In the Mouth of the Tiger (41 page)

Tanya shook her head so that her ponytail jiggled behind her neck. ‘We have been through a lot together, Nona. You have every right to pry and I hope you are going to let me pry too. Can I ask what your feelings are towards your mother?'

‘What do you mean?' I asked a little defensively.

Tanya placed her coffee cup down on the table. ‘I won't beat about the bush, Nona,' she said firmly. ‘I would like to know what your feelings are towards your mother. I meet her regularly, you know, because Eugene and I are often in Singapore. She is not a happy woman and it would be nice if I could take some message to her from you. You know, some small offer of friendship. You two do need to make up your differences.'

I bit my lip. How did I feel about my mother? I hadn't faced the question properly since the awful day she'd hurled a teapot at my head. In fact, I had been quite happy to leave the matter hanging in the air. I'd been so busy building my new life, learning to run a household, learning how to become a mother, that I had not really had time for introspection. But of course Tanya was quite right. My mother was my mother after all, and I did owe it to her
and to myself to face up to our differences, to resolve them one way or the other.

‘Has Mother asked about me?' I asked curiously. ‘About the baby? I did send her a telegram when Tony was born but she didn't reply.'

Tanya looked a little uncomfortable. ‘You know your mother when she gets a bee in her bonnet,' she said. ‘Well, she has a bee in her bonnet that you and Denis want her to stay out of your lives. In fact, she rather thinks that the gift of money Denis made her was a bribe to ensure she stayed away from you both. She has her pride, you know.'

Of course she would think like that, I thought to myself. And I had to admit that there is an element of truth in what she thought. Denis and I
had
bought her out of our lives. It must be an incredibly hurtful thing to know.

‘What do you suggest I do?' I asked.

Tanya leaned forward, her brow furrowed earnestly. ‘I think you should give me a message for your mother. Let me tell her that you love her and that you would like her to be part of your life. Let me tell her that you want a meeting with her as soon as possible, so that you can say sorry for upsetting her.'

I shook my head. ‘I couldn't do that,' I said quietly. ‘You know Mother as well as I do. If I give her an inch, she will see it as weakness. And Mother hates weakness. If she thinks I am being weak, it will make her want to pounce and tear me to pieces.'

Tanya clicked her tongue. ‘You are being pig-headed, Nona. Someone has to give an inch, as you say, or this separation between you and your mother will last forever. Do you really want never to see your mother again?'

I stared at Tanya without speaking, and she must have read in my eyes what I was thinking because she sat back with a sigh. The truth was that I really didn't mind if I never saw Mother again.

Fortunately Denis and Eugene joined us at that point and the conversation had to be put aside. But as we were saying our goodnights I did have a chance for one more word. ‘Tell Mother I would like a photograph of her,' I said, ‘to show to Tony when he is old enough to understand. But don't say anything more.'

In bed that night, I couldn't help wondering at the change in Tanya. Iceberg Tanya was now actually lecturing me about the need to be more loving, more forgiving. She was a profoundly different woman, and the credit had to go to the stiff, rather pompous, rather humourless Eugene Aubrey, the
most unlikely man to transform a woman through love that one could ever imagine.

I ran into Malcolm Bryant in George Town the next morning. Denis and Eugene had gone off for a round of golf and Tanya and I had been looking at the shops. We had parted briefly – she had gone to look at some newlyarrived stock at Pride's, the jewellers, while I had stopped for a coffee – when suddenly Malcolm sat down in the chair opposite me. He was immaculate in his police uniform, his hair slicked back fashionably and his features deeply suntanned and more handsome than ever.

‘Mind if I join you?' he asked with a smile.

‘I don't seem to have any choice,' I said a little tartly, but then grinned. ‘Of course I don't mind, Malcolm. Unless you start telling me Denis is some sort of Russian spy, or the leader of one of the Chinese tongs. If you do that I will promptly empty my coffee cup over your head.'

Malcolm didn't smile but picked up the menu and frowned at it. ‘I only had your interests at heart when we last spoke about Denis,' he said evenly. ‘Give me credit for that at least. Now, do you recommend this expresso coffee they advertise, or should I play safe and have a cup of tea?'

‘If you really want to play safe, don't mention Denis again,' I said firmly.

He looked at me, then held up a hand. ‘I'm sorry if I ruffled your feathers, Nona. I had absolutely no idea you were still involved with him.'

I stared at him. ‘Not only am I “involved with him” as you put it, but we are married,' I said. ‘And we have one delightful child and another on the way.' I could hardly conceive that Malcolm could be ignorant of our marriage.

But clearly he was. His face paled before my eyes and his mouth dropped open almost comically. ‘You're married?' he asked huskily. ‘And you have a child?'

‘Where on earth have you been, Malcolm?' I asked breezily. ‘It hasn't exactly been a secret.'

‘I've been in the UK for over a year,' he said. ‘I arrived back two days ago. Penang is my new posting.'

‘What were you doing in England?' I asked curiously, and Malcolm's eyes slid away.

‘I've been unwell,' he said staring at the menu. ‘Neurasthaenia, they called it. In fact, I had a bit of a breakdown if you must know.' All his confidence, all his authority, had seeped out of him, and when he ran his fingers through
his hair he displaced it so that a tuft stuck out, giving him a comical look. My anger evaporated and I reached impulsively across the table and touched his hand.

He snatched his hand away. ‘No need for sympathy,' he said, his old voice and manner back in place. ‘I'm completely over it. And I have a first-class medical rating to prove it.'

‘You look fine to me,' I said.

There was a silence between us, then he suddenly shook his head decisively. ‘I know you're not married, Nona,' he said. ‘Denis has just got you to live with him, hasn't he? Tell me the truth.'

I felt myself blushing. ‘It is none of your business how we have arranged things,' I said. ‘But Denis and I are sublimely happy. And we have the most adorable baby boy . . .'

‘I looked into Denis's background when I was in England,' Malcolm cut in roughly. ‘You know he is already married, don't you? And he has a child. Elesmere-Elliott my eye! He was born plain Elesmere. The family comes from Kennington, south of the river, where his people own an electrical store. So much for a titled background.'

‘Denis never claimed to be titled,' I responded automatically. Denis already married and with a child? My senses were reeling.

‘Do you know where the Elliott came from?' Malcolm went on remorselessly. ‘Your precious Denis was picked up on the French Riviera by a tarty American actress called Maxine Elliott. She gave him ideas above his station and sent him off to Malaya to find a fortune. What he did for her in return is anybody's guess. Have you ever heard the term
gigolo
?'

I got up from my chair and stood there, trembling with anger and a weird kind of fear. I was going to toss my coffee over the man but the image of my mother doing something similar stilled my hand at the very last moment.

‘Please keep out of my life,' I said. I had intended my voice to be cold and hard, but I was betrayed by lips that had stiffened so much that the words came out slurred and unnatural. ‘If you ever so much as talk to me again, I will complain to . . . to Calliper McPhail.'

I tried desperately to compose myself but was still trembling when I met up with Tanya on the footpath outside the jewellers. ‘You look pale,' she said immediately. ‘Are you sure you're not overdoing it? Don't forget you are pregnant, Nona.'

I was happy to be ordered home by Tanya, and retreated to the sanctuary
of our bedroom for a lie-down. I lay on our bed, my mind in a whirl. Could Denis have betrayed me? Could he really be married? Babs had told me that there had been a woman in England before he came out to Malaya, and that he had had a bad experience. What if he had married a Catholic who had refused to divorce him? I had heard stories of men in that position who had married again out in the Colonies, thinking they could get away with it. Inevitably they had been found out and prosecuted for bigamy. I had no doubt that Denis loved me: what if the reason he had not married me was that he simply couldn't?

I felt my heart racing and the adrenaline coursing through my body like hot quicksilver. It was impossible to lie still so I got to my feet and paced the room. Over and over again I heard the echo of Malcolm's savage words, destroying the lovely, cosy world that I thought I lived in.
I know you're not married, Nona. Denis has just got you to live with him, hasn't he?

I found myself standing at the window, peering through the rattan blinds at the sparkling sea. The house was on the very edge of the water with just a strip of lawn and a sea-wall separating it from the Straits of Malacca. Denis and I had been talking that morning about buying a yacht and cruising those waters. But that had been this morning, and this morning had been another world. Tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

After a moment or two I heard my child laughing, and then he ran into sight, stumbling on the thick, soft grass. His ayah came after him, pretending to chase him but with her arms outstretched protectively. A second later they had both disappeared around another the corner and a peal of laughter told me that Miriam had captured her prey. In my mind's eye I could see her sweeping Tony high into the air and then into her arms.

My tears became soft and comforting. My lovely world was still around me. Nothing important had changed. Denis still loved me. I still had my child. And the three of us – the four of us when my next baby was born – would live together forever.

It was just that I would never stand in white in St Andrew's Cathedral and marry the man I loved.

That afternoon we all went and watched a game of cricket on the George Town padang. Eugene had arranged the outing in his normal earnest, wellintentioned way, not realising that the last thing on earth Denis wanted was to waste an afternoon watching a couple of second-rate teams in which he had no interest. But we made the best of things, spreading tartan rugs on the
ground under the jacaranda trees and tucking into a superb afternoon tea of cucumber sandwiches and scones with jam and cream.

For myself, the afternoon passed in a sort of confused but not unpleasant dream. I remember at one point watching Denis's face in repose, the strong line of his chin, his broad mouth hovering on the edge of smile, his clear blue-grey eyes following the players on the field. And I remember thinking: if I asked Denis right now if what Malcolm had told me was true, he would answer me completely truthfully.

But did I want to know? I remember thinking:
No, I don't want to know. That is the very last thing I want to know
.

But in the early hours of the next morning I did ask Denis. I had begun crying in my sleep and he took me in his arms. ‘What's wrong?' he asked gently.

It all came out, breathlessly in the darkness, and suddenly Denis's arms relaxed from around me and withdrew. I sensed him raising himself on his elbow and facing me, and felt a moment of pure terror. He was going to tell me he was already married, that we could never legally be man and wife, and that my lovely world was based on a deception.

‘I fell in love with a pretty young girl at a cricket match when I was eighteen,' Denis said quietly. ‘We did what one does when one is in love. It was after a party at Phillis Court on the Thames, where we had both tried champagne for the first time in our lives. When she became pregnant, of course I asked her to marry me. It was what one did in those circumstances. We were married before Patricia was born. For myself, the flame had long since died. Dorothy was a lovely girl, sparkling and full of fun, but I found that I had absolutely nothing in common with her.'

‘Except cricket. And champagne,' I said. I was breathing again. It is true that nothing is as bad in reality as it is in one's imaginings. Now that I knew what the situation was, the worst of the nightmare was over. ‘I won't ever mind not being able to marry to you,' I said quietly. ‘If you promise that you will always manage to find something in common with me.'

Denis gripped my hand so tightly that it hurt. ‘You silly, silly girl. I promised I would marry you and I will. Dorothy and I were divorced in 1934.'

The wave of relief that swept over me actually made my fingers tingle. I just lay there, my mind a blank, letting myself get used to the idea that everything was all right after all, and that my wild concern had been for
nothing. It was a lovely sensation, the best in the world. And then a thin thread of anger surfaced, marring the moment. Malcolm Bryant had deliberately lied to hurt me, or he had been incredibly careless. Criminally careless. And he was supposed to be a policeman.

‘I'm going to ring Malcolm first thing tomorrow and tear his head off,' I said abruptly. ‘This is not the first time he's done this. He seems to take delight in tormenting me. The man must be unbalanced.'

Denis brushed a curl away from my angry eyes. ‘I think he is unbalanced where you are concerned,' he said gently. ‘And perhaps where I am concerned as well. But do you need to put yourself through all that? I wouldn't ring him if I were you. He's simply not worth bothering about.'

I shook my head. ‘I've got to quash this business about you being married to someone else,' I said. ‘Don't you see? We know too many people in common and he could start all sorts of awful rumours.'