by Ovidia Yu
But Nicole refused to discuss anything that didn’t interest her. ‘Oh, shut up, Kenny. Go and drone away at someone else. Silly-Sukey, this is disgusting. I can’t eat it. Can’t you get those fools in the kitchen to make me a decent omelette?’
‘You said you wanted fried eggs,’ I protested.
‘If Nicole asks for fried eggs, it means she wants an omelette,’ Kenneth said. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll either get the hang of it or go stark raving mad. Nicki, you want some tomato ketchup with that, or are you too upset?’
Kenneth was mocking Nicole rather than me, despite his exaggerated air of concern. It seemed to me Nicole was not sorry her wedding had been cancelled. If anything, she had got over Victor’s death better than Kenneth, who looked as if he had aged several years. But was this due to grief . . . or guilt? Being in love with your best friend’s fiancée doesn’t mean you don’t feel guilty for murdering him.
‘Tomato ketchup?’ I asked.
‘Nicole won’t eat raw tomatoes – or any other vegetable, for that matter – but she’s addicted to the pickled, sugared, processed product that calls itself “tomato ketchup”.’ Kenneth didn’t hide his contempt. ‘She insisted on buying up the whole stock of an American naval-supply ship, to compare the different brands. Probably paid double or triple what it was worth.’
‘Maybe you can resell it,’ I suggested. ‘My uncle has a shop in town.’
‘Bring a case up here and chuck the rest into her uncle’s shop,’ Nicole told Kenneth. She talked to her man friend worse than my grandmother talked to her servant girls. ‘Make sure the old Chinaman doesn’t swindle you. And make them send me some decent eggs.’ She tipped her plate so that two fried eggs, a sausage and a slice of bacon slid onto Kenneth’s shoes. He shook them off onto the carpet.
‘What a waste of good food,’ I couldn’t help saying.
‘You can eat them if you want,’ Nicole told me.
Kenneth left without saying another word.
An omelette arrived fifteen minutes later.
Luck and Love
Keeping Nicole company was like babysitting a spoiled child. I cleaned her rooms, starting with the food mess she had created, sorted out the clutter and managed to restore some semblance of order. It worked here much as it had when I’d organized the desks in the Detective Shack. Whether or not you believe in feng shui, a mind feels clearer when the clutter surrounding the body is tidied.
Nicole seemed to appreciate it, though the only sign she gave was not telling me to stop. She reclined on the sofa with her magazines, watching me and occasionally calling questions or instructions. But though she talked almost non-stop, I didn’t learn anything useful.
‘The police here are hopeless,’ Nicole said. ‘If Victor was poisoned it was obviously that man who gave him the hideous betel stuff. Harold. No, Harry. His name was Harry. Why don’t they just arrest him? Or bring him in for questioning? I could help question him. I’m sure he’d talk to me. Oh, why didn’t that idiot Victor stick to chewing spruce gum?’
‘I’m sure it’s more complicated than that, Mrs Covington.’
‘Don’t call me “Mrs Covington”. If they weren’t incompetent second-rate quacks it wouldn’t be complicated at all!’
‘I’m sure they are doing everything possible to find out what happened, Mrs – Nicole.’
I saw Nicole trying to decide if I was worth the effort of throwing a temper tantrum. I was sponging mud off her yellow skirt and she decided I was not. Le Froy was the one keeping her in Singapore till he was satisfied. She would save it for him.
‘Do you know Harry Palin? He’s a pilot. And he’s a suspect, you know. A prime suspect. Have you heard anything about him?’
‘I know who he is,’ I said vaguely. I kept my eyes on the fabric but I could feel her watching me. ‘I’m going to have to steam this to get it out.’
‘I tried to be nice to him, but he was all strange and awkward. I could tell there was something wrong with him, but it never occurred to me he might be dangerous. I’ve seen it before. Men get that way when they’ve got it bad for you and think you’re out of reach. It’s worst when they’re virgins, of course. Does this Harry have a girlfriend?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, you are useless! I hate it here. I just want to go home. Except for that agonizingly long sea journey. It was so tedious. I swear I never want to set foot on board a steamer again.’
I nodded, apparently absorbed with her skirt. This seemed to convince her I wasn’t interested enough in Harry Palin to be hiding anything about him. Either that or she didn’t want to interrupt my ministrations to her skirt.
‘You know John D. Rockefeller left over a billion dollars when he died? I should have married someone like him!’
‘Wasn’t he almost a hundred years old?’
‘Ninety-eight. Which means we wouldn’t have had to be married for long. And it would have been worth it. Just because we were a few stupid days from the ceremony those stuffy old Glossops are refusing to give me a bean!’
‘I’m sorry about Victor’s family. You must miss him very much.’
‘Victor was a bore with his stupid tricks and jokes. I think everyone he knew would be fed up with him at some point. Doesn’t the rain here ever stop?’ It was drizzling outside again. A pleasant warm shower now.
Hopefully the rains would continue until February, or there would not be enough water in the reservoirs to get us through the dry season. But such things would not interest Nicole Covington.
‘Would you like to walk around the hotel?’ I suggested. ‘Shake off the cabin fever while I’ll do some cleaning in here?’ It would give me a chance to have a good look through her things without her watching me. I’ve always had what the mission-school teachers called an ‘unholy interest’ in other people’s things. But in this case, I was investigating, not just being a kaypoh, or busybody.
‘What for? Nothing to see here but a bunch of dull, dull, dull people. Places like this should have warning signs. Death by boredom. Enter at your peril! And if anybody the least interesting walks in, it’s like you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest. Someone is sure to get stung. I can’t risk it. Don’t you see, you stupid girl? If anyone comes here looking for me, this is where they’ll come! Anyway, I don’t like the hotel staff cleaning in here and poking through my things.’
She threw herself onto her bed dramatically but carefully, without damaging her hair or the make-up she had patted and painted onto her face after she’d had her omelette and coffee breakfast. I almost laughed. Nicole clearly believed someone – and her thoughts seemed to be directed towards Harry Palin – had killed Victor Glossop for love of her and the idea excited her more than a little.
I thought it was far more likely to be Kenneth Mulliner. I hoped he would turn up again. I wanted a chance to watch them together when he wasn’t sorting out her cancelled wedding arrangements. Unfortunately he stayed away from Nicole’s suite. Like everyone else. And the long afternoon dragged on into evening.
I was ready to admit I had made a mistake. There was nothing for me to learn from Nicole. I would make some excuse, say I was needed back at the Detective Shack, and stop wasting my time. I was coming up with what to say when I noticed Nicole’s frenetic mood had calmed.
‘You don’t understand what I’m going through. Nobody understands. Nobody cares.’
I had finished refolding her clothes and was sewing a button onto one of her blouses, but something in her voice made me look at her.
It wasn’t just in her voice. Nicole had sat down on the bed and drawn her knees up under her chin. Curled up like that, she looked miserable, like a child with a stomach ache after eating too many sweets. That was unlikely since all I had seen Nicole swallow that morning were a few mouthfuls of omelette and the vitamin pills she took for her health.
In my experience, children can be even more manipulative than adults. Without power or strength, they have to be. So, instead of rushing over to her w
ith tea and comforting noises, I waited where I was. ‘What do you mean, Nicole?’
She also waited, watching me. I sensed she was assessing me rather than playing with me. I had passed whatever first test she had set me.
‘What is it?’ I asked, more gently. I bit off the thread and tucked the blouse into a drawer, then went to sit beside her.
‘My life is cursed. I’m never going to be happily married. And I know why. It’s all my own stupid fault.’
I admit I was feeling sorry for Nicole. I had no business feeling sorry for a rich white woman, of course, but there was something so sad in the mountain of dresses and the bottles of lotions, the jars of creams and the flasks of perfume all designed to make her appealing. It was work for her, prettying herself up, just as you would bathe and brush a goat to fetch a better price at the market.
If Nicole had been locally born, her family or in-laws would have arranged a good second marriage for her. She was still young and had proved herself fertile. All potential husbands would be carefully vetted and all their family connections gone into before she was asked to consider them. If she had responsible brothers or brothers-in-law they would make sure her new family treated her and her child well.
Instead Nicole had to resort to meeting potential partners by chance, left to the mercy of friends who would introduce her only to men they did not think worth marrying themselves. It seemed a strange and barbaric way to arrange a business as important as a marital union.
‘This will be over soon. You will meet someone else.’
‘No. Even if I do, I’m never going to be happy. I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid love charm that turned into a curse. It’s ruined my whole life.’ Nicole sank back limply against the pillows.
‘Do you want to get a mantra from the temple?’ I asked.
‘What?’
‘A protection mantra. Or protection beads. To cancel the effects of your curse. Or the temple medium can do a cleansing for you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Only primitive fools like you believe in things like that.’
I had little faith in temple mediums but, then, Nicole was the one who believed she had been cursed. Surely someone who believed in curses had to believe they could be blocked. I put on my best inscrutable-Oriental face.
That seemed to work.
‘Oh. You speak English so well, I keep forgetting what you are. I didn’t mean your sort of curse. I meant Fate, and bad things happening to people who deserve better.’
‘Like karma?’ I suggested.
‘No. Stop twisting my words with your stupid superstitions. I mean, look at me. All I ever wanted was to be loved. Now all the men who have ever meant anything to me are dead. Victor, Eric, Radley—’
‘Eric?’
‘Mind your own business. You know, I don’t think you’re much use as a protector. What are you going to do if somebody attacks me? I think Chief Inspector Le Froy should move into the hotel to protect me around the clock.’ She moistened her lipstick with her tongue at the thought. ‘You don’t understand the first thing about protecting me!’
‘Oh, I think Su Lin understands protection very well.’
Dr Covington came in with Junior. Kenneth followed them, closing the door after him.
‘Su Lin is a member of the very powerful Chen family, aren’t you, dear girl? The Chens are like the Mafia of Singapore. They probably have someone watching her all the time, so they’ll be watching you too. Just don’t get on her wrong side. Interesting that Le Froy, who has such a reputation for rooting out local gangs and triads, should employ her. You have to know the right people, eh?’
I felt sure he had got this information from Victor. How long had Victor been watching and spying from the sidelines before it had got him killed?
Kenneth was saying something to Junior and I felt grateful to him for distracting the child.
‘Now you’re all back it’s time for me to go,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs Covington.’
Nicole was looking at me with new interest. She pouted prettily. It was her social pout. I was beginning to recognize the signs. She wanted something and would be sweet to me as long as she thought I might get it for her.
‘Don’t go. Stay here with me. I’m sorry I got carried away. I’m very highly strung, you know. But don’t go off in a huff, girl. Come and sit down to dinner with us. If you don’t know how to use a knife and fork I’ll teach you. And I’ve got a dress you can wear. You can’t go down to dinner in that! But I can’t lend you my make-up. I swear someone keeps taking my lipsticks. I lost one on the boat and another just disappeared. You should stay.’
‘No, thank you.’ I wanted to get out of there and was sure nothing could change my mind.
Kenneth said, ‘I’ve invited Parshanti Shankar to join us for dinner tonight. Nicole, you met her at the restaurant the other day. She’s a friend of Miss Chen’s. She told me Miss Chen is working here “undercover” and I thought she might like to see her in action.’
Dinner at the Farquhar
I stayed to dinner. I was furious with Parshanti.
She was waiting for us on one of the cushioned chairs outside the restaurant, wearing another dress I hadn’t seen before – bright red, sprinkled with little white and yellow daisies. Her hair was in a single long plait pulled over one shoulder. She looked nervous but lovely as she jumped to her feet on seeing us.
‘Good evening, Mrs Covington, Dr Covington . . . Mr Mulliner. Hello, Radley.’ She gave me a little wave and an excited little-girl shrug.
Nicole’s cool gaze slid over her. I suspected she was jealous of the red frock. Dr Covington, his hand on Junior’s shoulder, said, ‘Yes. Fine, fine. Everything’s fine,’ as though Parshanti was a member of the hotel staff.
‘I thought we agreed you’d call me Kenny, Shanti.’ Kenneth offered her his arm, placing his other hand over the fingers she slipped shyly around it. ‘Glad you decided to risk it. I warned you, didn’t I? England isn’t famous for its cuisine and there are few things more terrifying than an Asian cook attempting to serve British food.’
I knew his snide comments were rubbish since Kaeseven was running the kitchen. Not only was he a culinary genius but Westerners and Easterners alike raved about the Farquhar restaurant.
I suspected Kenneth Mulliner was feeling uncomfortable, even though he had set this up – to show me he knew I was there to spy on them? But was he also trying to make Nicole jealous? And worried that she might be too jealous?
Some people deal with discomfort by trying to make others feel worse. If I could help him to relax with me, I might find out if he had had any grievances against his dead friend Victor. But that was not likely to happen tonight, especially with Parshanti in the picture: there would be no chance to commiserate with him over his friend’s death or Nicole’s lack of warmth. Drat Parshanti!
‘You shouldn’t be here!’ I hissed, wishing I could tell her I had seen Kenneth ditch her for Nicole in the hotel restaurant. Surely she couldn’t have forgiven or forgotten that so soon.
‘You look nice,’ Parshanti whispered back.
To persuade me to stay to dinner, Nicole had dressed me in a silky grey shift dress of hers. It was afternoon length on her but came down almost to my ankles.
‘You look so at home in a frock,’ she said, ‘better than those awful cotton trousers. We must get you some shoes with heels. Like normal people wear.’
Normal people? Did she see me as some kind of orang utan? But though the slippery material and occasional breeziness between my legs felt strange, the dress made me feel elegant and girlish. Almost pretty.
‘You really should practise walking properly,’ Nicole said. ‘You look so funny when you limp and go all lop-sided. Nobody’s going to ask you to dance if you walk around like that.’
‘Su Lin had polio!’ Parshanti burst out. ‘How do you think you would walk if you’d had polio and recovered with one leg shorter than the other?’
My loyal (t
hough silly) friend had been gazing at Nicole Covington in worship, but indignation had crushed her awe. Parshanti had learned all about American manners and British etiquette, but she was still ruled by blunt Singapore honesty. Kenneth laughed and took her arm to steer her towards the table.
‘Nobody cares how I walk,’ Nicole said to no one in particular. No one contradicted her. Kenneth, at whom the comment had probably been directed, had walked on ahead with Parshanti.
Nicole pursed her mouth, narrowed her eyes and followed. She had to walk beside me because Dr Covington and Junior were already at the table having a discussion with a waiter.
‘Is true, sir,’ the waiter was telling the boy. ‘We only serve ice cream after meals have been eaten. Have you eaten your dinner?’
Parshanti seemed happy to be seated between Kenneth and Nicole. Junior, between Nicole and Taylor Covington, had had his dinner earlier and was served a bowl of ice cream with mango chunks. This left me with Dr Covington on one side and Kenneth on the other.
That gave me the opportunity to talk to them both. I saw that though Junior managed well with his grandfather’s help he watched his mother’s every move. He clearly adored her. Parshanti was not much better. Her attention was on Kenneth Mulliner, and as Kenneth watched Nicole playing fretfully with the menu, Parshanti did too. As did Dr Covington, but more to make sure she ordered food as well as drink, I thought.
Nicole Covington didn’t seem bothered by all this attention. She drank her wine – numbing her boredom, she told Dr Covington when he remonstrated – and couldn’t decide what she wanted to eat. ‘What difference does it make? It all tastes the same anyway!’ I suppose constant scrutiny is the price of fame and she was used to it.
After we had ordered, Kenneth turned to Parshanti. He might have guessed Nicole meant to ignore her and monopolized her so she wouldn’t notice. Either that or Kenneth thought it was good sport to entertain Parshanti while making Nicole jealous. I thought the second option more likely. Remember, I had seen how fast he had dropped Parshanti when Nicole appeared on the patio of this very restaurant.
