That, and the thought of her face. He didn’t need to get her photograph out of his top pocket. He could feel it there, cool and flat against his chest. If he shut his eyes and concentrated for a long time he still had a perfect picture of her face the last time they had met. The time they had said goodbye at the docks in Georgetown. She’d looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
Perhaps she had wanted Tom to ask her to marry him, and not leave her wondering what their future held. How he wished now that he had seized the moment when he had the chance, that he had not left the question hanging in the air like that. But he would ask her, if he got out of all this. The thought of being with her kept him going. If all else deserted him he could return to that thought, and it would not fail him. He would get back to Penang one day and find her, and then he would marry her.
His mind wandered back to the day that had changed his life, had set in train the chain of events that had taken him to the tropical island he would make his home, would grow to love. That momentous day in 1938 when he had walked out of work and slammed out of his parents’ house. He remembered wandering the streets aimlessly for a while. It had been a perfect autumn day, the air cool and refreshing. The trees in the squares of Bloomsbury were turning all the shades of red and gold. He sat on a bench in Russell Square for a while, eating an ice cream, watching the nannies play with their charges on the grass.
He had wondered about what he was going to do. He supposed he would have to find another job. But who would give him one without a reference? Finishing the ice cream, he carried on walking aimlessly in the direction of the river. He strolled through Covent Garden Market where there was much clattering and shouting as the stalls were being put away for the day, and then found himself on the Strand. He was just thinking that he would make for Embankment Gardens and sit there for a while, when he walked past the office of an employment agency.
It was almost five o’ clock then, and a man in overalls was moving a portable sign from the pavement. Tom could just read the words on the sign through the man’s legs. He’d often wondered subsequently what direction his life would have taken if he had arrived on the Strand five minutes later.
‘Strong fit young men wanted for outdoor work in Malaya.’ The words were written in a typeface that made them look like handwriting, placed against a backdrop of palm trees and a white beach bordering a glittering sea.
Tom went into the office. The young man behind the counter looked up wearily and took down his details. He obviously wanted to head home for the day. He took the papers through a door into the back of the office and came back almost instantly.
‘It’s your lucky day. Mr. Andrews has just got time to see you before he leaves.’
Tom was ushered into a stuffy little office, more of a cabin really. It was furnished with just a desk and two chairs. Mr. Andrews was a large thick-set Scot with a bushy moustache and patches of sweat under his arms.
He explained that he worked for the United Rubber Company, which was recruiting young men to manage workers on the rubber estates all over Malaya. There was a particular vacancy that they still needed to fill – the job of overseer for a small plantation on the island of Penang.
‘There isn’t much rubber production on the island itself. Most plantations are on the mainland,’ Andrews said, ‘but Georgetown is an important centre for the rubber industry. The Trade Association is based there and there are several import-export companies in the town. So that plantation is a bit of a showcase for us. We need someone trustworthy and presentable to oversee it for us. You look as though you might fit the bill.’
He then asked Tom a series of routine questions, and finally enquired about who would be able to give him an employment reference.
Tom looked down awkwardly.
‘Well, I’m not sure about that. It’s a bit difficult. You see, as a matter of fact, I walked out this morning. We had a bit of a difference of opinion.’
Andrews glanced at his watch.
‘Look, Mr. Ellis. You are just the sort of material we are looking for. You seem a genuine sort of chap. We are not going to make too many difficulties about this problem with your last employer. I wouldn’t like it to become a stumbling block. Is there anyone, anyone at all who could vouch for you, who could simply write a letter to say that you worked at this firm for five years?’
Tom instantly thought of Gerry Buttle, the chipper court clerk at Arbuthnot and Boodle. Gerry was always coming up with new money-making schemes. Tom was sure that Gerry would be prepared to write him a reference if he made it worth
