The Plantation (9 page)

O
N THE GREEN PADANG
, manicured to perfection, a cricket game was in progress. The faint thwack of leather on willow echoed in the long bar of the Selangor Club where Roland, dressed in his formal wedding suit, was enjoying a quick drink with his best man, Gilbert Mason before walking to St Mary’s Church.

In their hotel, Winifred was checking Margaret’s gown as the two Chinese ‘wedding ladies’, recommended by the district officer’s wife, fussed around her.

‘You look beautiful, Margaret. I’m so glad we chose this Du Barry pattern. It’s elegant, not too formal. And you can take the train off and make a few changes and wear it as an evening gown.’

‘You look lovely too, Mother. I love your hat. I must get more hats, one needs them in this climate.’

‘This dress has been beautifully made, and in such a short time, too,’ said Winifred, fingering Margaret’s cream silk-satin gown in the latest fashion. ‘Now, let’s put your veil on.’

The two wedding ladies attached the floor-length silk tulle veil to Margaret’s waved hair, which was pinned up and topped with a small pearl tiara. Then they carefully turned down the short veil to cover Margaret’s face.

Winifred held her daughter’s bridal bouquet, made up of magnificent tropical lilies, ginger flowers and orchids, while Margaret held her skirt above her satin shoes as she made her way to the waiting car with Thelma, the district officer’s daughter who was her bridesmaid and carried the long train of her dress.

Dr Hamilton, who had agreed to give Margaret away, was waiting by the car, resplendent in a white jacket with a small red rose boutonniere. He bowed and held out his arm. ‘You look stunning, dear girl. Extremely elegant. What a striking pair you and Roland will make. Are you nervous?’

‘Not at all,’ said Margaret firmly. ‘This is very kind of you, Dr Hamilton.’

‘I feel for your father. Difficult to miss your first daughter’s wedding.’

‘There will be plenty of photographs and he still has the opportunity to give away my sister when the time comes. Is everything ready at the church?’ asked Margaret.

But Winifred’s eyes misted as she thought of what her husband was missing and how proud he would be of his elder child if he could see her now.

Dr Hamilton took Winifred’s arm. ‘Please, don’t concern yourself. Roland is a superb organiser, Mrs Oldham. You look spiffing too. You and Thelma can ride together in this car and Margaret and I will be behind you.’

Roland and his friend Gil were already waiting in St Mary’s, as the cars drew up in front. Roland, slicky groomed, his pencil-thin moustache neatly trimmed, hair freshly cut, nails buffed and wearing a wide, approving smile on his face, watched Margaret make her way down the aisle. He told her later that with her height, the little tiara and the train, she had looked very regal and beautiful.

After the ceremony, the newlyweds, friends and family posed outside the church for photographs. More pictures were taken outside the elegant Peninsula Hotel before the bridal party was ushered into the formal ballroom for their reception. Winifred was surprised at the large number of guests and found herself seated next to Roland’s father.

Eugene Elliott was a courtly, if rather formal, sort of gentleman, stiff, precise and proper. He did not indulge in small talk but launched into quite complicated details in response to Winifred’s simple question, ‘How did you get into rubber, Mr Elliott?’

‘The British were growing cocoa and coffee in Malaya but a disease swept through and wiped out many of their crops, so a few chaps started looking about to start anew. They’d been living in the East and made a fair fist of it so weren’t about to settle back in the Old Dart.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Winifred as she sipped on her brown windsor soup. ‘So what happened?’

‘About sixty years ago some chap smuggled rubber tree seeds out of Brazil, rather naughty of him. Brought them to Kew Gardens in London and some of the saplings were sent to Ceylon and Malaya, to see what they’d do. The resident of Perak was something of an amateur botanist and encouraged some of the planters to switch their empty plantations over to rubber. We had all those unemployed Ceylonese workers hanging about, so we had a workforce and cleared land. So rubber took off in Malaya, especially with the need for pneumatic tyres for motor cars. I established my own plantation – Utopia – about forty years ago
.
Couldn’t help but make money in those days. Been a few ups and downs since then, but we’re very proud of what we’ve done.’

‘And you’ve been here ever since?’ said Winifred, beginning to get an inkling of how deep Roland’s roots were in Malaya.

Dr Hamilton, on the other side of Winifred, had been listening to Eugene and interjected, ‘It’s not a place one leaves easily, Mrs Oldham. The East gets a hold of you, as your daughter will discover. But it’s especially so for the menfolk. It’s a lifestyle. Friendships are forged in difficult conditions and the community unites because of the unique circumstances in which people find themselves.’

‘It’s a way of life we’ve created, and we enjoy our successes and triumphs in business, on the sporting field and we also share our tribulations. The esprit de corps is very strong,’ said Eugene. ‘And because most of the Europeans are scattered about we tend to make the most of social occasions. So this is a very happy day for our families.’ He raised his empty glass. ‘Boy!’ A waiter was instantly at his side, replenishing his drink and Dr Hamilton’s.

Winifred was impressed by the calibre of the guests at the reception. The district officer, his wife and their daughter, Thelma, were there. Winifred had been introduced to planters and representatives from both the great trading firms of Bousteads and Guthries, as well as members of the Malayan Civil Service and she was quite surprised to see a few well dressed Chinese there also.

When she questioned Dr Hamilton about their presence, he replied, ‘This isn’t India, you know. We like to mix with the other races and some of these fellows are quite good chaps. Shrewd business people.’

As the afternoon wore on, Winifred became bemused by the steady drinking and uninhibited dancing. Everyone seemed to be having a fine time. And she had been twirled around the dance floor several times, by Roland, Gilbert, Eugene and Dr Hamilton.

Margaret was also enjoying every moment, every compliment and every friendly promise of invitations to meet to show her the ropes. Roland danced with her superbly, kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear, making her blush. She was reluctant to leave the party when her mother tapped her on the shoulder, suggesting it was time that she retired and changed into her going-away outfit.

With Winifred’s help Margaret put on a pale-blue linen suit, a small hat and grey-heeled shoes. She carried soft grey gloves and a matching handbag. Her small suitcase, packed with clothes for her honeymoon, was already in the boot of the car when she returned to the reception room. Margaret and Roland were swept up in rounds of farewells.

‘Oh, Mother, are you sure you’ll be all right here on your own?’ asked Margaret, as she embraced Winifred.

Dr Hamilton took Winifred’s arm. ‘She’ll be right as rain, dear girl. We’re all off to a splendid dinner and during the next week I shall escort her anywhere she wishes, around the city,’ he said.

‘Oh, that won’t be necessary,’ began Winifred.

‘Nonsense. The DO’s wife has invited us all over for luncheon tomorrow. I shall collect you at noon,’ said the kindly doctor.

‘And we’ll be back in time to drive you to Port Swettenham for the boat home,’ Margaret assured her mother.

Dr Hamilton turned to the newlyweds and gave Margaret a comforting smile. ‘Now, off you two go.’

Margaret kissed her mother and in a shower of coloured rice and flower petals she and Roland got into the gleaming Studebaker that Roland had borrowed from a friend and they drove away. The wedding guests then adjourned to the long bar of the nearby Selangor Club.

Roland took Margaret’s hand. ‘Just the two of us. You looked so beautiful at the wedding. I was proud of you.’

Margaret leaned her head against the back of the car seat and smiled contentedly.

In the still, burning light that marked the end of her wedding day, Margaret gazed at the passing scenes of rural simplicity as they left the city behind and entered the lush countryside on the way to the dark, steep hills of their destination. In kampongs, she glimpsed children playing in a river where women washed their long black hair, the coloured fabric of their sarongs clinging wetly to their lithe frames. An unattended fruit stall, a bicycle lying on its side beneath trees, the lazy smoke of a cooking fire indicated the slowing of the day. Preparations for evening were unfolding. The long fingers of slanting rays were reflected in the still pools of the rice paddies, which were neatly dissected by mounds of raised red soil lying in mathematical precision.

The car began to climb the hills, though it seemed briefly to Margaret that they were sinking, shrinking into night, flattened by a sky alight with the glowing first stars. The trees reached upwards, dark fingers pointed to the heavens, and the headlights of the car danced from side to side as they curved their way up the steepening mountain.

Margaret sat in silence, her eyes closed, holding her husband’s hand.

‘Here we are. The Gap,’ said Roland. ‘Did you sleep, Margaret?’

‘No. I think I’m overexcited, it’s been a big day.’

He kissed her quickly, murmuring, ‘And it’s not over yet.’ Then added as he opened the door, ‘A relaxing drink, a small snack. I’m peckish. I didn’t eat enough today. Too busy socialising. Come along, Margaret.’

The sprawling government rest house was welcoming, but scarcely what Margaret considered to be elegant. Then she realised that it was simply a stopover that supplied basic accommodation, a dining room, a verandah and a bar.

‘We could spend the night here if you’re not feeling up to any more travel,’ said Roland looking at her pale face. ‘It isn’t particularly smart but it’s comfortable and hospitable. We have to wait here for the road ahead to open. There’s only a single lane into the hills and this is the changeover point.’

‘You mean cars can travel only in one direction on the road?’ asked Margaret.

‘Yes, this final ascent to the peak is narrow so there’s a timetable to allow cars to go up or cars to go down. But not at the same time.’ He laughed.

Margaret decided that she didn’t want to spend her honeymoon night here as it was not at all romantic. So she sipped her tea as Roland hugged a brandy and chatted with several other travellers who were also heading to Fraser’s Hill.

And then the road was opened, and they were back in the car as part of a small procession making its way in single file to the popular hill town. The road was narrow and dark. Margaret saw lights from scattered bungalows, an illuminated sign here and there and a small village square surrounded by solid buildings. Then she sighed with relief as finally the car tyres crunched on the gravel driveway under the portico of Ye Olde Smokehouse Hotel.

A servant opened the car door and Margaret shivered in the surprisingly chill air. The mock Tudor building had ivy climbing the walls and boxes beneath its diamond-paned windows were filled with flowers. Mr MacAllister, the manager, welcomed them effusively and showed them into a small lounge room where the décor was a homage to bonnie Scotland – the cushions and a sofa were upholstered in the Fraser tartan. A fire burned and Margaret suddenly felt as though she was in the Scottish Highlands again.

‘Welcome, Mr Elliott and Mrs Elliott. Please enjoy a drink while your luggage is taken to your room. Would you like a bath drawn, sir?’

Roland turned to Margaret. ‘Would you care for a relaxing bath, my dear? I will be up shortly. Unless you care to join me here for a nightcap?’

‘A hot bath sounds wonderful. You won’t be long, Roland?’

‘Not at all. I’ll let you settle while I catch up on the district news with Mr MacAllister.’

Their host bowed slightly. ‘This is my wife, Janet. She will show to you to your room and provide anything you need. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mrs Elliott.’

‘Thank you.’ Margaret followed Mrs MacAllister up the stairs feeling incredibly pleased at being called Mrs Elliott.

The time at Fraser’s Hill passed too quickly for Margaret. It took a little while to adjust to the lack of privacy caused by living with a man and being together twenty-four hours a day. But Roland was kind and attentive and obviously very pleased with his young and attractive wife. Margaret was glad she’d been a virgin on her wedding night but, while Roland was a considerate and gentle lover, Margaret was yet to really experience the wild, passionate elation from sex that she’d read about in novels. She responded with what she hoped was satisfactory ardour to Roland’s lovemaking but couldn’t help feeling relieved when it was over.

Margaret revelled in the cool climate. Roland was an early riser, so, before breakfast, they took a walk around the grounds of the hotel while the mist still shrouded the thickly wooded hillsides. After a traditional English breakfast they went out into the bright morning armed with binoculars and a field guide to watch birds.

‘The highlands are famous for the birdlife,’ said Roland. ‘The hornbill, an extraordinary looking bird, is quite something. Magnificent colours and a huge curved beak. Supposed to be good luck if we spot one.’