GOING DOWN the majestic staircase, Leila, proud as a princess, took his arm, not this time in a humorous teasing of him but possessively, like a bride, or so it seemed to him. She looked very pleased, as she was entitled to, as a lawyer who had won her clients’ case, but it was more than that, she was pleased with herself as a person, no, as a woman, who had a man in her possession. He had seen the same thing in other women. He had escaped from them, though in Jean Hislop’s case it was still doubtful. But those had been Western women the workings of whose minds he had more or less understood. Not only was it Leila’s ancestry that made her incalculable, it was also her own peculiar qualities. What other woman, for instance, Oriental or Occidental, going down these marble stairs, all fifty or so of them, would still at the bottom have made no mention of the astonishing lie that he and she were engaged and were to be married soon? It was as if she had forgotten all about it, or rather as if, since it was a settled thing, there was no need to mention it.
Out on the street, while he was fishing in his own mind for a pretext to bring it up, a white Rolls Royce purred past them. It was the Sultan’s. He gave them a wave, thus adding to the unreality of the scene. Where else in the world would a Scottish teacher, with Calvinist forebears, walking arm-in-arm with a beautiful coloured woman in a blue sari, be waved at by a Sultan in a white Rolls Royce?
‘I think we deserve a celebration,’ she said. ‘Would you like to take me to dinner this evening, in the Gardenia?’
But in the Gardenia any evening in the week there were bound to be friends of Jean’s who, the minute they got home, would telephone her to say that they had seen Andrew Sandilands dining with – guess who? – the notorious Mrs Azaharri, widowed daughter of old Abad. Those friends might not even wait till they got home but would telephone from the restaurant. In which case it was not at all unlikely that Jean might turn up, in a rage not so very unreasonable. He could imagine her yelling: ‘Would you believe that this big bastard, last night, was fucking me in his bed and talking about us getting married?’
If that happened it would be more dignified for him to bow his head and say nothing, though he could point out that dining in public with a woman hardly amounted to a serious commitment. Most fair-minded people would agree with him.
But what would Leila do or say?
‘Well?’ she asked, smiling.
It occurred to him that perhaps she meant to include the three students in the celebration. After all they were the ones with most to celebrate. If they were present he would have a plausible explanation.
‘No, just you and I. They will have to return to the College.’
She was well aware that being seen with her in the Gardenia would be something of a travail for him. Her attitude seemed to be that if he loved her he would gladly endure it. But he had never said that he loved her. He had kissed her, but that was all; well, almost all. He did keep giving her looks of admiration. But then didn’t every man in Savu Town, from street-sweeper to Sultan, give her such looks?
But, yes, he did love her. She melted his heart. Did she love him? Did he melt her heart? He found it hard to believe. What was her game? What was she up to?
He would have liked to ask her point-blank if she had meant what she had said about their being engaged, but he lacked the courage. Besides, he was afraid that she might say yes, she had meant it; and even more afraid that she would say no, she hadn’t meant it.
Outside the Chuu-Chuu tailors they parted, she to go up to her office, and he to drive to her house and take the students back to the College.
She patted his cheek, not caring who saw her. ‘Where shall we go for our honeymoon, Andrew?’ she asked, smiling.
Without waiting for an answer she disappeared into the close.
Seconds later she was back. ‘What would you like me to wear tonight?’ she asked, and again did not wait for an answer.
He heard her laughing as she went into the close.
His heart, though melted, was still capable of sinking. Was she going to be too much for him?
On his way to her house there was no need to go anywhere near the hospital, but he found himself driving towards it, right into the grounds, and sitting in his car outside the entrance, among other cars, one of them Jean’s red Mini.
A woman came out, weeping.
He did not know what he was doing there.
If Jean had come out, in her blue red-lined cloak, he would have run to her, embraced her, and told her yes, they would go home together to Edinburgh; but of course she did not come out, she was too busy inside, perhaps attending to the patient who was dying.
The students were waiting on the terrace. They came running down the steps; at least Chia and Lo did. Salim stayed up on the terrace. He did not seem to be as anxious as they to hear the news.
‘Well, you’ve been reprieved,’ said Sandilands, as he got out of the car. ‘Thanks to Mrs Azaharri. It was His Highness himself we saw. If you get your bags ready I’ll take you to the College. Mrs Azaharri had to go to her office.’
They were silent. He hadn’t expected them to shout with relief and joy, but this grim silence surprised him.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It is Salim,’ said Chia. ‘He is a spy.’
‘A spy?’ Sandilands looked up and saw Salim looking down at them cheerfully.
‘What do you mean, a spy?’
‘His brother is a policeman,’ said Chia.
‘That hardly makes him a spy.’
‘We could not understand why he wished to attend our meetings,’ said Chia. ‘His English is not good.’
‘We could not understand why he became a student at the College,’ said Lo. ‘He does not want to be a teacher.’
Sandilands had wondered about that too. The standards at the College were judiciously lowered so that students of native origin might graduate, but even so Salim would probably fail.
‘He reports to his brother who reports to his superiors,’ said Chia.
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘He did not mean to but he told us. He is very stupid.’
Too stupid surely to be used as a spy.
‘He should be punished,’ said Chia. ‘He should have his tongue cut out.’
‘That was the punishment in the old days for spies,’ said Lo.
No doubt it had been in Scotland too, if you went back far enough.
‘For God’s sake,’ said Sandilands.
They were as solemn as executioners.
‘I would think he’s more of a sneak than a spy,’ he said.
Then, like a conscientious teacher, he had to explain the difference.
They were not convinced.
‘We will take care of him,’ said Chia.
That sounded ominous. There were many places in the College grounds and in the jungle that encroached on them where a sneak’s body, with or without its tongue cut out, could be safely disposed of.
Would Leila, he wondered, with a shudder, approve of such a disposal?