‘If you ever want to come back, we’re always looking for bright young men in the Straits Legal Service, particularly in the Courts. You should give it some thought.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but I’ve never done any litigation in my life.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. You’d pick it up in no time.’
Sir James was a good twenty years older than his wife. He was running to fat, and had heavy jowls, but his thick head of dark hair and intelligent brown eyes still lent him a youthful demeanour. There was something about him, an easy charm that seemed to draw people to him.
Now, watching them together, Tom wondered whether the rumours about Millicent were really true. She had her arm through her husband’s and was smiling up at him while he related an anecdote to an old lady. They appeared to be a perfectly devoted couple.
‘Don’t be taken in by appearances,’ whispered a voice behind him, and turning round he saw Henry standing there, grinning broadly.
‘Oh, hello, old man. I wasn’t sure if you were coming.’
‘Oh, yes. Wouldn’t miss one of the Athertons’ parties for the world. They’re the toast of Penang. You’ll find some crusty old relics here, but amongst them, some decent types too. Everyone is here, Tom. Anyone and everyone.’
Dinner was served in a huge galleried room on the first floor, lit by chandeliers and cooled by ceiling fans. The table was so long it had been difficult to make out the faces at the other end.
Tom’s company for dinner was not so enticing however. On one side of him sat a deaf old woman, Mrs. Roberts, the mother of the chief of police in Penang. She was a redoubtable type who had spent her entire life in the East. If seemed odd to Tom that someone who appeared to be so English had only visited the mother country a couple of times in her life. She regaled him with gossip about the colony, but was unable to hear any of his replies unless she held an old-fashioned ear trumpet to her ear. On the other side of him sat a mousy little woman, the wife of another of the overseers on Tom’s estate. She barely touched her food and hardly spoke; she had explained to Tom at the start of the meal that she’d had a bout of fever recently and was not feeling up to much.
Every so often, Millicent, who was sitting at the end of the table nearest to him, would catch his eye and watch him for a moment, with that same amused mocking look she always gave him.
After the meal, there was dancing to a band on the terrace overlooking the town. It was a romantic scene, with the sparkling lights from the boats moored in the harbour and the full moon shining on the water. Tom felt self-conscious. He had not danced for years, but Millicent took his arm and drew him onto the dance floor.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, pulling back.
‘You mustn’t be a kill-joy,’ she said, laughing.
‘Well, I’m a bit out of practice.’
‘Never mind. This one is freestyle.’
Tom had let Millicent take him in her arms, and allowed her to lead him in the first dance. She danced confidently and gracefully, and after a while he relaxed and remembered the steps. By the third dance he realised he was enjoying himself.
As he said goodbye at the end of the evening, Millicent leaned towards him and whispered, ‘Would you like to play tennis with me on Tuesday evening? James is out of town at a hearing in Singapore.’
Tom hesitated. Why did she feel it necessary to mention that her husband would be away? He was aware that she was waiting for a reply. And everyone on the steps behind him seemed to be waiting for him to move on. Was it simply inertia and politeness, and the fact that his driver was waiting beside his car with the door open and Tom did not want to hold everyone up any longer? Or was it that promise in her dark eyes? He didn’t know what made him say yes to Millie.
‘That would be very nice,’ he said.
‘Six o’clock. Don’t be late,’ she said, laughing her mocking laugh.
Now, sitting in the pit, fevered and weak, in his state of extreme hunger, Tom found himself visualising all the courses of that meal he had at High Tops. First there was salmon in aspic. He could remember the perfect delicate taste of the dish even now. This was followed by fish soup, then rare beef and new potatoes. He could actually taste the succulent meat if he closed his eyes: luscious and pink and running with juices. The dessert was Pavlova. The most delicious, melt-in-the-mouth, creamy meringue that he had ever tasted. He found himself salivating at the memory. But gradually, as the image faded, and the reality of the punishment pit returned to him with savage force, the contrast between his present predicament and that sumptuous evening was almost impossible to bear. He clenched his fists and tried to pummel the sides of his prison with anger and frustration, but his hands were so constricted he could only manage a feeble punch or two. He slumped forward against the bamboo bars and let out an impotent roar.
15
Laura opened the trunk and the stale smell of old clothes hit her. Slowly, she began to take things out of it: a cream linen suit; some hand sewn shirts; a couple of pairs of leather shoes, stiff with age; some books; a framed photograph of a middle-aged couple posing beside some potted palms in a photographer’s studio. She studied it, recognising the graceful figure of Grandma Louise, and beside her Granddad Edward, looking severe, dressed in a pin-striped suit. She found another photograph, of Dad, young and fresh-faced, standing beside the Asian woman whose photograph she had found tucked into her father’s book.
‘Joy de Souza,’ she whispered.
