‘Yes, I’ll take the leave,’ George told him, ‘and I’ll go to Rinsey this morning.’
Chemor repeated his hooter performance as they arrived at the plantation gates. Blanche revelled in hearing George’s belated protest and seeing the affection that radiated from everyone towards this man — hers! she thought.
Liz greeted George with genuine affection and enthusiasm — and her mother with a knowing nod and a drawn-out,
‘Hmm.’
‘What do you mean by hmm?’ Blanche asked.
‘I think I mean I feel free to go off to Penang on the first train from Ipoh to Butterworth, ferry across to George Town — Alan will come and meet me there. I’ll find a hotel … ’
‘On your own?’ Blanche frowned. ‘I’m not sure — ’
‘Look, Mother, the most dangerous bit will be from here to Ipoh. The trains are guarded. Penang island is safe — even the soldiers hand their rifles in when they get there.’
‘It has to be safer than in the jungle among the CTs where she went chasing after him before.’
‘Oh! It’s nice to have an ally, George,’ Liz said. ‘It’ll be great having you around — in the family?’
Blanche spluttered a little and made derogatory noises.
‘Oh, come one, Mother! Don’t be coy! I know the look of someone who’s been bowled over. You looked suddenly ten years younger when the news came of George’s release — and there had to be something or you’d have put this chap in his place way back.’
‘You should have told us both,’ George said. ‘Saved a lot of time.’
‘I don’t reckon you’ve wasted much.’ Liz stood watching the two of them, then pointed at her mother. ‘That is the second time in my life I ever remember my mother blushing, and the other time was yesterday!’
‘Don’t labour it,’ her mother warned.
‘I reckon we should come clean,’ George said.
‘Actually she’s quite wrong!’ Blanche said airily. ‘It felt more like twenty years — even thirty.’
‘Which means,’ Liz concluded, ‘I definitely should not be here! I’m off to Penang!’ She went to the door, put her hand on her heart and declaimed, ‘You’ve got each other. And I’m just going to see if Anna’s finished my ironing, so I can pack.’ She waved, left the lounge, then peeped back. ‘Be good!’
Blanche made a pretence of chasing her out but, reaching the door, closed it quietly. ‘Elizabeth has quite amazed me. Not just by guessing what was going on, but I thought she might be upset because of her father.’
‘It gives her freedom,’ George said. ‘Let’s not grumble about the things that go right for us.’
*
The next day Liz crossed the channel to Penang on one of the ferries which cross and recross looking like nothing so much as a flotilla of gigantic water beetles straggling across the water.
She took a rickshaw to the small hotel agreed with Alan over the telephone, booked in and asked if there was a message for her. There was not. Just being in a hotel and waiting for news again gave her a strange and apprehensive feeling, but this time she knew she would not stir from the hotel until she heard from Alan.
Watching from her window she saw young men strolling in twos and threes, obviously English soldiers though walking out from their camp in cheap cotton trousers and shirts they had bought locally. One of these groups paused outside and soon afterwards a letter was brought up to her room.
She tore it open, paused and laughed as she saw he had drawn matchstick men along the top all cheering. She went to sit by the window to read his message.
My darling Liz,
I am writing just in case you manage to come this early. I’m on duty until late afternoon — but great news. We have our own place!
I’ve rented a holiday bungalow. It is on Batu Feringgi beach — practically on the edge of the sea and just about four hundred yards around the headland from our camp. It is really a weekend bungalow used by a George Town barber, but we have full use of it for a month — and the regime in this camp is free and easy, the duties light.
I’ll go to the bungalow tomorrow lunchtime and every afternoon until you come. There is everything there, except can you food shop on the way?
Come soon, my love.
Yours ever,
Alan
The taxi driver was amused as she stacked his vehicle with goods. She was less enchanted when as they drove he insisted on slowing down to point out places he obviously thought she should be interested in — or as she came to realise he thought he might earn more by taking her on detours. This went on until she told him that there would be two dollars extra if he could get her to Feringgi quickly. The difference was electrifying, even frightening, as they now careered along, disregarding not only the attractions but all other forms of life and traffic.
They were quickly across the island to the west coast, blazed a way through a sleepy fishing village and along the shore track, glimpsing blue ocean between palms as they sped along. The tropical growth on the land side was becoming denser and more encroaching, so Liz assumed few people used this road.
‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ she asked.
He turned and beamed. ‘I bring Mr Khanti all time.’
She felt relieved when he turned back to look where he was going and only seconds later braked sharply before a small wooden building.
‘If you would just put all my things near the door,’ she said, beginning to fumble in her handbag for his fee. Less he should try to find more reasons to earn himself a little more. Once the dollars had changed hands, he left with as much speed as she could have wished.
The bungalow was open and, though she called tentatively, she knew it was empty. She walked to the beach edge; palms behind, ocean in front, sky, it seemed, the deepest of blues, yet the sea deeper still. Everywhere appeared deserted. The beach bungalow was built on a wooden platform, level at the trackside but some feet above the beach where the sand sloped quickly into the lapping water. Although unprepossessing from the outside, no more than steep slant of attap roof running down beyond its walls to shade the platform it was built on, inside the house had been neatly divided into four parts. There were two bedrooms — Mr Khanti obviously had children, and she hoped they wouldn’t miss their weekends at the beach too much. The lady of the house had kept most of the drapes in shades of white and cream with patterned brown cushions and rugs. On the tables were brown and white bowls and shells. It was altogether very pleasing.
The only things she was sure neither Mr nor Mrs Khanti owned were a thin blue cotton shirt and a pair of cotton trousers thrown on the double bed. These had to be Alan’s, they were like those she had seen on the soldiers in George Town.
She sat on the bed, laying a gentle hand on them as if to divine where he was, when he would come. Then she was up and about the business of housekeeping, stowing away their groceries, leaning from the kitchen window and plucking brilliant red hibiscus, spoiling Mrs Kanti’s colour scheme with bowls full in the kitchen and the lounge.
Everything done she could think of, even the wok oiled ready to cook in, she wandered out on to the beach. In both directions it was entirely deserted. To the right, no more than a quarter of a mile away, a heavily jungled headland tumbled small cast-off green islets into the sea. This was the way the camp lay.
She walked slowly, watching the sun sink down through a sky in deepening splendours of silver, bronze and, as it touched the horizon, pure liquid gold, seeming to resist being put out by the sea with a brazen display of pyrotechnics far across the sky. The last rim clung on and on, and when at last the whole circle had disappeared the sky still celebrated the passing.