Four

ROGER CLARK WAS very sweet but it had been a mistake to encourage him. He took her to the cinema in the Cathay Building to see a rather boring film and to dinner afterwards at the restaurant above, which he probably couldn’t afford. During dinner he talked about Esher and his home in Esher Park Avenue. Apparently there was a pub called the Star on the green and another called the Bear in the High Street. There was also an Odeon cinema and a place called the Moor Place Hotel which was rather good for dinner. And a racecourse.

‘Sandown Park,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I expect you’ve heard of it. It’s rather well known.’

She stifled a yawn. ‘Sorry, no.’

‘Of course, you’ve got a marvellous racecourse here. And Esher’s nothing like Singapore – not nearly as exciting. But, actually, I find I miss it rather a lot. There’s still a lot to be said for dear old England, isn’t there?’

She thought of the grey skies and the bone-chilling cold, of foggy London and the grandparents’ tall and silent house in Kensington.

‘I wouldn’t really know. I’ve never spent much time there. I’ve always lived in Malaya.’

‘Gosh, that must be rather odd. I mean, you’re English but you don’t know England.’

‘It doesn’t worry me. I love Malaya.’

‘Yes … it’s an amazing place. But I don’t think I’d want to stay here for ever. I’ll probably be jolly glad to get home in the end.’

‘And I expect your parents will be jolly glad when you do.’

She could picture the scene: a motherly mother at the doorway of the house in Esher – mock-Tudor perhaps, like some of the black and white colonial ones in Singapore. She would be wiping away her tears, and there’d be a gruff father standing behind her, hiding his emotion. Both so proud of their returning soldier son.

‘They don’t fuss, thank goodness,’ Roger was saying. ‘The trouble is I’m an only child, which makes it a bit tricky. Bit of a burden sometimes – being the one egg in the basket.’

‘I am, too,’ she pointed out.

‘Different for a girl. You don’t get sent off to war like us chaps.’

She looked at his nice, eager face. ‘How old are you, Roger?’

‘I was twenty last month, actually.’

‘Well I hope you’ll be home in time for your twenty-first.’

‘So do I. Looks like we’ll be going across on to the mainland at any moment, though, so it doesn’t seem too likely. I’m not supposed to mention that, of course.’

Later on, he asked if she would mind awfully going out with him again. It would be absolutely marvellous if she would, he said. She could see that he was badly smitten, which was a nuisance because she didn’t want to hurt him.

She dodged the issue. ‘But you said you’d probably be leaving the island soon. You’ll be away on the peninsula.’

He sighed. ‘That’s true. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.’

Milly was standing on the steps at the entrance to the Tanglin Club, looking worried.

‘Geoff and Vin aren’t here yet, Susie. They must have got held up at the hospital.’

They sat down in the hall and watched people coming and going. Milly kept jumping up to go and see if the Australians had arrived and Susan was just beginning to hope they never would, when she reappeared arm in arm with Geoff who had brought along, not the expected Vin but the one called Ray: Mr Know-All himself.

‘I’m really sorry,’ Milly whispered as they walked over to the courts. ‘Vin had to go on duty. But Geoff says Ray’s a good player so you’ll probably win.’

They won easily because he turned out to be an extremely good player and because Milly was pretty hopeless. He had a serve like a cannonball and a forehand to match but he didn’t poach like Clive, or shout ‘mine’ when it wasn’t. Afterwards they cooled off with drinks beside the pool and she felt inclined to be gracious towards him.

‘Do you play a lot of tennis in Australia?’

‘A fair amount. We’ve got the climate for it.’

‘You’re rather good.’

‘You’re not so bad yourself, Miss Roper.’

It was the first compliment he’d paid – if you could call it one.

‘Thank you.’

‘And this is a nice club.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’

‘Very English.’

‘It would be. It’s run by them.’

‘No Asians allowed?’

‘Not as members. Only as guests.’

‘Don’t you find that a mite odd?’

‘What’s odd about it?’

‘Not letting the natives in. It’s their country, after all.’

‘They have their own clubs, actually. They prefer it that way.’

‘Can’t say I blame them, with the welcome they’d get here.’ He was observing her from behind his dark glasses. ‘How’s the secretarial course going?’

‘All right.’

‘You don’t sound too thrilled.’

‘It’s hard to be thrilled by a typewriter and squiggles in a notebook.’

‘Do something else, then.’

‘You’ve already suggested that I go and drive ambulances.’

‘It was a good idea of mine. You can drive, can’t you? That’s what you said.’

‘I can drive a car.’

‘Then you could drive an ambulance. And you’ve plenty of spare time.’

‘But why would I want to?’

‘To do something useful for a change.’

‘Learning shorthand and typing is useful.’

‘I bet you’re lousy at it. You’ll be no help to the war effort.’

Milly said loyally, ‘She helps already. She’s a Buy a Bomber girl.’

‘A what?’

‘A Buy a Bomber girl. They sell programmes whenever there are special performances of the latest films at the Cathay cinema. Everyone wears evening dress and all the money from the programmes goes towards buying bombers. It’s a big social event. They always report it in the Tribune.’

The dark glasses turned on her again. She couldn’t see the eyes behind them but she had a fair idea of their expression.

‘My word. Fancy that.’

She stood up. ‘If you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll go for a swim.’

When she came out of the pool the Australians had gone.

‘They had to get back to the hospital,’ Milly said.

‘Good riddance. Just don’t ask me to play tennis with any more of them.’

‘There is a telephone call, missee. A gentleman wishes to speak to you. He did not say a name.’

‘Thank you, Soojal.’

She picked up the receiver in the hall. ‘Hallo.’

‘Ray Harvey here.’

‘Oh. What do you want?’

‘Are you busy?’

‘It’s Sunday. I’m going to church this morning.’

‘How about this afternoon?’

‘I’ll be going swimming at the club.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I could probably pinch one of the ambulances for an hour. If you came over to the hospital we could take it out for a run. See how you get on.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘It’s not that difficult.’

‘I dare say. I’m just not interested.’

‘OK. No worries. If you change your mind, you can find me here at the hospital.’

St Andrew’s cathedral was packed for the Sunday morning service and sunlight was streaming down from the high windows like a divine benediction on the congregation. Lady Battersby was sitting directly in front of Susan. Her grey hair, coiled beneath the brim of her straw hat, looked like a large snail’s shell; her husband, beside her, had a small head on the end of a long wrinkled neck, just like a tortoise. They sang ‘Soldiers of Christ arise’ and ‘Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us’, plodded through Psalm 11 and the endless Te Deum laudamus. The sermon was something to do with trusting in God and seemed equally endless. Be strong … have faith in the Lord … put your hand into His and He will guide and protect you. Susan hardly listened.

Afterwards, Ghani drove them to the Harrisons in Ridley Park for curry tiffin. Several young English army officers had been invited, fresh off the boat; and there was also Denys.

‘You turn up everywhere,’ she told him. ‘Are you on the scrounge, as usual?’

‘A fellow has to eat and the food here’s always excellent. Also the drink. You’re looking absolutely stunning, by the way.’

‘I’m not in the mood for sweet talk, Denys.’

‘What’s the trouble? Has somebody ruffled your feathers?’

‘I’ve been told that I ought to be doing something useful for the war effort.’

‘Such as?’

‘Driving ambulances.’

Denys grinned. ‘I must say I can’t imagine you behind the wheel.’

‘Actually, I can drive, you know. I got our syce to teach me.’

‘But you’re not really the sort, are you?’

‘What exactly do you mean by that? What sort?’

‘Well, the ambulance ladies I’ve seen are usually a pretty fearsome lot. Biceps like prizefighters. Who on earth suggested it to you, anyway?’

‘An Australian doctor.’

He waved his spoon over his plate of curry. ‘You don’t want to take any notice of Aussies; living upside down gives them funny ideas.’

She said, ‘You don’t think I’d be capable of it, do you?’

‘Capable of what?’

‘You don’t believe I could drive an ambulance. I can see it by your face, Denys. And you think it’s all very amusing.’

‘Now, I didn’t say that, sweetie. I just said I couldn’t imagine you doing it. Leave that sort of thing to the battleaxe mems. Plenty of those around. You make a gorgeous Buy a Bomber girl – much more up your street. I’d stick to that, if I were you. I’ll always buy a programme from you, I promise.’

‘Is that all you think I’m capable of, then? Selling programmes?’

‘Hang on … no need to get so steamed up.’

‘I’m not joking, Denys.’

‘No, I can see that. There’s an enormous bee buzzing around in your bonnet – put there by that big bad Aussie.’

‘Have you still got the MG?’

‘It awaits without.’

‘Good. You can drop me at the Alexandra Hospital.’

The British military hospital had been built in the thirties – a large, three-storeyed white building with red-tiled roofs and verandahs and surrounded by lush tropical gardens. Denys drove the MG up to the main entrance.

‘Want me to wait?’

‘No thanks.’

He said, ‘Look, there’s no earthly need to do this, Susan. You don’t have to prove anything to me.’

‘I’m not proving it to you, Denys.’

‘Or to anyone else, for that matter.’

She said, ‘Actually, I’m proving it to myself. Thanks for the lift.’

She got out of the car and went inside the building. The high ceilings and whirring fans made it nice and cool but the sourpuss at the reception desk was anything but welcoming.

‘Captain Harvey? He’s not on duty today.’

‘Where could I find him?’

‘I’m sorry but I have no idea.’

‘I was supposed to meet him here at the hospital.’

‘Well, he left no message to that effect.’

‘Do you have his phone number?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

She walked down a corridor and stopped a starchy nurse who was as unhelpful as the receptionist, and another who was in too much of a rush to speak at all. She went on, passing wards where white mosquito nets hung at the heads of long rows of beds, like ready shrouds. The beds were full of men with things wrong with them. She saw bandages and plaster casts, tubes and drips, pulleys and weights. There was a nauseating hospital smell. She went back to the entrance to see if Denys had waited, after all, but he hadn’t and she was just wondering what to do next when she caught sight of the Australian walking up through the gardens. She waited until he reached her.

‘I thought I’d give it a try, after all.’

He looked her up and down. ‘You’re not exactly dressed for it.’

He was wearing khaki shorts and an open-necked khaki shirt, sleeves rolled up, while she was still in her church frock, high heels, white cotton gloves, a smart little veiled straw hat perched on her forehead, handbag over her arm.

‘Does it matter? Where do we go?’

The ambulance, parked round the back of the hospital, was much larger than she had expected: more like a small lorry and with big red crosses painted on the roof and on each side.

‘An Austin K2Y,’ Ray Harvey said. ‘Better known as a Katie. Steel-framed, with wood floor, canvas roof and sides and doors. Three tons, but you ought to be able to manage her. I used to drive one like it as a student. It’s not hard.’

He opened the double doors at the back which were painted with two more red crosses. ‘Folding steps for getting in and out.’ He unfolded them. ‘Come and take a peek inside.’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Too right, it is.’

She clambered up after him and listened to the lecture.

‘Two bunks on each side, as you see, with rails for stretchers. Room for four lying or ten sitting patients. The top bunks crank up and down. That door at the far end connects with the driver’s cab. The window in it’s so you’ll be able to see what’s going on back here. Electric lights, air vents up front and a vented window on both sides that slides shut, if necessary.’ He tapped a locker on the wall. ‘Drinking-water tank housed in this one – here’s the tap below.’ He opened the second locker. ‘Dressings, bandages, all the basic medical kit in this one.’ He reached inside. ‘Morphine. A quarter grain ready to inject in an emergency.’

‘Morphine?’

‘A very strong painkiller.’

It looked rather like a small tin tube of toothpaste with a needle stuck on the end. He held it up before her eyes. ‘Easy to work, see. You take the cover off, get hold of this wire hoop at the end of the needle and push down to break the seal. Then you chuck the loop away and stick the needle in – the best place is the back of the upper arm, otherwise a thigh or buttock will do. It goes in all the way. Then you squeeze the tube from the bottom till it’s empty. By the way, don’t forget to pin the empty tube to the patient’s clothing after, to show it’s been given. Or you can write an M on their forehead.’

She shuddered. Injections, needles, pain …

‘I thought I was supposed to be doing the driving.’

‘You are.’

‘Then I wouldn’t have anything to do with all this, would I?’

‘Would it bother you?’

‘Yes, it would. I’m not very good with blood and gore. Or with needles. That sort of thing makes me feel quite sick.’

‘Well, you needn’t worry too much, Miss Roper. There’d always be a nurse or medical orderly with you.’

He said it in a dry sort of way, looking down at her, and he was standing very close because there wasn’t much room. To be fair, she could see what Milly had meant about his eyes.

She turned away. ‘Shall we get on with the driving, then? Isn’t that what we’re here for?’

‘That’s right. You get in on the passenger side. I’ll drive the first part.’

There was no proper door to the cab, just a piece of canvas that had been rolled back and tied with leather straps, and it was tricky getting on board. She put one foot into the iron stirrup but her skirt hampered her and so did her high heels, and there was nothing inside the cab to grip hold of.

He leaned across from the driver’s seat. ‘Take my hand.’

He hauled her in like a sack of rice and she landed on her knees on the wooden floor, hat askew.

‘Where do I sit?’

He pointed to a sort of cushioned box against the wall. ‘On there.’

She sat down, straightening her hat, smoothing her skirt.

‘I’m used to a left-hand drive, like our Buick.’

‘It shouldn’t make too much difference.’

He started the engine and there was a peculiar whining sound from under the bonnet as they moved off, nothing whatever like the soft well-bred purr of the Buick. From the corner of her eye, she watched the Australian driving. He had those brawny, bronzed arms that all Aussies seemed to have and he would have been a lot stronger, physically, than she was, but, even so, it looked fairly simple.

‘We’ll find somewhere quiet, Miss Roper,’ he said. ‘Then you can take over.’

Somewhere quiet was a rough and winding track through an old pepper plantation. The monsoon rains the day before had turned the earth to mud and the ambulance churned its way along between the pepper trees, rocking and lurching over the uneven ground. She clung to a leather strap, to her hat and to her handbag. They came to a halt and he switched off the engine.

‘Your turn now.’

‘Why couldn’t we have stayed on a decent road?’

‘You’re a learner, Miss Roper. Remember?’

‘You can call me Susan. Miss Roper’s making me nervous.’

They changed places, which meant her clambering down backwards, groping blindly with one foot for the stirrup. She missed it and fell into the mud.

‘It’s easier getting in on the driver’s side,’ he said. ‘You’ll have the wheel to grab hold of.’

He stood by, no help at all, while she clambered in awkwardly and settled herself in the driver’s seat.

‘I can’t reach the pedals.’

He fiddled with a catch and manhandled the seat forward. ‘Strewth, don’t you ever wear sensible shoes, Susan?’

‘Not if I can help it.’

She waited while he went round to the other side and swung himself in, easy as pie.

‘Ready?’ he said.

‘What about the gears? How do they work?’

He leaned over and pushed the stick around. ‘First is forward – but you almost never use it. Second is back towards you, third across and forward, top straight back down. OK?’

‘Where’s reverse?’

‘Forget about that for the moment. Clutch, brake, throttle, just like on a car. You’ll need to double-declutch when you change gear, by the way.’

‘Double what?’

‘Put your foot down on the clutch, the gear into neutral, take your foot off the clutch and get the revs up with the throttle. Then right foot off, clutch down again, move the stick into gear, foot off the clutch and step on the throttle.’

‘I can’t possibly remember all that.’

‘You’ll soon get the hang of it. Start her up and I’ll put her in second for you. No need for any revs, just bring your foot slowly off the clutch and away she’ll go.’

The ambulance stayed still.

‘You forgot the handbrake,’ he said, releasing it for her.

They jolted slowly down the track and she moved the stick in the general direction of third gear. There was a hideous shrieking noise.

‘Foot down hard on the clutch.’

‘It is.’

He put his hand over hers and pushed the stick forward. ‘Get the revs up. Left foot down again.’ He pushed the stick across and further forward. ‘That’s in third now. More revs quick.’

Fourth was no easier. She drove on, crashing her way through gears, stalling the engine and having to restart and go through the whole exhausting process again. The steering, when she managed to get going at all, was hard to control and she had to keep correcting to avoid trees. Her left leg was trembling with the constant effort of stamping on the clutch, both arms ached and her left palm had been rubbed raw by the gearstick. Also, her church frock was soaked in sweat and her white gloves were black. At a sharp bend in the track, she braked, swerved and stalled. Almost burst into tears.

‘Start her up again.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can.’ He took off her veiled hat and tossed it on the floor. ‘And you’ll see a lot better without that.’

She drove on sulkily, ignoring the shrieks of protest from the gearbox, until they reached a clearing at the end of the track.

‘Turn round here,’ he said. ‘You’ll need to reverse.’

‘How am I supposed to see behind me?’

‘Use the side mirrors. To get into reverse, lift the gearstick, push over and pull back towards you to the right.’

She pulled and pushed in vain, the sweat running down her face.

‘You might at least help.’

He reached across again and guided the stick, his hand over hers.

‘OK, you’re in reverse now.’

The clearing wasn’t very big and turning round meant going backwards and then forward, then backwards and forward again and then backwards and forward some more, the engine howling, the gears shrieking, the wheels spewing out great arcs of muddy water. She could hardly see a thing in the mirrors.

‘Well, at least you missed the trees,’ he said when they were finally facing the opposite way.

He took over when they reached the road, which meant changing places and him hauling her on board again. She rescued her hat and her handbag, checked her reflection in her compact mirror, wiped away the splatters of mud and got out her lipstick.

He was lighting one of his squashed cigarettes with a match. He blew the flame out and chucked the match over the side. ‘By the way, Susan, the patients won’t give a damn how you look. It’s how you drive that counts.’

She snapped the compact shut. ‘So, how was I?’

‘No flaming good. You’d never pass the test.’

‘Test? What test? You didn’t tell me anything about that.’

‘Well, you didn’t think you’d be let loose on the road without one, did you? It takes weeks to train an ambulance driver.’

‘Weeks?’

‘Only we don’t have that much time, so you’ll have to learn a lot quicker.’

‘I don’t have to do anything, thank you very much.’

‘That’s right, you don’t. You can go back to selling your society programmes, if you like.’

‘Yes, I certainly can.’

He drove her to Cavenagh Road and her anger simmered and bubbled like a volcano all the way. When he stopped outside the house, it erupted.

‘You’re a rotten stinking Aussie bastard, Ray Harvey. You never meant to give me a chance. You just wanted to make a fool of me.’

He shook his head. ‘You’ve got me wrong there, Susan. I thought you’d be a whole lot tougher. And I didn’t reckon on you giving up so easily.’

‘Who said anything about giving up?’

‘You did.’

‘I did not.’

‘It sounded just like it.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

She jumped down from the ambulance, straight into a muddy puddle. He leaned out.

‘Here, you forgot your handbag.’

He lobbed it over but she fumbled the catch and the bag fell into the puddle. She stood, fuming, as she watched the ambulance speeding away.