A young girl in love can be the cruellest creature on earth.
Denis was not at the club that Saturday. At first, I kept thinking he must be just around the next corner, and dragged Tim in and out of all the public rooms in my desperate, secret search. In fact, so frantic was my wandering that at one stage Tim actually felt my brow, presumably thinking I must be feverish. But gradually realisation crept in and I gave up the game, to sit despondently beside the lily pond, my prettiest hat tilted forward over my eyes to hide my disappointment.
‘Any idea where your cricketing hero might be?’ I asked eventually. ‘That fellow Denis who thinks so much of himself?’
‘I did ask Denis to join us on our picnic,’ Tim said. ‘But the blighter was going out riding this afternoon. Someone gave him a young gelding to try out over the jumps.’
‘So he likes riding?’ I asked, my heart sinking like a stone. I was frightened of horses, with their mad, rolling eyes and their quick, unpredictable movements.
‘Does Denis like riding?’ Tim gurgled. ‘My dear girl, he’s absolutely besotted by horses. He’s got a string of nags down at the Riding Club. Spends half his time down there exercising them, or just talking to the beasts. Can’t stand the animals myself.’
So the afternoon was a complete and utter disaster. The fact that both Tim and I hated horses made it impossible to suggest we drive out to the Riding Club for tea. Tim would guess immediately that it was because I wanted to meet his friend. And it was suddenly important that nobody, least of all Tim, should know how vital it was to me to meet Denis.
So I sat by the lily pond in a brown study, tapping my foot impatiently, hardly able to keep up a conversation. Fortunately Tim put my distraction down to the after-effects of my illness, and charitably drove me home early. I tried to make up for my churlishness by giving him a big kiss outside our flat, but my heart wasn’t in it and I think he knew.
‘Go inside, little girl, and get some rest. Shall I see you tomorrow?’
‘I do feel a little light-headed,’ I lied. ‘Do you mind if not?’
Dear Tim. He looked at me, a little glint of hurt in his eyes, but smiling brightly. ‘You get some rest,’ he said. ‘And get thoroughly well. I think today might have been a bit of a trial for you, but we’ll make up for it next weekend.’
Mother and Tanya were out so I went out onto the verandah, set up the record player, and lay down on the chaise longue. ‘You made me love you . . .’ the Hollywood voice crooned silkily, and a comforting tear rolled down my cheek.
That night, the problem of how to meet Denis kept me awake, tossing and turning as plots and schemes chased themselves through my mind. Perhaps I could join the Riding Club and learn to ride. I’d buy a horse and talk to it as Denis talked to his horses. He’d see me at the Club, cool and elegant, nuzzling my horse affectionately and whispering into its ear. Then reality interposed: horses could smell fear and by Jove I knew I’d be frightened, flinching every time the animal’s slobbering mouth came anywhere near me. If Denis did catch sight of me I’d more likely be running panic-struck from one of the skittish brutes.
Golf, I wondered. Denis played at the Selangor Golf Club almost every Saturday morning. I could ‘take up the clubs’, as they said in KL’s sporting set. I was sure Tim would let me join his party. Nothing could be easier. The fact that I hardly knew which end of the club to pick up didn’t worry me in the least. Men hated women who could beat them at their own sport.
I began to plan what I’d wear. A long, loose skirt that swished as I walked . . .
Then it struck me like a sandbag on the back of the neck. Women were only allowed on the course on Sundays. I sighed into my tormented pillow. The very fates were against me.
Strangely, inconceivably, it was to be through Mother that I met Denis, and it was to be the very next day. We had been invited to tiffin at the Selangor Club by Mr Aubrey. I had gone along dispiritedly, wearing one of my dreariest outfits and with my hair a mess. Eugene, as Mr Aubrey had now become, had picked us up in his large Chevrolet and we were climbing out of the car outside the mock-Tudor jumble of the Selangor Club when Denis pulled up beside us in a dark blue Alvis. I caught a glimpse of his face looking towards us and turned away hurriedly, my heart thumping painfully and my knees suddenly weak.
‘I don’t feel very well,’ I said to Mother desperately. ‘I’m awfully sorry but I think I should go home.’
Mother looked at me closely then gave one of her no-nonsense smiles. ‘You are perfectly all right, Nona. It was just a bit hot in the car. Sit for a while under a fan and you will be fine.’
I could see Denis looking at Mother as if about to speak, so I grabbed her arm and turned her away. ‘I think the germs might have got to my brain,’ I said, now quite frantic. The last thing I wanted was to be introduced in my present frumpish state.
‘For heaven’s sake, girl!’ Mother protested, shaking me off. She caught sight of Denis. ‘Mr Elesmere-Elliott!’ she called.
Denis joined us. ‘Mrs Roberts,’ he said lifting his broad-brimmed planter’s hat politely. ‘It must be many moons since we last met.’
I was so flabbergasted by the knowledge that Mother knew Denis that all I could do was to stand there gawking. He seemed to sense my confusion and smiled at me reassuringly. ‘You must be Nona. I met you when you were just a little girl. If I may say so, you’ve grown into a beautiful young lady.’
I stared back but could say absolutely nothing. I must have looked like a rabbit caught in a headlight beam.
‘You have avoided us, Denis,’ Mother said a little sharply. Then she smiled. ‘But we forgive you, don’t we, Nona?’
For the life of me I cannot remember what happened after that, except that we ended up sitting together in the shade of the club verandah, sipping lime squashes while we waited for the luncheon gong.
‘A friend of ours, Tim Featherstone, was telling us all about your feats on the cricket oval last weekend,’ Mother gushed. ‘You “hit them for six”, did you not?’ Mother was at her worst, trying to appear knowledgeable about something she knew absolutely nothing about.
‘Not exactly,’ Denis said without a trace of mockery. ‘I had a bit of luck with my bowling, Julia. Young Tim tends to exaggerate at times.’
‘There was a write-up in the Malay Mail,’ Eugene put in, leaning forward earnestly. ‘It was a jolly good show, old chap.’ Eugene was quickly picking up the patois of the Club, but it didn’t sound right in his flat, slightly foreign accent. He was also overdressed, wearing a hot-looking felt blazer. Sunday tiffin called for planter’s rig – slacks, long-sleeved white shirt and a tie.
‘Anyway,’ Denis said, changing the subject and turning to me, ‘how nice to see you again, Nona. What are you doing in KL? The last time I heard you were in some frightfully strict convent school in Penang.’
I blushed. ‘I’m learning to be a hairdresser’, I said. ‘I . . .’
‘We have established a salon, in the Tamarind Building,’ Mother cut in. ‘Nona is learning the business from the ground up. Just for now, she is working on the floor for Madam Tanya, finding out all she can about the hairdressing side of things.’
Denis turned serious eyes on me. ‘What do you actually do?’ he asked.
‘Very soon she will be learning how to manage the business,’ Mother interrupted again.
‘I wash hair,’ I said simply. ‘Soon, when I have passed my cutter’s exam, Tanya might let me actually cut some hair.’ I couldn’t understand Mother’s efforts to cloud the issue about what I actually did at the Salon Tanya. She was often snobbish, but never when it came to business.
A slightly strained silence was broken by the boom of the tiffin gong, and Mother scrambled heavily to her feet. ‘Will you join us, Denis?’ she asked quickly. ‘I’m quite sure another seat can be arranged at our table.’
Denis rose courteously with her. ‘Actually, I’m having lunch with Mac Williamson. But thank you, Julia. Perhaps we might meet up after tiffin for
a drink or two? I would like to hear how things have been with you since Robbie’s death.’
‘We’d love to join you for a drink!’ Mother enthused, embracing us all in her acceptance. She had a high colour, and put her hand out to touch Denis’s sleeve as we parted in a gesture familiar to me. She was flirting with him!
As we walked into the long, cool dining room I felt a stab of anger. Great heavens, I was used to my mother trying to steer young men away from me and towards Tanya, but this was absolutely ridiculous – she was after Denis for herself.
The meal was tasteless, perhaps the worst curry I had experienced since I’d been in KL. When Mother had asked how it was I had answered truthfully: ‘It’s no more curried chicken than my foot. The cook must have forgotten the curry powder.’
Mother had stiffened and given me her ‘Don’t be an ungracious brat!’ look but I had not responded. The truth was that I was furious. When my mother turned on the charm nobody else stood a chance. My stocks were low enough as it was, in my dowdiest dress and my hair unwashed. And I was tongue-tied to boot. Denis must think me the plainest, dumbest girl he had ever met.
It was a damned shame. If only I could have started with a clean slate. And without Mother beside me, cramping my style, poised to hog the limelight.
‘How did you meet Denis anyway?’ I asked her suddenly.
‘Denis Elliott was one of Robbie’s friends,’ she said shortly. ‘Now, I think you should apologise to Eugene for criticising the food. We are his guests, after all. It was not very polite of you, Nona.’
I felt immediately contrite, and mumbled something to try and make amends for my faux pas. Eugene waved my apology away with a smile. ‘On the contrary, dear lady, you were quite right. The curry was far too mild.’
Just when I thought the atmosphere at the table was improving I noticed that Tanya was smouldering as much as I had been. Finally she dashed her spoon and fork to her plate and turned to Mother. ‘I can’t believe the way you spoke to Denis!’ she said bitterly. ‘As if Nona is to run Salon Tanya instead of me. Is that what is going to happen? Are you getting me to teach Nona all I know so that she can take over and you can chuck me out?’
Mother was genuinely shocked. ‘What nonsense, Tanya!’ she snapped. ‘What nonsense! I did not want Denis to think that Robbie’s step-daughter was washing hair. That is all! You are a silly girl to imagine such awful things of me!’
‘Then you must make it quite clear when we meet for drinks that I am to continue to run the salon,’ Tanya demanded. Then, changing tack completely: ‘Is he married, this Denis?’
Mother stared at Tanya, an inscrutable look on her face. ‘Do not think of him as a prospect, Tanya,’ she warned. ‘He is a tuan besar. He is very sophisticated, and much too old for you.’
Tanya’s face flamed. ‘So I am not good enough for him? I am just an ignorant street urchin, is that what you think? And he is too old for me? He is far too young for you, Julia!’
I caught Eugene’s eye and we both smiled. The humour of the situation had suddenly brought me to my senses. I saw the silly, childish emotions that had gripped me for what they were. Silly, and childish and unworthy.
I turned round, looking for Denis. He was at a table for two by the long windows, in deep conversation with Mac, whoever Mac was. I was suddenly looking forward to our drinks. What did it matter that my dress was drab and my hair unusually lank? If Denis were destined to love me, it would be for the person I was, not the dress I happened to be wearing or the state of my hair.
Mac Williamson, and Malcolm Bryant, a tall, good-looking member of the Malay Police Force, joined us on the verandah. Eugene ordered drinks for everybody, and I felt poised and grown-up as I leant back in my cane chair nursing my whisky and soda. Even Mother’s hissed command to ‘Drink only half, Nona’ left me untroubled.
‘And what have you been plotting, Denis?’ Mother asked with her brightest, most innocent smile. ‘You and Mac were talking so seriously!’
Mac glanced at Denis almost guiltily. ‘Oh, no plotting’ he said awkwardly. ‘Just talking about . . . things in general.’ His neck turned pink, as if he were embarrassed.
‘You’re a bad liar, Mac,’ Denis chuckled. He turned to Mother and tapped the side of his nose confidentially. ‘Not a word about this to anyone, Julia, but Mac and I were just discussing how beautiful your daughters have become.’
‘Tanya is too old to be my daughter,’ Mother snapped before she realised what she was saying. ‘What I mean to say,’ she scrambled on desperately, ‘is that Tanya is not my daughter. Though I love her as my daughter.’
Looking on from the depths of my chair, I could see how neatly Denis had turned the conversation, and I wondered why. What could he and Mac have been discussing that had made Mac actually blush? I was looking at Denis contemplatively when he caught my eye and winked – as if to say Yes, Nona, we two know what I just did, don’t we?
The way he quietly acknowledged me as an equal gave me the confidence to join in the conversation. No doubt the stengah helped. Soon we were all talking easily about everything under the sun, chuckling at some rusty old jokes that Mac raked up from somewhere, listening to stories from Eugene’s youth – stories which he set in England but which sounded much more likely to have occurred somewhere in the Middle East. The obligatory half hour demanded by politeness passed but we sat on, enjoying ourselves. An hour passed, then another. I had gone well over Mother’s half-glass limit but the whisky seemed to have no adverse effect on me whatsoever. I understood the nuances of every exchange, and appreciated the way Denis gently managed the conversation so that nobody felt left out and nobody was offended.
At about five o’clock I saw Mother giving Eugene a quiet signal that it was time to break things up, and decided I could delay my plan no longer. Turning my chair fractionally towards Denis I leaned towards him. ‘I’ve been thinking seriously of learning to ride,’ I said. ‘How do you think I should go about it? I understand you’re a bit of an expert with horses.’
I saw Mother staring at me in surprise but blandly ignored her.
Denis looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. ‘There is a chap who might be a suitable instructor. Ridden the odd nag here and there without falling off too often. Would you let me have a go at teaching you?’
‘Like a shot,’ I said, returning his look steadily. ‘But I have to warn you I might be a pretty hopeless student.’
‘Nona, you will do no such thing!’ Mother burst out. ‘You are too young and I would worry myself sick about you all the time!’
Denis turned to Mother with a disarming smile. ‘Of course you must come with us too, Julia,’ he interposed. ‘If I remember correctly you used to ride quite a bit yourself when you were over in Ipoh. And a very fine seat you have on a horse too, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
Mother blushed. ‘I haven’t ridden in five years’, she said. ‘And it would be very expensive to join the Riding Club. I think it might be too expensive for us – at least just yet.’
‘Come along as my guests the first few times,’ Denis offered, ‘then make up your minds. They have a few decent horses up there at the moment.’
‘Steady on!’ Malcolm Bryant cut in. He turned to me with a concerned frown. ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to learn to ride, Nona? Riding is a dangerous thing for a girl to take up if she’s had no background in the sport.’
‘How do you know what background Nona’s had?’ Denis snapped, then softened the sharpness of tone with a smile. ‘Be a good chap and stay out of things you don’t understand, Malcolm. Riding is a damned fine sport to take up at any age.’
‘I’ve given it a lot of thought,’ I said to Malcolm, then turned to Denis with what I hoped was a pretty good imitation of a carefree grin. ‘Can we start next weekend?’
‘Have you any idea what a fool you will make of yourself next Saturday?’ Mother asked the instant we were alone. ‘The only time I’ve ever seen you near a horse you cried yourself sick w
ith fright!’
‘I don’t remember anything like that, Mother,’ I said firmly. ‘But anyway, I’ve grown up since Ipoh.’ Actually, I could remember the incident with painful clarity. I’d tried to give an apple to a flat-eared brute at the Ipoh Equestrian Club, but it had snorted and bared its teeth and sent me running backwards in sheer terror. But the die was cast. Nothing on earth would stop me climbing aboard a horse next weekend, even if the experience killed me.
That night, alone with my wretched pillow, I faced the reality of what I had done. Fear was one emotion I wrestled with. But curiously, it wasn’t the risk of injury that worried me so much as the fear that I’d let Denis and myself down by doing something foolish. I resolved to go to the library after work the next day and get out some books on how to ride. Then at least I’d be able to use the right words and not make a complete ass of myself.
My next problem was that I’d promised Tim I’d spend the next weekend with him. It went against the grain to let him down, but I couldn’t see any alternative. Perhaps, I argued to myself, I could make up by being particularly nice the following weekend. Tim had asked me several times to go out to Sungei Slim Estate with him so that he could ‘show me off’. I’d resisted the thought of a long, wasted day but surely it was a sacrifice I could make.
But as I dozed off, all my concerns were utterly washed away by a profound feeling of happiness that quite swamped my senses. The insubstantial hero of my dreams had become a real person, as I had always known he would.
‘Face the animal’s tail and put your left foot into the left stirrup, like this.’ Denis guided my foot into the stirrup, then placed a hand behind my bottom. ‘I’ll boost you this time, but next time you’re on your own, so get an idea how much puff you’ve got to put into mounting. Go!’
With Denis’s help I swung myself up effortlessly into Lucky’s saddle, and sat there, grinning with pleasure. In a trice Denis was up on his own horse, his right hand holding Lucky’s bridle. We were in the little green mounting enclosure at the Selangor Riding Club, dappled by sunshine filtering through coconut fronds, the two Club syces looking up at me with bright, encouraging smiles.
In the Mouth of the Tiger Page 9
