As she walked, absorbing the chaotic yet beautiful scene, an image of the Hampshire village where she had lived with Mrs Shipley-Thomas formed in her mind, dull and tame in comparison to the East. But at least when she was back in England she’d be free of the humiliation that was her constant diet here in Penang.
She turned off the waterfront, into a wide street lined with stores and shop-houses. Colourful posters advertised Tiger Balm and Tiger Beer as well as cigarette brands, and there were numerous signs in Chinese characters. The dress shop was a large establishment with windows that gave onto the street. Evie peered through the glass and was reassured to see a wide selection of European day and evening dresses. She went inside.
Later that evening, as she sat in front of the looking glass adjusting her hair and applying a light touch of lipstick, Evie wondered if her new dress was suitable. It had been an extravagant purchase, but Douglas had been as good as his word and paid her a generous allowance. And soon he would have nothing more to pay for, once she was on a ship heading back to England.
Evie wasn’t the type to want revenge, to try to get as generous a financial settlement as possible. She was used to making her own way in the world and had no wish to profit from this sad and sorry episode in her life. Better to move ahead. Find a new path. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried – she’d met Douglas more than halfway. But she wasn’t going to lie down and let him trample over her like a doormat.
She was nervous about the evening ahead. Apart from dealing with her husband’s quixotic behaviour, she was worried about seeing Arthur Leighton again, after their conversation in the garden. Had she imagined the look in his eyes? Suppressing the thought, she convinced herself it was her imagination. After the coldness of Douglas, it was only natural that she should seize upon any form of kindness in a man and misinterpret it. Besides, odd as it might seem, Arthur was a married man and had to be in love with Veronica. Why else would he forgive her marital infidelities – if, as Evie was sure, Mary Helston had told her the truth?
Standing up, Evie surveyed her image in the cheval mirror, smoothing the silk fabric over her hips. She liked what she saw. Maybe she wasn’t a sylph, like Veronica Leighton – she was more statuesque – but she did look elegant. The bias-cut of the gown was flattering, hugging her body as it curved, before flaring softly below the hips, and the pale mauve shade perfectly complemented her green eyes. Not bad, she told herself. Not bad at all.
Feeling more confident, she went downstairs. Douglas was at the open French windows of the drawing room, a stengah in his hand. He glanced at her as she came in but said nothing.
Benny was on duty dispensing drinks and handed her a gin and bitters. Evie took the drink, feeling awkward again. How was it possible that in just thirty seconds her confidence could plummet thanks to the moodiness of the man she’d married? She sat down. If there was going to be a conversation, he could damn well initiate it. Otherwise, she’d sit here in silence.
A moment later, Reggie Hyde-Underwood was shown in by Aunty Mimi, full of delight about his new son, who, he told Evie, was to be called Stanford after the child’s maternal grandfather. Evie glanced sideways at Douglas, but he had turned away and was adjusting his cuff links.
‘And your wife?’
‘Splendid, thank you, Mrs Barrington. The old girl came through it all with flying colours. They say she and the baby should be able to come home after a few more days’ rest.’
Douglas had moved over to the sideboard to instruct Benny, needlessly, on Reggie’s drink. It was clear to Evie that his manager’s evident joy in fatherhood was riling him. To her relief, the Leightons and the Rogers all arrived at the same time and the party, served with their ‘stiffeners’, moved into the garden, where scented torches were burning to stave off the mosquitos. The ghostly glow lit up the flowering trees and gave an ethereal magic to the scene. It had been raining earlier in the evening and the air was full of the soft perfume of rain-drenched flowers and the citron smell from the torches.
Evie’s battered confidence returned when she saw the admiring look in Arthur Leighton’s eyes.
‘Evie, you look stunning tonight,’ he said, before being called over by Douglas to join the group of men. She felt a small thrill of pleasure at the compliment, starved as she was of any appreciation by her husband.
‘Nice frock.’ Veronica looked Evie’s gown up and down. ‘Didn’t I see it in the window of that shop just off Marine Drive?’ She shook her head and wagged a finger. ‘You didn’t take my advice and go to see Mr Ramanathan?’
‘I’m afraid I was pushed for time.’
‘Silly girl! He could have run you up something in a couple of hours. Then there’d be no risk of running into someone else wearing the same thing.’ Her tone dripped disdain. ‘You do know that shop is always at least a season behind? Mr Ramanathan could have made you a gown straight out of the latest issue of Vogue magazine.
