The Pearl of Penang

by Clare Flynn

  ‘As an angel. Graceful,’ she said pointedly. ‘And a wonderful person too. So full of life. Always smiling and laughing. Such fun. Everyone adored Felicity.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ Mrs Leighton frowned as Evie shook her head. ‘Malaria. Three years ago. Tragic. So terribly, terribly sad.’

  The waiter brought their food, but Mrs Leighton barely paused. Her salad lay untouched as she continued to speak. Evie tucked guiltily into her cutlets but pushed the potatoes aside.

  ‘Of course, none of us expected Dougie to marry again. We’re all utterly mystified.’ Her piercing eyes fixed on Evie and she gave a little shake of her head, which conveyed that the mystery was even greater now that she’d actually met the intended bride. Evie wanted to get up and run out of the room but she made herself sit it out.

  Mrs Leighton answered her own question. ’I imagine it’s because he needs a son. The one thing dear Felicity didn’t give him. Just little Jasmine. And he can’t possibly hand his inheritance on to her.’

  ‘Jasmine? He has a daughter?’ Evie put down her knife and fork, appetite gone.

  ‘Gracious! You don’t know Dougie at all, do you? Jasmine is seven years old and is living in a convent on the mainland.’

  ‘The mainland?’

  The tutting was barely disguised. ‘Penang is an island. Haven’t you even looked at a map, Miss Fraser?’

  Evie, mortified, couldn’t manage another mouthful. Mrs Leighton made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl – one lacking in any sophistication and by implication clearly an unsuitable spouse for Douglas Barrington. Her face must be red and blotchy and she wished she’d had time to stop at the powder room.

  Drawing air deep into her lungs she let it out slowly. ‘Mrs Leighton,’ she said at last. ‘As you will have gathered, I know next to nothing of Douglas Barrington and his current circumstances. After my father died, my mother went to live in America and I’m afraid I lost track of family matters.’

  Mrs Leighton pushed her untouched salad away and motioned for the waiter to remove it. ‘So, what on earth possessed you to accept a marriage proposal from a man you hardly know?’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Mrs Leighton, I’d prefer not to answer that. Your husband suggested that you might be willing to offer me some advice about living in Malaya. What kind of clothing I need to bring. That sort of thing. If you’re not prepared to do that, I will pay the bill and bid you goodbye. I have a lot to do before we sail.’

  Leaning back in her chair, Mrs Leighton nodded. ‘So you can stand up for yourself. That’s good. You’ll need to with Dougie. I was worried you were going to be a doormat. Believe me, he’ll try to make you one.’ She glanced around the room and caught the eye of their waiter. ‘Why don’t I order us each a “Gin and It”? We can have a good chat and then look at clothes together. Cotton and linen. Just day dresses – you can buy silk over there and get your evening gowns made up. There’s a fabulous little Indian chappie who can run up a gown in an afternoon. I’ll introduce you. He can copy a design straight out of Vogue. For daywear keeping cool is the thing. It’s hot as blazes in Penang. All year round. You can probably get rid of most of your wardrobe as it’s far too steamy for things like that.’ She gestured dismissively at Evie’s wool suit.

  Clapping her hands together she said, ‘How does that sound? Oh, and shall we dispense with the formalities? Call me Veronica.’ Her mouth formed a smile that her eyes didn’t echo.

  At least the full-on attack had stopped, but Evie had already decided that Mrs Veronica Leighton was a first-class bitch.

  Half an hour later, having written a list dictated by Mrs Leighton of essential items to bring with her to Penang, Evie had had enough advice and was determined it wasn’t going to extend to choosing her new wardrobe. Quite apart from being bossed around, the kind of clothes Mrs Leighton had in mind would be beyond her limited budget. Pleading a headache, she made her escape and took the much-maligned underground to High Street Kensington and bought herself a couple of cheap cotton frocks and some new underwear in Barkers. She could get more clothes made when she got to Malaya. Her existing wardrobe was unsuitable for a hot climate. At the suggestion of the landlady of her boarding house, she took her winter clothing to a nearby church, for distribution to the poor. Her limited funds were now almost exhausted. She’d need to stretch the pennies until the sailing date in a week’s time.

  That night, as she lay in bed, struggling to sleep, she wondered whether she’d made a terrible mistake in agreeing to marry Douglas Barrington. One thing she had not included on her decision-making list was the question of why Douglas had made such an offer in the first place. It now seemed reckless of him – and even more reckless of her in accepting.

  Why on earth had he asked her to marry him? And why hadn’t he mentioned he had a daughter? Would the little girl be living with them after they were married? Was he really only marrying her to father a son? Why choose her? He barely knew her.

  Veronica’s words kept repeating in her head. How could Evie ever expect to replace the beautiful Felicity? She’d been crazy to think she might. And hadn’t Veronica said that all Douglas’s friends were amazed at his decision – and all of them had adored Felicity?

  Tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress, she thought back to the wedding of twelve years ago. The bride had been breathtakingly beautiful and a perfect match for her dashing groom. While Douglas Barrington had indeed danced with the teenage Evie, he’d also danced with almost every woman present that day. She was deluded to imagine that he had retained the memory of her over the years. But she couldn’t help hoping that he had, that he might even one day come to care for her. Then reality struck again. How could she, a woman more at home on a hockey pitch than a dance floor, ever hope to win the love and affection of such a man?

  A week later, Evie stood on the quayside looking around, trying to spot the Leightons among the crowd thronging the waterfront. She couldn’t board the ship yet as Mr Leighton was to meet her and hand over her ticket. Most of the people on the dock appeared to be friends and relatives there to wave off passengers. She began to panic.

  ‘Yoo hoo! Evelyn!’ The call came from above.

  Looking up, Evie saw Veronica Leighton leaning over the guard rail on one of the upper decks of the ship, waving a silk scarf as though she were a French revolutionary leading the mob into battle.

  A man appeared beside Evie, his hand extended in greeting. ‘You must be Evelyn. I’m Arthur Leighton. Pleased to meet you.’

  Evie had to hide her surprise at Veronica’s husband. Her assumption had been that scary Veronica would be married to a handsome lounge lizard. But instead of a suave and elegant roué, Arthur Leighton looked more like a schoolmaster: dishevelled, with a thick mop of sandy hair that flopped over his brow until he brushed it away with his fingers. He appeared to be younger than his wife, but Evie had never been good at guessing people’s ages. With one finger he pushed up his spectacles from where they had slipped down his nose, and grinned at her with a wide and genuine smile. Arthur Leighton reminded her of a Labrador puppy and Evie knew at once she was going to like him.

  2

  Evie took to life on board as though born to it. Blessed with a gentle passage through the Bay of Biscay and safely into the Mediterranean, her good humour was aided by the absence of Veronica, who remained confined in her cabin. Even the gentlest of swells evidently made her nauseous.

  After they passed the Straits of Gibraltar, Veronica emerged on deck briefly, only to retreat again, pale-faced and gaunt. Her hair lacked its previous lustre and her eyes were devoid of make-up.

  In contrast, Evie loved the rise and fall of the ship and experienced no nausea. On dry land she was liable to trip over the slightest obstacle but at sea she coped well with the need to brace herself and find her balance.

  When the ship reached Port Said, Evie felt the thrill of the Orient in the chaos of bumboats surrounding the ship. The gully-gul
ly men and souvenir sellers clamoured to make deals, selling everything from trinkets and fruit, to slippers and camel-leather bags. In between the traders, young boys dived into the waters to retrieve coins flung to them by passengers.

  The ship bunkered here – taking on board coal to fuel the next leg of the voyage. Even this operation seemed exotic, as Evie watched small, wiry, Tamil coolies scamper up and down, carrying heavy baskets of coal on their heads.

  Port Said was an opportunity to go ashore to shop at Simon Artz – the emporium where East met West. Passengers disembarked to restock their tropical clothing, including the pith helmets that were de rigeur throughout the British Empire. It meant Veronica put in another brief appearance – like many habitueés she had stored some of her lightweight clothes there, and intended to replace them in storage with the furs and heavier clothing she had needed for the British winter and spring.

  By the time they entered the Suez Canal, Evie was wishing the voyage could go on forever, partly because of her growing trepidation about how Douglas would receive her in Penang. She was terrified he would regret his hasty offer of marriage – perhaps even withdraw it and send her back to England with her tail between her legs. The prospect of becoming step-mother to a little girl was also daunting. Having no siblings and no friends or relatives with young children, Evie had little or no knowledge of what it took to bring up a child – and her own experience with a cold and distant mother was a poor preparation.

  Traversing the Suez Canal gave her another insight into the increasing foreignness of the world beyond Gibraltar. It was peculiar to be sitting on the deck, under a sunshade, as the ship sailed through the middle of the desert. Egyptian traders with camels and donkeys, men in small boats, villages with flat-roofed concrete dwellings like children’s building blocks, minarets, palm trees, and everywhere the pale yellow sand of the desert.

  Since Port Said, Arthur Leighton had been occupied for most of the day with a heavy burden of paperwork, and by night he often dined in their cabin with his wife. Evie walked the deck with him in the late afternoon and now and again joined him for a pre-dinner cocktail. She took her own dinner in the wood-panelled dining room, where she was seated with an elderly couple travelling to India to visit their son and daughter-in-law, and a missionary and his wife, headed for Burma. Occasionally, if Veronica was sleeping, they were joined by Arthur, who proved to be an excellent dinner companion, helping the conversation flow – presumably a skill essential to his profession.

  While they strolled together on the promenade deck, Arthur told her something about his life and asked about hers. There was no sign of the judgemental attitude his wife had demonstrated – Arthur took a friendly interest in Evie and gave no indication that he found her life mundane or worthy of pity. She was unaccustomed to spending time with members of the opposite sex – Mrs Shipley-Thomas had rarely received guests and when she did they were other women. But Evie felt comfortable and relaxed in Arthur Leighton’s company and they enjoyed easy and amicable conversations.

  One afternoon, while leaning against the rails at the stern of the ship, watching the ship’s wake, she found herself telling Arthur about what had happened to her father. ‘I had no idea that Daddy had done anything wrong. He worked for a bank and they claimed he was diverting client funds into his own account.’

  ‘You believe he was wrongly accused?’

  ‘I did at first. It was too painful to think him capable of such wrongdoing. But the evidence was incontrovertible.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Evie. That must have been tough on you.’ His eyes were full of concern.

  ‘It was awful coming to terms with the fact that my father was a thief. Even though he probably didn’t see it that way himself. I expect he thought making a few false entries on a ledger was a less heinous crime than committing a burglary.’ She shrugged ruefully. ‘A gentleman’s crime. His death was the final proof for me that he was guilty.’ She looked out to sea. ‘He left a note confirming his wrongdoing. Said he’d been overcome by greed. But I think it was more about fear that he was going to lose my mother.’

  Arthur looked at her with a quizzical expression.

  ‘Mummy was romantically involved with an American man, Walter Winchgate. He’s stinking rich. Something to do with oil. When Daddy found out she was having an affair, he must have thought he couldn’t win her back unless he could offer her the same kind of life that Winchgate could.’ She shook her head. ‘My mother is a materialistic woman. Very self-centred. Money is everything to her. Family is nothing.’ She gave Arthur a rueful smile. ‘When Daddy died in disgrace and there was no money left, she married Winchgate.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘Mummy never had much time for me. We’re very different. A clash of personalities. Since she went to America we’ve barely been in touch. I write occasionally; she sends cards for my birthday and Christmas. ’

  Arthur said nothing, but kept his eyes on Evie’s face.

  ‘In the letter he left for us, Daddy said he’d only wanted to do the best for her. He apologised for bringing shame on the family name and on Mummy and me.’ She sighed. ‘But I’d rather have lived with the shame than have him die. I miss him terribly.’

  ‘How very sad. He took his own life?’

  ‘Blew out his brains with a pistol he’d kept from the war.’

  ‘Good God. That’s dreadful. You didn’t…’

  ‘No. I didn’t walk in and find his body or anything ghastly like that. He would never have put us through that. When he discovered the police had been called, he did it in his office at the bank.’

  Arthur placed his hand for a brief moment on her arm and squeezed it gently. ‘When did all this happen, Evie?’

  ‘Nine years ago. Mummy went off to join Walter Winchgate a few months later, once the funeral was over and it was clear there was no money in the estate.’

  Arthur looked aghast. ‘She just abandoned you? You must have been so young.’

  ‘Eighteen. She did ask if I wanted to go with her to America, but it was a half-hearted suggestion and she seemed relieved when I said I didn’t. I saw an advertisement for a position as a lady’s companion in Hampshire, applied and got the job.’

  ‘It must have been lonely.’ His eyes were full of concern.

  Evie had told him more than she’d intended. Embarrassed, she turned her head away. More than anything, she hated to be pitied. Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away and said, smiling, ‘Not at all. It was good to have a solid reliable job. And Mrs Shipley-Thomas wasn’t such a bad old stick.’

  ‘But friends? Family?’

  Evie shrugged. ‘I was kept busy. I do a lot of reading and walking. I was happy enough. There’s some lovely countryside in Hampshire.’ She glanced at him and could see he wasn’t convinced. ‘Enough about me. What about you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not a lot to tell. Veronica and I were married ten years ago. I was working in Africa at the time. We moved to the Straits Settlements soon after. First in Selangor, and for the last seven years in Penang.’

  ‘You met in Africa?’

  ‘Yes. Nairobi in Kenya. Veronica grew up there.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s time I went. I promised to bring her a cup of mint tea to calm her stomach.’

  ‘She’s still feeling queasy?’

  ‘Veronica hates to be at the mercy of anything outside her control.’ He stopped abruptly and nudged his spectacles up his nose, giving Evie the impression he too had said more than he intended.

  A couple of days later, Evie was walking back to her cabin after a game of bridge. She wasn’t keen on card playing but Mrs Shipley-Thomas had sometimes coerced her into joining a rubber if she was short of a player, and here on the ship it was a way to kill time.

  As she was about to pass the Leightons’ cabin, she realised the door was open and, hearing voices, she slowed down. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop but once she’d heard a few words, she halted and pressed herself against the wall, unable to m
ove forward or retreat.

  ‘Honestly, Arthur, you know as well as I do that Dougie is going to bitterly regret sending that drunken letter. It may have seemed hilariously funny at the time but it’s well and truly backfired. The woman’s obviously desperate to get married and was never going to get another offer. He must be reeling from the shock that she accepted.’ She gave a little tinkling laugh. ‘The girl’s so awkward. She can’t move without sending things flying, or tripping over her own feet. Really, darling, you have to agree, Dougie’s made a colossal mistake.’

  Without waiting to hear Arthur’s reply, Evie ran back down the corridor, shaking with anger, tears burning her eyes.

  From that point onwards, she avoided the Leightons. On such a large ship it wasn’t difficult, provided she remained alert. By the time they were passing through the Red Sea, Veronica had emerged from her self-imposed purdah, seemingly fully recovered, and was often to be seen sipping cocktails in the bar – usually surrounded by men – or reclining gracefully in swimwear in a deck chair to show her long lithe figure to best advantage, but never venturing into the pool.

  As for Arthur, Evie knew he usually worked in the ship’s library or the Smoking Room, so took care to avoid those areas. Instead of strolling on the promenade deck where she was bound to bump into him, she took to climbing up and down the companionways to get her daily exercise. The rest of the time she sat in a secluded corner on one of the quiet back decks, or hid out in the Ladies Only salon, where Arthur couldn’t enter and Veronica never would. At dinner, instead of joining her table, Evie took her meals in her cabin.

  A heavy misery had swamped her, weighing her down and making her wish she’d never set out on this foolhardy mission. She watched the dawn break as they reached the end of the Red Sea, the ship close to the coast where the bright orange rising sun burned behind the dark outline of rocks. The flaming brilliance faded to pale pinks and purples, beneath what promised later to be a blue cloudless sky. The huge ball of the sun rose up above the horizon, a blazing orb of fire emerging from behind hills. Minutes later, the colour had drained from the sky and the ship had moved past the coastline, into the empty churning waters of the Gulf of Aden, under a burning, now white, sun. Evie sighed. Such beauty. Sights she had never dreamt she would witness. Yet instead of exulting in the experience, all she felt was an empty numbness.