by Anne Weale
It was not the girl’s undeniable glamor that aroused Alex’s mistrust but something in the way she stepped down from the car, took off her sunglasses and looked the bungalow over with a critical, speculative stare.
Jonathan, who had fetched the Olivers from Taiping airport, led the way up the steps and introduced his guests to his household. In contrast to his beautiful, elegant sister, Duncan Oliver was a plain, affable-looking man, already balding and with the beginnings of a paunch. He was obviously delighted to see Jonathan again.
Joanna shook hands with Miss Bray and acknowledged Alex with a casual appraising nod. Although her brother was mopping his neck and forehead and puffing gently after the hot drive, no speck of dust or suspicion of shininess marred Joanna’s appearance.
“I expect you would both like a shower before tea,” Jonathan said. “We’re rather short of bedrooms here, so I hope you won’t mind sharing my ward’s room, Miss Oliver?”
She smiled up at him. “Please call me Joanna. When you and Duncan are such old friends it would be absurd for us to be terribly formal.” Her voice was low and she had a slurred way of speaking that might or might not be affected but was nonetheless distinctive.
Alex led the way to the bedroom where Rama was already unpacking two aluminum suitcases of the kind especially designed for air travel.
“Don’t run away,” Joanna said. “It’s ages since I had a gossip. Duncan’s friends’ wives are all as old as the hills and madly domesticated. How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” Alex watched her open a leather cosmetic case and arrange a dozen bottles of lotions and cosmetics on the bedside table.
“How exciting for you having such a tall, dark, handsome guardian.” Joanna peeled off her sundress, revealing a black lace brassiere and black chiffon panties. “What on earth do you do with yourself all the time?” She cast the scanty undergarments on the floor and fitted on a tight rubber shower cap. Alex had been used to this careless dishabille in the school dormitories, but it was evident that Rama was horrified at such casual immodesty and she slipped from the room with averted eyes.
“I sew and read and talk to the estate people.” Joanna examined a mosquito bite on her slim brown thigh.
“I wouldn’t think your Miss Bray is the world’s most exciting companion, poor old dear. It sounds almost as dull as life in England. I came out to have a good time, and I must say this country offers plenty.”
She disappeared into the shower and Alex finished the unpacking. Joanna’s wardrobe was like a trousseau, the younger girl thought. There was a nightdress and negligee of pleated flame nylon, stockings in a quilted satin box, flounced cotton slips, a bikini and a garter belt trimmed with yellow ribbons.
Joanna returned, scattering water over the floor. Her body had a voluptuous ripeness that would probably thicken and perhaps become blowsy in middle years, but at twenty-six her breasts and hips were seductively rounded and shown to great advantage in bare-shouldered sundresses and sports clothes.
She changed now into a yellow cotton skirt and halter that left her smooth, inviting midriff bare.
“Hunt in that other case, will you,” she said. “There should be some espadrilles to match this outfit somewhere. It takes me an age to do my face in this climate and I’m dying for a drink.”
Alex found the sandals.
“Bless you.” Joanna slipped them on her feet and laced the thongs around her shapely legs. When her face satisfied her, she slipped a number of cane bracelets over one wrist, clipped two enormous cane rings onto her ears and sprayed herself liberally with perfume.
“Well, that feels a bit more civilized,” she said complacently.
The men, already comfortably ensconced with tankards of ice-cold Carlsberg, rose to their feet as Joanna swept forward. She sank onto the swing couch, looking as sleek, poised and faintly blasé as an illustration in Vogue.
Jonathan fetched her a tall glass of Pimm’s and she tucked the folds of her skirt aside in a gesture of invitation. He sat down beside her.
“How do you like the tropics?” he said, offering his cigarette case. She shook her head, produced her own case of Turkish and fitted one into a long ivory holder.
“I adore it,” she said. “Endless hot weather. No dreary rushing for buses or stifling in underground trains. Nothing to do but laze in the sun and chat. It’s practically paradise.”
“Wouldn’t the Riviera be more to your taste?” Miss Bray inquired. “Most people find this climate rather extreme.”
“Oh, yes, the ones like Duncan who insist on keeping up British prestige by wearing suits and tight collars,” Joanna said lightly. “I probably shock the natives to death because I wear the absolute minimum, and the heat doesn’t bother me at all.”
She turned to Jonathan, laying a hand lightly on his arm, the lacquered nails vivid against his sunburn.
“I’m hoping you’ll show me around the estate. Duncan really didn’t want to bring me on this trip, but I insisted. I want to see more of Malaya than the big towns.”
“We’re very glad you did insist. We don’t get enough visitors up here. Perhaps if you don’t find it too dull we can persuade you to stay longer.”
She smiled at him under drooping shadowed eyelids, an intimate smile.
“How remote it is here, a private world.”
Duncan chuckled. “Wait till it rains for a week, my girl, before you talk blithely about remoteness. Eh, Joe?”
She pouted charmingly. “Is it such a terrible country, Jonathan?”
He shrugged. “It depends on the individual. I wouldn’t live anywhere else, but I don’t think it’s a good country for women. The heat is very taxing for them, and if they have children they have to face up to eventual separation for several years.”
“Well, of course I’m a complete greenhorn, but I think there’s a lot to be said for any country where all the sordid side of housekeeping is done by servants. I suppose if it does get too boring one can always pop down to Singapore for a binge.”
“How do you like Malaya?” Duncan asked Alex.
“I’m a native, so I’m naturally prejudiced,” she said quietly.
“You must be lonely with nobody of your own age around?” Joanna asked. It was the kindly patronage of an adult for an adolescent.
“There are several young planters in the district who welcomed Alex’s arrival,” Miss Emmeline said. “There are so few fresh young girls out here and too often, through boredom, the boys become involved in unfortunate relationships with older women.”
“That reminds me, we met Tom in town. I asked him over to supper,” Jonathan said, not before there had been a momentary uncomfortable pause as Miss Emmeline and Joanna Oliver regarded each other with veiled antipathy.
Tonight the long maple dining table was laid with a handsome Chinese cutwork cloth with a centerpiece of pink purple hibiscus blooms floating in an alabaster bowl. The cutlery and glasses shone with polishing and Mat’s nephew, Aboubakar, a lad of twelve, had been seconded to help with the service.
“Prawn cocktails!” Joanna, seated on Jonathan’s right, surveyed the goblet set before her with surprise. “I imagined you planters lived on canned beef and straight whiskey.”
Tom, on the other side of her, shouted with laughter. “With a week’s growth of beard and bloodshot eyes, Miss Oliver?”
“I certainly didn’t realize planting attracted such ... debonair men.”
The boy flushed and grinned, his eyes dropping before that cool stare. At the other end of the table Miss Bray and Duncan Oliver were deep in conversation, and with Joanna holding court with Tom and Jonathan, Alex was left to the appreciation of Mat’s culinary achievement. Looking up she met the shy beam of Aboubakar and thought somberly that even if she had no social graces, at least she got on with the Malays. It seemed impossible that ten days ago she had been on top of the world, besieged by dancing partners and spellbound by the discovery of love.
“You are quiet tonight,” Miss Emmelin
e said.
“I was listening to the frogs,” Alex said hastily. She began to talk with overeager vivacity to Duncan.
Soon after, eleven, Miss Emmeline announced that while everyone else might sit up till breakfast if they wished, she was going to bed.
“If you think you’ll feel like getting up early, Joanna, we might go over to the factory before breakfast and see the tappers coming in,” Jonathan suggested.
“Fine, if somebody will bang on my door or lend me an alarm.” She yawned and stretched gracefully.
In the seclusion of the bedroom she said to Alex, “I like the Major boy—a bit callow, of course, but definitely attractive.”
“He may be callow but he isn’t afraid to drive along a bad road in the middle of the night, Alex said shortly, buttoning her cotton pajamas.
“No, that’s the main attraction of the men out here,” Joanna said. “They’re so aggressively tough and male. It makes one feel quite weak and defenseless by comparison.” Leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor she put on the flame-colored nightdress and began to cream her face.
Alex pulled the mosquito nets down from the frames and climbed into the camp bed, allowing the guest the comfort of the divan. She turned her head away from the light and lay silent, only half listening to Joanna’s inconsequential chatter.
She was almost dozing when a piercing scream shocked her into sitting position and before she had time to take in the situation Jonathan, followed by Duncan, burst into the room. Jonathan was holding a pistol.
“What is it? What happened?” He looked from Joanna’s white face to Alex’s startled one.
Joanna shuddered. “There’s something in the bed.”
“A snake?”
“I don’t know. It was red ... with legs. It struck at me.” She was evidently too unnerved to consider the scanty covering provided by the pleated nightgown.
Jonathan fetched a bamboo rod from the veranda and, thrusting the mosquito net aside, poked the bedclothes. Something dark moved under a fold of sheet and with a quick flick of the rod he exposed one of the venomous-looking ten-inch centipedes that occasionally found their way into the rooms. At the sight of the scurrying dark red creature Joanna drew in her breath in horror.
“Don’t be frightened. It can’t harm you unless you step on it.”
He brushed it onto the floor, severed it neatly in half and scooped the wriggling corpse onto a paper that he threw out the window.
“Thank God I didn’t get into bed without seeing it.”
“They’re not deadly,” he said cheerfully. “At worst you’d have had a swollen foot. She looks a bit shaken. Get a glass of brandy, will you, Duncan? You’re quite safe now, Joanna. We’ll tuck you in. Nothing can get through the net.”
Duncan brought the brandy and Jonathan took it from him and held it to Joanna’s lips. She sipped it obediently and with more color in her cheeks climbed into bed and watched the two men tuck the net securely under the mattress.
“There you are. I don’t expect you’ll see another all the time you’re out here.” Jonathan brandished the revolver teasingly.
“Thank you. I feel much better now.”
“Right. Good night then.” He shepherded Duncan out and closed the door.
Joanna sighed, a contented murmur of sound.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Alex woke up Joanna’s bed was empty and the diaphanous scarlet nightdress was flung untidily over a chair back. Outside the clink of china and the fragrance of coffee told her that Mat was setting the table.
She showered, put on a blue print dress with a sailor collar and went out.
“Good morning, Missy Alex.” Mat, pleased with the success of his dinner last night, was in excellent humor. Alex wished she felt as cheerful.
“Good morning. I seem to have missed some excitement last night.” Miss Bray came out of her room, polishing her spectacles on a chamois cloth.
“Joanna found a centipede in her bed.”
“From her screams I thought it must be a cobra. However, I heard Jonathan in command and decided not to add to the confusion.”
There was the faintest edge of scorn in Miss Emmeline’s tone and Alex sensed that she disapproved of Joanna Oliver. It comforted her a little to know that her dislike was shared.
“Tuan Fraser and Missy Oliver go to factory,” Mat said.
“In that case we will begin breakfast without them,” Miss Emmeline decided. “What is it this morning, Mat?”
“Cold storage kippers, mem.” Mat beamed. Kippers, he knew, were a great English delicacy, almost as highly favored as bacon and eggs. In his opinion kippers could not compare with ikan merah and other Malayan fishes, but then many Europeans did not care for curry, clear evidence of their peculiar tastes in food.
Duncan Oliver emerged from his room. “Oh, am I late?” he asked.
“No, we haven’t had our pineapple yet,” Alex said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, very well indeed. I heard Jonathan getting up but I’m afraid I went back to sleep.”
“He’s taken your sister to see the factory,” Alex said. “I don’t expect they’ll be long.”
But by the time Jonathan and Joanna put in an appearance the others were sitting back over their coffee.
Joanna came up the steps, laughing at something Jonathan had said. She was wearing a green poplin shirt and a checked skirt that she unbuttoned and tossed onto the couch, revealing brief white shorts.
“Having bowed to the local notions of propriety I can now revert to comfort,” she said gaily. “Good morning, everybody.”
“I trust you found your tour of the factory instructive, Miss Oliver?” Miss Emmeline raised her eyebrows as Joanna lit a cigarette and blew a trail of gray smoke across the breakfast table.
“Oh, madly so.” Joanna looked at Jonathan under her eyelashes, a smile curving her full red lips. “I can’t imagine what I can do with my souvenir.” She brandished a length of fine crepe rubber. “Jonathan says this is used in foundation garments. I’m sure the Indians would be shocked to death if they knew. By the way, one of the girls in that last shed had some marvelous earrings. Do you suppose I could buy some around here?”
“They’d probably cost a good deal,” he warned her. “Indian women don’t wear cheap stuff.”
“Oh, Duncan will foot the bill, won’t you, sweetie?”
“I suppose I’ll have to,” he said indulgently. “You’re going to make someone an extravagant wife, my girl.”
“Well, why shouldn’t I have pretty things?” Joanna said coolly. “Which would you rather have, Jonathan? A wife who looked nice and spent rather a lot of money or a dowdy creature who never asked you for a penny?”
Jonathan grinned. “I imagine most of us are looking for a combination,” he said. “I certainly wouldn’t want a dowdy wife. If you like we can run over to Taiping after lunch and see what the goldsmiths have to offer.”
Immediately after lunch he and the Olivers drove off, leaving Miss Emmeline and Alex to enjoy a second helping of Mat’s pineapple mountain. Joanna had pointed out that there was no need for Duncan to accompany them if he preferred to laze on the veranda, but he had said he would enjoy the drive and wanted to buy some film for his camera. Whether he did not realize that his sister wanted to be alone with her host or whether he knew and had his own reasons for playing chaperon it was impossible to tell.
“It would be a pity if Jonathan allowed himself to become entangled with that arrogant young woman,” Miss Emmeline said suddenly, finding Alex’s horrified glance remarkably illuminating.
“Do you think he will?”
“I can’t say, my dear. She is attractive in a brittle, modern way and no man is completely invulnerable to feminine charms. Jonathan can’t live alone forever, but personally I can’t see Miss Oliver enjoying estate life once the novelty had worn off. In my opinion it would be a catastrophe.”
Inwardly Miss Emmeline thought that Jonathan, far from being enamored of J
oanna, was probably extremely bored by her blatant behavior. At a guess he was putting on a show of attentiveness to mask some other feelings.
When Miss Emmeline had retired for her siesta, Alex wandered restlessly around the veranda, wishing the Olivers would hurry up and leave. Yet why should I care if she gets her claws into Jonathan, she thought impatiently. It's nothing to do with me now.
The car returned just before teatime, and Joanna was wearing a pair of magnificent gold earrings that emphasized her dark barbaric beauty.
“Aren’t they gorgeous?” she said complacently to Alex. “Jonathan chose them. Oh, Duncan, for heaven’s sake stop sneezing.”
“Sorry. I seem to have a cold coming on.” Her brother stifled another sneeze in his handkerchief and Joanna threw him an irritable glance that changed to a glowing smile as Jonathan came up from the compound.
“You look awfully flushed,” Alex said gently. “Why don’t you go to bed, Mr. Oliver?”
“Would you think it frightfully rude?” he asked. “I do feel a bit rough.”
“I’ll tell Mat to put a blanket on your bed. Sometimes you can sweat a cold out of your system.” Alex hurried away to see Mat.
Since Joanna seemed totally unconcerned by Duncan’s high color and watery eyes, it was left to Alex to see him comfortably settled with extra pillows, some aspirin and a glass of whiskey in hot water.
“You’d make a good nurse,” he said throatily when she knocked on his door shortly before dinner and gave him some of Jonathan’s handkerchiefs. “Do you coddle Jonathan like this?”
“He hasn’t been ill since I came,” Alex said lightly, reflecting that her guardian would undoubtedly be an impossible invalid. He was too active to enjoy being in bed unless he was seriously ill and she could imagine how much he would dislike being fussed over.
After dinner Miss Emmeline, who said that she had never caught a cold in her life, went in to chat to Duncan, and Alex, conscious that Joanna wanted her out of the way, slipped out to talk to Rama. But the amah was entertaining a tapper’s wife, and feeling that her presence put a rein on their gossip Alex wandered around the side of the bungalow to talk to Hussin, one of the special constables who guarded the bungalow and kept watch during the night.
