by Clare Flynn
Jasmine nodded and sipped her bitter lemon as the conversation about eradication methods droned on around her. She took the opportunity to study Howard. His hair looked as though it was overdue for a cut, but she rather liked it like that, as it tended to flop heavily over his brow, making him appear artistic – which she was sure he was not. It was a light golden brown, so different from the jet black, spun silk of Bintang’s.
Howard leaned forward, elbows on knees as he listened to Reggie speaking. He barely glanced at her. So, she was going to get the cold shoulder treatment again. She yawned. He was such a child, even though he was nearly ten years her senior.
As if reading her thoughts, Howard turned to her. ‘Have you listened to the gramophone record I gave you yet?’
Before she could stammer out an answer, Reggie butted in. ‘You gave Jasmine a record? Then let’s all hear it.’
‘It’s in my bedroom,’ she said quietly. It was still on top of the chest of drawers where she’d put it after he pushed it under the door.
‘So you haven’t played it at all?’ Howard tilted his head to one side and frowned.
‘Not yet. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Reggie if he minded me using the gramophone player.’ She knew she was blushing and was mortified. Why was he bringing this up in front of the Hyde-Underwoods?
‘Of course, you can use the gramophone. You don’t even need to ask. Let’s hear it now. Jinjiang!’ Reggie called to the amah, who immediately appeared. ‘Miss Barrington has left a gramophone recording in her bedroom. Would you bring it here, please?’ As the housekeeper left, he grinned at Jasmine. ‘It’ll be nice to hear a new tune. We really ought to listen to music more often, eh, Mary?’
‘Perhaps Jasmine would rather listen to it on her own,’ said Mary tactfully.
‘Ah!’ Reggie grinned again. ‘Special significance, eh?’ He winked at Howard and Jasmine died a thousand deaths.
She wanted to run away and hide. All the while, she was aware of Howard’s eyes on her and she squirmed, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and shame.
Jinjiang returned with the record. Howard got up and took it from her. ‘I thought Jasmine might enjoy it. It’s by Perry Como and was very popular last year. She said she’d never heard it so I bought it for her as a present.’
‘How thoughtful. But we should wait until after dinner as Jinjiang is ready to serve now.’ Mary to the rescue again. Jasmine hoped by the time they’d finished eating, the record would be forgotten.
Talk over dinner was all about politics and rubber. While the latter bored her, Jasmine found herself interested in the political discussion, particularly after talking that afternoon with Bintang.
‘Things are definitely hotting up with the MNLA. You were right that Chin Peng should have been booted out of Malaya.’ Howard took the salad bowl from Jasmine, helped himself, and passed the bowl on to Reggie.
‘Exactly.’ Reggie nodded. ‘The man’s a menace. Never should have got the OBE.’
‘What he’s doing now has nothing to do with why he got an OBE.’ Mary put down her knife and fork. ‘He was incredibly brave fighting the Japanese. Men like your stepfather, Jasmine, depended on Chin Peng and his ilk.’
Reggie nodded. Jasmine had noticed how rarely he disagreed outright with Mary. ‘True. But that counts for nothing as far as he’s concerned now. He’s laughing at us behind our backs. Anyway, you were saying, Baxter, how exactly are things hotting up?’
‘Nothing concrete yet. More union agitators hanging around, trying to stir up trouble. They’re putting a lot of pressure on the Chinese tappers to call for strikes. The poor chaps get bullied into it. Their families get threatened. The tuan, Gordon O’Keefe spends his life trying to calm things down. But lately, there have been all kinds of strange things happening.’
‘Like what?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Strange people hanging about the estate. Odd noises in the middle of the night. Money stolen. Rice supplies too.’
Mary looked at her husband, frowning. ‘Nothing like that here, is there, Reggie?’
Reggie shook his head. ‘Fortunately Batu Lembah is close to the main road so they’re probably safe there, but some of the other estates are pretty isolated,’ said Howard. ‘No one goes anywhere without a gun these days.’
‘You carry a gun?’ Jasmine’s eyes widened.
‘Not one that works.’ Howard gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘It’s a clapped-out old Japanese carbine missing its bolt. Completely useless. But O’Keefe reckons it’s better than nothing and might scare off someone who doesn’t know better before I’d need to fire it.’
Mary shook her head and looked worried. ‘But if these MNLA chaps are armed you won’t stand a chance if it won’t fire.’ She kept exchanging glances with Reggie.
‘There’s talk of sending the gurkhas in to guard the estates, if things really hot up. But High Commissioner Gent has cloth ears.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to violence.’ Mary closed her eyes.
‘I’m afraid it probably will.’ Reggie put his hand over hers. ‘At least over on the peninsula. Please God, we’ll be all right here. One of the benefits of being a small island.’
Jasmine decided to speak up. ‘Why do these MNLA people want to cause trouble?’
Reggie answered. ‘Because they’re a bunch of commies and want to create a Chinese communist state here in Malaya.’
‘Why not campaign for that openly then?’
Reggie snorted. ‘For a start the communist party is banned. And anyway the Chinese were denied the vote when the Federation was set up. We offered it, but the Sultans didn’t want it. They like to keep the Chinese down. And some of those chaps developed a taste for armed conflict. Jungle warfare. All that stuff. No one else wants communism. Most of the Malayan people want to get on with their lives. And that includes the majority of the Chinese Malays. That right, Baxter?’
Howard nodded. ‘Many of the Chinese tappers hate communism with a passion. And not just the ones who supported Chiang Kai Shek and the Kuomintang. I’ve been spending as much time as I can trying to get to know some of our Chinese tappers. Most of them seem to be decent fellows. They simply want to earn a fair wage and feed their families.’
‘And then there’s the triads.’ Reggie leaned back in his chair. ‘They used to be a big deal over here in Penang. Probably still are, but more underground these days, since Ang Bin Hoey was disbanded.’
‘What’s that? What’s a triad?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Chinese secret societies,’ said Mary. ‘They used to control everything in Penang, including everything going in and out of the harbour.’
‘But they were caught between the reds and the Kuomintang too.’ Reggie gave his head a little shake. ‘The police rounded up the leaders and the whole structure was dismantled. I imagine some of them headed off to join the communists and others set up smaller groups. The Chinese love to gamble and where there’s gambling, there are opportunities to extort money. And make illegal profits.’
Reggie stopped talking while Jinjiang cleared the main course away and served the pudding. Once she’d left, he took a sip of beer and continued. ‘Once upon a time the triads were all rich merchants, now they’re low level crooks. Pickpockets, rickshaw riders and black marketeers.’
Mary chipped in. ‘They do have the most delightful gang names though. Things like Red Flower Society and the Skeleton Gang.’
‘And are these triads causing the strikes and violence?’ Jasmine was starting to feel lost by the turn in the conversation.
‘No, no. They’re all about money, not politics. Gosh, that sherry trifle is rather good.’ Reggie put down his dessert spoon. ‘But who knows what they could get up to in future. The communists must need money to fund their political campaigns, so my view is never trust any of the blighters, eh, Baxter?’
Before Howard could answer, Jasmine spoke up. ‘Don’t you think we ought to stop interfering in politics and let Malaya be run by the Malayan people? Aft
er all, this is their country, not ours.’ Jasmine felt all eyes turn to look at her. Howard sniffed derisively. Remembering the passion and anger with which Bintang had castigated her this afternoon, she sat up taller.
‘It most certainly is their country.’ Mary touched Jasmine’s wrist softly with her hand. ‘But it’s not that simple. The original Malayan people are now outnumbered by Chinese, Indians and others. Malaya for Malayans is no longer a straightforward concept.’
‘But it was we who brought all the Chinese here to work in the tin mines and brought in the Indians to tap the rubber. Maybe if we left, they could sort it out amongst themselves.’ Jasmine could feel her cheeks turning red. It had sounded so compelling when Bintang had spoken. From her own mouth, she was less sure. Three faces turned to look at her, surprise registered on each of them.
‘You’re saying we British should leave?’ Howard looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘Do you realise how much Malaya contributes to the British Treasury? Do you understand how hard people have worked to rebuild the rubber and tin industries after the Japanese destroyed them?’
Jasmine looked down at her half-eaten sherry trifle. Why had she interrupted? She knew nothing of politics and it was all terribly complicated. The more she discovered, the less she understood. She determined never to try to discuss the subject again. Feeling small and rather stupid, she got up from the table. ‘Do you mind awfully if I turn in? I have a frightful headache.’
Brushing aside Mary’s offers of aspirin, she hurried out of the dining room to the safe haven of her bedroom. There she flung herself on her bed and drew her knees up to her chin. Why hadn’t she kept quiet and listened to the conversation instead of trying to show off?
* * *
The following morning, Jasmine stayed in bed. Facing Howard Baxter was not something she was ready to do. And she certainly didn’t want anyone to suggest she go along to watch him play cricket.
Last night, she’d felt like an interloper among the adults. For the first time since she’d left Africa, she missed sitting around the table with Mummy, Hugh and Arthur. She could be herself with them. Here she was in a constant state of confusion. When she’d listened to Bintang it seemed he had a strong and logical case. But her suggestion that the British leave Malaya had been greeted with an open mouth from Reggie and a self-satisfied smirk and a mini lecture from Mr Know-It-All Baxter. And the truth was, she didn’t want the British to leave, as that would mean leaving herself.
Why was everything so incredibly difficult, the older you got and the more grown-up you tried to be?
When she heard Reggie and Howard talking outside, followed by the car starting up and driving away, Jasmine got out of bed, washed and ventured forth.
Mary and Frances were on the veranda, the baby crawling about on a large cotton blanket. Jasmine got down on all fours to play with the child, who squealed with delight. Jasmine held Frances up by the hands as the little girl tried to balance on her wobbly legs.
‘You‘ve made a remarkable recovery.’ Mary gave her a wry smile. ‘Is it anything to do with the departure of our friend, Mr Baxter?’
‘It was only a headache, but I had trouble sleeping and then managed to oversleep this morning.’
‘That’s a pity. Reggie’s gone to watch Howard play. You could have gone with them.’
‘I don’t like cricket.’
Mary was doing some embroidery. She looked up. ‘Are you upset about something, Jasmine? Was it all the politics last night? I never think it’s good to talk about these things too much. I’m always telling Reggie it’s not good to dwell on it. He gets so steamed up.’
‘I felt stupid. Everyone was laughing at me.’
‘No one was laughing. Come and sit down.’ Mary patted the rattan sofa beside her. ‘We were a little surprised when you came out with the British Go Home line. But I have to admit, I have a lot of sympathy for that view. Well, maybe not that we should go home, as I consider Penang to be my home, but that Malaya should be governed by Malayans. Of whatever ethnicity.’
‘That’s what I meant. But Howard was so patronising. He made me feel stupid. All that stuff about the British economy.’
‘Actually, he was mortified.’ Mary looked at her with a kind expression. ‘After you’d gone to bed he was full of remorse. Said he’s always putting his foot in it with you.’
‘We don’t get on. We’re simply not on the same wavelength. When I’m cross with him, he’s nice to me. When I’m nice to him, he’s rude or ignores me. It’s like being on a seesaw.’ She moved her arms up and down in a seesawing motion. ‘I feel confused every time I’m with him as I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. And as for him bringing up that record…’ She covered her face with her hands.
‘Yes, I sensed the last thing you wanted was for Reggie to put it on.’
‘Thank you for rescuing me.’
‘What’s the song called?’
‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen.’ Jasmine felt her face burning.
‘Ah, I see. Have you listened to it?’
Jasmine shook her head.
‘Would you like me to take Frances for a walk so you can listen to it in private?’
‘I don’t really want to hear it at all, but if I do, I’d rather you were with me. But not in front of Reggie and certainly not in front of Howard.’
‘Then let’s put it on now. Frances loves it when there’s music on the gramophone and she won’t understand a word of it.’
Jasmine went over to the gramophone player, which stood just inside the drawing room adjoining the veranda where they were sitting. The disc was where Howard had left it last night. She slipped it out of the paper cover and found a folded note inside it. She was sure that hadn’t been there before. Stuffing the note into her pocket before Mary noticed, she placed the record on the turntable, wound up the handle, lifted the arm, blew the fluff off the end of the needle and lowered the arm over the record. With a hiss of static it started to play. She stood motionless in front of the machine as the music poured out of it. First the sweeping melody of the orchestral accompaniment, then the tender voice of Como. She felt her face burning as he sang of first seeing the light of love shining in his lover’s eyes. Other voices joined in like a heavenly choir. Jasmine leaned over and jerked the arm off the record. The needle scratched in strident protest.
She felt Mary’s hand touch her and she turned around and buried her head in her former teacher’s shoulder. Mary’s arms went around her, holding her. Behind them Frances was wailing at the cessation of the music.
‘Jinjiang!’ Mary called out. ‘Bring us some coffee on the veranda, please.’ She led Jasmine back to the settee and picked up the baby.
‘Why did he do that? He knew what an utter embarrassment it would be. I hate him.’ Jasmine burst into tears.
‘You don’t hate him. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so upset. But I agree he was unwise to make his feelings for you so apparent so soon, and then to embarrass you in front of us.’ She sighed, then gave a little laugh. ‘But, to be honest, Jasmine, most men are clueless about these things.’ She bounced Frances up and down on her knee. ‘Especially when they’re head over heels in love.’
‘Don’t! He’s not!’
‘I’m afraid he is. Like it or not, my dear girl. He’s got it bad. I’m sure he’ll have been burning Reggie’s ears all the way to George Town this morning, asking for advice about how to win you over.’
’No!’ She buried her face in her hands.
‘Maybe it would be a good idea if you weren’t to see him for a while. Take some time to sort out your true feelings. You’re young. Your whole life is in front of you. There are plenty of other nice young men as soon as you feel ready to meet some. Just because Howard Baxter is crazy about you doesn’t mean you have to like him. If you find him odious, then you don’t have to have anything to do with him. I’m sorry if Reggie and I seemed to be trying to throw you together. I can promise you, Jasmine, that was not the intent at al
l. We wanted you to have some younger company and we both rather like Howard, but if you don’t––‘
‘I do!’ The words were out before she could stop them. ‘Well… sometimes I do.’ She bent her head back and looked up towards the ceiling. ‘But mostly, I don’t.’ She twisted her hands around as though she were washing them. ‘I mean, I don’t know what I really think. I’m so confused.’
Mary gave her a sad smile. ‘He seems to have got under your skin. As I said, darling, give it time. Don’t see him. He’s not exactly on the doorstep anyway. Forget about him.’
‘Yes.’ Jasmine took a deep breath. ‘Yes. Yes. I’ll forget all about him.’
She smiled at Mary, gave a long sigh, and told herself that was the right decision.
17
Reggie had offered Jasmine a wooden hut on the far side of the padang to use as a studio. Open on one side, it got plenty of light. Overjoyed, for the first time in her life she had the time and space to experiment freely with her art without anyone looking over her shoulder or telling her to clear her materials away. There was even running water and a small tin sink where she could clean her brushes, as well as plenty of light, but away from the glare of direct sunshine.
She received a small monthly allowance from the sum of money left in trust for her by her father, so she had saved up and ordered an easel and some good quality oil paints. Malaya’s climate was not conducive to oil painting, as the high humidity made paintings slow to dry, but Reggie had suggested she try putting them in the rubber-drying sheds. Instead of canvases, he had cut up some pieces of hardboard in varying sizes for her. Jasmine looked around her, a quiet sense of satisfaction mixed with anticipation. Her materials were laid out neatly on shelves. No untidy messes for her – Jasmine liked order. A place for everything and everything in its place.
Now that the arranging of the space was completed to her satisfaction Jasmine felt a strange paralysis. Usually she worked rapidly, knowing exactly what she was going to work on and how, but now with the luxury of time and space, she was uncertain what to do next. She went to the pile of prepared boards. Maybe she could use her preliminary sketches to begin her painting of Frances. It was impossible to get the baby to pose – unless sleeping – and so she’d executed a series of quick pencil and charcoal studies and could use these to begin a painted portrait of the child. Yet, she hesitated. Thanks to Reggie’s kindness, she could paint undisturbed, and yet she felt a curious reluctance to do anything.
