Tropical Connections

by Vereker, Susie

  One day, before I finally leave the country, I’ll let her smash them all, thought Deborah grimly.

  Then taking a deep breath, she made her announcement. ‘I’m leaving for the States as soon as I can arrange it. I’m going to stopover with my sister in London on the way. And I’ll probably visit Geneva.’

  ‘When will you be back?’ asked Muriel.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe I won’t come back at all.’

  *

  Later Johnny said, ‘My mother was very upset by all your talk of leaving the country.’

  ‘To hell with your mother.’

  ‘You can’t think only of yourself, Deb. She’s a granny and she loves the kids. And so do I.’

  ‘Neither you nor she wants to take care of them, though.’

  ‘Hell, no. You can have custody. And I’ll pay a generous allowance for them. You can stay in the flat and I’ll pay the maid, of course. But I’ll only cough up if you stay in Maising.’

  ‘I don’t want your damn money. I can support myself.’

  ‘I think you’ll find you do want it. The pittance you earn teaching English won’t keep you in the nice comfortable manner which you’ve become accustomed to. There are such things as bills, you know, lots and lots of big, big bills.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to move downmarket, won’t I?’

  Johnny went on as if she had not spoken. ‘By all means go and visit your father. But you know you can’t stand living with him and you can’t afford anywhere else. It’s a big, bad, expensive world out there. I expect you’ll be back before long.’

  ‘Johnny, don’t you think we’ll both be happier if I’m living in another country? A big legal battle won’t do your reputation any good – this is a small place. Talk to your new girlfriend. I’ll bet she wants me to leave.’

  *

  The day after, Johnny telephoned her. His manner was friendly, almost appeasing. ‘I talked to Liana.’

  ‘Is that her name? I seem to have heard it before some place.’

  ‘Maybe you have. She’s quite a girl.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  ‘Liana seems to think you’re right. That you and the children might be happier in another country, though of course I’d like to see them from time to time.’

  Deborah smiled grimly. ‘OK.’

  ‘Liana thinks I should pay reasonable expenses for the kids wherever you are. Do you want some sort of official legal separation? Liana thinks it’s a good idea.’

  ‘You bet. I am so glad your friend and I have so many ideas in common. But I don’t want your money.’

  She could hear him whispering to someone. ‘Liana thinks that’s balls. She advises you to get a lawyer and take what you can. She says . . .’

  ‘Unusually generous, your friend. Sounds too good to be true. Maybe she did do me a favour, but just tell her to butt out of my life or the breaks around here won’t be so damn clean.’

  *

  A few days later, Deborah called Howard to consult him about cheap flights to Europe and the States. Rather that email her the suggested websites, he offered to ‘come round for a chat.’

  When she opened the door and saw him standing there, Deborah felt a pang of something, she was not sure what. He looked spruce and handsome in a pale cream shirt, and also a little uncertain of his welcome. Putting on her friendly social manner, she offered him a drink.

  ‘How are you feeling, Deb?’ he asked, looking half-sheepish, half-hopeful.

  ‘I feel good, thanks. Well, not exactly good but OK.’

  They chatted for some time.

  She found herself inviting him to stay to dinner. ‘But, just to make it quite clear, tonight we’re not going to get smashed – or get laid – the other night was a one-off, sort of mutual first-aid,’ she added.

  He smiled. ‘Pity.’

  After dinner he listened patiently while she told him about her travel plans and how she wanted to go to Switzerland, London and New York.

  ‘How long will you be in Switzerland?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I can’t afford to go for long, but it would be so great to just stop by, to see friends in Geneva.’

  He smiled at her. ‘How about stopping by with me? You see my uncle offered me the use of his chalet in Wengen. I don’t particularly like the idea of being there on my own, so how about you and the kids coming too? Just as friends, no strings. Then you can go on to Geneva.’

  She stared at him, smiling in amazement. ‘Run that by me again. You are offering to share a chalet in Wengen. I didn’t even know you were due for leave. It sounds like my sort of heaven, but, Howard, I just can’t afford a ski holiday.’

  ‘It wouldn’t cost you anything. You’d be my guest. No strings, though, as I said.’

  ‘By no strings, d’you mean no friendship sex?’

  ‘You do like to put things bluntly, don’t you? I mean, I shan’t expect anything from you except companionship.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No strings, no pressure.’

  ‘You’re crazy, Howard. I’m sure there are all sorts of juicy bimbos who’d just adore to go skiing with you. You can’t really mean you want to take a mother with two kids.’

  ‘You want to visit Switzerland. I want to go skiing. You and I get on well, as friends, and you’re a pretty yummy mummy too. So it’s logical to go together. If you feel worried about the whole thing, you can pay me back some day when you’re rich.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say yes.’

  She hugged him. ‘OK. Thank you. I’d love to accept but I’m not sure. You’re a great guy. I can’t tell you what this means to me. I feel sort of different, more human. But are you sure you wouldn’t mind leaving sex out of any arrangement? I’m just not ready for it yet.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said gently. Then he said, ‘But you haven’t opened your Christmas present.’

  ‘What present?’

  ‘I left it in the hall so it would be a surprise. Sorry it’s so belated.’

  He went out of the room and returned with a plastic bag from which he took a red crêpe paper parcel, stuck up with a great deal of scotch tape and a crumpled green ribbon.

  Deborah opened it and laughed. ‘A ski hat. However did you find a ski hat in tropical Maising?’

  ‘You can buy anything here if you know where to go.’

  ‘It’s wonderful. I love the colour and the bobble. I would love to wear it in Wengen. If only I could come. Sometimes you’re really very cute,’ she said and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I just adore my Christmas present. What can I give you? Is there anything you need?’

  ‘Just you,’ he said, with a certain amorous look on his face.

  Deb felt obliged to take him seriously. ‘Howard, darling, sorry to repeat myself, but you do understand I’m not ready for any kind of relationship. I’m not looking for a new man, not right now. Right now I need to learn to take care of myself and my kids.’

  ‘But maybe I could take care of you, and them too. Maybe I could get a job somewhere else – then we could share a house.’

  She spoke slowly. ‘If we had any sort of love affair, it would be on the rebound, you from Claire, and me from my marriage. A moment ago you were in love with Claire, crazy about her.’

  He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. ‘I know, but I think she was right when she said I was in love with the idea of her rather than Claire herself. She was my ideal woman, or rather I thought of her that way. But a long time ago, before I met her, I was very attracted to you, but you were married. So I looked for someone else, and she came along. It’s quite possible to be attracted to more than one person, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it is – I accept that because one time I, well there was someone else in Maising once,’ she began slowly. ‘But that’s all in the past.’ She paused, looking down at her hands. Then she said, ‘But, thing is, you just feel sorry for me.’

  ‘I told you to stop saying “but”. Deb, I meant it when I sa
id I liked the way you look. And I like your voice and your fizzy personality. And I like being with you and your children.’ He paused. ‘And those two nights we’ve spent together, I liked them too, rather a lot.’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘We were drunk.’

  ‘I know, but I can remember everything.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Might be even better sober.’ Obviously encouraged by her smiles, he went on. ‘Maybe, just maybe, we might . . .’

  She shook her head again. ‘Forgive me if I’ve got it wrong, but it looks like you’re not that interested in “just good friends”. See, I just can’t slide from one man to another. Doesn’t seem right. I have to prove I can manage on my own. And I definitely wouldn’t want to be lovers just because you feel sorry for me and it’s convenient – I have to tell you that.’

  ‘All right, if that’s the way you want it, but why don’t you just stay with me for a while, no strings, until the kids are a bit bigger. Then you can go off and be independent and conquer the world.’

  ‘Howard, listen, I’m not a whole person at the moment. When a marriage breaks up, you’re torn in two, all torn and sore on one side, and you need to grow a new skin before you’re ready for another relationship. It’s just too much too soon.’

  ‘But you weren’t happy in your marriage.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she said slowly. ‘It was a part of me and now it’s gone.’

  ‘Well, yes, and of course you need time. I see that. I won’t put any pressure on you. But, please, consider it.’

  Suddenly she stood up and paced about. ‘No, I’m sorry to have dithered about but it just won’t work. I’ve made up my mind – I have to go to Washington and live with Dad. It’ll cheer him up, and it’s the only place I can afford.’

  There was a circular argument that obviously confused Howard.

  Finally he pleaded, ‘I don’t understand this feminist stuff, but I give in. I accept your decision, you’re off to London and then the States, but come skiing en route, just for two weeks. Absolutely platonic, cross my heart.’

  She paced around some more, then turned to face him. ‘It’s very, very tempting, and so nice of you to still want to invite me after all this muddle on my part, but I now realize I really can’t do it. It wouldn’t be right or fair. I’m so sorry.’

  Howard hunched his shoulders and sighed. ‘All right,’ he said miserably. ‘I’ll have to let you go. But promise to stay in touch.’

  ‘I promise I will stay in touch. Please, please don’t be too sad, Howard, you’ll be fine in the end. You’ll find someone else some day, probably sooner rather than later.’ She smiled gently. ‘A nice, kind, single, eligible man like you will never be past his sell-by date.’

  Twenty-Eight

  Lucy could tell from some yards away that Martin was in a bad temper. He plodded across the lawn like a crumpled bear and flung himself down on the verandah chaise longue without kissing her hello. She called for tea and went to find the McVitie’s digestive biscuits, a rare English treat she had been saving for just such an emergency. After tea, when Somjit had cleared away the tray, Martin revealed the cause of his despondency. ‘The Japanese got the bloody bus contract, after all that work we did. Stole it from under our noses. Can’t imagine how they managed such a low tender.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ murmured Lucy sympathetically. ‘Is the Ambassador upset?’

  ‘Not half as upset as the chaps from British Coachworks.’

  ‘And poor Claire, making her leave the country, all that was unnecessary.’

  ‘Well, she had to go anyway. For her own safety. Talking of Claire, you remember that chap she used to work for, Vandenberg? Well, he’s suddenly upped and moved to America, health problems, needs a heart operation. Sold up all his business interests and his house here. I saw it in the local rag.’

  Lucy seldom read the Maising Recorder, a dull and badly printed English-language newspaper, but now she went in search of it. ‘Oh, yes, there’s a picture of Jean-Louis – amazingly flattering considering how ugly he was – and quite a long spiel about him.’ She read the half-page article and stared at the smudgy photograph. Then she said, ‘I wonder if his health problems were due to natural causes.’

  ‘Why on earth shouldn’t they be?’

  ‘He had lots of enemies. His so-called heart disease could have been induced by native medicine.’

  ‘Lucy, please, we’ve had quite enough of your amateur detective work and the less said about native medicine the better, don’t you think?’ He stood up and stretched out his long arms. ‘Now, what are we doing this evening? Oh God, the universities dinner. I must have some sort of siesta before we go.’

  *

  When they arrived at the crowded private room in the Hotel Splendid, Lucy began to feel depressed. Even though she had learnt to have low expectations of official social functions, she found that the biennial dinner for British university graduates provided new dimensions of boredom. Traditionally, there was a long lecture after a long formal dinner and one couldn’t expect to escape before midnight.

  This evening she felt tired even before the dinner started. The meal was indifferent, cardboard international cuisine, elaborately presented but tasting of nothing. Lucy sat silently as the five other members at her table talked about the beauties of Cambridge and what a wonderful time they’d had in their day.

  She gazed at the elegant buffet table. In the centre was a life-size swan carved out of ice, its beak dripping into a huge bowl of fruit. She wondered idly how long it would take to melt and if it would still be there the next morning. She wondered if anyone would notice if she herself melted away. While she sat staring at the swan, she folded and refolded her table napkin.

  Suddenly she thought of a topic of conversation. ‘Who’s the speaker this evening?’ she asked loudly, addressing the table at large.

  ‘He is an archaeologist,’ began an earnest young man in thick round glasses.

  His explanations were drowned by applause when Johnny Case staggered to his feet. ‘As secretary of the Dining Club, I have to announce that our original speaker, Dr Kim Zar, is ill, but we are very fortunate in being able to find a superb replacement. I have great pleasure in introducing the well-known archaeologist and art historian, recently returned from a long stay in Bangkok, Professor Meng Li Sang.’

  Lucy stared in astonishment as Meng mounted the rostrum. He began to talk about the influence of the Ramayana on art throughout Southeast Asia. She was mesmerized. He looked handsome as ever, charming, powerful, dark like a fallen angel. Suddenly he saw her and it appeared that he addressed the rest of his talk only to her. She found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. Sometimes, however, the words penetrated. ‘Princess Sita was lured away from her husband by the demon king.’ Lucy shuddered. Later she heard, ‘Her chastity was called into question and she was forced to undergo an ordeal.’ She felt it must be obvious to everyone that his eyes were fixed on her face.

  When he had at last finished his lecture, he came straight towards her. ‘Lucy, I am so very happy to see you.’ He took her hand.

  Flushing, she snatched it away. ‘I thought you were abroad.’

  ‘I have returned. Come, I would like to introduce you to someone.’

  He led her to a small side room where a young man was sitting alone. She thought she had seen him before somewhere.

  Meng said, ‘May I present my friend Pel? He is from Cambodia. But maybe you know him already? He says he came to your house one evening.’

  The young man, as beautiful as Meng, but paler, thin, more delicate, held out his hand. ‘Enchanté, madame. I believe you are a friend of Claire. Do you know where she is? I would like to write a letter.’

  Her head reeling, Lucy shook hands automatically. ‘She . . . I thought . . . you can’t be the Pel who used to work with Claire.’

  ‘The very same,’ said Meng, smiling.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Pel, Lucy looks as if she
would like a drink. Please would you be so kind as to fetch one. I’d like a cognac, Rémy Martin or whatever they have – and for you, Lucy?’

  ‘Oh, water, orange juice, anything soft, thank you,’ she said.

  Pel moved away towards the crowded bar.

  Meng was looking rather smug. ‘You thought he was dead, didn’t you? Well, now you can write to Claire and say he is not.’

  Lucy stared at him. ‘I don’t understand. Claire thought you—’

  ‘She thought I killed him or had him killed,’ he said more seriously. ‘What did you think?’

  She hesitated. ‘Well, I found it impossible to believe you were a murderer, but Claire overheard a conversation you had with Mr Vandenberg. She was certain you were responsible for Pel’s death. I didn’t think she’d invent a thing like that . . . not Claire. So I just didn’t know what to make of it all.’

  ‘You are both right. I am not a murderer, but I did tell Jean-Louis that Pel was dead. I wanted to protect the boy. You see he and Jean-Louis had quarrelled and Jean-Louis has a vicious streak if things don’t go his way.’

  ‘What did they quarrel about?’

  ‘Jean-Louis has gone now. His quarrels went with him. It is best not to ask too many questions, Lucy. You Westerners expect answers when no answer can be given because no question should be asked. That is why your friend Claire got into trouble.’

  ‘But it’s all very peculiar. Who was the body on the beach Claire talked about, the one with the cross?’

  ‘I don’t know. A coincidence. Probably just a criminal or a refugee.’

  ‘And what about the ivory bird?’ Suddenly she wished she hadn’t mentioned this.

  ‘Lucy, Lucy, I explained it was necessary to deceive Jean-Louis. And it was most unfortunate he chose to have Claire marooned. It was just to scare her, a warning. Still, she will be pleased to know the truth.’

  Lucy was still suspicious. ‘How can I prove to her that your friend is the real Pel?’

  ‘I will take a photograph of you both together to send to her. You know I am an excellent photographer,’ he said, with a glittering smile.

  She blushed scarlet.