Always in My Heart (2 page)

Philip shot her a glance of apology, but there was nothing for it. Jock was clearly delighted to have the younger man’s undivided attention and was soon in full flow, expounding his theories on what should be done to stop Hitler in his tracks. It seemed he was determined to monopolise Philip – and the evening’s conversation.

Sarah’s disappointment grew as she sipped her coffee and her father droned on and on. She’d heard it all before, and soon he would tune in the wireless for the BBC World Service news, after which he would discuss it minutely long into the night.

Sybil Fuller was clearly of the same opinion, and she gave an exasperated sigh as she set her coffee cup rather firmly on the low table. ‘Really, Jock,’ she said, ‘I do think we should change the subject. It’s not suitable for after-dinner conversation, and all this talk of war is unsettling and not doing me
or
the baby any good.’

Jock regarded her from beneath his dark brows with a mixture of affection and impatience. ‘Unsettling or not, my dear,’ he said gruffly, ‘it is our duty to keep up with the news from home.’

Sarah smiled at this. Pops always called England ‘home’, but in fact he hadn’t ever stepped on English soil because he’d been born in Scotland and had left for Malaya as a baby in his mother’s arms to rejoin his father. Malaya and rubber were his passion, his life – and he could no more exist in England than one of the exotic birds that inhabited the surrounding jungle.

Sybil flapped her hand at him. ‘Hitler already has
most of Europe in his greedy grasp. What’s to stop him from using the Japs to—?’

‘We are in a privileged position here,’ interrupted Jock as he settled further into the cushions, stretched out his long legs and puffed on his cigar. ‘The Japanese might have signed allegiance with Hitler back in nineteen-forty, but so far the war is confined to Europe – and I believe it will remain so.’

‘Then why are we building air-raid shelters everywhere?’ retorted Sybil, who seemed determined to pick an argument.

‘Merely precautionary devices to deter scaremongering,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Air raids on Malaya by Japan are out of the question. Their nearest base is over six hundred miles away in Indochina, and they don’t possess the necessary long-range aircraft. If they should dare to attack by sea, they will be picked up by our first-class radar system and met by the barrage of big guns we have all along the coast. Impenetrable jungle and mangrove swamps effectively cut us off from inland incursion, and the British Forces will defend us to the hilt. Singapore and Malaya are impregnable fortresses designed to protect Britain’s possessions in the Far East – and our rubber is vital to the war effort.’

‘I still don’t like it,’ murmured Sybil.

Jock nodded to the silent houseboy who’d been sitting on a rush mat by the door, and waited while he replenished the brandy glasses. ‘You have no need to worry, my dear,’ he said comfortably as he swirled the brandy. ‘Neither that scrawny house painter, Hitler,
nor the yellow-bellied Japs would dare bring trouble to these shores. They know well enough what we British are made of and we’d soon send them kicking and screaming back to where they came from.’

Seeming to lose her appetite for debate, Sybil gave a deep sigh, rolled her eyes and said no more, but Sarah knew what was really bothering her mother, and it had very little to do with air-raid shelters and the war.

Sybil was forty-two and had been quite put out by her surprise pregnancy, and although she’d come to terms with her condition, and was now looking forward to the birth, she wasn’t coping with the heat and humidity very well at all. She was a loving, sweet mother, but at heart, she was a born socialite – spoiled and pampered by Jock, adored by her daughters and much admired by their friends for her beauty and wit, and her ability to light up any room she entered. Used to robust health and a full social calendar, she was finding this lack of energy trying, and her enforced confinement to the isolation of the plantation was making her edgy.

Born into the wealth and privilege of a well-connected family of Australian sugar exporters and refiners, she’d come to Malaya with her parents when she was twenty for a holiday. She’d met Jock at a party and had married him against her parents’ wishes the day after she turned twenty-one and came into her late grandmother’s money. Jock had only been an apprentice manager of this rubber plantation then, and not the rich, ambitious tea planter or ship owner they’d
been hoping for for their daughter. Sarah knew she still loved him – that their marriage was strong and passionate – but she also understood that her mother needed to escape the strictures of family and duty now and then for the bright lights of Singapore.

Unlike Jock, who preferred the tranquillity and order of the plantation, Sybil loved Singapore and all it had to offer. Before her pregnancy, she would often get their driver to take her and Jane down to the bungalow they owned close to Raffles Place so she could entertain, and be entertained by, her many friends – to take tiffin at Raffles, and attend tennis parties, cricket matches and picnics before dancing the night away at the popular Singapore Club. But it had been several months since Jock had put his foot down and forbidden her to travel, and Sybil was growing restless.

‘I think I’ll take my coffee outside,’ Sarah murmured as the two men crossed the room to the large map that Jock had almost covered in different coloured pins. ‘Why don’t you join me? It might be cooler there.’

Sybil took her hand and struggled out of the deep chair as Jock continued to pontificate and jab at the map. ‘What a good idea,’ she said softly. ‘There’s enough hot air in here to launch an entire fleet of barrage balloons.’

They both giggled as they walked arm-in-arm out onto the back veranda where more ceiling fans stirred the heat-laden air. The Malay houseboys had lit the oil lamps which swung from the rafters, and they scurried to bring the
Mems
more cushions and coffee before
being shooed away by Sybil, who then settled into a chair, lit a cigarette and finally appeared to relax.

Sarah remained standing by the railing, unable to settle after the talk of war had stirred her fears that the peninsula could come under attack. She’d seen the fortifications along the coast – the ugly barbed wire, the Bofors guns, pillboxes and civilian air-raid shelters – and had heard about the daily arrival of troopships in Singapore harbour. And despite the evidence to the contrary and her father’s reassurances, she shared her mother’s doubts as to just how safe they really were from an enemy attack.

Unwilling to dwell on such dark thoughts, she peered through the sturdy mesh screens that protected the wrap-round veranda from flies and mosquitoes to the black stillness of the mountains and the jungle that sprawled over them and down to the very edges of the plantation. The orange flames in the oil lamps flickered in the breeze which still carried vestiges of the day’s heat in its dank, musty breath, and this smell of the jungle almost smothered the delicate scents of the orchids, jasmine and frangipani that grew in wild abundance amid the trees. Moths battered against the screens, mosquitoes whined, and tiny pinpricks of light from the fireflies blinked in the darkness as the deep bass hooting of macaque monkeys echoed into the night.

Other jungle sounds drifted up to her as she stood there – the lonely howl of a wild dog, which always sent shivers up her spine; the scream of something
small at the instant before death; and the constant click and tick of millions of insects and crickets. She’d been born to these sounds and scents and they were as familiar to her as her own face in the mirror – surely nothing as ugly as war would come and destroy them?

Sybil must have sensed her daughter’s thoughts. ‘Your father’s right, darling,’ she murmured. ‘I was only trying to rile him for want of anything else to do. Naughty, I know, but there are times …’ She stubbed out her cigarette with unwarranted vigour. ‘We’ll be quite safe here, you’ll see. The only real danger is that we might all die of boredom.’

‘If you want something to do, then we could play cards,’ Sarah suggested reluctantly, ‘or finish the jigsaw puzzle we started last week.’

Sybil didn’t seem too enamoured by the idea either, for she pulled a face, gave a vast yawn and swung her feet off the footstool. ‘I’m going to tuck Jane in and then I’m off to bed.’

Sarah felt a stab of concern. ‘It’s still quite early. Are you feeling unwell?’

Sybil pushed out of her chair and came to stand by Sarah, her good humour restored. ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she replied. ‘But I’ve had enough for one day.’ She patted Sarah’s cheek and smiled. ‘I’ll rescue Philip from your father and send him out to you. Lord knows, he probably needs to escape by now, and you young things should have a quiet minute or two together.’

Sarah blushed and dipped her chin. ‘That would be
lovely, but you know how Pops is. He’ll insist on them listening to the news.’

‘I really don’t understand why,’ Sybil replied with a sigh. ‘It’s nothing but gloom and doom at the best of times.’ She kissed Sarah’s cheek and turned away, just as the elderly Amah emerged from the shadows further down the veranda, her bare feet silent on the varnished boards, her simple sarong outlining her tiny figure.

‘Come,
Mem
, it is time to rest,’ she murmured as she took Sybil’s arm. ‘I have sweet oils to massage your legs and back. You will sleep well tonight.’

‘First I must say goodnight to Jock and our guest, and look in on Jane,’ Sybil replied.

Sarah watched them move back into the house. The little Malay woman had been looking after Sybil since before Sarah was born, and they all loved and relied upon her. No one knew how old she was, but her lined face and snow-white hair belied the almost youthful grace with which she carried herself and the elegance of her hands as she used them to illustrate a point. They knew very little about her despite the years she had been with them, but it was rumoured that she had family down in Singapore.

Sarah took a cigarette from the silver box on the low table and lit it, not ready yet to go back indoors. There was still a chance that Philip would join her. But as she stood there, enfolded in the damp velvet of the tropical night, she heard the static coming from the large wireless and knew that her mother’s rescue
mission had failed. There would be no escape for either of them now, for her father was a stickler for listening to the news and insisted that everyone still up and about should join him. But perhaps tonight he wouldn’t notice her absence while he had Philip there.

His voice boomed out. ‘Sarah? Sarah, I know you’re out there. The news is about to begin.’

She reluctantly stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette and stepped back indoors. ‘It’s much cooler outside,’ she coaxed. ‘I thought Philip and I could—’

‘Not now, dear,’ he said, raising his hand for silence as the chimes of Big Ben announced the news.

Sarah sank into a nearby chair and smiled at Philip, who was looking rather battered by the lecture he’d just had on the war. Poor Philip, he’d so longed to enlist, but his responsibilities at the plantation meant he was in a reserved occupation and could only join the part-time local defence volunteer unit alongside her father. Yet she knew he was well informed through his business contacts with the military and government officials, and probably knew more about the war than Jock did – but of course he was far too polite to argue, or to point out that many of Jock’s views were somewhat old-fashioned and short-sighted.

With her father sitting forward in his chair, fully engrossed as he stared at the wireless, Sarah and Philip were able to gaze at one another longingly as they kept half an ear open to what the newsreader was saying.

The news was just as gloomy as her mother had predicted. Rationing in Great Britain was tighter than
ever; the military service call-up had been extended to include men and unencumbered women between the ages of eighteen and fifty-one; although an air raid on the east of England was reported to have done little damage. Slightly more encouraging was the news that the Russians were striking a major counter-offensive against the Germans in Moscow, and were actually making some headway.

As the news came to an end, Philip got to his feet. ‘I must take my leave, sir,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m meeting Harris at the warehouses in Singapore early in the morning, and there are some papers I need to go through before we can send the shipment off.’

‘I was rather hoping we could discuss the Japanese question,’ rumbled Jock, ‘but I suppose it can wait.’ He must have noted the look that flickered between Sarah and Philip, for he suddenly broke into a broad smile. ‘I think I’ll turn in,’ he said. ‘Sarah can see you off.’

Philip shook his hand, and when Jock had stumped out of the room, he turned to Sarah with a loving smile and laced his fingers through hers. They walked together into the heat of the night, and the music of an orchestra of crickets.

Sarah silently moved into his embrace and gave herself up to his kiss, her body melting into his as the sensations began to overwhelm her. She had never known such intense emotion, and although she was finding it increasingly hard to resist the urgency to explore the sensations further, she knew she must.

‘Oh, Sarah,’ he breathed into her hair some time
later. ‘I’ve waited all evening to kiss you.’ He drew back, still holding her to him, as he looked into her upturned face. ‘I love you, my darling girl, and can’t imagine life without you.’ He became hesitant all of a sudden and drew back further.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked as his expression grew solemn and he reached for the inside of his tuxedo jacket.

‘I hope that what I’m about to do will not startle you, Sarah,’ he said in a rush. ‘Do you think – when all this madness is over – that you might – might consider …?’

Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he must hear it. ‘What are you trying to say?’ she coaxed softly.

He dropped to one knee. ‘Will you marry me, Sarah?’ he asked breathlessly. ‘Will you make me the happiest man in the world by becoming my wife?’

She could barely breathe as she looked down at him. This was the moment she’d dreamed about, the words she’d thought she’d never hear, and tears of joy almost blinded her. ‘Oh, Philip,’ she breathed. ‘Yes. Of course I will.’