by Clare Flynn
On the opposite wall was a decorative Chinese lacquered cabinet containing a collection of fine china that looked hand-painted, and an array of ornaments and curios carved in jade, ebony and ivory.
Moving over to the desk, on top of which was a small stack of notepaper and envelopes, she imagined Douglas sitting here penning his proposal to her – then remembered it had been typed.
Like the drawing room, the study gave onto the garden. Evie looked forward to sitting in this exquisite room in the rainy season, curled up on the chaise longue, devouring a book.
Suppressing the feeling that she shouldn’t be wandering around the house like this, she went upstairs. Didn’t she have a right to explore? This was her home – at least when in George Town. There was of course also the rubber plantation, where she imagined they would spend most of their time after they were married. She wondered if Douglas would take her there straight after the wedding.
Her own bedroom was one of three on one side of the landing – she found another near identical guest room at the far end, looking out onto the street. In between was a smaller, sparsely furnished box room with a single bed, probably intended originally to house the servant of a guest.
She turned her attention to the doors on the opposite side of the landing. The first opened into a room with a single bed and shelves which contained a collection of china dolls and neatly arrayed toys. Jasmine’s room. Despite the prettiness of the soft furnishings, it had a sad, neglected air about it as though it was rarely used. Evie got the distinct feeling that while it had been designed to appeal to a little girl, Jasmine herself had made little or no impression on it – perhaps as she was rarely here. The dolls on the shelves looked unloved and barely touched. A rocking horse in front of the window was in the pristine condition it must have been in when it was delivered – perhaps a Christmas or birthday gift. Everything was too orderly – a child’s room from an illustrated magazine, rather than one inhabited by a real child. She straightened a rag doll that had been sitting on the only chair and had flopped over onto its side, then left the room, closing the door behind her. She had found no clue as to what kind of girl Jasmine was, or what her interests were. Hoping that before long this bedroom would be occupied, she imagined herself sitting here reading a bedtime story to the little girl who one day might come to think of her as her mother.
The room next door was a bathroom, the wall tiles decorated with motifs of shells, sailing boats and starfish.
Hesitating a moment outside the last door, Evie told herself not to be an idiot, and opened it. The master bedroom was larger than the other rooms, and had a dual aspect. She paused for a moment on the threshold, taking in its simple beauty. A white shuttered French window gave onto a balcony overlooking the garden, furnished with a table and two rattan chairs. A perfect place for taking breakfast or drinking tea.
She moved over to the bed. It was vast, draped with mosquito netting and covered with an embroidered ivory silk bedspread. The stitching was hand-done: an intricate display of leaves and flowers with a peacock as centrepiece. Caressing the coverlet with her fingers, she smoothed the soft silk under the flat of her palm and felt the raised thread of the embroidery work.
She struggled to imagine herself lying here in this bed with Douglas Barrington beside her. She had no idea what to expect when that finally happened. Of course she knew the facts of life, but the sex act was something other people did. Evie didn’t want to think it was something she would soon have to participate in herself. The prospect was alarming. The thought of Douglas and herself, naked under these sheets, sent a shiver of longing through her, tempered by fear.
How utterly her life had changed. Just a few months ago she had barely heard of Malaya and the idea of living here and being married with a ready-made family would have seemed bizarre. She told herself that once the wedding had happened and they were finally man and wife, everything would be fine. If only Douglas shared that hope. His behaviour so far made it seem a forlorn one.
She tried to work out which side of the bed he slept on, but the lacquered wood night stands that stood guard were devoid of any evidence, each bearing only a table lamp. The room contained no sign of Douglas’s presence. It felt like a hotel room, readied for the next guest.
Noticing a pair of doors, she pushed one open and found herself in a dressing room. This room told a different story. The mirrored table was piled with a collection of feminine pots and potions, in coloured glass jars. A Mason Pearson hairbrush lay on its back, several long blonde hairs caught woven into the bristles. Evie picked up a china perfume atomiser, puffed a light spray onto her neck. It was fresh, sweet – perhaps a note of gardenia. After the impersonality of the rest of the house, it was a surprise to find these unexpected remnants of Felicity’s life here. It was as if the former Mrs Barrington had merely stepped out of the room for a while.
Evie drifted towards a line of lacquered doors and opened one. Douglas appeared to have done nothing to remove Felicity’s effects from the house. Inside the wardrobe a rich rainbow of silks, taffeta and satins hung from tightly packed rails. Evie reached out and touched one of the dresses. The fabric was like gossamer between her fingers. Examining the discreet label hand-sewn inside, she saw it was a Fortuny. Unable to resist, she slipped it off the hanger and held it up to herself, moving in front of the cheval mirror in the bedroom. Of course, the gown was far too small for her – Felicity must have been four or five inches shorter and more slender than Evie, but the colour – the palest jade – was perfect for Evie. Holding it with one hand against her shoulder and the other to her waist, she imagined wearing a dress like this while dancing under a starry sky with her husband-to-be. She swayed gently from side to side, eyes closed, the delicate silk under her hands, the strains of a waltz in her head.
‘Why you in here? This private. Your room on other side.’
Evie spun round, almost jumping out of her skin with fright. A stony-faced Aunty Mimi stood, fists on hips in the doorway. But to Evie’s absolute horror, standing just behind her was Veronica Leighton.
Blood flooded into Evie’s face and her skin burned with embarrassment. Her shaming was total. She’d not felt as humiliated since she was four and had wet her knickers at nursery school.
There was a moment’s silence, as Evie longed to wind the clock back, then Aunty Mimi rushed into the room, snatched the gown from her hands and took it back into the dressing room.
As Evie stammered, searching for something to say, Veronica Leighton, leaned against the doorpost and drawled, ‘You look like you need a stiff gin, darling. Why don’t I get Benny to mix us some?’ At the top of the stairs she called back to Evie. ‘And remind me to introduce you to that chap I mentioned so he can run you up a few frocks of your own.’ Pausing before she went down, she added pointedly, ‘In the right size, of course.’
Aunty Mimi emerged from the closet, gave Evie an angry look and headed for the door.
‘Aunty Mimi, I’m sorry. Please don’t mention this to Mr Barrington.’
Her humiliation was complete. Apologising to the servants. She’d be a laughing stock if Veronica heard that.
Wishing herself safely back in Hampshire, Evie struggled to rescue the situation. ‘I was just… you see…Mr Barrington… I…we…’ Should she tell Aunty Mimi she was soon to be married to Douglas? Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t her place to do it and it might only make matters worse. Better to retire wounded and try to recover later once she was established as the new mistress of the house. Meanwhile, she must swallow her pride and pray that the housekeeper would say nothing to Douglas.
Aunty Mimi scowled and said, ’I no tell Mister. I keep secret. You not come in here again. Is private. Not your room.’ She wagged her finger in the air as if scolding a small child.
Relief flooded through Evie and she fled downstairs to the next ordeal – facing Veronica.
Mrs Leighton was in the drawing room, standing in front of the open French window, looking out onto the g
arden. She turned round and handed Evie a glass of gin and tonic, ice chinking.
‘Thank you, but isn’t it awfully early in the day to be drinking?’
‘You’re as bad as Arthur.’ Her laugh was false. ‘Anyway you look as if you need one. That’s always a good time to drink. Gin’s positively medicinal, darling.’
Evie took a tentative sip and felt inclined to agree. She sank onto the sofa. The alcohol went straight to her head, immediately easing her embarrassment. Veronica, with a graceful bending of the knees, lowered herself into a seat opposite, her long slim legs to one side. She sniffed the air. ‘Naughty girl! You’re wearing Felicity’s scent as well. Better make sure you shower it off before Dougie gets back. You don’t want to upset him.’ She shook her head solemnly and Evie felt herself blushing again.
Deciding a change of subject was needed urgently, Evie said, ‘I didn’t think you and Arthur would be in Penang so soon.’
‘The darling boy did so much preparatory work on the voyage out that he was in his boss’s good books and was able to get away earlier than expected.’
‘Was it some kind of project?’
Veronica snorted. ‘Good grief. How would I know? Or care?’ She took another sip of gin. ‘I’ve no idea what Arthur does. Government business is all terribly tedious. Anyway, we travelled up on the train yesterday and this morning ran into Dougie on the quayside at Butterworth, heading the other way. He said he was off to fetch the brat home, so I thought I’d scoot over here and find out how you’re getting on and how you feel about it.’
‘Don’t you like Jasmine? Is she really a brat?’
‘All children are brats. Even pretty little things like Jasmine. If it were me I’d leave her with the nuns. Or even better, send her back to England to boarding school. Best thing for her. And for you.’ She pushed a cigarette into a long ivory holder, lit it, drew and exhaled a cloud of smoke that spiralled up towards the dormant ceiling fan. Having taken an initial puff, Veronica let her cigarette burn away, using the holder instead to make extravagant gestures as if she were conducting an orchestra.
‘I’m hoping that Jasmine and I will get along and that she will stay here with us. It must have been very unsettling for the poor child to lose her mother when she was so young.’
‘So you and Dougie haven’t got cold feet and called the whole thing off?’ Veronica leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. She reminded Evie of a beautiful bird of prey, waiting for the moment to strike.
‘Of course we haven’t.’ Evie knew she sounded snappy, but Veronica was clearly baiting her.
‘Well, well. That’s a surprise. I had a bet with Arthur that once you’d spent twenty-four hours here you’d be on the next ship back to England.’
‘You and Arthur had a bet?’
Veronica laughed her tinkling laugh. ‘Well I made the bet. He didn’t actually comment. You know Artie – he’s like the Sphinx. But do tell, Evie. What was it like when you and Dougie met again?’ She gave her a knowing look. ‘Did celestial choirs sing?’
Evie felt herself starting to perspire again, a damp clammy feeling in her armpits and under her breasts. Veronica’s slender body appeared to be immune to the heat. It was anger and embarrassment that was helping to raise Evie’s body temperature. Veronica seemed to know – or sense – that all was less than perfect between her and Douglas. Perhaps he had even confessed to her that he’d mistaken Evie for another guest at his wedding.
She told herself not to be cowed by the woman. ‘Everything went very well.’ She smoothed a crease from her skirt.
‘Come on, darling. You have to tell me more than that. Was it romantic? …passionate?’ She looked at Evie pointedly. ‘Businesslike?…Or maybe even… awkward?’
Evie’s skin prickled and she shifted in her seat. Veronica was watching her like a hawk. ‘I’d prefer to keep what happens between Douglas and me private.’
Veronica laughed. ‘Of course. I can see you’re being coy. Never mind. I’ll save your blushes. Dougie will spill the beans when I next see him – I’m very good at squirrelling all the dirt out of him.’ She fixed her gaze on Evie again. ‘But don’t worry, darling, I won’t say a word about your little dressing up session today. Your secret’s safe with me.’
Before Evie could reply, the woman drained the contents of her glass, and jumped lightly to her feet. ‘Must rush. So many calls to make. But I had to make you my first, dear girl. Don’t get up!’ With that, she swept out of the room and the house.
Evie sat fuming, so incensed she couldn’t finish her ‘medicinal’ gin. Leaving it on a side table she went into the garden and paced up and down in the shade of the tall casuarina trees. When the heat of the day and her own anger got too much for her, she went inside and ran upstairs to her bedroom to wash away all traces of Felicity’s perfume. Afterwards, she switched on the ceiling fan and threw herself down on the bed.
She had no idea how long she’d been asleep when Aunty Mimi came in to wake her.
‘Tuan and Jasmee waiting you. Tuan say you come downstairs. Dinner nearly ready.’
Heart thumping at the next ordeal awaiting her, Evie followed the Malayan woman down the stairs and into the drawing room.
Jasmine Barrington was a tiny figure, dwarfed by the chair she was sitting in so that her legs dangled in front of her, unable to reach the floor. Her blonde hair was pulled back into plaits, each tied with a brown silk ribbon. She was wearing what was evidently school uniform: a yellow gingham dress with white ankle socks and bar shoes. Her face was pale with a cluster of freckles around her nose. Wide blue eyes dipped to the floor, after a furtive glance at Evie, giving the impression the little girl didn’t want to be here.
Evie bent down in front of the child, her hand extended for a formal handshake. ‘You must be Miss Jasmine Barrington. I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is–’
Before she could introduce herself, Douglas interrupted. ‘This is Miss Fraser, Jasmine. She’s going to be staying here with us.’ No mention of the upcoming wedding. Addressing Evie he added, ‘I’ll see you both later. I’m dining at The Club tonight.’ Without waiting for a response he went out of the room, leaving Evie stunned.
She looked at the little girl. ‘It looks like it’s just you and me this evening, Jasmine. Shall we go and see if Aunty Mimi has the supper ready?’
4
Evie and Douglas Barrington were married the following week. The ceremony, such as it was, was conducted in the old Anglican church, St George’s. The only guests at the service were the Leightons, who acted as witnesses, and Benny, who drove the car.
Jasmine was not included in the wedding party. She was left behind in the care of Aunty Mimi – Douglas had brushed off Evie’s request that she be present at the service, saying that he knew what was best for his daughter. Evie wasn’t even sure he had told the child what was happening. Her own overtures towards Jasmine had proved fruitless – all attempts to get her to talk were met with silence and the sucking of a thumb.
Glad that she had splashed out on one good frock before leaving London, Evie wore a navy and white linen dress, teaming the outfit with her old but serviceable pearls, a hand-me-down from her grandmother.
The ceremony was a rushed affair, and Evie felt deflated rather than exhilarated as they were declared man and wife in front of the empty church. The groom did not kiss the bride.
To her dismay, as soon as the ceremony was concluded, Mrs Leighton announced that she had arranged a surprise party for the couple. Douglas appeared furious.
‘You didn’t expect to get away without a little reception, did you, dear boy?’ Veronica said. ‘That’s not fair to darling Evie. Anyway, it’s all arranged. Champagne on ice. Just a tiny little celebration.’
She faced Evie. ‘We can’t wait to give you a real welcome and everyone’s dying to meet you and make their congratulations.’ Leaning forward to air-kiss her, she enveloped Evie in a cloud of Shalimar.
Douglas said nothing. He closed his eyes, lik
e a man who’d just been told he had a terminal illness. In the car on the way to the Penang Club his expression remained angry and he maintained his silence.
The Penang Club was a large tiled-roof Victorian building, surrounded by trees with shorter palm trees in front of its porticoed entrance. To Evie’s astonishment and Douglas’s evident fury, as soon as they entered the building a gathering of around forty people were waiting for them. ‘Surprise!’ The guests were all assembled in the central entrance hall which was dominated by portraits of Queen Victoria and George V and a collection of intimidating oil paintings of past club presidents.
A beaming Veronica clapped her hands together. ‘Everyone’s been dying to meet you, Evie. The old devil can’t keep you hidden for ever. They all want to get to see the blushing bride.’ She put a hand on Douglas’s sleeve. ‘Surely you didn’t expect it to be just us four? We can’t possibly let wedding bells go unmarked.’
Arthur looked embarrassed. This was clearly entirely Veronica’s doing.
Evie discovered later that, special occasions aside, women were barred from the Club other than to dine in the Grill Room, so Veronica had clearly gone to much effort to get around this sanction. When they entered, champagne was chilling in buckets and waiters moved around between the guests offering canapés. The sound of increasingly well-oiled voices was deafening and Evie felt awkward and uncomfortable. After a while, most of the men drifted away to the men’s bar, leaving the women, gathered in small groups, talking intently and noisily. Evie realised she had no idea where Douglas was. They had been separated almost as soon as they entered the throng. After being introduced to her, the other women appeared to lose all interest in her and soon began to talk shop with each other.
