by Janet Tanner
‘I’d love it,’ she said, with feeling.
Brit nodded abruptly. Then without another word he turned to the Chinese assistant, haggling and bargaining in what sounded like fluent Cantonese.
‘Thank you …’ Words seemed superfluous. She was delighted with the gift and delighted too with his generosity in buying it for her because she liked it when he thought it an ugly monstrosity.
‘We ought to get that thing back to your hotel room,’ Brit said as they emerged once more into the tropical heat of the street. ‘We can’t carry it around with us, that’s certain.’
Back to the Raffles they went, with the dreamlike atmosphere of Tangs lingering.
‘I’ll take it up to my room.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll meet you later in the Tiffin Room.’
She left him and went upstairs. Then, balancing the awkwardly-shaped package containing the dragon on her hip, she unlocked her door. As it swung open she looked down to replace the key in her bag and then stepped inside.
The voice coming from the depths of the rattan chair startled her into immobility.
‘You’re back, then?’
‘Gordon!’ she said.
Chapter Eighteen
He rose slowly, smiling his familiar, gentle smile – standing, waiting, clearly expecting her to run to him. But she could not move.
He shouldn’t be here yet! He shouldn’t be here for two more days. But here he was.
Somehow, illogically, she had felt that when he came, when she saw him again, the madness with Brit would end. It was eight long months since they had been together, but she had believed that when he was back in her life, the rudder in her tossing boat, the rock she had learned to cling to, everything would revert to normal. She had even wondered in quiet moments whether perhaps, now that her sexuality was aroused, she might experience with him some of the sheer delight she had found with Brit. After all, she had loved him in her own way and he was her husband.
But now he was here, totally unexpectedly, and it was like coming face to face with a stranger.
She stood with the parcel still clasped in her arms, shaken by the lack of feeling.
‘Well, don’t I get a kiss?’ Gordon asked.
‘Yes – yes! But Gordon, what are you doing here? I didn’t expect you …’ She was trying very hard to behave normally. But her mind was racing, keeping time with the jerky rhythm of her pulses.
‘I’ll tell you all that later. Now, put this thing down so that I can say hello to you properly.’ He took the urn from her, putting it down on the rosewood table, and her eyes followed it possessively. Don’t touch it! Don’t take it! That’s mine … mine and Brit’s!
‘Elise! Oh darling, it’s so good to see you again!’
He hugged her, the chaste, almost paternal hug that had long since become their greeting, and her face was pressed into his chest. There was no smell of tobacco from the white clucks – Gordon did not smoke – and his shirt had the smell of home, conjuring up visions of the wash amah at work in their house in Kowloon.
A strange poignancy twisted through her – a sense of belonging, yet not belonging. He stroked her hair, smoothing it away from her face and massaging the nape of her neck gently with his fingertips. She stood impassively beneath his touch and after a few moments he held her away.
‘Let me look at you.’ His light blue eyes scanned her face, loving yet faintly puzzled. ‘ You are all right, are you, darling? You’ve had a terrible time.’
‘Yes, I’m all right now. But Gordon, how did you get here so soon? I wasn’t expecting you until the day after tomorrow. ‘
‘Hugh de Gama brought me down on his yacht. He promised a long while ago that he would come down to Singapore for you once you made it this far.’
‘Oh – Hugh.’ Without knowing why, Elise shivered.
Hugh was a Portuguese whose family had lived in Hong Kong for almost as long as the Brittains. Their sprawling house on the Peak had been built in the days when social standing was determined by how high on the Peak one lived – and when Chinese were not allowed to live there at all. He was a flamboyant character, Oxford-educated and darkly good-looking, noted not only for his yacht and his business enterprises but also for his string of handsome Irish setters. When he had helped to steer Gordon through the official tangle of setting up business in Hong Kong, the two men had become close friends. For some reason Elise had always been a little afraid of him, though there was no single thing she could pin down and say: ‘That’s what I don’t like about him!’
Unless it was his eyes, she thought. They were cold and grey as the Atlantic on a November morning, but seemed to see everything. There could be a robot behind those eyes, she thought: recording, filing, assessing. Frightening Hugh, with his clever brain and his steely eyes.
‘I think he would have sailed to Cairo for you if he could,’ Gordon was saying. ‘Hugh thinks a great deal of you, Elise.’
She did not reply. That was the other thing she might have said about Hugh: that though he had never said or done anything out of place, never behaved as less than a perfect gentleman, he did not think she would like to be left alone with him. There was a waiting about his wiry body which matched the watchfulness in his eyes. And she knew that if ever he put a foot out of place and was careless enough to be caught doing so, that quick, clever brain of his would supply an answer so prompt and convincing that it would be his accuser who would stand accused.
‘We berthed this afternoon.’ Gordon led her over to the deep blue chaise that faced the rattan chair across, a low rosewood table, and drew a silver tray with cups and silver tea-set towards him across its polished surface. ‘I ordered tea as soon as I got here. That’s the only thing about Hugh’s yacht – the food is superb, the liquor flows free, but the tea never tastes as tea should. Would you like some?’
‘Yes.’ Anything, anything to put off the moment when he would take her in his arms again. ‘ They let you into my room, then?’
‘Of course they did.’ His voice held mild surprise. ‘I told them I was your husband.’
She reached out for one of the delicate bone china cups.
‘You didn’t bring Alex.’
‘No. Why – did you think I might?’
‘I wondered. I hoped. I can’t wait to see him, Gordon.’
‘But you know he gets sea-sick.’
‘Yes, but …’ How could she say that she had thought perhaps he would have arranged for them to go straight to Australia from here, without making it sound as if she couldn’t wait to leave him again?’ He will have to cope with sea-sickness on the way to Australia,’ she ventured.
‘Australia? The evacuations have stopped, Elise.’
‘I know that, but …’
‘I can’t understand why everyone is panicking so. Just look at the confusion it’s caused! We should be left alone to get on with our lives.’
She looked at him in amazement. A war was going on, yet he was burying his head in the sand, pretending it was not going to affect him. If he had shared her experiences of recent weeks he would never think like that – never. For the first time since she had met him, Elise felt older than her husband.
He set down his teacup and reached out to cover her hand with his. The skin was pale and freckled against her deep tan.
‘You’re here now, anyway. And thanks to Hugh, you will soon be home.’
‘Thanks to Hugh!’ She wanted to say, ‘The thanks is due to Brit,’ but he was leaning across her, pushing her back into the corner of the chaise, seeking her lips. As she fought against the sudden urge to push him away, something like panic obliterated her momentary anger at the injustice.
I don’t want him to kiss me! I don’t want …
His lips were warm and moist, utterly familiar, yet she felt suffocated by them. When his hand left hers and moved to her breasts, something within her recoiled. I can’t! Don’t, Gordon, please!
‘Gordon – be careful – my cup …’
‘Put it down, then!’
‘Gordon – not now …’
‘Elise, I haven’t seen you for eight months …’
‘I know – but there’s so much to talk about …’
‘Darling …’ Those hands, gentle but insistent, the hands which had taught her to accept loving but never to revel in it, touching her where Brit touched her, gently kneading where he caressed and bit, arousing nothingness instead of heights of gentleness and depths of fierce passion.
‘Gordon – not now! It’s the middle of the afternoon …’
‘What does that matter?’
‘Of course it matters! Come on now, behave yourself …’ He leaned away, bitter disappointment and hurt in his face, and she was sorry.
‘You haven’t changed, Elise.’
Oh Gordon, if only you knew how I had changed! The thoughts ran like quicksilver through her mind, acid she was only amazed he should not have seen the reflection of it in her eyes. She wriggled out of the chaise and out of reach; smiling, trying to hide her fear and revulsion, trying to act normally.
‘You know what my grandfather used to say? That there’s a place for everything and everything should be in its place?’
‘I don’t think he was referring to a timetable for love-making, when you haven’t seen your wife for eight months. Although,’ he paused and went on ruefully, ‘knowing your grandfather, very probably he was.’
‘Oh Gordon, for goodness sake … couldn’t we have some more tea?’
Gordon sighed. ‘ It’s lucky for you, Elise, that I’m not a more demanding husband. All right, I have waited for eight months and I can wait a little longer. And if you want more tea, you’d better ring for some.’
She crossed to the telephone, very aware of him watching her. As she replaced the receiver he said, ‘So tell me about your journey.’
‘I don’t know where to begin. There’s so much …’
‘You’ve been on ships which have been requisitioned by the Ministry of War Transport, I understand?’
‘Yes, I have been extremely lucky.’
‘Lucky? You were torpedoed!’
She shuddered. ‘Don’t talk about that. I meant I was lucky to get the passage.’
‘Oh yes. Who was it that you said arranged it?’
‘Gerald Brittain.’ She was glad she was not looking at him; otherwise she knew she would have been unable to prevent herself from blushing, to keep out of her eyes the look that would have told him …?
‘Brittain? I thought that was what you said, but it was a bad line. Elise, he’s not one of those Brittains, is he?’
‘Those Brittains?’
‘Cormorant.’
Before she could answer there was a tap at the door and a boy entered with a fresh pot of tea. When he had left, she said as casually as she could, ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, he is.’
‘I thought so! I didn’t think there were any other Brittains in Hong Kong. How the hell did you come to get mixed up with him?’
‘He was in Cairo. He was given my suite as a matter of fact, and after that I think he felt he had to do something to make up for it.’ Thank heavens for the tea – for a pot and cups to bend over so as not to have to look at him as she said it.
‘But how did you get to know him?’
‘A Frenchwoman – I spoke to you about her – Comtesse du Pare – she knew him. And she asked him for me. I didn’t think he would be able to do anything and I still don’t really know how he managed it …
‘Damn Brittains – it’s them all over. They can worm their way in anywhere.’
Don’t talk about him like that! she wanted to say. But instead she said mildly, ‘ Just be grateful that he did.’
‘Humph!’ Gordon’s snort spoke volumes. ‘ Oh well, I suppose I shall have to see him and thank him – though I don’t mind telling you that the less I have to do with that family the better I shall be pleased.’
With the cup poised half-way to her lips, Elise froze. Gordon was going to meet Brit! She would have to introduce them. And Brit didn’t even know that Gordon was here; she had told him it would be another two days before he arrived. She had even arranged to meet Brit in the Tiffin Room. Her eyes flew to her watch; he could be waiting now – supposing he decided to come up and look for her? He might very well walk in, saying or doing something which would immediately betray that the familiarity between them went far deeper than merely being travelling companions …
That’s true, Gordon. Let’s find him and get it over with.’ He looked at her curiously as she wenr on, ‘If you leave it until dinner, we might have to eat with him …’
‘But will you know where to look for him at this time of day?’ Was it her imagination that there was a gleam of suspicion in those light blue eyes? With guilt colouring her every thought, she could not be sure.
‘Most people seem to be about at tea-time. You know the Raffles, Gordon – next to the Cricket Club, it’s the centre of everything …’
He straightened, crossed to the mirror and tidied his thinning hair.
‘Gerald Brittain, you said? I don’t think I’ve ever met him. What’s he like?’
‘Different.’ She could have bitten her tongue. ‘Not what you would expect. He was a pilot.’
‘Oh, that one. I believe I have heard of him. The black sheep! Are you ready, then?’
As ready as I’ll ever be.
‘Gordon … don’t be rude to him, will you?’
‘What do you mean? I’m never rude.’
‘No. It’s just that I know you don’t like the family, but he has been a great help …’
‘I’m not entirely insensitive, Elise.’
‘No, I just don’t want him to think you’re ungrateful.’
‘I think you can leave it to me to know what to say.’
As I’ve always left everything to you, she thought, with a touch of bitterness. And you will manage it as you always do. Only this time there will be something you don’t know …
When they first entered the Tiffin Room she thought he was not there; then she saw him standing beside one of the columns and her heart came into her mouth.
Don’t let him come rushing towards me! Don’t let him open the conversation with some give-away remark, before I’ve had a chance to warn him …
She took hold of Gordon’s arm, trying to keep level with him so that Brit would see them simultaneously. She had described Gordon, hadn’t she? Surely Brit’s own common sense would tell him …
He looked up and saw her. The recognition was there in his eyes, a start, a half-smile, then the narrowing glance and wary hesitation. Her heart was pounding, her throat going into spasm.
‘Gordon …’
She turned and saw a similar expression on his face. ‘That’s him?’
‘Yes.’ How had he known? Because he looked like a Brittain, or was it something else? Like standing by that pillar obviously waiting where she would expect to find him …?
Brit made no attempt to approach them. Naturally he had realised who Gordon was – she should have known he would. But something in the coldness of his stare turned her stomach over: taking in Gordon, summing him up, his eyes almost as hard as those of Hugh de Gama.
‘May I introduce my husband, Gordon. Gordon, this is Gerald Brittain.’
Neither of them was listening. They were eyeing one another as two stags might do at the start of the rutting season. Cold and afraid, she stood there watching them, knowing there was nothing more she could do.
‘Brittain.’ Gordon’s voice showed a forced cordiality. ‘I understand I owe you a great debt of gratitude.’
Brit’s mouth twisted upwards. ‘Really?’
‘You arranged my wife’s passage, she tells me, when it looked like being an impossibility.’
‘It wasn’t too difficult.’
‘Well, according to my wife, it was very difficult indeed! I’m very grateful.’
‘I did it for a very charming old French lady who makes it impo
ssible for anyone to refuse her anything.’ All Brit’s old arrogance was back. ‘I preferred to battle with the authorities rather than face her and admit defeat!’
‘Well, that was our good fortune,’ Gordon said stiffly. ‘ Thank you! We may see you again of course, but in case we don’t …’ He offered his hand and after a brief hesitation Brit took it.
The hand which had shaken Brit’s went around Elise’s waist in a proprietorial manner, steering her away, back through the Tiffin Room. As the tension subsided, she became aware of a deep, black hollow aching within her.
Brit! Brit! You didn’t even look at me! Not one glance – not one tiny private exchange. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been wise, but don’t you even care that he’s here, that it’s all over two days too soon and we can’t even kiss goodbye?
No, you don’t care! Because it’s the way you wanted it. No strings. No goodbyes. No duel at dawn. Just ‘fun’ as long as it lasted. But it wasn’t ‘fun’ for me.
What an idiot to fool myself into thinking I could give it up this way; an idiot to think that anything was better than nothing. I didn’t stop to realise how much it would hurt to have to say that silent impersonal goodbye. I didn’t know how it would tear me apart …
But it mustn’t show. Neither of them must know how it hurt inside. Neither Gordon nor Brit. Especially not Brit …
She dined with Gordon in the Elizabethan Grill, where the Ranee of Sarawak and her two beautiful daughters held court; the lights dancing and sparkling on their jewels, their faces elegant above their rich, flowing gowns.
Gordon drew attention to them and, knowing him as she did, she knew it was a mere stepping-stone to remarking on the absence of Brit.
‘Doesn’t he dine here?’ he asked as the waiter approached with a side of lusciously pink roast beef ensconced on the famous silver trolley.
‘Oh, I think he likes variety …’ That was true enough. While Gordon retained his conservative preferences for totally British food even here in the East, Brit ordered a wide range of dishes from Indonesian nasi goreng and Chinese mah mee or bee hoon to Malay prawn crackers with a rich French lobster bisque.
