Inside the house, the rooms were dim behind shuttered windows, but thankfully cooler than out in the full sun. It was larger than it appeared from outside. In the centre of the ground floor was an open area of double height, the upper floor landing overlooking it on three sides, so that it formed a kind of internal balcony, defined by open lattice working, with narrow supporting columns. A ceiling fan whirred above her head.
The other members of the household were lined up waiting to greet her. Benny first introduced a woman – evidently the housekeeper – as ‘Aunty’ Mimi. A tiny Chinese woman, thin and fragile in appearance, Aunty Mimi had short black hair, streaked with grey and was elderly but evidently still agile. Another Chinese, a smiling toothless man, was introduced as ‘Cookie’. Evie guessed they were married to each other, but was afraid to ask and no one enlightened her. Finally, there was a young Malay man, who was introduced merely as The Boy and evidently considered unworthy of the dignity of a name.
Benny said, ‘Only Aunty Mimi and me speak English. You soon learn speak Malay, Mem. Also two kebuns to work in garden.
Overwhelmed, the prospect of ever speaking even basic Malay felt beyond Evie. She was exhausted. Perhaps once she’d freshened up and had a sleep, things would be less daunting.
Aunty Mimi led Evie upstairs into another darkened room. Opening one shutter she showed her a large rear garden, where the sunlight was filtered by a collection of tall trees. Evie could hear the tinkling of water but couldn’t see its source. Around an expansive lawn was a vibrant display of colourful flowers that lifted her spirits a little.
A large low bed stood in the centre of the room, draped with mosquito nets. Something else to get used to. There was a ceiling fan above the bed, but it was motionless. Aunty Mimi pointed to the bathroom beyond, where, as well as a ’thunder box’ raised up on a shallow platform like a throne, there was a bath tub and a separate shower area, with a tall Shanghai jar, filled with water to flush the toilet and dip into for cold showers. Fresh towels were laid out on a wooden table beside a dish of soap. Someone had placed a hibiscus flower on top of the towels. Smiling at this touch, Evie noticed a huge centipede scuttling across the floor and shuddered.
The woman placed her palms together and bowed solemnly over her hands, then turned to leave.
‘Wait a moment! When do you expect Mr Barrington to come home?’
Aunty Mimi shook her head. ‘Tuan not come here many time. He live in other place.’
‘Do you know when I will go to this other place?’
The old lady with the smallest movement of her head indicated it was a question she couldn’t answer. ‘Benny bring up bags. When you ready I make tea.’ With that, she left the room.
Torn between the need for a cup of tea, a good sleep – and possibly a good cry – Evie chose to have a shower first. She stepped out of her damp cotton frock, rolled down her stockings – she certainly wasn’t going to be wearing stockings again, unless she absolutely had to – and peeled off her soaking wet underwear. Pouring the cool water over her hot skin was a shock, but also a blessed relief, and the soap was scented with what she thought was jasmine. When she’d finished her ablutions, she returned to the bedroom, noticing her suitcase and holdall had been placed on top of the wardrobe and, while she’d been taking her shower, someone, presumably Aunty Mimi, had unpacked her clothes and put them away.
Her spirits low, she went downstairs, hoping a cup of tea might revive them. So far everything was telling her she had made a terrible mistake.
3
It was three days before Douglas Barrington turned up.
Evie passed the time exploring the streets of George Town in the early mornings, before it became too hot to venture out. Even in the cooler part of the day, it was stifling, and she had failed to understand how much the humidity affected the body. Penang was like living in a Turkish bath with no reprieve. As she gradually began to acclimatise, she took increasing pleasure in the novelty of being on this sub-tropical island, with its crowded streets, colourful fruits and spices and exotic smells. It was impossible not to be intoxicated by the sweet fragrance of hibiscus, frangipani, sandalwood and ylang-ylang, the whiff of salt from the sea mingling with the smell of fish, the heady scent of incense which caught the back of her throat as she walked past the many small temples, the aroma of nutmeg and cardamom and the unspeakably foul stench of durian fruit. Passing the Chinese shop houses, the smell of food cooking pervaded the air, as meat was stirred into smoking hot coconut oil or mingled with sesame and soy. She marvelled at how the cooks were able to stand beside steaming vats of noodles and rice, rapidly stirring the food in their woks, in this oppressive heat.
In the afternoons, Evie sat in the relative cool of the garden reading a book. Even under the shade of the tall hardwood trees, it was hot. There was little or no breeze to cool her, and the air hung heavy and damp, wrapping her in a suffocating blanket. No wonder Felicity Barrington had hated the climate.
She supposed she ought to write to her mother and fill her in on her new location and circumstances, but decided to put it off until she had something concrete to report. She could hardly tell her she’d travelled all the way to Malaya to get married, only to find her husband-to-be had yet to put in an appearance. As to how Mrs
