The Empire Trilogy Part 44

The General, however, had not yet reached the high point of his reminiscence, which amounted to nothing less than an invitation from the Chamberlains to join them for the excursion in celebration of Mrs Chamberlain's birthday so charmingly thought up by Briand and his friend, Loucheur: they had hired an Italian lake steamer, the Fleur d'Oranger Fleur d'Oranger for the occasion. On that delightful, extraordinary trip on the lake the General and his wife had mingled with all the chief delegates to the Conference, with Skrzynski and Benes, with the bearded, bespectacled, floppy-hatted Belgian, Vandervelde, with the shaven-headed, thick-necked German, Stresemann, his duelling-scarred cheeks set on fire by the sun and champagne ... what a day to remember! In his mind's eye he could still see Loucheur with his round pop-eyed face and the curling black moustaches of a Victorian waiter, chuckling as the champagne flowed. And then, to cap it all, Mussolini, ostentatious as ever, had made a dramatic dash by racing car from Milan to Stresa and from there by speedboat to Locarno! for the occasion. On that delightful, extraordinary trip on the lake the General and his wife had mingled with all the chief delegates to the Conference, with Skrzynski and Benes, with the bearded, bespectacled, floppy-hatted Belgian, Vandervelde, with the shaven-headed, thick-necked German, Stresemann, his duelling-scarred cheeks set on fire by the sun and champagne ... what a day to remember! In his mind's eye he could still see Loucheur with his round pop-eyed face and the curling black moustaches of a Victorian waiter, chuckling as the champagne flowed. And then, to cap it all, Mussolini, ostentatious as ever, had made a dramatic dash by racing car from Milan to Stresa and from there by speedboat to Locarno!

And then, the General's voice became solemn at the recollection, on the following day a great crowd of peasants had gathered in front of the town hall as the autumn twilight thickened. The word spread quickly through the crowd. The Treaty had been signed! Like a holy relic the doc.u.ment was carried to the window and shown to the crowd. A great cry had gone up. The church bells had been rung and women had wept and prayed. The Treaty had been signed!

'But just look at the result!' cried Matthew, his kindly face transfigured with emotion.

'Eh?' said the General, taken aback.

'Just look at the result! "By our signatures we affirm that we want peace," Briand declared and yet within fifteen years France and Germany were at war again and the rest of Europe with them. And the reason was this: Locarno was the old way of doing things old way of doing things! Behind-the-scenes diplomacy between the Big Powers. Whitehall and the Quai d'Orsay and the Wilhelmstra.s.se up to their old tricks again ...'

'I know, his name was Herringdorf,' exclaimed Brooke-Popham waking up suddenly, but n.o.body paid any attention to him and presently he dozed off again.

'And so it goes on. So it has always gone on. If the League failed to prevent this war it was because Britain, France, Italy and Germany, while paying lip-service to the idea of an international a.s.sembly to settle differences between nations, were never prepared to submit to its authority. Nor give it the power it needed. Who could take the League seriously when the real business was not being transacted in Geneva at all but aboard a pleasure steamer on Lake Maggiore! The Big Powers have brought this horrible destruction down on their own heads because their half-baked foreign ministries staffed by uppercla.s.s dimwits, who have more in common with each other than with the people of their respective countries, preferred to make cynical treaties rather than give real meaning to their membership of the League.'

'Steady the Buffs!' said Walter, not in the least concerned by Matthew's unfortunate harangue.

Matthew's face had grown flushed as he spoke. In his excitement he had wound a napkin round his clenched fist and delivered a terrible uppercut to the under surface of the table with the result that a miniature earthquake accompanied his final words, causing the gla.s.ses to dance on the table. Mrs Blackett, painfully surprised by this outburst for which she could see no sane explanation, glanced significantly at her husband to warn him against pursuing the argument. But Walter, calmly reaching out a hand to steady the tinkling cutlery beside his plate, said with a smile: 'Strong nations, Matthew, will always take advantage of the weak if they can do so with impunity. This is a law of nature. After all, as you must agree, the disapproval of the League did nothing to inhibit j.a.pan from taking over Manchuria ...'

'Well, exactly!' shouted Matthew. 'Because the League was given no support. Because Sir John Simon and the Foreign Office preferred to turn a blind eye to the crying injustice done to China and give tacit support to j.a.pan!'

'Even without Britain's tacit support j.a.pan would not have acted differently. Well, Francois, you're the expert at this sort of thing, what d'you think?'

'It is, I'm afraid, very simple. Powerful nations will have their way with the weak. They will see that their own interests are served. No doubt life would be better if both nations and people were guided by principle rather than by self-interest but ... it is not the case. It is foolish to pretend otherwise.'

'Self-interest? But surely a government has a duty to act in the moral moral as well as the material interests of its people!' This last a.s.sertion, however, was received only with sympathetic smiles. The matter had already been settled to the general satisfaction. as well as the material interests of its people!' This last a.s.sertion, however, was received only with sympathetic smiles. The matter had already been settled to the general satisfaction.

Matthew was still in a state of dangerous excitement and these cynical views might well have caused him to deal the delicate rosewood dining-table another and perhaps even terminal blow but with an effort he managed to control himself. He was aware that in any case he had already made quite an exhibition of himself. Besides, he had heard this sort of thing so often before. He unwound the napkin from his fist and nudged his spectacles further up his nose, peering sadly round the table at his companions. Kate, who was bored, was over-heard asking her mother in a whisper what would be for pudding. Everyone chuckled and relaxed at this, even Matthew, though he was still distressed. He became aware that Joan was gazing at him from across the table and he could not help thinking how beautiful she was, the way the light caused her hair to glow and modelled with shadow the delicate contours of her cheekbones. He found it strange and disconcerting how this good-looking but impa.s.sive and perhaps even rather dull girl would suddenly brighten up and radiate a strong s.e.xual attraction all around her, just as fireflies, mating at dusk in a warm climate, light up at intervals to signal their presence to a potential mate. No wonder, then, that according to Kate her elder sister was always breaking the hearts of the young men of the Colony: she evidently could not help it, any more than a firefly can stop itself lighting up at intervals.

'Your nose will meet your chin!' muttered the Doctor to Brooke-Popham at his side.

'What!' demanded Brooke-Popham waking up abruptly and staring at the Doctor in astonishment.

'Your father and I often used to discuss these matters,' said Walter who could not resist putting a few finishing touches to their argument, 'and I think we both felt that misplaced idealism had sapped the nation's strength badly in the last twenty years. The pacifism which has been vaunted since the end of the Great War by our friends of the socialist persuasion has resulted in the decline of British prestige and, even more serious, of her forces, too. Our enemies have been encouraged to try their luck.' Noticing that the Commander-in-Chief was awake again Walter added: 'What d'you think, Sir Robert? Am I talking through my hat?'

'Most certainly not, Walter,' said Brooke-Popham, using his napkin to dry his moustache where a few drops of vinegar still glimmered. 'You need only take the example of the year 1932. Is it a coincidence that the same year should see a mutiny of the British fleet and an aggression by the j.a.panese against the International Settlement in Shanghai? Most certainly not. One clearly suggested the other. Moreover, our socialist brethren were not without influence even at the War Office. Naval parities with j.a.pan and the foolish doctrine of "No war for ten years" were the sad result of listening to their siren call.' The Commander-in-Chief beamed around the table to show that his views should not be taken amiss, even by those whom they happened to contradict. Nor did his friendly gaze omit the joint of roast beef which had just been brought in and set down for carving in front of Walter.

'All in all,' went on Brooke-Popham, 'it's perhaps just as well that the j.a.panese don't have a fighter to match our Brewster Buffalo, otherwise they might be tempted to try something on in this part of the world.' He hesitated. 'Not, of course, that we can afford to be over-confident,' he added, and his brow clouded somewhat; reports had been coming in of increased shipping at Camranh Bay for the past few days and even of landing-craft being loaded at Saigon. Well, he had not been nick-named 'Fighting Popham' for nothing. He sighed, thinking how difficult modern warfare was. Not like the old days! He was tired: ready to return to his quarters at the Sea View. Perhaps he would take a stroll on the hotel's lawn by the sandy beach (bristling, though, nowadays with barbed wire and machine-gun nests), just to settle his mind before retiring. He wanted no landing-craft forging into his dreams and bursting there like ripe pods.

17.

Now for some reason an air of melancholy settled over the table like a gentle fall of snow on an avenue of statues in the park, collecting in white drifts on heads and shoulders and blurring individual features. Matthew was contemplating Geneva again as he served himself with two delightfully lacquered roast potatoes, musing not without bitterness on the years he had spent travelling as the envoy of the Committee for International Understanding. For the truth was that those who governed the destiny of nations had remained as remote when he appeared in person as they had when he had written letters. Years, he remembered, had been spent roaming the corridors of palatial hotels (all the doings of the Committee had been attended by the most drastic luxury, as if the merest suggestion of economy would have blighted its high ideals) waiting to be summoned by some minor official of this or that Chancellery. On the rare occasions when he had found himself face to face with the statesman himself, it had always turned out to be because the statesman was in exile or disgrace, or because the Committee had been thought to be more important than it really was, or on account of some other such misunderstanding. In j.a.pan, where he had gone in 1937 to recommend caution with respect to the 'China Incident' he had had an interview with a senior officer of the j.a.panese Army. This man had listened politely to what he had to say but had, himself, refrained from comment. Matthew had asked him whether he thought a war between j.a.pan and America was probable. The officer had replied that he shared the view of the Emperor on that question. And what, Matthew had wanted to know, was the Emperor's view? Unfortunately, the officer had replied without blinking, the Emperor's view was something about which he was completely in the dark.

From about that time, perhaps, had dated Matthew's growing feeling of hopelessness concerning the Committee's task. After this visit to j.a.pan he had taken to reading a good deal on his travels and though he still performed his duties conscientiously, of course, his spirit was no longer quite as deeply engaged as it had once been. It had become his habit to take books with him when visiting government offices: unimportant visitors were sometimes left to cool their heels in desolate ante-rooms for long periods. On more than one occasion he had become so engrossed in his reading that when finally informed that the dignitary in question would now receive him he had looked up in surprise, unable to think for a moment what the fellow might want of him.

Opposite Matthew, Brooke-Popham sat with his shoulders up to his ears, frozen in an att.i.tude of weariness; he was remembering the old days. What fun it had been when they had first gone over to France in 1914! Not like today when every initiative was frustrated by some administrative detail. In those days the Flying Corps had only had to take care of reconnaissance: they had moved about the country like a travelling circus looking for a suitable field which they could use as an aerodrome wherever it was needed. In the course of the retreat from Mons it had been even more like a circus: he would set off in the morning in the Daimler in search of a suitable field and then the aeroplanes would follow and land on it later in the day, while the ground staff trailed across country after them with the fuel and the field work shops loaded into the most extraordinary collection of vans, solid-tyred lorries and pantechnicons, borrowed in London from different businesses ... the van they had borrowed from Maples, the furniture people, had kept breaking down for some reason ... As for the Daimler and the other motor-cars, they had been lent by various officers and civilians. One day, he remembered, he and Maurice Baring had set off in the Daimler on a misty autumn morning and about lunchtime had found a field on some table-land above a village called Sailly: and they had set to work then and there to carry stooks of corn to the side of the field so that the machines could land; and then on the way to Senlis he had bought a bra.s.s bell with a beautiful chime for the Mess. It had grown dark before they reached Senlis and a great yellow harvest moon had risen over the misty fields and the poplars. Baring had said it reminded him of a Corot. What a fine autumn that had been in 1914! A clear golden light lay over the reaped fields and the farms and the gardens full of fruit. He had only to close his eyes to see a little group of pilots at Saponay, lying in the straw and chatting after a reconnaissance sortie, or to see the heat-distorted air rising above the stubble at midday.

'A penny for your thoughts, sir,' said the General, hearing him utter a sigh.

'Oh, water under the bridge, Jack,' replied Brooke-Popham, clearing his throat dejectedly.

Matthew, accustomed to rationing, had found the roast beef extremely appetizing and was even wondering whether it was likely that he would be offered some more. At his side, however, Dupigny was eyeing his plate dubiously, prodding the meat here and there with his fork.

'It's roast beef,' said Mrs Blackett firmly.

'Nevertheless,' Dupigny said to Matthew in an undertone, 'it is sometimes possible to eat well here. Today, no, we are out of luck. But sometimes, when Walter invites his fellow merchants of Singapore the cook makes un pet.i.t effort. un pet.i.t effort. Then, ah! you would think you are in Italy of the Renaissance seated at a table surrounded by merchant-princes. You see, here in Singapore there are many people of this kind. The names of their commercial empires have the ring of glorious city-states, don't you think so? Sime Darby! Harrisons and Crosfield! Maclaine Watson and Company! Langfield and Bowser! Guthrie and Company! And the greatest of them all, brooding over the Far East like the house of Medici over Tuscany: Jardine Matheson! Nor should we forget Blackett and Webb for there, in his usual place at the end of the table, a merchant-prince in his own right, Walter Blackett presides over this reunion of wealth and power as if he were Pope Leo X in person! That is a sight worth seeing!' Then, ah! you would think you are in Italy of the Renaissance seated at a table surrounded by merchant-princes. You see, here in Singapore there are many people of this kind. The names of their commercial empires have the ring of glorious city-states, don't you think so? Sime Darby! Harrisons and Crosfield! Maclaine Watson and Company! Langfield and Bowser! Guthrie and Company! And the greatest of them all, brooding over the Far East like the house of Medici over Tuscany: Jardine Matheson! Nor should we forget Blackett and Webb for there, in his usual place at the end of the table, a merchant-prince in his own right, Walter Blackett presides over this reunion of wealth and power as if he were Pope Leo X in person! That is a sight worth seeing!'

Dupigny's flight of fancy was interrupted by a sudden crash outside the door. Walter half rose to his feet but before he could make a move the door opened and a man lurched into the room backwards, as if he had just eluded the grasp of someone he had been struggling with in the corridor outside. For a moment he seemed to be expecting a further onslaught from his invisible a.s.sailant, but none came so he straightened himself and smoothed down his hair; the door was closed quietly from outside by an unseen hand. 'Sorry I'm late, Walter,' he said in rather slurred tones. 'Where am I sitting?'

'Quelle horreur!' whispered Dupigny, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure. 'C'est Charlie, le frere de Madame Blackett. Et ivre mort, en plus!'

Charlie was wearing merely a cream flannel shirt, open at the neck, and grey flannel trousers. On his feet he wore tennis shoes with the laces undone. His dishevelled appearance and the fact that he was panting slightly suggested that he had just come from some energetic sporting event. Matthew could see no family resemblance to Mrs Blackett in Charlie and he was clearly some twenty years younger. Like her, though, his face framed by blond curls bore the traces of youthful good looks. He was badly in need of a hair-cut.

Monty swiftly rounded the table and took him by the arm, steering him towards the empty place beside Joan. Charlie surveyed the table with watery blue eyes as he went, muttering half to himself: 'I'm glad to see you haven't polished off all the grub.'

'We've just been hearing, Charlie,' declared Mrs Blackett, 'that Matthew has recently come from Geneva where he has been working for the League of Nations.'

'Has he, indeed?' mumbled Charlie over the roast beef which had been hastily placed before him. 'And I'm sure a fat lot of good ...' The rest of the sentence was m.u.f.fled by his first bite of roast beef.

'Well, not recently recently,' said Matthew with a smile, and explained that the Committee for International Understanding, with Europe crumbling about it, had closed down in 1940, naturally dismayed by the amount of misunderstanding the outbreak of war entailed. 'As a matter of fact, for the past year I've been working on a farm. Because of my poor eyesight they didn't want me in the Army.'

'Le "Digging for Victory", "Digging for Victory", alors? alors?' suggested Dupigny. 'It is evident that the supply of food is no less important than the supply of munitions,' he added rea.s.suringly.

Meanwhile Walter, swallowing the irritation caused him by the unorthodox arrival of his brother-in-law, had engaged Brooke-Popham in conversation, for the Commander-in-Chief had shaken off his melancholy and, though comatose, was still awake. For someone like himself, Walter was explaining, whose job it was to run a merchant business, a war with j.a.pan was not a vague possibility for the future, it had already been in progress for some time. In this war, which was being fought invisibly and in silence by means of quotas, price-cutting and a stealthy invasion of traditional markets, Blackett and Webb had found itself not only in the front line but fighting for its life. Since the end of the Great War there had been a steady encirclement of British commerce in the Far East. By 1934 j.a.panese a.s.saults on British textile markets had caused Westminister to introduce import quotas on cotton and rayon goods destined for Malaya. No wonder Walter and other Singapore merchants had protested to the Colonial Office that their mercantile interests were being sacrificed for no better reason than the inability of Lancashire to survive intensive compet.i.tion from j.a.pan. Walter paused and the faint grinding of his teeth became audible in the silence. He had reminded himself of the fact that Solomon Langfield, a big importer of Lancashire cotton, had been in favour of the quotas. That unprincipled blackguard! The bristles on his spine stirred beneath his Lancashire cotton shirt.

Walter surveyed his family and guests sullenly, as if somehow they had been responsible for this lamentable state of affairs. They gazed back, as if hypnotized. Only Monty, who had doubtless heard all this before, twiddled his fork and smothered a yawn.

'What I would like to know is this: can one really blame the j.a.panese?' enquired Walter. His guests exchanged puzzled glances, as if to say: 'Of course one can blame the j.a.panese. Why ever not?'

'After all, they too are fighting for their lives. They depended so heavily for their survival on silk and cotton that, naturally, they would do whatever they had to in order to sell them. In 1933 the average j.a.panese price for textiles was ten cents a yard while Lancashire's was eighteen or nineteen cents, almost twice the price! Mind you, the j.a.ps got up to every trick in the book to evade the quotas. For example, since cotton piece-goods were not included in the quotas in no time pillow-cases big enough to put a house in began to arrive here in Singapore ... pyjamas to fit elephants ... shirts that twenty people could have got into ... and all designed to be swiftly unst.i.tched and used by our local manufacturers instead of the Lancashire cotton they were supposed to be using. Frankly, I admire their ingenuity. Can you blame them?'

'Business is all very well, Mr Blackett,' said the General rather brusquely. 'But you surely do not mean to condone the way they grabbed Manchuria and invaded China. Your own firm's business must have suffered as a result of the way the j.a.ps have been closing the Open Door.'

Walter nodded and smiled. 'That's true. We have suffered. But look at it from the j.a.panese point of view. Can you blame them for extending their influence into Manchuria and China? After all, the demands they have been making since 1915 ... for the lease of Port Arthur and Dairen, for the South Manchuria and Antung-Mukden Railways and for the employment of j.a.panese capital in Manchuria and Eastern Inner Mongolia, what do they remind you of?' Walter, smiling now, gazed at his baffled guests. 'I can tell you what they remind me me of! They are an excellent imitation of the sort of economic imperialism through demands for special privileges which Britain herself has been making in Asia since ... well, since this young man's father started our business in the 1880s.' of! They are an excellent imitation of the sort of economic imperialism through demands for special privileges which Britain herself has been making in Asia since ... well, since this young man's father started our business in the 1880s.'

'But was that a reason for j.a.pan to invade China?' the General wanted to know.

Walter shook his head. 'As a businessman I understand very well why the j.a.panese had to invade China in 1937. China, from the point of view of trade and investment, was chaotic. No reasonably hard-boiled businessman looking at Nationalist China would have seen much to give him confidence. The Kuomintang wanted to put an end to foreigners' privileges. They wanted to see the foreign concession areas at Shanghai, Tientsin and so on handed back to China. They wanted to stop foreigners having their own courts and raising their own taxes in China. No, business must go on, whatever the price. And a businessman needs security. So can one blame the j.a.panese?'

'Security for business doesn't give people the right to invade and kill their neighbours!' protested Matthew.

'My dear chap, I couldn't agree with you more. But there comes a point where the justice of the matter becomes irrelevant. You must look at the situation from the j.a.panese point of view. For them it was a matter of life and death because while the Kuomintang was putting their investment in China at risk they were faced at home by the disastrous effects of the slump. In 1929, forty per cent of j.a.pan's total export trade was in raw silk. It only needed the collapse of American prosperity and a consequent plunge in the demand for silk to bring the j.a.panese economy to catastrophe. Raw silk exports were halved almost overnight. Sales of cotton and manufactured goods joined the slide! What were they expected to do? Sit at home and starve? Let's not be naive, my boy. Justice is always bound to come a poor second to necessity. Strong nations survive. Weak nations go to the wall, that has always been the way of the world and always will be! The point is, can one blame them for taking matters into their own hands? From the business point of view they were in a pickle. And now, mind you, with their a.s.sets frozen and their difficulties in getting raw materials their pickle is going from bad to worse. I believe the Americans should give them the raw materials they need. Otherwise what can they do but grab them by force?' Noticing that the Commander-in-Chief was looking taken aback by this suggestion, Walter added tactfully: 'Not that they'd get very far in this part of the world.'

'The reason the j.a.ps are so touchy and arrogant is that they eat too much fish,' said Brooke-Popham. 'It's scientific. The iodine in their diet plays h.e.l.l with their thyroids. They can't help themselves. So, no, I suppose one can't blame them.'

18.

Now the last course had been placed on the table: a thoroughly satisfactory baked bread-pudding. Matthew, for his part, eyed it with concern, afraid that it might prove too unusual for the taste of Dupigny. He need not have worried, however, for Dupigny surprisingly proved to have a craving for it, ate two helpings liberally coated with bright yellow custard and even went so far as to ask for the ingredients. Mrs Blackett, mollified by his enthusiasm, gave them: stale bread, raisins, sugar, an egg, a little milk and a pinch of nutmeg.

'Incredible,' murmured Dupigny, eyebrows raised politely.

Brooke-Popham's thoughts had wandered back to August 1914 again, recalled to France by Dupigny's presence. He chuckled inwardly at the thought of how primitive all their arrangements had been that first summer. He had carried a small, brand-new portmanteau full of gold everywhere he went, paying for everything out of it, from new flying-machines to spares, to chickens and wine for the HQ Mess. The hours he had spent guarding that portmanteau! Once he and Baring had driven into Paris in the Daimler and gone to Bleriot's factory there to buy a new flying-machine. Then, later, they had bought new tyres and headlights for the Daimler. He had paid for them in gold to the astonishment of the chap in the shop. 'The English are amazing!' he had said in French to Baring, who spoke the lingo. Yes, those were the days! Brooke-Popham folded his napkin, stifling a yawn, beckoned home now by the nodding palms of Katong and the Sea View Hotel. 'Life is good,' he reflected.

The great dish of pudding had been removed. The meal was over. A large white pill and a gla.s.s of water had been set in front of Charlie, who had been eating doggedly with his mouth very near his plate and making no effort to join in the conversation. Since he had finished eating, however, he had been practising backhands with an invisible tennis racket over the tablecloth. In the process his wrist caught and knocked over a gla.s.s of water. There was a moment of startled silence.

'I leave you to deal with him,' Walter said to his wife with unexpected anger, rising from his chair.

'Oh, really, Uncle Charlie, what have you done now?' Kate said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'And you haven't taken your pill.' The guests filed out in silence, leaving Charlie staring sulkily at the saturated table-cloth.

Matthew would have liked to retire to bed at this point: he had had a long and tiring day. But it seemed that the Blacketts had not yet finished with him for Monty suggested a quick stroll in the garden. Together they stepped out into the warm, perfumed night accompanied by a dull-eyed Joan, yawning again behind scarlet fingernails. Birds uttered low cries, insects clicked and whirred around them and once a great patch of black velvet swooped, slipped and folded against the starry sky. Some sort of fruit bat, said Joan.

Although flanked by the young Blacketts, Matthew found himself peering uneasily into the vibrating darkness: he was not yet accustomed to the tropical night. As they sauntered through the potentially hungry shadows in the direction of the Orchid Garden he tried to recall whether he had once read something about 'flying snakes' or whether it was simply his imagination. And did fruit bats only eat fruit or did they sometimes enjoy a meal of flesh and blood? He was so absorbed in this speculation that when, presently, he felt something slip into his hand he jumped, thinking it might be a 'flying snake'. But it was only Joan's soft fingers. To cover his embarra.s.sment he asked her about fruit bats. Oh, they were perfectly harmless, she replied, despite their frightening, Dracula-like wings.

But, Monty was saying with a laugh, what did Matthew think about another weird creature, namely their Uncle Charlie? Did Matthew know that he had been a cricket Blue at Cambridge? For he had been, though one might not think so to look at him now.

'Does he work for Blackett and Webb?'

Monty and Joan hooted with laughter at this idea. 'Father wouldn't let him within a mile of the place. No, he's in the Indian Army, the Punjabis. That was OK while they were stuck on the Khyber Pa.s.s or wherever they normally spend their time. But then, disaster! Charlie's regiment gets posted to Malaya. Father can't abide him, as you may have gathered. He has to put up with him, though, because of Mother who insists on inviting him to stay whenever he has any leave. She's afraid he will go off the rails if she doesn't watch over him. She may be right at that. Once he spent a week in Penang and we kept getting telephone calls asking us if we were prepared to vouch for a Captain Charles Tyrrell who was running up bills right left and centre. Then he started tampering with someone else's wife and there was the most frightful palaver over that. Father had to go up and straighten it all out. You can imagine how delighted he was. Because, of course, we're well known in this country and gossip spreads like wildfire.'

'Oh, and he's a poet, too,' said Joan, giving Matthew's perspiring hand a little squeeze.

'That's right. He wrote a poem about a place in Spain ...'

'Guernica.'

'Yes, that's it, about the place Joan just said. Mother had to warn us all not to laugh because he took it so seriously. He's quite a card.'

Matthew had only been able to give part of his attention to what he was being told about Charlie because of the sensations that were spreading up through his body from the hand which Joan was holding. Not content with the damp, inert clasp of two palms, Joan's fingers had become active, alternately squeezing his own and trying to burrow into the hollow of his palm. He could not help thinking: 'If Monty weren't here ...' and his heart pounded at the thought of what he and Joan might get up to. But Monty was was there; and he showed no sign of noticing the delicious hand-squeezings that were going on in the darkness. Presently he said: 'We'd better be going inside. They'll be leaving soon.' With a final squeeze Joan's hand abandoned Matthew's as they pa.s.sed back into the light. there; and he showed no sign of noticing the delicious hand-squeezings that were going on in the darkness. Presently he said: 'We'd better be going inside. They'll be leaving soon.' With a final squeeze Joan's hand abandoned Matthew's as they pa.s.sed back into the light.

They found the elder Blacketts and their guests drinking coffee and brandy in the drawing-room. Relations between Walter and the unfortunate Charlie had evidently been somewhat restored while they had been in the garden for, as they entered, they heard the tail-end of an argument that had been taking place.

'You expect young men being paid next to nothing to die defending your property and your commercial interests!' Charlie was a.s.serting vociferously. He was still a little drunk but had tied his shoe-laces in the interim and his appearance was less dishevelled.

'I don't know about dying,' replied Walter good-humouredly. 'All you've done so far is drink.' And that proved to be the end of the discussion and of the evening, for the Air-Marshal and the General announced that it was time that they were on their way. They politely insisted on shaking hands with everybody on their way out, even with little Kate who, overcome by the momentous occasion, got mixed up and said: 'Thank you for having me.' This caused smiles all round and poor Kate wished she were dead. How could she be so childish! She blushed furiously and tried to smile, too, though she really felt like bursting into tears.

'You must come to our place one of these days,' muttered Dr Brownley to a semi-circle of gla.s.sy-eyed Blacketts who seemed to have gathered for no other purpose than to stare after him in mute accusation as he escaped into the darkness.

Dupigny suggested to Matthew that they walk back to the Mayfair by way of the road rather than the garden, to see if the Major had retired to his little bungalow on the opposite side of the road. Matthew said goodnight to the elder Blacketts. On the way out he found Monty and Joan on the steps by the front door. Monty held out his hand, saying that he was off to bed and would wish Matthew good night.

'Monty, I'd like to thank you for your help in getting me out here.'

'Think nothing of it, old boy. After all, we couldn't leave you to be raped by all those strapping Land Girls, could we?' And with a wave Monty disappeared inside.

After a moment Joan came forward. He thought she was going to say good night, too, but no. 'h.e.l.lo you!' she said, lighting up like a firefly in the darkness. He peered at her uncertainly. 'You always look so serious,' she added, putting her shoulder against his and shoving him a little off balance.

'Do I?' he asked cautiously.

'Come on, I'll walk down the road a bit with you and Francois.'

They set off together down the drive but almost immediately Joan was called back by her mother who was standing at the front door. She wanted to know where Joan was going.

'Oh Mother!' Joan said irritably.

'Why can't you leave the girl alone?' Walter wanted to know, equally exasperated. A hurried conference took place.

While they were waiting for her Dupigny asked: 'D'you like women?'

'Well, yes, of course.' To Matthew this seemed a rather peculiar question. After a moment he added: 'I'm rather keen on D. H. Lawrence, as a matter of fact.'

There was a pause while Dupigny turned this over in his mind. Presently he said: 'Out here, you know, there are many young men but few young women ... I mean, European. There are, bien entendu bien entendu, the Asiatical women, ah yes, but in Singapore, you see, although the young men make terribly love in a physical way to the oriental ladies and sometimes even to the mature European ladies (those who have, as we say, la cuisse hospitaliere la cuisse hospitaliere), still, alas, they are not satisfied. They sigh for companions of their own age and race. They are encouraged, moreover, by their elders who wish to preserve the purity of the race, a desire of which Hitler himself would not disapprove. With us in Indo-China it is different. We do not worry like the British when one of us decides to marry the daughter of a prosperous native. Such marriages have very often a great utility, both commercial and political.'

'Well, I must say ...' began Matthew, but his tired brain declined to furnish him with any suitable observation.

'You like Joan, perhaps? Yes, she is a nice English girl, healthy, full of virtues, plainly but solidly built in the English manner, made (comme le bread-pudding de Madame sa mere) entirely of good things, but, alas, without either the ravishing innocence of a child or the serious attractions of a mature woman. Personally I believe the only one of the Blackett ladies to my taste is la pet.i.te la pet.i.te ... Miss Kate, and even she is becoming a trifle ... Miss Kate, and even she is becoming a trifle trop mure trop mure ... She is already in my opinion a bit too ... how d'you say ... ... She is already in my opinion a bit too ... how d'you say ... bien balancee bien balancee ... ... bien foutue bien foutue ... Yes a bit too well-endowed, thank you.' ... Yes a bit too well-endowed, thank you.'

'But she's only a child!'

'I agree she has that in her favour. All the same, the rot begins. I speak physically, of course.' Dupigny suppressed a yawn.

'Of course,' agreed Matthew hastily, feeling the tide of the conversation carrying him swiftly out of his depth. 'But what I meant was ...'

'Ah, Joan is returning at last.'

The night air seemed very humid: the breeze had dropped, increasing the impression of heat. An hour ago there had been a brief, heavy downpour and water still gurgled busily in the deep storm-drain beside the road, but overhead the sky was clear. Matthew and Dupigny sauntered along hands in pockets; Joan walked between them, humming a song beneath her breath. As the road curved towards the Mayfair, however, she dragged the two men to a stop and disengaged herself. She had promised her mother she would not stay out long. Matthew shook hands with her stiffly: he thought it best not to attempt a more intimate embrace for the moment. As for Dupigny, he collected her slender fingers in his own and conveyed them to his lips but, despite the darkness, Matthew could see that he was using them to mask the remains of the yawn against which he had been struggling while speculating on the sensual qualities of the Blackett women.

'How romantic you are, Francois! Why can't Englishmen be like you? Well, good night!'

Matthew and Dupigny walked on towards the Major's bungalow which seemed, as far as Matthew could tell in the darkness, to be no less ramshackle than the Mayfair Building on the other side of the road. They called at the verandah but there was no reply, except the soft cry of a night-bird from somewhere in the undergrowth. Matthew produced his packet of Craven A and they each lit a cigarette, lingering in the road while they smoked: indoors the heat would be suffocating.

'D'you happen to know what the Singapore Grip is?' Matthew asked. 'Some people I met said I should watch out for it.'

'I believe it is what they call here a certain tropical fever, very grave. Certainly, you must watch out for it.'

'Oh?' But why, wondered Matthew, would the RAF men have found it so amusing if it was a serious illness? This was a mystery.

Matthew would have pursued the matter but Dupigny was asking him how well he knew his old friend Major Archer. 'What? You have been introduced only? You must make his acquaintance better ...' And he went on to explain how fond he was of the Major. The Major, indeed, was one of the few people on earth for whom he, Dupigny, had any affection at all. They had first met in France during the Great War. In those days he had been a liaison officer with a British regiment. He and the Major had hardly known each other then. After the war he himself had gone to Indo-China, the Major had gone to Ireland. But then, one day in 1925, on a visit to London to see his tailor during his European leave, they had b.u.mped into each other at a restaurant in the Strand, chez Simpson, perhaps? With enormous difficulty they had succeeded in recognizing each other, they had exchanged cards, they had renewed their acquaintanceship. Then, in the course of his next visit to Europe in 1930, they had met yet again, this time on purpose, and in 1935 yet again.

Dupigny had watched his English friend with the utmost curiosity. It had taken the Major time to settle down after the war. For a while he had been in hospital. And then he had evidently witnessed some unpleasantness in Ireland which had affected his peace of mind. The terrible unemployment of the post-war years had further unsettled him. In those days, too, he had perhaps still been yearning to capture a suitable young lady as a bride. There had no doubt been some woman in Ireland ... but that Dupigny suspected only. For the Major himself never spoke of such matters.