Drawing air deep into her lungs she let it out slowly. ‘Mrs Leighton,’ she said at last. ‘As you will have gathered, I know next to nothing of Douglas Barrington and his current circumstances. After my father died, my mother went to live in America and I’m afraid I lost track of family matters.’
Mrs Leighton pushed her untouched salad away and motioned for the waiter to remove it. ‘So, what on earth possessed you to accept a marriage proposal from a man you hardly know?’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, Mrs Leighton, I’d prefer not to answer that. Your husband suggested that you might be willing to offer me some advice about living in Malaya. What kind of clothing I need to bring. That sort of thing. If you’re not prepared to do that, I will pay the bill and bid you goodbye. I have a lot to do before we sail.’
Leaning back in her chair, Mrs Leighton nodded. ‘So you can stand up for yourself. That’s good. You’ll need to with Dougie. I was worried you were going to be a doormat. Believe me, he’ll try to make you one.’ She glanced around the room and caught the eye of their waiter. ‘Why don’t I order us each a “Gin and It”? We can have a good chat and then look at clothes together. Cotton and linen. Just day dresses – you can buy silk over there and get your evening gowns made up. There’s a fabulous little Indian chappie who can run up a gown in an afternoon. I’ll introduce you. He can copy a design straight out of Vogue. For daywear keeping cool is the thing. It’s hot as blazes in Penang. All year round. You can probably get rid of most of your wardrobe as it’s far too steamy for things like that.’ She gestured dismissively at Evie’s wool suit.
Clapping her hands together she said, ‘How does that sound? Oh, and shall we dispense with the formalities? Call me Veronica.’ Her mouth formed a smile that her eyes didn’t echo.
At least the full-on attack had stopped, but Evie had already decided that Mrs Veronica Leighton was a first-class bitch.
Half an hour later, having written a list dictated by Mrs Leighton of essential items to bring with her to Penang, Evie had had enough advice and was determined it wasn’t going to extend to choosing her new wardrobe. Quite apart from being bossed around, the kind of clothes Mrs Leighton had in mind would be beyond her limited budget. Pleading a headache, she made her escape and took the much-maligned underground to High Street Kensington and bought herself a couple of cheap cotton frocks and some new underwear in Barkers. She could get more clothes made when she got to Malaya. Her existing wardrobe was unsuitable for a hot climate. At the suggestion of the landlady of her boarding house, she took her winter clothing to a nearby church, for distribution to the poor. Her limited funds were now almost exhausted. She’d need to stretch the pennies until the sailing date in a week’s time.
That night, as she lay in bed, struggling to sleep, she wondered whether she’d made a terrible mistake in agreeing to marry Douglas Barrington. One thing she had not included on her decision-making list was the question of why Douglas had made such an offer in the first place. It now seemed reckless of him – and even more reckless of her in accepting.
Why on earth had he asked her to marry him? And why hadn’t he mentioned he had a daughter? Would the little girl be living with them after they were married? Was he really only marrying her to father a son? Why choose her? He barely knew her.
Veronica’s words kept repeating in her head. How could Evie ever expect to replace the beautiful Felicity? She’d been crazy to think she might. And hadn’t Veronica said that all Douglas’s friends were amazed at his decision – and all of them had adored Felicity?
Tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress, she thought back to the wedding of twelve years ago. The bride had been breathtakingly beautiful and a perfect match for her dashing groom. While Douglas Barrington had indeed danced with the teenage Evie, he’d also danced with almost every woman present that day. She was deluded to imagine that he had retained the memory of her over the years. But she couldn’t help hoping that he had, that he might even one day come to care for her. Then reality struck again. How could she, a woman more at home on a hockey pitch than a dance floor, ever hope to win the love and affection of such a man?
A week later, Evie stood on the quayside looking around, trying to spot the Leightons among the crowd thronging the waterfront. She couldn’t board the ship yet as Mr Leighton was to meet her and hand over her ticket. Most of the people on the dock appeared to be friends and relatives there to wave off passengers. She began to panic.
‘Yoo hoo! Evelyn!’ The call came from above.
Looking up, Evie saw Veronica Leighton leaning over the guard rail on one of the upper decks of the ship, waving a silk scarf as though she were a French revolutionary leading the mob into battle.
A man appeared beside Evie, his hand extended in greeting. ‘You must be Evelyn. I’m Arthur Leighton. Pleased to meet you.’
Evie had to hide her surprise at Veronica’s husband. Her assumption had been that scary Veronica would be married to a handsome lounge lizard. But instead of a suave and elegant roué, Arthur Leighton looked more like a schoolmaster: dishevelled, with a thick mop of sandy hair that flopped over his brow until he brushed it away with his fingers. He appeared to be younger than
