Leila

by Robin Jenkins

  He remembered old Cheng’s prophecy that she would be Prime Minister one day. It wasn’t impossible. It might well amuse His Highness to have a woman Prime Minister.

  ‘I would have to abandon my principles.’

  Well, Leila, you wouldn’t be the first or the last politician to do that for the sake of high office.

  Again he felt that surge of love for her, that desire to help and comfort her, but again he sat where he was, smiling obtusely.

  He was as guilty as the miserable woman in the prison cell and his crime was more heinous than hers. She had killed a rival whom perhaps she had reason to hate. He was martyring someone he loved and who loved him. The murderess would be tried and hanged. He would be made Director of Education.

  He realised then what was happening to him. He was making Leila represent everything that was mean and perverse in himself. It wasn’t her he wanted to make suffer, it was himself. When she was in distress so was he.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m causing you so much trouble, Andrew.’

  She meant it, she was not being ironical.

  He was the one who should be apologising. In so many ways she was a better person than he, but in one particularly: she cared for other people, she had compassion, she spent her life trying to help others.

  He could not remember his ever having made a sacrifice of any consequence for someone else’s sake. It would have meant his having to become too involved. Now and then he sent cheques to charities but he could easily afford it.

  Why had she, so shrewd a judge of character, married him? Why had he, afraid of being found out, married her?

  Because they loved each other.

  Love. He remembered how he had laughed at the students because of their traditional distrust of love as a reason for marrying. They had foreseen that Charlotte and Mr Collins, who had married for sensible practical reasons, would be happier than Elizabeth and Darcy who would marry for love. Love, he now knew, could exalt and give great happiness, but it could also debase and cause profound misery.

  It was a toss-up, heads he would overcome these evil impulses in himself and learn to cherish Leila as she deserved and as he profoundly wished, tails he would give way to those impulses and make her suffer for his own weaknesses.

  In his imagination he watched the coin spin up and land at his feet.

  I must be mad, he thought. I’m gambling with our futures.

  Her face, in shadow, was dark, but she was smiling at him with love, and, it seemed, understanding. There was no coarseness. She had never looked more beautiful and more desirable.

  She came over and crouched beside him, taking his hand. ‘I love you, Andrew.’

  God knew why, but it was as if she did understand all his difficulties – call them that – and if he let her would help him overcome them.

  Outside in the jungle there was a scream. Some animal had been seized by a predator. He thought of the woman in the prison cell.

  He put his hand on Leila’s head.

  ‘If you want,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll give it up, the elections, my work as a lawyer. I’ll stay at home and look after you as your wife. That will be my happiness. We shall have children.’

  So the coin had come down heads.

  ‘I’m the one who should be sorry,’ he said. ‘You’ll give up nothing. You’ll win the elections and you’ll do everything you can for that poor woman, and I’ll help you all I can.’

  Of course she would not win the elections and she would not be able to save the woman from being hanged, but he would help her and when she failed comfort her; and they would have children.

  Five

  NEXT MORNING Sandilands was in his office when he had a telephone call from the Residency. It was Sir Hugo himself, at his most suave. ‘Good morning, Andrew.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  There was a sly, diplomatic chuckle. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Yes, I’m alone.’

  Though not for long. Through the window he could see Mr Srinavasan approaching, with a flower in his hand, on his way to the office, probably with another complaint. According to him the standards of the College had grievously fallen. The students neglected their studies and forgot their respect for their teachers, because of these confounded elections. ‘Confounded’ was a favourite word of Mr Srinavasan’s. He had once heard a royal personage say it on a railway platform in India. He had another reason for the decline: the proper person for the post of Principal, himself, had been passed over.

  ‘I would be obliged, Andrew,’ Sir Hugo was saying, ‘if you could come to the Residency for a little chat; well, to be honest, for a rather important discussion.’

  ‘Am I to bring my wife?’

  There was an upper-class peculiarly English chuckle: it meant you’re not to bring your troublesome bitch of a wife. ‘Well, no. It’s a men-only affair.’

  ‘May I ask who else will be there?’

  Another chuckle, meaning no, you impertinent Scottish bastard, you may not ask. ‘Shall we see you at seven, this evening? It is rather urgent really.’

  Then, as Sandilands put down the telephone, in bounced Mr Srinavasan, with the flower at his nose, as if its scent would overpower the stink of injustice and favouritism.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Sandilands.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Srinavasan.’

  ‘May I sit?’

  ‘You may.’

  Mr Srinavasan sat down. He tittered. ‘Are you aware that we have trespassers on the campus? I call them that. Perhaps I should use a more sinister word.’

  ‘Do you mean monkeys?’

  Mr Srinavasan laughed. ‘More mischievous creatures than those, I fear.’

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  Mr Srinavasan became coy. ‘Just half an hour ago I came by chance upon a group of students in a place among the trees where they could not be easily observed.’

  ‘But you observed them all right?’

  ‘It was their voices that directed me to them, though they were not speaking loudly. On the contrary they were speaking so quietly as to cause me to become suspicious. I succeeded in observing them without myself being observed.’

  As a good spy should. ‘Who were they? Did you recognise them?’

  Mr Srinavasan looked cross. ‘They were Chinese.’ And therefore, to him, indistinguishable from one another.

  ‘Were they speaking in Chinese?’

  ‘Yes. What an abominable obscure language it is.’

  ‘So you couldn’t tell what they were talking about?’

  ‘No, but from their manner which was most secretive I am convinced it was something nefarious.’

  ‘But you said trespassers, Mr Srinavasan. If they were students surely they were not trespassers?’

  ‘I was referring to two of them, Chia and Lo, who were expelled for subversive activities.’

  Sandilands was surprised but took care not to show it. ‘They were reinstated, Mr Srinavasan. But how could you tell they were Chia and Lo? Do not all Chinese look alike to you?’

  ‘Lo is one I could never mistake. His eyes, Mr Sandilands. Those of a fanatic. And Chia is much taller than the rest of his race. Why are they here in Savu Town? Were they not sent into the interior, among the aborigines? Who gave them permission to leave their posts? It is most intriguing, is it not?’

  Mr Srinavasan had a belief, frequently expressed, that one day there would be a bloody coup in Savu, instigated by Communists.

  ‘Should the police not be informed, Mr Sandilands?’

  Sandilands would have liked to have known why Chia and Lo had come to Savu Town. Had Leila known they were coming? But he was certainly not going to inform the police.

  ‘Why should former students not visit their college?’ he asked.

  ‘But this is a most critical time, is it not? Beneath the surface dreadful things may be brewing that we know not of.’

  He would dearly have liked to accuse Leila. More vehemently even than the whites of the Golf Club he thought he
r a troublemaker. He had once been heard to say that nature did not favour those of mixed blood.

  It was time to get rid of him.

  ‘I believe you have a class waiting for you, Mr Srinavasan.’

  Srinavasan got up slowly. ‘Thank you for reminding me, Mr Sandilands. I seem to remember that when you were a humble teacher like myself you were not always on time for your classes. Hypocrisy, sir, pervades the world.’

  He then sauntered out, leaving the flower like a menace on the desk.

  Six

  WHEN LEILA came home in the evening, exhausted and quiet, he told her first of his summons to the Residency.

  ‘That’s what it amounted to, a summons.’

  They were having a drink before dinner. Leila took a small sherry. To that extent he had already corrupted her.

  ‘Did he say what it was about?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Important, he said. Urgent. Men only. I didn’t actually say I would go.’

  ‘But you must, Andrew.’

  ‘Why must I?’

  ‘You are a British subject.’

  ‘So are you now, as my wife.’

  She smiled. She would always regard herself as a Savuan.

  ‘If I go,’ he said, ‘I’ll warn him before he says anything that you and I have no secrets from each other.’

  ‘Haven’t we, Andrew?’ How intelligent and how honest were her brown eyes; and also how humorous.

  There had been that monstrous secret of his, that the more he loved and needed her the more he had wanted to hurt her. But that was safely past; no need therefore for her ever to know.

  ‘Another thing,’ he said, and told her about Mr Srinavasan’s having seen Albert Lo and Richard Chia in the College grounds talking to students. ‘Did you know they were coming to Savu Town?’

  She shook her head. ‘They spoke about it but I advised them to stay where they were.’

  ‘Well, they don’t seem to have taken your advice. Very foolish of them.’

  ‘Yes, but they’re desperately keen to help us win the elections. It will be a terrible disappointment for them if we lose.’

  Of the thirty-two seats being contested twenty of them were in Savu Town itself.

  ‘It must be hard for you to understand, Andrew, how these young men feel. You’ve lived in a democracy all your life. They’ve never known anything but dictatorship. They feel ashamed.’

  Sandilands said nothing. He was thinking that the most terrible disappointment that could come to Chia and Lo and other young hopefuls like them wouldn’t be the loss of the elections, but what would follow if the elections were won. They would soon find that the Utopia they dreamed of was as far away as ever. Leila herself would be frustrated by timid, cautious, self-serving, corruptible colleagues.

  She suddenly changed the subject. ‘I went to see Mrs Daya today, Andrew. She has a daughter the same age as Christina.’

  ‘Was the girl with her?’

  ‘Yes. They were both weeping. I’m afraid so was I. A good lawyer does not cry with her clients.’

  ‘I think I might have wept too.’

  That scene in the prison cell was reality, the elections with their promise of democracy was illusion.

  ‘Will you come with me next time, Andrew?’

  There would be too much self-revelation for him in that prison cell, but he said that he would go with her.

  She gazed at him with unambiguous love – what he himself was so far incapable of – and said, softly, ‘Have you got over it, Andrew?’

  He was startled. Over what? Had she guessed? Had she seen it in his shifty eyes? Better not to ask, better to leave it unspoken, not only now but for the rest of their lives.

  Seven

  THE RESIDENCY behind its high walls was guarded by British soldiers, seconded from God knew where and for what purpose. There might be monkeys skulking in the trees and bushes but never assassins.

  The soldier who challenged Sandilands at the gate was a Scot, from Glasgow by the sound of him.

  ‘Mr Sandilands, sir?’ he asked, with a grin. ‘Could I see some identity, sir?’

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘New orders, sir. But in you go. I was told you were Scottish.’

  Well, it was an accent known and respected in countries even more remote than Savu.

  There were already two cars in the compound, a Mercedes belonging to Thomas Harvey, the Resident’s deputy (rumoured to be a member of the Secret Service) and Alec Maitland’s Ford. So it was security that was to be discussed. Were students again under suspicion? Was it known that Chia and Lo were back in Savu Town?

  In the big marble-floored hall the Queen was gazing down glumly at Sandilands and he was looking back at her dourly when Sir Hugo himself came in, dressed in white as if for cricket, except for the red silk cravat.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Sandilands,’ he said.

  On the telephone it had been Andrew. This of course was the Resident’s own midden-heap – a thing of marble and mahogany – where his crowing was loudest. He would have liked Sandilands to bow and salute but did not expect it. He was expecting, though, to be addressed as ‘sir’. Sandilands was damned if he would. He felt Leila had been slighted. What a pity the People’s Party had no chance of winning. How pleasant it would be to see this polite, pompous official being sent home to his polite, pompous masters.

  The meeting was held in the study, where the walls were lined with leather-bound books so imposing that they were probably never disturbed, or read. Harvey and Maitland were seated in armchairs, drinking whisky. The former looked at ease, the latter anxious. Both were wearing jackets and ties. Sandilands was glad he had come in an open-necked short-sleeved shirt. Leila had not approved.

  ‘Please sit down,’ said Sir Hugo. ‘What would you like to drink? Whisky?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  But why was Sir Hugo himself dispensing the drinks? There were at least six servants, all Savuans. Was Sir Hugo afraid there might be a spy among them? If there was, Sandilands hoped he or she was more competent than Salim, whose guilty grins had given him away. Now a sergeant in the police he still grinned, but no longer guiltily, whenever he saw Sandilands in town. Indeed, he let Sandilands park where others were prohibited.

  ‘The Commissioner will put you in the picture,’ said Sir Hugo, ‘but I would like to make it clear that Dr Abad, leader of the People’s Party, is in our opinion, and in the opinion of His Highness too, well intentioned and sincere, if somewhat naïve, in his desire for some degree of democracy. As citizens of one of the oldest democracies in the world we can scarcely find fault with that.’

  ‘Does this apply to the doctor’s daughter?’ asked Sandilands.

  Disconcerted, Sir Hugo looked at Harvey, who nodded, with a sly smile.

  Alec Maitland was gazing up at the chandelier, glittering playground of chichaks.

  ‘When your wife was in Singapore some weeks ago,’ said Harvey, ‘she visited Dr Wong, though she must have known him to be a notorious Communist sympathiser.’

  Keep calm, Sandilands told himself. This is a bastard trained never to lose his temper so that he can tell lies with conviction. ‘She knew him to be a professor of philosophy,’ he said.

  ‘Dismissed and disgraced for the dissemination of pernicious doctrines.’

  ‘Dismissed for speaking out for democracy. I believe his students demonstrated against his dismissal. I take it you know that I went with my wife to see him?’

  ‘Yes, we know that, Mr Sandilands.’

  ‘I expect the secret police who followed us told you.’

  ‘We have our sources of information.’

  ‘Do these include secret police here in Savu itself? Were you informed that this was an old man, over eighty, a friend of Dr Abad’s, whom my wife had known since childhood? When she learned that he was dying should she have refused to go and see him?’

  ‘Let’s say it would have been more prudent.’

  ‘Let’s say it would have bee
n bloody callous and cowardly, and my wife is not callous or cowardly.’

  Sir Hugo now appealed to Maitland. ‘Commissioner, perhaps you had better explain to Sandilands.’

  Maitland brought his eyes down from the chandelier.

  ‘Andrew, Sir Hugo asked you here so that you could pass on a warning – no, wrong word, a piece of information, shall we say? – to Dr Abad, as leader of the People’s Party. We have reason to believe that there is a faction, small but desperate, in his party, which has no intention of accepting the people’s verdict in the elections. It sees an opportunity or excuse to provoke an uprising against the Sultan’s rule. Chinese, most of them. Young fanatics. Your former students Chia and Lo are among them. If you remember, they were expelled for subversive activities.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Sandilands, angrily. ‘They were expelled for reading books like Animal Farm; a charge so bloody stupid that they were immediately reinstated. I know Chia and Lo. I’ve taught them. They’re no friends of Red China. (Though they did think that that country had as much right to have nuclear bombs as Britain and America.) Their trouble is they have too idealistic a view of democracy. They’re Christians, for Christ’s sake. The idea of their taking part in an armed uprising is idiotic.’

  ‘There have been break-ins at police posts,’ said Maitland. ‘Guns and ammunition were stolen.’

  ‘It wasn’t in the newspapers.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If it ever happened then it certainly wasn’t Chia and Lo and their friends who were responsible.’

  ‘You seem very sure of that, Andrew.’

  ‘I am very sure. My wife knows and trusts these young men. You’re not accusing her of being in the plot, are you?’

  ‘Your wife is a very ambitious woman,’ said Harvey.

  ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

  Harvey shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Anybody who tried to provoke an uprising here would be bloody mad,’ said Sandilands. ‘The Savuans are not that kind of people. They hate violence. They like a quiet life. And they’re not stupid. They’d know they’d have against them the police, who are armed, the palace guards, the Gurkhas, and British troops who could be flown in in a day or two. They’d be massacred.’