“How well does An Mei know Hussein, I wonder?” He paused to think, wrinkling his nose and screwing up his forehead in the process. “Of course I may be biased,” he added, “after all I am a Singaporean. But you know, I got to know An Mei quite well in the short time we spent together, or at least I thought I did, and I feel sure her views will clash with Hussein’s. So how can she live with him daily and support him in the implementation of policies that, to me, discriminate between one ethnic group and another, policies that she probably disagrees with?”
“Well, we do not know if she agrees or disagrees. They were very like-minded in Oxford. It is your conjecture. But what do you have in mind?” She looked seriously at her son as she tried to fathom his true feelings beneath the words. She began to wonder whether he might have a soft spot for An Mei.
“Nothing much. But I would like to save her job. It would give her a fall back position. Do you think I should do it without letting her know? I might fail but I would just like to talk to her boss. I know him quite well. Get him, the bank, to propose to her that she takes leave without pay for a finite period.”
*****
Shalimar sat on her bed with her shoulders hunched; her head drooped forward in abject defeat. She heard the distant soft sound of footsteps approaching her room and she shuddered in the expectation of what must surely follow. Yet, she remained seated, still as a mouse, frozen in fear. She recognised the footsteps as they grew closer and louder. Each step seemed more menacing than the previous. Her hands darted up to clutch her blouse. The door opened. She saw his silhouette, dark, faceless against the bright light that shone from the corridor behind him. He closed the door softly behind him, an act so unlike him that it seemed to suggest some even greater threat of what would come. She decided there and then that she would agree with whatever he wanted. It was the only way out for her. She had examined every alternative route since she seen her old nursemaid in Kuala Lumpur. And every one of them she had found wanting.
“Ahmad,” she said rising to her feet.
Chapter 26
In the stately drawing room of her house in Kemun, Faridah sat laughing and talking with the friends who had gathered around her. They were women from her various clubs and associations. High society women, all clad in brightly coloured silks, congregated to discuss the latest fashions, their charities and to gossip. The sound of their chatter drifted across the room to where Shalimar sat alone embroidering. Her needle pushed and pulled with speed and deftness through the cotton, stretched out tight over the circular tambour frame. Blue, pink and yellow threads mingled and flowed to form a forest of flowers. Her head bent low, she was completely focused on her work.
From across the room, she heard her name mentioned. Then, a cackle of laughter followed. She could sense the women looking at her, but still she worked. Her fingers flew nimbly on.
“Shalimar,” called her mother-in-law, “come over here. I have been telling my friends of your good news. Come, come sit with us.”
Faridah turned to her friends. Her eyes gleamed.
“You are the first to know,” she said. “I have not, rather Shalimar has not told Hussein yet. So please keep this to yourself. He is away in Kuala Lumpur. Since his appointment as Deputy Minister in the PM’s office, he has to be there very often.”
She paused, her nostrils distended in indignation. “And that minx, that Chinese witch! She does not let him alone so she is with him. I am afraid my gentle Shalimar lets her get away with blue murder.”
“Sayang! Pity! Tengku Shalimar must learn to fight her corner. Surely she has a better claim than Noraidin now,” remarked one of the ladies.
“I would have thought that Tengku Shalimar has a better claim than this commoner, even without the pregnancy,” added another.
Shalimar face turned a bright pink. She heard a shuffle and looked up. The maid, Fawziah was looking at her puzzled. Shalimar turned away and dropped the tambour frame into the basket.
“Would you please excuse me, I need to go to my room to rest. I feel tired,” she explained to Faridah.
“Go! Go and rest,” Faridah replied. “Fawziah, you attend to Tengku Shalimar.”
“She is such a good, obedient girl. You are lucky.”
Faridah smiled. “Nasib baik! My good luck!” she said.
*****
They were in the car. A stack of papers in blue and red binders sat between them. Hussein reached over and took An Mei’s hand in his before resting their hands lightly on the papers.
“What is in them?” she asked, eyeing the files.
“Draft outlines of the different measures mapped out under the New Economic Policy.”
“Can I have a peek?”
“Better not. It is an early draft and we are still debating some of the issues.”
“I overheard some of the debate during the cocktail party. Are you supporting this New Economic Policy? There is considerable unease in the country. In fact, Jeremy says that...”
“Stop quoting Jeremy to me. It is none of his business. He is not even a Malaysian. Anyway, you should not involve yourself with this.”
She withdrew her hand and sat up, her back stiff like a ramrod. Her face was a bright red. But she could not keep silent for long.
“Hussein!” she exclaimed. “What are you saying? Isn’t that what you want? My involvement? That was what you have always said to me, even when we were in Oxford together, and, when we came back here, you have said over and over again, that we should work as a team.”
“Ah! But things have changed and I was naïve. It is not what I want. It is what the party wants. I have to toe the party line. I cannot go against it and I cannot involve you in any major way. After all, you are not the elected officer. Come, surely we have better things to discuss than politics.”
She was shocked. She turned away to look out of the car window. The low humming of the engine was all that could be heard, but the air was filled with a tension that had not been there before.
“I know I am not the one who is holding office,” An Mei said, breaking the silence. “It has never been about my holding office in competition with you. But in the past you have always talked about your views and told me what you were thinking. We discussed things. We bounced ideas off each other. Your silence cuts me out. I hear and learn what you are thinking only through your conversations with others. And they are not changes and ideas that I recognise; ideas that I believe could have originated from you. What is happening, Hussein?”
He shrugged his shoulders, his face, impassive.
“Mother has called,” he said instead, “she asked that we return to Kemun as soon as my work in KL is over. A break from this incessant chatter of policies will help us to redress our thoughts.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Cheer up. Don’t fight the tide of history.”
But her cheek was unyielding. She remained unresponsive to his overtures.
*****
An Mei stood alone in her bedroom in Kemun looking out of the window to the lush green beyond the driveway. Clipped hedges, almost ten foot high, marked the boundary of the grounds. Tall red-barked bamboos grew all along the hedge, their vibrant textured stems and leafy fronds softening the stark outline of the hedge. She could see staff hurrying to and from the car parked directly below as they unloaded the luggage. She had come directly to her rooms, leaving Hussein to go to his parents. It was not what she had wanted to do, but they had received instructions that Hussein’s parents wished to see him alone. She sighed. “When will they accept me,” she asked herself. “Perhaps never,” she answered the question herself.
She felt the silence of the house and her own complete isolation from its residents. But it was not this that troubled her. It was the conversation in the car that worried her. Hussein had always used her as a sounding board for his ideas and views, but over these past few months, she had heard less and less from him. Conversation between them had become frivolous, even as the opposition parties bec
ame more and more vocal. She learned about political developments from the local papers not from him. She blushed a bright red as she corrected herself. They were not local papers; they were newspapers left in Nelly’s office by Jeremy. She wondered if Hussein distrusted her. “No! That can never be,” she said aloud. “I have never given him any cause not to confide in me.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, she straightened up and rang the bell. “Shalimar,” she whispered to herself. “Perhaps she knows. I shall get Fawziah here to find out where Shalimar is.”
She paced up and down the room waiting for the maid. Her eye caught the open page of a newspaper on the reading desk. It was the Berita Kemun, Kemun Times. She looked uncomprehendingly at the headlines in bold red: AN HEIR FOR DEPUTY MINISTER HUSSEIN AND TENGKU SHALIMAR!
*****
Hussein stood in front of Shalimar, arms akimbo, feet wide apart and his lips quivering with anger. He glared at her until she dropped her gaze.
“What is this? What is this that I hear from my parents? How can you be expecting my child when nothing has happened between us.”
Shalimar shrank away from his reproach, but her face remained determined. “I am expecting,” she said. “It is... it is your child.”
He flopped down onto the armchair nearest him. “How can that be? I have never been near you.”
“Remember the night you were found in my bed. That was when our child was conceived,” she said. She kept her eyes on the floor, unable to meet his direct gaze.
“You vouched that nothing happened. You helped me, connived with me to allow me to be with An Mei. Why would you do that if you were bearing my child?”
“Because I did not know,” she answered. She looked up. That part of the answer was true. She did not know that she was bearing a child then, a child that she had to protect with everything she had. A child that she would lose on top of losing her lover, if she had not agreed to go along with her brother’s suggestion. How could she admit to having her lover Ali’s child when she was married to Hussein, a Minister? It would not only be the end for Ali but also for her unborn baby. She had to maintain, swear even in the name of Allah, that it was Hussein’s baby. She knew the pain it would cause An Mei, but her mind was made up. This was for the sake of her child; her hand went involuntarily to her abdomen. “It is our baby,” she insisted once again. “I did what I did because you loved An Mei and I did not want to destroy that.”
Hussein held his head in his hands, clutching handfuls of hair in desperation. He felt the entire world was slipping from his grasp. Then he looked at Shalimar. He did not know what to believe. He saw the tears in her eyes and, against his will, he felt compassion. Perhaps, he thought, she was telling the truth. In truth, he had no recollection of what happened that night. Perhaps, she was willing to share him with An Mei because she was placed in this wretched position. Only by becoming his wife could she protect her reputation and give a name to the child that he had fathered.
“Your father and mother are very happy. Please tell me that you are also happy. I will make it up with An Mei. I will explain that it was an outcome of... of your intoxication; that you did not know what you were doing when you were brought to my bed. That you thought I was her.”
*****
In the fern-filled, glass-covered courtyard, Faridah and Rahim were holding court. Tea had been laid out. The long table that the servants had earlier carried with great difficulty into the courtyard was resplendently covered with a white damask tablecloth; its intricate weave of silk, linen and cotton gleamed richly. The table groaned with food; plates piled high with cakes sat next to savoury offerings. Glutinous rice cakes filled with coconut shavings cooked in dark molasses competed with tureens of curries served with turmeric rice. Their aromas mingled: sweet, spicy with hints of heat to tickle the tired palette.
“High tea! High tea!” Faridah exclaimed to her guests. “To celebrate our good news. In a few minutes, my son and his wife will be here to join us, but do eat. Tak payah tunggu. Don’t wait. We are very informal.” Her excitement was evident in her pink cheeks; her eyes glittered as she searched the room to engage her guests in her joy.
“By wife, she must mean Tengku Shalimar. She can’t stand the other one, the Chinese one he brought back from England,” whispered one of the guests to another.
“Hush!” replied the other, “she is here.”
The room went quiet. All eyes turned to stare at An Mei.
An Mei stood awkwardly for a second and then turned hurriedly. She had not realised that there was a celebration, a party. She had come into the courtyard in search of Hussein. Now, blindly, she turned unaware that Hussein was behind her. He had also entered the courtyard with Shalimar trailing after him in search of An Mei. He held her for a moment, and then released his arm.
“Come, come, just in time for tea and our celebration. Sit, sit,” commanded Faridah beckoning her son and Shalimar to come into the room. Her eyes, as usual, swept passed An Mei without acknowledging her presence.
“No, mother. Later,” said Hussein. He ushered both An Mei and Shalimar out of the room, gripping their elbows firmly.
“Please excuse my son,” said Faridah nonplussed. She quickly recovered to hint darkly that something was amiss, her eyebrows lifted in an arch, like a question mark, and nodded in the direction of An Mei. “Jealous,” she remarked.
*****
“Let go of my elbow,” An Mei hissed, seething with anger.
“Don’t you dare touch me!”
“We’ll explain. Come into this room,” he pleaded, pushing the two ladies into a room. It was the study. He locked the door behind him and leaned heavily on the closed door.
“I am sorry that you had to learn about this in such an unpleasant way. I did not know myself. I had no idea,” he said.
“No idea?” An Mei asked, her eyes incredulous. “No idea?” she repeated. “That you have fathered a child?”
“I don’t,” he replied. “Shalimar now says that I am the father, but I have no recollection, none at all, as to what happened the night I was found in her bed.” He looked to Shalimar, his eyes pleading for help.
Shalimar felt ashamed but could not retreat from her course of action. She could not bear to look at the two people before her, the only ones to befriend her in her time of need.
“He thought I was you,” she said. “He was feverish, calling your name; he did not know what he was doing. He seemed so intoxicated, so drugged. I... I... could not fend him off.” Shalimar’s eyes remained focused on the floor. That part about Hussein’s state of intoxication was true, but everything else was a lie.
“Please An Mei,” begged Hussein. “I cannot vouch if what she says is true or false, but what do you want me to do? I love you. Even if it did happen, it was not a conscious act. It does not change anything between us.”
“Please,” pleaded Shalimar, “the baby is all that I have in this world. I will not intrude on your love.”
An Mei looked from one to the other. She felt torn between compassion for Shalimar and jealousy; anger against Hussein combined with a desperate wish to believe in him. In all her tormented moments in Oxford when her thoughts reeled through all the pitfalls of a union with Hussein, she had not anticipated anything even remotely like this. To have to share him with someone else within months of their marriage, to be so hated, so isolated from the family that she had married into, and worse still to suffer Hussein’s recent reluctance to share his thoughts with her. What chance had she, now that Shalimar was to have Hussein’s baby, to redeem herself with her mother-in-law?
She stood rooted to the floor, unable to answer. Slowly, her legs gave way. She sank down to her knees and held her hands to her face and wept. Once she had begun, she could not stop. She felt utterly lost; what could she do? What future was there for her?
Chapter 27
Mei Yin rushed into the office at the back of the restaurant in Oxford. In her hand was the telegram that was deliver
ed to her when she was in the foyer overseeing the arrangements for the day. Flowers had been delivered fresh from the covered market that morning and she had helped to arrange little posies of pink and white for the tables. Her next job would have been to see the cook in the kitchen to go over the preparations for the lunchtime guests. She would normally tick these against the menu for the day and go on to her task of tasting: sauces, soups, and stock broths, even the size and crunchiness of the thinly sliced vegetables did not escape her attention. It was while she was joking with the assistant cook, about how her waistline had expanded with her kitchen duties that the post boy came with the telegram. She took one look at the thin slip of paper that was handed to her and all semblance of joviality was wiped from her face.
She manoeuvred behind the desk and sat down on the wooden chair. She looked at the clock on the wall; it was just 10.45 in the morning. She reached for the phone. She made a quick calculation of the time difference. Nelly should be still in the store, she thought, but her staff would have left. They should be able to talk.
*****
“She is absolutely devastated. Seong sam do mo tak gong, her heart is so wounded that she cannot speak. She just weeps,” said Nelly. Her voice over the phone sounded hoarse as though she herself had been crying. “My fault, entirely my fault. If I had not come back and given her an excuse to stay back in KL, then this might never have happened.”
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