From across the river, he spied a movement. Hugh and his three men stayed absolutely still. Time ticked by. They waited, motionless. After a while a head appeared followed by another and then many, many more. Bare-chested men with loincloths. They were men of the jungle, orang asli they called them. Hugh hesitated. He was uncertain of their affiliation. His finger tightened on the trigger. He gave a slight nod to his men to be at the ready. Many of the jungle people supported the insurgents; some, however, had turned. One of them stepped forward. He stood, his sturdy legs planted wide apart, his loincloth barely covering his lower torso, and looked directly at Hugh.
“I have the white man,” he said in Malay.
***
Ruth wrapped a towel around her body and walked barefoot into the bedroom. She felt better for the shower. She went to the mirror. She had lost weight. Her eyes stared back at her, cornflower blue eyes that Mark once said he loved. Yet they were not the same. They had lost their innocence. Instead, a shade of darkness lurked within them, the darkness of pain. She dropped the towel. Her collarbones stuck out like wings but her stomach was taut and lean and her small breasts rose pert and high. She had never had a voluptuous body. Now she was completely devoid of superfluous flesh. With an impatient toss of her head, she picked up the towel and began to dry her hair, rubbing her scalp roughly until it tingled. She brushed her hair and then went to the cupboard. She picked up the prettiest of the dresses she owned, a white cotton dress with blue periwinkle flowers that brought out the colour of her eyes. The dress fitted snugly at the waist and the skirt flared out to reach below her knees. Last night she had vowed to pull herself together and to dress up in case Mark returned. Only by thinking that he was alive and would return, could she maintain her sanity and continue to live. She must not let him see her despair. She must be beautiful for him; she could not allow him to compare her unfavourably with May when he returned.
“Ma’am! Ma’am!” Fu Yi cried hurrying into the room without knocking. “Aiyah, a gentleman to see you. Must be important. He came with bodyguards.”
Ruth rushed to the window. She saw Bill at the door. True enough there were a couple of bodyguards by his car. Her heart sang. Did he have news, good news for her? She rushed out, almost tripping over the clothes strewn on the floor. “Bill!” she exclaimed her face expectant; a smile on her lips. His grave face stopped her in her tracks. Her mouth became suddenly dry; like sand devoid of any moisture. Her hand fluttered to her chest.
“Hello Ruth,” Bill’s voice was solicitous. He steered her to a chair and took one opposite her. Solemnly, he waited until she sat down.
“Mark? You’ve found him?”
He reached over and took her hand in his. Ruth felt his large hand stroking hers in a manner that made her uncomfortable. It was not like how Hugh had held her hands. She remembered Hugh’s warning.
“No! We have not found him” Ruth could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. She wondered if he could hear her heart beat. Her lips parted. She wanted to ask...
“In all probability he is dead.”
Ruth flung his hand away. She huddled forward and crossed her arms to hug herself. “No! No! I would know if he had died.” She thumped her chest. “Deep down I would have felt something. Instead I felt hope this morning, the first time since I came.”
“I tell you because it is best to be prepared. We have bombed three camps. He could not have survived the bombing. We have recovered many bodies, all burnt to cinders. They were unrecognisable. We suspect that Mark must be one of those.”
“No! No! Without seeing his body, I cannot accept it.”
“It is better this way.”
Ruth looked up in shock. “Better?”
“I know you think me cruel for saying this.” Bill composed his face. He looked earnestly at her and took a deep breath. “It hurts me to say this again. Mark is a sympathiser; he would be tried for treason if he were found alive. So it is better this way.”
“What are you saying? How dare you?” She stood up. Bill stood up at the same time and tried to place his hands on her shoulders. She hit him, her clenched fists raining on his chest over and over again. “Mark is not a traitor! How could you? I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend. As your friend, I have come to help you.”
“Help me? How? By accusing my husband of treachery?”
“By telling you the truth. I have all the evidence. I have already told you that May was his mistress. She disappeared at the same time as he did. May is an insurgent. He has been protecting her all the while. There is not a shred of doubt as to his transgression.” He caught hold of Ruth’s hand and brought it down, forcing her to come nearer to him. “I could help cover his misdemeanour.”
Ruth pushed him way. She recalled again Hugh’s warning. Bill, he had said, was not what he professed to be.
“I like you. I don’t want you to be hurt. I somehow feel you are my responsibility. If you do not believe me, come with me. I’ll show you the documents and evidence of Mark’s misdeeds. That was one of the reasons why the Company asked for my help. That was the reason the Secret Service seconded me for this investigation.”
Ruth froze. All moisture in her mouth sucked out of her.
Bill stretched out his hand. “Come. It is only a short ride to the rest house where I left the documents.”
***
They drove in silence to the rest house. Ruth sat slumped in her seat. She had her eyes tightly shut throughout the journey. Only when the car came to a stop did she venture to open them.
“Come up with me,” Bill said as he opened the car door. “They are in my room.”
The rest house was almost deserted. Ruth assumed that most of the guests must be out on plantation or tin mine business. A handful of staff members were listlessly going about their tasks of tidying and sweeping. Ruth recognised the boy who had waited on her when she first set foot in the building with Hugh. The boy stared at her with open curiosity. Ruth’s cheeks turned a deep pink. He must be wondering why I came with a different man.
“Thanks. I’ll wait here in the lounge,” she replied.
“You wouldn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation or set eyes on the documents,” Bill advised. “Come,” he insisted and headed towards his room, stopping on the way to speak to a man.
She couldn’t hear what Bill said but was conscious of the round-eyed look of surprise and shock that appeared on the man’s face. Reluctantly she followed Bill.
“Where are the documents?” Ruth demanded the minute she stepped into Bill’s room. She remained near the door, unwilling to go further in.
“Ahh! The ever-practical Ruth. Relax! Don’t look so uptight. Won’t you have a drink?” He went to where she stood and placed a hand at the small of her back. It lingered. She brushed it away.
“No! I don’t want a drink. Just show me the documents.”
With a deft movement of his hand, Bill reached behind her and shut the door. He locked it. Pocketing the key he swivelled to face Ruth. He hedged up close to her, so close, she could see the hair in his nostrils. His eyes glinted. She took a step back. He came closer still.
“The thing is, Ruth, what are you willing to do to have the evidence quashed? What is Mark worth to you? Even if he is dead, you wouldn’t want his name to be tarnished.” He bent to brush his lips on hers. Ruth could smell the whisky on his breath. She pushed him away. He grabbed her. “Don’t act high and mighty with me. I have waited too long. I have watched over you, taken care of you during the voyage, appointed someone to look out for you on the bus. You treated me like dirt. Not once did you return my affection. You were, however, quite willing to accept my help. Help always comes with a price.” He placed a hand round her neck. “Such soft skin,” he murmured. He trailed his fingers down her neckline until they reached her cleavage.
She backed away, stumbling as she did so. “I’ll scream.”
“You won’t. Everyone saw you coming with me willingl
y. I took the opportunity of tipping the houseboy. I told him we were noisy lovers, that you liked a bit of rough play. It is the middle of the day. No one is around in this god-forsaken place except the servants. Anyway if you do scream, all I need to do is this.” He clamped her mouth with one hand and pushed her, steering her towards the bed. Ruth kept backing away. She felt the edge of the bed pressed against the back of her knees. She fell backwards, hitting the mattress. Bill was on top of her immediately, one hand still clamped on her mouth, the other ripping the buttons of her dress. She struggled. He lifted her skirt and slid his hand up her thigh, his fingers probing, no longer gentle...
“Mr Fletcher,” a voice called from outside the room, “Sir, a telephone call for you. She says it is urgent.”
“I told you we are not to be disturbed,” Bill growled, holding Ruth firmly down. “I’ll call whoever back ... later. Do not disturb me again. Understand!”
A brief silence followed. Bill sneered; he turned his attention once more to Ruth. He caught hold of her knickers. She twisted and kicked. Loud voices sounded from outside. Someone kicked the door. It crashed open. Startled, Bill loosened his grip on Ruth. She screamed. With two strides Hugh was by the bedside. He pulled Bill off Ruth and threw him to the floor. “Take him away,” he commanded his men.
***
“Shhh! Shhh!” Everything is going to be fine.”
“How did you find me?” Ruth gulped, wishing to quell the sobs that threatened to surge.
“I went to the bungalow to tell you that we have found Mark. Fu Yi said that you had gone to the rest house with a man. I knew immediately from her description that it was Bill. When we arrived here, the attendants told me that Bill had taken you to his room. They smirked and repeated what Bill said. The rest, you know.”
“I am so ashamed.” Ruth shuddered.
“Why? Bill has a lot to answer for. Not you.”
“And Mark? He is here?”
“He is in intensive care.” Hugh placed a glass of water in Ruth’s hand and lowered himself on to the bench in the visitors’ room. He had driven Ruth straight to the hospital.
“He is not dead!” Ruth’ eyes brimmed. “Bill said he was incinerated by bombs. He said Mark would be tried for treason, for aiding insurgents.”
“Mark is not dead and he will not be tried for treason. He is, however, seriously ill. Prepare yourself. He does not remember much. He does not seem to know me. Don’t get upset should he not recognise you.”
Ruth’s mouth trembled. So much had happened in one day. But Mark was alive. It was all that mattered. “Can I see him now?” she asked. Hugh nodded and stood up. They walked out of the visitors’ room into the corridor. It smelt of disinfectant. Someone had slopped Dettol on to the long cemented walkway. It was wet. An Indian amah was busy mopping up the liquid. She smiled; her white teeth gleamed against dark skin that shone like ebony. Ruth smiled back. Her heart swelled with emotion. She was to see Mark, finally. They pushed open the door. Mark lay in a narrow cot. His face was almost hidden by swathes of dressing. His eyes were closed. Behind the swollen and bruised eyelids, she could see a flutter of eye movements. Nothing could be seen of his body and limbs; a starched white cloth covered them. Around him was a paraphernalia of tubes. Bags of fluid and blood hung overhead.
Ruth went to him. “Mark,” she said softly. She bent down to kiss him. Her lips brushed lightly the swathing. He groaned. A nurse came in.
“Mrs Lampard, your husband will not be able to speak to you. It is best to let him sleep.”
“Can I stay with him?”
The nurse looked doubtfully at her. She went out and returned shortly. “Doctor says that the patient is best left to rest. The doctor wants to speak to you. Would you follow me?”
Chapter 13
Port Dickson
RUTH TUCKED THE blanket round Mark’s knees. It was hot, but the wind was strong, and Mark was still weak. His eyes were closed. He had not spoken the whole day, even when she prompted him. She watched his eyelids quiver. He must be dreaming, she thought. It was as though the eyes behind their lids were darting from one corner to the other, in search of something. Sometimes he jerked, his arms and legs flailing wildly as if to ward off blows. What disturbed her most was his silence. It had been nearly two months since his rescue. If only he would speak to her. It would give her an indication of how much he remembered. He did not recognise her. The doctor had warned her of it, as had Hugh. Mark remembered nothing of his previous life. His face was blank when he saw Fu Yi. He did not ask for May. For that Ruth was glad. She was not going to mention May. They could start with a clean slate again. She would pretend that the nightmare of the past had never happened. For now she would concentrate on Mark’s recovery. Dysentery, malaria and the beatings had taken a heavy toll. The doctor said that only time would tell if he would fully recover his memory.
Overhead, casuarina trees swayed. Long branches, heavy with wispy needle like leaves, trailed down to brush the beach. A swirl of patterns formed in their wake. Ruth sat back on the deck chair and looked out to the Straits of Malacca. The sea was choppy. White flecks of waves rippled through the waters and crashed on the shore only to withdraw, leaving scatterings of seashells and white froth. It was high tide. Soon the sun would sink into the horizon like a big ball of fire, red, hot and fiery. She would stay on the beach; she would wait until Mark woke up. Would he show a flicker of recognition this time when he opened his eyes? One night, she had kissed him gently on the lips to stir up his memory. He had merely smiled, an apologetic grin that tore her heart. She was a stranger to him. Would he ever remember her? Could they be the same as before? Perhaps it would be for the best. If he didn’t remember; then he would also not remember May.
She sat watching her husband, hoping, praying for the impossible. From a distance, she saw Fu Yi approaching. The Company had given them the use of the beach bungalow in Port Dickson for Mark’s recuperation. Once he was sufficiently well, they would return to England. Ruth sighed. It would be wonderful to go home. But what would Mark do when he got home? How was she going to earn a living? There were so many things up in the air.
Fu Yi waved. She seemed in a hurry to reach them. She tripped; a flip-flop flew off her foot. She stooped to pick it up and then took off the other. Her bare feet sunk into the soft white sand.
“Ma’am,” she motioned Ruth to come to her. “I have news. They’ve found May.”
Ruth placed a finger to her lip. She glanced hastily back at Mark. He was still asleep. He had not heard. She could see his head roll and jerk before his chin dropped once more to his chest. She beckoned Fu Yi to follow her and walked ahead back towards the bungalow. Her face was drained of colour behind the tan. When she reached the flight of steps that led up to the house, she turned. “Where is she?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Probably being interrogated somewhere.”
“Who told you? Who else knows?”
“The kind major that helped us. The one that asked me to call and to insist on speaking to that awful bad man.”
“You are not to say anything to anyone. Not even the Master, especially the Master.”
“But...”
“Please, Fu Yi, “ Ruth pleaded, “I will speak to Major Hugh. It is best that I take all calls from now on. You are not to trouble Master.”
Fu Yi’s lips folded into a thin line. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said.
Ruth watched Fu Yi climb up the flight of steps to the front door of the bungalow. Behind her the sun was fast sinking into the horizon. Its fading heat caressed her, filling her with a warm glow, like a lover. It made her tingle. How she had longed for such warmth during those cold winter nights in the farm in Somerset. It was beautiful in this corner of the world. On a clear day you could see the island of Sumatra across the Straits. The crashing waves, the blue sky and white sand, the riot of bougainvillea bushes that seemed to sprout in every nook and cranny, were hypnotic. It was like a painting of paradise. Being here with Mark these
past weeks had been wonderful despite his illness. She felt a twinge of regret. She was beginning to understand Mark’s love of this country. But she would leave all this to have Mark back.
***
Fu Yi and the houseboy had retired to bed. It was a calm night. No rain was forecast. The sea was a sheen of darkness. A mile away, on the promontory, the twinkling town lights beckoned seductively. Mark glanced sideway at Ruth, his brow a mass of vertical furrows. He searched deeply for something he could hang on to, which could remind him of this woman called his wife. He was frustrated by the blank wall in his mind. It refused to yield up to him any clue to his past. Ruth had shown him a snapshot of herself, the one she said she had found in the bungalow. He could not recall anything. Frustration made him angry; he dreaded her asking him what he remembered. His response was silence.
He sat facing the sea. From time to time he turned to examine Ruth’s face covertly. He was ashamed of his behaviour. She had been so caring and gentle with him during his weeks in bed. He reached out and took her hand. Ruth smiled in response, a smile that lit up her face and made her beautiful. She was beautiful, he suddenly realised. He wished he could remember more. “Give it time,” the doctor had advised. “Don’t force yourself and be worked up about it. It will come eventually.” Mark drew a deep breath and squeezed Ruth’s hand.
Ruth got up and knelt by his chair. She leaned over and kissed him on his lips. She smelt of roses in a warm summer’s evening. Something in him stirred. This was the first time he associated Ruth with anything. Summer, roses! Surely, it was a memory of sorts? He drew her down again, wanting more, needing to know more. This time he kissed her back; his lips pressed urgently on hers. Ruth’s lips parted. Mark’s heart quickened; he kissed her more deeply, drinking in the moistness of her mouth. He held her head with both his hands. He felt her softness yielding to his touch. He released her and looked into her eyes. In the soft light, they were almost violet in colour. He stroked her neck and was suddenly filled with a longing. It aroused something in him, a primeval feeling in his loins that was familiar and welcomed. He half rose and Ruth rose with him. They remained locked in each other’s arms.
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