‘Do you remember him?’
‘Yes, very well in fact. He used to read to me in the study and take me around the island in the Bentley. That was his pride and joy.’
‘Did you ever go to England?’
‘We visited occasionally. Ma had to go back for a few months for medical treatment just before she died, and I went with her. That was in 1975. We rented a flat in London and saw all the sights. She was really frail by then. She had cancer, you see.’
‘You must have been very close.’
‘Yes, I suppose we were in a way. But she could be difficult. She was a strong personality, and got more demanding as she got older. We had our tricky times.’
‘A bit like me and Dad,’ Laura said wistfully, thinking of the precious moments wasted on needless confrontations and misunderstandings.
She realised that she was comfortable with this man, even though she’d only met him that morning. With him she felt able to talk about things that she would not have been able to say to any of her friends. It must be the security of knowing that she was just passing through and would probably never see him again, she told herself.
‘What made you decide to turn the house into a hotel?’ she asked after a pause. He laughed and Laura detected a trace of bitterness.
‘Desperation, I suppose. I didn’t go to university or anything. Ma and Pa didn’t want me to go away to boarding school, and I just had tutors here. Hopeless, most of them. So I’m not really qualified to do very much. After Ma died and the money dried up I hadn’t a clue what to do. I was on the point of selling up. It was my wife’s idea to have a hotel, but when the hard work started she upped and left. Back to Australia.’
‘Don’t you get many guests here?’
‘Not really. If you’re not in the Lonely Planet you don’t get a look in. I’ve never really gone all out to compete with the Georgetown hotels, though. I just want to cover the cost of maintaining the house, pay the staff a living and myself a subsistence salary.’
‘This is a beautiful house.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ He sipped his wine. ‘Have you explored the island yet?’
‘Not really. I only arrived the day before yesterday, and I’ve only been in Georgetown so far.’
‘Perhaps I could take you on a bit of a tour? I could drive you around tomorrow, if you would like that. There aren’t many other guests anyway, and Suria can take care of the place for a day.’
‘That’s very kind, but I really came to Penang to see if I could trace someone.’
She told him about the photograph of Joy, and how she had tried to find some trace of her in Penang, but had so far drawn a blank.
‘You might have to go to the public-records office in KL. That’s where most of that information is kept. If you don’t mind me asking though, why do you want to find her so badly?’
Laura took a deep breath and told him about the letter with the Penang postmark.
‘I think it was from a woman. It opened with the words “My Dear Thomas”. I only got as far as the first paragraph, which went something like, “I know it’s been a long time since we were in touch …” Then Dad came in through the front door, and in an impulse I threw it in the fire, so he wouldn’t catch me reading his post. I tried to tell him about it before he died, but he didn’t want to know. I know he was close to Joy, from what she wrote on the back of the photograph and from another photo I found of them together. I suppose I’d really like to find her to say I’m sorry for what I did with the letter, and to find out what she was like, and what Dad meant to her.’
David swirled the wine round in his glass, his eyes not meeting hers. After a while he spoke.
‘Have you considered the possibility that she might not be here anymore. She might have left the island. She might even be dead?’
‘Not really, but I suppose I should face the fact that it is possible.’
‘Why don’t I take you to the graveyard in Georgetown tomorrow? It would be a start. At least you could eliminate that possibility before you search any further.’
‘That sounds a bit of a macabre way to start looking for someone.’
‘Yes, but since the other way involves a trip to KL, which would take you a day and a night on the train from here, it does seem the most sensible thing to do.’
She had agreed. Now, sitting by the pool in the bright sunshine, she wasn’t too sure.
David emerged from the patio doors and came towards her, shading his eyes. He was wearing a pale blue shirt and linen trousers. Perhaps he could even be described as attractive, she thought, reminding herself quickly that he was forty-something and she only twenty-six.
‘Are you ready for our trip? I’ve got the car ready and waiting on the drive.’
He drove her out towards Batu Ferringhi in a battered jeep. She wound the window down and let the warm wind blow her hair. The bright scenery flashed by: rubber plantations, patches of untamed jungle, settlements of wooden houses on stilts with long thatched roofs. It was beautiful. The road wound up through the hills. It did not take long
