‘Well done, girls, good show, delicious,’ said Martin in his toneless voice as they sat round the rickety wooden table.
‘Yes, terrific,’ said Howard absent-mindedly. ‘Now, Martin, what is the situation about the bus contract? At the Bank we . . .’
‘Lucy did most of the work,’ interrupted Claire. ‘Come on, you blokes, give her a big hand and tomorrow it’s your turn to do dinner.’
‘We expat chaps have not been brought up to cook. Deb can do it,’ said Johnny, helping himself to yet more gin.
‘But she has the children to put to bed.’
‘I’ll cook,’ said Howard. ‘You’d be surprised at my culinary skills. I seem to remember I once made spaghetti – about eight years ago, I think. It was quite acceptable.’
But Lucy said she loved cooking and would adore preparing another meal. Everybody hastily agreed that that would be the best idea.
‘You’re not much of a feminist, are you, Luce?’ asked Deborah with a grin. ‘Wait till you’ve been married a bit longer.’
Lucy laughed. ‘No, I don’t believe in that sort of thing.’
Dear Lucy, so old-fashioned but so efficient, thought Claire, wondering yet again if the poor girl could possibly be happy with baggy old Martin. But then when he remembered to look at his wife, he seemed delighted that she was there and his face became pinker and almost glowed. A dimmish sort of restrained civil servant glow, but a glow none the less. And he wasn’t that bad looking, in a grey sort of way. He just looked totally out of place in the jungle, an intelligent codfish in shorts. Better than the lecherous snake Johnny anyway. Why did darling Deb ever fall for him in the first place? Claire knew the answer to that – the wrong lust at the wrong time.
The next day, as Johnny disappeared with a camera leaving his family alone, Claire persuaded Howard that they should accompany Deborah and her children on a visit to the waterfall, one of the highlights of the park, according to the guidebook.
When they reached the gorge, Howard offered to carry baby Jojo down the precipitous wooden steps. Claire went ahead, picking her way carefully, brushing aside the green foliage for Sam who had adopted the expedient of crawling down backwards. She reached the bottom first and looked back at the others. In the jungle scene, Howard made a handsome picture, like some latter-day Tarzan, large and fair, carrying the small child with blue eyes. Claire noticed anew how blonde Jojo looked beside her dark brother.
The waterfall was tall and spectacular, but the children were afraid to go near the roaring cascade of foam. No sooner had they sat down to admire the view from a safe distance than Sam started to whine that he was hungry and Jojo’s nappy started to leak. So they were forced to return to the bungalow, Deborah apologizing profusely for the inconvenience of kids in general and hers in particular. But Howard said, generously in Claire’s view, that the children were very good and no trouble.
Indeed, he genuinely seemed to like them, especially Jojo. Claire wondered if he was trying to impress her with his fatherhood potential.
The others returned from a long trek, having seen little of the promised wildlife except for the leeches that covered their legs. After a long discussion about leech prevention (thick socks soaked in tea), the horrible creatures were all removed.
‘Never mind,’ said Howard, still playing the part of hearty expedition leader. ‘Tonight we can go on the game warden’s safari lorry. They shine a powerful searchlight into the jungle so we’ll see all the nocturnal mammals. We leave at ten o’clock. That’s the best time to see animals, they say.’
In a rare paternal gesture, Johnny Case offered to look after his children so that Deborah could go on the night safari. He went out soon after dinner, however, to ‘inspect the local watering holes’ and by a quarter to ten he had not returned. Feeling that her need for solitude was greater than her desire to see a mouse deer, Claire volunteered herself as a substitute babysitter.
Alone in the secluded bungalow and aware of every unusual noise, she began to regret her kind offer. There certainly did seem to be more wildlife around at night. She kept hearing a sinister scratching noise outside the window and occasionally even on the roof. Then there was a thump outside the front door and it suddenly sprang open, but there was nothing in sight. Her heart beating, Claire wedged a chair behind the door.
A little later there was a loud bang. To her relief, she heard Johnny cursing. When she opened the door, he rolled in, dishevelled, sweaty and quite drunk. Pouring himself a tumbler full of neat whisky, he sat down beside her on the small sofa.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the lovely Claire.’
Standing up, she smiled politely and said that she’d now be going back to her own bungalow.
He barred her way. ‘Have a little drinkie first.’
Claire decided that it was better not to argue and accepted the large tot that he poured her.
His eyes shone as he examined her legs in the pink shorts. ‘Always fancied you, you know,’ he said with a leer.
She did not reply, but gulped her drink with a view to escaping as quickly as possible.
He looked at his watch. ‘The others won’t be back for an hour, so there’s plenty of time for you and me to get to know each other a bit better. Always promised to come sailing with me and you never did.’
‘Johnny, I have to go now.’
But he grabbed her by the wrist and forced her to sit beside him.
‘You’re hurting my arm, you moron,’ she said sharply. But she couldn’t pull away. He was much stronger than she was.
‘Isn’t that what you women like, a bit of rough stuff?’ He licked her ear, breathing fumes of whisky over her.
She turned her head away. ‘No, it damn well isn’t. Look, Johnny, what about Deborah?’
‘What indeed? What about old Deborah? I suspect my dear wife is up to something. I think she’s having a bit on the side. What do you think, Claire?’
‘I . . . I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I bet you do, but never mind about old Deb. I’ll sort her out myself.’ He patted her thigh. ‘Did you know that there’s no law against rape in Maising? The islanders know a thing or two about sex, about how badly women want it.’
Claire took a deep breath. ‘I thought I heard Sammy crying. He may come in. Johnny turned his head to listen. The thought of his son seemed to sober him, but then he put his face close to hers again. ‘We could go to your cabin and lock the door,’ he said.
She tried to remain calm, but her voice was full of disgust. ‘Johnny, you bloody fool, if you don’t let me go, I swear I’ll scream.’
‘No one to hear you, my lovely.’ He pulled her towards him and tried to jab his knee between her legs.
She pushed and turned, beginning to panic. ‘Yes, there is, there’s Sammy. He’s already restless. He came in – just before you got back. He couldn’t sleep – bad dream – did you hear that? He called out. You must’ve heard it. Johnny, you heard Sammy, didn’t you?’ she asked desperately.
‘Sam . . . Sam,’ repeated Johnny, his face close to hers. Then he suddenly released her. ‘Well, maybe we’d better make it another time. You just give me the signal, Claire.’
She ran to her own cabin and locked the door. Shaking with rage, she paced about until the others returned.
Howard laughed at her security precautions. ‘There are no bears or tigers on the island, you know. But in fact you didn’t miss much because the passengers on the truck made so much bloody noise that all the animals had obviously buggered off to the other side of the forest.’
‘Not quite all of them,’ muttered Claire. She almost burst out with the whole story, but somehow managed to restrain herself.
On the damp lumpy mattress, she found it difficult to relax that night. She refused to make love with Howard, whispering that the walls of the cabin were so thin, and anyway she was tired. He did not protest and turned away to sleep. She lay back, wide awake. She would not tell Deborah about Johnny. She would tell no
one. He had probably been too drunk for anything more than a quick grope, but whatever his intentions the incident had upset her a great deal. Everything she saw seemed to point against the idea of married happiness. Deborah and the drunken creep Johnny; Lucy and pompous old Martin who treated her like a halfwit.
Yes, the walls of the cabin were like paper. She could hear Lucy and Martin in the throes of love-making and conceded that Deborah was right about one thing: the passionate sex life of this unlikely couple. But she wondered anew if hot sex in a hot climate was a strong enough basis for happy marriage.
Sixteen
‘Did you like the National Park, my dear? The Ambassador and I always enjoy it enormously,’ said Helena, settling back in the large sofa upholstered in green and yellow floral chintz. So wonderfully British, thought Lucy each time she came here.
She had been admitted to the private sitting room which, being only about twenty feet long, was more intimate than the grand reception rooms of the Residence, but still hardly cosy. A uniformed maid brought coffee on a large silver tray and began, rather apprehensively, to pour it into gold-crested cups, but Helena waved her imperiously away and completed the task herself.
‘Come, Lucy, tell me about your weekend,’ she said, smiling in a manner that was almost jolly.
‘Well, we didn’t see a lot of nature – apart from the insects inside the bungalow, that is.’
Helena seldom recognized Lucy’s few attempts at humour.
‘Oh dear me,’ she said. ‘It’s very important to take the right sort of binoculars and appropriate reference books. What sort of camera do you use?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, Martin has something Japanese, fairly basic. And I took some on my phone but not that many.’
Helena was horrified. She went on to describe all the wildlife that presented itself to the ambassadorial lens: the rare orchids, the hornbills, the wild pigs, deer, tapir, how they usually stayed in the private lodge of their very dear friend, the Prince, and would go on marvellous safaris where he’d take them to a marvellous hide from which they could see just about everything there was to see.
This led to an enquiry about which members of the Maising royal family Lucy knew. When she confessed to not being acquainted with any of them, Helena launched into a lecture on how important it was for wives to help their husbands make the right sort of contacts by meeting the right sort of people and inviting them to one’s home.
‘I hope you went on a course at the Foreign Office before you married,’ she said severely.
Lucy tried hard not to be intimidated, but her voice began to betray the nervousness that Helena induced. ‘No, as I think I told you, I would like to have done, but there wasn’t time.’
‘One should make time for these things. In your case, it would have been a very good idea. Still, no doubt you have studied the Guidance Notes on diplomatic life. Of course there are some modern versions designed for junior staff, but the older handbooks are so much better – one can learn so much from people like Dame Angela and Sir Harold. Probably considered old-fashioned now but really useful.’
‘Oh.’
‘Have you read them, my dear?’
‘No, I, er . . . they don’t seem to hand them out these days.’
‘I will send you round my copies. I think it will help you to know how things should be done.’ Helena pursed her lips and stared hard at the unpromising material in front of her. ‘And how are you getting on with the Maising language? Not easy, I know, particularly for those, er, less accustomed to learning.’
‘Well, actually I was just on my way to put my name down for some classes at the American Institute,’ said Lucy, proud of this resolution. She’d decided to enrol because she wanted to please Martin, and anyway it was frustrating not to be able to communicate, not even to be able to ask the way to the nearest post box.
Helena’s eyebrows quivered upwards. ‘The American Institute? Oh dear, I think you’d find rather an odd type of person there.’
‘But all the teachers are from Maising, properly qualified.’
‘What sort of standard, what sort of qualifications, I wonder. You’d be far better hiring a private teacher like Professor Mrs Jaan – the FCO will pay, you know. Mrs Jaan is from an awfully good intellectual Maising family. I found her rather a tyrant about verbs and vocabulary lists, but just what one needs. Of course she is used to teaching Oxbridge graduates, such as the Ambassador and me, but I am sure she can adapt to all kinds of people. I tell you what, I will telephone her now, this minute.’
Ignoring Lucy’s feeble protests, Helena picked up the telephone and made the necessary, or unnecessary, arrangements.
Eventually Lucy managed to bring the conversation round to the purpose of her visit: arranging the date of the next meeting of the Diplomatic Service Families Association. Eventually she was able to make her escape.
An audience with Helena always left her shaking with mixed feelings of anger and inadequacy. This afternoon she felt the need to work off her tension in the Embassy pool, though generally she preferred to swim in the early morning when the place was uncrowded and when there was no one to stare at her bust.
Today she found a group of wives lounging beside the water and several noisy children splashing about.
As usual, Sandra, the plumpest of these women, was complaining. ‘I said to the management officer, I said, what’s the point in leaving my nice home in England and my job if I have to live in a poky little flat abroad. The conditions of service are not what they were, I said. And the furniture, you should see the furniture they provided, cheap and nasty teak units. I haven’t even got a cabinet to display my crystal.’
She wiped some of the sweat off her freckled chest and continued. ‘I mean, in the old days there was always the duty-free fags to console you, but now, what with my health, the doctor says I should stop smoking. But I don’t want to put on weight, I said to him, and when your hubby smokes it’s hard to give up, I told him. And when you’re living in a country like this you need something to cheer you up, don’t you?’
The women nodded their heads. After more discussion about the poor quality of Foreign Office furniture in general and that supplied in Maising in particular, another wife raised the subject of maids, always a popular topic among the expats. Though few of them would be able to afford to employ a cleaner for two hours a week back home, some did not treat their full-time servants here that kindly, Martin had told her.
‘Do you know what my maid did the other day? She put the kettle on with no water in it. She does it time after time. I said to her, I said, if you do that again, I’ll dock your wages. You’ve got to be firm with them,’ said Sandra.
Lucy sat and listened, waiting for the children to come out of the water for crisps and drinks, allowing her space to swim a length or two. It occurred to her that in some ways she sympathized with these women living this unnatural life so far from home. For instance, she knew she’d enjoyed the national park weekend because she’d been able to cook and play house with no maids about. However, she could not bear the gloomy atmosphere around the pool created by the endless stream of complaints. It made her feel all the more depressed – would she end up just like them, or worse, just like Helena?
Thank God that tomorrow she had half-planned to see Deborah, who was always cheerful and positive, who actually appeared to like living abroad, possibly because she had no real home anywhere else. Deborah had been preoccupied with children at the weekend, but maybe now she’d have time for a chat. Abandoning the idea of a swim, Lucy went home to phone her.
Deborah’s voice was warm and friendly. ‘Sure, Lucy, we’re going on a trip tomorrow. I have a plan to visit those ruins we saw when we went with Beth on the bus. You remember Ravi, the place with all the Buddhas and the village that had the statue of Queen Victoria?’
‘Yes, I remember. I’d love to come.’
‘Great. Well, er, I also planned on taking Alex, he’s the son of the Manager of BP. I promised h
is stepmother I’d show him around. So it’d be great if you’d come along. I’ll pick you up at a quarter of nine. Not too early for you, is it? Only it gets kind of warm out there at this time of year.’
*
When they reached the Ravi ruins next morning, it was already more than kind of warm. Lucy had slept badly the night before. She felt the sweat trickling down her back as soon as she left Deborah’s air-conditioned car. The monsoon rains that everyone droned on about must come soon.
As they walked haphazardly around the dark-red ruins, Lucy knew she was meant to be absorbing the past, but her mind was on the present. She had hoped to have the opportunity to confide in Deborah, but the boy Alex stuck close to them.
Deborah in turn paid him a great deal of attention. Lucy thought it kind of her to show so much interest in a teenager. He was a tall thin boy, handsome in a blond sort of way, but scruffily dressed in torn jeans. He spoke little but smiled a great deal. Lucy thought he probably had a bit of a crush on Deb.
Deborah, surprisingly elegant in flowing cream cotton, was even more animated than usual. ‘Let’s go see if we can find that Meng guy. Maybe he even started the dig. You’d like to meet a genuine live local archaeologist, wouldn’t you, Alex? He was working way over in that direction last time.’
They found Meng standing over a group of workmen in coolie hats. They were digging within a square marked off with twine and putting the earth into cone-shaped leather bags. They emptied the bags into a barrow for Meng to examine and then pushed the barrow to a mound some feet away. Just watching them made Lucy feel hotter still.
Meng recognized them immediately and, without much prompting from Deborah, began to expound on his work. Nothing had been found so far, he said, but his coolies were well enough trained to stop the moment they struck stone or brick instead of earth.
Deborah asked a series of intelligent questions while Alex and Lucy looked on. But Meng made the effort to include Lucy in the conversation. Indeed he seemed to want to give her the answers to Deborah’s questions. Lucy tried to concentrate, but it was so hot that she began to feel peculiar. Her head swimming, she sat down suddenly on the hot stone steps and closed her eyes. She heard voices around her, far away. She had the sensation of being carried somewhere and then no sensation at all.
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