by Clare Flynn
Jasmine felt a rush of compassion for him. He wasn’t big-headed at all. Quite the contrary. She gave him a weak smile that she hoped might convey her sympathy. For once she was lost for words.
Howard shook his shoulders and sprang to his feet. ‘Let’s go for a swim.’
She was about to protest that it was too soon after lunch for swimming, then told herself that was an old wives’ tale. He held out a hand to her and pulled her to her feet and together they ran into the sea.
15
Howard kept to his word and made no attempt to touch Jasmine. They spent a delightful afternoon, running in and out of the sea to swim, finishing off the remains of the picnic, and chatting under the palm trees on the beach. Jasmine no longer felt awkward with him. She found him relaxing and congenial company now she had got to know him better. His admissions about his family and his feelings about his dead brother had warmed her towards him. It was hard to think of him as bigheaded anymore. Yes, he did occasionally indulge in a spot of bragging about his work, but it was more in a spirit of enthusiasm for the job than outright boasting. He told her that his boss had hinted that, if he kept up the good work, he might be chosen to drive Sir John Hay around the estate when the Chairman of Guthrie’s came for his regular tour of inspection to Malaya later in the year. Where just hours earlier she would have dismissed this as arrogant, now she admired his ambition and dedication to succeed at his work.
All too soon it was time to leave. Bintang had returned promptly and was already waiting by the car, as usual with a cigarette in his mouth. This time, she and Howard talked constantly all the way to the quay where he was to take the ferry and meet his friends in Butterworth for a lift back to Batu Lembah.
Howard told her he was saving up for a car. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be over here again. I’m working my socks off so I can progress as fast as I can. That means I don’t have a lot of time – or cash. But I do hope I’ll see you again before too long, Jasmine.’ He looked at her with an expression that made her want to look away, embarrassed. There was no mistaking it. His feelings for her were clearly still as strong. She wanted him to go. To disappear into the crowds boarding the ferry before he said anything else. So much for her hopes it was now just friendship.
‘You’d better hurry or you’ll miss the boat,’ she said, trying to inject some froideur into her voice. Then she held out her hand to shake his and said, ‘Thank you for an enjoyable afternoon. Goodbye.’
Howard stared at the proffered hand as though she had slapped his face but didn’t take it. He gave her a curt goodbye and strode away to board the ferry.
Back at Bella Vista, as she was getting ready for bed that night, she noticed the gramophone record where she’d left it on top of the chest of drawers. She certainly had no intention of playing it now – or indeed, ever.
* * *
Jasmine was alone in the classroom, cleaning paintbrushes, emptying glass water jars and putting away pots of paint. She was delighted by the enthusiasm of her pupils for the art classes and the walls of the schoolroom were adorned with an ever-changing display of the children’s work: simple stick paintings of the family units, stilted huts with smoke emerging from the roofs, bright boats bobbing on a deep blue sea and all manner of birds, trees and blazing sunsets. Standing back, she surveyed the work with a rush of pride.
Sensing something, she spun round. Bintang was leaning against the doorpost. How long had he been standing there? Silently watching her.
She hadn’t seen him since the afternoon with Howard more than a month ago. Had he been avoiding her?
‘How nice to see you, Bintang,’ she said. ‘What do you think of the children’s work?’ She swept her arm in a wide gesture.
The driver raised his eyebrows and she realised he hadn’t noticed the artwork. He moved across and stood beside her, his long limbs moving languidly. He reminded her of a leopard or a panther – graceful, silent, aloof, and definitely to be respected. He glanced at the display, but showed little interest in the art. ‘So that’s what you teach them here. How to draw? What good will that do them?’
She was startled by his response and unsure how to reply. ‘We teach them all kinds of things. Reading, writing, arithmetic, nature study, history.’
‘History? You mean British History. Kings and queens and maps where most of the world is coloured pink. Why do Malayan children need to be taught about your history? It is not ours.’
The blood rushed to her face. Why was he being so hostile? She started to say that she herself didn’t actually do any of the teaching except for art, merely helping out with the children’s reading, but Bintang turned away and moved across the room to sit on top of one of the desks.
‘I used to like going to school. I had a scholarship to St Xavier’s.’ He sounded wistful, his anger gone. ‘Top of class until Japanese come.’
‘Have you ever thought of finishing off your education? I’m sure–’
‘Not interested in education now. Not your British colonial education.’
‘But with qualifications you could do something more interesting than being a driver.’
‘Work in lowly position for your colonial government? No, thank you.’ He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, giving her a rare smile.
Jasmine reflected that the only time he didn’t smoke was when he was driving the car. She wrinkled her nose as the aroma of the tobacco smoke wafted towards her. She’d never dare to say to him what she had said about smoking to Howard.
‘You not see boyfriend?’ His eyes fixed on hers.
‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’
He made another little snort of derision.
‘If you’re referring to Howard Baxter, then he is a friend of the family. I was merely being friendly and hospitable, showing him around.’ She knew she sounded pompous. Rather lamely, she added, ‘Anyway, he works on the peninsula in Province Wellesley.’
‘I know where he works. He must come to Penang often. They all do.’
‘All?’ She busied herself stacking the trays of paints back into a cardboard box and putting the box away in the cupboard.
‘Junior planters. Pour off ferry at weekends. Come to play cricket and rugger.’ He spoke the last word with an exaggerated British drawl, rolling the R. ‘I surprised you not go cheer him on.’
‘I told you, he’s not my boyfriend.’
She could feel the blood burning her cheeks and she turned away, needlessly wiping the blackboard. Had Howard been back to Penang? If so, why had he not been in touch? Was it because she’d been cold to him when they said goodbye? Had he found a girlfriend? A proper girlfriend. Just as she had decided she liked him. Not in that way, of course, but as a friend. As someone she enjoyed spending time with. If only it were possible for a boy and girl to be friends without lovey-dovey stuff getting in the way. As long as Howard wasn’t going on about all that romantic nonsense, she quite liked him. No, really liked him. And, if truth were told, she’d been disappointed he hadn’t been in touch with her since she’d watched him board the ferry. He’d warned her that he was saving to buy a car but maybe that had been an excuse.
It was her own fault. She’d pushed him away. After that delightful afternoon at the beach, she’d made it clear at the ferry quay that she had no interest in him romantically. Was it any wonder that he’d given up on her? Maybe Mummy was right and when a chap got to a certain age, he set his sights on settling down, so it was quite possible he was now being chased by some girl who was also eager to settle down. Jasmine would have to forget about him. Up here at Bella Vista at least there was no risk of running into him and she had more than enough to keep her occupied, with her painting, helping at the school and – last in line – her studies.
‘I thought you might want to know he here.’ Bintang bounced forward onto his feet from his perch on the desk and moved towards the doorway.
‘Here? What are you talking about?’
‘In tuan’s office.’
�
�What?’
‘I take tuan to George Town today and he meet your friend and invite him here tonight. Tomorrow your friend play cricket.’
Howard was here? On the estate? Now? Her stomach lurched. How could she go through all that again? Was he here for dinner? To stay? What kind of mood would he be in? Would he be the Howard who ignored her all evening? The Howard who declared he was besotted with her? Or the Howard who had opened up about his family to her on the beach? Whichever it was, she didn’t think she could cope with it right now. Why did he make her feel happy one minute, the next angry, and always rather afraid and confused?
‘Where are you going?’ she asked Bintang, who was about to leave the classroom.
‘Back to my quarters.’
‘Don’t go!’ she said, impulsively. ‘I’d like to draw you. It won’t take long.’
‘Draw me? Why?’
‘Because you’ll make a good subject. And I need more practice at drawing faces. Please.’
He looked doubtful but shrugged his assent. ‘Where you want me stand?’
‘Outside. On the veranda.’ She grabbed a chair for herself and carried it out of the room. ‘There. You can lean against the railing.’ She indicated a spot. ‘The light will hit one side of your face and the rest will be in shadow.’
‘Why not want all light?’
‘Shadows make it more interesting.’
He settled into position and she picked up her sketchbook and pencil. She began to draw, her eyes darting up and down between the marks she was making on the paper and the man she was trying to portray. Once Jasmine began a drawing, she was pulled into it. Nothing else existed except for the image taking form on the page and the object or person she was drawing. It made no difference whether it was a mountain, a flower or a human being. As she strove to capture its essence, it became for her light and shade, curves and lines. A creation where the addition of a small mark with the pencil to reflect the curve of a nostril could suddenly catch the spirit of her subject and hold it fixed on the paper.
Something broke her concentration for a moment. Looking up, she said, ‘I’d like to paint you one day. I’ve been experimenting with oil paints and I’d love to try painting you.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why?’
‘You have an interesting face. I’ve already painted the mother of one of the children. And Jinjiang.’
Bintang pushed himself away from the railing. ‘Enough. What you doing? Painting the natives? Like we your toys. For show your British friends? No.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m not only painting Malayan people. I’ve promised to do a portrait of the Hyde-Underwoods’ little girl.’ She stretched her hands out in front of her. ‘Please, Bintang, I’m not patronising you at all. I thought you were my friend?’
‘Your friend? How I be friends with you?’
She gave him a nervous smile. ‘Because I like you. I’d like to get to know you better. I’d like to hear more about your life.’
‘Why you care about my life?’
He was so touchy.
‘It’s interesting. And sad. Losing your family like that.’ She hesitated. ‘I barely remember my own mother. And Daddy died when I was eight. He had an accident and died of blood poisoning. Fell down an old mine shaft. I didn’t even get to visit him in the hospital or say goodbye. It all happened so quickly.’
‘I know about your father. He was tuan besar.’
‘Of course. I forgot you would have known him.’
‘Now this tuan and mem your parents.’ He said it as fact, not as a question.
‘No, Mummy is married to Mr Arthur Leighton. They are now my parents. They live with my little brother in Africa. Tuan and Mem Hyde-Underwood are like an aunt and uncle to me. Terribly kind. I love them dearly.’ She paused, waiting for him to resume his pose, and breathed in relief when he settled against the railings.
‘Your parents not want you? Why they send you live here?’
‘No!’ She smiled. He saw everything in such simple terms. ‘Of course not. I chose to come here because I love Penang. I didn’t like living in Africa. I wanted to spend more time here. I had happy memories of the island.’
‘British people run away when Japanese come. Leave us to die.’ His voice was cold. ‘Now they come back and want to have my country again. It is Malayan people country. Not white man’s. Men like my father who fought with British against Japanese now betrayed by British. They act like comrades then when we get rid of Japanese they don’t give independence.’
‘I’m sure they will. It’s just a matter of time.’
His face was sceptical.
Jasmine felt stupid. She didn’t know what to say. She wondered whether the Hyde-Underwoods were aware of the strength of his feelings and his evident animosity towards anyone British.
Eventually she asked, ‘Was it terrible here under the Japanese? I remember the planes flying overhead and the bombs. Our amah, Aunty Mimi, lost her husband. He was killed in the street in George Town. Machine-gun fire from an aircraft. And both Tuan and Mem Hyde-Underwood were prisoners of the Japanese. They don’t talk about it.’
‘Japanese very bad people. All along road near kampong, heads on posts. Japanese cut off heads and put there to make people afraid. Very afraid.’
Jasmine didn’t want to think about something so horrible. ‘I’m sorry about your parents and Siti.’ She drew her mouth into a tight smile of regret.
Bintang looked up at the sky. ‘Time you go back before dark.’
‘Goodness me. I lost track of time. That’s what happens when I get absorbed in a drawing. Thanks very much, Bintang. And do please think about letting me paint your portrait. You could give it to your grandmother as a present.’
He nodded, his face solemn, but she saw the spark of interest in his eyes.
‘I walk back to bungalow with you. Get dark soon.’
Jasmine stuffed her pencils and sketchbook into her satchel and replaced the chair in the classroom, then followed him onto the path into the jungle that bordered the rubber estate.
He walked in front of her and once again reminded her of a cat – lithe, slender, and moving quietly. Jasmine fixed her eyes on the back of his head, as she had when they were in the motorcar. His hair had a glossy sheen in the dappled light filtering down through the trees. It looked soft, silky and she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it. She had to hurry to keep up with his long stride. Impossible to tell if he liked or disliked her. He was inscrutable, arrogant, difficult. To be fair, she wasn’t sure if she liked or disliked him and concluded she was both fascinated and afraid of him. His aloofness and distance made him interesting. There was nothing obsequious or servile about him. Yet she was all too aware of a coldness and hardness in him that she knew must trace to his terrible wartime experience.
It was only when they reached the muster area – the large grassy padang where the roll call of rubber workers took place early each morning – that Jasmine remembered Howard Baxter was here at Bella Vista.
16
When Jasmine walked onto the veranda to join the Hyde-Underwoods for their customary sundowners, Howard Baxter jumped to his feet to greet her. Jasmine felt a rush of nerves at being in his company again and was grateful to Bintang that she’d had forewarning of his presence. But why hadn’t Howard been in touch with her? Navigating adult relationships was so hard. And Jasmine hadn’t a clue how to read the signals where Howard was concerned.
‘What a piece of luck that I ran into Reggie,’ Howard said to her. ‘I’m playing in a cricket match tomorrow and we bumped into each other as we came off the ferry.’
‘I was over in Butterworth to meet with suppliers.’ Reggie sounded almost apologetic. ‘When I saw the awful digs the poor chap was planning to stay in tonight, I had to persuade him to come and bunk in with us at Bella Vista.’ He raised his glass to Howard. ‘And remember, you’re always welcome here.’
‘Do you come across to Penang every w
eekend?’ Jasmine asked, pointedly. ‘I imagine there are a lot of cricket games.’
‘Actually, it’s the first time I’ve been on the island since I stayed with you before. I’m not on the cricket team. No time for that. I managed to wangle this weekend off as they were a man down and I agreed to step into the breach. The tuan only let me have the time off because the club captain, who’s a pal of his, was desperate.’
‘Don’t you get every weekend off?’ Jasmine was genuinely surprised.
He blew out a little puff of air. ‘You must be joking, Jasmine. I’m the lowest of the low and, as such, I’m always at the back of the queue for time off. Batu Lembah is a large estate and was horribly neglected during the war.’ He turned to Reggie. ‘Whole place was overrun with lalang and you know what a devil of a job it is to clear.’
‘Don’t I just?’ Reggie chuckled. ‘We still have some here. Hope to have the last of it under control soon, but it’s taken me more than two years.’
‘What’s lalang?’ Jasmine asked.
‘I thought you claimed to know all about rubber estates.’ Howard winked at her and she decided she hated him. ‘It’s a type of grass. Gets everywhere. Absolute nightmare to eradicate.’
‘Because of the roots,’ said Reggie, helpfully. ‘They spread everywhere and go down deep. An absolute devil to dig them out.’
