Текст книги "The Red Pavillion"

Автор книги: Jean Chapman

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Four

‘We could have stayed with Josef!’

‘I think not,’ her mother denied shortly, obviously not willing to go over the debate she had settled to her own satisfaction the night before.

‘Josef could have arranged some security. We could have got some of the tappers to act as guards.’

‘What tappers? There’s no one working in the plantation this morning – and what do you propose?’ Blanche asked stonily as they walked towards the jeep, where Sturgess was loading the guns and ammunition. ‘That we throw chicken wire over the whole bungalow?’

Her mother was right about the tappers. The early hours of each working morning had always seemed to Liz a magical time. Tappers moving out between the dark lines of trees, the lights on their hats twinkling, disappearing, reappearing as men and women moved from trunk to trunk making the skilful, shallow cuts into the bark, balancing the cup in its wire hoop.

Once the heat of the day came, the latex ran less freely, so before dawn each worker started work on his or her section of trees. Soon afterwards her father would have been up, and often she was allowed to go with him on his rounds. All the old workforce had known her. Her wish to be a tapper when she grew up had been as keen as any boy’s ambition to be the proverbial engine driver. Even now she could remember the exact angle of the tapper’s curiously hooked knife and the amount of steady pressure it took to remove a slender portion of bark.

‘I could have stayed.’ She heard the petulant child lingering in her own voice. ‘But you don’t trust Josef.’

‘That is one reason,’ she agreed. ‘Another is you seem prepared to throw yourself into his arms.’

‘To balance your prejudices, perhaps.’

‘Hu-hu, probably.’ Blanche made a tiny assenting noise. ‘It seems to be how we work.’

‘Right!’ Liz agreed nevertheless taking the heavy bag of ammunition clips from her mother.

‘The main reason is I want to go to Ipoh and KL and mobilise the police and the military to help locate your father.’

‘Of course.’ Liz felt a little humbled and suddenly selfish in her wish to remain. ‘Another thing,’ she said, making amends, ‘while we’re driving through the villages we could ask when he passed through. Someone might remember.’

Sturgess helped stow the guns and ammunition. ‘Unfortunately I won’t have time to stop today,’ he reminded her.

‘I think we should buy a vehicle,’ Liz suggested. ‘Give us that bit more independence. I’ll need my own vehicle soon anyway. Then, when we drive back to Rinsey, we could make enquiries.’

‘I should leave such things to the professionals,’ Sturgess said, taking the last bag from her hands, ‘and it’s not a good time to begin driving around on your own.’

‘From what you say, “the professionals” already have enough on their hands,’ she snapped back and moved quickly past him into the jeep. ‘You have nothing good to say, do you?’

‘There is nothing good to say about this place at the moment.’ He started up and set off at some speed. She glared at his dour reflection in the rear-view mirror, and he glanced up. She lifted her chin in an abrupt challenge, which distracted his attention, and the vehicle lurched in and out of a deep water-filled pothole.

Sturgess swore silently. He must just drive like hell if he was to make KL in time, first leaving Daddy’s girl, as he had come to think of her, to George – perhaps he could talk sense into her. Getting them back to Singapore would be the best option. He thought of the two women as the equivalent of all reckless amateurs who climb mountains or lower themselves down potholes, so that good men have to risk their lives bringing them back to safety.

‘God! I shall be glad to stop rocketing around.’ Blanche braced her feet against the Jeep’s floor as once again Sturgess swept around the great outcrop of dripping fern-covered rock from the plantation service road to the wider thoroughfare.

‘Makes me wonder if we’ll ever catch up with each other,’ Liz complained, ‘if no one ever stays in one place.’

‘Josef is there. He’ll contact us if your father returns.’

‘What do you think George Harfield can do to help us make Rinsey secure?’ Liz raised her voice, feeling that Sturgess should not be allowed just to sit there and drive. It was mostly because of his total refusal to back her belief in Josef’s abilities to defend them that they were on the move again.

‘Barbed wire, I should think, lots of it – lights on tall poles all round the property.’

‘Like a prison camp’?’

‘You either have to create a secure zone, or move to one.’

‘We’re not being frightened out! I was brought up here. I know the people and how they think and work. We are not helpless women!’ she retorted.

‘I’ve never thought of women as helpless.’ His reply was so even in its flatness of tone, it was as if what he did think was far worse. It took her some moments to absorb the full implications and then it was too late to reply. She reflected, to the tune of a popular song, that it was not what he said but the way that he said it.

They fell into silence then as Sturgess drove back towards Bukit Kinta. The wider road was dry, exposed to the full sun, and they raised a cloud of red dust as they sped along.

Liz wondered if her father had gone to track down his missing tappers and been waylaid – ambushed somewhere. She became more and more concerned as she took note of the junctions where tracks led to nearby kampongs and others followed water pipes into jungle reservoirs – so many byways.

The jungle was a place of sunshine and shadows at the fringes but of wet, dripping dusk in its depths. It lent itself to lengthy games of hide and seek, as well as to sudden attack. The swift cruel strike, the step back into the jungle, as quick to do as tell. She didn’t need Sturgess continually spelling it out.

Grim thoughts of what could be so readily secreted in the depths were impinged upon by the sight of neat rows of pineapples growing by the side of the road, the first she had seen since she had been back. The Malay farmer was harvesting one lot of fruit and at the same time slicing off the top of the pineapple and planting this for his next crop.

There was a familiarity about this procedure, even about this section of road. She was suddenly more attentive, holding her breath as they passed a village shop where herbs and spices were the speciality. A cacao tree grew at the far side of the shop and nutmeg trees at the back – she couldn’t see any of that, but she remembered!

‘Stop!’ she shouted. As Sturgess jammed on the brakes, she added, ‘I mean, have we time?’

Before either of the others could take her to task for the alarm, she babbled on about this being the kampong her amah came from. ‘I’ve been visiting here with her many times. She used to bring me on the bus. We waited by the rock. You remember, Mother! She might be here, might know something. She would have been to see Daddy since he was back. Sure to have.’

‘Have you time?’ Blanche consulted Sturgess but Liz was out of the vehicle.

‘No! I haven’t.’

‘Just ten minutes.’ The girl was already some paces away from the vehicle.

What should he do? Drag her back? She deserved to be left.

‘Anna was always a mine of local information,’ Blanche said. ‘Never seemed to miss anything. She would certainly know if Neville had been through here.’

‘It really will have to be only minutes.’ His tone was weary and grudging but Liz was too eager to have the chance to visit her old amah’s home to care.

‘Ten minutes,’ she promised.

‘And I’m counting,’ he said.

‘I’m coming,’ Blanche called after her as she hurried towards the centre of the village.

Built on stilts, the bamboo-framed houses thatched with woven attap, the plaited leaves of the nipa palm, had many tins and bicycles stored underneath, many hens and ducks scavenging all around and brilliant clay pots of flowers, mostly orchids and herbs. Dogs came to bark, but lethargically, for she was not afraid and no one encouraged them. There were no children, no old people, no wives sweeping and tidying their precincts. The realisation made her stumble mid-stride. This was quite wrong. Stopping to look around, she saw a boy being pulled back from the verandah of a house and a door being discreetly closed.

She stood in the middle of the village, isolated by – what? Suspicion? Fear? Her memories were that should any visitor set foot in a kampong, everyone came to see, children first, then the elderly, all to stare and wonder. One smile and the visitor would be surrounded by young smiling faces and ever hopeful hands.

There were covert movements and the sense of being observed was overwhelming but as she turned around and back it was as if the very houses held their bamboos rigid until her glance passed them by. ‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ she muttered and walked on.

Eight years ago her amah’s parental home had been away to the left. She knew she would remember it, for she had always felt vaguely uneasy about the two great flowerpots like sentries either side of the front steps, each one lacquered green and shaped like two great turtles embracing each other in a most difficult-looking manner. They were still there.

She paused at the bottom of the verandah steps, as she had been taught to do, and called in that gentle voice her amah had taught her was polite, ‘Anna! Ann Leo! Please, are you there? There are visitors for you.’

There was a soft movement at the top of the steps and an elderly, plump Malay stood in a dark maroon sarong at the half-opened door. The dark eyes recognised, a hand covered her mouth and she stepped back inside, the door swinging closed.

‘What is the matter?’ Blanche asked as she came up to her daughter.

‘Let me go to her,’ Liz said. ‘She may talk to me.’

‘Yes, go on, learn as much as you can.’

With sudden insight, Liz knew that she and her mother were on the edge of devastating events. She hoped it was not their future that had been mirrored in her old amah’s startled face.

‘Anna, dear?’ she called again from the door, but the only sound that came was a soft keening. ‘Please. It’s Elizabeth Hammond. May I come to you?’

Her old amah sat on a small basket chair, her head bent and her upper body rocking. As Liz came nearer, her head went even lower over her knees, but she stretched out her arms, her hands opened wide, like someone making a dramatic and frantic appeal.

‘Anna, dear Anna!’ Liz knelt in front of her, tears springing to her eyes. ‘Anna, I do love you. I’m so pleased to find you.’

The rocking increased almost to a frenzy and still the woman did not look at her, but Liz could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Liz could bear it no more. She pulled her old nurse into her arms and they rocked more slowly together.

‘Ah! Tidapah! Tidapah!’

Liz was not sure which of them spoke the old comforting word, it was certainly on her lips. Tidapah, never mind. Never mind! It had comforted many a grazed knee or bruised ego.

‘Anna, what is it? Tell me you’re at least pleased to see me.’

‘Ah!’ Anna’s hand came up and stroked her hair, their tears mingling as she kissed the girl’s cheeks with all the unrestrained smacking wet enthusiasm of old. Liz grinned at her. This she remembered as a proper kiss – unlike the dry and formal pecks her English grandparents had bestowed on her from time to time.

‘You are well, Anna?’

‘Yes, yes, yes.’ She shook her head at her. ‘And my naughty Elizabeth Hammond grown up. An English lady!’

‘But her heart is Malayan.’

They both laughed then, for Liz, clutching her amah’s hand, had made this declaration at the age of five as an English aunt had made the same remark.

In the release of laughter Liz saw the old Anna she knew so well, as full of fun as any child, her only sadness when her charge gave cause for complaint.

‘And baby Wendy, she is here?’

‘No, stayed at school in England. She sent her love.’

‘Better if you all stayed in England.’

The judgement was delivered with such quiet certainty that it was far more convincing than any advice, cajoling or appeal to reason. ‘What is it, Anna? What’s happened?’

The black eyes had lost any sparkle now and, as her head fell to her chest and her shoulders rounded, she looked an old, old woman.

‘Oh, tell me, amah dear?’ Liz used her childhood plea for a favour. ‘Please.’

‘I can tell nothing.’

‘Ah! Anna, please! My father … ’

‘I can tell nothing. Miss Liz, you and your mother go back to England. It is safer there.’

‘And for my husband – is it safe for him too?’ Blanche’s voice broke in upon the two earnest women and they both instinctively drew apart. ‘Hello, Anna, I’m pleased to see you,’ Blanche added.

Anna stood up and half bowed as Blanche took her hands and bent to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘It’s been a long time. We’re both older, Anna.’

Anna accepted the greeting with trembling lips, a slow shaking head and an offer of tea.

Blanche explained the briefness of their visit.

‘But we’ll come again soon,’ Liz added with enthusiasm, ‘when Daddy’s home and we find Lee and Mrs Guisan. Josef’s at Rinsey, did you know – ’

A savage crash brought her to her feet, her heart pounding. There was such ferocity in the sound, she was surprised to see it was merely the noise of the bead curtain at the far end of the room being suddenly parted.

A man pushing a young boy before him stepped authoritatively into the room, then stood stock-still. The man was Chinese, the boy Malay, about ten years old.

‘I thought,’ the man said, ‘your visitors would wish to see your grandson.’

Liz noticed how white the knuckles of the man showed as he gripped the boy’s shoulders. She glanced at Anna; sheer terror shone from the wide black eyes.

Her mother saw too and moved forward. ‘How kind,’ she said, as if taking the man’s words literally. She held out her hand to the boy, not looking at the man, and talking all the time. ‘I remember you being born. Anna’s first grandchild. Let me see if I can remember your name.’

The man was so disarmed by her unexpected approach that for a second he looked behind him as if for support, and let Blanche draw the boy away. Released, the boy ran to his grandmother, who covered him protectively with her arms, her hands over his head.

‘No, don’t tell us,’ Liz took up the game, her eyes never leaving the now frowning and uneasy man. ‘I know who would remember, Major Sturgess. I could go and get him in a second.’

They knew then the man was alone for he stepped back, half bowed and left the room backwards. After a few seconds Liz hurried after him and returned to report, ‘He’s gone, but who was he?’

Amah shook her head and all eyes turned to the boy, who was now bursting with information.

‘They came when we were playing football earlier … ’

‘They?’ Blanche queried.

He shook his head at the very seriousness of what he had to tell. ‘Six men. The others all had guns. They sent our teams home to tell their mothers and fathers the communists were here and no one was to come out – but they kept me. I had to learn a message to tell my grandmother.’ He stopped and looked at Anna, who nodded once for him to go on. ‘I have to say that they will always know where to find me.’ His eyes were wide and his lips drawn down. ‘That those who work for running dogs will be killed like snakes.’ His head dropped right to his chest as he mumbled the last words, ‘And those who work for Tuan Hammond will be killed like bad snakes.’

Liz dropped to her knees and took his hands. ‘Don’t worry. Your grandmother will look after you.’

‘He’s all I have, mem,’ Anna appealed to Blanche. ‘I lost my son and his wife to the Japanese. Please leave us alone.’

‘Oh! Amah, I’m so sorry ... ’ Liz began.

‘Please, go quickly now. They may be watching. Please make no fuss.’

‘Do you know anything of my husband?’

‘I know nothing, nothing, nothing that will help him, or you – except go away, mem, go back to England.’ She leaned forwards over the boy she clutched to her. It was pitiful to see her eagerness to have them gone.

‘Anna, don’t worry, we’re going.’ Blanche reached out and touched the woman’s hair in a tender and uncharacteristic gesture. ‘I’m sorry we meet again in unhappy times.’

Liz stooped to kiss her, silenced now by the many implications of what had been said – and what not. All she asked her mother as they returned to the jeep was, ‘Do we tell Sturgess? And if we do, could it makes things worse for Anna?’

Blanche looked at her soberly. ‘I’m not sure,’ she murmured as they approached the jeep which Sturgess had pulled in under the shade of the trees.

‘Shall we just say Anna seemed afraid?’

Blanche nodded. Both realised they were already willy-nilly involved in the conspiracy of silence and terror that was spreading like a contagion over the whole of Malaya.

Sturgess watched the two women coining back. ‘Straitened circumstances’ was the phrase that always came to his mind when he dealt with people who were unable to open their hearts, minds and mouths to the truth – and these two, he thought, were becoming more straitened by the minute.

He wondered if their old nurse had died. They looked as if they had heard bad news, and as he watched their approach and the way their eyes stayed on him while they talked to each other, he knew they were not going to tell him whatever they had found. Reflecting that he had wasted some seven years of his life and several thousands pounds because his wife had not bothered to tell him things, he slipped in behind the steering wheel and started up the engine.

The women exchanged curious glances at his seeming lack of interest.

‘We found our amah,’ Liz volunteered. ‘She seemed frightened.’

He laughed. ‘Really, you surprise me!’ He paused to change up the gears and swing out on to the road. ‘The bad news came to this place before we stopped here.’ He had made a mental note of the name, and of the layout of the main houses. He felt he might well be back here with troops before long.

Chapter Five

‘The communists rarely take prisoners, Mrs Hammond.’

Liz felt the police officer had chosen his moment carefully to make the point. They had gone to Ipoh as being the nearest centre of authority and been received with sympathy and understanding.

Smart in the khaki short-sleeved shirt and trousers of the Perak force, Inspector Aba had listened carefully, nodding from time to time, aligning his fingertips in a carefully spaced arch one after the other as if putting their story together point by point.

‘Could he have gone somewhere by himself?’ the Malay asked most respectfully but for the first time seeming a little diffident as he expanded, ‘I mean, even in troubled times we all have our own private lives.’

‘Do you mean, has he another woman?’ Blanche asked, making Liz feel totally naive for she had been thinking the man was a bit of a fool because surely his wife and daughters were her father’s private life. She might have felt more affronted by the policeman, had he not been totally embarrassed by her mother’s frank response. The dapper Malay rose and paced his first-floor office with erratic speed, uneasy with this outspoken English mem and out of harmony with the ponderous ceiling fans stirring the hot air above their heads.

‘I suppose you have to ask,’ Blanche began, ‘but it would have been very easy for my husband to have kept me at home in England. Hardly a propitious time for anyone to start philandering – while his wife and daughter are in the air flying halfway around the world to join him. If nothing else, Neville has more sense than that!’

Liz remembered the telegram, then was annoyed with herself – sow a seed, grow a tree. Of all men, her father was not like that, was he? He might be impetuous, overgenerous at times to the wrong people, but he was devoted to his family, loved her mother.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hammond.’ The inspector stopped pacing, went back to his desk and with an expressive shrug explained the way the world could be. ‘What I really should say is, no news is good news. You see, his vehicle has not been found. It is harder to hide a vehicle than a man. As times goes on, of course …. ’

‘Yes.’ Blanche acknowledged the worrying reality that three days and nights was a long time for anyone to be out of touch. ‘I wondered if you could advise me, should I call on the civil authority downstairs and see if they can do anything more, or should I ask for military assistance?’

‘You already have that, Mrs Hammond.’ He smiled and nodded indulgently. ‘Major Sturgess instigated investigations the moment he reached his command; they in turn called our headquarters.’ He paused to lift placating hands as Blanche glanced sharply at him. ‘I had to hear your story. I assure you everything that can be done to find your husband is being done. Major Sturgess fought in this particular area during the war; if you had asked for the best man in the world fitted to help you, you could not have chosen a better.’

They left the police station a little stunned by the glowing testimonial Sturgess had received. ‘No wonder he laughed when we left Anna’s home,’ Blanche commented. ‘I don’t suppose we fooled him for one moment.’

‘You don’t think Daddy’s gone off ... ’ She had to hear it said.

‘No, I don’t,’ Blanche said and, after hesitating, added, ‘I could perhaps wish he had, he might be safer.’

Liz grasped her mother’s hand and squeezed it hard. ‘You don’t seriously think he’s ... ’ She could not bring herself to say the word; the inspector had avoided it too. They rarely take prisoners, he had said.

‘I’m trying not to think anything, and I’m certainly not letting anyone rest until we do know what has happened to him – someone somewhere must know.’

As they turned away from the police station, a small, incongruous convoy of camouflaged British army lorries swept out from the old Colonial style Ipoh railway station. A jeep armed with a Bren gun preceded four lorries, protected at the rear by another jeep with another Bren gun at the ready. The two women were regaled by whistles, greetings and propositions from some young British soldiers.

Waving, they stood still to watch them pass. Several lifted their rifles in salute. ‘You English?’ one called and when they nodded and waved again they were given a cheer, which in her heart Liz returned with good measure. It felt as if they were seeing them off into battle – ‘Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye’.

Liz noticed one young man sitting right at the back of the last lorry who neither waved nor smiled. He sat quite motionless, the fingers of his right hand curled just sufficiently to keep his rifle steady as it slanted between his legs and across his body. His cheekbones were high, the planes of his cheeks flat, nose well defined – and she itched to put him on paper. She found the pose so poignant, or was it the slight twist of his lips? He made her think of knights of old, of young squires put into the panoply of war, clean, handsome men sent to possible destruction. The intelligent saw the recruitment from the beginning for what it was – and they were the bravest of all. She knew that as soon as she had the chance she would sketch him.

‘Not the only one here who doesn’t want to be,’ Blanche said quietly.

The two stood quite still until the lorries were out of sight. The convoy was a confirmation that this was a war – against terrorists who infested the country like fleas on a hedgehog.

‘I keep remembering that other boy’s face while that Chinese terrorist had hold of him,’ Liz said, wondering where the troops were heading. She hoped nothing the authorities or Sturgess said or did would endanger Anna, her grandson, her village – or the still young man on the back of the lorry.

‘Can you think of anything else we can do?’ Blanche asked.

Liz went over all they had done since arriving at Bukit Kinta. Seen the police, telephoned Raffles, telephoned Josef. The army were already on the move – somewhere. ‘Get back to Rinsey as quickly as possible, I think. If we could find some of the workforce … ’

‘Your father had already made several reasonable rubber returns,’ Blanche confirmed. ‘I found a note of them in a book in the bedside table – he always wrote the day’s yield down when he was in bed.’

Liz was moved by this detail remembered from their former life, and, as if making a concession about Josef, she added, ‘So why aren’t they still working? What, or who, scared them off? We should be able to find out much more about that.’

‘You’re right,’ Blanche agreed, ‘and seeing those young soldiers has given me another idea. One even Mr Sturgess could not object to.’

‘My God! Really?’

‘Liz,’ her mother reprimanded, ‘I wish you wouldn’t blaspheme so much.’

Sometimes she thought her mother’s reprimands were quite endearing, they were so wonderfully normal – and ludicrous, considering the example she set.

‘I thought I might ask Harfield if the army ever billeted any of their men with planters. During the war we had plenty of the armed forces billeted on us at Pearling.’

Liz had uncomfortable recollection of officers’ wives being put into spare bedrooms, and of officers coming on leave to stay with them; she had resented having so many strangers in her home.

Blanche paused outside a store with a good display of tinned foods, beer and spirits. ‘Shall we take some supplies back?’

‘I wonder if there’d be a car for sale in Ipoh?’ Liz said. ‘We can’t keep borrowing vehicles and we shall need more than Daddy’s jeep.’

‘I wouldn’t feel very confident about buying anything like that without a man.’

‘If Mr Harfield has time I’d ask him to give it the once-over – if I found something I liked.’

‘Yes, I’d trust his judgement,’ said Blanche.

*

‘Time is obviously something George Harfield has not much idea of,’ Blanche commented later as they waited to eat with him.

Li Kim, his smiling Chinese cook, came to ask if they would eat on their own, adding with a grin, ‘I can keep hot for tuan. He will not mind.’

‘Is he often late?’ Blanche asked.

‘No, no.’ The smile became a laugh. ‘He likes his food too much.’

‘Oh, we’ll wait, Li Kim,’ Blanche decided.

‘I bring you drink and titbits. Keep you going.’

‘We really shouldn’t talk in clichés to our houseboys,’ Blanche murmured as he left.

Over an hour later they heard George’s jeep. He got out, slammed the door savagely and came in glaring around as if wondering what to bang or destroy next. One thing was certain, he had quite forgotten he had two house guests. He stared at the two women for several seconds before seeming to realise who they were.

‘What is it?’ Liz’s words were automatic, hardly a question, for this was a man in shock.

Blanche went to the drinks cabinet and poured a large brandy. He drained it and looked worse, more vulnerable, more agonised.

‘Is it my father? Have you found – ’

‘No!’ The denial was immediate, emphatic. ‘No, no,’ he repeated apologetically. ‘It’s my headman ... it was my headman.’

‘Dead?’ Blanche queried, taking the glass from his hands and pouring another brandy but adding soda this time.

George stood for a moment, his eyes closed. ‘You never get used to it – not that kind of death.’

‘I think you should sit down and tell us,’ Blanche said.

‘It might relieve my mind, but it’s hardly for ladies’ ears.’

‘Oh, bugger that!’ Blanche admonished. ‘Don’t you think we’re going to hear? You know what this country’s like.’

‘I’d rather hear the truth than rumour.’ Liz remembered a tendency for stories to grow as quickly and as tall as jungle vegetation.

George sat on the edge of a long rattan chair and sipped his second drink. ‘You will know,’ he said grimly, ‘because I shall make sure the Straits Times has the full story. Everyone should know the sort of people we’re up against.’

Blanche poured a modest brandy each for herself and Liz, wondering if Li Kim had already heard the news, for he had not come in again eager to feed them.

Harfield sighed deeply and shook his head as if still disbelieving what he had to tell. ‘Most of my people live in a group of houses, just a little hamlet really, Kampong Kinta we called it. My headman, Rasa, was related to most of the Malays there, and the same families have worked the mine for generations.’

George stopped as he saw Li Kim hovering by the door. He beckoned him in. ‘You’d better hear this,’ he told him. ‘Just before sunset a group of CT’s – communist terrorists – went to the kampong and told Rasa he was to collect one dollar a month from each of the men under him. This would be collected after each payday. He told them he could not do it. They tied him to a tree, and assembled his wife, children, his mother – most of the village, in fact.

‘The leader said his name was Heng Hou and to remember that because when he asked for help next time everyone must be sure to give it. He stood over Rasa with a raised parang all this time, but he said he was feeling generous today so he wouldn’t kill their headman. He’d set him free.’

George drew in a deep breath. ‘He raised his parang higher and sliced it down, cutting off Rasa’s right arm, then his left. By the look on his face the poor bugger died of horror before he bled to death.’

‘Aaaah! Hee!’ The sound like a banshee or courting tomcat came from Li Kim. ‘Tuan!’ he appealed. ‘what will we do?’

Liz would have liked to have joined in the appalling noise as involuntarily she visualised the scene, the man tied to the tree ... ‘Oh, George!’ her mother whispered and lowered herself very carefully into an armchair as the wailing began again.

‘Li Kim!’ George said sternly. ‘Do you want to go back to your village or stay here?’

The Chinese considered. ‘You have guns, tuan? More guns now.’ He looked meaningfully at the two women.

‘And I’m going to have barbed wire and lights all around this place and all around Kampong Kinta. The bastards have caught me napping three times now, it’s cost me two payrolls and now the life of my headman. No more!’

Li Kim cast a glance out towards the teeming jungle night. ‘I stay with you, tuan. You want dinner?’

George shook his head. ‘Our guests – ’ but both women were shaking their heads now.

‘I give it to the – ’ Li Kim began.

‘Burn it!’ Harfield ordered. ‘It does not leave this kitchen. I’ll make bloody sure not one grain of rice from this mine finds its way into communist bellies.’