In the Mouth of the Tiger

by Lynette Silver

  But there was something in Tanya’s eyes – a child-like trust and a belief that I would help her – that made it impossible for me to do anything else but promise to help her.

  ‘Shall I try and contact Eugene and explain why you acted as you did?’ I asked. ‘I think I will have to be perfectly frank about your problem, and tell him everything. Then if he really loves you – and I think he does – I think he’ll want to give things another chance.’

  Tanya – a very different Tanya to the arrogant, self-possessed Iceberg Tanya of my childhood – reached across the café table and squeezed my hand. ‘If you could do that for me Nona, I will be in debt to you for the rest of my life.’

  I turned to immediate, practical matters. ‘Where are you going to stay?’ I asked. I realised that she couldn’t simply come home to Parry Drive – the language in her note to Mother had effectively burned her boats behind her.

  ‘I have a few hundred dollars saved up. But I haven’t booked in anywhere. Perhaps I should try the Empire?’

  We settled on the Empire, a genteel private hotel only a few doors down Java Street. Rather shabby but comfortable, it had a reputation as the roostingplace for single woman – either leftovers from the Fishing Fleet or wives who had at last summoned up the courage to leave bullying or alcoholic husbands. I saw Tanya safely ensconced in a tiny room overlooking the utilitarian back courtyard, then caught a rickshaw back to work. As we raced through the streets – now hot and steamy under a blazing afternoon sun – I pondered on how on earth I was going to contact Eugene, and what I would say when I did.

  Both questions were answered surprisingly quickly. The extraordinary circumstances of Madam Tanya’s departure from Salon Tanya may have created a management crisis for us but it also boosted our trade. Half the matrons of KL found it necessary to advance their hair appointments, just to get the latest instalment of the unfolding drama. The next morning I was washing a lady’s hair – my mind a million miles away as it usually was – when she peered up at me with a small, malicious smile. ‘Is it true poor Mr Aubrey is back in KL, Nona?’ she asked. ‘And quite without Tanya? My syce told me that Mr Aubrey’s syce drove him down from Penang last night, and that he’s staying at the Railway Hotel on his own. I rather think the marriage might be over before it has even begun.’

  Half of Salon Tanya hung on my reply.

  ‘I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about, Lady Tregowan,’ I said blandly. ‘But I have heard that Mr Aubrey’s syce is given to telling the most outrageous fibs, and that whoever believes him needs medication.’ Mother gave me a steely look for my rudeness, but I just shook my head obstinately. I was furious at Lady Tregowan’s comment and did not care who knew it. It seemed so mean and tawdry that people could actually get pleasure out of other people’s pain. I finished washing the woman’s hair as quickly as I could and stalked off to wash my hands. I was still trembling, and decided I needed a walk to settle myself down.

  It was a measure of my new relationship with Mother that she did not attempt to stop me, or even to comment on what had just occurred.

  Almost unconsciously, I found myself walking towards the imposing, mock-Moorish façade of the Railway Hotel, only about half a mile away. The hotel was part of the KL Railway Station complex, and legendary in up-country Malaya. Raffles in Singapore and the Crag in Penang were its only rivals in the whole of the Peninsula. Sultans stayed there, and famous English writers soaking up atmosphere. It seemed a highly appropriate place for a broken-hearted husband to hole up and lick his wounds.

  Before I had time to think what I was going to say I was being shown into the small reception room of Eugene’s suite. A Chinese boy appeared and I asked if I could see Mr Aubrey.

  ‘Tuan not well, Mem,’ the boy said politely. ‘But he say thank you for calling on him.’

  ‘Please tell Tuan that I have a message for him from his wife,’ I said firmly. I was not going to leave until I had at least seen the man face to face.

  The boy returned a moment later. ‘Tuan will be short time,’ he said. ‘Please sit down.’

  Eugene appeared about ten minutes later. He had obviously just shaved and showered, as his face was smooth and pink and his hair, slicked back fashionably, was still wet. He had also taken care with his wardrobe, wearing a white shirt with a vaguely military tie, grey flannel slacks and a dark blue reefer jacket emblazoned with the lion crest of the Singapore Cricket Club.

  This has to be promising, I told myself. Nobody goes to these lengths to meet a mere messenger unless the subject matter under discussion is very close to their heart.

  But Eugene’s opening comment was anything but promising. ‘I think my wife’s behaviour has been absolutely unforgivable, Nona,’ he said. ‘It hurt me deeply that she could think that I would harm her. My intentions towards her were . . . purely affectionate. I don’t think I will ever forget the way she screamed at me, as if I was intending to do her some dreadful harm.’

  ‘Tanya’s behaviour was inexcusable, Eugene,’ I responded. ‘She understands that all too well. I have come here on her behalf to apologise, and to see if it is at all possible for her to make amends in some way. And also to explain, if I may, why she acted as she did.’

  Eugene sighed. ‘Thank you for coming, Nona. To be perfectly frank, I just don’t know what I should do. I think I would be within my rights if I washed my hands of her.’ He frowned, massaging his forehead with a tired, dispirited gesture, then looked up. ‘But why don’t we go downstairs and have a drink? I could certainly do with one, and this couldn’t be easy for you.’

  It was quiet and cool in the hotel lounge, with fans turning silently in the high ceiling and white-coated boys standing unobtrusively in the corners of the room. ‘You said you might be able to tell me why Tanya acted as she did,’ Eugene prompted.

  I mentally squared my shoulders. I was going to have to be blunt. ‘Tanya experienced things in China when she was only a child. Awful things. She has not told me anything specific but clearly she was badly abused. The experience has scarred her deeply. She loves you, Eugene, and would love to respond to you as a woman should. But she simply cannot. Not at the moment. Her instinct takes over and makes her react in the way she did.’

  Eugene eyes had been on mine as I spoke, and when I finished he sat back in his chair. ‘Dr Cole, my physician, told me that something like that might have happened. I had to see him last night because I was in something of a state myself.’

  ‘Did Dr Cole make any suggestions about what might be done for Tanya?’ I asked.

  Eugene shook his head. ‘To be quite frank with you, he said these conditions are often incurable. He urged me to break off the relationship, on the basis that whatever we do to try and cure her might simply make things worse. It might compound Tanya’s problems by giving her a guilt complex as well.’

  ‘Then I think Dr Cole is rotten doctor,’ I said hotly. ‘Tanya wants to find a cure for her problem, not just learn to live with it. She wants to become a proper wife and a mother.’

  Eugene smiled at my passion. ‘I think Dr Cole is probably correct. In the clinical sense. But there is another element of the equation, you know. I happen to love the lady. If what you say is true, that Tanya loves me in return, then I think perhaps it would be wrong not to try.’ He leaned forward in his chair, his black Armenian eyes searching mine. ‘But how do I know that what you say is true, Nona? Tanya did not only spurn my advance in our cabin, she fled the ship. She abandoned me and I still don’t know where she is. She did not act as if she has the least little bit of affection for me.’

  ‘I saw her yesterday, standing in the rain outside the railway station, crying because she thinks she has lost you,’ I said, perhaps exaggerating just a little. ‘She is desperate, Eugene. She feels ashamed. She feels very much alone. She did try and contact you, but you had left the China when she rang the ship. She came back to KL because she could not believe that you would ever forgive her for the hurt she has caused
you. I told her not to give up hope so easily because you are a far more sterling character than that. So she asked me to talk to you. Please forgive her, Eugene. Please take her back.’

  Tears had started in Eugene’s eyes as I had been speaking, and when I finished he took out a handkerchief and honked loudly. ‘What sort of a chap do you take me for?’ he said, his voice curiously distorted. ‘Of course I will forgive her.’ He stood up abruptly and dragged me to my feet. ‘Tell me where I can meet her, Nona. I feel I should go to her as soon as possible.’

  I told Denis the whole story at dinner that night. We were dining at the Colosseum, and he listened thoughtfully all the way through the soup and fish, and then reached out and took my hand. ‘You have done something rather special,’ he said. ‘I can imagine a lot of people dithering about, not wanting to get involved, but you marched in and did what you thought was right. Stepping in where angels fear to tread. And it looks as if it might work?’

  ‘Eugene and Tanya are going to give it a jolly good try,’ I said. ‘He’s not going to touch her for a year. Just live with her platonically until she can exorcise the demons herself. He even said he’d be prepared to wait all his life.’ I felt tears rising in my eyes as I recalled the scene in the dingy little lounge at the Empire. Eugene had been magnificent, holding his arms around Tanya without actually touching her, like someone guarding a precious object. I knew that they sometimes called Eugene ‘a little dago’ at the Club, but at that moment he was a more perfect English gentleman than his detractors ever could be.

  I had a little more wine that night than was good for me, and insisted on Denis taking me back to Ampang Road before going home. As we lay in his bed I cupped his face in both my hands and stared into his eyes. ‘Would you do what Eugene is doing for me?’ I asked. ‘Marry me, even if we never had sex again?’

  Denis pretended to consider the point. ‘Not a chance,’ he said finally. ‘You are far too attractive for any man to promise you that.’

  I felt vaguely disappointed, and he sensed it. ‘A marriage certificate is merely a bit of paper,’ he said gently. ‘It’s worth everything – or nothing at all – depending on the feelings of those concerned. I’m not the sort that puts a lot of store on bits of paper, as you may have gathered. And I’ve seen too many fine relationships spoilt by a woman’s need to drag her man to the altar. There’s a rattling good short story by Somerset Maugham you should read . . .’

  It must have been the wine, or reaction to a trying and emotional day, but what Denis was saying suddenly seemed utter nonsense. Special pleading by a man determined not to be ‘dragged to the altar’. I climbed out of bed, grabbed my clothes, and headed for the bathroom. I snapped on the light, locked the door, and dressed myself, trembling all the while in a cold fury.

  Denis tapped on the door once, then left me to it. When I came out he was also dressed, and was leaning casually against the outer door of his room, the car keys in his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry I upset you, Nona,’ he said. ‘I can be damned insensitive at times. Will you let me drive you home, or do you want me to dig out poor old Ismail? He’s had an awfully long day.’

  I walked past him, down the stairs and out to the Alvis parked under the porch. ‘I would prefer it if you didn’t touch me,’ I said frostily as he climbed in beside me.

  It was our first row, and it was over before we were halfway to Parry Drive. Denis put his arm around me and I snuggled wordlessly against him. It seemed such a silly sort of argument, but I think it probably cleared the air for me. Tanya’s marriage had had an impact on me that I had not admitted even to myself. If she could get married – with a proverbial snap of the fingers, just like that! – why couldn’t Denis and I? I realised that what I was feeling was old-fashioned jealousy.

  But knowing why I was feeling as I was didn’t solve the underlying problem. I might say, with a careless wave of my hand, that marriage was an unnecessary and bourgeois institution as far as Denis and I were concerned. But that didn’t alter the fact that at the bottom of my heart I wanted to be Denis’s wife. I thought it over in bed that night, frowning up at the pale loom of the mosquito net above me. It seemed to me I could take one of two courses. I could lay down marriage as a condition of our continuing relationship, or we could go on as we were, trusting that the strength of our love would resolve the matter in the end in a way that would make us both happy. I far preferred the second option. It seemed to me the nobler course, and truer to the person that I wanted to become.

  I had seen earlier that night just how easily the green dragon could snare me, and I wondered if I had the strength to keep true to my ideal. ‘Well, you will just have to try,’ I told myself firmly, lifting up my chin. But that night I dreamed I was in a church, dressed in white, and I woke with tears in my eyes.

  It was about a week later that I received a long, chatty letter from Molly Tan. She knew of my relationship with Denis, and said lots of kind things about him. ‘He is a real champion of our cause, the Kuomintang, and a bit of a hero for many young Chinese,’ she wrote, which surprised me greatly because Denis had never said a word about the Kuomintang to me. ‘My kinsman, Mr Tan Kah Kee, is organising a banquet in Denis’s honour next week, and I am coming down from Penang to take part. No doubt you will be at the dinner and that will give us a chance for a long chat . . .’

  I flew over to Ampang Road immediately after work, Molly’s letter in hand. I thought of Molly as my closest woman friend, and I was looking forward to renewing our friendship. Also, to be perfectly frank, the thought of being Denis’s partner at a banquet given by Tan Kah Kee, Malaya’s richest man, had set my head into a gentle spin.

  ‘What is all this about you being feted by the Kuomintang?’ I blurted out as I ran into Denis’s arms. ‘Molly Tan has written to me about you being the guest of honour.’ Denis didn’t react so I waved Molly’s letter in his face. ‘I assume I’m coming with you?’

  Denis’ reaction, when it finally came, was almost distant. ‘Oh, the dinner. Did you really want to bother?’

  It was a bit like being splashed in the face with cold water. ‘Of course I want to bother,’ I said, quickly adjusting my tone to his. ‘But only if you invite me. Molly will be there and she is one of my closest friends.’

  Denis saw my disappointment and sighed. ‘Of course I’ll invite you,’ he said. ‘You will make a very boring evening bearable. But it really won’t be much fun, Nona, I assure you. These Chinese banquets are awfully formal and they go on for hours.’

  I was a little hurt by this attitude, and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You wouldn’t have invited me if Molly hadn’t told me about it, would you?’ I asked. ‘Don’t put me off by saying it will be boring. Tell me the real reason you weren’t going to invite me.’

  Denis gave a slow, wry smile. ‘Frankly, I hadn’t intended that you come along,’ he said. ‘For several reasons. One is that it really will be boring. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Chinese feast but there will be fifteen or twenty courses, and a lot of long-winded speeches. But more importantly, I didn’t really want you to become involved with the Kuomintang.’

  I gave my head a puzzled shake. ‘I don’t know anything about the Kuomintang, except that they support the Nationalists in China and are the sworn enemies of the Communists. My mother rather likes them for that. Why don’t you want me involved with them?’

  We sat down in the cane chairs on Denis’s porch, and he offered me a cigarette. ‘That’s a good question and it deserves a straight answer,’ he said. ‘You know the Kuomintang were illegal in Malaya until a few years ago? Well, they were rehabilitated precisely because they are anti-Communist. In fact, the government has given them a lot of support in one way and another. The thought was that a strong Kuomintang movement would provide a bulwark against Communism in Malaya. But since the war in China, local Chinese sentiment has switched from the Kuomintang to the Communists with a vengeance. Nor for ideological reasons, but simply because the Communists ar
e opposing the Japanese more vigorously than the Nationalists ever did. So now we want to cut the painter with the Kuomintang, and bring the Communists on our side. Unfortunately we can’t side with them both because they’re sworn enemies.’

  I frowned. ‘Isn’t that rather callous? Dicing the Kuomintang after they helped keep Communism under control in Malaya for so long?’

  Denis shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it’s dog eat dog in the Intelligence world, Nona,’ he said. ‘We have to back the winner at all costs. In Malaya, it looks like the Communists are about to displace the Kuomintang as the top dog in the Chinese community.’

  I thought about that and shivered a little. Surely the British weren’t intending to go into partnership with the Communists? It would be like going into partnership with a rattlesnake. ‘Why do you think the Kuomintang want to give you this dinner?’ I asked. ‘Are they trying to win back support?’

  Denis grimaced. ‘That’s why there will be some unholy flattery and no doubt an award or two. My ears are burning already.’

  Tan Kah Kee’s banquet wasn’t boring at all. On the contrary, it was more glamorous and exciting than I could possibly have imagined. It was held on the roof of one of the Tan godowns on the outskirts of KL, the usually drab and utilitarian area being transformed for the night into a scene straight out of a Chinese fairytale. A moat a few inches deep surrounded an artificial island, turfed with lawn and covered with artificial cherry-blossom trees and feathery stands of bamboo. Chinese lanterns and brightly coloured paper birds hung in the trees, and a waterfall tinkled out of sight in the darkness.

  ‘This is sublime,’ I whispered to Denis as we were led across a tiny willow-pattern bridge and onto the island. Our host was waiting for us, a stocky man dressed in a rich Chinese robe.

  Tan Kah Kee was one of a new breed of Chinese businessmen. Until recently, the commercial world in Malaya had been dominated by the Englisheducated Peranakan Chinese, Straits-born and loyal to Britain. Molly’s family was an example: her brothers called England ‘home’ and spoke English by preference. The Peranakans were automatic selections for the Legislative and Executive Councils, and were regularly rewarded for their loyalty with Imperial honours.