by Deborah Hale
He pointed towards a wall of wooden stakes that surrounded a vast cluster of buildings with shaggy attap roofs. Above those towered a new one of red tiles arranged in a tiered pyramid that looked as if it might have been transplanted from Chinatown.
“This is Kampong Gelam where the Sultan lives with many of his relatives and retainers.” He rattled off the information, hoping it might distract her. “Kampong is the Malay word for village and the gelam is a kind of tree that is plentiful hereabouts. The orang laut people use its bark to repair their boats.”
Bethan refused to be diverted. “Should I add your daughter to the list of things you refuse to talk about?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Simon tried to dismiss her question. “See that new building with the red roof? That is not the sultan’s istana, as you might suppose. It is a mosque, a place of worship for Muslims.”
Once again Bethan ignored his effort to change the subject. “Your injured leg…your late wife…” She ticked off the forbidden topics on her fingers. “How many more are there? Perhaps you should tell me so I’ll know to avoid them.”
Coming here had been a mistake. Simon turned the gharry around and headed back towards his house. “If I thought you would have the courtesy to refrain from raising those subjects I prefer not to discuss, I would certainly tell you.”
Bethan shook her head. “I don’t understand. I know they’re not pleasant memories. But you act as if they’ll go away if you never talk about them. They won’t, you know.”
Simon could barely unclench his jaw enough to growl, “I don’t wish to discuss that, either.”
How would she like it if he interrogated her about the man who’d ruined her and how it had come about?
“I don’t care if you won’t talk about those other things.” Bethan heaved an exasperated sigh. “But don’t expect me to keep quiet about your daughter. The poor child is afraid that if she steps a toe out of line you’ll never love her. You must show her that’s not true. And if it is true…well, it’s just plain wrong, that’s all!”
Of course it was wrong. Simon knew that from his own experience. But he hadn’t given Rosalia any cause to believe such things…had he?
Haunted by that uncertainty, Simon refused to speak again until they reached the house. When he helped Bethan out of the gharry, the touch of her hand made his heart beat faster, but he stifled the urge to linger in her presence.
“Excuse me.” With a curt bow, he turned from her and strode off towards the garden.
“Aren’t you coming to dinner?” she called after him.
Simon did not look back. “I seem to have lost my appetite.” He marched through the garden and down to the shore.
There he paced and listened to the muted crash of waves on the sand. He hoped the sound would scour his mind of all the maddening thoughts Bethan had stirred up with her intrusive questions and meddlesome opinions. But it did not.
He could not stop thinking about Rosalia and the possibility that what Bethan had said about her might be true.
Was Simon guilty of neglecting his daughter? Bethan asked herself as she ate a solitary dinner. Or had she been too hard on him?
Cook had prepared a fine meal, giving familiar European dishes an exotic twist with local ingredients. Yet tonight none of it tasted quite as good without the added spice of Simon’s company.
If she’d stopped badgering him about Rosalia when he asked her to, he might be there now, telling her fascinating stories about the things they’d seen at the Sultan’s compound. But she’d been so stubbornly determined to scold him for not paying more attention to his daughter that she could not recall anything he’d tried to show her.
Perhaps she should have shown Simon a little of the patience and understanding that came so naturally to her when dealing with his young daughter. He might have listened to her then. But his scowling defensiveness had provoked her to lash out with her blunt tongue, driving him away. How would she ever get him to heed her advice about Rosalia if she could not keep him within ten feet of her?
His maddening refusal to talk about anything that troubled him reminded Bethan of her mother, with whom she’d had a difficult relationship. Things are what they are, girl. All the talking in the world won’t change them.
She hadn’t been able to make her mother understand she wasn’t trying to change the past by talking it over. All she’d wanted was a chance to sort out her feelings about it. Hugh was the only one who’d been willing to listen, until he went away to sea. She would give anything to have him with her now, listening to all her problems with Simon Grimshaw and offering brotherly advice.
What would Hugh say about all this? Bethan wondered as she gave up trying to eat and wandered out to the veranda. Might he suggest she try to see Simon’s side of things?
It must have been hard for him to lose his wife and find himself responsible for a tiny daughter, all when he and his partners were working day and night to establish their business. Was it any wonder he’d placed Rosalia in the care of an experienced amah? Though he might not have showered her with treats and attention, he had done his best to provide her with a safe, comfortable life.
A sudden flash of lightning startled Bethan out of her woolgathering. The loud crack of thunder that followed made her quake. Her first thought was for Rosalia. What if the child awoke frightened by the storm, without Ah-Sam nearby to comfort her?
Bethan hurried towards the nursery. She had almost reached it when a flash of lightning revealed Simon standing in the darkened hallway just outside his daughter’s room. He was no longer wearing his coat. His neckcloth was untied and his hair looked windblown.
For an instant Bethan wondered if she’d fallen asleep and dreamed of him, as she had so often since coming to Singapore.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a muted gasp.
“This is my house.” More silver-white lightning flashed outside and in Simon’s eyes. “I am not obliged to answer to you for my comings and goings.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you hardly ever come here when Rosalia is awake. Why are you prowling around her nursery when she’s sleeping?”
“I’m not prowling!” The rumble of Simon’s voice was followed by an echo of thunder. “But since we are on the subject, what are you doing here?”
“I came to be with Rosalia in case the storm wakes her.” Bethan listened for any sound of the child stirring.
“I doubt it will. She’s a deep sleeper. It comes of living so long in our old house by the river, I suppose.” With every word, the hostility in his tone faded. “If she could sleep through that racket, it will take more than a few claps of thunder to wake her.”
Bethan was surprised he knew that about his daughter.
He expelled a slow, deep breath. “If you must know, I came to sit near her bed while she slept and think about what you said to me earlier.”
“And…?” she prompted him after a long, expectant pause.
“I am grateful Rosalia is so well behaved.” His voice blended with the haunting patter of rain on the tile roof overhead. “But I cannot imagine where she got the notion I might be angry with her. I’ve never once raised my voice to her.”
“I’m sure you were never purposely unkind.” Bethan moved a little closer, so Simon could hear her above the sound of the rain. “But children see the world in their own way. Didn’t you have any foolish fancies or secret fears when you were her age?”
She didn’t expect Simon to answer, given his stubborn refusal to talk about his past. But she hoped he would think about it at least and begin to understand.
Perhaps it would help if she told him something about her life. “I know how Rosalia feels. When I was only a bit older than her, my father left my mother and me. He travelled a lot for his work as an estate surveyor, but that time he never came back. I thought it must be my fault, because I was so full of mischief.”
“Abandoned his wife and child?” The harshness of Sim
on’s tone did not offend Bethan, for she heard his outrage on her behalf. “That is infamous!”
All these years later, she still felt compelled to make excuses for her father. “My mother wasn’t an easy woman to live with. What hurt me worse than Daddy’s going was that he left me behind. I used to dream of running away to find him.”
“Is that why you were so anxious to get to Singapore?” asked Simon. “Did you think you might find your father here?”
For one mad moment, Bethan considered blurting out the truth, which was so close to Simon’s guess. But after what he’d said about criminals and punishment, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. “That had nothing to do with it. A few years after my father left, we got word that he’d died. My mother thought he deserved it for turning his back on us, but I only wished I’d tried harder to go to him. His dying before I could see him one last time felt like a punishment on me.”
That was something she’d never told anyone—not even Hugh. What possessed her to confide in a man she’d known barely a fortnight—a man who refused to tell her anything important about himself?
“I understand better than you might think.” A sigh escaped from Simon’s lips. “I was seven when my mother died and ten when my father remarried. My stepmother was a neighbour of ours who’d fallen on hard times. I urged Father to assist her and he did, with an offer of marriage. She was very attentive to me until her own children came along. But with each new baby, her manner grew colder. She made an effort to keep on good terms with my elder brother who would inherit the estate. I assume she saw me as a threat to her children though I didn’t realise it at the time. I thought it was because…I wasn’t good enough.”
Bethan could picture him, a quiet child whose grave manner hid a kind heart, too easily bruised. “Was that why you came to the Indies—to prove yourself by making your fortune?”
“Perhaps,” Simon answered after a long pause. “Though, at the time, I only wanted to get as far away from my family as I could.”
Once again Bethan wondered if she was dreaming. Could this guarded man really be telling her so much about his past and his most private feelings?
Before she could reply, Simon continued, “Perhaps, without meaning to, I’ve made Rosalia feel that way. I want to make it up to her, but I’m not certain how to go about it.”
“You’ll manage,” Bethan reassured him. “I think you’re a man who can do most anything you set your mind to.”
“In business, perhaps.” He sounded weighed down with regret. “But with people, especially those that matter most to me, I’ve made a great many mistakes. You get on with Rosalia so naturally. Could you help me get closer to her?”
“Of course!” She groped for Simon’s hand and give it a heartening squeeze. “I think I get on so well with children because I still have a bit of child in me. You sound like someone who was grown up from a young age.”
She did not mean to cling to his hand, but her fingers refused to let go. “You need to spend more time with Rosalia. Talk to her. Listen to her the way you listened to me just now. Try to smile more…or at least scowl less.”
Rather than taking offence at her bluntness, Simon gave a husky chuckle. “I will try. I find it easier to smile when you’re around.”
“That’s the nicest thing any man’s ever said to me.”
The rain had stopped by now and the water falling from the eaves had slowed to a steady trickle. The quiet made Bethan more conscious than ever of Simon’s nearness and the sensations he provoked in her, even when he wasn’t trying.
Would he kiss her now? Her lips quivered with anticipation.
Instead he raised her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Thank you for your advice.”
Before she could recover her voice, he was gone, leaving her aching with longing. But unlike the other times Simon had roused her desire, this time he had also stirred a sweet, brooding tenderness that she could not decide whether to welcome…or resist.
Chapter Seven
Last night would have been a perfect opportunity to further his slow seduction of Bethan. Simon pondered that thought at work the next day and tried to figure out what had made him hesitate.
He tried to persuade himself he’d fled because he did not want to take the chance of losing control and frightening her again. But that was only part of it. What he’d really been running from was the alarming urge to pour out his whole heart to her. Not only did Bethan threaten his self-control, she also posed a danger to his fiercely guarded privacy.
Last night, she’d somehow managed to open one of the heavily locked doors to his past and compel him to reveal things he’d never confided in anyone. The darkness and the sound of the rain had cast a curtain around him, making him feel as if he were alone with his memories. Yet Bethan’s presence had been so close and vital. By sharing a glimpse into her painful past, she had opened a secret window into his.
He must not let it happen again.
He would avoid her for a few days, throwing himself into his work. When he felt it was safe to resume contact with Bethan, he would act as if his midnight confession had never taken place.
“Begging your pardon, Mr Grimshaw.” The voice of his new clerk, Wilson Hall, intruded on Simon’s thoughts, making him start. “You said you wanted to keep an eye on the lads while they load that cargo of sugar.”
“I did?” Simon could not recall the last time he’d been so thoroughly distracted from business matters. Work was supposed to make him forget the troubles in his private life, not the other way around. “I mean…of course I did. Some goods that fall in the river can be fished out again with no harm done. Drop a load of sugar overboard and it’s a different story.”
He bustled off to the quayside, hoping to leave all thoughts of Bethan behind him. But they pursued him with the same relentless purpose she had shown chasing that thief into Chinatown. Her voice lurked in the back of his mind, ready to skewer his conscience with a few blunt truths if he let his guard down for even an instant.
She pointed out that no harm had come from talking about his past. Apart from the fear of where it might lead, he actually felt a little better after airing those long-festering wounds from his youth. It also made him think differently about his relationship with Rosalia—or lack of one.
He could see now that just because the child was as well behaved as he’d been at her age did not mean she was happy. Providing her with the finest material goods was not enough. She also needed someone to foster the well-being of her vulnerable young heart.
The former came easily to Simon. The latter did not. He had no idea where to begin and he was haunted by the fear that he would fail her. In his uncertainty he’d reached out to Bethan, who had generously agreed to help him.
Now he began to wonder if that was such a good idea. Since arriving in Singapore, she had assumed roles in his life that he’d never intended. She was acting nothing like a mistress and far too much like a wife.
“Are you certain Papa won’t mind?” Rosalia clasped Bethan’s hand tightly as they drove towards the Vindicara godown.
“Don’t fret.” Bethan strove to put aside her own misgivings. Simon had meant what he said last night, hadn’t he, about wanting to get closer to his daughter? “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
When they reached the office, she was delighted to find Wilson Hall sitting at a desk writing figures in a large book.
“Bethan!” he cried, laying aside his work. “It’s good to see you. You look well. Singapore must agree with you.”
“And you.” She beamed with approval at the change in Wilson. During the past fortnight the awkward, bashful lad seemed to have found new confidence. “You look quite the man of business.”
Wilson’s lips spread in a sheepish grin. “I was so clumsy in the warehouse I was afraid Mr Grimshaw would sack me. But he let me try clerking instead and I like it. I’ve a lot to learn since I never had much schooling, but Mr Grimshaw says I’ve got a clever head for figures. The ot
her lads like it here, too. Heaven this place is after the mines—so warm and sunny with plenty to eat. We’ve picked up a few words of some other languages. Mr Grimshaw hired a man to teach us—the munshi they call him. He’s the cleverest man I ever met. He thinks very highly of Mr Grimshaw.”
Two weeks ago, Bethan might have been surprised to hear such nice things about Simon. But since then she’d glimpsed the generous heart he hid beneath his grave, sometimes gruff exterior. If he let down his guard a little, she felt certain he could be a good father. “I’m so glad to hear you’re all getting on so well, Wilson. Is Mr Grimshaw around? Rosalia and I have come to pay him a visit if he’s not too busy.”
“He’s out on the quay. Shall I fetch him for you?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” Bethan glanced down at Rosalia, who still looked anxious about being there.
A few moments later, Simon strode in, his limp barely noticeable. “Good day, ladies. This is a surprise. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?”
The child tightened her grip on Bethan’s hand and hung back as if she did not quite trust her father’s cheerful greeting.
“Rosalia misses watching the boats on the river.” Bethan cast Simon an encouraging look. “If you don’t mind, we’ll sit out on the veranda of your old house for a while.”
The child summoned up her courage to add, “May we, Papa?”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Without any prompting from Bethan, Simon sank into a crouch, though he gave a passing wince of pain. “There are a great many boats on the river today. If there were any more, I doubt they’d have room to move.”
“Perhaps you could join us for a little while,” Bethan suggested, “if you’re not too busy.”
For a moment Simon looked as if he might refuse, but then he rose and held out his hand to his daughter. “I could do with a little break from work. Ralph and the others seem to have grasped the importance of being careful when they load sugar.”
