It was late afternoon as the rickshaw made its way back through the streets to the Cathay Hotel. Laura closed her eyes and absorbed the sounds and smells of this exotic town as it wound down for the evening: the cries of street hawkers, the aroma of cooking over open fires, the salty tang of the sea floating on the breeze.
She stopped at a small café near the hotel and ordered some satay. It was a canteen-style establishment crowded with locals taking an early evening meal. She sat alone at a table on the pavement. Next to her, a couple of men in suits conferred with each other. Each time she glanced at them, she noticed them staring at her. They were leering openly, and then conferring together, clearly discussing her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, being the lone female in the place. She quickly paid the bill and left.
The old man at the reception desk handed her the key and asked, ‘You find lady?’
‘Not yet. I’ll try again tomorrow.’
‘Maybe tomorrow you go sight-seeing instead. You must see Penang Hill, all the temples. Very beautiful. Look, take map. I arrange tour for you.’
He thrust an old, folded map into her hands. It was printed with garish adverts for restaurants, clubs and tourist attractions. Back in her room, as she sat on the bed, a mouse scuttled out and ran across the floorboards. She stifled a scream.
Opening the map on the bed, she studied the streets, hoping that there might be something that would lead her to Joy de Souza.
She searched the map for clues. On the outskirts of the town she noticed a building marked ‘High Tops Hotel’. She stared at it. Was this the place from Dad’s invitation? She looked closely at the map. There was a crude sketch of a grand house, with pillars and tall windows.
As she settled down for the night there was a soft knock at the door. She pulled on a shirt and opened it a fraction. A middle-aged man stood outside, short and stout and dressed in a suit. She recognised him as one of the businessmen at the restaurant where she had eaten her supper.
He said something to her in Malay.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, moving to shut the door.
He stuck his foot in the gap before the door and tried to grab her arm. She pulled away and slammed the door in his face, then rammed the bolt across it.
She sat down on the bed, shaking all over, waiting for his footsteps to go away, but there was no sound. The shadow of his shoes remained under the crack of the door, motionless; she stayed frozen on the bed, still shivering in shock, her eyes fixed on them. Her breathing seemed noisy in the silence. After a few minutes, there was movement under the door and the footsteps finally retreated. She heard him walk down the stairs. Still rooted to the spot, she couldn’t get up and go to the window, but she heard his footsteps on the front steps and crossing the drive.
She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, still shaking.
‘What am I doing here alone? I must be mad.’
In the sunshine of the morning, it seemed hard to believe this had happened. Even so, she packed her bag and asked the old man to give her the bill and call her a taxi. He was perturbed, wringing his hands.
‘You not leave Penang?’
‘Oh, I thought I’d explore the island. Perhaps stay on the beach for a couple of nights.’
But as soon as they had turned out on to the street she asked the taxi driver to take her to High Tops Hotel.
The driver shook his head and said, ‘I not know that hotel. Not famous. You go my brother hotel. Very close.’
‘Pull over. I’ll show you the map.’
The battered taxi squealed to a halt. The driver scrutinised the map she passed him. Then with much tutting and sighing, he set off again.
‘That bad place. That not good like other hotel in Penang.’
She ignored him and stared out of the window at the shops and houses flashing past her.
He drove recklessly, blasting his horn at rickshaws and taking bends too quickly.
As they got further out from the town centre, the buildings began to thin out. The road began to rise into the hills. They squealed round a bend in the road, and the taxi turned in between some scabbed white pillars and moved on to a wide drive, spraying gravel as it came to a halt. The grand porticoed entrance to the house lay at the top of a flight of sweeping steps.
Laura paid the taxi and walked up the steps. A couple of large dogs of indeterminate breed got up and came up to her, sniffing her legs and wagging their tails in greeting. Like the Cathay Hotel, this place was fading. But more gracefully somehow, and it looked cared for. There were potted plants on the terrace, and the lawns were mowed in perfect stripes.
The reception area was in a tiled hallway, with a grand staircase leading up to a galleried area and panelled doors opening off it.
An immaculately dressed young Malaysian woman greeted Laura at the hotel’s reception desk. Laura enquired about rooms, feeling self-conscious in her creased clothes.
‘Many rooms available, madam,’ said the young woman ‘We only have three other guests, and one of them is leaving today. The price is all-inclusive. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, at seven o’clock.’
As the receptionist handed her the large metal key to her room, Laura asked,
