This plan appearing to suit all parties, Evie followed her husband and the estate manager. Once they were outside, she turned to Reggie. ‘It looks like Mrs Hyde-Underwood is soon to have a baby.’
The man grinned from ear to ear. ‘Our first. We’re very excited.’
‘Congratulations.’ She couldn’t help noticing a pained look cross her own husband’s face.
Douglas let Hyde-Underwood do all the talking as he led them around the estate, pointing out the ‘lines’ where the coolies lived – long rows of corrugated-iron roofed single-storey dwellings. The roof slopes jutted forward beyond the buildings to provide a shelter and there were a few women, sitting on mats in the shade, preparing vegetables or tending to children.
‘Bellavista is quite small,’ said Hyde-Underwood. ‘Less than a thousand acres. We have two hundred tappers working here. Mostly Tamils.’ Beyond the lines was a large open area of bare flat ground. ‘We do the muster here each morning at five-thirty,’.
‘The muster?’
‘Roll-call. If they’re not present they don’t get paid for that day. The muster’s also the time we do any briefings, and allocate duties and work details.’
Evie glanced at Douglas. ‘Five-thirty’s awfully early.’
Reggie Hyde-Underwood answered. ‘We have to tap the rubber in the coolest part of the day. The latex runs better then. It coagulates when the temperature gets too hot and seals up the cut. We break in the middle of the day for tiffin and a bit of a snooze and start again with other tasks in the afternoon until five. When I show you, you’ll understand.’
He plunged into the ranks of rubber trees and they followed him. The trees were tall and straight and planted even distances apart. The branches, instead of spreading outwards from the trunk, grew upwards towards the light, the leaves small and glossy. The mottled silvery bark was spotted with patches of lichen with the areas of the trunks where tapping had taken place darker and nobbled in texture. It was a gloomy place, the trees creating a dark arched canopy over their heads, like the crypt of a cathedral.
Taking a hooked knife, Hyde-Underwood cut a diagonal slit in the bark of a nearby tree. ‘When it’s cooler, the latex is more liquid and runs down the slit into the collecting cup.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘See here. It’s already a bit too sticky and it’s sealing over where I made the cut. But if you do it before dawn, the rubber runs freely.’
He led them through the groves of regimented trees. Ignoring these and the little tin cups attached to their trunks, he strode on until they reached a small group of workers, moving along the rows, collecting the latex from the cups. The smell of rubber caught the back of Evie’s throat. It was everywhere. She realised she had even smelled it in the Hyde-Underwoods’ bungalow.
Swinging sharply away, Reggie guided them towards a large tin-roofed building. ‘We process the rubber in here, ready to send to the godowns in George Town and onwards to the buyer.’
‘Godowns?’
‘Warehouses.’
Evie was beginning to get bored by all the explanations. She wanted to show an interest in the business – particularly as it was the one thing she had discovered so far that Douglas was genuinely passionate about. But it was irritating that he was leaving all the explaining to Hyde-Underwood. Evie would have preferred it if Douglas had taken her on the tour himself. After all he did own the estate – maybe he didn’t want to put his manager’s nose out of joint. She told herself that was creditable of him and tried to feign interest in what Hyde-Underwood was saying.
Inside the building was a series of large metal holding tanks. ‘The latex from each division is weighed so we can monitor the yield constantly. It’s all about how much we can squeeze out of every tree. Conditions were hard for several years. Some planters have switched into spices or palm oil. But things are looking up.’ He stroked his chin. ‘And talk of the possibility of war in Europe is helping push the prices up further.’
Evie shuddered. ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that.’
‘Of course.’ Hyde-Underwood’s already ruddy-cheeked face grew redder. ‘I mean it’s the talk that pushes demand up. Crikey! I don’t want there to be an actual war. That’s unthinkable. Not so soon after the last one.’
‘There’ll be no war. Don’t alarm Mrs Barrington.’ Douglas’s tone was hard, impatient.
‘I’m sorry.’ Hyde-Underwood looked abashed. He was clearly nervous in Doug’s presence – or perhaps it was the fact that their unannounced visit had taken him by surprise.
‘It’s all right,’ said Evie. ‘I’ve just come out from England and it’s all anybody talks about back there.’
Hyde-Underwood went on to show her the holding tanks, explaining how they measured and recorded the density. He showed her the sheets of latex passing through rollers, squeezing out the water, before being hung up to dry for days in the adjacent smoke house. ‘We grade each sheet into categories. The boss here expects it all to be Grade One.’ He winked at Evie. ‘Most of the rubber is sold in London by auction before it’s even processed. There’d be a terrific stink if the consignment they’ve paid for turns out to be below par.’ He paused, looking again at Douglas, and Evie sensed he was constantly expecting to be corrected, but Douglas remained impassive.
‘During the Depression when the market slumped, many estates, including this one, had to lay off a lot of crew. There was quite an exodus of European planters from the Straits.’ He looked again at Douglas. ‘I was one of the lucky ones. But it was tough for all of us.’
‘Enough of that.’ Douglas spoke at last. ‘The Depression’s over.’
The blood rushed into Hyde-Underwood’s cheeks again. He turned away and spoke rapidly in another language to one of the workers.
‘Is that Malay he’s speaking?’ Evie asked Douglas.
‘Tamil. He speaks both. And some Chinese.’
‘Goodness. That’s impressive. Do you?’
‘Of course.
