A Multitude of Sins

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘I say, you’re looking pretty gorgeous,’ Ronnie Ledsham said to her, coming up to them and slipping his arm around her shoulders. ‘How about coming out on to the terrace for a dance?’

  He was wearing a sharkskin suit, a silk shirt, and handmade shoes. His blond hair was glossily slicked back, his moustache was meticulously trimmed. There had been a time when she had referred to him disparagingly as an upper-class spiv. She did so no longer. Beneath his heavy-handed flirtatiousness was an easygoing tolerance, and tolerance was a quality she had begun to appreciate.

  They weaved their way through the crush and out towards the terrace, and Derry turned once more towards Julienne. She was deep in conversation with Tom Nicholson, and he ground his teeth frustratedly. God damn it! What on earth did she see in the man? And why didn’t Ronnie put a stop to it? Was he blind?

  The conversation showed no sign of coming to a conclusion and was obviously one that would not have welcomed interruption. He turned away bad-temperedly in search of another drink. The present state of affairs couldn’t continue. He would have to have a serious talk with Julienne and soon.

  ‘It really would be a favour to me, chéri,’ Julienne was saying, her pansy-dark eyes holding Tom’s.

  ‘What? Taking Melissa Elliot to the Government House dinner?’

  ‘I know you’ve been invited …,’ she continued coaxingly.

  ‘And don’t intend to go.’

  ‘It is exactly the sort of function that Melissa needs to be seen at again. She has suffered very much, chéri, since that terrible trial. Even Raefe has said how very gallant she has been.’

  ‘I’m sure she has, but I can’t see that it’s any reason for me—’

  Julienne squeezed his arm lovingly. ‘It is not nice to be a social outcast, Tom. Nor to be lonely, especially when one is so unaccustomed to it. I think you will find the new Melissa very different from the old Melissa.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ Tom said feelingly. ‘The old Melissa would have eaten me for breakfast!’

  Julienne giggled. ‘The new Melissa will not do so. I think you will like her very much. She needs someone strong to help her not to care about the gossip and the wagging tongues.’

  ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I’ll take her to the Government House dinner, but after that she’s on her own again, Julienne. I’m not going to make a habit of squiring her around.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Julienne said demurely, ‘And now, chéri, I think that it is time that we talked about ourselves. There is something that I have to tell you.…’

  It was not quite so easy explaining to Derry that their affair was

  over and that she was, in the future, going to be a faithful wife. They were in one of the upstairs bathrooms, the door securely locked against all those needing its facilities.

  ‘Use the bathroom downstairs!’ Derry roared in answer to an enquiring knock upon the door. There was the sound of aggrieved indignation and then a defeated retreat. ‘I don’t believe you!’ he repeated, his handsome raw-boned face perplexed. ‘Why is it over? Nothing has gone wrong between us, has it?’

  ‘No, chéri. Everything has been most wonderful,’ Julienne said sincerely.

  ‘Then, why, in God’s name …?’ He ran a hand through his thick shock of sun-bleached hair, struggling for understanding.

  ‘I am twenty-seven,’ Julienne said with a slight shrug. ‘It is time I began to think about settling down … of perhaps becoming a mother.’

  ‘You can become a mother any time you want,’ he said with a sudden grin, refusing to take her seriously. ‘Right now, this very minute, would be as good a time as any!’

  He had her pinned against the washbasin and he lifted her skirt, pressing close against her.

  ‘No, chéri,’ she murmured regretfully, refusing to capitulate to the delicious tide of sensations he was arousing. ‘No more. It is over. Finished.’

  His grin vanished. Concern began to replace perplexity. ‘You’re joking, Julienne. You have to be. This is just another cock-tease, isn’t it?’

  Julienne shook her head, wishing that it was. ‘No, Derry,’ she said, her accent rolling his name in a way that made his scalp tingle. ‘No, I have made up my mind. It is sad, but it is necessary.’

  He looked down at her in horror. ‘You can’t do this to me, Julienne! I love you! I want to marry you!’

  She giggled, touching his face lovingly. ‘I do not think it would be a very good marrige, chéri. I would be always knocking on the doors of cloakrooms and bathrooms, trying to retrieve you!’

  He had the grace to grin slightly. He couldn’t quite imagine Julienne in the role of the slighted wife. ‘I do love you, Ju,’ he said thickly. ‘I’ve never enjoyed anything as much as I have the time we’ve spent together.’

  ‘It has been very special,’ she agreed, knowing that the hardest part was over and that all that remained was to say goodbye.

  He hesitated and then said suspiciously: ‘You’re not having an affair with Tom Nicholson, are you, Ju?’

  Julienne’s eyes held his undeviatingly. ‘No, chéri,’ she said emphatically. ‘How can you think such a thing?’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ It was true. She wasn’t. Not any longer.

  He frowned. At least he wasn’t being jilted in favour of anyone else. And he might not be jilted for very long. Julienne would surely get bored with faithfulness, and then they could continue their affair as before. He decided to take advantage of the present and not worry about the future. ‘If we’re going to say goodbye, then we’d better make the last time very good indeed,’ he growled, his arms tightening around hers.

  She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him away. ‘Non! Truly, I meant it when I said I was not going to be unfaithful to Ronnie again!’

  ‘You can’t mean it, Ju!’ His eyes were agonized.

  From the far side of the door could be heard the sounds of people impatiently queuing for the bathroom. Her mouth quirked at the corners. ‘I shall keep my word, chéri, but I shall say goodbye in a way you will like very, very much.’ And she slipped down on to her knees before him, her fingers reaching for the fly of his trousers, her tongue moistening her lips in delicious anticipation.

  In June, Raefe said to Elizabeth as he drove her to Li Pi’s Kowloon flat: ‘I saw Lamoon yesterday.’

  She twisted sharply towards him. ‘You did? Where? Who was she with? Did you manage to speak to her?’

  He shook his head, a lock of dark hair tumbling low across his brow. ‘No. She was with a prosperously dressed Chinese. They were crossing Des Voeux Road.’

  He didn’t tell her that the Chinese had been holding Lamoon’s arm in a viciously tight grip; or that Lamoon had looked like death, her face gaunt, her eyes wretched.

  ‘Does this mean that she’s living at home again? That, even if she isn’t allowed to socialize with Europeans, we can at least write to her?’

  Raefe bore left on the road curving around Chai Wan. ‘I doubt it,’ he said sombrely. ‘I made a few discreet enquiries after I saw her. The man she was with is a distant cousin. He’s also her husband.’

  ‘Oh!’ Elizabeth sank back into her seat, deflated. ‘Then, her father did force her into marriage.’ She was silent as they motored on towards Shau Kei Wan. After a little while she said hopefully: ‘Perhaps her marriage isn’t too unhappy. If he is also a cousin, then presumably she has known him a long time. She may even be happy.’

  Raefe said nothing. He had seen at a glance that Lamoon was not happy, but he didn’t want to distress Elizabeth unnecessarily. It wasn’t as if they could do a damned thing about it.

  After a little while Elizabeth said curiously: ‘Will you tell Tom?’

  Raefe changed gear and swept down towards the Wanchai. It was a question he had considered long and hard ‘No,’ he said as he overtook a taxi-cab. ‘What good can it do? He’s going out with Melissa now, and if I told him that Lamoon was back in Hong Kong.…’ He shrug
ged expressively. ‘It might spoil things between them, and I wouldn’t want that.’

  ‘But, if Lamoon is back in Hong Kong, surely other people will see her and tell him? He might even see her himself.’

  Raefe shook his head. ‘I doubt it. For one thing, I don’t think this is anything but the briefest of family visits. For another, as a traditional Chinese wife, she isn’t going to be seen in public very often.’

  ‘But we must let him know that she’s alive,’ Elizabeth persisted.

  A trolley-bus rattled along beside them, crammed to the doors with strap-hanging Chinese.

  ‘And that she’s married?’ Raefe asked, looking towards her questioningly.

  Elizabeth hesitated and then nodded. ‘Yes. It’s best that he knows. He has to realize that it’s finally over. That she will never be able to return to him.’

  In August, Elizabeth gave her first concert performance since leaving London. She had been ready to do so for a long time. At the Imperial concert hall, in front of the largest audience the Imperial had seen for several months, she played a selection of works by Mozart, Rachmaninov and Berlioz. The music critic of the Hong Kong Times was ecstatic, writing that it was ‘an outstanding performance played with the utmost skill and grace’, and that her piano-playing ‘glowed with rare vitality’.

  Friends who had thought they knew her quite well were stunned by the extent of her talent. They had expected to hear a few party pieces nicely executed. They had not expected to hear a Mozart piano concerto and Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini played with almost terrifying assurance.

  Miriam Gresby decided it would no longer be socially wise to continue shunning her. At the party afterwards, in the Hong Kong Hotel, she manoeuvred herself to the front of Elizabeth’s admirers, saying gushingly: ‘What a wonderful performance, my dear! I remember when I first heard you play, within hours of your arrival in the Colony. I said then to Denholm that you were outstandingly gifted. I’m having a small dinner-party next week. I’m hoping that the Governor will be in attendance, and perhaps the French attaché. I would so much appreciate it if you could join us.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miriam,’ Elizabeth said with commendable politeness, ‘but I have commitments next week. Perhaps another time?’

  ‘Oh, but I could change the date…,’ Miriam Gresby began, but Elizabeth was already talking to someone else. She drew in a sharp angry breath, knowing that she had been snubbed. To her dismay, she saw that Major-General Grassett was among those waiting to give Elizabeth his congratulations. There was no way, if she was to maintain her position as a leader of Hong Kong society, that Elizabeth could remain absent from her dinner-table. She would just have to swallow her pride and approach her at a later date. She turned away, smiling stiffly at those around her, murmuring: ‘Wonderful piano-playing, wasn’t it? Of course, I’ve heard her play privately many times before.’

  Julienne Ledsham was standing with her husband on the fringe of the throng. Miriam’s smile remained fixed. She didn’t like Julienne Ledsham, but Julienne was a very close friend of Elizabeth’s. Perhaps if she invited the Ledshams to dinner as well.…

  ‘What a glorious evening it has been,’ she said to Julienne, wondering how anyone with red hair could possibly get away with a dress of searing pink. ‘I’ve always known that Elizabeth was very talented, of course.’

  ‘Oh, but of course,’ Julienne said, her lips quirking in a smile. ‘That is a very lovely coat, Miriam.’ She touched the sealskin lightly with her forefinger. ‘I imagine it is a coat that can give great pleasure, n’est ce pas?’

  Miriam looked at her as if she were mad. Allowances had to be made for the fact that Julienne was a foreigner and that often her English left a great deal to be desired, but really! Sometimes she was incomprehensible.

  ‘It is a very serviceable coat,’ she said, wondering if Julienne was somehow making fun of it. ‘I find sealskin the only possible fur in a climate like this.’

  ‘Mais oui, I quite agree,’ Julienne said, her eyes sparkling wickedly. ‘It is very comfortable indeed!’

  ‘What was all that rot about Miriam Gresby’s coat?’ Ronnie asked as they moved away and towards Elizabeth.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about, mon amour, she said, tucking her arm in his. ‘Nothing at all.’

  All through the summer the news from Europe was grim. After the surrender of Tobruk to the Allies in January, Rommel had mounted an advance towards it By April the city and port were isolated, the remainder of the Allied force having retreated to the Egyptian border. It was still under siege. In the skies above Germany, RAF bombers continued to make night-time sorties, their losses heavy. Roman was a member of 249 Squadron flying a Hurricane.

  They received a card from him in September and then, after that, there was nothing.

  ‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ Elizabeth asked Raefe anxiously. ‘What are his chances?’

  Raefe had just returned from an intelligence meeting at Fort Canning, and his face was tired and drawn. ‘Not high,’ he said sombrely.

  To the best of his knowledge Roman had been on active operations since August, and he knew that the average lifespan of a pilot was only three months. It was a statistic that didn’t bear thinking about.

  In November the aircraft-carrier Ark Royal was sunk by U-boats, and the Germans were at the gates of Leningrad.

  ‘It’s not going to be a very jolly Christmas, is it?’ Helena said to Elizabeth as Elizabeth drove her back to her Kowloon flat after one of the auxiliary nursing meetings.

  ‘There’s the Chinese Charity Ball at the Pen tomorrow night,’ Elizabeth said, trying to look on the bright side of things. ‘Alastair is coming, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, if he can. There’s been something of a flap on this last day or two. Rumours that the Japanese are building up their forces beyond the border.’

  ‘We’ve had those rumours before,’ Elizabeth said cynically.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ The Lagonda’s top was down, and Helena pushed her wind-blown hair away from her face. ‘The trouble we’ve heard the cry “Wolf” so often, we may not take any notice when it’s the real thing. And then we may get taken by surprise. It’s not a very nice thought, is it?’

  ‘Major-General Maltby isn’t the kind of man to be taken by surprise,’ Elizabeth said drily. ‘His last command was the North-West Frontier!’

  Helena chuckled. Major-General Maltby had replaced Major-General Grassett a month ago and had made an immediate good impression among both troops and civilians. ‘He’s rather nice, isn’t he? Very English and very correct.’

  With a smile Elizabeth agreed, drawing up outside Helena’s block of flats. As Helena stepped from the car, she said: ‘Are you going to Happy Valley tomorrow to watch Ronnie’s horse run?’

  Elizabeth shook her head. The nursing classes she now attended had wrought havoc with her disciplined hours of piano practice. The time had to be made up, and she was going to make some of it up the following afternoon. ‘No, I’ll see you at the Peninsula tomorrow night. ’Bye, Helena.’

  She drew away from the kerb and into the main stream of traffic, humming beneath her breath. The world situation was ghastly, but her own personal situation was blissful. She wasn’t sure yet, but she was almost certain that she was pregnant again. ‘There’ll always be an England,’ she began to sing softly to herself. ‘And England will be free. As long as England means to you what England means to me.’ It was the song they sang every Sunday lunch-time when they all met for drinks at the Repulse Bay Hotel.

  Her hands tightened on the steering-wheel as she thought of Roman and of the men like him, fighting lone battles in the sky, facing enemy flak night after night. ‘Please be safe, Roman,’ she whispered as she drove towards the Star Ferry Pier. ‘Please, please be safe!’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Chinese charity ball at the Peninsula had been given the name the ‘Tin Hat Ball’. Its purpose was to raise £160,000 towards the purchase of bomber
s which Hong Kong then intended to present to Britain. As she parked the Lagonda and walked into the brightly lit, flower filled lobby, Elizabeth wondered if it would achieve its objective.

  She had spent all morning and afternoon at the piano, and her back and wrists ached. If Raefe had been at home with her, she knew she would have been tempted to stay there and give the ball a miss. As it was, he had been at an intelligence meeting at Government House since early morning and had arranged that, instead of coming home, he would meet up with her at the Pen.

  As she walked through into the ballroom she saw her reflection in one of the giant gilt-framed mirrors. She had begun to wear her hair down again, and it fell in a long smooth wave to her shoulders, pushed away from her face on one side with a tortoiseshell comb. Her dress was of cream silk, the mid-calf-length skirt falling sensuously over her hips in a swirl of soft pleats. Three long strands of enormous pearls hung from her neck at precisely the right depth of the softly draped neckline. They had been her first present from Raefe, and she wore them at every possible opportunity. She stepped into the ballroom, the silk of her skirt rustling softly against her legs.

  Julienne and Ronnie, Helena and Alastair were seated at a large round table at the far end of the room. Tom Nicholson’s white-dinner-jacketed figure was also at the table, and with an involuntary tightening of her stomach muscles she wondered where Melissa was. Julienne had never, as yet, invited Tom and Melissa to any gathering at which she and Raefe would also be present, and she was sure that Tom was equally careful.