[Inspector de Silva 06] - Passage From Nuala

by Harriet Steel

  ‘The accommodation is excellent. It only became available because two passengers travelling to Aden cancelled their tickets. Due to an outbreak of cholera, the ship won’t be making its usual stop there.’

  The Jewel of the East had set out from Hong Kong and would end her voyage in England, but the de Silvas were leaving the ship at Port Said. There, they would travel inland to spend time in Cairo and visit the pyramids then come back to Port Said in time to board another ship for the return journey to Colombo.

  After the hubbub on the quayside, the cabin provided a peaceful contrast. De Silva was pleased to note that it was far enough away from the public rooms for them to be undisturbed, but not so far as to be inconvenient. It was a good size and comfortably furnished with two capacious armchairs upholstered in flowery chintz, a low table with a neat pile of magazines and leaflets giving information about the ship, and two small tables, one on either side of the double bed. There was no mosquito canopy over it. De Silva presumed one wouldn’t be needed at sea, but there was a large wooden ceiling fan with brass fittings.

  Daylight came from a porthole, and for night, there were four wall-mounted lights with pale pink shades. One short wall was fitted with cupboards, and a chest of drawers doubled as a dressing table. A small bathroom contained all the necessities, and there was even a little dressing room for de Silva.

  Jane clapped her hands. ‘It’s lovely. I’m sure we’ll be very comfortable here.’ She opened each of the cupboards. ‘And there’s plenty of room to put things away.’

  De Silva pointed to one of the armchairs. ‘Sit down for a moment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want a photo of you in our cabin, all ready to set off on holiday.’

  Jane grinned. ‘Goodness, dear, at this rate you’ll have used up all your films by the time we get to Bombay.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I have plenty.’

  She settled in the armchair and smiled up at him. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘Lovely.’

  He peered through the viewfinder and pressed down the shutter. ‘Now, let’s leave our unpacking for later and go on deck. I want to be there when the ship sails. I’d like to take some photographs of what’s going on.’

  It took them a few minutes to retrace their steps, but they got lost only once before they found their way outside. The view from the deck presented a very different impression from the one they had received when they were standing on the quayside. Back on land, women in bright saris, and vendors hawking souvenirs, fruit and snacks wove their way like vibrant silk threads through the blacks, fawns and creams of the British in their more restrained clothing. De Silva often thought that it was as if, once the British came out East, the sun leached all the colourful hues from their garments; or perhaps they were never there in the first place.

  Distance muted the noise from the quayside; it was overlaid by the buzz of the ship as chains clanked and orders were shouted. The smell of the sea replaced the aromas de Silva usually noticed when he was among crowds – dust, sweat, incense, animals, and the whiff of rancid fat and water from sluggish gullies and drains. The deck jolted under their feet, and a volley of hoots made the air quake. People on shore waved their last farewells as the ship slipped her moorings, and sailors hauled ropes on deck, coiling them into small mountains of hemp.

  ‘We’re off!’ exclaimed Jane. She squeezed his arm. ‘Oh, how exciting!’

  Suddenly, de Silva felt the deck tilt a fraction. ‘I hope the sea stays calm,’ he said dubiously.

  ‘I’m sure it will, dear.’

  A bell clanged, and an announcement was relayed over the ship’s loudspeaker system asking passengers to come to different parts of the ship to be given a safety briefing.

  ‘There was a notice on the cabin wall about that,’ said de Silva. ‘We have to take our lifejackets.’ He closed his camera case. ‘We’d better go back to the cabin and find them.’

  Having located the lifejackets on the top shelf of one of their cupboards, they found their way to their designated lounge and listened while one of the ship’s officers explained the safety drill.

  ‘I hope we won’t need to do this for real,’ muttered de Silva as he untangled straps and puzzled over how to fasten them. ‘Ah, I have it now.’ He helped Jane with hers and stood back. ‘Does it suit me?’

  ‘That’s hardly the point, dear.’

  He grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a “no”. If it saves my life, I suppose it’s ungrateful to mind about looking like an oversized orange.’

  The briefing completed, they had just returned the lifejackets to their cabin, when another bell rang, and the speaker system announced that tea was being served.

  ‘And if Florence is right,’ said Jane, ‘it will be a splendid one. Then in a flash, it will be time for dinner. We’ll have to walk round the deck at least twice a day if we aren’t to get horribly fat.’

  ‘Whatever you say, my love.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  Chapter 3

  Tea was indeed a splendid meal, served in a spacious lounge, one of the two reserved for the use of Tourist Class passengers. White pilasters divided the walls into bays that were painted pale caramel. The floor was covered with a darker coloured linoleum that was pleasantly springy and quiet to walk on: a good choice when the room was so full of people. The chairs were upholstered in brown plush. Crisp white cloths covered the tables and the cups and plates were of fine bone china. Large windows provided a panoramic view of the sea.

  Studying the long table where the food was laid out, de Silva decided to forgo the sandwiches, those insipid British creations he had always disapproved of, but the arrangements of cakes and pastries on the multi-tiered china stands looked very tempting. He put a jam puff on his plate then debated whether to choose a slice of fruit cake or a meringue. Jane raised an eyebrow. ‘I think we had better make it three times round the deck, dear.’

  They found a free table and sat down. Soon, a steward hurried over bringing a pot of tea. Jane allowed a few moments for the tea to brew then poured them both out a cup. As she added milk to hers from the jug already on the table, de Silva reached for the sugar tongs, and she gave him a look of admonishment.

  ‘Only one lump,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘I wonder if we’ll meet many of the other passengers,’ she mused as they ate.

  ‘I expect so. There’s certainly no shortage of people, and we’re likely to have to share a table at dinner sometimes. You won’t mind that, will you?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Tea over, they returned to their cabin. While Jane unpacked into drawers and cupboards, he sat in one of the armchairs and leafed through the information on the table.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ asked Jane.

  ‘It says here there’ll be dancing to a band after dinner, with a singer called Harry Delaney.’

  ‘What fun.’

  She held up the dress she had just unpacked. ‘Do you think this will do?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘Goodness! Look at the time. I didn’t realise it was so late. We must hurry and get changed. Isn’t there a drinks reception in the lounge to welcome new passengers?’

  ‘I believe there is.’

  Half an hour later, Jane gave a final pat to her hair and retouched her lipstick. Her dress was midnight blue with a fitted bodice set off by a white collar. The gored skirt fitted smoothly over her hips then fluttered out to a wide hem just above her ankles. A narrow belt made from the same fabric and ornamented with a diamanté buckle emphasised her neat waist.

  De Silva, who had been ready for some time, stood up from the armchair where he had been sitting and offered her his arm. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘You’ll outshine every woman there.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that, but thank you, dear.’

  They locked their cabin door behind them and set off. As he was on holiday, de Silva had decided to wear the local dress he was most comfortable in. His crea
m trousers were neatly pressed, and a row of shiny gilt buttons marched down the front of his red, tunic-style jacket.

  But as they neared the lounge, and he heard the hum of conversation and laughter swell, misgivings crept into his mind. Perhaps he should have worn western clothes; he might have blended in a little more. Ruefully, he reflected that it was too late now. Jane would tell him not to be silly if he suggested going back to change.

  Despite a few raised eyebrows when he and Jane first came to Nuala, they had, for some time, been accepted by most of the members of the town’s small society. He gave Jane the credit for smoothing their path with the British community. Her friendly, capable nature and willingness to offer her time and talents to any enterprise had made her popular. As for those who continued to disapprove of a marriage between an Englishwoman and a Ceylonese man, they had mostly learnt to keep their opinions to themselves. Life on board ship, however, was likely to be a different matter. He and Jane would have to begin all over again. Who knew what animosity they might face? He was prepared to put up with it, but he didn’t want Jane’s holiday marred.

  As if she read his mind, Jane gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Had his footsteps lagged? Assuming a determined smile, he quickened his pace.

  The double doors to the lounge were wide open; a smartly turned-out steward wished them good evening and ushered them through. Another steward bearing a silver tray offered wine. Out of politeness, de Silva took a glass, although he wasn’t keen on the taste and would have preferred a whisky or an Elephant ginger beer.

  ‘You don’t have to drink it, dear,’ whispered Jane. ‘I’m sure we can find you something else later.’

  Under the glitter of the thousands of candle lamps set in the electric chandeliers, the lounge looked more glamorous than it had done in daylight. The tables and chairs had been pulled back around the walls. Now that the space in the middle was exposed, de Silva saw that the linoleum didn’t cover the whole floor; a large square area in the middle was, in effect, a wooden dance floor. At the far end of it, a low stage had been set up. Presumably this was where Harry Delaney and the band would be.

  ‘If this is Tourist Class,’ murmured Jane. ‘I can’t imagine what there can be in Cabin Class to surpass it.’

  They found a place to sit and watch the other passengers. Not all of them were European. De Silva felt some of his confidence return. Perhaps dinner wouldn’t be quite the ordeal he had feared.

  When it was time to go to the dining room, they found their names on the large board displaying the table plans and went to sit down. The couple already at the table were British. They introduced themselves as James and Barbara Ross, and conversation flowed easily. They had been on the ship since the beginning of the voyage and were returning to England after five years in Hong Kong.

  ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’ asked Jane as they returned to the lounge for the dancing.

  ‘Oh dear, was it so obvious I was apprehensive?’

  ‘Not to anyone else, I expect.’

  He grinned. ‘But you know me too well. And no, it wasn’t. Mr and Mrs Ross were very pleasant company.’

  In the lounge, the band was playing softly. Soon, however, they turned up the volume and launched into Puttin’ on the Ritz. It was one of de Silva’s and Jane’s favourites, so they got up to dance. Several other songs they knew well followed.

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’ asked Jane, raising her voice to be heard as the last notes of On a Steamer Coming Over died away.

  ‘If you would.’

  ‘A cold drink might be nice.’

  De Silva fetched them both a lemonade from the bar, and they sat down to watch the dancing and listen to the music.

  ‘Harry Delaney’s such a handsome man,’ remarked Jane, tapping her foot to the next song. ‘Those dark eyes and such an irresistible smile.’

  ‘The American singer?’

  She nodded. ‘He reminds me of Clark Gable.’

  ‘Very overrated, Clark Gable.’

  Jane gave him a teasing smile. ‘I do believe you’re jealous.’

  ‘I strongly disapprove of any man who turns your head.’

  She laughed. ‘You’ve no need to worry, dear.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

  Just as they had finished their drinks and were about to go back on the dance floor, Harry Delaney announced that he and the band were taking a short break.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Jane. ‘Why don’t we go on deck for a few minutes? It would be lovely to see the stars.’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t be cold?’

  ‘I have my wrap if it’s chilly.’

  There were very few other people outside. A light breeze stirred a string of bunting left over from the ship’s departure from Colombo. All the deckchairs had been stacked under canvas for the night and the deck games put away somewhere. Jane snuggled into her wrap, glad of its warmth.

  They strolled until they reached the bow of the ship then stopped to lean on the rail and admire the view. In every direction, the dark ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. The moon hung low on the horizon; stars glittered fiercely in the velvet sky.

  Strange, thought de Silva, how some sounds were magnified at night. During the day, he’d barely been aware of it, but in the darkness, the slap of waves against the hull was louder and the throb of the ship as she carved her way through the water more insistent. He had a powerful sensation of how small they were compared to the vastness of this alien, watery world, and a shiver went through him.

  ‘Are you feeling cold, dear?’ asked Jane.

  ‘It’s a bit breezy.’

  ‘Let’s go in. The dancing will probably start again soon.’

  They were about to walk back when Jane paused. De Silva followed her gaze and noticed that between them and the door that led back to the Tourist Class lounge, a man and a woman stood close together in the shadows by one of the deck chair stacks. The darkness made it hard to see their faces, but both were tall and the woman slender. All at once, there was a flare of orange light, and de Silva caught a glimpse of them in profile. Then the shadows returned, leaving only the glowing red pinpricks of two cigarette tips.

  De Silva prided himself that his strong sense of smell enabled him to recognise most of the brands of cigarette that people smoked, but for the moment, the name of this one eluded him. The woman seemed to dominate the conversation now, but then the man cut in, and they appeared to be arguing.

  ‘Let’s go around the other way,’ whispered Jane. ‘We don’t want to embarrass them.’

  Quietly, they made their way back to the bow and walked down the other side of the deck. When they came back within sight of the place where they had seen the couple arguing, the deck was deserted.

  Chapter 4

  In two days, the ship was due to call at Bombay, before turning westwards towards the coast of Africa. As the port of Aden was closed to them, the stop at Bombay would be longer than usual to take on extra supplies. De Silva was relieved that, although there was a swell, he soon got his sea legs. Between attempting to master the intricacies of deck quoits and shuffleboard, he and Jane relaxed on deck, chatting and reading, or amusing themselves with watching other passengers, many of whom clearly relished having stewards at their beck and call.

  Despite Jane’s teasing, de Silva used up a second roll of film. Before they left Nuala, he had looked through some of the film and fashion magazines she enjoyed, and he was keen to try out the artistic effects that the photographs there had given him ideas for.

  ‘I shall be the Cecil Beaton of Ceylon, you’ll see,’ he joked.

  He studied a group of young people playing deck quoits. One of the girls wore a halter-necked top, and smart linen culottes. A pair of sunglasses with striking, geometrically patterned black and white frames completed her sporty look. ‘That’s a very fashionable outfit,’ he said.

  ‘Goodness, dear, you don’t usually take an interest in fashion.’

  ‘Ah, but
now I am a photographer, I notice many more things.’

  They also took their constitutional strolls around the ship. From the starboard rail, they could just make out India’s Malabar Coast, a thin, shimmering line between the sea and the sky.

  ‘The wettest place in India,’ said Jane. ‘The mountain range of the Western Ghats forms a barrier, trapping the monsoon rains that blow in from the south-west.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said de Silva, ‘I’m glad we aren’t stopping there. We have enough rain of our own at home in the monsoon season.’

  At dinner on the second evening, they met up with the Rosses again and discovered that James Ross was a keen photographer.

  ‘I didn’t venture too many opinions,’ said de Silva to Jane after Ross had expanded at length on the cameras he had owned. ‘I’m afraid my ignorance would quickly have been unmasked.’

  ‘Never mind, dear. Nice as he is, I’m very glad you don’t know as much about cameras as James Ross. I might have to gag you sometimes.’

  De Silva chuckled. ‘His wife did have a rather resigned expression on her face.’

  ‘As well she might.’

  ‘It could be worse. At least he didn’t want to regale me with stories of crimes he’s been the victim of and what he thinks about the shortcomings of the policemen dealing with them, as some people do the moment they discover I’m a police inspector.’

  ‘That is some consolation.’

  ‘What he was saying about the official photographer on board was interesting though. If Ross has made friends with him and managed to get the fellow to develop some of his films, I might ask if he can slip something in for me. Normally, I wouldn’t mind waiting till we’re home, but as this is my first effort, I’m anxious to know how the photographs have come out.’

  **

  After the restful days on the ship, Bombay was an explosion of colour and noise. The waterfront, dominated by the magnificent arch of the Gateway to India, teemed with activity. No sooner had the ship docked and rolled out her gangways than swarms of beggars and vendors buzzed around her.