“When Mark comes to see us,” he said after a while, his arms still around her, “we will tell him the truth; we got together after he left Malaya. That is the only thing to do. He should understand. I had wanted to tell him about you. Ruth didn’t. She loved him and didn’t want to lose him to you. She was persuasive. I felt sorry for her. I had not planned to fall in love with you. I certainly did not connive with her to keep you from Mark for myself. You do believe me don’t you?”
May remained still in his arms. Her silence troubled Hugh. “Do you still lo.... still have feelings for Mark?” he asked.
She shook her head and nestled deeper into his chest. Hugh tilted her face towards him and looked deep into her eyes. He was perturbed by what he saw. “Do you wish to tell him about Craig?”
“No,” she whispered. “The past is finished. I love you.”
Hugh heaved a sigh of relief. He was so tense, he could feel the knots in his neck building up. Yet a niggling of worry remained; he kept it to himself.
***
A week passed. They did not hear from Mark. During that time, May stopped almost all her normal activities. She accompanied Craig to school every morning and would wait outside the gate. The driver would park the car by the school entrance while she remained inside the vehicle until it got too hot. She watched anxiously for visitors at the school gate. Then reluctantly, she would go home to have lunch before returning to the school to collect Craig. She kept close to Craig, unwilling to let him go and meet his friends without her by his side. Craig complained to Hugh. The driver, observing May’s odd behaviour, told his master that he had cleaned and polished the car so many times while standing outside the school that there was nothing else to clean. “Mem sakit?” he asked fearing that May might be ill.
The weight fell off May. She lost her appetite for food. She was restless at night. She spoke little. By the seventh day, Hugh took her aside after Craig went to bed. They were in the sitting room. It was a warm sultry evening. Above them, the ceiling fan whirred slowly stirring up the heavy air.
“May,” said Hugh gently, “what is troubling you? Sorry, let me rephrase. I know what is troubling you. You are worried that Mark would somehow guess and claim Craig. But is there anything else?”
May’s lips trembled. She was exhausted and fought for control of herself. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what was troubling her; she didn’t want to know for fear of discovering something she wished didn’t exist. Both Fu Yi and Hugh had asked her repeatedly if she had any lingering love for Mark. They had questioned her so many times that she had begun to feel that perhaps she harboured such feelings and had buried them deep within her heart. She began to doubt herself. She didn’t want to possess those feelings; she wished with all her heart that she could say unreservedly that she no longer loved Mark. She only knew that she loved Hugh; she did not know if she also loved Mark. She was frightened of meeting him; feared that it might rekindle feelings she didn’t know still existed. She despised herself. She thought of Ruth. For Ruth’s sake, for Hugh and Craig, she must be strong. “I am just exhausted,” she replied. “Yes, I worry that he might take Craig from me, from us.”
“I know.” Hugh knelt in front of her and took her in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder inhaling deeply, finding comfort from his closeness. “He has not been in touch,” continued Hugh, “perhaps he never will. Perhaps like us, he wants to be free of the past and start anew. He left today for London. Guthries sent him there on business.”
Hugh could feel relief coursing through May’s body. He held her tighter to him. “You have to look after yourself. Think of our baby.” He pushed her away at arm distance and, gently, with one hand, traced her tummy. “It will be all right. There is nothing to connect him with Craig. Ruth doesn’t know; no one does other than you and me.”
May went still. There was one who knew. Fu Yi. But she wouldn’t tell.
***
After Mark left Din, he took the train back to Kuala Lumpur. He didn’t wish to involve Din, didn’t trust him to keep silent. He did not return home. After his visit to the office, he went to Chinatown.
It was nightfall. The street was busy. Although most of the grocery stores were shut, stalls offering a range of hot food had opened up for business. They lined the street, spilling out into side streets. Wooden tables and stools filled every nook and corner. Light from kerosene lamps lit the way and the aroma of cooking filled the air. Pans sizzled, pots bubbled. Tables were filling up. People were dropping in for a quick meal before heading for home. Others were eating out before going to the cinema. Chinatown never slept. There were always people doing business, talking, eating and wandering amongst stalls looking for bargains. They came out in shorts and vests, some even in pyjamas. Amidst this festivity, a group of old women sat on low wooden stools taking in the warm night air. Mark walked up to the group. “I am looking for Fu Yi,” he said. “Do you know her? She used to work for me.”
The women stared blankly back at him with rheumy eyes. Mark switched to Cantonese. The heavily accented words rolled off his tongue. They looked away, flicking their fans, their faces bored. “Don’t know,” one volunteered. Mark peered closely into the group. A movement caught his interest. There was one amongst them who seemed to physically shrink away. “Is that you Fu Yi?” he asked her. The rich smell of cooking drifted through the air. Without warning, a picture of Fu Yi flashed through his mind: Fu Yi, small, thin with black hair drawn back into a tight bun with a tortoise shell to hold it in place. This woman was even smaller, hunched and skeletal in frame. There was something familiar in the way she held herself. “Fu Yi?” he asked again.
The woman raised her head. “Yes, Master,” she replied.
“Can we speak?”
“What about? I have nothing to tell you. I am old and forgetful. It has been a long, long time.”
“Come. Come with me. I just want to talk, to refresh my memory. I lost it, you know, and have only just started to recall. Help me. Please. I need you to fill in the blanks.”
“No, Master, Leave me be. I am tired. I am old and forgetful. I can’t remember.”
“I just want to talk, please.”
Fu Yi relented. She did not like to see her former master so reduced as to plead with her in front of the other women. It just didn’t seem right. Perhaps a few words would not matter. She would have to be careful when speaking about May. She would guard her tongue. “Just for a little while. I don’t feel well and will need to go to bed soon.”
“Come this way. We’ll find a quiet corner.” Mark helped her up and guided her by the elbow to a table set up by the roadside. He sat her down gently on a chair and ordered tea. The other women looked on in wonder; they nodded and talked amongst themselves. What had Fu Yi done to deserve this treatment, they wondered. They had never seen a white man come to visit a servant.
Chapter 25
A DOOR BANGED shut. Ruth woke up with a start. She had only just dropped off from sheer exhaustion. Hastily she shrugged on a silk wrap and hurried downstairs barefooted. Halfway down the stairs she met Mark coming up. For a moment, they stared at each other; like two adversaries preparing for battle. The previous night’s anxiety turned rapidly to anger when Ruth saw a perfectly safe and unharmed Mark.
“Where have you been?” Ruth screeched, eyes flashing. Her hair was dishevelled and her skin blotchy with tears. “I have been worried sick. We thought you were kidnapped, killed even.” Seeing Mark safe wiped away her fear, sadness and dread in one fell swoop. She was furious at Mark’s audacity in turning up at home without attempting to call earlier to say that he was fine. Overwrought by anger and fatigue and relieved at the same time, she began to tremble; she sat down on the stairs.
For a split second, Mark was contrite. He moved to take her in his arms. Then he recalled Din’s words. It was Ruth who had stopped Din from telling him about May. He stopped; his arms fell to his side. His heart hardened. What else had she done? When had she found out
about May and was that why she had whisked him away from Malaya after he was rescued? He recalled her reluctance to let him return to Malaya. At times he had even suspected that she was happy about his memory loss. She was vague and evasive when he questioned her about Malaya. He recalled asking her if she had packed all his possessions from the bungalow in Tanjong Malim. He had thought that they might give him a clue as to his previous existence. “Nothing, there was nothing in the bungalow,” she had told him many a time. Suddenly, the sight of her filled him with distaste. He was willing to ignore her adultery. She didn’t know that he knew about her affair with the schoolteacher. He had blamed himself when he discovered it. He had not been a good husband; he wasn’t able to provide for the family. He thought he deserved what she had done even when he read the letter from Steve Fisher. The letter had been delivered not long after their arrival in Kuala Lumpur. He had opened it inadvertently, not expecting the letter to be for Ruth. Since coming to Kuala Lumpur, he had tried hard to be a good husband, to make amends. He knew he was responsible for making her unhappy and that it was unhappiness that had driven her to this man. But what he could not forgive was that she had kept his memory from him.
Without bothering to answer her, Mark brushed past Ruth. He didn’t care that he nearly knocked her over. He ascended the stairs and on reaching the landing turned. The ceiling light lit up Ruth’s upturned face. Her eyes were swollen.
“I am going to shower,” he said coldly, as though nothing was amiss, “and change. Then I am going to the office. We shall talk when I come back.” With that he turned and strode away.
Taken back, Ruth exploded. She didn’t know this new Mark, this callous Mark with anger repressed into a coldness she had not known possible. It riled her. She had spent a sleepless night fretting over his disappearance and he had not even bothered to explain. She got up and ran after Mark.
“You cad!” Ruth stabbed his chest, pushing him. “You owe me an explanation! Where have you been? Have you no decency? Don’t you realise the worry you caused me? Have you forgotten that you have a child? A family? What will your employers think? Are you out of your mind to disappear and then reappear as though nothing has happened and no explanation is necessary? You could well get the sack! This post would be another one of your short-lived jobs.”
Mark turned livid with anger. “Get out of my way. I say we’ll talk this evening.”
Furious beyond control, Ruth slapped Mark. He raised his hand to return the blow and then stopped. He held her eyes for a moment. Then, without a word, he strode away.
***
The meeting room in the Consulate was filling up. Planters vied with tin miners to get a good seat. They were to discuss future plans to ensure the British stronghold in the Malayan economy. British firms and their various business associations were traditionally given privileged representations in the colonial legislative and executive councils. These arrangements were expected to come to an end when Malaya’s fully-elected legislature came into force. Hugh watched intently. Small groups formed and dispersed. The conversation was animated. He knew the importance of this meeting. Britain’s investment in Malaya was greater than that in India. Seventy per cent of these investments were still in rubber and tin. However, the time had come for them to branch into other areas. British trading houses wanted to bring UK manufactured goods into Malaya’s fast expanding economy and export Malaya’s commodities not only to the UK but also to Europe. They were confident that they were well set up for it. The Malayan dollar was linked to sterling, easing the international financial transactions that went with such businesses. Everything should go well for Britain’s investments in Malaya, that was, if they could cultivate the right contacts. Already within the few months of independence, Malaya had become the second most profitable destination for British investments after Germany. Their main threat was again the Japanese. The Japanese were also busy courting Malaya.
From across the smoke-filled room, Hugh caught the Commissioner’s eye. Reid was motioning him over.
“I want you to meet Lord Hill,” Reid said nodding towards a gentleman with a thick bushy moustache and side-burns. “You will work with him when you are in London.”
Surprised, Hugh looked questioningly at the Commissioner. He had not been told about a London assignment.
“I apologise. I have not had time to broach the subject with you. Things keep piling up on my desk and I have been distracted. I am not sure if you know that Mark Lampard from Guthries is in London on business. Apparently other companies have also sent their men to the City. A team of important Malay, Chinese and Indian government officials from the Federation’s Ministry of Commerce and Industry will be visiting the United Kingdom. So these business conglomerates have despatched their representatives to, well let’s say, make the lives of these visitors comfortable in the United Kingdom. I would like you to go to London to oversee things. You are the planters’ representative. I don’t want any unpleasant undercutting and lobbying. Ummph! No scandals. See that they behave. You will liaise with Lord Hill.”
“How long will I have to be in London?”
“As long as it takes. So I leave you with Lord Hill. He will fill you in with the information you need. You leave in two days time. One more thing. Check up on Mark Lampard. He is a loose cannon. According to Guthries, his local knowledge of the Malayan people is indispensable. They have faith in him.” Reid’s face showed the opposite. “Yes, keep an eye on him. I don’t want him to upset the boat.”
***
Hugh took the pile of shirts from May and stuffed it into the suitcase.
“Let me do it.” Patiently May refolded the shirts and placed them neatly in the suitcase. Then she packed his underwear, socks, trousers and wash bag. She was troubled by Hugh’s trip when he told her that he would be working with Mark. “What will you say to him?” she asked.
Hugh took some time before he answered. “I don’t know. I will wait for him to broach the subject. Like we agreed, I’ll tell him the truth except that concerning Craig.” He went to her and held her at arms’ length. “There is nothing he could do to us. It may become unpleasant if he feels we betrayed him. I can handle it. I’ll explain. Don’t worry.”
***
There was little that Ruth could do except to sit it out and wait. She was sorry for losing her temper and for the unkind words that had poured out of her mouth. It was wicked, intolerable and unforgivable. She could not retrieve them. She had no opportunity to apologise to Mark, to explain that her anger stemmed from her anxiety and fear for him. He did not come home after that fateful evening; he left without a word. He didn’t even pack a suitcase.
With a heavy heart, Ruth walked around the grounds of her house. It felt like a cage despite the luscious greenery. The owners had built high walls all round for privacy. What had seemed beautiful when she first arrived now looked big and soulless. It was all in her mind. But she had never felt so utterly alone. She could not confide in anyone, not even Libby, especially not Libby. To think that only a few days ago she had found peace and been so sure that she could mend her relationship with Mark.
She wandered to a wooden bench and sat down. The thick canopy of leaves overhead shielded her from the sun. She took hold of her hat and squashed it between her hands. She wondered at the person she had become. She had progressed from a young wife enamoured of her husband to a jealous woman willing to sacrifice anything to keep him to, finally, a lying, deceitful adulteress. She had wronged Mark. To top it all, she had sneered and insulted him. No wonder he looked at her with such disgust. Had he regained his memory? Was that why? Had he remembered May? Ruth had learnt nothing about Mark’s state of mind when she called his office. She could not bring herself to ask about Mark’s memory. His staff would expect her to know more than they did. Neither could she reach Din. He had been sent away, posted elsewhere.
The gardener watched his mistress with interest. His scythe moved rhythmically in an arc across the lawn. He inched forward, scar
cely paying attention to what he was doing, watching and observing Ruth. He saw the tears coursing down her cheeks. Why would she be crying? She who had everything: a big house, servants, beautiful clothes, a rich husband and a child. He shook his head in despair. If he had half of what the white memsahib had, he would be very happy. She was a strange lady. The kitchen staff had told him that the mistress had not been eating or sleeping. Even the neighbours knew. Gossip passed from one household to another in the market place. Gossip was like money. It changed hands quickly; people enjoyed receiving it and giving it.
Ruth sensed she was being watched. She dabbed her eyes dry and smiled across at the gardener. She pretended that she had grit in her eyes. She got up. She would call Hugh. He was the only person she knew in Malaya who knew of the past. Perhaps he could tell her more.
She went into the house. It was cool and dark inside. The shutters had been partially closed to keep out the bright sunshine. She was glad. She shook off her sandals; the marble floor was cool under her feet. She went into Mark’s office. His desk was neat. She tried a drawer, and then the next drawer. They were all locked. She sat behind his desk and took up the phone. She found Hugh’s telephone number in the directory and dialled. She waited anxiously for the incessant ringing to stop, for someone to pick up the phone.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice answered.
Ruth couldn’t speak. She held the phone tight to her ear, her lips almost brushing the receiver. For a few seconds, there was only the sound of her breathing.
“Hello. Who is this? Please speak up.”
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