Tropical Connections

by Vereker, Susie

  The only repercussion, or possible repercussion, was Jojo. Deborah was not certain whether she was Johnny’s child or Howard’s. She and Johnny were dark, and Jojo was very fair, but babies often were. Even someone as naive as Howard must have considered the possibility of paternity, but he never raised the subject of Jojo’s origins, and neither did Deborah.

  Despite his avoidance tactics, from time to time she had caught him unawares, staring at her as if he hoped for some sort of sign. Just when she was on the point of responding, he would look away.

  But all that was obviously over now that Claire had arrived on the scene. One look at Howard’s face when he saw Claire told her everything. Since his glances had turned elsewhere and Johnny’s eye still wandered far and frequently, Deborah felt even more unloved and uncertain.

  At least I have the children, she repeated to herself. She crept into their rooms. How delicious they were, all quiet for a change. She gently kissed each fat, round cheek, inhaling the smell of clean baby. Turning out the lights, she went back to lie down beside her snoring husband.

  *

  ‘I wanna go swim,’ insisted Sam, tugging at her skirt with both hands.

  ‘OK, honey, just wait. Jojo’s nearly finished.’ She glanced down at the baby nuzzling at her breast. Towards the end of her feed, Jojo’s small face took on the glazed and satisfied look of a drinker about to pass out.

  ‘Now, go swim now, now!’ Sam jumped up and down, jealous for her attention. ‘Mummy, now.’ In a moment, he would start patting the baby in a semi-aggressive manner.

  Deborah said gently, ‘Why don’t you just run and ask Pima to get your things ready? Then we’ll go.’

  But it was another half an hour before everything was assembled: the towels, the change of diapers for the baby, her sterile bottle of water, spare sets of clothes. Sam needed armbands and also insisted on packing goggles, flippers and snorkel – ridiculous on a three-year-old but apparently essential gear – along with two plastic ducks and a pink water pistol.

  She knew she should be taking the children round to her mother-in-law’s pool, but the atmosphere at Poppy’s was so much more relaxed. Besides, Muriel’s house was the other side of town and Poppy’s was within walking distance, if a person wanted to walk with a pram and a small child in that heat, pollution and dust, which Deborah did not. So she drove the three hundred yards.

  ‘Deborah, sweetie, how marvellous to see you all.’ Poppy put down her cigarette and kissed them. Her thin crimson lips left a smudge of lipstick on every cheek, but Deborah did not mind and Sam did not notice.

  ‘I swear you’ve got bigger since last week, Sam,’ said Poppy.

  He beamed up at her as she inflated his armbands and helped him into the pool. Deborah sat beside her sleeping daughter and watched them. She knew Poppy must be well into her fifties, though she looked ten years younger. When asked how she’d kept her figure and complexion when so many European women looked like corrugated paper after years in the East, Poppy always said, ‘Darling, I smoke a packet of cigs a day and I never go out in the sun.’

  Her husband Jock was the recently appointed area manager for BP and hence they occupied a magnificent white colonial-style mansion in a ten-acre compound. But Poppy did not behave like the other expatriate memsahibs who took their husband’s status as their own. She had invited Deborah to tea after a chance meeting at the British Club, and since then she’d treated her more and more like a substitute daughter and loved the babies as if they were her own grandchildren.

  Deborah felt relaxed and soothed in these grand surroundings. She enjoyed watching the teams of languid gardeners patiently watering the lawns and the spiky bottle-green shrubs, and she liked the way the uniformed maids appeared and disappeared, whisking Sam away to play. Her own part-time maid usually wore a loud T-shirt and jeans, and had little time for anything except keeping the disorderly household clean and half-tidy. But still, as Deborah reminded herself, she was damn lucky to have Pima. Back home no one had help in the house. Maising had its advantages.

  Poppy waved her long crimson nails. ‘Deb, sweetie, sorry to leave you in the lurch, but I’ve got a big bridge tournament this afternoon. I’ll just take Sammy inside on my way – Lita is dying to see him. You and Jojo stay out here and rest.’ Poppy believed in rest. ‘Stay as long as you like,’ she continued. ‘I should just warn you, Alex may appear. He’s on a gap year between school and university. Seems to involve sleeping all day, though he usually surfaces about this time.’

  ‘Who’s Alex?’

  ‘You know, sweetie, Jock’s son from his first marriage – to Mary the earth mother who went off with someone else and then died, poor thing. Alex is a nice boy, but he doesn’t really approve of me. Thinks I’m fast, or shallow or both. His ma was one of those large, cosy, arty women who didn’t care about clothes, you know the type. Extraordinary creature, used to make her own bread in this climate, can you imagine? No wonder she popped off before her time. Did far too much. Don’t giggle, Deborah. It was very sad about poor Mary.’ Poppy shook her head. ‘Now be careful, dear, the sun is coming round and you won’t be in the shade much longer. You’re looking very pretty today, by the way.’

  ‘But I’m so fat.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re just right. Skinniness isn’t attractive to men. Jock is always complaining about my bones. Anyway, you’ve lost quite a bit of weight since I last saw you, haven’t you?’

  ‘Well, some, maybe, but not enough.’

  ‘Nonsense. You, sweetie, are a perfectly lovely young woman. Say that to yourself every day. Now, really, I must go.’ With a final wave of her hand, she rushed off.

  From behind she looked like a young girl in her red swimsuit. Deborah smiled and, as she closed her eyes, tried to feel just a little bit lovely.

  Some time later she woke up. A startlingly handsome boy was standing between her and the sun. When she smiled up at him, he flushed as if he had never seen a woman before.

  ‘Hi there, I’m Deborah. You must be Alex. Poppy told me how great it was to have you around. D’you plan to stay here long?’

  ‘Yes, well, no. I don’t know.’ He seemed confused rather than reassured by her friendly manner.

  ‘How do you like it? Have you been here before? Do you mind the heat? Pretty steamy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Er . . . which question shall I answer?’

  ‘Take your pick.’

  ‘Well, this is my first trip to Maising. But I’ve been to this part of the world before, and I’m into swimming and sailing and stuff, so I expect I’ll like it here.’

  ‘Sure you will.’ Deborah smiled at him, trying to ignore his looks and the fact that she could find a teenager sexually attractive. He’d only just left high school, for God’s sake. He was a well-made boy, tall and very slim, almost a man but not quite. His dark blond hair curled at the nape of his neck in small damp tendrils, and his eyes were a pale blueish green under thick black lashes.

  He said, ‘I hope you don’t mind if I ask a question too, but where do you come from? You sound a bit American, well, not quite English.’

  ‘No, I’m not quite English, as you put it, only by marriage. I was born in the States, but I sometimes feel I’m not a true American. I’ve got this weird nowhere accent because I’ve been to school in Switzerland and London, and I’ve lived abroad so long I sometimes wonder if I’m quite anything.’

  ‘Well, if you’re married to an Englishman, you must be British, so that’s all right.’

  Deborah laughed. ‘Actually, I have a US passport and being American is fine with me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that I thought it was better to be British.’

  ‘Sure you did. But don’t worry, my baby is British.’

  ‘Baby?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘Yup, over there in the shade.’

  He crept over and peered at Jojo. ‘It’s very small, isn’t it? But quite human-looking.’

  ‘She – not it – is beautiful, the most beautiful chi
ld in the world.’

  He laughed and came back to sit beside her on the edge of the pool. As they talked she became aware that he was staring covertly at her breasts, which were inadequately concealed by her old and saggy black swimsuit.

  She slipped into the pool and began to swim up and down. Alex watched her every move. It was almost a relief when Sam came rushing out on to the terrace clutching a large piece of sticky chocolate cake that he wanted to share with her.

  Five

  ‘I just got a letter from Mom. She’s afraid I’m losing my American culture. Today, just for Mom, I need to do something American, and you need to meet people, so I’m inviting you to the International Women’s Club luncheon,’ announced Deborah on the phone. ‘You can take the afternoon off, can’t you?’

  ‘Thank you very much, Deb, but that sort of thing is just not me,’ began Claire.

  ‘You’ll love it, really. There’s a Beautiful Colour Revival speaker – well, I know it’s not new, but there’s no harm reminding ourselves again.’ She sighed. ‘I guess I need something more than colour to make me beautiful. What I really don’t need is food, but they said there’ll be a special low-cal option. So, what d’you say?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘It’ll be a great experience for you. I’ll meet you in the lobby of the Hotel Splendid at noon. Don’t be late now.’

  The Splendid was Maising’s newest and most magnificent hotel, a concrete palace, its grandeur contrasting oddly with the traditional wooden shacks and shop- houses which surrounded it.

  Claire felt a little overwhelmed as she paid the taxi driver and walked up the marble steps to the entrance. Two doormen wearing gold and green uniforms with white gloves bowed as she walked through to the orchid-filled lobby. The discreet muzak could hardly be heard above the sound of water cascading down a curious circle of rock pillars which loomed in the middle of the reception area like a tropical Stonehenge.

  She looked around. The guests appeared as rich and glamorous as the interior decor. A tall, well-dressed vision detached herself from a group of women seated on a gilded sofa.

  Claire smiled. ‘Deb, you look terrific. I didn’t recognize you.’

  ‘Well, I still clean up OK, I guess. When I first met Johnny, he told me I looked like a messy version of Catherine Zeta-Jones. Nowadays he calls me Sumo. Nice, isn’t it? But let’s go. We need to get a seat.’

  She led the way to a queue of elegant multinational women, who all expressed rapture at seeing her. Claire longed to escape, but Deborah dragged her on, introducing her to what seemed like fifty women at once.

  ‘Doesn’t this look just great?’ said Deborah, ushering her towards one of the many large round tables which filled the ballroom. ‘You don’t mind if we join you, do you?’ She addressed two smartly attired elderly Maising women sitting opposite. They smiled timidly in welcome.

  She leaned towards them. ‘I’m Deb and this is Claire, a new member.’ The ladies twittered some polite words in English and then resumed their own whispered conversation.

  After studying the menu and saying it was all too fattening, Deborah enquired about Howard.

  ‘He’s fine,’ said Claire.

  ‘Yes, but how is it with you two? How are you getting along?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘Do you date him a lot?’

  ‘From time to time.’

  ‘Claire, will you quit stalling. I should go all out for him, if I were you. He’s the most eligible bachelor in Maising. Is it serious or are you two just good friends?’

  ‘Just good friends, platonic.’ Claire decided to distract her. ‘Look, who’s that woman waving at us?’

  Deborah looked around. ‘Lord, my mother-in-law, good old Muriel. Sorry, honey, but she’s homing in on us. Pray to God she doesn’t want to join our table.’

  A short, fat, overdressed woman came waddling towards them, towing behind her an unhappy-looking girl. ‘Good morning, Debbie, or is it afternoon?’ She patted her purple-red hair and smiled.

  ‘I guess so. Hi, Muriel.’ Deborah kissed the air beside her mother-in-law’s plump cheeks. ‘This is Claire, my new neighbour.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, dear. And this is Lucy. She’s a new bride, aren’t you, dear? Just recently married, ever so romantic. Her husband is at the Embassy, the British Embassy – he’s rather a senior chap. You may have met him, Debbie. Martin Williamson, the Economic Counsellor. My friend Helena – that’s the Ambassador’s wife, Claire, in case you didn’t know – has asked me to introduce Lucy to some young people. I’m sure you’d both love to look after her. Now I must tootle back to the top table as Helena likes me to help with the local bigwigs.’

  She smiled complacently and then turned to her daughter-in-law. ‘Do bring the babies round soon. Their grandad and I love seeing you all. And the kiddies just adore their gran. It’s such a very special relationship.’ Her expression grew misty for a moment, then she blinked her blue eyelids. ‘Now I must love you and leave you. You’ll be all right now, won’t you, Lucy? I’ll pop into the Embassy to see you next time I’m at Helena’s. She often asks me to call at the Residence. We’re great chums, on such a lot of committees together. I can see her looking round for me now, so I’d better dash. Bye-ee for the time being, dear.’ Waving her hand, she turned and waded away around the tables.

  ‘Shame she couldn’t stay,’ said Deborah with a grin.

  Lucy stood awkwardly beside them. In her late twenties, she was very pale, with stringy mouse-coloured hair and a thin mousy face to match. She wore a shapeless blue dress which hung from her astonishing breasts in crumpled folds. Claire thought she had never seen such an enormous bosom stuck on such a skinny and unvoluptuous girl. It just didn’t belong.

  Deborah smiled at the newcomer. ‘Hey, sit down next to me, Lucy. Welcome to Maising. Great to meet you. How do you like it here?’

  Lucy smiled back nervously. ‘Oh, thank you, fine, thank you.’

  Claire began to make the usual conversational overtures, but Lucy was hard work. She seemed to have nothing to say. Deborah, inspired no doubt by a larger audience, embarked on major friendly advice-giving and chattered incessantly throughout the first two courses.

  How lucky I am to have a good-natured, cheerful neighbour like her, thought Claire once again, wondering how many other newcomers had cause to be grateful for Deb’s kind efforts.

  The dessert was a long time coming. The overzealous waiters hovered anxiously, glancing towards the kitchen door from time to time and rearranging the empty plates. Claire began to feel she could no longer bear the babble of a hundred and fifty women in one room and decided to escape to the Ladies. It would be an excuse to explore and to avoid any more of Deborah’s cross-examinations about Howard.

  She hardly knew herself what she felt. Howard was such a good man, pleasant-looking, generous-hearted and prosperous. Prosperous wasn’t normally the kind of quality she worried about, but it was a plus all the same. Just the kind of bloke a woman of her age should go for. She’d had some pretty dud relationships. Howard was highly eligible, as Deb said. But was her heart in it? Did that matter at her stage in life? With the dreaded biological clock ticking away towards thirty-five, she was unlikely to get a better offer from a better man. That is what the entire world would say and they would be right.

  Having repaired her make-up in the coyly named Little Girls’ Room, she padded along the red-carpeted corridors and out into the garden where she found herself wandering among a series of S-shaped fish ponds curling around miniature red pagodas and baby temples flanked by luxuriant tropical shrubs which had already grown surprisingly large in their new environment.

  ‘Not bad for an instant jungle, eh?’ said a voice in her ear.

  Claire jumped. Beside her stood the Australian she had met at Deborah’s party.

  ‘Hello, Drew.’ Ridiculously pleased to see him, she felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Searching quickly for a topic of conversation, she waved her hands about. �
�You said you were an agricultural expert – tell me the names of these plants and flowers.’ To her own ears, her voice sounded light and over-girlish.

  He smiled and took her by the arm. ‘I’m a farming man. Don’t know much about tropical botany, but I’ll do my best.’

  They walked over a miniature Venetian-style bridge and came across a small round pond where a stone cherub perched spouting water from its penis.

  ‘Quite a mixture of landscape design,’ said Claire, laughing. She stepped back so that Drew would have to let go of her arm.

  ‘Yeah, it’s popular to borrow from the Europeans and the Indians, and the Japanese and jumble it all together with their own ideas.’ Once again he touched her hand lightly.

  Rather tactile on such a short acquaintance, she thought.

  ‘Look, Claire,’ he said, ‘you’re not seeing the real Maising hanging around joints like this. Why don’t you come out with me this arvo? I’m just on my way to a farm project up-country. Not too far. We’ll be back tonight.’

  ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m meant to be at a ladies’ lunch with Deb.’

  ‘Oh, she won’t mind. She’ll have plenty of other women to yak away to.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s rather rude. I haven’t even had my “crushed mango sorbet with sauce de lychee” or whatever.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You haven’t even had your ice cream. Terrible for you. Tell you what, Claire, I’ll buy you dinner on the way back tonight and you can choose whatever dessert you want. OK?’

  Claire smiled. ‘All right, all right, it’s a deal. I’d love to come. I’ll just go and tell Deb.’