“Come on we’ll have a cup of tea. Oh, by the way, there’s a letter here from your doctor friend Molly Gratton in Singapore.” Allison withdrew it from her apron pocket.
Daphne opened the letter and read the few lines written in Molly’s untidy, almost illegible scrawl.
Molly wanted her to come over to Singapore and help in her late father’s practice because she was having trouble finding a suitable nurse.
“Mum, read this, it could be the answer to my prayers.” Excitement tinged Daphne’s voice.
“You can’t go there, it could be dangerous. What about the war?”
“Honestly, I’ll be fine, I’m not going to the Middle East. Singapore is a British fortress. It’s as safe as being here.”
Daphne didn’t like to go against her parents’ wishes, but she couldn’t stay in Wangaratta, either. She had to make a break, try something new. Something so vastly different, that it would stop her dwelling on Paul’s cruel betrayal and her mother’s shock on learning that Paul was her long lost son. Even after three years of trying to forget him, the memories were excruciating. She would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and in the daytime her eyes would sometimes fill with tears.
She hadn’t told anyone the full story of her mad dash down to Melbourne once they had realized Paul must think he was her brother. She had never thought to tell him that Allison and Frank were her foster parents; most times she forgot that they weren’t her real parents.
Phillip Ashfield must have ice flowing through his veins. Daphne couldn’t believe that he had impregnated Allison all those years ago, and then callously deserted her to marry another woman. To come back after the war and virtually kidnap Paul because his wife couldn’t give him children was the most fiendish act of all. Somehow her mother had survived, gone on to carve out another life for herself. I’m not that brave. I only wish I was.
Her parents probably guessed that Paul might seek solace in the arms of another woman after such a dreadful shock. What they did not know was that Kitty was the women he had been involved with before he met her. It was too awful to put into words what had happened after she rushed to Ian’s house. It sickened her every time she thought about it.
The picture of Kitty in a rumpled nightgown would haunt her for a lifetime, and the woman’s gloating triumph as she said Paul was still in bed. For him to take that woman into the same bed they had shared was filthy, depraved, but she still couldn’t stop loving him.
* * *
Daphne couldn’t believe the condescending arrogance of the local European population in Singapore when she first arrived. Now, after only a few weeks amongst them, she utterly despised them and all they stood for. Typical upper-class snobs, selfish, arrogant and immoral. Just like Paul.
In most cases they had no interest in the war at all. Raffles and all the other favorite nightspots, were crowded with fashionable women in the latest evening gowns and officers in mess dress. No one seemed to care that the Japanese were speedily advancing through Siam and heading straight for Malaya.
She could have left, but decided against it. To cut and run when the going got a little hard was not in her nature. She worked long hours helping Molly in her clinic because every patient seemed to be followed by another one in more desperate need. Without help, Molly wouldn’t be able to continue her father’s life work amongst the poor Malays and Indians.
Her own motives, of course, weren’t completely altruistic. She was honest enough to admit, that helping these unfortunate people eased the pain of Paul’s dreadful betrayal and gave her something to focus her life on. There would never be any other man for her, she thought sadly. He was her one true love, her soul mate, unworthy though he was.
Molly continually went to British Headquarters to report her suspicions that many so-called Malay laborers were in fact Japanese in disguise. Daphne knew she also gave the authorities information on Japanese who owned plantations directly facing major highways, strategic locations where they could monitor troop movements. The answers were always the same. ‘Singapore is the bastion of the British Empire, the Gibraltar of the Far East, and as such, impregnable.
Time and again Molly’s hot temper got the best of her and she clashed with the British hierarchy, both civilian and military. Daphne knew they all poked fun at her friend, hating the fact that she mixed with Malay or Tamil Indians. She was not diplomatic and had a caustic tongue she wasn’t afraid to use.
“There’s going to be trouble, Daph, I know there is. Those Japs are infiltrating everywhere. I don’t care what those bloody snobs at British HQ say. It’s true, the locals know. One old Jap who knew father, as good as told me to get out while I could. There are Jap owned fishing vessels based in Singapore, roaming up and down the peninsula gathering information, and those idiots in the Government think I’m paranoid,” she raged.
Daphne said nothing, just kept preparing a tray containing a pipette for instilling drops, aural forceps and two aural specula, ready for Molly to use on a small Indian boy who had pushed a bead into his ear. It had lodged in the meatus, and she was hoping to syringe it out.
“I’ll be all right now, Daph. You see to the mother. She’ll scream the place down if you don’t pacify her.”
Daphne hurried outside to reassure the mother, as best she could with her limited knowledge of the language, that her small son would be safe, but the woman was inconsolable. There were too many different languages to learn including Tamil, Chinese and Malay. Fortunately, most people seemed to have some knowledge of English.
After the woman departed with her son, the bead in his hand instead of his ear, and Molly left for a house call, Daphne sat down in the surgery and let her mind drift. Molly never went out at night, preferring to stay in the small bungalow they shared.
Daphne sometimes accepted invitations from young plantation owners or even Australian officers, but never an English one. She was off Englishmen for life. She received invitations to tennis parties, bridge afternoons, nightclubs, but none of these activities interested her. I’m becoming a hermit.
Molly had introduced her to Helen Sawyer, an Australian army nurse working at the 113th Australian GeneralHospital in Singapore, who also trained at the QueenVictoriaHospital, and they immediately struck up a friendship. Dark-haired Helen was attractive and vivacious. Sometimes Daphne would make up a foursome with her, only if the men involved met her criteria of not being English.
She had finally met up with Robbie in Singapore when he got leave. His battalion was stationed in Malaya. He was well over six feet tall now, still slim, but starting to fill out. The khaki summer-weight uniform suited his boyish good looks.
He missed their parents. He wouldn’t admit it, but she sensed he regretted his decision to run away and join up. The one letter she received from Tom was full of cheer. He was enjoying himself in the Middle East, taking advantage of the numerous attractions. But not Robbie; women and high times were not for him. Not for me either, she thought wryly. Some British children and women had already left Malaya and Singapore, but for most it was business as usual.
* * *
One evening Daphne made up a foursome for dinner with Helen and two young Lieutenants, Bill and Roy from the 2/30th Battalion. Roy, her partner, was a fair, thickset young man sporting a zippy moustache, Bill a nondescript looking man with a caustic wit.
She liked her outfit, a white frock with a matching bolero top embroidered with green beads. Numerous potted plants were set out around the hotel, she idly noticed as a Chinese waiter showed them to a cane table with matching chairs. Loud female laughter came from a long table set against the far wall.
“Bloody pommy snobs,” Bill hissed. “They won’t have anything to do with us Aussies. Hardly ever invite us into their homes. Who the hell do they think they are, anyway?”
“We should worry, mate, we’ve got the two prettiest girls in Singapore.” Roy glanced at both girls, but his gaze rested longest on Daphne.
“Well, what do
you say to that old man? Cut the ground from under your feet, what?” Helen’s over exaggerated, upper crust English accent made them laugh.
“We’ll have champagne,” Bill suddenly decided.
“A lemonade will do for me, thanks,” Daphne said.
“No, champagne for a beautiful flower.” Roy lowered his voice so only she could hear him.
“Roy.” She touched his hand. “Don’t get to like me too much, will you?”
“You’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever met, I could easily fall in love with you.”
“I can only offer you friendship, nothing more, and you’re too nice to be hurt.”
“Is there someone else, Daphne?”
A smiling Chinese waiter brought over champagne in a silver, iced filled bucket, and proceeded to pour for them.
“Not really.”
“Daph gave her heart to some callous playboy who broke it. She’s living in the past,” Helen put in with a sympathetic grimace.
“I wish I could forget, but there won’t ever be any other man for me.” Her heart felt heavy with the regret of what might have been. If Paul’s love had been genuine, they would have been married by now. Just thinking of the babies she would probably have had was excruciatingly painful, sharp as a saber thrust. You’re a fool she castigated herself as she often did. He wasn’t worthy of you. Find yourself a nice, trustworthy Aussie man to love. Oh, God, if only she could.
The orchestra played softly in the background. When Roy asked her to dance, she accepted. As long as he didn’t want to get serious, things could be quite pleasant because, even on such a short acquaintance, she liked him.
The ladies gracing the dance floor, were attired in the most up to date creations that could be invented by the skilled Chinese seamstresses in the city. Men wore dress suits and one or two were in lounge suites, the rest in uniform.
As the evening progressed the place filled up even more. Not actually crowded. That would never do. Too crass. What a farce. Men were dying by the thousands in Europe. English cities had been being bombed into the ground by the German Luftwaffe, the Japanese were hammering on the doorposts, and the European population of Singapore wined and danced their evenings away as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
“Sorry,” Roy apologized for bumping into someone.
“So you should be,” the woman snapped in a high pitched, affected voice. “These Australians are so boorish, darling.”
This arrogant woman was dark-haired and so stunningly beautiful Daphne did not notice her partner at first.
Then shock caused the blood to pound in her ears like an artillery barrage. The stabbing pain in her chest felt so excruciating it squeezed the air from her lungs and made it hard to breathe. “Paul.” His name came out in a husky, tortured whisper, yet he heard.
“Daphne! Good Lord, what are you doing here?”
For some unexplained reason the orchestra stopped playing for a few moments, and a voice announced that there would be a five-minute break. Daphne couldn’t move. Her limbs were paralyzed.
“I’m working here.” No need to ask what he was doing. He wore an army uniform with a Major’s crown on his epaulettes.
“You know each other, Paul darling?”
“Yes.” His lips had a bitter downward twist. “Amelia, I’d like you to meet Daphne Clarke.” He paused for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths. “My little sister. Well only half, but even that’s too much.” His laugh sounded forced, devoid of humor.
“Hello, Amelia. Paul, this is Roy Jorgensen, a dear friend of mine.” Daphne linked arms with the young lieutenant who opened his mouth in surprise before hastily closing it again. “Come along, Roy where’s that drink you promised me?”
As they stepped away, Daphne turned her head ever so slightly. “I’m not your sister, Paul.”
The music started up again and Paul’s arm snaked out and grabbed her. “Dance?” He almost shoved Amelia at the lieutenant.
“Let me go. I’ll scream if you don’t.”
He practically dragged Daphne into the middle of a moving throng.
“What the hell do you mean? I saw the photos and read the diary. Allison Clarke is my mother.”
“She’s not mine. Dad, I mean Frank and Allison Clarke are not my parents, natural or otherwise. They brought me up as theirs, I look upon them as my parents, but I’m a Clarke because that was my own father’s name. He was called Harry Clarke.”
Paul stiffened and she clearly heard his shocked intake of breath.
“You’re missing your step, Major, but don’t worry.” Her laugh sounded high-pitched, brittle. “I’m still not good enough for Sir Phillip Ashfield’s exulted son.”
They were standing still now, not even pretending to dance. “Harry and Mabel Clarke were poor farmers. My mother died a few weeks after my birth. My father, badly crippled in the Great War, couldn’t live without her, so he shot himself.”
She twisted free and marched across the dance floor, her head held proudly, her eyes full of tears.
“Well!” Helen greeted her before she even reached the table. “What did you do to Sir Paul?”
“Sir Paul? Has he been knighted like his daddy?” Daphne wondered how she could even speak. She grabbed the glass Helen thrust in her hand, downing the contents in a couple of desperate gulps.
“Major Paul Ashfield hasn’t been knighted, but he’s so unobtainable, a lot of women out here call him that. There would hardly be a female in Singapore who wouldn’t jump at the chance of letting him put his shoes under their bed.”
“Really? I bet they don’t know what a despicable bastard he is,” Daphne retorted bitterly, shocked at the hateful words spilling out of her mouth.
“Hey, she’s exaggerating.” Bill pushed another glass towards her. “Drink this, you look like you need it.”
“I do.”
“Daphne. What is it? Are you ill?” Helen stopped her banter.
“No.”
Roy came back just then. “My God, what happened out there, Daphne? Say, are you all right? You look awful. What did the Major mean about you being his...”
“Please,” she interrupted him. “Forget it.”
Daphne forced some of the cold meat and salad down her throat, even though she nearly gagged on every mouthful. Her hand reached out for the champagne glass often. No one in the whole hotel could have laughed or danced more than Daphne Clarke did.
Paul was one of those at the long table. Why hadn’t she noticed him before? He made no attempt to come over. Often his face was up close to the beautiful Amelia’s, yet instinctively Daphne knew he watched every move she herself made.
The unaccustomed champagne made her light headed and reckless. She wanted to make sure he knew she was completely over him. When Roy pulled her close as they danced, she let him. He had been drinking steadily also and his speech sounded slurred as he whispered endearments in her ear.
“Beautiful Daphne, let’s go outside, huh?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, a few kisses.” He leered, “maybe a little more.”
You’re an idiot, Daphne Clarke. It was her fault the nice young lieutenant had turned into a lecher. She had encouraged his advances by acting like a common tart.
“Let’s get back to the others,” she suggested, feeling far out of her depth.
“No, out here.” Double glass doors led to an enclosed conservatory, lavishly festooned with purple bougainvillea. The numerous pot plants gave it an outdoor garden effect.
“No, Roy, stop it.”
“Yes.” Even in his drunken state he was strong. She tried pulling away as he maneuvered them into the conservatory. His fingers biting into the flesh of her arms hurt.
“Please, don’t spoil things.”
“Daphne, beautiful flower.” His hands loosened their hold so he could kiss her. She pushed him as hard as she could and sent him sprawling into a huge, leafy fern.
“Well done.” Paul’s derisive tone
s caused her to swing around. “If you hadn’t, I would have.”
“Excuse me, I’d like to go inside,” she said coldly.
“Don’t put on that lady like act with me, not when you’ve been acting like a common little slut all night,” Paul snarled.
“You bastard.” She raised her hand to strike his handsome, sneering face.
It was a mistake. In no time his arms were around her, crushing her against him. His mouth captured hers in a brutal, punishing kiss.
Paul dragged his mouth away from hers, so he might push her away. Her low, almost agonized cry seared through his anger.
“Paul. Oh Paul.”
He didn’t let her go. Just held her close as she sobbed in such a terrible, heartbroken fashion he feared she might become ill.
“Don’t cry, Daphne, please.” Still the weeping continued. She was frail, almost wraithlike in his arms and he didn’t know what to say to ease her pain so he continued to hold her as tightly as he dared. The perfume haunting his dreams for so long filled his nostrils, and he could feel her soft shiny hair brushing against his face.
She was completely spent by the time the sobbing subsided and he used a hand at the back of her head to keep her face pressed against his chest. How good it felt to hold her close after so long apart.
“Where’s Roy?” she gulped.
“The lieutenant?”
She nodded.
“He’s gone back to your friends. We need to talk, but not here.”
“It’s no use, Paul. I can’t forgive you for what you did to me.”
“For God’s sake. I had to get out. What do you think it did to me to find out that the girl I loved was my sister? We’d slept together. I’d committed a mortal sin. Incest! Hell! What was I supposed to do? As if that wasn’t bad enough...”
“I could forgive you for that,” she cut him off. “It must have been a dreadful shock. If you hadn’t dashed off we could have sorted it all out.”
“I couldn’t face you or your family, especially after finding out about...”
A Mortal Sin Page 10
