The receptionist shook her head with an apologetic smile.
‘I’m sorry. But you could ask the owner. He will be back later today. He has been away in Kuala Lumpur for a business meeting. I’ll let him know you asked.’
The room was on the first floor, at the front of the house, overlooking the town. Her room was larger than the one at the Cathay Hotel, and more welcoming, with an old-fashioned wooden dressing table, floral bedcovers and curtains, and flowers placed on a marble washstand. It looked like a down-at-heel country-house hotel in England. It felt safe here, away from the town. She lifted the Bakelite telephone receiver and asked the receptionist for an international line. Ken answered after several rings.
‘I thought I’d let you know that I’m in Penang now.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. I’ve been worried about you.’
‘I stayed at a dodgy hotel for a couple of nights. But I’ve moved now. I’ll probably be here for a few days. It’s called “High Tops Hotel” if you need to get in touch. In fact, I think Dad might have been to a party here before the war. How are things with you?’
‘Not too bad. Oh, by the way, that boy came round here.’
‘Boy?’
‘Yes, the one who’s been trying to get hold of you. Rory, with the curly blond hair. He seemed pretty agitated. Asked when you’d be back.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘The day after you called from Bangkok.’
‘Did he leave a message or anything?’
‘No, nothing. Left a bit abruptly when I told him I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.’
‘Well, if he comes round again, try and get him to leave a number or something, so I can give him a call.’
She replaced the receiver, wondering what could be so important. Was it something to do with her flat? It was strange the way he had left so suddenly with his parents when he’d seemed so committed to the protest. Her mind wandered to Luke, and she surprised herself with a pang of regret at the way she’d walked out on him. Perhaps she’d been too hasty running away from him in Thailand? Perhaps she should have given him a bit more of a chance. She stared out of the window at the lush garden bathed in sunlight. The sun was almost directly overhead. It would soon be time to go down for lunch.
The peace outside was broken by the sound of an engine, and a car appeared on the road, swung in between the gateposts. An old Bentley drew up on the gravel drive with the blast of its horn. The dogs that had been lazing on the top step bounded down to greet the car, barking, their tails wagging. The receptionist appeared at the top of the steps, smiling. An old Sikh man in a turban got out of the driver’s side and went round to open the other door. But before he could do so, the door swung open and a tall man dressed in a crumpled white suit clambered out. The dogs bounded to him, and he greeted them as they jumped up to lick his face.
‘Get down, you silly idiots,’ he said in an English accent. He then turned to the driver, ‘Don’t worry about that bag, Adesh. I can carry that.’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased you’re back,’ the receptionist began.
‘Me too. The bloody train from KL was murder.’
They went inside, followed by the dogs.
Laura turned back into the bedroom. She’d been drawn in by the scene. She wondered what it must be like to live here in these beautiful surroundings, in this place so far from home, to own this great shambling mansion. What sort of man was the owner?
Lunch was served in a great sunlit dining room. Laura was waited on by Adesh. She was starting on her first course when a voice surprised her.
‘Miss Ellis?’
She looked up. The owner was standing beside the table. He had changed out of his white suit for another pair of crumpled trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt. He was tanned, and close up she could see that his face bore the lines of age.
She stood up and shook his hand.
‘David Atherton. Welcome to High Tops. They told me you were asking about the house. If you come along to the reception after you’ve finished, I’ll show you around.’
‘That’s very kind of you. There’s no hurry, though.’ Where had she heard that name before?
‘I’d be delighted. It’s not often I get the chance to show off the old place.’
After she’d finished she went up to her room to fetch the invitation she had found in her father’s trunk and then returned to the desk. The owner was poring over some columns of figures. As he looked up, she caught a glimpse of anxiety in his expression before a smile banished it.
‘Great. Let’s make a start on our tour.’ He came out from behind the desk.
‘Have you lived here long?’ she asked. Then she glanced down at the invitation and realised where she had seen the name.
‘All my life, practically. I grew up here.’
‘Really? You see, I have this. It was in my father’s belongings. He died recently.’
She showed him the invitation.
‘I’m so sorry to hear about your father,’ he said. Then he took the printed card and smiled. ‘How interesting. This must have been an invitation to one of my parents’ house parties. I know they used to give a lot of them before the war. My mother was quite a socialite. Did your father live in Penang?’
‘Yes. He worked for United Rubber for a few years. I’ve been trying to find out a bit about his time in the Far East.’
‘I’ve got a collection of photos from around that time in the ballroom. If you’d like to come along I’ll show you. I had them framed and hung on the wall after my mother died.’
He showed her upstairs and down a
