‘Come on. I’ll show you somewhere special.’
Beckoning for Laura to follow, he plunged into the undergrowth on a tiny path, barely visible between the trees. It wound its way through the thick vegetation, almost obscured in places by hanging creepers and overgrown bushes. Laura looked around anxiously for tree snakes as she walked behind David. She supposed it must be safe; he was a native after all. After about five minutes the forest thinned out and the bright blue sea came into view between the palm trees.
‘Tourists don’t know about this place,’ he said, leaning against a palm and staring out to sea. Laura followed his gaze. The crescent of white sand was punctuated by smooth round boulders. Huge coconut palms leaned gracefully over the beach in a perfect curve. Shallow waves lapped at the sand. It was perfectly clean and unspoilt.
‘This was my mother’s favourite spot,’ said David. ‘She used to come down here and just sit on that rock there, staring out to sea. Especially towards the end when she was ill. She seemed drawn to it.’
‘I can see why,’ murmured Laura.
‘Luckily, it’s escaped development so far. The road’s too narrow here. But it will come.’
Then he drove her up to the car park at the base of the Penang Hill where they caught the funicular railway train to the top. They strolled round the gardens and stood at the view point, where David pointed out the landmarks of the town, and over the misty water to Butterworth on the mainland. To Laura the gardens looked strangely familiar. As she turned away from the viewpoint, with a shiver of recognition she realised that this was the place where Dad and Joy had posed together, that the palm tree and the bushes were the backdrop of the photograph she had found in her father’s trunk.
They went into the little café and ordered coffee. David asked her about her work.
When she told him what she did, he said, ‘That sounds pretty impressive. Do you enjoy it?’
‘No. That’s the trouble. I find it really unfulfilling. Dad encouraged me to do it. He only wanted the best for me, I suppose, and I never had the heart to tell him that I loathed the work. The money never really made up for that.’
‘Have you thought about doing something different?’
‘I’ve been thinking about looking for a job in another branch of the law, something a bit more worthwhile, work in a law centre maybe. That’s what my Dad did himself. But these last couple of days I’ve had my doubts about that too.’
‘Why don’t you have a complete break? Take a year off or something. You could stay here and help me build up the business. I’m trying to persuade the bank in KL to give me a loan, but it would make all the difference to have someone else on board. I’ve been looking for someone to help out for some time.’
She stared at him.
‘But you barely know me.’
‘I know enough.’
She smiled. ‘That’s very flattering. I’ll certainly give it some thought.’
They drove back to Georgetown, and as they neared the centre, David stopped the car beside a little church. It was stone built, with a spire and stained glass windows and a neat churchyard. It looked like a church one would find in any English town or village.
‘All the British used to come here before the war. It was where everyone came to be seen. This church was as much of an institution as the club.’
Laura bit her lip. Dad wouldn’t have come here, she knew that. He was a committed atheist. Or perhaps that was just after the war, after what he had been through.
‘Shall we go and have a look?’
She wandered between the graves and saw English names engraved on the headstones. She was astonished by how young these people had died. There were many tiny graves, too, of children, buried beside their parents. She lingered beside them, touched by the sadness.
‘You see that corner,’ said David, pointing to the back of the graveyard behind a wall, where the graves were closer together. ‘That’s where all the Christian victims of the Georgetown bombings in the war were buried.’
Her heart beat faster. She left David by the church and walked along the gravel path to the place he had pointed to. She made her way along the lines of graves, staring at the headstones, holding her breath, dreading what she might find. There were many British names here too, amongst the Indian and Portuguese. Again, she saw the graves of many children, of whole families buried side by side.
She nearly missed it. It was at the end of a line almost in the very corner of the graveyard.
‘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.’
She stared. Could this be the Joy de Souza? Could there be another one? It was a common name. She remembered the columns of de Souzas she had seen in the phone book at the Cathay Hotel. She peered at Joy’s date of birth. Joy would have been twenty-six in 1942 – the same age as Laura was now. She turned away, overwhelmed.
She felt David’s hand on her arm.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I take it that’s the person you were looking for. Are you OK?’
She nodded and turned away, and with an effort of will suppressed her tears.
‘Come on. Let’s go back to the hotel.’ He guided her back along the path, a firm hand on her arm.
Suria looked up from the desk as they entered
