In the Mouth of the Tiger (103 page)

I boiled fresh water and made another pot of tea, then sat there trying to be sensible. It seemed clear to me that I had two options. I could confront Denis with my knowledge of what he was doing, and plead with him to mend his ways. Or I could slip quietly away with the children, and once we were clear tell the authorities what was happening up at Starlight.

The first option was wishful thinking. I
had
confronted Denis, asked him outright if he was involved with Chin Peng and the insurrection, and he had looked me candidly in the eye and denied it all. As for convincing him to change his ways – I knew that was quite impossible. Once embarked on something, Denis was implacable.

The second option was of course the proper course to take. Denis was involved in something that had cost dear friends their lives. Tanya and Eugene, Tim and Jan, and the little children. And the lives of countless others: the mothers and fathers gunned down in roadside ambushes; the children shot at school and in their homes; the loyal running dogs cut down by parangs, and the brave soldiers machine-gunned in the field. If I told Malcolm what I knew, all that would stop, nipped in the bud by the arrest of the Secretary-General and the closing down of all the MCP supply points.

But there was really no choice. Denis might not love me, might never have loved me, and may well have treated me and our children as no more than pawns in his dangerous game. But I still loved him.

So I decided to do nothing at all. Absolutely nothing.

I saw the light go on in the servants' quarters and knew that Ah Khow would be pulling on his black trousers and buttoning his starched white jacket, that he would soon be regarding me with his kindly eyes and suggesting Chinese medicine to help me sleep. But he was one of them, and I couldn't bear the thought of his solicitude, and fled back up to bed. Where I pulled the blankets tightly around me, and lay alone through the still marches of the night.

Towards dawn I fell into a dreamless sleep and didn't wake until after ten. I lay there, thinking just for a second or two that everything was as it had been, and then realisation came and I felt my heart contract. It was broad daylight, and I stared at my watch, aware that Denis must have dressed, and
breakfasted with the children, and taken them to school. He never woke me if I'd slept badly, and remembering his caring brought a sudden hard lump to my throat.

Ah Khow brought in my breakfast on a tray, with a spray of morning glory and my eggs done in the French way he knew I liked, with a little square of bacon cooked inside the yolk. ‘Tuan has gone to visit Tuan Fortin at the tea plantation,' he said, pouring out my tea. ‘He will be back after lunch. He asked me to wish Mem good morning on his behalf.'

He's busy telling George Fortin about Malcolm's presence in Cameron Highlands, I thought sourly, but I smiled at Ah Khow. ‘Thank you, Ah Khow,' I said. ‘You are spoiling me.'

Ah Khow hovered by the bed for a moment, flipping imaginary crumbs off my breakfast tray. He clearly wanted to say something and was choosing his words with great care. Finally he cleared his throat. ‘Things are changing, Mem. Very fast, and in ways I cannot predict. If it should be that we must part, please remember that I have been your true friend, and a true friend of those you love.'

I felt a chill at the words but I didn't say anything. There didn't seem anything to say. My Talisman was saying his goodbye.

Denis came back in time for lunch, and at first I had difficulty meeting his eye. But how quickly we learn to dissemble! By the time we had finished our meal and taken our coffee outside, I thought I might enjoy this new game. ‘How was George?' I asked cheerfully. ‘Did you have anything important to discuss?'

‘Oh, nothing earth-shattering,' Denis smiled. ‘George was being George. He's worried about the cost of moving your tea down to Penang. Insurance rates are up because of the bandits, and I think he feels personally responsible.'

I looked across at this man I loved. The very last thing he and George would have discussed would have been insurance rates. And yet how convincing he was, how naturally he could lie. No wonder he had duped me for so many years. The fun suddenly faded from the game and I got up abruptly and wandered off for my afternoon rest.

I'd just lain down when Denis came into the bedroom and stood quietly by the door. ‘Everything all right?' he asked. ‘You looked a little pale at lunch.'

I turned away from the dissembler. ‘I seem to be developing a rotten
headache,' I lied. ‘I think I'll try and sleep it off.'

There was a dinner-dance at the Cameron Highlands Hotel that night, and there was no way I could get out of it because we had arranged to meet up with Horace and Pinka. I spent the afternoon dreading the ordeal and by the time we'd tucked the children into bed I had a very real headache. I took three aspirin, and had a bath, but all that did was make me feel bilious and unwell. I sat in the car like a stone as we drove the mile or so down to the hotel, stiff and unmoving, staring out at the darkening jungle with unseeing eyes.

‘You don't look at all well,' Denis said looking at me sideways. ‘Do you want to chuck it in, darling, and go back home?' I couldn't be bothered answering. What did he care? What did I care?

Horace looked immaculate in his tie and tails, but decidedly nervous. Pinka was off somewhere when we arrived so he grabbed my elbow. ‘Do you think a chap like me stands a shadow of a chance?' he asked earnestly. ‘Pinka is such a terrific sort. She could have any fellow she chose.'

And last time she chose a traitor, I thought bitterly. Just as I have. I turned to Horace with a rather plastic smile. ‘You would make a fine catch for any girl,' I said. ‘Just remember that, my dear.'

Things got a little better as the evening progressed. The music was beautiful, with lots of old-fashioned, favourite dances: the Pride of Erin, the Mexican Hat Dance, After the Ball was Over. I danced coolly and well, and I saw several men looking my way, which did wonders for my headache. The supper was only just acceptable – Ah Khow had spoilt me rotten when it came to food – but the wine was very comforting indeed. I clutched my champagne glass as if my life depended on it, and decided three things: firstly that I rather liked iced South African bubbly; secondly that I was getting drunk; and thirdly that I didn't care a fig.

And then Malcolm Bryant sauntered into the room, immaculate as usual, wearing his evening dress with what we called a Selangor ribbon across his chest: the dark red and blue ribbon of the Selangor Club. He always came to these sorts of functions late, I think because it was easier to mingle without a partner when the formal part of the evening was over. I saw him scanning the room and knew that he would be looking for me. How much nicer it would be, I thought, to be desperately loved rather than to love desperately.

I had no doubt that Malcolm loved me desperately. I could reduce him to a bumbling schoolboy with a word, suffuse his face with joy by pecking him on the cheek. If I had married him instead of Denis I would never have ended
up in the pickle I was in now. I would have been adored, spoilt like a child, and cosseted from any worries or concern. Perhaps I might not have experienced the great, leaping joys of love, but neither would I have been vulnerable to the pain of betrayal. ‘Never marry for love,' I said aloud, and Horace gave a start beside me.

‘Why ever not?' he asked. ‘Surely, that's precisely why one marries.'

I thought of so many women I had known who had loved their men. Amai, the little Malay princess who had died for love. Tanya, who had followed Eugene into the forests of Pahang for love. Catherine, who had lost her soul because of love. ‘Because all love brings is heartbreak, or death,' I said, and lifted my glass again, and drank until it was empty. The room was rolling a little bit around me: the potted palms, the dancers on the floor, the white-clad waiters moving amongst the tables. I half-closed my eyes and saw a carnival pattern, a colourful collage without sense or meaning.

‘You look so sad,' Malcolm said sitting down beside me. ‘Tell me what dragon you want me to slay and I promise to do my level best.'

‘If I'd married you instead of Denis,' I asked. ‘Would you have adored me, spoilt me like a child, and cosseted me from any worries or concern?' I was watching Denis talking to someone across the room, and I suddenly realised how similar these two men were. Both tall and handsome, easily the best-looking men in the room. Both able, and both knowing precisely where they wanted to go. Why then were they so different? Denis was always the winner, laughing with blithe unconcern as they set the wreath of victory upon his brow. Malcolm was always the loser, trying a little bit too hard, failing at the last jump and then surprised and awkward in defeat. Malcolm put Denis's success down to the fact that he had battleships on his side, but I wondered if that were true. Perhaps the difference was sheer blind chance: Denis would draw an ace while Malcolm drew the joker.

So what if luck had gone the other way? Would I be sitting here with Malcolm, loving him, hurt by his slightest indifference, my fate, my life entirely in his hands?

I realised with a start that Malcolm had been speaking to me and I hadn't heard a word he'd said. His face was close to mine, his expression intense, a puzzled, hurt look in his eyes. ‘I do believe you haven't heard a word I've said,' he said bitterly. ‘Am I such a grub, Norma, that you prefer to gawk at Denis across the room than listen to a man prepared to put his heart at your feet?'

I laughed. I simply couldn't help it. Poor, maladroit Malcolm. His words
were no doubt quite sincere, but they sounded fatuous and overblown. The sulk on his face might have been Byronesque, but only it looked silly. The man had an absolute genius for putting his foot in it, for snatching humiliation from the jaws of victory.

He rose with quiet dignity and stalked away, affecting a casual smile at someone passing. Unfortunately the man he smiled at started with surprise, and again I pealed with laughter. Then Malcolm was gone, swallowed up by one of the many palms that dotted the room. Poor Malcolm. I felt immediately ashamed, and pushed my treacherous glass away from me. Of course I would have to make amends, and I rose to follow him.

We met by the bar, Malcolm pretending to read an ornate price list posted on the wall as I slipped my arm through his. ‘Let's take a stroll on the terrace,' I said. ‘They say the view of the golf links under a full moon is quite magical.' Malcolm looked at me suspiciously, but led me nevertheless through the swinging glass doors and out onto the terrace.

‘What were you saying back there?' I asked, trying to curb my flippancy. ‘Something about putting your heart at my feet ...'

But once we were in the coolness of the terrace Malcolm's demeanour changed completely. He untangled his arm from mine, and turned me to face him. ‘I know you think I'm a bit of a joke,' he said. ‘But I really do have something to tell you, Norma. And in telling you I'm taking the biggest gamble of my life.'

All at once I was completely sober. ‘Don't tell me something you will later regret,' I warned.

‘I'm telling you this because I think your life is in danger,' he said. ‘Do you remember reading in the papers about some documents found on a Communist courier they killed in Selangor? The Selangor Papers, they called them.'

‘I remember the Selangor Papers. They were about a meeting of the Communist leaders.'

Malcolm nodded in the darkness. ‘They were official minutes of a meeting of the MCP's Politburo. A very important meeting. The point is that we now know that the meeting took place here in Cameron Highlands. In a house referred to in the minutes as Number One Bungalow. And present at that meeting was a British traitor. The minutes don't give his name, but I'm afraid – I'm very much afraid – that he was Denis.'

I pretended to be shocked. Then I realised that I
was
shocked. Deeply
shocked. I was shocked because if Denis's treachery were known to the authorities, he was in dire and immediate danger. They had only to raid Moonlight and Starlight and they would capture the whole kit and caboodle in one fell swoop: Chin Peng, the other Communists in Moonlight – which I knew beyond doubt must be Number One Bungalow – and the British traitor as well. I had been angry with Denis, furious at his treachery and the way he had deceived me, but in a trice all those feelings had been swamped out of existence, replaced by searing fear for the man I loved.

An awful mental picture flashed through my mind, of armoured cars pouring up the hill to our two bungalows, catching us like rats in a trap. Denis being dragged away in handcuffs to be tried and shot as Patrick Heenan had been shot.

I found myself trembling violently. Malcolm misunderstood my reaction and put his arms around me. ‘It's all right,' he said placatingly, patting me on the back like a child. ‘I know what a shock it must be. But I'll stand by you, Norma, through thick and thin.'

Every nerve within me screamed in protest at Malcolm's embrace. I wanted to thrust the man aside, laugh in his face, spit in his eyes, tell him that I was on Denis's side. Would be on his side forever, come what may. But of course I couldn't. I had to play the game with care, find out what evidence they had, what plans they had made. I played Delilah and leaned against Malcolm, burrowing my face into the shoulder of his jacket.

‘What's going to happen?' I asked. ‘I'm so frightened, Malcolm.'

Malcolm hugged me tightly. ‘Don't be frightened. I couldn't bear that. It's up to me as to when we raid Starlight. That's why I had to talk to you, tell you what is in the wind. I want you to have time to get clear of Starlight with the children. There might well be . . . violence.'

‘How long have I got?' I asked.

Malcolm hesitated, then rushed on. ‘We're having a special squad brought up from KL. A Gurkha platoon we use for this sort of work. It will be in Tannah Rata tomorrow. Can you get out of Starlight by midday tomorrow? I know it's precious little time, but I can't give you more.'