In the Mouth of the Tiger

by Lynette Silver

  Denis smiled back at me. ‘Beats a two-up, two-down on the Brompton Road.’

  Unpacking up in our room, Denis told me a little about the other guests. I’d heard the name Drage before – I think Denis might have spoken about him in KL. He was, I learnt, the head of MI6 in China. Admiral Godfrey was the head of Naval Intelligence, which meant that he was also in MI6. Admiral Manisty, Denis said, was a bit of an old woman, one of the ‘housekeepers’ of the Intelligence world who had just toured Malaya and Australia, fine-tuning the various MI6 stations. Lieutenant Draper was a technologist – a radio expert who was to head a radio-intercept and decoding unit that was to be established in Singapore.

  ‘Quite a coven of spies,’ I commented. ‘Are you absolutely sure I should be here? I don’t want to cramp anyone’s style.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Denis said. ‘We’re all here on holiday. It’s just a chance for some of us who haven’t met to get to know each other.’

  Lunch was a delightfully informal meal held in a long, gallery-style dining room overlooking a sunny parterre garden. People kept arriving and being introduced, and Alan, whose family had owned vineyards in Portugal for generations, produced bottle after bottle of a particularly nice Portuguese rosé. The net effect was a lot of cheerful confusion and a lot of happy laughter.

  Admiral Manisty and Admiral Godfrey were both accompanied by assistants. Manisty had brought his flag lieutenant, a lean, dark-haired man named Drax-Darnley, while Godfrey had brought along Ian Fleming, ostensibly a journalist. Fleming was young and dashing, and he was of course later to achieve immortality as the author of the James Bond novels.

  Everyone seemed to have brought their wives except Fleming, who didn’t have one. I was also glad to see several children at the meal. As well as Mary’s daughter Ethel, there was Stewart’s daughter, a pretty child a year or two older than Tony, and four-year-old twins belonging to the Drax-Darnleys.

  Towards the end of the meal Alan clapped for silence. ‘Rules for the Millward Park Point-to-Point,’ he said, holding up a single sheet of paper. ‘Not many of them as you can see, and none of them endorsed by the Jockey Club. The course is twelve miles long. Points are marked by red flags about half a mile apart, and the finishing line will be on Roman’s Hill. We start in half an hour, and good luck to you all!’

  Those of us intending to take part changed into our riding kit and gathered in the cobbled stable yard. There was chafing and more laughter as the head groom allocated horses. ‘You fiend, Alan,’ I heard Ian Fleming call out in mock anger. ‘Do you call this thing a horse? I’ve seen a cockroach with more fire in its belly!’ But suddenly the mood changed: Drax-Darnley had been having trouble with his hunter and it backed into a couple of other horses, threatening a minor stampede. ‘Steady on,’ cried several voices, and I could hear crops smacking on horseflesh as a number of riders fought to bring their mounts under control.

  ‘The sooner we’re off the better,’ Stewart Menzies called sharply. He was beautifully mounted on a thoroughbred grey, and he swung imperiously towards the gate, waving others to follow him.

  I was about to swing into the saddle when Mary came up to me and laid her hand on my arm. ‘I’m a late scratching, I’m afraid,’ she said quickly. ‘Too much testosterone on display for my liking. I’m sorry – it leaves you the only woman in the field.’

  ‘I don’t mind in the least,’ I said, but Denis had overheard and brought his horse across. ‘I would prefer it if you didn’t join us either, darling,’ he said urgently. ‘I suspect there’ll be an awful lot of pace on, and you don’t know the country.’

  I looked up at him, pretending to be disappointed. But to be truthful I was a little relieved at the chance to back out. I hadn’t ridden for weeks and the horses were definitely over-excited by the bustle. ‘You go off and enjoy yourself,’ I said with a small, fake martyr’s smile.

  But I did feel a twinge of envy as I saw the crowd trooping off through the park to the start point, with men calling out to each other and the horses whinnying in anticipation. I would have liked to have watched at least, but Mary steered me purposefully back towards the brick-walled parterre garden where the womenfolk were assembled. ‘Good thing we’re not out there risking our necks,’ she said firmly. ‘And as for you in your condition – what on earth were we thinking?’

  The servants had arranged a circle of cane chairs, and while the children rolled croquet balls on the nearby lawn, the ladies chatted as they got to know each other. The girl sitting next to me was brilliantly pretty, with thick dark brown hair braided and bound around her head with blue ribbon. With her pink cheeks and dancing blue eyes she looked the very picture of English maidenhood.

  ‘I’m Violet Drax-Darnley,’ she said extending a cool, manicured hand.

  ‘Norma Elesmere-Elliott,’ I said. And then, lazily: ‘Do you come here often?’ I don’t know why I said that. It was the expression Freddie Burton had used to break the ice on the first night on the Cathay. It was a silly, inappropriate remark and I realised I’d said the wrong thing when Violet immediately bridled.

  ‘We’re invited here quite often,’ she said sharply. ‘It’s just that we’re up in London such a lot. Harry is on Admiral Manisty’s staff, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said, probably making things worse. ‘I was just making conversation.’

  Violet was not mollified. ‘We live in Manor Farm, just outside the park. But I haven’t seen you here before.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve been travelling,’ I said lightly.

  I think I may have said the wrong thing again because Violet sat up quickly. ‘We travel a lot too,’ she said forcefully. ‘Next winter we are going to Harry’s people’s place in Italy. Near Lake Como. They’re not Italian, of course. Quite English. But they have retired to Lake Como. Their place there is quite stunning.’

  ‘You’ve just come back from Malaya, haven’t you?’ It was Pamela Menzies, Stewart’s dark, intense second wife. The one Maxine had said would die for her husband.

  ‘Oh, we wouldn’t care to travel that far afield,’ Violet put in with what was almost a pout. ‘Much too hot and dirty. Italy is as far east as we care to go.’

  Tony was busy with an oversized croquet mallet under Mary’s laughing supervision so I lay back in my chair, somnolent in the warm spring sunshine. Violet sounded spoilt and defensive, and I decided I didn’t want to prolong the conversation. On the edge of my hearing I could just make out the sounds of the point-to-point: the occasional whinny of a horse, the muted cries of the riders, and sometimes the clear notes of a marshal’s horn.

  This is perfection, I thought to myself. I felt happy and at ease, accepted as one of a privileged group. Marguerite Blakeney amongst the wives of his lieutenants.

  ‘Are you Roedean too, Norma?’ Violet was saying. ‘We have just discovered that all the girls here are Roedean.’ I had not been following the conversation and had no idea what she was talking about.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘What did you just ask me?’

  ‘We are all Roedean,’ Violet repeated. ‘Are you?’

  ‘I daresay I am,’ I said blithely, not wishing to be the odd man out. I was lying back in my chair, my head on a cushion, my eyes closed against the sun.

  ‘You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?’ Violet’s tone was suddenly vicious and I opened my eyes in surprise. Her wide blue eyes were staring into mine, glittering with malice.

  ‘I would know what you’re talking about if you explained to me what Roedean is. Or was,’ I said.

  Violet continued to stare at me. ‘Roedean School is the best girl’s school in the country,’ she said. ‘Every properly brought up lady in England knows that.’ She suddenly sat up straighter in her chair, still staring at me. ‘I don’t think you’re English at all. I think you’re a foreigner. A Kraut. Or even worse, a Russian. Probably a Bolshevik.’

  I was so shocked that for a moment I couldn’t move. I just sat there with
a vague, silly smile on my face. Then I sat up hurriedly. ‘I beg your pardon. I don’t think I heard what you said.’ I simply couldn’t believe someone could be so rude.

  ‘I said I don’t think you belong here,’ Violet went on. ‘You’re not English, and you’re probably not a lady. This is a very select group and I don’t know why on earth they let you join us.’

  I looked around for help but Mary was still playing with the children on the croquet lawn and the two or three women who had heard the exchange were looking away, not wanting to be involved. Only Pamela was looking at me sympathetically. But she was clearly stricken and obviously couldn’t help.

  ‘I don’t think you are being very ladylike,’ I said. It was the best I could manage, but it felt inadequate and a little childish.

  ‘Sitting there in your fancy new jodhpurs as if you know how to ride!’ Violet went on relentlessly. ‘They’ve still got the Bond Street label on them, for heaven’s sake! I bet you don’t know one end of a horse from another. All of us here have ridden horses since Pony Club days. Why do you bother to pretend?’

  I remembered Denis once saying that if you have nothing to say, say nothing. So I just sat there, my heart beating so fast I could see the front of my blouse shaking.

  ‘You’re either a spy or a social climber. I don’t know what’s worse.’ Suddenly I couldn’t stand it any longer. I got up, trying to think of something cool and appropriate to throw over my shoulder but nothing came. So I walked away. I even forgot Tony in my confusion, and staggered when he cannoned into me. ‘Can I play some more?’ he pleaded grabbing my hand. ‘I’m learning cricket! Please can I play some more?’

  ‘Are you going for a rest?’ Mary asked. ‘I’ll bring him up to you later if you like.’

  ‘That would be awfully kind,’ I mumbled. I heard Violet titter behind me and hurried off towards the sanctuary of the house, the only thought in my mind the need to escape. As I hurried, stiff and self-conscious, I heard the sound of a horn from one of the marshals at the point-to-point, made indescribably sweet by distance. I could hardly believe that just seconds before I had been part of it all, part the casual bustle of an English country weekend.

  And now I was an outcast.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I retreated to our room and stood at the window looking out at the sunlit garden below that had been the scene of my humiliation. I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself and my cheeks still flamed with mortification. I’d cut and run, leaving the field to Violet, and leaving uncontested the accusations that she had made. That I was not English but a foreigner, probably a Russian. That I was no lady. And that I was probably a spy. These were terrible accusations to make, particularly given that the purpose of the weekend at Millward Hall was to foster links within the Intelligence community.

  Surely nobody could afford to allow a stranger – and a Russian stranger at that – to wander around on the loose under those circumstances.

  I could imagine the women below me discussing the situation in shocked whispers, and deciding that those in charge simply had to be told. Not even Mary would dare to defend me. After all, the truth was that I was Russian, and that I did have an assumed name. It would be more than her husband’s career was worth to stand up for me.

  Denis and I would be chucked out of Millward Hall. That seemed inevitable. I could picture the course of events in all its dreadful detail. Denis arriving back from his ride, happy and relaxed, to find his colleagues edging away from him, talking amongst themselves, pointing towards me. The inevitable ‘quiet word’ in the library. Then the two of us packing our things, loading up the Morris and driving away, our tails between our legs. And all my fault, because I had failed to stand up for myself.

  I simply could not let it happen. I would have to go back down and face Violet, even though my knees were shaking and I felt physically sick at the thought.

  As soon as I had made the decision a strange calmness came over me. I descended the stairs as if in a dream, smiled courteously to one of the servants as he passed me with a tray, and then strolled out into the garden with my hands linked nonchalantly behind my back. It all seemed to be happening to someone else and I was just a spectator.

  Mary was still playing with the children on the croquet lawn and the women in the circle of cane chairs were still gossiping. Violet’s attack, which seemed in my mind to have happened a lifetime ago, must have occurred only minutes before. The only thing that had changed was that tea was being served, and my chair had been pushed out of the circle so that it leaned drunkenly over a garden bed. Conversation ceased as I walked up to Violet and stood looking down at her. She ignored me and just sat there nibbling on a slice of cake.

  ‘Would you care to ride with me?’ I asked. ‘I think we could catch up with the point-to-point crowd if you’re half the rider you say you are.’

  At first I thought Violet was going to continue to ignore me, but then she put her plate down on the grass and stood up.

  ‘You think I haven’t got my riding kit with me, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Well, it so happens that I do. Harry and I are going to ride home together later. I’ll see you at the stables in ten minutes.’

  The stablehand was reluctant to saddle up for us, but he finally produced two horses. One was a decent enough animal, a brown mare, quite well proportioned and with a placid nature. The other was a big, black, raw-boned stallion, a spirited beast with rolling eyes and froth already foaming around his bit.

  ‘I’ll take the stallion, if Mrs Drax-Darnley doesn’t mind,’ I said. ‘But I want the tack changed. I prefer to ride without a martingale.’ The stablehand stared at me. But Denis thought a martingale was unnecessarily restrictive and never rode with one, and if I was going to die that afternoon, I wanted to die on my own terms, doing things the way Denis and I did them.

  And I really did think that I might die before the ride was over.

  I’d never been good at mounting, and this occasion was no exception. As I gripped the pommel and slipped my left foot into the stirrup my horse moved sideways so that I had to hop awkwardly to keep up. Violet tittered and I felt my cheeks burning with shame, or rage at my own ineptitude, I don’t know which.

  And then it happened. The gods leant down and touched me.

  That is the only way that I can describe a feeling I sometimes get. It happens very rarely, and only when I’m facing a challenge that scares me witless. It happened once when I thought I was drowning off a Penang beach as a child, and it happened again when Robbie died and I had to walk alone through the jungle to the kampong at Kuala Rau. It’s as if my heart gives a sudden triple beat that suffuses first my chest then the whole of my being with warmth and a heady feeling of invincibility. It happened there in the stable courtyard, and I knew on the instant that everything was going to be all right. I swung up effortlessly into the saddle and the stallion settled immediately, as if knowing his rider had been touched by the gods.

  ‘I’ve seen more mettle in a cockroach,’ I said coldly. ‘But he’ll do.’

  I cantered out of yard without looking back, and swung my horse towards the distant sounds of the point-to-point. It was open parkland, with scattered oaks and elms and the occasional clump of elder. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going so after a while I eased up, allowing Violet to draw up beside me.

  ‘You’ve got him well in hand,’ she called breathlessly.

  ‘You lead the way,’ I shouted back. ‘Take us to the starting point and we’ll follow the field.’

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so much in control of my mount, and when Violet kicked her horse into a gallop I immediately did the same and felt a surge of power beneath me as we caught up in a couple of strides.

  ‘Beat you there!’ Violet shouted and began riding hard with hands and heels. But it was never a match. Within a stride or two I had again drawn abreast, and it was clear that I could draw ahead whenever I wished.

  We were crossing a broad open field when Violet began veering to h
er right and across my path, gesturing to me with her right arm to change direction. A hedgerow ran across our new path and I realised that she intended us to jump it. I didn’t particularly enjoy jumping and in normal circumstances would never have taken on an unknown obstacle. But these were not normal circumstances and I set my horse for the jump without hesitation. Thirty yards from the hedgerow I felt the stallion change gait and then lengthen his stride: clearly he knew precisely what was ahead of us. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Violet hauling on the reins, trying desperately to turn her mare to the left and out of the jump. It was far too late for me to abort and the thought of trying didn’t even enter my head. Instead I concentrated on helping my own mount and we worked together beautifully, taking off to clear – not a single hedge, but double hedgerows with a narrow road between. It was a mighty jump, quite beyond most horses, but we cleared it with room to spare. I looked back but there was no trace of Violet or her horse. Clearly they had fallen, and I turned and immediately lined up for a return jump. This time we just cleared the double hedge and I pulled up beside the fallen horse and rider.

  Violet was obviously unhurt, sitting upright and wiping the mud off her face. But her horse had fallen awkwardly, half in and half out of the first hedge, and her near foreleg was clearly broken. I dismounted and crouched by the poor beast’s head, trying to calm her as she tried to rise. ‘What on earth were you trying to do?’ I shouted at Violet. ‘She’s broken a leg. They’ll have to put her down.’ I was so angry at Violet’s stupidity, and so shocked by the senseless harm it had caused an innocent animal, that my fear of her vicious tongue had completely disappeared – replaced by wonder that I could ever have taken her so seriously.

  Violet sat there, staring at the horse and then at me. I think she might have been a little stunned, probably more by her stupidity than by the fall. Because we both knew precisely what she had tried to do. She had set me a jump she thought beyond me, planning all the time to pull out before her horse was committed. I think what went wrong was that her horse was an instinctive follower. It had sensed mine gathering himself to jump and had followed suit. I had seen that happen before in KL: strong horses setting the agenda for their followers, and woe betide the puny human rider who sought to intervene.