The White Pearl (49 page)

‘Teddy,’ she heard
mem
say with no shake to her voice. ‘You must remember never to use your father’s binoculars here.’

Her son carried them around his neck, and he fingered their casing constantly as if it were part of his father. ‘Why not,
Mummy?’

‘Because they may glint in the sunlight and give away our position to an enemy plane.’

‘Oh, I didn’t think of that.’ He stared solemnly at the binoculars.

Maya would have snatched them from him and thrown them out of the hut. Bad binoculars.
Mem
trusted him too much.

‘All OK here?’

Maya’s stomach did strange things. She looked up quickly and smiled at the figure in the doorway. It was Jo-nee, his golden
hair the colour of seaweed in the green light.

‘Yes, we are fine, thank you, Johnnie,’
mem
replied.

‘Hear that machine gun?’

‘It’s horrible. It could easily have been us in the boat if Fitzpayne hadn’t brought us here.’

The sound of a heavy bomber droned overhead.

‘They are out in force today,’
mem
said.

‘It’s bad news for Singapore, I’m afraid, Connie.’

‘Fitzpayne told me that the retreating British army is blowing up bridges to slow the Japanese advance down the peninsula
to Jahore.’

Golden-hair shook his head. ‘That’s not going to stop them.’

‘Nothing will.’

‘No British tanks, and not enough bloody planes. What was General Percival thinking? He’s let us down badly. We’ve lost everything.’

Maya listened, and could not understand how they could stay so calm. If she was them, she would scream and cry and slit the
throat of every Japanese on earth.

‘And you, Maya?’ He stepped into the hut, lowering his head because he was so tall. ‘Are you OK up here in your eyrie?’

He smiled, and she smiled back shyly. ‘What is
eyrie
?’

‘It’s the home of an eagle.’

‘Hah!’ She looked out of the doorway at the swaying branches and immediately felt dizzy. ‘But I not eagle or monkey. I ground-rat.’
She twitched her nose at him and made him laugh.

‘I’m going down. Do you want me to help you descend the ladder?’ he offered.

‘I no fool, I stay here. No ladder.’ She glanced at
mem
, who was standing by the window hole, gazing out with a face that had gone far away. A big speckled spider was walking slowly
around her hand on the ledge, interested in the pale white skin. ‘I look after
Mem
Hadley,’ Maya said in a small voice.

Jo-nee looked at
mem
. ‘Thank you, Maya,’ he said in a low voice. ‘She needs your help, though she won’t admit it. Come on, Teddy,’ he added brightly,
‘let’s go and see what we’ve let ourselves in for on this island, shall we?’

‘May I, Mummy?’

‘Don’t get into any more fights. Promise?’

The boy grinned. ‘I promise.’

They vanished, and the hut became drab and gloomy again. For a long time neither Maya nor
mem
spoke, and a blade of green light slid through a gap in the roof fronds. It edged its way towards Maya’s bare feet, and she
drew them away. When it cut a slice off
mem
’s shoulder, she shuddered.

‘
Mem
,’ Maya said when her thoughts became too heavy to hold any more, ‘I sorry you sad.’

The blue eyes looked round at her, surprised. ‘Thank you, Maya.’ She
ran fingers through her blond hair as if to stir the memories that left such shadows on her face. ‘In wartime, many people
grow sad.’

‘Shark not know it wartime.’

Mem
laughed. ‘You’re right. But if it weren’t for the war, my husband wouldn’t have been on the boat.’ She paused and lifted
a grasshopper from the hem of her skirt. ‘There are always
if
s, in life, Maya. If there weren’t a war, if we had stayed in Palur, if I hadn’t rescued the pilot from drowning, if …
’ She stopped and smacked her hand on her knee.

Maya didn’t know if she was squashing an insect or squashing her thoughts. For a while, no words came out, but Maya could
feel the little hut waiting for more.

‘What would you like, Maya,’
mem
asked suddenly, ‘if you could choose anything?’

‘Bowl of rice and chicken satay.’

Mem
smiled. ‘No, I mean, what would you like for your future … if you get out of this alive?’

‘That easy. I like plenty food. And a bicycle.’

‘A bicycle?’

‘So I not walk-walk-walk all time.’

‘And where would you ride this bicycle of yours?’

‘All places.’

The blue eyes studied here gravely. ‘You don’t ask for much, do you, Maya? Nothing else?’

Maya lowered her eyes.
Mem
was looking at her too hard. She picked at a patch of dry mud on her ankle and scratched it away, but she couldn’t scratch
away the words that climbed onto her tongue. ‘I ask I be pretty and gold-haired and white like you. But nobody listen.’

‘Oh, Maya.’

A shout somewhere further along the walkways made them both look up, and their gaze met and held.

‘You
are
pretty, Maya. Your skin is …’

‘Horrid dark.’

‘… your skin is like velvet. It’s beautiful. But more importantly, you are clever and you learn fast. You should be proud
of yourself.’

‘Why
Tuan
Jo-nee Blake so sad?’

Mem
blinked, caught off balance by the switch of subject, but in Maya’s head it was the same subject.

‘Because he can’t fly his plane. And because he and my husband were
close friends, long before I met either of them. They were at school together, and he misses Nigel now.’

‘Razak miss
tuan
too.’

Mem
Hadley’s face closed up tight, like the lid of a box slamming shut.
Mem
did not like Razak. But suddenly she whipped the silk blouse out of her bag once more. ‘Maya, it’s time that you and I both
faced our fears. The blindfold for you, and for me … I am going to find your brother.’

Connie strode along the narrow trail, mud churning up beneath her feet. It was a dark brooding place that Fitzpayne had brought
them to. Its steep slopes were crowded with dense jungle that towered over the narrow gorge carved out by the river. The pervasive
sound of bird calls, monkey shrieks and booming bullfrogs bore down on her, trapping her under the green netting, and all
the time she heard the pattering of Maya’s feet behind her.

Figures flitted in and out of the trees. Some were on the forest floor, but most high on the walkways or leaning out of the
window holes in the huts up there, smoking cigarettes and watching her. No one came near her, no one spoke to her. Had they
been warned off?

She saw no women.

She retraced the track back to the Kennel, but the children had vanished and in their place a group of seven Chinese men were
squatting in a circle on the floor, industriously mending fishing nets, fingers shuttling back and forth at high speed. One
halted his work long enough to beckon to her. They wore ragged tunics over loose trousers, and the black watchful eyes of
all of them fixed on her as she approached. They chattered something in Chinese, and nodded to each other. Behind her, Maya
mewed nervously and hung back in the doorway.

Connie stood over them and smiled politely. ‘I’m looking for a young Malay man who came here with me. His name is Razak. Do
you know where …’

‘Missee,’ the oldest Chinese spoke. His face was criss-crossed like old leather, but his eyes were sharp. ‘We sail tonight.
We go west to Ceylon. You come?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You come with us.’ His lips spread in a thin smile. ‘We save you.’

One of the others muttered something to him.

‘And your girl,’ the old one added, glancing across at Maya.

Dust hovered in the humid air along with the stink of fish. Connie took a step backwards. ‘No, thank you.’

‘We pay.’ With a flick of one hand he lifted a cloak at his side to reveal a silver casket. ‘We pay Missee good,’ he said.

He was so polite, Connie could scarcely believe he was offering to buy her.

‘No.’ She took another step away from them.

He chewed on his bottom lip and covered up the casket once more. ‘Your Razak is with Fitz. Much work in pit.’ He gestured
off in the direction west of the Kennel.

‘Thank you,’ she said, bowed courteously to her would-be purchasers and left before Maya could even think of saying yes.

She found Razak with Fitzpayne in the pit.

Only Fitzpayne’s head and naked shoulders showed above ground level; the rest of him was immersed in a hole in the forest
floor about six feet square. His hair was spattered with wood shavings, and sweat gleamed in a green shimmer over his skin.
He was wielding a pickaxe when he caught sight of Connie striding up the trail towards him. He stopped in mid-strike, the
pickaxe’s metal head poised in the air. She became aware of her skirt sticking to her legs, and under her breath cursed this
damn climate. Beside him stood Razak.

‘Mr Fitzpayne, you are …’ She was going to say
busy
. She could have added
working like a native
. But her eyes registered what else lay in the pit other than himself and Razak. There were vicious rows of sharpened stakes
pointing up towards the sky, their tips honed into lethal spears lying in wait for the unwary. The blood in Connie’s veins,
so hot a moment ago, turned cold and her tongue froze to the roof of her mouth.

He dropped the pickaxe and jumped easily out of the pit. Up close she could smell the sweat and the timber on him, and the
earth upon his fingers. For a moment she thought he was going to touch her, but he stayed his hand before it made contact
with her arm.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked with concern.

‘Of course. I’ve just been hurrying in the heat.’ She pulled the brim of her straw sunhat down so that it shaded her eyes.

He moved back, and for one nightmare second she thought he would fall into the pit. ‘Fitzpayne!’

But all he did was offer a hand to Razak to haul him up. Razak was
also stripped to the waist, and Connie was again struck by how beautiful his body was.
My poor Nigel, it must have been unbearable for you.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked Fitzpayne. As if it wasn’t obvious.

He shrugged, his muscles flexing under his damp skin. ‘Preparing the pit.’

She didn’t ask for what.

‘Have you settled into your hut?’ he enquired. The change of subject wasn’t exactly subtle.

‘Yes.’ She laughed. ‘Thank you, it didn’t take long to unpack my belongings: a book, a hair brush and a change of clothes.
Oh, and a needle and thread. I intend to turn my skirt into trousers.’

He glanced at her legs, his gaze lingering on them. ‘I can find you some trousers … if you wish,’ he offered.

He was embarrassed. That surprised her.

‘I certainly won’t be running along this path too often,’ she assured him, and took another look at the pit.

‘There are others,’ he warned.

Visions of spikes plunging through her son’s young chest rushed into her head.

‘Where?’ she demanded.

‘Don’t look so worried. It’s safe. They are boarded over at the moment.’

Once more she had that sense that he was about to touch her, to leave some of his own strength on her skin the way a cat will
leave its scent on your ankles. ‘I wish to have a word with Razak, if you can spare him for a moment.’

‘Of course.’ He bounded back into the pit and hoisted his pickaxe. ‘Attend to
Mem
Hadley, Razak.’

Two other men emerged from the forest with more stakes over their shoulders. One was of Indian blood with thick curly hair,
and Fitzpayne introduced him as Supp. His long, sleepy eyes turned on her and Maya with an interest that he made no attempt
to disguise until Fitzpayne dropped the tip of the pickaxe onto Supp’s boot. It made him curse.

‘Take no notice of Supp,’ Fitzpayne smiled. ‘He possesses no manners.’

‘It strikes me that this island of yours is noticeably short of women.’

‘There are a few women here,’ he said, the smile still caught on his lips. ‘But yes, this island is short of women like you.’

Connie wasn’t sure what he meant.

*

‘Razak.’

‘Yes,
mem
.’

‘I have something to ask you.’

‘Yes,
mem
.

Connie had not spoken to Razak since the day of Nigel’s death. Her anger at him had blocked the words, but now she could smell
the sadness on his young frame as acid as stale sweat.

‘Did you order the Japanese pilot to throw the dog overboard?’

His large round eyes looked stricken.

‘No,
mem
, no. I … no,
mem
, no … I …’ He choked back tears. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘No. Why I do that?’

‘To hurt me. To hurt my son.’

‘No,
mem
. I not hurt you. You belong to
Tuan
Hadley.’

She believed him. Suddenly she was able to see the figure before her not as the malicious hand of his dead mother, but as
just a sad young boy, dazzled by her husband’s power and wealth and attention. Just as she had been dazzled all those years
ago by Nigel’s promises of the exotic.

‘I’m sorry, Razak,’ she said softly.

He lowered his head, and a tear that gleamed green in the strange underwater light slid down his cheek. ‘I sorry too,
mem
.’

Madoc liked having
The White Pearl
to himself. Kitty had gone ashore to stretch her legs and to get away from him. She wore a beautiful pair of high riding
boots that had belonged to Nigel Hadley, and relished stamping on leeches that wafted their evil little heads up from the
leaf mould. There was a plague of the blasted things here.

‘I’ll stamp on your fucking head too, Madoc, if you don’t talk sense,’ she had growled at him before stalking off the boat.

They’d had a row. He hated quarrelling with Kitty. It always grabbed something in his gut and twisted it in a knot that made
bile rise into his mouth. He couldn’t bear to see the way her face aged physically when they argued, the spidery lines growing
deeper and her lips stretching thinner. But worse was the hurt in her eyes, and the fear that she cloaked with anger.