‘Whenever you want. In the next few days if you wish.’ He sounded as if he were discussing a trip to the bank, not the arrangements for a life-changing ceremony. ‘But I don’t want a fuss. Not a big affair. I haven’t the time. I did the big wedding thing when I married Felicity. I don’t want to go through all that again.’
Swallowing her disappointment at his dismissive and unsentimental approach to matrimony, Evie nodded. It wasn’t as if she wanted a big fancy wedding herself. After all, apart from the Leightons and the servants, she knew no one in Malaya. There were no friends and family to invite – she had none. Her mother’s absence wouldn’t be a cause to mourn.
Forcing a smile, she said, ‘It’s a deal!’ and held her hand out for him to shake.
That evening, after her conversation with Douglas Barrington, Evie dined alone. As soon as they had concluded their deal, he went off to meet someone at a place he referred to as The Club, making it clear the invitation didn’t extend to her. As he left, Badger going with him, he called back over his shoulder. ’Oh, and call me Doug. Everyone else does.’ The irritable tone indicated it was less an invitation than an order. ‘No one’s called me Douglas since my mother died.’
Was this what Evie could expect – lonely dinners alone? It wasn’t her idea of marital bliss. Even suppers with Mrs Shipley-Thomas seemed a more appealing alternative. And she didn’t like the idea of calling him by a name that everybody else used. She was jolly well going to stick with Douglas.
Over a mostly silent breakfast the following morning, Douglas announced he was going to the mainland and would be back that evening.
‘May I come with you?’
‘No. Not a good idea. I’m going to the convent to bring Jasmine home. Better that I do it alone so I can explain what’s happening. I don’t want her upset. She’ll need a bit of time to get used to the idea of you being around. If she takes to you, she can stay, otherwise I’ll take her back after a few days.’ He finished his tea, got up from the table and left, his dog padding along behind him. He had made no eye contact with her during the entire exchange.
Evie wanted to cry with frustration. He was so closed-up, so cold, so unfeeling. The way he talked of his own daughter, of returning her to the nuns if she didn’t settle – as if she were an unwanted library book. He seemed to lack even the slightest capacity for empathy, for any appreciation of how difficult this was for her – let alone how Jasmine might feel. Pushing away the surge of self-pity welling inside her, she decided she needed to distract herself. Since Douglas had made it clear that he expected her to run the household, she might as well start there. She would ask Aunty Mimi to show her round the entire house and explain everything involved in its running.
This plan was more straightforward in its intent than its realisation. Aunty Mimi was occupied in the kitchen, ironing while Cookie was preparing vegetables, and her puzzled expression and monosyllabic responses signalled that she was less than impressed by Evie’s desire to understand the workings of the household. Retiring from the kitchen abashed, Evie concluded that perhaps her initiative had been premature. Aunty Mimi could well be unaware of her impending marriage to the head of the house. Better to wait until the deed was done and any ambiguity removed. Meanwhile, she could easily explore the rest of the house on her own.
She began downstairs. There was only one room she hadn’t yet seen. She eased open the door to find that it was a study. Dominated by a lacquered wood desk inlaid with mother of pearl, it was a beautiful room. A rich brocaded upright chair stood in front of the desk, a chaise longue, piled with linen cushions, was in front of the window, and one wall was lined with bookshelves that reached almost to the ceiling. Evie ran her fingers along the spines of the books as she read the titles. Among others, she found a full collection of Dickens, Hardy, the Brontes, Robert Louis Stevenson, George Eliot, Walter Scott, some more recent books including several Agatha Christies and a few by Somerset Maugham, as well as English translations of Victor Hugo, Tolstoy and Chekhov. Better than the fare she’d had to read to Mrs Shipley-Thomas. There was enough to keep her occupied for years. Judging by the condition of the spines and the pristine dust jackets, no one had yet got around to reading them.
On the opposite wall was a decorative Chinese lacquered cabinet containing a collection of fine china that looked hand-painted, and an array of ornaments and curios carved in jade, ebony and ivory.
Moving over to the desk, on top of which was a small stack of notepaper and envelopes, she imagined Douglas sitting here penning his proposal to her – then remembered it had been typed.
Like the drawing room, the study gave onto the garden. Evie looked forward to sitting in this exquisite room in the rainy season, curled up on the chaise longue, devouring a book.
Suppressing the feeling that she shouldn’t be wandering around the house like this, she went upstairs. Didn’t she have a right to explore? This was her home – at least when in George Town. There was of course also the rubber plantation, where she imagined they would spend most of their time after they were married. She wondered if Douglas would take her there straight after the wedding.
Her own bedroom was one of three on one side of the landing – she found another near identical guest room at the far end, looking out onto the street. In between was a smaller, sparsely furnished box room with a single bed, probably intended originally to house
