down into the well behind the engine and waited as the other members of their party climbed aboard. The night air was sultry and warm and he found himself wondering why formal receptions in the tropics had to be governed by the same manners and decorum suitable for temperate climates. To be wearing a tail coat, a stiff collar and white tie to attend a function on an island in the middle of the China Sea seemed to be ludicrously pretentious, not to say sheer folly. All his satisfaction at having put Cruz so unequivocally in his place had evaporated, to be replaced by irritation and bad grace. He dropped down into the launch and it was pushed away from the wharf and began to motor up the Pasig towards the Malacanan Palace. Here at least was some relief, a little coolness, and he stretched his neck above his collar and spread his moist palms to catch the breeze created by their progress. Around him, chattering excitedly, were the members of their party – Annaliese's friends, not his, he corrected himself. The invitation had been extended to the bishop and his staff, hence Annaliese's insistence that they go. He looked back at them: Mr and Mrs Freer, middle-aged English, he an oculist; Monsieur and Madame Champoursin, he was a journalist; Senora Pilar Prospero, headmistress of the cathedral school; Father Agoncillo, a plump young priest and a special friend of Annaliese; and Mrs Kelly, a friend of the Freers, wife of a veterinary surgeon in Iloilo, visiting Manila for a month. What an impoverished crowd, he thought sourly. The men were all in evening dress like him, the women might have been going to a ball in any provincial city in Europe – long dresses, petticoats, demure jewels, silk, lace and taffeta, corsets and hair-combs and high-heeled slippers. One or two carried fans, otherwise they might have been in Aberdeen or Bristol, Lyons or Hamburg, Genoa or Seville. He was determined, at all costs, not to enjoy himself.
He soon saw the Palace ahead, the gardens down to the river bright with Chinese lanterns and the wide arches on its ground- and first-floor facade picked out with strings of red and yellow electric lights. They disembarked and moved through the surprising number of people to the receiving line. Governor and Mrs Taft stood on a small dais beneath a flapping sailcloth canopy. To one side the constabulary band was seated in a semicircle energetically playing a gavotte and just beyond them, laid over some lawn tennis courts, was an open- air ballroom with three banked rows of seats surrounding it. In various positions about the gardens were buffets of food and small tables with punch bowls. The Stars and Stripes was draped everywhere: how the Americans loved their flag, he thought.
He shook Taft's hand. The man looked grotesque in his evening wear, more obese than ever. His bulging face was pink and shiny with sweat but he greeted everybody with unchanging geniality, shaking their hands vigorously and repeating 'pleased to meet you, very pleased to meet you', in the American manner. Carriscant waited a little awkwardly as Annaliese chatted to Mrs Taft. He could not tell if the Governor recognised him – his welcome displayed the same booming familiarity to everyone – and he thought this was not the time to remind him of their last encounter. Taft smoothed his moustache and grinned at him like a jolly uncle. Carriscant gave him a little smile in return. He wondered vaguely if Bobby had told him about the murdered woman? The band struck up 'Campdown Races' and Taft jovially conducted a few bars.
'My absolute favourite,' he said, seemingly directing the remark to Carriscant, though he appeared to be looking into the middle distance.
'What? I'm sorry, I -'
'Such a pretty tune. Always cheers me up.'
'Indeed.'
To his relief Annaliese had finished her conversation and at last he could shake Mrs Taft's limp hand, smile at her and move on. He steered Annaliese towards a table where punch was being served by Chinese waiters. Big chunks of ice floated in a suspiciously peat-coloured liquid. It was hard to tell what its constituents were but at least it was cold. And powerful. Carriscant drained his first cupful and went back for a refill. Already he could feel the alcohol working on him: perhaps he could survive this evening after all.
He strolled with Annaliese towards the band, stopping to exchange some words with acquaintances. They stood and watched the musicians in their blue uniforms with red epaulettes as they played the official Rigodon to start the dancing and the first couples moved on to the dance floor. Carriscant felt slowed and dulled by the rush of the alcohol, a little addled by the punch, and found his gaze resting on an elegant mestiza, her oiled hair hanging in a glossy dark sheet over a hand painted camisa with intricate whorls of embroidery worked on the fan- shaped sleeves. Never seen one quite so delicately done, he thought, and turned to point it out to Annaliese, but she had moved off some paces to talk to Father Agoncillo.
'Good evening, Dr Carriscant.'
His blood stopped and he felt his innards slip and tumble.
She stood a few yards away, in a long slate-blue dress with a tightly cinched waist. She carried a slim ebony cane with a silver handle. Her hair was piled high on her head in a style he had not seen before, curled and wild. Her eyes were clear and smiling, and the low frilled front of her dress showed her collarbones and the freckled paleness of her chest.
Annaliese rejoined him.
'My dear, I don't think you've met Mrs Sieverance.' He presented Annaliese. 'My wife, Annaliese.'
'Mrs Sieverance, I'm glad to see you looking so well.'
'Ah, thanks only to your husband, Mrs Carriscant.'
There was a hellish silence.
'What… I mean, no. Ah, no discomfort? No difficulties in any -'
'Don't worry, Doctor,' she said, smiling. 'The cane, I must confess, is a bit of a luxury. One hates to abandon such a dashing accessory.'
'Yes,' he said, stupidly, seeing her glance at Annaliese. 'Yes.'
'Is your husband here?' Annaliese asked.
'He's in Mindanao. They're having trouble, I believe, with the insurrectos.'
He felt he was about to collapse. 'If you'll excuse me, I think I see Chief Bobby there.' He gave a small bow and marched off, leaving them talking. He had not seen Bobby but he made directly for a crowd of people around a buffet table where he drank two more cupfuls of punch and tried to regain his composure. He filled a plate with savoury biscuits shaped in stars to take back to Annaliese. He felt… He did not know what he felt. He had never seen anyone so beautiful, he thought. He had never physically desired someone so much: the pressure of being beside her and of not being able to touch her had been intolerable, shocking. After a few moments he managed to calm himself down, saw that Annaliese was alone again and crossed the lawn to rejoin her.
'What're these?'
'I thought you might be hungry.'
'No thank you.'
He handed the plate to a passing waiter.
'Very much the Gibson Girl,' Annaliese said, patronisingly. 'Very. What must she think of us poor colonials?'
'Who?'
'Your Mrs Sieverance. She's certainly 'got right there' as they say. Must have six inches of hair pads. At least.'
'She's made an excellent recovery.'
'I think that all that untidy hair makes them look like shop girls.'
'To be out and about after an operation of that seriousness is-'
'Vulgar. So American.'
Later, when Annaliese was sitting round the dance floor with Mrs Freer and Madame Champoursin, Carriscant took his opportunity to slip away and go in search of her. He saw her standing under a frangipani tree talking to some Americans – he thought he recognised one from that night on the Luneta-and he passed close enough to the group so that she would see him. He went to a table draped in the Stars and Stripes and ordered yet another punch – he felt awash with punch, but there was nothing else for it.
'Hello again, Dr Carriscant.'
He turned to face her. He felt tears sting his eyes. Beyond her he noticed the others glancing over.
'Would you like a-? Can I offer you -?'
She seemed so calm, so controlled. They stood two feet apart. He handed her the punch cup. His hand was trembling and the liquid slopped over the rim.
'You didn't tell me your wife was so attractive. She was very… polite, I thought.'
