The Pavilion in the Clouds

by Alexander McCall Smith

  “You’re very lucky.”

  “I know.” He paused. “You’ll get a trunk too, when they send you to school. I suppose you’ll go to one of those schools they have for girls. Some of them aren’t bad, I think.”

  Bella shrugged. “I hope it’s all right.”

  “I’m going really late,” said Richard. “Most people are sent when they’re seven or eight. I’m ten now. I’ll only have two years – just – at this school until I go on to the next one, a pukka school.”

  She looked at him. It must be wonderful to be a boy – in spite of everything. Boys could do so many things. And yet they were so rough, and they fought, and their fingernails had grime under them – a black line. She glanced at Richard’s hands. The black line was there under one of his thumbnails and under the nail of both index fingers. It was enough to make you shiver, although you shouldn’t shiver when you were visiting people, if you could possibly avoid it. And there was something about Richard that was not disgusting at all – there was something that she really rather liked. He had a nice face. You might even have called him pretty, except that boys did not like that – his mother had just said something to that effect. But he was pretty – because of his nose, which was just the right shape, and that dimple he had, which was really unfair because boys couldn’t care very much about dimples. It was girls who liked them, and yet they did not always get them. Dimples were wasted on boys.

  He showed her a picture postcard. “This is the ship we’re going to be on. See how big it is. They have deck games you can play. You know those rubber things you throw . . .”

  “Deck quoits.”

  “Yes, those. And a fancy-dress competition. I’ve got a pirate’s outfit – with an eyepatch. My mother’s going to go as the Virgin Mary.”

  “That’s a really good idea.”

  “Yes.” He pointed to Li Po and Po Chü-i, who were tucked under her arm. “Why have you brought those dolls?”

  She froze. “What dolls?”

  He pointed again. “Those.”

  She affected surprise. “Oh, I’d forgotten about them. They’re just a couple of old dolls.”

  He seemed unconvinced. “My mother says you say they can talk.”

  Bella forced a laugh. “Talk? Of course not. Why would I say that dolls can talk?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what she said.” He seemed to lose interest. “What about Miss White?”

  “What about her?”

  “Is she still teaching you?”

  Bella said that she was. “I’d prefer to go to school.”

  Richard looked thoughtful. “If she went away, they’d have to send you to school. They couldn’t let you get off lessons forever.”

  “That’s true.”

  He made his suggestion. “You could ask them to fire her.”

  She frowned. “I couldn’t.”

  “If she did something wrong, you could. You could tell on her, and they’d have to fire her. If she stole something, for instance. There’s a man who works in my dad’s office who stole some money. They fired him.”

  Bella was staring at his trunk. Imagine having your own trunk and setting off on a ship to England. Imagine that. Then she thought: Miss White may not have done anything wrong yet, but she would certainly like to – if she had the chance. She would like to get rid of her mother so that she could marry her father. What could be more wrong than that? And surely, if somebody was planning to do something wrong, then you were entitled to do your best to stop them before they had the chance to do it. It would be like putting out a fire before it took hold and burned your whole house down – it would be just like that.

  She turned to Richard. “You know how people don’t like other people to take away the person they’re married to? You know about that?”

  Richard looked smug. “I know all about that. I know everything about those things. More than you, I think.”

  She knew that she was on shaky ground. There was a lot that she did not know, and it might be best to get Richard to explain it – without revealing her ignorance, of course.

  “You tell me what you know,” she said. “Then I’ll tell you if it’s the same thing that I know.”

  He hesitated. Then, lowering his voice, he said, “Men and women make babies together, you know. They do that in their bedroom. At night time.”

  She shrugged. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Well, that’s it,” he said. “They take off their clothes. And then the baby starts.”

  This was new territory, but she did not want to show too much surprise. “Of course they do.”

  “But you’re only meant to take off your clothes with somebody you’re married to. Those are the rules.”

  She nodded. “That’s right.”

  “So,” he continued, “that’s why men get really angry if other men take off their clothes with their wives. And the same goes for women too. If they think another woman has taken off her clothes with their husband, they get really cross.”

  She nodded. “That’s the way it works,” she said. “And you know something? I think Miss White is planning to take off her clothes with my daddy.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Richard. “You should tell your mummy about that.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  Richard thought of something. “But you’ll need proof. And you won’t see her do that. She’ll be far too cunning.” He paused. “I’ve got an idea. What if you found some of your father’s clothes in her bedroom? What if you showed these to your mother? Then she’d know, and she’d be able to fire her before it was too late and there was another baby. What about that?”

  She weighed it up. She almost asked Li Po, who was good on this sort of thing, but stopped herself in time. “It could work,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be lying, because I know what she’s planning.”

  Richard lowered his voice again. “Yes, you could find some of his clothes,” he said. “You could say you found them under her bed. That’s what you could do.”

  She blushed. Why not? He kept his clothes in drawers in his bedroom. Nikku ironed them and put them there. They would be easy to obtain.

  Richard felt that the subject had now been dealt with. “Would you like to play Snakes and Ladders?” he asked.

  She said that she would.

  7

  At the Club, in the Dining Room

  T hree days later, Virginia sent a message to Heather suggesting that they meet for lunch at the club. “I know that you’re off in a week or so, and I can imagine how busy you’ll be, but this is rather important. We need to talk.” The message was delivered by Michael, on the ancient BSA motorbike he used to shop for provisions.

  Heather gave Michael a reply to take back. “Dearest,” she wrote, “of course I can meet you for lunch. Willingly. Actually, it will give me the chance to get out of the house for a little while. Every time I finish a task, there seems to be another that’s crying out to be performed before I go. But the more I have to do, the longer it seems to take me to do anything. So, lunch with you will be perfect! I do hope that the important matter you refer to is nothing too serious, but even if it is, you will have my full attention and anything I can do to help – and I do mean anything – I shall do. Voilà!” Several words in this were underlined to add emphasis. Including voilà.

  Virginia was not surprised by the tone of the response. Had she been in Heather’s position, struggling to make domestic arrangements before a long sea voyage and months away from home, she would have found it difficult to be enthusiastic about lunch in the club. But then she was not Heather, with her unfailingly positive personality, with her underlining. I am just me, she thought: a depressing enough thought for all but the most incorrigible optimist.

  She arrived at the club before Heather did and decided to go straight into the dining room to wait for her friend there. People often met for a drink on the veranda before their meal, and she noticed that there was already a small group of wiv
es congregating there. A couple of them waved to her, expecting her to join them, but she declined, gesturing to indicate that she was expected inside. There was a copy of the Ceylon Daily News in the hall, and she picked that up and took it with her to her table. She started to read it, but she found that she could not concentrate. There was a disgruntled letter on the letters page, but she could not quite work out what the issue was. “Words cannot express my disappointment,” the correspondent concluded. She sighed. Words cannot express my disappointment . . .

  Heather arrived in a waft of freshly applied perfume. “I am ready,” she announced as she sat down, “for the largest glass of sherry the club can provide.”

  “Don’t ask for that,” Virginia advised. “They’ll take you at your word.” She looked at her friend, who seemed unflustered.

  Heather leaned forward. “I saw the paraffin refrigerator on the veranda – surrounded by her allies. They’re planning something – I’m sure of it. A coup perhaps?”

  “The committee can look after itself,” said Virginia. “And they’re welcome to it, anyway. Who in their right mind would want to run the club?”

  Heather shrugged. “People want power, however small an amount is up for grabs.” She paused. “But the real question is: how are you? Your note . . .” She left the sentence unfinished. The waiter had brought the menu, a small typed sheet revealing that the soup was pea and the main course was a choice between vegetable curry or toad-in-the-hole. There was ice cream for dessert – flavours on application.

  They ordered. Then Heather resumed her questioning. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “The usual thing?”

  Virginia looked down at the starched linen tablecloth, at the heavy EPNS cutlery with the club’s initials etched into the handles, at the solid, predictable sameness of it all.

  “Henry?” Heather persisted.

  Virginia nodded.

  “And your Miss White?”

  There was a silence. Then Virginia nodded.

  “I see. Where shall we start?”

  The pea soup appeared. It was heavy and lumpy. “Do we have to eat this?” asked Heather. And then she answered her own question, “I suppose duty calls.”

  Heather laid aside her spoon after a few mouthfuls. “I just can’t,” she said. “I shall wait for the vegetable curry.” She gave Virginia a look of sympathy. “It’s just so obvious,” she continued. “It’s the reason, I suspect, why many people just won’t consider taking somebody on to help with the children’s education. This is what happens. There’s no doubt . . .”

  Virginia stopped her. “I’m not sure if it has actually happened. I can’t be sure. At the moment, it’s no more than a suspicion.”

  Heather looked doubtful. “When things get to the stage where one suspects, it often has happened. The horse has bolted, so to speak, although the stable door may be closed.” The look became more sympathetic. “At least, that’s what I’ve observed. This is hardly an unusual problem, you know. Any number of wives could tell you exactly the same story. It’s so . . . so banal, I think is the word. Yes, banal. So utterly expected.”

  “Something happened,” said Virginia. “Bella made a comment some time ago. She said something about Miss White looking out of the window at Henry. She seemed to pick up something in the way she looked at him. I forget her precise words, but they left me feeling . . . well, a bit concerned.”

  “Children notice more than we give them credit for,” said Heather. “We think they don’t see what’s going on, but they often do. They often know exactly what’s what.”

  “I don’t think Bella really knows about these things,” said Virginia. “I mean, I don’t think she knows the facts of life, or anything like that. She’s only eight.”

  “Of course not,” said Heather. “I don’t believe we should burden children with these things before they’re ready. I’ve discussed it with Jimmy, and he’s pretty much of the same view. He says he’ll have a word with Richard when he’s thirteen, but he doesn’t want him bothered by anything before then. Plenty of time, I always say.” She paused. “But that’s not to say that they don’t know about emotions. They’re different, aren’t they? They may not know anything about the nuts and bolts, so to speak, but they can have a pretty good idea about whether people get on with one another. I suppose they probably have an inkling about love.”

  “They do,” agreed Virginia. “They definitely do.”

  “So she picked up Miss White’s interest in Henry. I see.”

  “I think she did. I may have misunderstood her, but I felt that. Then something else cropped up – something much more – how shall I put it? – concerning.”

  Heather was silent.

  “Bella came to me a couple of days ago and said that she had been in Miss White’s bungalow and had found something.”

  “Been in it?” asked Heather. “Invited or uninvited?”

  “Oh, she’s always in and out of it. Miss White sometimes gives her lessons there – on the veranda.”

  “I see.”

  “She told me that she was there when Miss White had gone up to town for something or other. She said she went to get a book that she thought Miss White had left in her bedroom. So she went in and . . .”

  “Oh now. They were there? Together?”

  Virginia shook her head. “No, nothing like that. But . . .” She hesitated. Her embarrassment was clear. She spoke now with distaste. “She found an item of Henry’s clothing.”

  Heather gave a start. “In her bedroom?”

  Virginia nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Heather raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear. That doesn’t look too good.”

  “Underwear,” said Virginia, staring at the tablecloth. She had not expected Heather’s reaction, which was a peal of laughter. Concern became incredulity. “Underwear?” she exclaimed.

  Her voice carried. At the other end of the room, a table of two couples paused with their soup spoons mid-air. Heather clapped a hand over her mouth, like a schoolgirl realising she had said something inappropriate in the presence of adults.

  Virginia blushed red with embarrassment.

  “It’s all right,” whispered Heather. “They didn’t hear the context. We could have been talking about . . .” She waved a hand in the air. “About underwear in general. They are, after all, garments on which people have views.”

  Heather became serious. “I can’t imagine there is anything but an innocent explanation for their being there. People who get up to mischief tend not to leave their underwear in other people’s bedrooms.” She paused. “You see, if he had been . . . well, carrying on with her, and he then had to get dressed to go back to the house, would he have forgotten to put on his underwear? Surely not. Men just don’t do that. They put their underwear on, and then they get into their trousers. Always, I’d say. Always.”

  Virginia sighed. “I know. That’s what I thought.”

  Heather shook her head. “Very puzzling.”

  “Yes. But what am I to think?”

  The waiter brought the vegetable curry. “Not too hot, Darmarathna?”

  The waiter grinned. “Hardly any spices. Just a tiny, tiny bit.” He held two fingers apart, almost touching, to signify a minute quantity.

  He withdrew, and Heather continued, “I think there must be another explanation altogether.”

  Virginia waited.

  Heather spoke slowly, weighing each word. “I’d suggest that Bella is making things up. I don’t think she found the underwear there at all.”

  She looked at Virginia, gauging the effect of her charge. People were sensitive about their children, and she had just accused Bella of behaving in a way that, in an adult, would amount to criminal conduct. Of course, children were different, and were not to be judged for their misdeeds, but Heather feared Virginia might still take offence: a lioness will defend her cub, no matter how meretricious the cub may be.

  Virginia was undisturbed. “But why would she do that?”

&n
bsp; That was a relief to Heather. “Because she knows you’re going to be shocked.”

  “Well, I was.” Her reply was matter-of-fact.

  “There you are – she knew exactly what the result would be. Voilà!”

  Virginia wondered why Bella would want to shock her. Heather thought that was a question that might never be answered. Jealousy? Sheer bravado? Boredom? Hostility to Miss White because she made her work too hard? Misunderstandings over mathematics or French verbs? “You can take your pick. They get ideas in their heads, and off they go. They never think things through.”

  For a few moments Virginia pondered this in silence. Heather was probably right – the whole thing was absurd, and yet it was precisely the sort of scheme a child of Bella’s age might cook up. But even if this were true, and Bella had conceived of some sort of ridiculous scheme to compromise Miss White, there were still the conflicting stories of what had happened in the Pavilion in the Clouds.

  She had hardly made an inroad on her vegetable curry. Now she put down her fork. “There’s something else,” she said.

  Heather dabbed at her lips with her table napkin before taking a sip of water. “Yes?”

  Virginia told her about Henry’s claim that the carpenter had spoken of rotten wood.

  “I can see that happening,” said Heather. “In this climate – with all this rain.”

  “But he didn’t,” said Virginia. “He was adamant. I spoke to the man himself, and he said there was nothing wrong with the wood.”

  Heather frowned. “Why would Henry deceive you?”

  The question hung in the air – aimed at the heart of a marriage.

  Virginia struggled. Henry had never lied to her before – as far as she knew. He was, by nature, a truthful man, and yet, on beginning an affair, the most truthful of men stray into deception. It was so common – and so easy. “Perhaps he wanted to hide something,” said Virginia.

  Heather looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand. Hide what?”

  “A failure on his part. He did say something about feeling guilty about my accident having taken place. He implied that he should have noticed a problem. Perhaps he just wanted to find a cause that would relieve him of at least some of the blame.”