The Empire Trilogy (141 page)

‘It's me,' she cried gaily. ‘I forgot my handbag. Come for a walk outside. It's lovely. The moon's just rising or perhaps it's the starlight. You can see as clear as day and it's getting cool at last. Come on, stop day-dreaming. You'll be telling me next that you want a “serious talk”. But I've had enough “serious talks” for one evening. Well, come on, let's enjoy ourselves.' With that she grasped his hand and pulled him up out of his chair, ignoring his protests and pleas for help. Soon, with his head spinning, he was blundering down the steps beside her. Once in the fresh air, however, he felt a little better and decided that perhaps he was not so ill after all. Joan was right. It was cooler and the heavens were so bright that two shadows accompanied them across the lawn, past the gymnastic equipment, unused since the death of old Mr Webb, the vertical bars, and the high bar like a gibbet with a background of stars, into the denser shadows of the little grove of flowering trees and shrubs which lay between the Mayfair's grounds and the Blacketts' and then on through the dark corridor of pili-nut trees.

‘I want to show you something,' Joan said as Matthew shied away from entering this funnel of darkness. Despite his dizziness he was aware that voracious animals might be lurking there and he did not intend to dispense entirely with prudent behaviour. Joan tugged him through the darkness, however, and presently they reached the open space of the lawn with the swimming pool and the house behind it rising white and clear in the moonlight. But instead of heading towards the house, Joan now drew him aside into the blue-black shadow of a ‘flame of the forest' tree. There, to his surprise, she slipped into his arms and he felt her lips on his. His arms tightened round her convulsively and the blackness around them became drenched in magenta with the pounding of his blood. He felt her teeth begin to nibble at his lips; her hand found its way inside his shirt and began to travel over his damp skin, leaving a trail of awakened desire wherever it went. He released her to unbutton the top of her cotton dress. But as he did so she slipped away from him laughing, deeper into the shadows.

‘Matthew, are you in love with me?' she asked.

‘Well, yes,' he muttered, blundering in the direction from which the voice had come. But he found the shadows were empty and again he heard her laughter from where he had just been a moment before; and her voice asked mockingly: ‘Are you in love with me, Matthew?'

‘Please,' he said. ‘Where are you?'

‘First you must answer. Are you in love with me?'

‘Yes, oh, that is …'

‘How much?'

‘Well …' Matthew found a handkerchief and mopped his steaming brow. He felt somewhat unwell again.

‘Here I am, over by the swimming pool. Come and look at the moon's reflection. That water is so still tonight!'

Matthew left the shadow of the trees and went to where she was sitting on her heels at the edge of the pool gazing down at the bright, motionless disc of the moon stamped like a yellow wax seal on the surface of the water. He attempted to put his arm round her but immediately she drew away, saying that there was something he must do first. She told him but he did not understand what it was.

‘What?'

‘Yes, you must jump into the water with your clothes on.'

‘I must do
what?
' cried Matthew in astonishment. ‘Are you joking?'

‘No, you must jump in with your clothes on'

‘But really …'

‘No, that's what I want you to do.'

Matthew said crossly: ‘I wouldn't dream of it. I'm going to bed now so … goodnight!'

‘Wait Matthew, wait!' pleaded Joan. ‘Wait!'

Matthew paused. The edge of the pool was rounded and raised a little, like the rim of a saucer. Joan was now walking along it, arms outstretched like a tight-rope walker. As he watched she allowed herself to lose her balance and fall backwards into the moon's reflection. There was a great splash and a slapping of water against the sides of the pool. Joan, smiling, lay back against a pillow of water and did one, two, three strokes of a neat overarm backstroke which caused her to surge out into the pool with a bow-wave swirling back on each side of her head. Matthew shook his head in bewilderment, scattering drops of perspiration, as if he himself had just stepped out of the pool. But really, this was the limit! He was invaded by a feeling of unreality. Moreover, the moon and the stars had begun plunging and zooming in the heavens. Any moment now he would collapse if he did not reach his bed and lie down. He plodded back over the moonlit lawn which tilted now this way, now that, like the deck of a ship in a storm, and on through the dark corridor of trees, pausing only to vomit into the shrubbery.

‘Wait, I'm coming too,' came Joan's distant voice. ‘I still haven't got my handbag.'

But when he had wearily clambered up the steps of the May-fair Building and once more dragged open the creaking door of the verandah he found another surprise waiting for him. So slippery had reality become to his grasp that, for a moment, it seemed to him quite likely that the young woman who came forward, smiling, to greet him, was Joan who had somehow managed to rearrange time and space to her convenience and arrive back there before he did. It was not Joan, however, but the Eurasian girl with dark-red hair whom he had met earlier in the evening at The Great World, Miss Vera Chiang. At the very sight of her the palm of one of his hands began to tingle deliciously.

‘You are most surprised, I expect, to see me here, are you not? (You remember, yes, Vera Chiang.) Well let me put things straight for you, Matthew, and then you won't be any longer looking in such a condition. You see, I still have in this house the bedroom which your dear, dear father gave to me when I was “on my uppers”. Your father, Matthew, was such a good, kind and generous man. You can be pretty sure I'll always say one for him for the help he gave me … And so here I still have some of my precious bits and pieces, such things like my books (because I always have my “nose in a book”) and “snaps” of your dear father with no clothes on and of my family (all now having “kicked the bucket” I'm sorry to say) who were very important in Russia and obliging to leave in Revolution and so this evening, when we were split up by those rowdy sailors, I remembered I must look at them again, which I haven't for some time and I heard you come in and I thought Matthew will also enjoy looking at my “snaps” … There! And, are you all right, dear? You look rather “hot about the collar”, I must say.'

Matthew, who was very hot indeed and distinctly unwell despite the pleasant surprise of finding Miss Chiang again so soon, had been obliged to steady himself against a table as the bungalow gave a lurch. After a moment, however, he felt sufficiently recovered to say: ‘As a matter of fact, I'm not feeling very well. I seem to having an attack of the Singapore Grip, or whatever it's called.'

It was Miss Chiang's turn to look surprised at this information and she even went a little pink about the cheeks, which made her, thought Matthew, look prettier than ever. For a moment she appeared nonplussed, though. What a pretty girl she is, to be sure, he mused, and what a pity that everything seems so unreal.

‘Matthew!' called a voice from outside and in no time there came the by now familiar sound of the door being opened. Joan stopped short when she saw that Matthew was talking to Miss Chiang. She raised her eyebrows and looked far from pleased.

‘D'you know Miss Chiang?' Matthew managed to say. ‘I think she said she was going to show me some photographs …' he hesitated and eyed Miss Chiang's face carefully: it had occurred to him that she might already have shown him the photographs, in which case what he had said would sound rather odd. Miss Chiang agreed, however, that that was what she had been about to do and Matthew gave an inner sigh of relief.

‘Gracious, Miss Blackett, you're all wet! Let me get you a towel.'

‘No, thank you, Vera, I shall have dried out in no time. Besides, I find it pleasantly cool.' And Joan slipped into a cane-chair not very far from where Ehrendorf had sat and dripped only a few minutes earlier. As she did so, despite his fever (or perhaps even because of it), Matthew could not help noticing how the thin cotton of her dress stuck to her body, outlining its delicious shape and revealing a number of things about it which he had had no opportunity to notice before. In the meantime, Joan, who still had not quite swallowed her irritation at finding Vera and Matthew together, was asking superciliously whether Vera was pleased with the dress which
she
was wearing. Was it not lucky for Vera, she asked turning to Matthew, seeing that the poor girl was penniless when she came to work for Mr Webb, that
her
cast-off clothing had proved to be a perfect fit?

‘Oh, it was terribly lucky for me!' exclaimed Vera, clapping her hands. ‘I had never worn such lovely clothes before, Matthew. Except, of course, when I was a baby in Russia, I suppose, because my mother's family was of noble blood, princesses at least … and my father was a wealthy tea-merchant, definitely “well thought of” in the highest circles, so I understand …'

‘In our family,' said Joan, ‘it has always been our custom to give our cast-off clothes away … My mother always gives hers to the
amah
of to the “boys” for their wives or to someone like that. It seems such a shame to allow good material to go to waste, especially when it turns out to be a perfect fit like the clothing I gave to Vera …'

‘Perhaps not
quite
a perfect fit, Miss Blackett,' said Vera sweetly. ‘I sometimes think that when I wear this dress it is a little tight across the chest. What is your opinion, Matthew? If I were a little more flat-chested would it not be an even more perfect fit? But then, even as a young girl, my breasts were rather well-developed. I find I sometimes breathe easier when I open these two top buttons. So!'

And Matthew, though the bungalow had for some time been rocking so badly that it was astonishing the vase of flowers could remain standing on the table, nevertheless snatched a moment to cast a hungry eye on Miss Chiang's exquisite chest, a good deal of which had now come to light as she fanned it, murmuring: ‘Ouf! That's better.'

‘A funny thing,' said Joan in honeyed tones, ‘but my mother says the servants to whom she donates her old clothes are very often not in the least grateful! Would you believe it, Matthew? D'you think it is because they aren't of pure European stock or is it simply a lack of education and good breeding?'

‘Well, good gracious!' exclaimed Matthew, gripping the arms of his chair for dear life as he was hurled this way and that. ‘I should hardly …'

While Joan had been talking she had been struggling with one hand behind her back, frowning with concentration. Now her expression relaxed and she, too, unbuttoned the front of her dress, though with difficulty because it was wet; having done so she began tugging away a shapeless piece of white cloth, saying: ‘I must say, there's nothing more disagreeable than a damp bra.'

‘Look, I really must go to bed now,' said Matthew, jumping to his feet. ‘I feel dreadfully ill …' The floor had now begun to tilt in different directions at the same time and it was a miracle that he could retain his balance at all.

‘But Matthew,' exclaimed Vera, jumping to her feet. ‘You must come and look at the “snaps” I have in my room.' And taking his arm she began to lead him from the verandah. But Joan, too, had got to her feet and taking him by the other arm started to drag him in the other direction, saying: ‘First Matthew is coming to see something I want to show him outside in the compound … and as it may take a little time, Vera, I think it would be best if you don't bother to wait up.'

‘In that case it is better that I take him first to my room,' cried Vera tugging Matthew rather hard in that direction.

How long this embarrassing scene would have continued it was hard to say, but at this moment a torrent of blackness swept over Matthew's storm-battered brain and he sank diplomatically to the floor between the two young women.

‘It's no joke being attractive to women, I must say,' he thought as he lost consciousness.

When Matthew came to he found himself lying on the floor exactly where he had fallen. The Major and Dupigny were kneeling beside him. The two young women had disappeared (Joan to fetch Dr Brownley, Vera to crack ice for a cold compress). The Major and Dupigny, seeing that he was conscious again, helped him to his feet and then supported him to his bedroom, one on each side.

‘
Ça a l'air assez grave
,' remarked Dupigny to his friend over Matthew's swaying head. ‘
C'est la grippe de Singapour si je ne me trompe pas
.'

Matthew, however, felt a little better after a few moments and declared himself able to peel off his own clothes which were as sodden as if he had indeed plunged into the swimming pool. He dried his quaking body with a towel and then crawled under his mosquito net. A pair of wet footprints glistened on the floor where he had been standing. The Major handed him an aspirin and a glass of water; when he had swallowed them he lay back in the darkness, watching giddily as the room began to revolve slowly like a roundabout. Gradually, the bed, too, began to spin, dipping and rising, faster and faster. He had to cling on tightly, as to the neck of a wooden horse, or be hurled out against the walls by centrifugal force. Although the night was still, great gales of hot air poured in through the open shutters and tugged at the mosquito net. Time passed. The light was switched on. Now faces were swirling round the bed: he recognized the Major's anxious features and Dupigny's wrinkled face, pickled in cynicism like a walnut in vinegar, and Dr Brownley chuckling like a fiend, but then Matthew closed his eyes, knowing he must be delirious, and fell into a troubled sleep. In his dreams he was back in Geneva … the pale, sorrowful ghost of Matsuoka appeared and whispered: ‘Matthew, why do you persecute me like this? You know I am only trying to do what is best.' And then he smiled and his face turned into that of a cobra. Outside in the darkness some small creature uttered a cry as it was killed by a snake.