The Empire Trilogy Part 42

Part Two

13.

On account of the hazards of war-time, the convoys that were diverted without explanation, the pa.s.senger vessels that were commandeered for the movement of troops, the seats on aeroplanes usurped at the last moment by august officials, not to mention the spies that lurked everywhere and studied every mortal thing that moved on the face of the earth through field-gla.s.ses or or kept their treacherous ears open while quaffing pints in dockside pubs, Matthew Webb had been frustrated again and again in his efforts to reach Singapore. The result was that the month of November was already well advanced before he found himself on the last stages of his journey. By that time, though his impending arrival had not been forgotten by the Blacketts (Walter brooded on it constantly and so, presumably, did Joan), it had a.s.sumed less momentous proportions than in the first days after Mr Webb's death. Walter could see the matter now more in perspective, for the old man had been buried for almost a month, sad news which had been conveyed to Matthew in Colombo where he had been stranded interminably until Walter could pull a string or two with the RAF. Moreover, in the frenzied commercial atmosphere of Singapore at the time, exacerbated by the bewildering arrival of more and yet more troops from Australia and India, who could manage to spare time for such domestic, or dynastic, matters, or even, if it comes to that, think of the same thing for two moments running? But at last Matthew was about to arrive. kept their treacherous ears open while quaffing pints in dockside pubs, Matthew Webb had been frustrated again and again in his efforts to reach Singapore. The result was that the month of November was already well advanced before he found himself on the last stages of his journey. By that time, though his impending arrival had not been forgotten by the Blacketts (Walter brooded on it constantly and so, presumably, did Joan), it had a.s.sumed less momentous proportions than in the first days after Mr Webb's death. Walter could see the matter now more in perspective, for the old man had been buried for almost a month, sad news which had been conveyed to Matthew in Colombo where he had been stranded interminably until Walter could pull a string or two with the RAF. Moreover, in the frenzied commercial atmosphere of Singapore at the time, exacerbated by the bewildering arrival of more and yet more troops from Australia and India, who could manage to spare time for such domestic, or dynastic, matters, or even, if it comes to that, think of the same thing for two moments running? But at last Matthew was about to arrive.

The Avro Anson which for an hour or more had been following the wandering dark-green edge of the coast now swung out to sea before turning north-west in a wide curve that would bring it back over Singapore. For a few moments nothing could be seen but an expanse of water so dazzling that it hurt Matthew's eyes as he looked down on it from the cabin window. Then, as the Anson floated in over the harbour in which lay three grey warships and a mult.i.tude of other vessels, over the railway station with its track curving away across the island to the Causeway, and over a number of miniature buildings scarcely big enough to house a colony of fleas, it began to wobble in a dreadful, sickening fashion, and to lose height. Presently, the Singapore River (which was really nothing but a tidal creek) crept from under the wing, ominously bulging near its mouth like a snake which had just swallowed a rabbit and then trailing back inland to the thinnest of tails on the far side of the city.

Next there came an open green s.p.a.ce on which a fleas' cricket match was taking place and then the toy spire of a cathedral, aptly set at the intersection of diagonal paths forming the cross of St Andrew, with one or two flea-worshippers scurrying over its green sward to offer up their evening prayers, for the sun, though still brightly fingering the cabin of the aircraft, was already casting deep shadows over the cathedral lawns ... But again the plane dropped sickeningly and the wing on one side tilted up in the most alarming way, so that even though Matthew continued to look down down he could still see nothing but sky. This dismaying sensation continued until the plane had completed a full circle and was coming in from the sea again with level wings. But even so, every few moments the floor would seem to drop away and when Matthew tried to interest himself, as a diversion, in MacFadyean's he could still see nothing but sky. This dismaying sensation continued until the plane had completed a full circle and was coming in from the sea again with level wings. But even so, every few moments the floor would seem to drop away and when Matthew tried to interest himself, as a diversion, in MacFadyean's History of the Rubber Industry History of the Rubber Industry which lay open on his lap, he was promptly obliged to jettison even this light work from his thoughts, simply to keep the plane airborne. which lay open on his lap, he was promptly obliged to jettison even this light work from his thoughts, simply to keep the plane airborne.

By now they were distressingly near the surface. He saw waves, then a junk floating past the cabin window with a thick-veined sail, then a flotsam of human heads and waving hands. Somehow or other the wheels cleared the roof of the swimming club at Tanjong Rhu (Matthew would have thought they were too low to have cleared anything at all). A few more perilous wobbles and the wheels consented to touch down with a b.u.mp and a brief howl, followed by another b.u.mp as the tail touched. The journey had been a strain: he had never been up in an aeroplane before. But now he felt relieved and pleased with himself; soon he would be describing the experience to his earthbound friends.

'Don't forget to watch out for the Singapore Grip!' shouted one of the crew after him in a clamour of cheerful goodbyes and laughter as he jumped stiffly to the ground.

Now he found himself standing on the tarmac, a little unsteadily on account of the equatorial gale from the still turning propellors. Uncertain which way to walk he peered around in the haze of evening sunlight. The heat was suddenly stifling: he was clad in it from head to toe, as if wrapped in steaming towels.

A figure in a white flannel suit was hurrying towards him into the slip-stream, trouser legs flapping, jacket ballooning and one large hand clapped on to a khaki sun-helmet to keep it on his head. The other hand was held out even from some yards' distance towards Matthew who, a moment later, found himself shaking it.

'You're Matthew Webb, aren't you? I'm Monty Blackett. I expect you've heard of me ... Hm, now let me see, I don't think we have met before, have we? Never mind, anyway. It doesn't make any difference. We'll get to know each other in a jiffy, I expect. Can't very well help it in a hole like this.' Monty was a burly young man about the same age as Matthew but his face had a heavy-set appearance which made him look older: an impression reinforced when he removed his sunhelmet for a moment to scratch his head by the fact that his hair was receding. Matthew wondered whether the black tie he was wearing, which had been blown back over his shoulder, was a mark of respect for his father or merely conventional Singapore attire.

After the two young men had exchanged greetings, which they had to shout because of the noise from the engines, there was an awkward pause between them.

'Look, it's been raining,' Matthew shouted, nodding at the shivering pools of rainwater that lay here and there on the tarmac; at the same time he smiled at himself, thinking that that was not what he had meant to say at all.

'What?' bellowed Monty, stepping forward and giving Matthew an odd look. 'Yes, I'll say it has, it rains almost every b.l.o.o.d.y day at the moment, I'll have you know. Come on now,' he added, 'enough of the weather.' He took Matthew's arm to steer him away from that whining aeroplane which only then agreed to arrest its motors with a few last chugs and swishes. 'Well, well, same old Matthew,' he chuckled cautiously, though, strictly speaking, he could not have known very much about the 'old Matthew' at all, since they had never met before. Once more he darted an odd, sideways look at Matthew as if trying to weigh him up, while, still chuckling vaguely, he conducted him to the terminal building, a surprisingly up-to-date construction with control tower and observation decks, somewhat resembling a cinema. Matthew remarked on its modern appearance. Singapore must be quite ...

'Oh yeah,' agreed Monty indifferently. Brightening a little, he added: 'They have a restaurant there. You don't feel like some oysters, do you? They fly them in from Hawkesbury River in Australia. Look, that's not such a bad idea ...'

'Well, not just at the moment, thanks,' said Matthew, surprised. Monty's enthusiasm subsided with a grimace. Matthew, still groping for a topic of conversation, said: 'I must say, I don't know how you stand this heat.'

'Heat? This is the coolest part of the day. Wait and see how hot it can can get here. I say, is something the matter?' For Matthew had suddenly stiffened. get here. I say, is something the matter?' For Matthew had suddenly stiffened.

'I think that man is making off with my bags.' Like many people whose natural inclination is to think the best of people Matthew found it necessary, when travelling, to remain dramatically on the alert to defend himself against malefactors.

'He b.l.o.o.d.y well better had be,' grinned Monty. 'Otherwise he'll get h.e.l.l from me!'

'You mean ...?'

'Of course. He's our syce syce ... you know, chauffeur. Now don't worry, old boy. Just trust old Monty. Everything's organized. Come on, Sis is waiting for us in the car ...' And with that he led the way out of the building uttering a strange, smothered groan as he went. Matthew hurried after him, filled with pleasure at the prospect of seeing little Kate, to whom he had taken a considerable liking in the course of their one short meeting. ... you know, chauffeur. Now don't worry, old boy. Just trust old Monty. Everything's organized. Come on, Sis is waiting for us in the car ...' And with that he led the way out of the building uttering a strange, smothered groan as he went. Matthew hurried after him, filled with pleasure at the prospect of seeing little Kate, to whom he had taken a considerable liking in the course of their one short meeting.

'Monty, I must thank you for getting me on that plane. Otherwise I might have been stuck in Ceylon for ever, what with the war and so forth.'

'Think nothing of it. We just pulled a few of the right strings and it was a stroke of luck that there happened to be an empty plane coming our way. You see, the point is this ...'

Now they had reached the motor-car and Monty broke off to give the driver some instructions. The latter murmured: 'Yes, Tuan Tuan,' and stowed Matthew's suitcases in the back of the vehicle; this was a huge open Pontiac with white tyres, a wide running-board and deep leather seats. A young woman whom Matthew failed to recognize was half reclining on the back seat, holding a cigarette holder in a studied pose. She was wearing a simple white cotton frock and a green turban with two knots which stood up, Hollywood style, like a rabbit's ears. The haft of a tennis racket was gripped between her bare calves and its glimmering strings between her pretty, pink knees. She ignored Matthew's greeting and said to Monty: 'Let's scram before I die of heat.' Matthew, disappointed to find this person instead of Kate, tried not to stare at her: this must be Joan Blackett, Kate's elder sister. Kate had spoken of her as of a superior being, sophisticated beyond measure, terrorizing the young men of the Colony with her irresistible appeal, breaking hearts with as little compunction as if they had been chipped dinner-plates.

'But the point is this ...' Monty was repeating, a trifle more sonorously than before, now that they were comfortably installed in the Pontiac one on each side of Joan. There was another pause, however, while the young men each lit a Craven A.

'The point is this,' he said yet again, puffing out an authoritative cloud of blue smoke. As he did so, Matthew found himself wondering whether Monty Blackett might not on occasion be ever so slightly ponderous and self-important, and though, of course, it had been kind of Monty to come and meet him, nevertheless, an ungrateful voice whispered in Matthew's ear: 'What is is the point?' and he glanced quickly at Joan to see whether she was sharing his impatience. But she was looking moodily in another direction... towards the wind-sock waltzing impatiently in the breeze at the end of the aerodrome, or towards a large American limousine with Stars and Stripes fluttering from its bonnet which had come into the airport drive at great speed with a squeal of tyres as it negotiated the bend but was now nosing uncertainly in the direction of the terminal building while the driver made up his mind which way to go. Presently, she turned her turbaned profile and her grey eyes fixed themselves intently on his face. He stirred uneasily. the point?' and he glanced quickly at Joan to see whether she was sharing his impatience. But she was looking moodily in another direction... towards the wind-sock waltzing impatiently in the breeze at the end of the aerodrome, or towards a large American limousine with Stars and Stripes fluttering from its bonnet which had come into the airport drive at great speed with a squeal of tyres as it negotiated the bend but was now nosing uncertainly in the direction of the terminal building while the driver made up his mind which way to go. Presently, she turned her turbaned profile and her grey eyes fixed themselves intently on his face. He stirred uneasily.

'The point is, Matthew, that at the moment the blighters are so anxious for our rubber that they go out of their way to help whenever they can. They're not usually so helpful, I can a.s.sure you. And it doesn't stop the b.l.o.o.d.y bureaucrats, those clever merchants in Whitehall, making a nuisance of themselves whenever they get the chance. We're constantly battling with penpushers in some ministry or other a few thousands miles away.' He added sententiously: 'You'll soon find that out when you have a look at the files in your father's office. Now what's all this? What does this cove want?'

While Monty had been speaking the American limousine which had been prowling about uncertainly for a while had at last made up its mind to approach the Pontiac. It came to a stop beside them and an American soldier slid out from behind the wheel and held the door open.

'Oh lumme, it's him,' said Monty, glancing at Joan.

'Great Scott!' exclaimed Matthew. 'I know that bloke. We were at Oxford together. His name's Jim Ehrendorf ... He's a really wonderful fellow, you must meet him. I was meaning to try and look him up when I got here and now ... but wait a sec ... Of course, you already know him, don't you?' And Matthew clapped a hand to his brow.

'Yes, we do,' said Monty. 'The thing is ...' But without waiting to hear what the thing was, Matthew had leaped out of the Pontiac and was warmly shaking hands with the smiling Ehrendorf. They exchanged a few words, both talking at once. Joan and Monty watched them blankly from the motor-car.

'I thought I wouldn't get here in time,' Ehrendorf was saying as they turned back towards the Pontiac, 'and I'm tied up for the rest of the day. In fact, I wouldn't have heard you were arriving at all if it hadn't been for the chance of meeting up with Walter downtown. Hiya Monty, Hiya Joan!'

'Hiya,' said Monty. Joan showed no more sign of acknowledging Ehrendorf's presence than she had Matthew's. She looked irritable and said again: 'For G.o.d's sake, let's scram ... It's so hot.'

'How pretty you look, Joan, in your vetement de sport vetement de sport,' said Ehrendorf in a way that managed to be both casual and rather tense. ' "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" '

'I'd far rather you didn't, if you don't mind,' replied Joan sullenly. 'Let's go, for G.o.d's sake.'

'I know his type,' said Matthew. 'Next thing, he'll be trying to tell you you're "more lovely and more temperate".' Both he and Ehrendorf laughed but the two Blacketts did not share their amus.e.m.e.nt; indeed they both looked rather put out.

Ehrendorf continued to stand uncertainly beside the motorcar, gazing at Joan, who looked away petulantly. Matthew took out a handkerchief, removed his gla.s.ses and mopped his streaming face. The heat was dreadful, despite the breeze and the approach of night.

'I've got it,' said Ehrendorf. 'Why don't I ride in with you guys. I'll tell my driver to follow and then I can go on from there.' Without waiting for approval Ehrendorf spoke to his driver and then installed himself in the front seat of the Pontiac. Matthew climbed in beside Joan again.

Now the Pontiac was in motion at last; an air of interrogation, of words unspoken, formed over it as it swung out of the aerodrome gates. From near at hand there suddenly came a clamour of music, laughter and singing. A thousand coloured lights twinkled in the gathering dusk through a grove of trees that lay just to their right in the fork of the two roads. Keeling over like a yacht tacking against the wind the Pontiac turned away from the lights on to the Kallang Road.

'That's one of the sights,' Monty said, pointing back with his cigarette shedding sparks. 'A sort of funfair called The Happy World. They're going to catch h.e.l.l, though, unless they do something about blacking out those lights.'

'There's a better place called The Great World on Kim Seng Road on the other side of town,' said Ehrendorf, turning to grin at Matthew. 'You'll be able to dance with lovely taxi-girls there. Twenty-five cents a throw.'

Matthew decided not to ask for the moment what a 'taxi-girl' was. Instead he said: 'You didn't have that natty moustache in Geneva, did you, Jim? And what have you done to your hand?' For Ehrendorf, though he no longer wore a bandage, still had plaster around his fingers. But to Matthew's surprise these questions only seemed to embarra.s.s Ehrendorf (was he sensitive about his moustache?) who murmured vaguely that it was nothing, he'd stupidly burned himself a few weeks earlier, and then, without further comment, turned his evidently sensitive moustache to face forward again while he examined the road ahead through the windscreen.

Meanwhile the Pontiac had howled over a bridge and was careering through the twilight at an alarming speed. Every now and then as an obstruction loomed up the driver would brake and swerve violently. The horn blared without pause. The blurred forms of rickshaws, motor-cars and bullock-carts receded rapidly on either side. Once, to avoid a traffic jam which suddenly presented itself, they mounted a verge and without slackening speed thrashed through some sort of vegetation, evidently someone's garden.

'Good G.o.d!' thought Matthew. 'Do they always drive like this?'

'People in Britain seem to find it amazing,' Monty was saying, his thoughts still on their earlier conversation, 'that we should know more about running the rubber business than they do in Whitehall. What they don't seem to realize is that if we suffer here in Singapore, everything suffers, and that includes their wizard War Effort. It's so hard to get anything done with these b.l.o.o.d.y civil servants. Sometimes I wonder if they haven't all got infantile paralysis!' And Monty bent his wrist, hunched his shoulders and twisted his face into a highly amusing imitation of a cripple. But Matthew found it hard to smile: he had somehow never found imitations of cripples very entertaining. Monty did not notice this lack of response, however, and shed a great bark of laughter into the humid, sweltering twilight.

Becoming serious again Monty said, pointing at a group of dim buildings on the left: 'That's the Firestone factory where last summer's strikes were started by the Commies. Thanks to the bungling of our little men in the Government they very nearly turned it into a general strike.' Matthew, who had been beginning to fear that he and Monty might have no common interest, became attentive and ventured to remark that he was interested, not only in political strikes and the relations of native workers to European employers, but also in ... well, the 'colonial experience' as a whole. But Monty's response was disappointing.

'Oh, you're interested in the "colonial experience", are you?' he mumbled indifferently. 'Well, you've come to the right place. You'll get a basinful of it here, all right.'

Ehrendorf glanced round quickly but without catching Matthew's eye. His glance, indeed, got no further than Joan's tennis racket still tightly gripped between her knees as she lolled back against the leather seat: he stared at the racket with great intensity, but only for a moment. Then his moustache was dividing the breeze again.

For some time the spinning back and forth of the Pontiac's steering-wheel as they swerved to avoid other vehicles had caused the three young people on the back seat to sway from side to side. Joan, because she was in the middle and had less to hold on to, tended to slide more than the others and already once or twice Matthew had found himself pressed against her soft body while she struggled to recover. Now, however, as the Pontiac negotiated a wide curve with muttering tyres and Joan was once more thrown up against him, she appeared to abandon the unequal struggle: she simply lay against him with her head on his shoulder. Matthew wondered whether to push her off but decided it might not seem polite: better to wait for a curve in the opposite direction to do the job for him. In a few moments the car straightened its course again, which should have allowed her to slide back towards her brother, but to his surprise she remained where she was, sprawled against him. And even when, presently, off-side tyres howling like souls in torment, they entered a curve in the opposite direction, she still remained firmly glued to his side, as if all the laws of physics had been suspended in her favour. Then he really did begin to wonder, because that surely could not be right.

Matthew licked his lips, perplexed. He was not quite sure what to make of it all. The truth was that he felt too hot already without having someone pressed against him. He was very much tempted to shove her away to allow the air to circulate. Not that he found the sensation of her body against him altogether disagreeable, he had to admit. But still, it was a bit awkward. Ah, now he caught a tantalizing breath of French perfume on the rushing tropical evening.

'Watch out for that tennis racket, Sis,' said Monty with a leer.

Matthew glanced at the turbaned head beside him but Joan showed no sign of having heard her brother's remark. Nor had Ehrendorf apparently. At any rate, only the neatly barbered back of his head continued to be visible.

Thinking that perhaps some conversation might revive Joan sufficiently to unglue her from his side Matthew asked: 'Does anyone happen to know what the Singapore Grip is? The RAF blokes in the plane kept telling me to watch out for it but they wouldn't tell me what it actually was was!' But as a conversational opening this proved a failure. n.o.body replied or showed any sign of having heard. 'How deuced odd they all are!' thought Matthew crossly. 'And what's the matter with Jim Ehrendorf?' He was tired from his journey, too tired to make an effort with people who were not prepared to make an effort back. back.

Monty, meanwhile, had pulled the brim of his sun-helmet over his eyes, turned up his collar, stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and was saying in a hoa.r.s.e, gangster voice: 'Keep your heads down, you guys. The men from the Ministry of Supply are after us!' Again the Pontiac shed a great bark of laughter as it raced on into the city, leaving it to float behind among the padding rickshaw coolies who formed a slow stream on either side of the road.

14.

Weariness caused Matthew to give up the struggle for a while; he merely lay back against the sighing leather-clad springs. He could not think what was the matter with Ehrendorf who might have been hypnotized the way he continued to gaze stolidly at the road ahead: this was quite unlike the gay and talkative person Matthew had known in Oxford and Geneva.

'I suppose everyone here is worried about these talks with the j.a.ps in Washington,' he said presently, hoping again to initiate a conversation. But Ehrendorf still made no reply and Monty, who did not appear to have heard of them, merely asked: 'What talks?'

Surprised, Matthew explained that Admiral Nomura, the j.a.panese Amba.s.sador in Washington, had been having talks with the American Government. The Americans wanted the j.a.ps to move their troops out of Indo-China and to agree to peace in the Pacific; the j.a.ps wanted the Americans to stop helping Chiang Kai-shek in their war against China and to unfreeze their a.s.sets. Things would look grim if they didn't agree. That was why he had expected that people in Singapore might be worried.

'I suppose some people may have the wind up,' said Monty indifferently.

Matthew decided to give up once more and let events take their course. While he lay slumped in the corner of the seat with a young woman sprawled on his shoulder like a hot compress, one curious picture after another trembled before his eyes, reminding him of the 'magic lantern' he had played with as a child. One moment the Pontiac was grumbling and nudging its way through a narrow street hung with banners of Chinese ideographs, the next it was speeding down a wide avenue between silver slopes which flashed and winked at him and proved to be great banks of fish (Matthew was glad of the speed: the stench was so powerful it made you clutch your collar and roll your eyeb.a.l.l.s back into your brain). He peered in wonder at the glistening naked bodies of the men working by oil lamps to gut and salt these silvery Himalayas of fish but the next moment again the Pontiac had transformed itself into a stately barge forging it way over a smoky, azure river ... Here and there Chinese waded head and shoulders above the blue billows, which presently grew transparent and correspondingly thickened into a darker blue empyrean hanging a few feet overhead; through this blue canopy, like cherubim, disembodied Chinese heads peered down from balconies at the Pontiac making its slow progress beneath.

'This is the street of the charcoal burners. The b.l.o.o.d.y Chinese live fifty to a room here in some places.'

Now the clouds of smoke had rolled away to reveal that they were in another, quite different street where from every window and balcony there swung pots of ferns and baskets of flowers. Strings of dim, multi-coloured lanterns hung everywhere. 'It's time this lot got weaving with their black-out, too,' said Monty, and his eyes glittered like cutlery as they roved the balconies above. Suddenly Matthew saw that in the heart of each display of lanterns and flowers there was a beautiful woman set like a jewel.

'Did we have to come this way, Monty?' grumbled Joan, removing herself from Matthew's shoulder. 'Why didn't we go along Beach Road?' Ehrendorf stirred at last and looked around with an uncomfortable smile; meanwhile, the Pontiac continued to advance with Joan firmly sandwiched between the two perspiring Englishmen on the back seat. Certain of the women on the balconies above stuck languorous poses, or stretched out a slender leg as if to straighten a stocking. One idly lifted her skirt as if to check that her underwear was all in order (alas, she appeared to have forgotten it altogether); another forced a breast to bulge out of its hiding and palped it thoughtfully.

'Look here, Monty,' Joan protested, 'this is a bit thick. You did this on purpose.'

'Did what on purpose?'

'You know perfectly well. And it's not very clever.'

'In Singapore you can see things they don't mention at posh finishing schools,' exulted Monty, 'but that's no reason to get in a bate.' He added for Matthew's benefit: 'This is respectable compared with Lavender Street yonder where the troops go. You could have a "colonial experience" there all right!'

So wide was the Pontiac, so narrow the streets of this part of the city, that it was a miracle they could pa.s.s through them at all. Even so, they frequently had to slow to a walking pace while the syce syce made some fine decisions, an inch on this side, an inch on that. On one such occasion a figure sprang suddenly out of the twilight and landed with a thump on the running-board causing Matthew to flinch back, startled. But the figure proved to be only a small bundle of skin and bone wrapped in rags, a Chinese boy of six or seven years of age. This child clung to the side of the motor-car with one small grubby hand while he cupped the other under Matthew's nose, at the same time dancing up and down on the running-board with a dreadful urgency. But more distressing still, the boy began a rapid, artificial panting like that of a wounded animal. made some fine decisions, an inch on this side, an inch on that. On one such occasion a figure sprang suddenly out of the twilight and landed with a thump on the running-board causing Matthew to flinch back, startled. But the figure proved to be only a small bundle of skin and bone wrapped in rags, a Chinese boy of six or seven years of age. This child clung to the side of the motor-car with one small grubby hand while he cupped the other under Matthew's nose, at the same time dancing up and down on the running-board with a dreadful urgency. But more distressing still, the boy began a rapid, artificial panting like that of a wounded animal.

The Pontiac had cleared the last of the narrow streets and could now accelerate ... but still the child clung on, panting more desperately than ever. Meanwhile, the syce syce was steering with one hand and using the other to reach behind Ehrendorf and hammer at the little fingers gripping the cha.s.sis. was steering with one hand and using the other to reach behind Ehrendorf and hammer at the little fingers gripping the cha.s.sis.

'Stop!' cried Matthew to the driver. 'Stop! ... Make him stop!' he shouted at Ehrendorf. But Ehrendorf sat as if in a trance while the Pontiac hurtled through the dusk swaying violently, the child panting, the syce syce cursing and hammering. cursing and hammering.

'No father, no mother, no makan makan, no whisky soda!' howled the child.

Monty had calmly selected a couple of coins from his pocket and was holding them out, almost in the child's reach, and making him grab for them with his free hand. Having enjoyed this game for a little he negligently tossed the coins out of the speeding car. A moment later the boy dropped off the running-board and vanished into the rushing darkness in their wake.

'That's one of their favourite tricks. The word makan makan means "grub" by the way, and you could probably do with some yourself, I should think. We thought we'd take you first to the Mayfair to leave your things and then on to our house for some supper.' means "grub" by the way, and you could probably do with some yourself, I should think. We thought we'd take you first to the Mayfair to leave your things and then on to our house for some supper.'

They were now on a wider thoroughfare; in front of them rattled a green trolley-bus: from the tips of its twin poles a cascade of blue-white sparks dribbled against the darkening sky. Despite the advance of darkness the heat seemed only to increase. The sun had long since dropped out of sight somewhere behind Sumatra to the west but in the sky it had left a vast striated blanket of magenta which seemed to radiate a heat of its own like the bars of an electric grill.

Soon they were on a long straight road, still lined with Chinese shophouses but with here and there an occasional block of European shops or offices. This was Orchard Road, Monty explained, and that drive that curved away to the right led up to Government House. The large white building a little further along was the Cold Storage: in there homesick Britons could buy food that reminded them of home.

Presently they turned off Orchard Road and found themselves in a residential district of winding, tree-lined streets and detached bungalows with now and then a small block of flats set amidst tennis courts. They lurched up a sharply curving slope past a tiny banana plot.

'It may not be much ... but given the hordes of bra.s.s hats commandeering living quarters in Singapore these days one is lucky to find a roof at all. Here we are, anyway.'

The Pontiac keeled over sharply and pulled off the road with groaning tyres. The Mayfair Building was a vast and rambling bungalow built on a score of fat, square pillars. Because the ground here was on something of a slope these pillars grew taller as they approached the front of the building, exaggerating their perspective and giving them the appearance of a platoon on the march beneath an enormous burden. The bungalow itself was encased in louvred wooden shutters and open balconies, along the sides of which partly unrolled blinds of split-bamboo hung beneath the great jutting eaves. The apex of the bungalow's roof of loose red tiles was left open in the manner of a dovecot to allow warm air to escape, and was crowned by a second, smaller roof of red tiles. Despite the metropolitan grandeur of its name the Mayfair Building had a slightly decrepit air.

While Joan performed a quick and efficient inspection of herself in a hand-mirror, Matthew got out of the car and prepared to follow Monty.

'I won't come in with you, Matthew,' Ehrendorf said. 'I'm busy right now but I'll see you later. We'll get together real soon, OK?' Now that he, too, had got out of the car and stood there, an elegant figure in his uniform, it seemed to Matthew that he looked more his former cheerful and confident self. They shook hands, agreed to telephone each other and then Matthew followed Monty around the side of the building to the main entrance. Here he glimpsed a tennis court, disused, from whose baked mud surface giant thistles had grown up and now waited like silent skeleton players in the gloom. Beyond the tennis court the compound was walled in on each side by a powerful tropical undergrowth and the encroaching jungle.

Gesturing in the darkness Monty said: 'There's a recreation hut and a lot of gym stuff over there. I expect you know that your father was keen on that sort of thing? What? You didn't? He was very partial to rippling muscles and gleaming torsos.' Monty chuckled cautiously. 'This way. Watch your step.'

They made their way up protesting wooden steps to a front door that stood open and was plainly two or three inches too big for its frame. As Monty dragged it open further the hinges shrieked. He went inside. Matthew, having paused to polish his gla.s.ses, was about to follow him when he heard a faint scuffling sound from the darkness on the other side of the house. He heard the sound of heavy, indignant breathing, then silence followed and, after a few moments, a long, melancholy sigh, barely audible against the hum of the tropical night. In another moment he heard footsteps and Joan emerged from the gloom.

The interior of the bungalow exuded the unloved air of houses that have had to endure temporary occupation by a succession of transient lodgers. Matthew surmised that his father had not taken a great interest in his material surroundings.

'What a dump!' said Joan, wrinkling her perfect nose as she peered in.

'It's seen better days, I admit,' agreed Monty. In the obscurity Matthew sensed rather than saw that the furiture was chipped, the paintwork peeling and the woodwork so warped that drawers and cupboards would no longer quite open, nor windows altogether close. He was surprised to think that it was in these modest surroundings that his father, a man of wealth, had spent so much of the latter part of his life. 'Perhaps the old chap was not such an ogre after all.'

As he advanced into a wide verandah room scattered with darker ma.s.ses which might be furniture, two floorboards sang in counterpoint under his shoes. A middle-aged man who had evidently been brooding by himself on the verandah in the now almost complete darkness came on a serpentine course through the sagging rattan furniture to meet them, snapping on a light switch as he pa.s.sed and bathing the room in an electric light which at first flickered like a cinema projector but presently settled down to a more steady glow.

'Major Brendan Archer,' said Monty casting his sun-helmet away into the shadows. 'This is Matthew Webb.' He added to Matthew: 'The Major has been more or less running things since your father's illness.'

Matthew and the Major shook hands. The Major came vaguely to attention and said indistinctly: 'I'd like to say how sorry ... hm ... your father ...' With a m.u.f.fled bark indicating emotion he stood at ease again The Major had a mild, vaguely worried appearance. His very thin hair had been carefully smoothed with water and brushed straight back, revealing only the finest of partings. It was supplemented by a rather doleful moustache.

'I see you're looking at my moustache,' the Major said, causing Matthew to start guiltily. 'That blighter Cheong got at it with the scissors. He said he'd be careful but of course he got carried away. Took too much off one side.' It was true. The Major's moustache, when you looked at it, was definitely lopsided. The young people peered at it respectfully.

'How sensitive people are about their moustaches out here, thought Matthew. 'It must be the climate.'

'Why don't you prune the other side a bit?' suggested Monty. 'Even it up?'

'Mustn't look like Hitler.'

'No, of course not,' agreed Monty. To Matthew he explained: 'The Major's been trying to re-enlist for active service. He can't be bothered with the j.a.ps. Defend the old homeland, eh, Major?'

'Oh, I'm afraid the war will be over by the time I get back to England. One worries, you know, about people at home in the air-raids. I have a couple of young nieces in London ... well, not really nieces ... more G.o.d-daughters than nieces, in South Kensington, actually, though strictly speaking ...'