In the Mouth of the Tiger (27 page)

‘I think it must be the altitude,' I said quickly. ‘I do feel a bit odd. I'd better pass on the pavlova.'

‘We'd love to come along tomorrow,' John Morton boomed cheerfully. ‘They might even sell us some of their famous tea. I understand Cameron Highlands' tea is every bit as good as the stuff they grow in Ceylon.'

I sat there, poking at my pavlova, unable to eat a spoonful. I was terribly aware how vulnerable my love for Denis had made me. If he were stringing me along, playing me for an idiot, I was well and truly a lamb in the maw of a tiger.

Denis must have known that something was wrong because he suddenly announced that I was tired and needed an early night. It was while he was away phoning for a taxi that John turned to me with what was meant to be a sly smile. ‘Early night, eh?' he said, just loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. ‘I think this confirms my hypothesis that you two are newly married. My
own guess is you're on your honeymoon. Now, the truth: am I right or not?'

John Morton must have known that I wasn't married to Denis, so his comment could only have been a deliberate attempt to hurt me. I felt the colour draining from my face and put my knife and fork down carefully. ‘You know perfectly well we're not married,' I said levelly. ‘So why did you say that? To make some point or just to stick the knife in?'

Denis had just returned and was standing behind my chair with my silk wrap. ‘Serves you right, John,' he said quietly. ‘Come on, Nona, I think we'll wait out in the hall.'

John rose at the same moment I did, his face pink. ‘Here, I say,' he blustered. ‘What on earth d'you mean? How could I know you're not married?'

‘Sit down, John,' Denis snapped. ‘You know that we're only engaged. I told you that earlier this evening.'

John gaped, and then sat down. ‘So you did, old boy,' he said slowly. ‘So you did. Nona, I know this must sound lame but I honestly forgot. I meant no harm by my remark, I promise you.'

Denis turned to me as soon as we had climbed into the taxi. ‘How
did
you know John knew we weren't married?' he asked.

‘I heard you two talking in John's room,' I said. ‘You obviously know each other pretty well. Certainly well enough to know whether we were married. And inviting him to Burnbrae was a charade, wasn't it? I heard him
ask
you to take him along and introduce you to George Fortin.'

Denis had been holding my hand but he dropped it and turned away, and we sat in silence with our backs to each other for the five-minute drive. Every minute felt like an aeon, with my heart falling steadily lower. When I finally got out of the taxi I think I was on the brink of tears.

We went straight up to our room, and Denis closed the door behind us and turned to me. ‘Please tell me everything that you heard,' he asked quietly.

‘I woke up and you were gone,' I said. ‘The lights were out and I was disoriented. So I went looking for you. I heard your voice when I was in the corridor, and I thought you must be in Pat's room. I was just about to go in when I heard John's voice. He was saying something about George Fortin, and that George wasn't to know too much. And then you said you didn't want me to know anything either. I ran back here, scared to death. I'm so dreadfully confused, Denis. And a bit frightened. What is going on?'

Denis stood frowning for a moment, and then took me gently by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. ‘I see I'm going to have to tell you a few things, my dear. Perhaps not everything because I simply can't, but enough to be going on with. I won't have you scared like this.'

We sat down before a restocked fire, each with a small glass of Gilby's gin in our hand. ‘You remember the proposed stay-behind parties I told you about on Palau Orang Rau, don't you?' he began. ‘Small bands training to stay behind in the jungle if the Japs overrun the place. Those parties will need to have access to secret re-supply dumps, and a few of us have decided that
now
is the time to get those dumps in. The earlier the better – it's no good leaving it until the Japs are on their way. So we've been busy putting dumps in at strategic points. North of Kuantan, for example, because Kuantan is where an invading force from the north-east would bring its stuff ashore. And here in Cameron Highlands, because it's smack in the centre of the ulu. It's one of my jobs to help get the dumps in and to set up communication networks with trustworthy locals.'

Denis paused to flick open his silver cigarette case. He offered me a cigarette, then selected one for himself. ‘Well, we've been a bit stumped about where to set things up here in Cameron Highlands. Then you jogged my memory by mentioning Burnbrae the other evening. I realised how absolutely perfect it would be for our purposes. It's got Sakai trails radiating into the Telom where the stay-behind parties would hide, and George Fortin – who I knew was still managing the place – would be perfect as the dump's custodian. He's married to a Chinese girl, and well integrated in the local community.'

‘So you are a British secret agent?' I asked. ‘Are you in MI6?'

Denis shook his head. ‘It doesn't quite work like that, Nona. The chaps in MI6 and MI5 are essentially desk wallahs. Bureaucrats. They shove bits of paper back and forth. Can you imagine me pushing a pen? My involvement with Intelligence is on a strictly amateur basis. Chaps I know ask me to do things that need doing, and I do my best to give them a hand.'

I flung my arms around him and gave him a hug. ‘You don't know how relieved I am,' I said. ‘I was thinking all sorts of awful thoughts. To be perfectly frank, I rather like the thought that you are a secret agent. It gives you a certain
je ne sais quoi
.'

Denis chuckled. ‘I've just told you I'm not a secret agent, you goose. I sometimes help out, that's all.'

I hitched myself closer on the sofa. ‘How does John Morton fit in?'
I asked curiously. ‘I must say I don't really like the man. He's got a cruel streak.'

Denis gave a wry grin. ‘Morton's part of the Intelligence bureaucracy. His people know about the project to get a dump into Burnbrae and want to be part of the action. Probably because they don't quite trust us.'

Later, I laid my hand on Denis's chest. ‘So there is to be an arms dump at Burnbrae?' I asked. ‘When you put it in, tread carefully, darling, because you will be treading on my dreams.'

He looked at me curiously, so I told him all about Happy Valley, and the dreams I had had of turning it into a farm, and of living there one day with him.

I slept like a log that night, curled up against Denis with the unfamiliar blanket tickling my chin. When I woke, I lay for long minutes staring up at the Tudor beams above me, replaying in my mind all the things that Denis had said the night before. The awful feeling of confusion and betrayal had evaporated, but I still felt a thin thread of concern.

I had read Oppenheim's
Spymaster
and Somerset Maugham's
Ashenden
stories, and I shared every schoolgirl's admiration for the dangerous, glamorous life of the secret agent. But that was in books, not in real life. In real life, it seemed to me, it was rather different. Banal, perhaps even shoddy. Obviously it involved people like Morton, who lied through their teeth and were paid to do so. And no doubt it was dangerous. Secret agents were fair game for the other side, even in peacetime. I remembered a line in one of the stories I had read: something about secret agents always being in the thick of battle, even when they were taking their dogs for a walk.

Well, I didn't want Denis gunned down one day when we were taking our dog for a walk. I shivered at the thought of always having to be on one's guard, always half expecting a bullet in the back.

Denis had woken up and he rolled on to his elbow to look at me. ‘Penny for your thoughts?' he asked. ‘You look awfully serious.'

I smiled at him. ‘If you are a British secret agent, why did you help Nathan Srinivasan to escape?' I asked. ‘Aren't you sworn to uphold the law or something?'

Denis gave me a playful punch. ‘How often must I tell you that I'm not a secret agent?' he said.

I reached out and smoothed an unruly strand of hair from his eyes. ‘You will always take care of yourself, won't you, Denis?' I asked seriously. ‘Please
don't let someone shoot you in the back while you're taking the dog for a walk.'

We had breakfast down in the oak-beamed dining room, and I was pleased to see John Morton looking suitably contrite. He and Annabel finished their eggs and bacon before us and came across to our table on the way out.

‘I really am sorry about my stupid comments last night,' John said. ‘I was a silly ass. Too much whisky and soda.' He offered a hand. ‘Can we start afresh?'

I took his hand with cool self-possession. ‘Why don't we?'

Pat didn't join us for breakfast but popped in to chat over coffee. He was leaving for the Telom about mid-morning, and he explained to Denis the arrangements he had made about our guides. We were to meet them on the Brinchang road at dawn the next day, and start our walk while it was still cool.

Then Pat turned to me. ‘I will have a little house built for you and Denis,' he said. ‘All made of bamboo cut from the jungle. Until you've slept on a split-bamboo floor, you don't know what a truly comfortable bed feels like.' With a belt of ammunition across his shoulder and his pipe sticking out of his breast pocket he looked like a cross between a pirate and an Oxford don.

I noticed that the two spinster sisters couldn't keep their eyes off him, and one of them blew him a kiss. And blushed scarlet when he solemnly returned it.

Denis and I played golf that morning. The course at Cameron Highlands is a beautiful one, with lush emerald fairways and velvet greens shaded by giant jungle trees, and though I was a rank beginner I didn't disgrace myself. In fact, I matched Denis stroke for stroke on the final hole and when I sank the ball to tie it with him he wanted to swing me into the air in celebration. I laid a restraining hand on his chest: ‘Don't,' I said. ‘They're watching us from the clubhouse and I want them to think that's how I
always
play.' Life was a game again, and a lovely game.

After lunch, pleasantly tired by our round, we rested in our room, reading as a honeysuckle-scented breeze drifted in through the wide-flung window. After a while I put my book down and just lay there, listening to the pigeons until I drifted into sleep.

I dreamt of Happy Valley. I was walking down the ferny gully with Robbie. When we arrived at the edge of the meadow I saw a lovely toy tiger
stretched out on the grass. It was one of the cuddly Chad Valley tigers I had often seen in the toy section of Robinsons Department Store. It was almost life size and made of soft fur with a lugubrious, friendly face and button eyes. I thought Robbie must have bought it for me as a surprise and ran towards it gleefully. Robbie shouted something and I turned to look back at him but he was gone. When I turned back to the tiger I had the shock of my life. It had become real: a huge beast, walking slowly towards me with its tail flicking from side to side and the sunlight dancing on its rippling coat. I particularly noticed its eyes, glittering amber discs staring deep into my soul. For a second or two I stood petrified, then turned and tried to run. I sensed rather than saw the tiger spring and a scream choked in my throat.

‘Nona!' Denis was hugging me, nestling my face against his shoulder to muffle my cries. ‘What on earth is wrong? Are you having a nightmare?'

I lay in his arms, my thoughts all jumbled and disordered, the perspiration drying on my forehead. I didn't want to tell Denis about my dream. The symbolism seemed quite clear to me. The tiger represented my fear of the coming trip into the ulu, and if Denis guessed that he would blame himself and cancel the trip. And I would have failed to be the person I wanted to become. So I just shook my head and smiled.

‘I would kill for a cup of tea,' I said.

We were due at Burnbrae at four, and before we went I asked Denis how I should behave. ‘I mean, I know why we're visiting,' I said. ‘To see if it's a good place to have your arms dump. Should I pretend I don't know about all that?'

Denis was putting on a clean shirt and he paused for a moment, one arm in its sleeve, one arm out. ‘I've told John Morton that you know all about what we're doing,' he said. ‘He's a fussy little man and he's a quite upset, but he's just going to have to lump it.'

‘You didn't have to tell him for my sake,' I said. ‘Now that I know what's going on I'm quite prepared to pretend complete ignorance.'

Denis finished putting his shirt on and began buttoning it up. ‘You are one of us now, Nona. Unless there is a damned good reason to keep something from you, you have every right to know what I'm doing.'

‘I'll never let you down,' I said. ‘They'd have to stick burning matches under my nails to get a word out of me.'

Annabel didn't come with us to Burnbrae, complaining of a sudden headache. I didn't blame her in the least. She would know that I was now
aware she'd been acting the night before, and it would obviously be a strain to continue the charade. So she waved a limp hand from the hotel porch as we set off, one arm theatrically across her brow like an actress in a B grade movie.

The short drive to the plantation was completely strange to me, and even when we arrived I didn't recognise the manager's bungalow. In my memory it had been a cramped, crowded and rather dark house, but we drove up to a long, ranch-style home set in a spacious, well-kept compound. George and his Chinese wife met us on the verandah. George was a short, balding man with tanned, rather saturnine features while Li was a tiny woman with wispy white hair. They were both friendly, though Li's complete lack of English made conversation a little difficult.