Hothouse Flower (36 page)

‘Young Christopher …’ Elsie mused. ‘Fancy you ending up with him! I remember when he used to come and stay. Cook and I used to joke that he looked like a lollipop; all skin and bone, topped off with a big head and that great pile of curly hair.’

‘He hasn’t changed,’ grinned Julia, ‘and he’s really looking forward to seeing you again.’

‘And me him,’ said Elsie as she moved towards the bed and heaved herself on to it. ‘Strange the way life works out, isn’t it? All of us back at the old place again. Right, my love, you take yourself off, and don’t bother bringing me a cup of tea. I’ll come down when I’ve had a little nap.’

‘I’ll see you later,’ Julia whispered, leaning over to kiss her forehead. Elsie’s eyes were already closing.

An hour and a half later, Elsie arrived in the kitchen, looking refreshed.

‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now, where’s that cup of tea you promised me? I want to hear all about how you and Kit got together.’

The two of them sat at the kitchen table, and Julia told Elsie how Kit had come to her rescue when she was so ill, and the subsequent move to Wharton Park.

‘Julia, I’m over the moon for you, my love. I can see in your eyes how happy you are. After the terrible time you’ve been through,’ Elsie shook her head, tears in her eyes, ‘it’s wonderful the two of you have found happiness together.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘And I’ll be honest, that’s what has really brought me here today. What with you and Kit getting together, it’s like everything has come full-circle. And I’ve decided you should know the whole story. And maybe –’ Elsie glanced around the kitchen – ‘telling it here in the place it all happened, will help me remember.’

Twenty minutes later, Kit walked through the kitchen door, looking tanned and healthy in his cricket whites.

‘Elsie, how wonderful to see you again, after all these years.’ Kit walked over to her and kissed her warmly. ‘You’ve hardly changed a jot.’

‘Flatterer,’ grinned Elsie. ‘Well, let me tell you,
you
have, Master Kit. You’ve filled out good and proper, and grown into a fine-looking young man.’

‘So you no longer think I’m a lollipop?’ Kit eyed her sternly, then, as Elsie blushed, broke into a wide smile. ‘I heard you and Cook talking about me one day, when you didn’t know I was lurking outside. I didn’t mind. I was grateful to you two for always feeding me up.’

‘Well,’ said Elsie defensively, ‘you were always far too skinny. In fact,’ she added, ‘you both were.’

‘Well, look at the two of us now,’ said Kit, putting an arm round Julia’s shoulder affectionately. ‘Glass of wine, Elsie? I’m going to have one to celebrate a win. I bowled two overs and thoroughly enjoyed being proclaimed man of the match.’

Elsie caught Julia’s eye as Kit opened the wine and nodded appreciatively. ‘Grown into quite a looker that one, hasn’t he? Who’d have thought it?’

As Kit sat with Elsie at the table, chatting companionably about her years at Wharton Park, Julia pottered about the kitchen preparing supper. She could see that Elsie was completely at ease, as Kit’s warmth and gentle teasing relaxed her. Julia put a chicken casserole and fresh Jersey new potatoes on the table, and sat down with them to eat.

‘My, my, Julia,’ said Elsie, swallowing appreciatively, ‘never thought you’d be one for the cooking, but this is really tasty.’

‘Julia has lots of hidden talents, Elsie,’ added Kit, sneaking a sly wink at her.

After supper, Julia made coffee and suggested they went through to the library. Having settled Elsie in the comfortable chair by the fireplace, Julia joined Kit on the sofa opposite her.

The air was suddenly tense with expectation.

‘Now,’ said Elsie, taking a sip of her coffee, then placing it down on the table. ‘As I said to Julia earlier, I’ve thought long and hard about whether I should tell you this. But under the circumstances …’

‘What “circumstances”?’ queried Kit.

‘Be patient, young man, and by the end of it, you’ll understand. Right,’ Elsie took a deep breath. ‘Last time, Julia, we had got to the part about Lord Harry and Lady Olivia making up their differences, just before Harry went off to the war?’

‘Yes,’ Julia confirmed.

‘Well now, I’m going to tell you Harry’s story, and though it happened a long, long way from here, I can promise you that what I’m going to tell you is the truth, even if the ending isn’t in the diary he wrote.’

‘
Harry
wrote?’ questioned Julia.

‘Yes,’ Elsie confirmed, ‘it was Harry’s diary. Always had beautiful writing, he did. It could never have been written by my Bill,’ she chuckled, ‘he could barely sign his name, bless him. Now, my love, please don’t interrupt my train of thought. What I was trying to say is that Bill, your grandfather, was out in Malaya with him during the war. Then, when Harry finally returned home, Bill and me were drawn into his story in a way we could never have thought possible. This part really begins after the war had ended, when your grandfather and Harry were liberated from Changi jail, after three and a half long years in captivity …’

33

Bangkok

1945

When Harry regained consciousness, he was confused by the unfamiliar feeling of having slept for a long time without being disturbed. He was used to changing positions constantly as the pain in one hip bone, resting on the rudimentary bed he had managed to gather for himself, woke him to insist the other hip take the strain. Nor did he remember waking to swat the endless mosquitoes or to rub away the sharp, sudden sting of a red ant.

And there was none of the sticky sweat that normally drenched his thin torso on waking. In fact, he felt positively cool, but perhaps he was imagining the light breeze that seemed to brush gently against his face.

In short, he felt comfortable. A sensation he barely remembered.

He wondered whether he was hallucinating. During the long three-and-a-half years of his captivity, he had often dreamt of Wharton Park, and of the queerest things, such as his father handing him a tin of sardines, of jumping into the cool, clean water of the fountain in the centre of his mother’s garden, and of Olivia, holding out his son to him …

But mostly his dreams had been of food. He and the other fellows had spent many a long, humid night discussing their mothers’ best recipes. It had kept them sane, if ‘sane’ was a word that could be used for the inmates of Changi jail.

There wasn’t much left of any of them, physically or mentally, and Harry awoke every morning simply amazed he was still alive. And sometimes, rather wishing he wasn’t.

He decided to keep his eyes closed and enjoy the comfort, whilst pondering how miraculous it was that his body had withstood starvation, and the kind of physical exercise that would tax a healthy man in a moderate climate, let alone in this kind of brutal heat. Many of the fellows hadn’t made it: over a thousand were buried in Changi cemetery, and on occasions he had envied them their eternal rest. During his recurring bouts of dengue fever, nicknamed break-bone fever for the excruciating pain it caused in every limb, Harry had expected to join them at any moment. But Lady Luck, if one could suggest that spending another day here alive
was
luck, had been on his side. And so far he had survived.

Harry understood now that life and death depended on a throw of the dice: many of the fellows he had come into the camp with had been physically stronger than he was, yet he had seen malaria and dysentery strike them down like newly hatched chicks. The diet of rice and raw tea, supplemented occasionally by a couple of ounces of rice polishings, complete with maggots for protein, required an inner-engine of the strongest stuff. And it seemed that Harry – although not a natural soldier and so afraid he was not a ‘man’ – had been genetically issued with the main necessity for surviving such a place.

Given that he had been awake for some time now – or it felt as if he had – and was still comfortable, Harry tried to collect his thoughts and coordinate the events of the past few days.

He had some memory of lying in Changi hospital with a high fever. Then he thought he remembered a familiar face staring down at him; Sebastian Ainsley, his old friend from Eton, who was now working for his father’s shipping company in the Far East. He had some vague recollection of being stretchered on to the back of a truck.

The continuing silence, physical comfort and clean smell indicated that something was definitely up. Perhaps he had finally bought it and this was heaven. Harry decided to open his eyes to check.

The glare of white walls, hazy through the mosquito net, was a stark contrast to the dark, squalidly filthy wooden huts, with their fetid stench of unwashed human bodies hanging heavy in the humid air.

He then saw a woman …
a woman
! Again in white, approaching his bed.

‘Well now, Captain Crawford, we’ve decided to wake up, have we? About time, too. Open wide, please.’

Before Harry could say anything, a thermometer was popped under his tongue. The woman took his thin wrist in her soft hands and checked his pulse.

‘Much better,’ she nodded approvingly, then added with a smile, ‘I suppose you have no idea where you are?’

He shook his head, the thermometer preventing him from speaking.

‘You’re in Bangkok, in a private nursing home. They didn’t want you at the public hospital. The last thing they need there is more dengue fever. So your kind friend, Mr Ainsley, bought you to us. He will be in to visit you shortly, I’m sure. He’s checked on you every day so far.’

The thermometer was removed from his mouth. Harry licked his lips and tried to swallow, but his throat was very dry.

‘May I have a glass of water?’ he croaked.

‘Of course. First, let’s sit you up.’ The woman took Harry by the armpits and raised him into a sitting position. He tried to help, but could feel the exertion making the sweat pour from his brow.

‘There’s a good chap.’

The woman, whom Harry now realised was a nurse, held a glass of water with a straw in it under his mouth. ‘Drink it slowly. Your stomach’s had nothing in it for the past few days. We had to feed you intravenously for a while. That fever of yours just wouldn’t abate.’ The nurse was glancing at her thermometer. ‘The good news is, it has now. Thought we might lose you for a while, but you’re obviously made of stronger stuff, eh?’

As Harry struggled to get the muscles in his throat to swallow, he thought he had never felt less strong.

‘You should be proud of yourself, young man,’ the nurse smiled. ‘You’ve made it through. Not only the war, but that hell-hole of a camp in Singapore we’re hearing so much about. Get yourself better and you’ll be on your way home to Blighty. How about that?’

Harry sank back on to his pillows, feeling faint and dizzy. It was all too much to take in, in one go. Now he thought about it, he did remember being told the Nips had surrendered and the camp was to be liberated. But after years of hearing rumours, to be frank, he and the other fellows hardly dared believe it.

‘We won? It’s true? It’s all over?’ The short, staccato sentences were all he could put together.

‘Yes, Captain Crawford. It’s all over. You are a free man. Now, I suggest a rest for an hour, then I’ll bring you some chicken broth for lunch.’

Chicken broth … in Changi, chicken had been the meat everyone yearned for – if a fellow managed to get hold of a live chicken to lay eggs for him, it lasted no more than twenty-four hours before it was part of someone’s stew. Harry sighed. After years dreaming of such a dish, he felt sad to have so little appetite.

‘Thank you,’ he answered huskily, his voice still not his own.

The nurse walked towards the door. ‘I’ll see you in a while.’

Harry watched her leave, then lay there pondering the extraordinary fact that, if he had the legs for it, he could climb out of bed and follow her through the door, walk down the corridor and out of the hospital. He could stand outside for as long as he wished and nobody would point a gun at him. Then he could walk down the street, whistling if he fancied it, and no one would take the slightest bit of notice of him. It was a thought that beggared belief.

Five minutes later, there was a knock on his door. A familiar bald pate and thick, pebble glasses appeared round it.

‘Harry, old boy, how utterly marvellous to see you conscious! We were all getting frightfully concerned that you might fall at the final fence, so to speak, and that really would have been the most terrible shame.’

‘Bad luck, Sebastian,’ Harry croaked, ‘as you can see, I’m still alive and kicking.’

‘And it’s wonderful to see that you are. Changi seemed to be a bad show all round, from what I saw that day on my mission of mercy.’

‘How did you know I was there?’ Harry asked.

‘Your mother wrote, telling me you’d been imprisoned there. And when I heard Changi was being liberated, I thought the least I could do was come and welcome you out and perhaps offer some help, as a relative local. Of course, I wasn’t expecting to find you in such a state. Had to bribe some Malayan to drive you to the Thai border, where my car and driver were waiting.’

‘It was awfully good of you to come,’ acknowledged Harry.