The Empire Trilogy Part 45

Over the years Dupigny had noticed the Major becoming more private in his habits and, in some ways, undoubtedly a bit eccentric. If you had gone to take coffee with the Major in, let us say, 1930, you would have witnessed a strange ritual. The housekeeper would first appear with a silver jug containing just-boiled water. The Major, still chatting to you politely, would whip a thermometer from his breast pocket, plunge it into the water, remove it, read it, dry it on a napkin and, with a nod to the housekeeper, replace it in his pocket. The coffee could now be made! Ah, that was the bachelor life for you! And there were other things, too. He had taken to grumbling if his wine gla.s.ses did not sparkle as clear as rain-water ... yet at the same time thought nothing of piling his cigar ash on the polished surface of his mahogany dining-table, or of dropping it, without ceremony, on the carpet.

You might also, if the Major had ushered you into his drawing-room in Bayswater about the year 1930, have found it hard to discover a satisfactory seat, since all the more comfortable chairs and the sofa were occupied by slumbering dogs, refugees for the most part from Ireland's fight for independence and by now growing old. If you did find a seat it would be covered in fine dog hairs: these animals were always moulting for some reason. The Major himself would merely perch on the arm of a chair while the dogs gazed at him with bleary devotion from their cushions. Sometimes, if a bark was heard in the street outside, they would give answering barks, though without moving an inch from their chairs. Dupigny had known few more strange experiences than that of sitting in the company of the silent, withdrawn Major towards the end of a winter afternoon and hearing those dogs erupting round him in the gloom.

'Eh bien! So all is up with the Major!' one might have thought in 1930, looking at him perched on the arm of a chair across his penumbrous, dog-strewn drawing-room. 'Nothing surely can save him now from the increasingly private comforts and exacting rules of his bachelor life.' One by one over the next five years while he, Dupigny, was again in Indo-China the dogs had dropped away and were not replaced. The Major, perhaps, was no longer very fond of dogs and had kept them mainly from a sense of duty, just as he had kept the drawing-room itself exactly as it used to be when his aunt was still alive. By this time, without a doubt, he had become a confirmed bachelor. The marriages of his contemporaries no longer filled him with such envy. He had begun to see that being married can have drawbacks, that being single can have advantages. So all is up with the Major!' one might have thought in 1930, looking at him perched on the arm of a chair across his penumbrous, dog-strewn drawing-room. 'Nothing surely can save him now from the increasingly private comforts and exacting rules of his bachelor life.' One by one over the next five years while he, Dupigny, was again in Indo-China the dogs had dropped away and were not replaced. The Major, perhaps, was no longer very fond of dogs and had kept them mainly from a sense of duty, just as he had kept the drawing-room itself exactly as it used to be when his aunt was still alive. By this time, without a doubt, he had become a confirmed bachelor. The marriages of his contemporaries no longer filled him with such envy. He had begun to see that being married can have drawbacks, that being single can have advantages.

Not, of course, that the Major had not continued to fall in love at regular intervals. But now he tended to fall in love with happily married women, the wives of his friends and thus, for a man of honour like himself, unattainable creatures who personified all the virtues, above all, the virtue of not being in a position to return his feelings. The love he bore them was of the chivalrous, selfless kind so fashionable among the British in late-Victorian and Edwardian times, perhaps because (selon l'hypothese Dupigny) it handily acknowledged the female principle in the universe without incommoding busy males with real women. Still, Dupigny had had to admit that his poor friend had a life which suited him very well, y compris les amours. y compris les amours.

Agreed, the Major's reward in these encounters was not the tumultuous one of illicit embraces between the sheets: it was the glance of grat.i.tude on a pure maternal brow, the running of a moustache as soft as ... blaireau blaireau, how d'you say? (badger? thank you) ... the running of a badger-soft moustache over fair knuckles, the reading of unspoken thoughts in bright eyes. These small moments, remembered late at night as he sprawled in his lonely bed smoking his pipe in a bedroom that smelled like a railway carriage (Fumeurs), were the Major's only but adequate reward.

If, however, perhaps hoping for a deeper relationship, the lady should pay him a visit one afternoon bringing her children (Dupigny had witnessed one such occasion) the Major would become cross. Young children would totter about the house knocking things over and trying to hug the elderly, malodorous dogs, themselves grown short-tempered with age. Older children would chase each other from room to room and would keep asking him if they could play with certain important possessions of his (a gramophone, a pair of Prussian binoculars, a steam-powered model boat or electric railway) without realizing that these objects could only be handled with elaborate ceremony and precautions. These children-accompanied sentimental visits, Dupigny surmised, had never failed to be disastrous, pa.s.sion-damping.

On such occasions, no doubt, faced with a terrifying glimpse of what a real marriage might entail, the Major could not help congratulating himself on his escape. A white marble statue of Venus, it was true, still glimmered, seductively unclothed, at the foot of his stairs. But having turned forty the Major must have reflected that by now he was over the worst. He had come through the years of emotional typhoons battered, certainly, but all in one piece. It was wonderful how a human being could adapt to his circ.u.mstances. The Major knew in his heart that he could not have endured marriage, the untidiness and confusion of it.

And so, there the Major had been, about 1935, fixed in his habits, apparently suspended in his celibacy like a chicken in aspic. But one day, abruptly, he was no longer satisfied: he had decided to give it all up, this comfortable life, to travel and see the world before he was finally too old. A man has only one life! How surprised Dupigny had been when one day he learned that the Major was making a voyage to Australia, and then to j.a.pan, even to visit him in Hanoi and later in Saigon! Why had he done this? Another love affair that had gone wrong? The Major never spoke of such things. Why had he then settled in Singapore, opportunely for himself as it now turned out? This was something which Dupigny had not understood. And neither, perhaps, had the Major!

Matthew and Dupigny, having finished their cigarettes, approached the entrance to the Mayfair Building: a little way into the compound a stiff, dignified old jaga jaga in khaki shorts and a yellow turban watched them sleepily from his in khaki shorts and a yellow turban watched them sleepily from his charpoy charpoy but all they could see of his face in the darkness was a copious white moustache and a white beard. Dupigny asked whether the Major was still in the bungalow. The but all they could see of his face in the darkness was a copious white moustache and a white beard. Dupigny asked whether the Major was still in the bungalow. The jaga jaga raised a skinny arm to point towards the building behind him. raised a skinny arm to point towards the building behind him.

'It seems the Major has been here all the time. Let us go and wish him good night.'

After the starlit compound the darkness on the verandah seemed almost complete. It was agreeably perfumed, however, by the smoke of a Havana cigar whose glowing tip Matthew had no difficulty in locating as it danced for a moment in fingers raised in greeting.

'Not yet in bed, Brendan? Old gentlemen must take care of themselves.'

'I'll be going to bed in a moment,' the Major said, but Matthew had already been informed that the Major, hara.s.sed by insomnia, was just as likely to sit here on the verandah smoking cigars until first light. 'Did you hear anything? Were there any military big-wigs there?'

'Brooke-Popham and a General. They appear confident.'

Matthew and Dupigny groped their way across the verandah to the Major's side. There Matthew collapsed with a shriek of bamboo on to a chaise-longue. How tired he was! What a lot had happened since he had last been in bed! 'Very soon now I shall go to bed,' he thought wearily. From where he sat he had a view of the Major's silhouette. He could see the outline of his 'badger-soft' moustache, recently outraged by Cheong's scissors. He could even see the corrugated wrinkles mounting the slope of the Major's worried brow, growing smoother as they reached the imperceptible line of hair neatly plastered down with water.

'What fools those men are!' exclaimed the Major, and the tip of his cigar glowed fiercely in the darkness. But after a moment he added humbly: 'Of course, they may know things that we don't.'

19.

At the end of the first week of December a little group of men wearing overalls or boiler-suits or simply shorts on account of the heat gathered one afternoon in the shade of the tamarind tree in the Mayfair's compound. They belonged to the Mayfair Auxiliary Fire Service unit (AFS for short) and they had been summoned, although today was Sunday, to an urgent practice. The morning newspaper had carried news of a convoy of unidentified transport ships heading south from j.a.panese-occupied Indo-China and the Major, who was in charge of the Mayfair AFS unit, feared the worst. The Major, at the moment, was not under the tamarind tree but in the garage beside the house, struggling with a tarpaulin. Matthew, who had just been enrolled in the unit, was a.s.sisting him. There was no ventilation in the garage and the day's sun, beating down on the corrugated iron roof, had made it like an oven inside. Matthew had already been suffering from the heat: now he felt the perspiration running down his legs and collecting in his socks.

The Major had dragged the tarpaulin off a large box-shaped object which proved to be some sort of engine, gleaming with steel and bra.s.s pipes and fittings. Matthew stared at it blankly. It had two large dials on a sort of dashboard and, instead of wheels, two carrying-poles like a palanquin.

'It's a Coventry Victor,' declared the Major with pride. 'Brand new!'

'But what does it do?'

'It's a trailer-pump. The trailer is over there. I've had a bracket put on the back of my car so we can tow it about if need be. Give me a hand and we'll carry it outside. We're going to have a drill with it when our instructor gets here. He's an ex-London Fire Brigade man and when he's sober he knows his stuff ... which isn't always, unfortunately.'

Presently, the instructor arrived. He turned out to be a short, bald and red-faced man in his fifties called McMahon. After a lengthy altercation with the taxi-driver who had brought him he advanced swaying towards the Mayfair Building. The Major had explained to Matthew that Mr McMahon, like many firemen, had started life as a seaman. It became clear, however, as he collided with a bush, shouting, on his way round the house, that this was not the explanation of his rolling gait.

The Major had drawn up the members of the Mayfair AFS unit in a line beside the tennis court ready to be inspected by their instructor. They stood at ease, waiting uncertainly, while Mr McMahon weaved his way towards them, cursing. Apart from the Major himself, the unit consisted of Dupigny, a Mr Sen and a Mr Harris, both clerks who were occasionally lent to the Mayfair by Blackett and Webb (the former was Indian, the latter Eurasian), Mr Wu, a friendly Chinese businessman, the Chinese 'boy', Cheong, who had surprised the Major by volunteering and who, though his face remained perfectly impa.s.sive in every situation, had proved easily the most efficient of the recruits, Monty Blackett, who had volunteered (the lesser of two evils) to avoid conscription into the Local Defence Force but was still hoping to achieve, if not a complete dispensation, at least, a more agreeable position in Singapore's active or pa.s.sive defences, and finally, a handsome young man called Nigel Langfield, the son of Walter's arch-rival and enemy, Solomon Langfield: Nigel was wearing a very new blue boiler-suit with AFS prettily embroidered in red on one of its breast pockets; from time to time he would lower his nose to sniff the satisfying newcloth smell of this garment.

These would-be firemen eyed their instructor with concern as he waded towards them, as if through a swamp. Before reaching them, however, he unexpectedly changed course to embrace the trunk of another tree not far away. Then, with his arms still round the tree and still cursing, he slithered to the ground, eventually struggling around to use it as a back-rest.

'G.o.d help ye, y' blithering lot o' helpless b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!' he babbled, fighting for breath. 'Let's see another dry drill then, you perfumed bunch o' pansies or, G.o.d help ye, the fists'll be flyin' or me name's not McMahon! Get on with it ... A dry drill, I'm tellin' ye!'

'I thought we were going to do a wet drill today,' said the Major, looking dissatisfied. 'That's what you said last time.'

'This time I'm sayin' it's a dry drill, y'b.a.s.t.a.r.d, so hop to it and see that ye run the bleedin' hose out without a twist in it or ye'll catch it hot, I'm tellin' ye ...' time I'm sayin' it's a dry drill, y'b.a.s.t.a.r.d, so hop to it and see that ye run the bleedin' hose out without a twist in it or ye'll catch it hot, I'm tellin' ye ...'

'Well, we might just do one one,' said the Major, 'in order to get the feel of it before we do a wet drill. I'm afraid McMahon's not going to be much help to us today by the look of it,' he added in an undertone to the rest of the unit.

'I heard that, y' p.i.s.sin' old goat,' yelled McMahon, quivering with a fresh paroxysm of rage and struggling ineffectually to get to his feet, evidently with the intention of exacting retribution.

'Shut up or we'll bash your silly brains in,' said Monty languidly, sloping off in the direction of the bungalow.

'Look here, Monty, where are you you off to? We're just going to begin,' said the Major indignantly. off to? We're just going to begin,' said the Major indignantly.

'I'm just going to find an aspirin, old boy, if you don't mind.'

'Well, hurry up about it. I'll try and explain the basic drill to Matthew in the meantime.'

There were, the Major explained, two types of hose: suction hose for picking up water from an open source such as a ca.n.a.l or a river, and delivery hose, for relaying water to the fire. Suction hose had a wide diameter and was reinforced to keep it cylindrical; it also had wire strainers to prevent stones or rubbish being sucked up into the pump. 'Have you got that?'

'I think so. This other one, then, is the delivery hosepipe, is it?'

From under his tree McMahon shrieked with laughter. 'Hosepipe! He thinks he's a bleedin' gardener!' He thinks he's a bleedin' gardener!'

'Hm, I should have mentioned that, we say "hose" rather than "hosepipe", and ropes are known as "lines" and the rungs of a ladder are called "rounds" ... I don't suppose it matters particularly, as we're just a scratch team, but McMahon seems to prefer it.'

Delivery hose, the Major continued, was wound flat on a revolving drum and came in fifty or a hundred-foot lengths with a diameter of two or three inches; at the business end there was a tapering bra.s.s tube called the 'branch', not the nozzle! The drill was that the number one man ran off in the direction of the fire with the branch, unreeling a length of hose as he went; meanwhile the number three man laid out another length of hose and dealt with the couplings. These couplings were what were known as 'male' and 'female', that was to say ...

'That fat pansy wouldn't know the difference if ye took up y'skirts and showed him!'

'That will do, McMahon,' said the Major sharply. He turned back to Matthew. 'The idea is that the male coupling plugs into the female on the previous length of hose. The male plugs into the standpipe, if that's where the water is coming from, or into the engine pump. Meanwhile the runner takes hold of the lugs on the "female" end around which the delivery hose is normally wrapped and he uses them as an axle round which the roll of hose unwinds. Here, Nigel will give us a demonstration.'

Nigel obediently took the roll of hose and holding it a little way from his body went loping gracefully away with it, laying it down neatly on the turf behind him as he went.

'It's not as easy as it looks. Nigel's rather good at it.'

It was true. Everybody watched in admiration and even McMahon was temporarily silenced by this display of skill. There was still no sign of Monty so Cheong was sent to look for him. Meanwhile Mr Wu, who with Dupigny and Cheong had been tinkering with the engine, was called forward to show Matthew how to climb a ladder which had earlier been set up against the roof of the Mayfair.

'When climbing radder glasp lounds not side of radder,' explained Mr Wu to Matthew.

'What?'

'Glasp lungs!'

'Good heavens! You mean, your own? Or someone else's?'

'That's right,' said the Major, approaching swiftly. 'You should always hold the rungs, or the "rounds" as we call them, rather than the frame of the ladder. And incidentally never step on to a window-ledge: they tend to collapse. The drill is to put one leg right into the window. Ah, thank heaven for that, it looks as if McMahon has gone to sleep,' he added. 'Perhaps this would be a good time to get the pump working. After all, we may not have much more time to practise.'

A gloomy silence had fallen on the Mayfair AFS unit. Even McMahon, muttering in his sleep, looked discouraged. Staring into the distance where the white wedding-cake ma.s.s of the Blacketts' house glimmered above the trees, the Major said: 'Still, with luck we may never be needed.'

As soon as the afternoon's drill was over Matthew with a sigh of relief made for the bathroom, which as he had already discovered, had one serious disadvantage: the absence of any running water. A vast green and yellow earthenware jar with a copper ladle stood in one corner. This was a Shanghai jar. The procedure was simple: you dipped the ladle into the jar and poured the water over yourself. Matthew stripped and began sluicing himself; he found the water in the jar tepid but refreshing, nevertheless.

'An Irishwoman will be fired from a cannon, Monty? Whatever for?'

Monty, who had followed Matthew into the bathroom with an invitation, explained. It was some special show being put on at The Great World in order to raise money for the war against the Jabs in China. The Irishwoman was a human cannonball making a tour of the Far East. And there was also a group of singers called the Da Sousa Sisters. Anyway, Joan had said she was keen to go. That meant they only needed another woman and they could make an evening of it. 'You don't happen to know any women, do you?'

'Monty, I've only just arrived.'

'Never mind then. I expect I'll be able to sc.r.a.pe one up somewhere. I'll see you over at our place in a couple of hours, OK?'

'Oh look, while you're here, Monty, I'd like you to explain something about our Joh.o.r.e estate that I don't understand. Why are we replanting at a time when it's so urgent to produce rubber? I don't get it.' The previous day Matthew and the Major had driven over the Causeway and into Joh.o.r.e on the mainland so that Matthew could inspect the Mayfair estate. They had discovered that in a number of places mature trees were being replaced with saplings. When they had questioned Turner, the estate manager whom Matthew had glimpsed on his first evening in Singapore, he had not known the reason for it. He had simply been instructed to replant by Blackett and Webb who, as managing agents, were in control of planting policy.

'Well,' replied Monty, sighing heavily, 'it's nothing to worry about. It's all under control.'

'I'm sure it's under control. I just want to get the hang of things, that's all.'

'Rubber trees don't last for ever, you know. And as they get older they get brittle. They break in the wind ...'

'But they last for thirty years or so, don't they? And the trees that are being replaced aren't that old. Besides, it's not just an odd tree here and there. It's being done in sections.' There was no sound in the bathroom except for a steady splash of water and Monty's rather laboured breathing. Matthew began to ladle water over himself again.

'Look here,' said Monty finally in a rallying tone, 'I have to admit that your question has stumped me. We have so many estates that it's hard to know everything about each one. The Mayfair is small beer compared with some of the others. But I tell you what. I'll get the facts straight before your next Board meeting and we'll thrash it out there, OK? Now don't worry about a thing. I'll be on my way now ...' However, he continued to stand in the doorway watching the water coursing over Matthew's plump body. Did Matthew know, he enquired with a leer, that in the East there were many stories of beautiful girls who, in order to be cool, climbed into Shanghai jars and then could not get out, so they had to call a manservant to break the jar? Matthew could probably imagine what happened next! With that Monty departed, licking his lips, to bathe in the greater comfort of his parents' house.

Later, refreshed by his bath and wearing a light linen suit, Matthew was on the point of leaving for the Blacketts' house when the telephone rang. It was Ehrendorf. In the few days which Matthew had now spent in Singapore the two friends had so far managed only one brief meeting. The reason, undoubtedly, was that Ehrendorf was extremely busy. With the rapid decay of the political situation in the Far East his services, Matthew surmised, must be in constant demand for the a.s.sessment of British military strength and strategy. However, Matthew was aware of a new feeling of constraint in his friendship with Ehrendorf. How different it was now from the way it had been before! He could not help contrasting that strained meeting at the aerodrome and the subsequent drive into Singapore with their previous meetings in Europe. Matthew, though by nature un.o.bservant, was well aware that Joan was somehow at the root of this new awkwardness. He supposed that Ehrendorf and Joan had had some sort of affair; he remembered the melancholy sigh he had heard from the darkness at the Mayfair on the night of his arrival. But why should that affect his relationship with Ehrendorf?

On the telephone, Ehrendorf sounded more friendly and cheerful, more like his old self. He asked Matthew how he was going to spend the evening, suggesting that they should have a meal together. Matthew explained that Monty had just enlisted him to watch an Irishwoman being fired from a cannon. Perhaps Ehrendorf would like to come, too? As a 'military observer' it could almost be considered his duty.

'OK, I'll meet you at The Great World. There's a place where they sell tickets at the main gate, something like the lodge of an Oxford college (inside you'll find it's more interesting, though!).' And Ehrendorf rang off. It was only on his way to the Blacketts' that Matthew remembered ... Joan would be there, too. And that might cause some difficulty.

Presently Matthew found himself in the Blacketts' drawingroom, waiting for Monty and Joan. While the elderly major-domo went off at a dignified pace to alert some member of the family to his presence Matthew took a quick look at the portrait of his father which hung at the end of the room, then he went to sit down on a sofa. A Chinese 'boy' came and placed a packet of cigarettes and some matches at his elbow and then silently withdrew, leaving him alone except for a long-haired Siamese cat curled up on the floor: this was Kate's beloved pet, Ming Toy. He scooped it up and sat it on his lap. It opened its eyes for a moment, then closed them again.

'Are you a tom-cat, I wonder?' he asked the cat, lifting its magnificent tail to inspect its private parts. He began to rummage about in the animal's fur, peering at it closely for signs of gender. The cat began to purr. Matthew was in the middle of this careful inspection of the cat's hindquarters (its fur was so long and thick one could only guess at what it might conceal) when Walter came into the room. He gave Matthew a rather odd look. Matthew hurriedly let go of the splendid tail and put the cat back on the carpet.

'You're just the man I wanted to see,' said Walter. 'I want you to look at some of these paintings of Rangoon and Singapore in the early days.'

20.

'So there you are, my boy, is that not an achievement to be proud of? Over this great area of the globe, covered in steaming swamp and mountain and horrid, horrid jungle, a few determined pioneers, armed only with a little capital and a great creative vision, set the mark of civilization, bringing prosperity to themselves, certainly (though let's not forget that the crocodiles of bankruptcy and disgrace quietly slipped into the water at their pa.s.sage, ready to seize the rash or unlucky and drag them down into their watery caverns), but above all, a means of livelihood to the unhappy millions of Asiatics who had been faced by misery and dest.i.tution until their coming! Such a man was your father!'

Over the years Walter's rhetoric as he conducted his guests on a tour of his collection had grown more solemn and impressive. Here and there fanciful touches had crept in (the crocodiles, for example, which nowadays forged after his intrepid capitalists): if they earned their keep he allowed them to stay; otherwise they were discarded. He had grown more convinced himself of the rightness of what he was saying and more indignant at the absence from history books of the great men of commerce. Surely it was unjust that history should only relate the exploits of bungling soldiers, monarchs and politicians, ignoring the merchant whose activities were the very bedrock of civilization and progress!

On the whole Matthew was inclined to agree with Walter: he, too, considered it odd that great commmercial exploits should have been so neglected in the list of man's achievements. Both courage and a creative intelligence were certainly needed to set up a great commercial enterprise, even one on the scale, relatively small by international standards, of Blackett and Webb. Why, then, did History hesitate? Could it be that History was unhappy about the motives of the great entrepreneurs, or about the social ills that accompanied the undoubted social benefits flowing from these enterprises? Matthew, listening to Walter with one ear, began to ponder this interesting question.

Walter, who had been inclined to fear the worst on first acquaintance with Matthew, had been surprised and gratified to discover that Matthew was quite well-informed about economic conditions in the Far East and in other backward countries of the colonial Empire. Agreed, it was theoretical knowledge, culled from books so that facts and statistics and ideas lodged in his head in a Russian salad of which it was unlikely that any practical use could be made. But still, it was clear that Matthew was interested, as opposed to Monty who was not. Walter even dared to hope that given some experience of the real world of the market-place, and a little time for Joan to make him familiar with the unaccustomed snaffle and bit, something might be made of Matthew, after all. He explained in ringing tones the importance for the morale of Malaya's native ma.s.ses of Blackett and Webb's jubilee celebrations. Soon these native peoples, like the inhabitants of the British Isles, might find themselves having to fight for their country. They needed an idea to fight for. By a happy chance that idea, by general consent, had been found to be embodied in Blackett and Webb's jubilee slogan: 'Continuity in Prosperity'! And it was here, went on Walter enthusiastically, that Matthew would have his first opportunity to make a contribution to the War Effort; for the jubilee procession planned for New Year's day, after a sequence of floats symbolizing the benefits conferred on the Colony by Blackett and Webb, was to have culminated in the founder sitting on a chair borne by grateful employees. Thus the image of Continuity would be stamped indelibly on the native mind. But, alas, Mr Webb's death had left the chair empty. Who better to fill it than his son, Matthew?

'Oh well,' murmured Matthew vaguely, 'I'd like to help, of course, but that sort of thing isn't really my cup of tea. Not at all. Hm, why don't you try Monty? He'd be much better.'

'Well, we'll see about that,' replied Walter somewhat testily, disappointed by Matthew's lack of enthusiasm. He decided to have a word with Joan: he could see it was high time she started producing some results: 'Are you and Joan going out this evening?' he asked after a pause.

Matthew explained about their proposed trip to The Great World.

'Really, Monty's the limit,' Walter muttered to his wife who had just entered.

At this moment Monty and Joan burst into the room, laughing over something. They both stared at Matthew as if surprised to see him there ... But no, that had been the arrangement.

'Well, let's get going,' said Monty. 'We don't want to miss the show. Besides, Sinclair is waiting in the car.'

'But Duff and Diana are coming,' said Mrs Blackett, 'aren't you even going to stay and say h.e.l.lo to them?'

But Monty regretted that they had not a moment to spare. Yes, he would see that Joan was not home too late and, yes, he did have the keys of the Pontiac. If you once got stuck with those 'talkative b.u.g.g.e.rs' from Westminster, he explained to Matthew on the way out, there was no getting away from the 'dreary sods', the evening was as good as ruined.

Standing, for some reason, bolt upright on the back seat of the Pontiac and shading his eyes with his hand, or perhaps saluting although there was n.o.body in the vicinity except the Malay syce syce, was a tall, thin Army officer of about Monty's age. This was none other than that Sinclair Sinclair with whom Joan had enjoyed such an agreeable voyage from Shanghai some years earlier; in the meantime he had exchanged his career in the Foreign Office for a commission in the Army where, thanks to family connections and the dearth of regular officers which attended the outbreak of war, his rise had been swift; now here he was, instead of fighting Jerry in North Africa, called to put his experience of the Far East at the disposal of Malaya Command and pretty fed up, too (as he had explained to Joan), at finding himself a member of the 'Chairborne Division'!

'Thank heaven!' he cried while they were still at some distance. 'I thought you'd never come. I was beginning to feel like a ca ... ca ... ca ... person abandoned on a desert island!' and he uttered a shrieking laugh, like the working of a dry pump, and with the same sort of hollow gulping coming from his midriff.

'I'm Matthew Webb,' said Matthew, since the young Blacketts, intent on dismissing the syce syce and installing themselves in the Pontiac, had not bothered to introduce them. and installing themselves in the Pontiac, had not bothered to introduce them.

'Suh ... suh ... suh ... suh ... suh ... suh ...' Matthew was obliged to pause with his hand in the officer's while this long string of redundant syllables was dragged out of his mouth like entrails, and his smile grew a little fixed as he waited. But finally, with a gulp and a snap of his teeth, the officer was able to bite off the string and exclaim: '... inclair Sinclair!' Matthew, who had taken an immediate liking to him, nodded encouragingly, wondering whether Sinclair was his first name, last name or both at once. It seemed better not to risk an enquiry.

This time Monty was driving, but no less recklessly than the Malay syce syce had done on the previous occasion that Matthew had been in this car. As the Pontiac surged down the drive into humid evening and then turned with screaming tyres on to the road, Monty thumped the steering-wheel jubilantly chanting 'Run, rabbit, run!' Joan sat in front with her slender, sunburned arm gracefully resting on the back of the seat behind her brother. She was wearing a plain, short-sleeved dress of blue cotton, beautifully ironed. How fresh she looked! 'She toils not, neither does she spin,' thought Matthew, gazing in wonder at the beautiful creases in the starched cloth. She turned, her hair tossing in the wind as they hurtled down Grange Road, and gave him a quick, sly smile. had done on the previous occasion that Matthew had been in this car. As the Pontiac surged down the drive into humid evening and then turned with screaming tyres on to the road, Monty thumped the steering-wheel jubilantly chanting 'Run, rabbit, run!' Joan sat in front with her slender, sunburned arm gracefully resting on the back of the seat behind her brother. She was wearing a plain, short-sleeved dress of blue cotton, beautifully ironed. How fresh she looked! 'She toils not, neither does she spin,' thought Matthew, gazing in wonder at the beautiful creases in the starched cloth. She turned, her hair tossing in the wind as they hurtled down Grange Road, and gave him a quick, sly smile.

'I'm going to have to duh ... duh ... dash off early this evening,' shouted Sinclair. 'I go on duty at midnight.'

'I knew it,' said Monty. 'You're going to be a bore, Sinclair. I feel it in my bones.'

'No, I'm not,' protested Sinclair. 'Must watch out for the jolly old j.a.p, though.'

'You are are going to be a bore then.' Monty fell into a moody silence until they were approaching The Great World. 'It looks as if we'll have to leave the car and walk. It's been like this every night for the past few weeks with the b.l.o.o.d.y troops arriving.' going to be a bore then.' Monty fell into a moody silence until they were approaching The Great World. 'It looks as if we'll have to leave the car and walk. It's been like this every night for the past few weeks with the b.l.o.o.d.y troops arriving.'

'By the way,' said Matthew, 'Jim Ehrendorf wanted to come so I said we'd meet him at the gate.'

'Oh no! That's all we needed,' grumbled Monty exchanging a glance with his sister. 'What did you do that for?'

They parked the Pontiac in River Valley Road and proceeded on foot. Women shuffled along in the crowd carrying on their backs doll-like babies with shaven heads, some asleep, some peering out in wonder at this strange world with black b.u.t.ton eyes. Already by the time they had reached the corner of Kim Seng Road the crowd had thickened considerably.

'Is all this for the human cannonball?'

Monty shook his head. 'Everything goes on here. You'll see. People here are crazy about dancing. They bought the dance-floor out of the old Hotel de l'Europe which used to be the sw.a.n.ky hotel on the padang padang and had it put here. They sometimes get the orchestras from the P & O boats in dock (or they used to, anyway). Makes a change from c.h.i.n.ks and Filipinos.' and had it put here. They sometimes get the orchestras from the P & O boats in dock (or they used to, anyway). Makes a change from c.h.i.n.ks and Filipinos.'