Denis still had his moments of pain. He would be sitting there beside me, pretending to be reading, and I would notice that he wasn’t reading at all, and put my own book down and look at him. ‘Touch of the Black Dog,’ he would say with a slight smile, and I’d nod, and perhaps just touch his arm, and then go back to my book because the Black Dog had to have its day. But such times were becoming a little less frequent: the scars were fading, or perhaps it is truer to say the scar tissue was hardening.
Our old friends were drifting back to Malaya. The Gilmours were the first to turn up, unchanged and unchangeable after four years in New Zealand. Jock in his tartan tam’o’shanter, Georgette as gamine and French as ever. ‘I thought we’d found our Shangri-la in Dunedin,’ Jock said. ‘More Scottish than Scotland itself, but with a decent climate. But I’m afraid the East is in our blood. We’ll die here in Singapore.’ Their home overlooking the Straits of Johore had been untouched by the war, and when we dined there I could hardly conceive that we had not gone back in time.
John Dalley didn’t have to come back to Singapore – he had never gone away. He emerged from Changi POW camp blinking in the sunlight and looking like a scarecrow. But after a brief home leave to restore his health he was back in harness and looking exactly the same as he had before the war. He had been appointed to lead a newly established Police Intelligence Unit, and was regarded as one of the most influential men in the Interim Administration that ran Singapore. We bumped into him at a film night at the Swimming Club, and of course I tackled him immediately about Catherine Koh. If anyone outside the MCP knew where she was it would be John Dalley.
‘She is a very different person now to the Catherine you knew before the war,’ John said carefully. ‘She was very badly affected by what happened when the Japs invaded Singapore. In fact I’ve never known a person to change so much.’
‘Do you know where she is now?’ I asked. ‘I would love to see her again. There is probably nothing I could do for her, but I would at least like to try.’
John shot a glance at Denis. ‘I think I should warn you about Little Tiger,’ he said seriously. ‘She is the leader of one of the Communist regiments still in the jungle, and probably the most dangerous person in Malaya at the moment. That’s because she has sided with the hard-liners who think they should all remain in the jungle and turn their guns on the British. They’ve got the idea into their heads that they drove the Japs out of the country, and that it will be just as easy to get rid of us.’
‘Why is she in particular so dangerous?’ I asked.
‘Because of the hold she has on so many of her colleagues. She’s something of a legend because of the way she stood up against the Japs. And there is something else there, too. Charisma. A combination of courage and great beauty.’
‘And what does Loi Tak have to say?’ I asked.
Dalley didn’t answer. We were sitting out on the upstairs terrace, watching some forgettable movie on a screen set up on the other side of the swimming pool, and I saw John take a careful look around. I think it still disquieted him that a slip of a girl like me could be a fully-fledged member of the Linlithgow Hunt. But I was a fully-fledged member, and I didn’t want him to forget it. ‘What does Loi Tak think of it all?’ I asked again. ‘Don’t forget, I was present when Colin McKenzie promised the Communists a political role in Malaya after the war. I hope you’re not going to make Catherine the excuse for going back on that promise.’
Denis laid a restraining hand on my arm. ‘John is one of us,’ he said quietly. ‘He will do everything in his power to make sure the Chinese Communists are not short changed.’
A steward arrived with a fresh round of drinks and a platter of hot chips and tomato sauce. When he had gone, John turned and looked at me levelly. ‘We’re doing our very best to convince the MCP that they will have a role in an independent Malaya. We’re even offering jobs to those still in the jungle, hoping to lure them out that way. But no one is listening. Personally, I think they’ve made up their minds to have a scrap with us. They can see how well Mao Tze-tung is doing in China and they think it will be just as easy in Malaya.’
I returned to the subject when Denis and I were driving home. ‘Loi Tak and Chin Peng are MI6 agents,’ I said. ‘Can’t you simply tell them to order their people out of the jungle?’
Denis grimaced. ‘It’s not that easy,’ he said. ‘Loi Tak is in a rather awkward position at present. He played a pretty clever game during the occupation, offering his services as a double agent to the Kempeitai and then using the Japs to bump off his opponents in the MCP. He’d organise a meeting of the Politburo, betray it to the Japs, then tip off his own supporters not to attend. But there has been a cost. Most of the senior people in the party today have their suspicions of Loi Tak, and he has to watch his step. He certainly can’t afford to appear soft on the British. Not when people like Catherine are goading them on.’
‘What about Chin Peng?’ I asked.
‘Chin Peng’s credentials are fine because he spent the war with the MCP regiments in the jungle. But he did cooperate with Spencer-Chapman and Force 136, so he’s also got to watch his step. He can’t be seen to jump just because we whistle.’
We ran through Mata Ikun, its atap bungalows sleeping under a huge tropical moon, and then took the long driveway to Casuarinas. ‘So what is going to happen?’ I asked. ‘Are the Communists going to attack us in our beds? They can be pretty dreadful, I know that. I remember how they ran amok when they took over Batu Arang before the war.’ I felt a prickle of fear and reached for Denis’s hand. ‘Surely they can’t take Malaya over by force, can they?’
Denis squeezed my hand. ‘Nobody is going to take Malaya over by force,’ he said flatly. ‘We’ve learnt a lot since the Japs had their go. Lesson number one is not to underestimate your opponent. Lesson number two is to strike first, and strike hard, and keep on striking.’
I ran into Catherine Koh in Robinsons, of all places. I was going up the escalator to the toy section on the top floor and Little Tiger was coming down, looking quite chic and demure in a white trouser suit. We recognised each other immediately, and I called out, reaching out to her as we passed. For a second I thought she was going to ignore me but then she turned, gesturing to go on up and wait for her.
I stood waiting at the top of the escalator, my heart beating like a drum. Frances was trying to drag me towards the toys and all I could think of was how hurtful it would be for Catherine to see us like this – mother and healthy daughter on the way to buy a doll. If the world had been a fairer place Catherine would be coming with us, little April clinging to her hand.
I need not have worried. I don’t think Catherine so much as glanced at Frances or the toys behind us, and I am sure April never entered her mind. ‘I’ve just had a cup of coffee,’ she said crisply. ‘But I can drink another. Come and sit with me and we will talk.’
Catherine was still beautiful but there was something different about her. Her eyes were like hard black marbles, and though her mouth was smiling it was a hard, forced smile, like the smile moulded on the face of a beautiful doll.
We ordered coffee for ourselves and I asked for a milkshake for Frances. ‘I have heard that you were a hero in the war,’ I said when the waiter left. ‘That you spent the whole time in the jungle, fighting the Japanese. It must have been terrible for you because I remember how much you hated anything to do with war and violence.’
‘Did I?’ Catherine asked. She looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I must have been a fool, because war is the best thing that can happen to the oppressed. It acts as a catalyst, freeing the energy of the people. Breaking the shackles of habit that turns us all into slaves.’
I reached across and touched her hand. ‘I remember you once saying that you would do anything to bring peace to Singapore . . .’
‘Do not touch me, Mrs Elesmere-Elliott.’ Catherine’s smile didn’t waver but the voice that issued from her smiling lips was cold and hard and uncompromising. She didn’t
move her hand so I had to move mine. I felt myself blushing and even Frances felt the tension of the moment and stared at each of us in turn.
‘I used to be your friend, Catherine,’ I said softly. ‘I touched your hand as a gesture of friendship. Has that friendship come to an end?’
‘It never . . .’ Catherine began, then seemed to check herself. ‘We were friends. But that was a long time ago. I cannot be the friend of a mem, of a representative of the class which suppresses and exploits us.’
‘I don’t recall ever suppressing you, Catherine. Or exploiting you. I only remember that you and Robert, and Denis and I, were great friends, and that we all once danced on a kalang under the moon.’ I thought I had put that rather well, and it was a shame that Frances chose that precise moment to upset her milkshake and cause a minor crisis.
Catherine mopped the milkshake from her side of the table with an impatient flourish of her napkin. ‘Robert is dead. April is dead. The kalang should have been used to gather fish for the poor, not to provide the idle rich with a platform on which to dance.’
‘Our kalang also gathered fish,’ I said, taking Frances in my arms. ‘Is it wrong for something to be joyful as well as utilitarian?’ When Catherine didn’t bother to answer, I began to gather up my things. ‘Why did you suggest we share a cup of coffee, Catherine?’ I asked. ‘You clearly can’t stand my company.’
Catherine shrugged. ‘It was the proper thing to do. What do you British say? It was good form.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I said candidly. ‘Either the Catherine I used to know is still somewhere deep inside you and you would like to reach out despite yourself, or you can see some advantage in keeping in touch with Denis and me. Unfortunately I suspect it is probably the latter.’
For a second I thought Catherine was going to get up and walk away. And then she laughed. It may have had an edge to it, but it was a real laugh. ‘I must not underestimate you, Norma. I think you are a stronger woman than people think.’
I stood up, but paused beside the table. ‘Why are you in Singapore?’ I asked, softening my voice. ‘I was told you were still with your fighters deep in the jungle.’
‘Does that mean that I cannot visit Singapore?’ Catherine snapped. ‘This is my country too, you know. I fought for it as hard as any of you British.’ Then her voice softened too. ‘If you must know, one of my people became very ill. We thought he was dying. Last night I drove him down to the Alexandra Hospital, which is the best hospital in Malaya. Wu Sing fought beside me all though the war and he deserves the best.’
‘Is he all right?’
Catherine was silent for a moment, clearly regretting that she had been so forthcoming. ‘It was appendicitis,’ she said finally. ‘They operated very early this morning. He is still very sick with peritonitis, but the doctors say he should live.’
‘So you have been at the hospital all night? You don’t look exhausted but you must be.’
‘I am used to being up all night,’ she said. ‘We drove non-stop. I asked them in Raub to put him in an ambulance but the dogs refused point-blank. They wanted him to stay in the dressing station until the morning. If I had agreed to do as they said, Wu Sing would have died.’
Raub. The fact that she had called into Raub meant that Catherine’s secret camp must be somewhere in the jungles of western Pahang. Country I had known well as a girl.
Something clicked in my brain. ‘Is your camp at Kuala Rau?’ I asked.
Catherine said nothing but I saw the shock in her eyes and knew beyond doubt that her secret encampment was at the old gold mine at Kuala Rau.
Robbie’s – my – gold mine. Bought and now owned by one of Denis’s companies.
Catherine also got up from the table so that we now both stood facing each other. ‘I must go,’ she said brusquely. ‘I do not know if we will ever meet again, Mrs Elesmere-Elliott.’
That afternoon I had an hour or so to spare and dropped in to the Alexandra Hospital towards the end of visiting hours. Wu Sing was in the surgery ward and I looked in quietly. Catherine was beside his bed, as I thought she would be. He was asleep and Catherine sat holding his hand against her cheek. Even from a distance it was clear that she was in love.
I waited until Denis and I were in bed before I sprang my question, my arm lying casually across his chest. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Catherine was at Kuala Rau?’ I asked. ‘I thought we were partners in this game. I thought we confided everything.’
Denis took a long breath. ‘I didn’t know she was at Kuala Rau,’ he said. ‘I thought she might be, because I knew she was in Pahang, but I didn’t really know. I take it someone has told you. Can I ask you who?’
‘I spoke to Catherine today. She was in Robinsons. She didn’t tell me she was at Kuala Rau, but I guessed.’
‘It just shows how careful one must be in this game,’ Denis said almost crossly. ‘I should never have told you that I owned Kuala Rau. You’ve put two and two together, and no doubt frightened the dickens out of poor Catherine.’ He turned over towards me and propped himself up on one elbow. ‘I promise you that I didn’t know Catherine was at Kuala Rau,’ he said. ‘But even if I had there would have been no point in telling you. You couldn’t have contacted her there, and if you had tried you would have stirred up a hornets’ nest.’ He seemed about to say something more but changed his mind and lay back down.
I turned away and lay with my back to Denis, staring into the night. I told myself firmly that Denis couldn’t have known for certain that Catherine was at Kuala Rau, and that I mustn’t misjudge him. But my mind rolled on, thinking about the places in the jungle that Denis owned. Tin mines, tea plantations, disused timber mills. Presumably all of them potential camps for jungle warriors. But the war was over, so all he was doing now was providing safe-houses to the MCP. Providing bases for the hot-heads who were posing a threat to British control.
It all seemed rather self-defeating. But I was too tired to pursue the subject, and perhaps a little depressed. Denis may not have deliberately kept Catherine’s whereabouts from me, but he had certainly been less forthcoming than he might have been.
Malcolm Bryant called on me in the middle of a hot afternoon in June. I’d been resting under the fan in the bedroom, and heard the sound of a motorcycle coming through the kampong and up the long driveway to Casuarinas. I thought it must have been a dispatch rider of some sort and brushed my hair perfunctorily before making my way to the front door.
‘Mind if I drop in?’ Malcolm looked magnificent, tanned and fit and impeccably turned out in grey flannels and a cream shirt, with a Selangor cricket jumper casually knotted around his shoulders.
‘Malcolm,’ I cried. ‘You look wonderful! I thought you’d be a bag of bones after Changi, but you look absolutely terrific.’
‘I’ve just spent a couple of months up in the mountains of Kashmir,’ he said. ‘Srinagar is a tremendous place for recuperation, Norma. Lovely weather, boating on the lake, dancing at the club, picnics in the hills, and even a spot of trout fishing – or something as near as you can get to trout fishing in the East.’
We sat in the shade of the casuarinas, sipping tea and chatting. Malcolm was a different man to the morose police officer I had known before the war – charming, frank, sensitive and funny. He told me how his sister had finally found a man and was happily married. ‘And living in a semi-detached in Tooting, if you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘How conventional can one be?’
‘What about yourself?’ I asked. ‘You didn’t go back to England? And why Srinagar?’
Malcolm looked serious for a moment. ‘I didn’t go back to Blighty because it’s lonely for me there, Norma. No-one knows me except Barbara, and she doesn’t want an old stick like me hanging around.’
‘And Srinagar?’ I prompted.
‘I’ve been taken on by MI5,’ he said. ‘Counterintelligence. And seconded to a body called Security Intelligence Far East. SIFE. For my sins I’m in charge of internal security. I keep an eye o
n everyone in the organisation, making sure there’s no backsliding or corruption. Or, heaven forbid, Communist penetration. We had our training at Mandrake – a big old house in Srinagar where they really put us through our paces.’
‘Should you be telling me all this?’ I asked lightly. ‘About being in Intelligence and so on? Surely it’s supposed to be hush-hush.’
Malcolm chuckled. ‘I’m aware you’re well in with the Intelligence crowd, Norma, so let’s not pretend with each other,’ he said. ‘Which leads me to the necessity for an apology. I used to think Denis was a Russian spy. Of course I now know how wrong I was. I’m sorry for the hurt I caused, but I really didn’t know he was one of ours.’
I was glad it was out in the open, and gave Malcolm my brightest smile. ‘It’s all water under the bridge, Malcolm. But thank you for the apology. It means we can now be the best of friends.’
One of Denis’s and my greatest pleasures in those days was to spend an afternoon at the races. The Singapore Turf Club had arisen phoenix-like from the ashes of the Japanese occupation, and by the end of 1946 it was holding regular Saturday meetings out at Bukit Timah. The horses may have been below standard but when the field came around the final turn and thundered down the straight it was every bit as exciting as Flemington in November or Goodwood in June.
One Saturday we were strolling arm in arm along the front of the Members Stand when I saw a sight that sent a jolt of pure joy straight to my heart. Tanya and Eugene Aubrey were coming towards us, a little blond boy swinging on their hands between them.
‘Tanya,’ I called softly, almost fearing that the vision would disappear like a puff of smoke. Eugene saw me before Tanya did, and I saw him slip his arm around her and turn her towards us.
‘By Jove this is wonderful!’ he called, and then Tanya was hurrying towards me. I thought for a moment she was going to wrap me in her arms but this was the Members Stand after all and she gripped both my hands in hers instead. ‘I’m so glad to see you – I didn’t know whether you were dead or alive!’ she blurted out. ‘We only arrived from England yesterday and I was dreading having to make enquiries. I didn’t think you and Denis could possibly have survived. We read all about how badly Singapore was bombed, how many people were killed.’
In the Mouth of the Tiger Page 67
