The Other Side of Paradise Read online

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t really mean it. I’m sure Geoff’s very nice.’

  ‘So you’ll come over for tennis?’

  ‘If you want.’

  ‘Thanks. Have a biscuit.’

  She took a digestive, nibbled round the edge. ‘How’s it been at the hospital lately?’

  ‘Rather good fun, actually. There’s not much to do. Mostly malaria cases, or snake bites, or appendicitis, or cuts gone septic … that sort of thing. We had one soldier who’d shot his foot off by mistake – that was gruesome.’

  ‘Where do they all come from?’

  ‘Some from Singapore, but most of them from the peninsula. The one without the foot was stationed at Kota Bahru and we’ve had a few from Kuantan and Johore and several from Kuala Lumpur. They bring them down to Singapore by train and then ambulances pick them up from the station.’

  ‘Who drives the ambulances?’

  ‘Army chaps mostly. Sometimes it’s volunteers – you know, do-good mems. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Just curious.’ She nibbled a bit more. ‘Milly, does your father ever talk about the Japs?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, does he think they’d ever attack Malaya?’

  ‘Oh no. He says it’s much too well defended. And the Jap soldiers aren’t any good at fighting. About as good as the Italians, he says. In other words, useless. Have another biscuit.’

  ‘I’m still eating this one. And you oughtn’t to have any more – you’ll put on even more weight.’

  ‘I don’t care. Geoff doesn’t like skinny women. He likes them with some fat on them. Did you know that Aussies call girls sheilas?’

  ‘They would.’

  ‘They’ve got different words for lots of things.’

  ‘I’m sure they have. It must be like a foreign language.’

  ‘But I’d love to go there one day. It sounds a wonderful country. Geoff says the outback’s amazing. You can drive for days and not see a single soul.’

  ‘How incredibly boring.’

  ‘You’re being beastly again, Susie.’

  ‘Well, it sounds awful.’

  ‘It isn’t. Not according to Geoff.’

  ‘He’s used to it.’

  Lady B. had turned her head and the leghorn straw in their direction and was inclining it graciously. Susan smiled back very politely at the old trout. ‘Are you going to the Tanglin dance tonight, Milly?’

  ‘No. We’ve got people coming to dinner, worse luck. Friends of my parents. Are you?’

  ‘If my mother hasn’t got one of her heads.’

  ‘What are you going to wear?’

  ‘Haven’t decided yet. I’ve got a new dress I quite like. I might wear that.’

  ‘You’re so lucky, having so many lovely clothes.’

  It was true: her wardrobe was crammed with them. The only problem was choosing.

  * * *

  Ghani stopped the Buick at the entrance in Stevens Road and the jaga opened the door, bowing. Susan was proud of the way her parents looked as they walked up the steps into the club. Her father, tall and handsome in his white dinner jacket, her mother elegant in a long grey georgette gown – all smiles and in one of her good moods.

  Nick’s Tanglin Six were playing in the ballroom, people already dancing. It wasn’t long before some chap asked her. He was in mess kit and his face rang a bell, though she couldn’t remember his name.

  ‘Roger Clark,’ he said. ‘We met at the Chambers’ and then ran into each other by the pool here.’

  The penny dropped. This was the eager puppy dog. ‘Yes, of course. How are you getting on?’

  ‘Rather well, actually.’

  He’d lost his just-out-from-England pallor and he looked very hot. Men always suffered badly in evening dress if they weren’t used to the heat.

  ‘You come from Esher, don’t you?’

  He seemed very pleased that she’d remembered. ‘That’s right. Though I must say it seems absolutely miles away.’

  ‘Ten thousand miles, more or less.’

  ‘It’s not the distance so much. It’s another world out here, isn’t it? Absolutely fascinating. I do think Singapore’s the most marvellous place.’

  ‘Have you been across to the peninsula yet?’

  ‘No. What’s it like?’

  It was eight years since they had left the Malay mainland for Singapore but the memories were still vivid to her. The sprawling bungalow built on pillars; rooms leading out of rooms to more rooms. Shady verandahs, creaky fans, stone bathroom floors with a drain hole in the middle, washing water kept in big Shanghai jars, beer and soda kept cool down the well, the night cries of wild animals in the jungle beyond the garden, the slow-moving, muddy rivers, the distant view of mountains like castle ramparts against the sky.

  She could remember her father taking her on visits to rubber plantations: acres upon acres of glossy-leaved rubber trees, planted in endless rows. Watching the Tamil tappers working the trees and cutting into the bark to harvest the sticky liquid. Attap native huts built on stilts, brown-skinned women squatting over open cooking fires, their children playing in the dust, their babies slung up in saris from beams. Goats, chickens, pariah dogs and the soft-eyed cattle. The scorching sun and hard-baked earth. Hot air pressing down like a blanket. The curry spice aroma of the cooking, the stench from the smokehouses of latex being turned into sheets of brown rubber. Swimming in a jungle pool beneath a waterfall and being shown tiger pawprints in the dirt close by. None of it very easily described to an Englishman from Esher.

  She said, ‘Well, it’s different from Singapore. Mostly rainforest – except where it’s been cleared for the plantations and along the coasts. Lots of rivers, not many towns, and lots of kampongs.’

  ‘Kampongs?’

  ‘Native villages.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I hope they don’t mind us being around.’

  ‘The Malays are very gentle, peace-loving people. Very friendly.’

  ‘Well, I expect they know we’re here to defend them. I say, this is a jolly good band, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s very good.’

  After a bit more dancing, he said, ‘I hope it’s not too much of a cheek but is there any chance of you coming out with me one evening?’

  She felt rather sorry for him, so far away from England and Esher. And he was easy to deal with, unlike some men.

  ‘All right. If you like.’

  He beamed at her. ‘That’s most awfully good of you.’

  Another man came up and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘This is an excuse-me dance, old boy. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Gosh … is it? Sorry, I didn’t realize.’ Roger let go of her reluctantly. ‘See you later, then.’

  She foxtrotted away with her new partner.

  ‘This isn’t an excuse-me at all, Denys, as you very well know.’

  ‘Desperate measures are required when there are so many of us chaps and so few of you lovely girls.’

  She had first met Denys Vaughan at Raffles. She’d been dancing with an RAF pilot when he’d barged in with exactly the same lie. Gingery hair, toothbrush moustache and a lot of nerve. He was an officer in the Straits Settlement Police and one of the hordes of young bachelors who hung about hopefully at dances. At Raffles they congregated in a corridor off the ballroom known as Cads’ Alley, trying to grab a dance partner. He practically lived at Raffles, he’d told her, and had a splendid arrangement with the maître d’hôtel for any food leftovers to be wrapped up and handed discreetly to him at the end of an evening. Otherwise he survived from dinner party to dinner party. He had no private allowance and making ends meet was always a problem. Terrible pay, he complained, and a grim little house in the compound of Divisional Police Headquarters.

  She said, ‘I haven’t seen you at a Tanglin dance before. Isn’t Raffles more your stamping ground?’

  ‘I came with the G
overnor’s ADC. He’s an old chum of mine from schooldays. There’s a party of us but none of the girls is a patch on you, so as soon as I spotted you here I made a beeline.’

  If he had had long moustaches instead of the toothbrush, he would probably have twirled them. ‘Won’t the other girls be offended?’

  ‘Can’t help that.’

  They danced a rhumba after the foxtrot. He danced energetically, regardless of the heat, and with a lot of complicated footwork. There were better dancers but they weren’t as amusing.

  Towards the end of the evening everyone joined in a conga, led by the band round and round the ballroom in a long, snaking line, down the stairway, round the swimming pool and back up to the ballroom again for the last dance – ‘Goodnight Ladies’. It was followed by the roll of drums heralding God Save the King, when everybody stood to rigid attention.

  Denys reappeared at her side. ‘We’re all going on to Government House. How about coming too?’

  ‘Government House? Are you serious?’

  ‘The ADC’s quarters there. I told you, he’s a chum of mine. Free drinks. Free fags. Midnight dip in the pool. Jolly good fun.’

  ‘What about the Governor?’

  ‘On an official visit upcountry.’ He winked. ‘The cat’s away, so the mice can play.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be going home with my parents.’

  ‘Tell them you’ve been invited to Government House. That’ll do the trick. And I’ll take you home later.’

  ‘In a rickshaw?’

  ‘Certainly not. A chap I know has lent me his car while he’s away.’

  He went with her to find her parents and gave a faultless performance of a responsible, reliable young man.

  ‘I’ll see her safely home, sir. You can count on me.’

  Her father frowned. ‘I think I’ll send Ghani.’

  But her mother was on her side – Denys had made sure of that.

  ‘He’s promised he’ll escort her back, Tom. I’m sure we can trust him.’

  In the borrowed MG, Denys said, ‘It’s the magic words Government House. Mothers love to hear them.’

  ‘You mean you often take daughters there?’

  ‘Whenever the occasion arises.’

  ‘When the cat’s away?’

  ‘Usually. But not always. The old boy’s rather decent about it, actually. So’s his missus. They turn a bit of a blind eye to us when they’re in residence. I even get invited to the odd dinner party there as well – to make up the numbers, so to speak, thanks to my old school chum. He sticks my name on the end of the list and I’m in. Free grub and booze. I make myself agreeable to the ladies and I know which knife and fork to use.’

  They roared through the entrance gates, Denys waving cheerily at the guard, and followed the other cars up the carriageway towards the great white palace on the hill. Pediments, porticoes and colonnades, surmounted by a rooftop flagpole flying a huge Union Jack. They went in through a side door to the ADC’s sitting-room-cum-office on the ground floor, making quite a din.

  ‘Have a drink.’ Denys pressed a tall glass of something greenish into her hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Speciality of the house. One of those made-up things. You’ll love it.’

  They stood about drinking the free green drink and smoking the free gold-tipped cigarettes, until somebody started up the gramophone for dancing. Denys’s cheek was pressed against hers as they shuffled slowly round to ‘Time On My Hands’. His moustache brushed her ear.

  ‘You’re an incredibly beautiful girl, Susan.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  ‘There are lots of pretty girls around, but not many beautiful ones. Trust me.’

  ‘But I don’t trust you, Denys. What was in that drink?’

  ‘Lime juice, lemonade, a dash of gin.’

  ‘More than a dash, I’d say.’

  ‘Very refreshing, though, don’t you think?’

  ‘No. I don’t feel at all refreshed. I feel rather squiffy.’

  ‘Must be the heat.’

  After more drinks and more dancing there seemed to be a general move towards the door.

  Denys said, ‘The others are going for a dip in the pool. Are you game?’

  ‘I haven’t got a swimming costume with me.’ She had difficulty speaking the words properly.

  ‘No need to worry about that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well it’s fairly dark, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘I do see what you mean … and I’m not game.’

  ‘Tell you what, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a private and personal conducted tour of Government House instead.’

  ‘I’ve been here before.’

  ‘Ah, but I’m talking about the parts you won’t have seen. It’s quite a place. Come with me, fair maiden.’

  He took her hand and towed her after him down a marble-floored corridor. There was nobody about – no officials or servants, nobody to stop them. Silence except for the humming of ceiling fans. Another corridor, wider and even grander. Then another. Her heart was pounding, but from excitement, not fear: the sort of feeling she’d had when she had deliberately broken some silly rule at the convent.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be a policeman, upholding the law, Denys.’

  ‘Policemen are the worst.’

  He opened a door, switching on lights.

  ‘His Excellency’s study. Snug little den, isn’t it?’

  She wandered round the room, inspecting the silver-framed photographs on the desk – including one of the King and Queen – the papers, the books, a leather-bound diary for 1941 left conveniently open for her to read all about the Governor’s engagements: meetings, receptions, luncheons, a dinner held for fifty Australian officers, troop inspections.

  ‘He’s a very busy man.’

  ‘Rather.’

  ‘What happens if someone catches us here?’

  ‘They cut our heads off.’

  They tiptoed on, Denys opening more doors on to more private rooms. They passed display cases filled with silver trophies, jewel-encrusted swords and sabres; official portraits stared down on them with disapproving eyes. Upstairs, they crept along a long dark colonnade.

  Denys squeezed her hand. ‘Now for the pièce de résistance. The grand finale.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  He opened yet another door, switched on another light.

  ‘The Gubernatorial Chamber. In other words, Their Excellencies’ bedroom.’

  ‘Golly … We really will get our heads cut off, Denys.’

  It was a sumptuous room fit for a king or, in this case, for the King’s representative and his Lady. She wondered what it was like to be the Governor’s wife. To live in such splendour with a hundred servants at her beck and call. To be bowed to and curtseyed to and saluted, just like the real Queen. To give grand balls and dinners and receptions and drive around in open limousines with a flag fluttering regally on the bonnet.

  Behind her, Denys whispered, ‘Why don’t you try the bed. See what it’s like.’

  She perched on the edge, bounced up and down.

  ‘That’s no good,’ he said. ‘You have to lie on it properly.’

  She kicked off her silver shoes and swung her legs up. ‘Like this?’

  ‘That’s better. How is it, Goldilocks? Too hard? Or too soft?’

  She giggled. ‘Just right.’

  ‘Let me try …’ He sat down. ‘So it is. Very comfy.’ He leaned over her. ‘You make a gorgeous Goldilocks and I feel like Father Bear.’

  ‘Whatever would His Excellency say?’

  ‘He’d think you were gorgeous too.’

  When he kissed her his moustache tickled rather pleasantly and they rolled around on the bed. Before long, his hand was sliding under her skirts and wandering up her right leg.

  ‘What happens if someone comes in, Denys?’

  ‘They won’t. Trust me.’


  ‘I’ve already told you – I don’t.’

  His hand was over her knee now and moving higher. She thought hazily, I ought to stop him before things go too far but I can’t be bothered. The room seemed to be going round and round and see-sawing up and down. She closed her eyes, which only made it worse. Suddenly, much worse. Oh God!

  She pushed him off and sat up, hand clapped over her mouth.

  ‘Get me out of here, Denys.’

  ‘What’s all the rush?’

  ‘I’m going to be sick. Quick!’

  She made it as far as the colonnade and vomited over the balustrade into a flower bed below. Denys mopped her down with his handkerchief.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, old thing. I’ll take you home at once.’

  Later, in the MG, she said, ‘You’re a louse, Denys. It was that revolting drink you kept giving me. You’re lucky I wasn’t sick all over their Excellencies’ bed.’

  ‘A thousand pardons, Princess. I humbly crave your forgiveness.’

  ‘Well, I don’t give it. I still feel dreadful and I expect I’ll have a shocking hangover. You’re an absolute cad. It wasn’t the first time you’ve taken a girl to their bedroom, was it?’

  ‘I cannot tell a lie.’

  ‘How many girls?’

  ‘A few. They seem to get quite a kick out of it.’ He glanced at her wryly. ‘I thought you would, too.’

  She might have done: might easily have gone the whole way, like he’d planned, if she hadn’t felt so sick. Denys was nice – a lot nicer than Clive – and she wouldn’t have minded losing her virginity to him. The whole escapade had been a bit of a hoot, except for the being sick part. Next time she saw the Governor passing by with his Lady, it would give her a good laugh to remember rolling around on their bed.

  He drove round the corner into Cavenagh Road and pecked her cheek discreetly as Soojal appeared at the front door.

  ‘Goodnight, Goldilocks. Sleep tight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Father Bear.’

  She stumbled a little over the doorstep.

  Soojal said, ‘Everything is all right, missee?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Perfectly all right.’

  ‘I fetch something for you?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  She could feel him watching her anxiously as she steered a careful course for the stairs. For once, she forgot to rub the glass Buddha’s tummy as she passed him by.