In the Mouth of the Tiger (42 page)

Denis did see my point, and he sat beside me in Eugene's study first thing the next morning as the police telephonist put me through to Malcolm's flat in Ashley Gardens.

When Malcolm came on the line he sounded strange, his voice hoarse and thick as if he had a heavy cold. ‘Before you say anything, Nona,' he said. ‘I want to apologise for what I said to you yesterday. It was quite inexcusable from a professional point of view, and rotten bad form as well. I know you will find it hard to forgive me but please try. I was hit for six by the news that you and Denis are together. You must know my feelings towards you . . .'

‘It
was
inexcusable,' I cut in roughly. I had no intention of letting the conversation go down that path. ‘And you were also quite wrong, Malcolm. Denis and Dorothy were divorced in October 1934. He is free to marry me the moment I let him.'

There was silence on the line, and then Malcolm cleared his throat painfully. ‘I really do seem to have a knack of putting my foot in it where you are concerned,' he said. ‘You make me completely lose my sense of balance . . .'

Again I cut him off. ‘I meant exactly what I said yesterday. I don't want you to speak to me ever again. If you try and make contact with me, Malcolm, I will make a formal complaint against you for harassment.'

I heard Malcolm saying something as I put the receiver down, and turned my face to Denis with a grin. ‘I don't think he'll be too inclined to bother us after that,' I said. ‘But I meant exactly what I said. I'll complain to
Calliper if he so much as raises his hat to me in the street.'

We bought a yacht later that morning. Denis had heard about her in KL and we drove down to the yacht basin with a letter of introduction to the broker, a sandy-haired Scotsman called Angus McKenzie. Angus rowed us out to the yacht himself, and even I could appreciate the beauty of her lines as we drew closer. She was a thirty-six-foot ketch with a raked bow and a sweeping schooner stern and Denis bought her on the spot, writing out a cheque as we sat on one of the twin bunks in the oak-panelled saloon.

As soon as the yacht was ours, Denis asked me to christen her the
Nona
, and I did so by formally kissing the mainmast as he took a photo. I look so happy in that snap, my hair tossed by the wind and my filmy scarf flying like a flag.

Point and counterpoint: heart broken in the blackness of the night, and then the happiest girl alive.

Chapter Sixteen

I
f I thought that I had seen the last of Malcolm Bryant I was seriously mistaken. He re-entered my life the very next day, and as always he brought with him misery and nightmares.

It was the day of our departure and as Tony had had a restless night we had decided to leave earlier than intended. We'd packed up the Alvis and were actually saying our goodbyes to Tanya and Eugene under the porch when a police car turned into the driveway. I felt my heart lurch the moment I saw it, even before I saw Malcolm sitting stiff and unsmiling in the passenger seat.

‘What on earth is the blighter up to now?' Denis asked irritably. He put down the picnic basket he was carrying and stalked out to meet the police car, waving me to say behind. Instinctively, Tanya took my hand and Eugene came and stood beside me, a small defensive phalanx protecting me from my enemy.

Denis stopped the car some yards from the porch, and we saw him talking to Malcolm, his face at first angry, then concerned. Eventually he started back towards us as Malcolm's car did a U-turn and roared off up the driveway.

‘I'm afraid we will need to stay in Penang for another day,' he said flatly. ‘Eugene, I wonder if you and Tanya would mind . . .?'

‘Please stay as long as you need,' Eugene said quickly. ‘I'm just sorry that you have had your plans interrupted. May I ask if everything is all right?'

‘The police want to ask Nona some questions about the time she was living with the Ulrichs,' Denis said. He looked at me with a small, encouraging smile. ‘It won't take long, my dear, but apparently it does need to be done without delay. Captain and Mrs Ulrich are being held in custody on suspicion of murder, and the police need some evidence to hold them. Malcolm was
going to drive you back to the police station straight away but I wouldn't let him. I've arranged to drive you over at ten o'clock, which will give us time to arrange a lawyer to go with you.'

Denis was able to tell me a little more on the way to the police station in Beach Street. Apparently a small boy, a lodger, had disappeared from the Ulrichs' home several years before, probably during the time I had been living there. Evidence had come to light that made his disappearance suspicious, and acting on a tip-off that the Ulrichs were about to leave Penang the police had swooped and arrested them. The law only allowed them to be held without charge for forty-eight hours, so that unless some evidence could be found quickly they would have to be released.

‘So Malcolm was not playing games?' I asked, feeling relieved. I really was beginning to feel that Malcolm was unhinged, and nothing would have surprised me.

‘He's in charge of the case. He told me it was damned unfortunate but that he simply had to ask you some questions. I think I believe him.'

‘Who disappeared?' I asked curiously.

‘A youngster called Thomas. Or Tommy?'

A face swam into my mind. A dark, impish, smiling face. Tommy Arundel had been about eight or nine when he joined our small boarding community. I had taken him under my wing, as I had all the smaller children, and he had told me all about himself. His English father had been working for a missionary society in Sumatra. His mother, an Indian girl, had died of fever. Tommy Arundel never had any money, and never had any holidays away from Argyll Street. Apparently the missionary society which employed his father was teetering on bankruptcy so that cash had been a very real problem. One day, Tommy had simply disappeared. It had happened suddenly, in the middle of a school day, and we had come home to discover his possessions gone and his bed in the boys' dormitory stripped bare. Captain Ulrich told us that Tommy had been summoned home, and we had all been pleased for him.

Tommy had been a likeable boy, full of fun and apparently quite untroubled that he never saw his father. Or at least he worked hard to give that impression. I had caught him more than once crying in his cubbyhouse in the overgrown back garden, and tried to find out what had upset him, but he had only shaken his head stubbornly, grinning through his tears.

Denis had managed to arrange for Paul Tan to be at the police station when we arrived, and I was immensely glad to see the lanky Chinese lawyer.
He doffed his hat and shook my hand with old-world courtesy, then gave an expressive shrug. ‘This should take only a few minutes, Mrs Elesmere-Elliott,' he said. ‘I doubt that after all these years you can remember anything useful. If I may give you some advice before we meet the police, I suggest that you don't volunteer any information that you may have even the smallest doubts about. The police are trying very hard to make a case against the Ulrichs, and I don't think they will mind how much trouble they cause you in the process.'

‘I would like to help if I possibly can,' I said. ‘I liked Tommy. If the Ulrichs did do him any harm I would like to see them brought to justice.'

It was a very formal interview. Malcolm sat on the other side of a broad oak table flanked by two other officers while an Indian clerk took down a verbatim record of everything that was said. There was a palpable tension in the air, not helped by Malcolm's obvious discomfort. He fidgeted constantly with his Sam Brown belt and great sweat stains under his arms darkened his otherwise immaculate khaki shirt.

‘Please tell me everything you can remember about Thomas Arundel,' he asked after the briefest of introductions. ‘As you may know Thomas has been reported as missing and we have grave fears for his wellbeing.'

I related as much as I could remember about Tommy, then spread my hands helplessly. ‘I'm afraid that is all I can think of,' I said.

‘Do you recall the circumstances under which Thomas – Tommy – left the Ulrichs'?' Malcolm asked.

‘I can only just remember the day he left,' I said. ‘We came home from school and someone said his bed had been stripped and his cupboard emptied out. Captain Ulrich told us at dinner that night that Tommy had caught the train to Singapore, where his father was going to meet him.'

‘Can you remember the date Tommy left?' Malcolm asked. ‘I know it is going to be difficult after all these years, but an approximation would be useful.'

I thought hard. ‘It was towards the end of first term in 1933. I remember because not long after Tommy left they built a summerhouse close to where Tommy's cubby used to be. I remember that because I started my piano lessons with Sister Felice at the beginning of second term, and I used to practice of an evening in the new summerhouse. Irma had put an upright out there so that those learning the piano wouldn't disturb the household.'

Malcolm drummed his fingers on his blotter thoughtfully. ‘About Easter time, 1933. That matches the time Tommy's father died in Sumatra. The
South China Missionary Society continued to pay Tommy's board to Captain Ulrich for the better part of the next four years. It was only when the society was unable to contact Tommy to tell him that support for his education was going to have to cease that we were alerted. The society listed Tommy as a missing person in March 1937.'

‘And nobody did anything for another two years?' I asked incredulously. It seemed so obvious to me. The Ulrichs had murdered poor Tommy and then sat back quietly collecting his board for the next four years. I suddenly felt quite ill. I had lived in that gloomy old house in Argyll Street, often lonely and often frightened that Irma was plotting to do something dreadful to me. What if my instincts had been right, and that Irma
had
been watching me, waiting for Mother to forget me so that she could arrange my disappearance? I had had no South China Missionary Society to remember me – I would have simply disappeared without a trace. An unknown Russian girl swallowed up by an indifferent world.

‘What are you remembering?' Malcolm asked.

‘I was thinking about myself,' I said. ‘It worries me to hear that nobody noticed Tommy's disappearance. You see, I was in much the same situation. I don't think anybody would have noticed if I had disappeared.'

‘I was keeping an eye on you,' Malcolm said. ‘I would have noticed. Don't ever forget that.'

I
had
forgotten and looked up at Malcolm with a tiny, grateful smile. ‘I'm glad you reminded me,' I said softly, and he coloured instantly, then shuffled his papers and cleared his throat.

The interview lasted another hour but we got no further, simply going round and round in circles. Finally, Paul Tan gathered his papers together. ‘My client is keen to help the police, but I really do not see any point in continuing this interview,' he said. ‘It is quite clear that Mrs Elesmere-Elliott has exhausted her memory of relevant events.'

Malcolm opened his mouth as if to protest but said nothing, and then nodded reluctantly. ‘I'm afraid you are quite right, Paul. Your client has been most cooperative, but we must not waste any more of her time.'

We all rose but I had one last question. ‘What exactly are you hoping to find, Malcolm?' I asked. ‘Surely not Tommy himself? He must be dead if he's been missing all this time. Isn't it now up to the Ulrichs to prove they didn't kill him? After all, he was in their care.'

‘It's not as simple as that,' Malcolm said, escorting Paul and me to the
door. ‘We know Tommy is missing but there is absolutely no evidence that he is dead. What we are looking for is his body.'

The next morning I realised precisely where Tommy was.

I had woken just before dawn after a troubled night, and then dozed off again, my mind full of thoughts of the missing boy. Remembering his grin and the way he would dart around the tangled garden like an impish woodland spirit. Remembering his cubbyhouse where I had caught him crying. And then, as I lay in that borderland between waking and sleeping, a forgotten memory had come to me. I had been visiting Tommy's cubbyhouse after his departure to say a private farewell when Captain Ulrich had appeared, shouting angrily because I had come too close to the fresh-laid concrete foundations of the new summerhouse.

I woke with a start, the truth suddenly crystal clear. The concrete had been laid virtually the day Tommy had left us. Tommy's body was under that slab – I had never been more certain of anything in my life. He had been lying there, alone and unmissed, for over six years. He had been there during my piano practices. He had been there, his tiny body decomposing in the black earth, during a hundred afternoons while we children had talked and laughed above him, trying hard to ward off our loneliness and fear with games and febrile laughter.

I was suddenly violently sick. My mind spun and my body heaved, and then Denis was calming me as he always did. We sat on the side of the bed as I told him of my certainty, and then he hurried me into the bathroom and under a warm shower. ‘Leave this entirely to me, Nona,' he said. ‘I'll get a message to Malcolm immediately. You mustn't be involved anymore or this could turn into a nightmare for you.'

I went back to bed and lay shivering until Denis returned and took me in his arms. He had spoken to Malcolm, and the police would be on their way to Argyll Street immediately with all the equipment necessary to break up the concrete slab. ‘Malcolm's a pretty good egg at heart, Nona,' Denis said. ‘He could have insisted on getting a search warrant, which would have meant bringing your evidence out into the open. But he's going to take a chance – bust the concrete open on his own say-so and pray you are right. If Tommy's body is there, there will be no need for you to be involved any further.'