The original two wings of the main hotel building held forty-two luxury suites, with the total number of rooms increasing to seventy-five following the leasing of the neighbouring Beach Road property and reopening as the Palm Court Wing in 1894. Pacific Aerospace had maintained a suite there since the company’s creation, eighteen months before, although it was the first time Thorne had actually stayed there.
The walk across from the Palm Court Wing took just a few moments, although Rupert was forced to negotiate his way through a throng of newly-arrived guests at the main entrance, clustered there beneath the extended veranda with their porters and their luggage as they awaited their turn to enter. Out on the beach road, military vehicles, commercial trucks and civilian cars roared back and forth in both directions, all of them surrounded by and finding their way around the dozens of hand-drawn and cycle-powered rickshaws that seemed to be everywhere as the city-state that was the last remaining Jewel of British Colonialism in the Far East went about its daily business.
For the last three days, no air raid sirens had interrupted that business. Over the last three days, men and women had no longer needed to carry gas masks, or any of the other accoutrements of wartime living that had become so synonymous to life in the cities of the British Isles in the year leading up to the invasion of September, 1940. A ceasefire had come into effect as of midnight on the 28th of December, and the only explosions of any kind now heard in those Singaporean streets had been those of fireworks heralding in a new year and a new hope of peace in South-East Asia… for the time being, at least.
He found them standing at the centre of the main foyer, all three gazing in awe of the splendour of it all as the dual main staircases at the opposite end of the huge room led up to the equally-luxurious second level. A stack of suitcases lay piled onto a large trolley beside them with a patient, Asian porter waiting to one side.
Standing almost at attention in full military dress, Mal Langdale somewhat ironically looked probably the most at ease as they stared around themselves in amazement. Gold was certain the poor fellow must’ve been boiling beneath the thick wool of a uniform that was clearly tailored and also clearly quite new. If he felt at all uncomfortable about the similarly-new lieutenant’s crowns embroidered on each of his shoulder boards, he showed no sign of it as he stood there with his officer’s peaked cap held securely at his left side.
Briony Morris didn’t seem to know where to look next. The flight from Australia – her first experience of any kind inside an aircraft – had left her overjoyed and excited, as if it were heralding the arrival of an entirely new world (which in some ways, it truly was). That excitement, heightened by the preceding cab ride through the heart of that huge, dense, bustling and so very foreign city had transformed into awestruck speechlessness as she’d taken in the absolute grandeur of Raffles itself.
Although the regal style of Government House had been of similar luxury, that level of décor was to some extent expected of a palace. To see such opulence in this quite different style and context was breathtaking indeed: something well beyond anything a simple country girl could ever have imagined in her wildest dreams.
Rupert had to admit what she was certainly dressed for the occasion, in clothes he suspected were of Eileen’s influence, considering he’d never personally seen them before. The young woman wore a teal-coloured A-line dress of high-quality cotton, fitted with short sleeves, panelled skirt and an exquisite Queen Anne neckline completed by faux buttons and a small bow. Tied at the back in another bow of matching colour, her long brown hair hung in flowing tresses that had suffered a little from the heat and humidity. It was a woman’s dress with a woman’s style – that much was clear enough – and save for the complete innocence of Briony’s wide, staring expression, she might’ve fit perfectly the part of a beautiful, carefree socialite in the company of an equally-stunning, perhaps slightly older sister.
Eileen Donelson was all business in a most stylish way, her pristine, ivory pencil-dress cut with a figure-hugging skirt, light three-quarter sleeves and a wide, tailored collar, all accompanied by a wide-brimmed fedora above long, dark hair collected into a stylish bun at the back of her head. High-heeled shoes of a deep, almost-glowing red matched the narrow belt at her waist, and also the lustre of her lipstick and her carefully-painted nails. Neither woman particularly needed makeup, which had been applied sparingly in any case in deference to the oppressive heat.
“Briony, Eileen… Malcolm…. How wonderful to see you all…!” Rupert exclaimed with a broad smile as he approached, all three turning to face him in unison. “You’ve been promoted to lieutenant, I see!”
“Uh, yeah…” Langdale managed to mutter as they came together and the pair shook hands firmly. “Yeah, I guess they liked what happened on Ambon… uh, my part of it, at least,” he added quickly, momentarily forced to recall some less pleasant memories.
“Undoubtedly deserved,” Gold declared with absolute certainty, before turning his attention on Briony and holding out his arms. “Young lady, you are looking more beautiful every… single… day…!”
“Hi, Uncle Rupert,” she replied with a broad, innocent smile as she accepted the hug and returned it. “Missed you…”
“I’ve missed you too, my dear… Everything’s being set up for the armistice ceremony at the naval base… Lord Mountbatten and General Macarthur and an absolute myriad of other dignitaries will be there! We have some of the best seats available to watch the signing. But enough of that… first we’ll get you all settled in. I can’t wait to show you your room… you’re going to love it! You and Lieutenant Langdale go on ahead now: the porter will show you the way. Palm Court Wing…” he advised quickly, turning to the waiting attendant and handing across an exorbitant tip. “The Pacific Aerospace suite…”
“Very good, Mister Gold,” the man replied instantly with a nod. Gold was had been a frequent visitor to the hotel over the last six months and was well-known and well-liked by most of the serving staff, whom he always treated well and tipped even better.
“You’ve been well?” He asked Eileen kindly as the luggage trolley was wheeled away with the other two in tow. “I’d say that you look divine, but that would surely be completely superfluous!”
“I’ve been well enough, Rupert,” she answered coldly as they stood alone for a moment at the centre of that grand foyer, the rest of the world passing around them. But as Gold looked closer, he could see the dark circles beneath her eyes that makeup hadn’t completely covered up, and the tell-tale, left over streaks of hastily wiped-away mascara beneath the corners of her bloodshot eyes.
“Come and let’s get you settled in, miss, and you can unwind a little after your flight,” he began almost hopefully, reaching out to rest a guiding hand gently on her arm.
“Why won’t he talk to me, Rupert…?” She demanded softly, turning to face him fully with hands suddenly clenched at her sides. “Not a single letter answered… not a single telegram… no response to any of my radio calls…?” The pain was showing in her eyes now far more clearly, and he could tell by the faint shake in her voice and her upper body that she was struggling to control her emotions.
“Come, Eileen…” he suggested again, bowing his head in recognition of what she was experiencing. “Come to the room and we’ll talk more… this isn’t the place…”
He turned his body to face the main entrance and extended a hopeful arm out from his body, intending for her to take it. It wasn’t a situation either of them were accustomed to, but it seemed proper that Eileen should have at least someone showing some support for her situation. Grudgingly, and with a moment or two of hesitation, she accepted the offer and slipped her hand gently around the inside of his extended elbow and finally him to escort her toward the exit.
“How has he been, Rupert?” She asked searchingly as they walked through the beautifully-kept lawns and gardens moments later, making their way across to the Palm Court Wing beneath the gorgeous morning sunshine. “I’ve recei
ved nary a word this whole time since Ambon, and I can’t bear not knowing. Has he been all right? What they did to him was bloody shameful! How has he coped, being exiled from his own country?”
“He… he’s not been well, Eileen,” Rupert answered honestly after a moment of hesitation. “He’s been drinking again… as bad as he was at the start of all this… and he barely comes out of his room even for a moment. I’ve tried to get him out and about, but nothing seems to work. He’s been eating at least, although he’ll probably look thinner… Eileen…” he began awkwardly, not sure how to broach the subject of Thorne not wanting to see her.
“Rupert, what have I done…?” She pleaded mournfully as she halted for a moment, taking firm hold of his arm and turning him around to face her fully. “What have I done that’s made him hate me so much that he won’t even talk to me?”
“I doubt very much that it would be possible for him to hate you, Eileen…” Rupert replied gently, feeling her grip tighten against his arm as his words further destabilised her already precarious emotional state. “As to why he’s acting this way, or what it is you may have done to possibly bring this about?” He continued, knowing that at least some kind of answer was required. “Unfortunately, that I cannot tell you: whatever it may be, it’s something he’s kept completely to himself no matter how many times I’ve asked.
“He says he doesn’t want to see you…” he admitted finally, deciding there was no easy way to come out with it “…but I am taking about as much notice of that as I do with anything else he tells me that I don’t like…” he added quickly, regaining control of the conversation before that revelation broke her completely. Be patient, and follow my lead, and we’ll see if we can’t sort all this out, yes…?”
“Rupert…” she croaked weakly, her voice breaking as her emotions began to overwhelm her self-control. “Rupert, I can’t do this…”
“Oh yes you can!” He replied seriously, reaching up and gently using one hand to draw her face in close with his own as he placed an innocent kiss on her forehead. “You’ve been shot at by Germans and Japanese alike and they’ve not broken you! We are going to make this right, my girl, and I will not take no for an answer!”
“All right…” she agreed finally, taking a deep breath and thinking long and hard. “All right… But listen, Rupert: if there is something that’s come between us, I want it to stay between us. Neither you nor Briony must be involved… do you understand?”
“Eileen…”
“I’m serious!” She added firmly. “I will not have anyone else’s relationships ruined by whatever comes of this. You must promise me you’ll keep Briony out of there, and no matter what happens, do not interfere! I want your word on that.”
“Eileen…!”
“I mean it!” She snapped, cutting him off. “I want your word on it right now, or I swear I will turn around and go straight back to the plane!”
“All right…!” He gave in eventually, not at all happy about it. “All right, I promise!”
“Well, all right then,” she nodded, trying to feel a good deal more courageous than was actually the case. “Let’s get this o’er with…!”
“Missed you, kiddo,” Thorne grinned, having received a long, clinging hug from Briony and not feeling as awkward about the whole thing for a change. “Jesus, you’re looking older every day!”
“Language, Uncle Max!” She shot back automatically over his low-level blasphemy. “And it’s been almost a whole month! When are you coming home?”
“Well, that’s not all up to me at the moment, unfortunately,” he admitted with a grimace, holding her by the shoulders, at arm’s length, and trying to consciously ignore the obvious fact that Donelson’s influence was clear in her dress and style. “But Rupert and I are working on it, I promise.”
“You’ve been drinking again,” she observed with mild disapproval, wrinkling her nose. “I can smell it on your breath…”
“I… I have just woken up…” he explained, completely diverting the conversation and resisting an urge to get annoyed that his freedom of choice had been questioned by a teenager. “I’ve barely just got out of the shower and my teeth still need brushing… something I will take care of very shortly.”
He was dressed now in a white shirt and beige trousers of similar cut and style to those Rupert was wearing, the matching jacket hanging from the top of the bathroom door behind him as they stood together in the middle of the suite’s main bedroom.
“Tell you what…” he continued, trying to remain positive. “How about you get settled in your room and freshen up, and after this carry-on at the naval base, we can head back to the dining room for late lunch? They have a menu with stuff on it I can’t even pronounce.”
“That sounds just lovely, Uncle Max!” She exclaimed, completely distracted by the idea of more new experiences. “Eileen’s going to go crazy when she sees all this!”
“Just…!” He began, then paused and composed himself internally before continuing. “Just run along now and change into something a little more summery and a little less grown up, would you, please? There are way too many soldiers getting about this bloody town, and I’d rather it was quite clear to all concerned that you are still in school!”
“You can be very silly sometimes, Uncle Max,” she quipped brightly, reaching up to plant a light kiss on his cheek. “You could also do with a shave,” she pointed out, having been seriously prickled by his four-day growth as she’d kissed his cheek in greeting. “You need a woman around to keep you looking after yourself!”
“And you’re just the woman for that job, I suppose?” He countered with a wry grin.
“Well, it’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it…” she shot back slyly, drawing a snort of laughter from him in that moment.
“Using my own lines on me now…!” He decried with mock indignation. “Away with you, young lady, and get yourself ready!”
“I’ve seen you at Chinese restaurants, and there were an awful lot of things you can’t pronounce, Max,” Rupert observed, standing in the open doorway to the rest of the suite as Briony flounced past with a smile and a nod.
“We’re gonna head over after the signing,” he advised, consciously ignoring the good-natured jibe. “D’you think we’ll be able to get a table?”
“We always have a table booked, Max…” Gold replied with a thin smile, trying to hide his awkwardness as Thorne turned and took a few steps across to the bathroom door to take down his jacket. “Perhaps a quiet meal here might be a better option…?”
“Why the hell would I wanna do that…?” He asked, a little surprised as he shrugged the jacket over his shoulders, completely missing the soft sounds of Rupert leaving the room and closing the door behind him. “You’ve been crapping on for days about me getting out of the place for a bit…”
He paused then, the hair on the back of his neck rising suddenly as he finally realised something had changed… that the soft, almost desperate breathing he could now hear behind him definitely wasn’t coming from his personal assistant. The realisation of what had happened flooded through him in an instant, bringing with it a surge of anguish and unresolved rage that had been building constantly in the weeks since he’d been evacuated from the island.
“That asshole…!” He muttered under his breath, fists clenching as he stiffened and rose to his full height in preparation for the coming conflict that now seemed unavoidable.
“It’s not his fault…” Eileen began softly, the pain and sorrow in her voice almost melting through Thorne’s rigid defences in that moment.
“Bullshit it isn’t,” he replied sharply, turning to face her for the first time, his expression tight and controlled as he maintained complete command over his own emotions. “It really would be best… for both of us… if you just leave, right now…” he added, fighting to keep the anger from filling his tone.
“How, Max? How could any of this be better…?” She cried, almost in despair as she held out her
palms in supplication. “What’s happened? What’s happened, damn you? No letters, no word… nothing! And now I’m here, all you can say is that you think I should leave?”
“This serves no purpose…” he continued in the same cold monotone. “I won’t – can’t – give you the answers you want… want or deserve…”
“Where have you been?” She almost screamed at him, taking a few steps forward and actually making him flinch slightly as her simmering anger began to burn through, fuelled by his complete lack of engagement or even an apparent willingness to even accept what was going on. “They’ve taken it all!”
“I know…” he nodded bluntly, as if commenting on last week’s weather.
“Solingen and his bastards waltzed right in and took away everything: the laptops, the printouts… the TDUs, for Christ’s sake! Stomping around with a direct order from the War Department and a troop of bloody MPs for muscle, and The Palace did fuck-all to stop them!”
“Theirs is a particularly delicate position at the moment,” he shrugged, not for a moment acknowledging the fact that what he was saying had nothing at all to do with the point of her argument. “I think they’d already used up pretty much every favour they had with Canberra just keeping them off my back…”
“And where were you?” She hissed with venom. “Hindsight needed you… I –!” She faltered then, voice cracking again as tears formed in her eyes and the real truth of it finally came through. “I needed you…”
“I’m done with them…” he growled bitterly, his own emotion showing now as her pain further weakened his control. “Done with Canberra and done with Hindsight. I have a business to run and entire armies to supply, and that needs to be my only focus moving forward…”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 115
