The blood drained from Tom’s face. His mouth went dry, and he thought he was going to be sick, or collapse. The room became a blur.
‘Would you like to sit down? Shall I get you some water?’
She guided him to a chair and handed him a glass. He slumped down; his head was swimming. He put his face in his hands.
‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t …’
In all his dreams, in all his nightmares and deliriums he had never considered that this could happen. It had always been him who might die and never come back here. It had never been Joy, not once, not even for a second. He had never let that thought enter his consciousness. Even after he had arrived back in Penang and seen her house boarded up and neglected, he had not thought she might be dead. He had simply assumed that she and her family had gone to Singapore as they had planned to do.
He fought back the tears. He didn’t want to cry here, in front of this woman he didn’t know.
‘It must be a dreadful shock for you. I’m so sorry. Miss de Souza was a wonderful teacher. We all miss her terribly here at the school.’
When he felt able to walk, he muttered his goodbyes and went outside. The sudden force of the sun made his head throb. He walked as if in a dream, hardly noticing where he was going, crossing roads without looking, zigzagging between people on the pavement. He reached the cemetery.
There was a mass of new graves on a separate piece of ground at the back under the trees. It looked as though it had been cleared especially for all these new bodies. There must have been hundreds of people buried there. Most were marked with simple wooden crosses, but one or two had proper carved headstones. He wound his way through them, reading the names. It was heart-breaking. Whole families were buried together. Eventually he found it. A white marble cross embossed with gold lettering: ‘Here lie Joseph de Souza, his wife Bertha, and their children: Joy, born 1916, Grace, born 1922, Hope, born 1928, Paul, born 1932, Luke, born 1934, and Elijah, born 1936. All died on December 11, 1941. They are sadly missed.’
Tom sank to his knees and wept. He wept for the countless times that he had taken out her photo for a glimpse of the face that had given him the hope and the will to survive. He wept for all the plans he had made for his life with her. He wept because now he could never take her in his arms and ask her to marry him. He wept for her lost life and his lost future.
‘You got me through it all, didn’t you,’ he asked her, tears streaming down his face. ‘You weren’t here, but your spirit got me through, Joy. Because of you, I survived.’
27
Laura stretched out on a sun-lounger beside the pool. When she closed her eyes all she could hear was the chattering of birds in the lush vegetation, and the swish and splash of the waters as the Malay boy cleared fallen leaves from the pool. She was on the terrace of High Tops Hotel. The sun warmed her face, burning red through her eyelids. If she opened them she would see the view over the tree tops to the town shimmering in the heat of the morning and the blue of the straits beyond, melting into the sky. She was beginning to understand why Dad had left London for the lure of this beautiful island, had been seduced into staying here.
She thought about the previous evening. After she’d found the photograph of Dad in the ballroom, her host had taken her on an extended tour of the house and grounds.
He had shown her the terraced garden, full of exotic shrubs and trees, and the garage, formerly a stable block, in which a pre-war Morris and an ancient Bentley were stored. He had then taken her up to the flat he occupied on the top floor. It was untidy but comfortable, full of old books and antiques. Beside a casement window overlooking the town stood a writing desk, scattered with papers and holding a portable typewriter. In the kitchen, a slim Malay woman sang softly as she peeled vegetables.
‘Don’t worry about me tonight, Suria,’ he said, ‘I’ll probably eat downstairs in the dining room. If it’s OK with you?’ he asked, turning to Laura, ‘I thought I might join you.’
‘That would be very nice,’ Laura had answered.
She caught a brief exchange of glances between the two and wondered fleetingly if the woman was his lover.
They ate in the long panelled dining room at the front of the house. The tables were set with linen tablecloths and silver, and lit by candles. The old Indian waiter brought dish after dish of deliciously spicy Malay food. Only one other table was occupied, by an elderly American couple who kept the waiters dancing attendance.
David poured wine.
‘It’s so nice to have someone to talk to in English. I can speak Malay and do have lots of friends here, but sometimes it’s nice to chat away in English to someone who understands.’
She watched his face as he told her about his life. He wasn’t handsome, she decided, but his strong features were attractive, and he had unusual pale-grey eyes that held your gaze. He told her that he’d been born in Australia after his parents had fled the Japanese invasion of the island, and that they had returned to reclaim the house soon after the war.
‘Pa wanted to go back to England.
