Текст книги "The Red Pavillion"

Автор книги: Jean Chapman

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

‘Heng Hou! You said you never be caught,’ she accused. Chemor still capered like a mad monkey. ‘He caught! He talk!’

Blanche glanced at John, expecting him to have George’s old tracker removed, but he seemed to pay no regard.

‘And I talk! I talk now!’ Li Min came forward, facing Heng Hou again but at a safe distance as he growled and shouted at her. Her voice rose higher and he was silenced by the nudge of a rifle butt.

‘He liar! He say he make me woman leader of communist republic, like wife of Mao Tse-tung. I say all right. Beat me and we trap “thorn in communists’ sides” George Harfield. He beat!’ She nodded and Blanche felt a pang of sympathy for the girl as she saw the horror of the experience reflected in her eyes.

‘He beat! He rape too!’ Her voice rose to a scream full of tears. ‘He rape like animal.’ The pitch of her voice fell almost to a whisper as she added, ‘Worse than animal. I hate ... ’

Blanche closed her eyes momentarily, letting a prayer of thankfulness swamp her mind. George! She urged the message across the green jungles to Pudu Gaol. George, you’re free!

On opening them again she saw Sturgess patting Chemor on the back. My God! she thought. It was all a put-up job between the two. Play-acting!

George had always said Robbo was his best friend.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Blanche did not dare presume to take either Lee’s or Ch’ing’s arm or hand as they stood by Josef’s grave. She had told of the encounter and the shooting and led the two of them outside. She felt poised on the knife edge of their judgement.

Ch’ing stood and looked for a long time, then she made a small gesture towards Neville’s grave. ‘He did not deserve,’ she said quietly.

Blanche was not sure whether she meant Neville had not deserved his fate, or that Josef had not deserved her retribution. She relived the moments of their encounter and wondered yet again whether she had murdered Josef, or whether if she had not shot it would have been her grave alongside Neville’s.

She started as Ch’ing linked an arm through hers and the two women went to sit on the seat overlooking the two graves.

‘Better he died at Rinsey,’ Lee said, ‘We had happy times.’ The girl’s eyes softened while her head shook at the memory of the boy and the double-dealing terrorist he had become.

Liz came with Anna, as always practical, bringing iced tea. ‘A bad boy,’ Anna commented, looking down at the new grave, ‘but in no more trouble now.’

‘No,’ his mother said, ‘is blessing.’

‘Oh, Ch’ing, I’m so sorry.’ Blanche grieved for the truth of the mother’s remark.

‘It’s strange,’ Liz murmured, ‘but already I seem to see him better as the boy he was.’

Lee came to her and linked arms. ‘We’ll bring flowers and gifts,’ she said, and her mother nodded.

‘We have lost so much.’ Ch’ing included Blanche in the remark. ‘Husbands ... ’

‘Much time,’ Blanche contributed, holding and patting the old lady’s hand, though bringing herself up with a start as she remembered Ch’ing could only be her own age.

‘Many years for us in the jungle,’ Ch’ing added. ‘Now we have to find work and place to live.’

‘You’ll stay here,’ Blanche reassured her, ‘for as long as ever you wish to.’

‘If there is workman’s house I would like,’ Ch’ing said. As Blanche looked as if she would protest, she added, ‘It’s what I want.’

‘Of course ... ’

‘And work tapping,’ Ch’ing added. ‘Please.’

The politeness of the woman so fallen in her fortunes tore Blanche’s heart. ‘Whatever you want.’

‘We can both tap.’ Lee linked arms with her mother. ‘This is freedom for us here at Rinsey – to earn dollars! Wow!’ Lee raised her eyes to the sky at the thought, then, seeing Blanche still looking doubtful, she added, ‘We need time to open wings gradually – perhaps fly later.’

‘And we have a lot of shopping to do,’ Liz reminded her.

‘But first sleep to catch up,’ Blanche said. ‘Now the tension is over, I’m totally exhausted.’

‘G and T in bed?’ Liz asked. The offer seemed to tie another thread.

‘Darling, when everyone’s settled, marvellous!’

Later that night, Liz came and sat on Blanche’s bed. ‘Like old times,’ she began, then shook her head. ‘No, not really. Everything’s changed, hasn’t it? You do like Alan?’

‘I do,’ her mother answered honestly. ‘I think he has the right kind of practicality you need.’

‘Really?’ Liz was totally surprised. ‘I never thought of him in that way.’

‘Of course not, you’re largely impractical,’ Blanche said with a smile lest her daughter should take it as criticism.

‘You can always surprise me, Mother.’

Blanche laughed and held out her arms. Liz hugged and held her tight, closing her eyes.

‘Alan is being sent to the rest camp on Penang island,’ Liz said as they released each other. ‘I thought I might go up to stay in George Town so we could see something of each other.’ She drew in her breath slowly through her mouth, preparing for a sigh, then added, ‘He may be sent back to England quite soon.’

‘His health is not in question, is it?’ Blanche asked, anxious there should be no more heartache.

‘The scar is very sensitive still. John Sturgess thinks he might be sent home with an earlier demob number than his own.’

‘Then you must spend as much time as you can together,’ Blanche said. ‘You have a lot to decide.’

Liz nodded soberly.

Once Blanche was alone, her thoughts moved from her daughter’s future to wondering if George yet knew his prospects had so radically altered. Robbo had promised to consult his colonel, Edwin Neillands, as soon as he was back at base. He and Inspector Aba had promised everything would be done to speed George’s release. But what about his job? And where would he live? She’d fit him in at Rinsey, however many seams she bulged was the decision which stilled the questions and allowed her to fall into sleep.

The next morning Anna took a call while Blanche was supervising the improving of the quarters for Ch’ing and Lee. She came running out to them. ‘Major Sturgess, he say Mr George Harfield to be released at two o’clock. Can you pick up?’

Blanche felt the colour rising in her cheeks and in the instant of relief at the news she realised she hadn’t blushed for years – couldn’t remember the last time.

‘Mother?’ Liz queried. ‘You knew he would be released.’

‘Yes ... it was just unexpected at that moment.’ She put down the brush she had been using. ‘I’ll probably leave you to organise the evening meal with Anna – for all of us. That OK?’

She turned away and left them, aware of the silence behind her. Not until she reached her room did she remember that they had been in the middle of a discussion about bedroom furnishings to be taken from the bungalow for Ch’ing and Lee. She grimaced at the realisation but hurried to pull a favourite green cotton dress from her wardrobe. She was behaving like a love-lorn creature. No! She stopped in the act of opening her underwear drawer. No, she was behaving exactly like her daughter – rushing off after her man.

She chose her fresh clothes feeling as if a mature woman was critically observing a young one as she flew about changing. Before she was quite ready, she broke off to go and find Chemor and tell him the news, and ask him once again to be her driver. She came back glowing. Chemor had wrung her hand heartily and imparted the information that it had been George who had taught him to drive.

She had not brushed her hair so vigorously since she was a teenager, thinking it added the imperative shine to make her a social success. Then, dissatisfied with her appearance, she rushed back to her wardrobe, held a pink check dress up over the green, discarded it and just left, regardless of time.

Inevitably, they were outside the prison early, and it was only as they arrived that she realised it was also one of the times visitors were allowed in. She recognised several of the people who had become familiar to her over the many visits she had made. They looked at her curiously when instead of joining the queue she went to stand on the far side of the prison gates.

Eventually a clock chimed two and a wicket gate set in the larger gates opened. She immediately saw George, carrying his small case, turning to shake hands with the warder who had unlocked the gate. Her heart went out to him; she felt both rejoicing and sorrow. ‘Through the mill’ were the words that came to her mind as he stepped over the prison portals into the public gaze.

His head went up and his lips parted in a smile as he saw her. She ran to him, caught his arm and kissed his cheek. There were ‘Aah!’s of approval, nods and smiles from the many waiting women.

‘So we’re lucky,’ she said. ‘I might have still been queuing on that side.’

‘I never thought – ’ He paused and frowned. ‘I never thought of you out here, waiting with everyone else. Do you know what I feel like? I feel like having what my mother would have called “a good blart”.’

‘You haven’t time.’ She nodded ahead to where Chemor stood beside the car, his grin so wide it looked impossible he should get all those teeth back behind his lips. ‘But you do feel all right?’

‘Better by the minute.’ He gave her waist a quick squeeze before they reached Chemor.

George greeted his tracker with a hug, a handshake and a thump on the shoulder. There were tears in the Dyak’s eyes. ‘I glad see you, boss. Need you ... ’ Words escaped him. ‘ ... all place.’

‘Looks like I may be a bit of a wanderer, anyway,’ he said, holding tight to Blanche’s hand. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘There’s always room at Rinsey,’ she told him, though the query in his voice reminded her of Ira Cook’s message. ‘Bukit Kinta is also available. Ira’s been summoned to a meeting in Singapore. He rang specially to say to regard the bungalow as your home as always.’

George opted to go first to have a look at the mine. He was quiet as they drove. Leaning far back in the seat, he stared out at the countryside, but he was holding Blanche’s hand tight. She accepted his need for silence.

‘Not sure,’ he began, as Chemor swept the car triumphantly on to the track to the mine, ‘I’ll ever feel quite the same about this place. Well, of course, it isn’t my place to feel anything about, really … ’

‘Ira could opt for the New York office again, given a chance. And surely now you’ve been exonerated ... ?’

Any further speculation was cut short as Chemor blasted on the car horn: three short bursts, three long, three short. He drew the car to a rapid halt in a miniature dust storm before the bungalow, turned triumphantly and announced, ‘V sign, boss,’ and repeated the performance on the horn.

Blanche took one look at George’s face and burst into laughter. ‘What a discreet arrival!’

There had been speculation among the staff about their former boss’s return. The hooter blast swept away all doubts and as George stepped out of the vehicle he was immediately cheered by several of his workers. A cry went up and in less than a minute people were flocking from all directions to greet him, the men wanting to shake his hand or pat his back, the women and children beaming, clapping and calling, ‘Welcome home! Welcome home, Mr Harfield, sir. Tuan! Tuan!’

He raised his arms high and wide, greeting them all with equal enthusiasm. His colour too had risen, making him look much more himself; he was thinner, of course – but she could feed him up, Blanche found herself thinking.

‘That feels right!’ he said, beaming across at Blanche. ‘I can’t deny that feels right. I’ll stay here tonight, anyway.’

He climbed on to the bungalow steps and raised a hand. ‘Thanks, my friends. You’ve made me very happy. It does me good to see you all again. Let me have tonight to rest up and find myself again and I’ll be round to see you all tomorrow.’

They waved and cheered him as they went off back to their duties and their homes. Standing at George’s side, Blanche warmed to these self-effacing, warm-hearted people. She turned to find George watching her.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘I’m thinking how much I like these people and how bloody mad it makes me feel to think of them being exploited.’

‘We’re only at the beginning of it,’ George said dourly. ‘This country’s got a long way to go before it stands up independent and rid of the scourge of gun-happy extremists.’

‘And you’ll stay and help?’ She was aware that there was a lot of feeling out of opinions and intentions going on. Was Liz telling her she would go back to England? Was she asking if George intended to stay in the Far East.

‘I’ve given a lot of my life to this country.’ He paused, looking out over the milky tin lakes where lilies proliferated. ‘I think I may be too old to go back to frosts and snows.’ He looked at her as if the real answer lay with her. ‘If I’m wanted, I’ll certainly stay.’

‘Send Chemor back to Rinsey,’ she said quietly, drawing him by the hand towards the bungalow. ‘Tell him to say I’m staying over at Bukit Kinta for tonight.’

‘I’ll never let you go from me again if you do this,’ he said in no more than a whisper.

‘You can’t be sure of that,’ she said, still smiling brightly as if to the retreating crowd.

‘I’m sure!’ he breathed, and the tone of his voice brought a response she felt had been unused for as long as her capacity to blush.

He beckoned to Chemor and gave him the instructions. The Dyak glanced at Blanche and she added, ‘You’ll see all the guards are posted, everywhere well-guarded?’

Chemor acknowledged with a salute.

‘Fine!’ George approved. ‘See you tomorrow, my friend.’

They stood in the doorway and watched him go as if he were the last guest at a prolonged party, watching until the Ford disappeared in the dust, so their solitude could be assured.

George dropped his case to the floor and, catching her hand, pulled her to him, slipping his arm around her waist. The contact of their two bodies was electrifying. She had thought him like a rugger player when she had first met him; now she knew his fitness exceeded her expectations. He held her close for a few more seconds almost as if confirming that first sensation. It was vibrant, she could have told him. It was sensational.

He lifted her and carried her to the bedroom, placed her back on her feet and began to take his own clothes off with a deliberation that had the most blatant sexuality she had ever known. She was so surprised and overwhelmed that she still stood fully clothed when he stood fully exposed.

Then, instead of taking a step towards her, he stepped away as if placing himself as audience and invited her to follow his lead. She did. Neither too slowly nor too quickly, but with the discipline of experience. Yet the knowledge was tight between them that in neither of their lives had there been anything quite like this before.

When she was naked she tossed up her chin and walked tall and proud towards him, feeling this was the most arousing thing she had ever done. If she had ever been ready to share love and sex with a man this was the moment.

George lifted her as she reached him and they stood united – only afterwards did they go to the bed.

*

Early the next morning there were movements in the kitchen, noises of china being moved and smells of bacon being fried. George went to investigate. He returned grinning.

‘Li Kim’s back. He looks a bit dishevelled. The police took him in before the raid, questioned him and only released him late last night.’

‘Did they seriously suspect him?’ Blanche asked, sitting up and letting the sheet fall around her like drapes around a classical torso.

‘Possibly. His trouble is, like many another, he tries to be on the winning side, whichever it is,’ George commented as he took off the shorts he had slipped into. ‘Though, heaven help the Orientals, over the centuries many of them have had to be pretty inscrutable to survive at all. However – ’ he climbed back into bed and scooped her to him – ‘he’s pretty sure he’s on our side at the moment.’

They breakfasted royally, and before Chemor arrived, Ira telephoned from Singapore with the news that he had the offer of a job in the firm’s Singapore office, which he intended to take. ‘But I’m to come back to Bukit Kinta as mine manager for the next two months so that you can have immediate leave, if you wish.’

‘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.

She found to her astonishment tears running down her cheeks. This beautiful land, this land where she had thought all her dreams for the future lay ...

‘My Shangri-la!’ she whispered to the fading glory. ‘Still the same – but I’ve changed. You are the distant, brilliant land of my childhood.’

She turned to look from sea to land, dark now, menacing to the ignorant or the unwary. But westward, the sea seemed to hold its own light, as if having drowned in it the sun gave up light from below its waters. ‘Ever more wonders!’ Looking towards the headland, she was surprised to see how close its blackness loomed, how far she had walked. With a start, she saw a dark figure at the sea’s edge outlined by the pale-green phosphorescence – a figure lifting an arm high in eager greeting. ‘Ever more wonders,’ she repeated.

They met running. He caught and swung her round so she felt on a carousel of pale sky and shining water.

They hugged and kissed and threw little remarks at each other, mere asides, banter to ride the excitement of reunion, the thrill of touching.

‘You’ve shaved your beard.’

‘I was on duty until five.’

‘I had a mad taxi driver ... ’

‘Today’s duty sergeant thinks he’s still at Caterham Barracks.’

‘I think my mother will marry George.’

There was a pause, a kind of calming in this news. ‘Good,’ he said with gentle emphasis. ‘Good, best thing that can happen.’

They were silent then, content to link arms and stand lifting their faces to the slight breeze coming from the sea. Its passage feigning coolness.

‘It was getting late,’ she said after a time. ‘I thought you might not come.’

‘I’ll be here every night and most days,’ he told her. ‘The camp has steps down to this beach. There’s a fence and a gate but ... but I’m billeted with two good guys.’

She gave his arm a squeeze and immediately he folded her in his arms. ‘Don’t get into trouble.’ she whispered.

‘Do I care?’ he asked, wrapping the words around her like a message of undying love.

‘Don’t want them sending you somewhere else. I would like the whole month here.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘You know honeymoons are going to mean nothing to us.’

‘We’ll just make it one long celebration,’ he told her and they began walking slowly back towards the bungalow.

‘I love you,’ she said, ‘for ever.’

‘You’ll be able to stay until my furlough is up?’

She nodded. ‘And I’ll travel with you when you go.’

‘I hope,’ he said, treading into the wet sand at the sea’s edge, ‘we’re not talking metaphors, or some of George’s proverbs here.’

She laughed. ‘No, I’m talking planes and ships, or whatever will take us back to England.’

‘You’d be happy to leave your mother behind? That is, if she stays.’ It was easier to ask these questions as they walked.

‘Oh, she’ll stay, I know that. She may not know yet, but they’ll marry and live at Rinsey and I’m sure eventually George will take over the plantation.’ Predictions felt like certainties as they strolled, arms around each other. ‘I feel closer to my mother than ever before in my life. It’s like finding you had another best friend or older sister.’

‘There is your sister.’

‘Wendy? Wendy’s like my mother, self-sufficient. She’ll make her own decisions, no use trying to second-guess for Wendy. She’ll make a life, and it’ll never be dull.’

‘At home either East or West,’ Alan mused, then lifted his head. ‘You know, I can smell rain coming just like you can in England – and the sky’s darkening.’

‘It won’t be like English rain,’ Liz had hardly warned when the first spots began to crash down.

‘Like being pelted with jellyfish,’ Alan gasped as he caught her hand and they ran and leaped up on the bungalow’s platform under the crude porch.

They were both soaked and the rain was already running from the roof in a unbroken sheet. ‘Makes you feel shut off, doesn’t it?’ Alan said as he turned to her. ‘The darkness, the rain.’

She thought how strange it was that rain, waterfalls, a lake with a legend, now an ocean featured in their love. ‘There is a lot of water in Malaya,’ she said while remembering there was also a trout stream running through the land of Pearling House.

‘We should have taken our clothes off – like at the lake,’ he said.

‘Why not? Let’s just stand out there.’ She began to pull her saturated clothing off and stepped out into the downpour.

‘Oh! lovely’ she shouted above the din. ‘Come on in – no, out!’

Alan pulled off his clothes and hung them on a chair which stood at the back of the verandah. He lifted his hands above his head and let the water stream over him, remembering the home-made shower at Rinsey when he had first dined in the house, first known Liz loved him.

They came together, letting the water stream over their entwined bodies. Liz had a mental picture of how they must look, how she could draw them, Art Nouveau style, sensual, with a background of wild Rousseau jungle. She would avert the faces so the picture could hang on the wall of their home, so only she and Alan would know the real significance.

All through the night their lovemaking was accompanied by the pounding beat of rain. But the morning dawned clear, gleaming with all the cleanness of a land new-scrubbed and polished by the storm. She felt him move from the bed, heard him go to the window, heard a faint gasp of amazement and, seeing her awake, he said in an awed voice, ‘Come and look!’

She knew by the dancing of the light from the window what he was seeing and went to stand, her arm around him.

Raindrops still hung sparkling in huge prismatic drops from every leaf and over the steaming track hovered a myriad gaudy butterflies, like a curtain screening jungle from beach, screening them from the world.

‘I wouldn’t have believed it,’ he whispered, ‘if I had not seen ... ’

‘It often happens after rain,’ she told him.

He stood and admired them as long as they remained, turning to her as the last few began to drift away, the wonder of it still in his eyes.

*

Four months later George and Blanche stood, arms linked, on the Jardine Steps of Keppel Harbour, looking up at His Majesty’s Troop Ship Lanshire. Having loaded its returning troops, officers, wives, nurses, other personnel and Liz, the ship was preparing to leave for the month’s journey home to England.

Both searched the ship’s rail until Blanche squeezed George’s hand. ‘There they are! Together, look! Under the fourth lifeboat from the front.’