ran into Malcolm Bryant in George Town the next morning. Denis and Eugene had gone off for a round of golf and Tanya and I had been looking at the shops. We had parted briefly – she had gone to look at some newlyarrived stock at Pride’s, the jewellers, while I had stopped for a coffee – when suddenly Malcolm sat down in the chair opposite me. He was immaculate in his police uniform, his hair slicked back fashionably and his features deeply suntanned and more handsome than ever.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked with a smile.
‘I don’t seem to have any choice,’ I said a little tartly, but then grinned. ‘Of course I don’t mind, Malcolm. Unless you start telling me Denis is some sort of Russian spy, or the leader of one of the Chinese tongs. If you do that I will promptly empty my coffee cup over your head.’
Malcolm didn’t smile but picked up the menu and frowned at it. ‘I only had your interests at heart when we last spoke about Denis,’ he said evenly. ‘Give me credit for that at least. Now, do you recommend this expresso coffee they advertise, or should I play safe and have a cup of tea?’
‘If you really want to play safe, don’t mention Denis again,’ I said firmly.
He looked at me, then held up a hand. ‘I’m sorry if I ruffled your feathers, Nona. I had absolutely no idea you were still involved with him.’
I stared at him. ‘Not only am I “involved with him” as you put it, but we are married,’ I said. ‘And we have one delightful child and another on the way.’ I could hardly conceive that Malcolm could be ignorant of our marriage.
But clearly he was. His face paled before my eyes and his mouth dropped open almost comically. ‘You’re married?’ he asked huskily. ‘And you have a child?’
‘Where on earth have you been, Malcolm?’ I asked breezily. ‘It hasn’t exactly been a secret.’
‘I’ve been in the UK for over a year,’ he said. ‘I arrived back two days ago. Penang is my new posting.’
‘What were you doing in England?’ I asked curiously, and Malcolm’s eyes slid away.
‘I’ve been unwell,’ he said staring at the menu. ‘Neurasthaenia, they called it. In fact, I had a bit of a breakdown if you must know.’ All his confidence, all his authority, had seeped out of him, and when he ran his fingers through his hair he displaced it so that a tuft stuck out, giving him a comical look. My anger evaporated and I reached impulsively across the table and touched his hand.
He snatched his hand away. ‘No need for sympathy,’ he said, his old voice and manner back in place. ‘I’m completely over it. And I have a first-class medical rating to prove it.’
‘You look fine to me,’ I said.
There was a silence between us, then he suddenly shook his head decisively. ‘I know you’re not ma
rried, Nona,’ he said. ‘Denis has just got you to live with him, hasn’t he? Tell me the truth.’
I felt myself blushing. ‘It is none of your business how we have arranged things,’ I said. ‘But Denis and I are sublimely happy. And we have the most adorable baby boy . . .’
‘I looked into Denis’s background when I was in England,’ Malcolm cut in roughly. ‘You know he is already married, don’t you? And he has a child. Elesmere-Elliott my eye! He was born plain Elesmere. The family comes from Kennington, south of the river, where his people own an electrical store. So much for a titled background.’
‘Denis never claimed to be titled,’ I responded automatically. Denis already married and with a child? My senses were reeling.
‘Do you know where the Elliott came from?’ Malcolm went on remorselessly. ‘Your precious Denis was picked up on the French Riviera by a tarty American actress called Maxine Elliott. She gave him ideas above his station and sent him off to Malaya to find a fortune. What he did for her in return is anybody’s guess. Have you ever heard the term gigolo?’
I got up from my chair and stood there, trembling with anger and a weird kind of fear. I was going to toss my coffee over the man but the image of my mother doing something similar stilled my hand at the very last moment.
‘Please keep out of my life,’ I said. I had intended my voice to be cold and hard, but I was betrayed by lips that had stiffened so much that the words came out slurred and unnatural. ‘If you ever so much as talk to me again, I will complain to . . . to Calliper McPhail.’
I tried desperately to compose myself but was still trembling when I met up with Tanya on the footpath outside the jewellers. ‘You look pale,’ she said immediately. ‘Are you sure you’re not overdoing it? Don’t forget you are pregnant, Nona.’
I was happy to be ordered home by Tanya, and retreated to the sanctuary of our bedroom for a lie-down. I lay on our bed, my mind in a whirl. Could Denis have betrayed me? Could he really be married? Babs had told me that there had been a woman in England before he came out to Malaya, and that he had had a bad experience. What if he had married a Catholic who had refused to divorce him? I had heard stories of men in that position who had married again out in the Colonies, thinking they could get away with it. Inevitably they had been found out and prosecuted for bigamy. I had no doubt that Denis loved me: what if the reason he had not married me was that he simply couldn’t?
In the Mouth of the Tiger Page 31