While Arthur Leighton seemed to believe her forthcoming marriage would be a successful and lasting one, it was nonetheless a marriage driven by convenience. Douglas Barrington needed a wife to keep his house, bring up his child and, hopefully, provide him with more children. While maybe in time he might grow to love her, it was too much to expect that he would feel that from the start.
Evie, however, was certain she would love him at once. How could she not? Over the years, the memory of that waltz together had never faded. It was a moment frozen in time. The feel of his hand in the small of her back, the warm touch of his smooth fingers, the way he had led her so that she hadn’t felt at all clumsy, but light and graceful. Even though it had been the occasion of his marriage to the beautiful Felicity and Evie had known he was merely playing the part expected of him, she had treasured the way he had made her feel. That dance had marked her transition from childhood and her hope for the possibilities ahead of her. Maybe it was a foolish fantasy – a little girl’s dream of a handsome prince – but this dream was coming true.
She would do her utmost to be a good wife to Douglas, to make him happy, to give him cause to love her. She would be different from Felicity. Life in Malaya might prove a challenge but she was determined to adapt to it. Hot weather wasn’t going to get her down. And anyway, people did acclimatise eventually – the Leightons certainly had. But she reminded herself they’d lived in Africa beforehand, so they would have been used to the heat.
As she stood at last on the dockside, Evie’s heart jumped in her chest and she struggled to breathe. Douglas Barrington wasn’t there to meet her. A Malayan man moved towards her purposefully. She swallowed her disappointment and forced a smile. He introduced himself as Benny and told her he was Douglas’s syce in George Town.
‘I look after motor car and house of Mister Ballington when he in George Town. Not much time. He not here today, Mem. He busy. In Singapore. Come. Bags in car.’
Evie was crushed. After the long sea voyage, and building herself up for meeting Douglas at last, it was all for nothing. She was stung. Since he was travelling down to Singapore, why hadn’t he suggested she stay on board and meet him there? Common courtesy dictated that, when she’d come so far and risked so much. For him to have been unwilling to spare the time to greet her in person was a humiliation. Her resolve to be a supportive and compliant partner evaporated. Digging her fingernails into her palms, she struggled to prevent her emotions showing on her face, and followed a smiling Benny to the waiting car.
Once inside the vehicle, which thankfully had been parked in the shade, Evie leaned back and took a couple of deep breaths, while Benny loaded her modest amount of luggage into the boot. Calm down, she told herself. Maybe Douglas has good reason not to be here. Some kind of crisis? Perhaps he’s as nervous as I am. Don’t get off on the wrong foot. Don’t spoil things by being moody.
Grateful for a breeze through the open car window, she wiped her face with a handkerchief. It was so hot and humid that the perspiration was running down her brow, the salt stinging her eyes. She’d never been so hot in her life. Veronica had been right – the heat was bestial.
She leaned forward to speak to Benny. ‘Is it always this hot?’
‘Yes, Mem. We say here there is three season. Hot, Hotter and Hottest.’ He looked over his shoulder and beamed at her.
‘Which one is it now?’
‘Only Hot.’ He made a little giggling sound.
She leaned back against the burning leather, her poplin dress already damp and clammy.
‘Use fan, Mem. In back of seat.’
She found a finely carved wooden fan in the pouch of the seat and taking it out waved it vigorously in front of her face. How was she going to bear it if every day was like this?
She gazed through the open window, curious about what would be her permanent home. George Town was charming, with its classical Georgian buildings dating back to the days of the East India Company, and its Chinese shop-houses with stores at street level and balconied dwellings above. There were also newer, grander houses, many set in large grounds looking onto the sea. Arthur had told her wealthy Chinese traders had settled here, as well as the colonial Dutch and French before the British had seen them off. Today it was a mixture of races and nationalities – native Malays, immigrant Chinese and Indians, British and other European nations. The island was a centre for the production of silks and spices as well as the rubber for which Malaya was renowned throughout the world.
On first impressions, the island captivated Evie. The land rose to high uplands in the centre with sandy beaches, fringed with palms, around its perimeter. If it weren’t for this ghastly clammy heat, she might even go so far as describing it as a glimpse of paradise. Arthur had been right when he’d said it was magical.
They turned onto a narrow road which took them away from the seafront. The houses here were smaller town houses, mixed in among Chinese-style villas. Pulling up outside an ugly box-like building, more fitting the Home Counties than the Orient, Benny said, ‘Here we are. Dis it.’ She tried not to be disappointed
