THEY WERE married, within six weeks, in the Anglican church. His Highness, regretfully, could not attend. He sent a card, hinting that some of his more devout Muslim subjects might object. But he also sent a present, a very valuable solid-gold salver. It was as well that he did not come, with his retinue of attendants and bodyguards, for there wouldn’t have been room for them in the small church. Some of Sandilands’ students were there, including Chia and Lo. So too were officials of the People’s Party, quiet, discreet, purposeful men in dark suits, Malays, Chinese, an Indian or two, and even a few aboriginals or bumiputras. Sandilands had seen some of them in Savu Town where they were businessmen or shopkeepers. They were all deferential towards Leila, not because she was the bride but because she was the daughter of their leader. Perhaps, thought Sandilands, the Sultan’s Party ought not to be so sure of a crushing victory in the elections. These men – there were no women among them – would say little but work hard. They looked very patient. They might not win this time or the next but in the end they would. It was possible that they might establish a true democracy in which the politicians were the servants of the people and not the masters. It would not last long. Corruption would inevitably set in, affecting the best of them, including Leila herself.
Sandilands’ parents were not present. He had telephoned. Luckily his mother had not been at home. His father had offered timid congratulations. These he seemed to want to withdraw when told that Leila was part Malay. Sandilands was sure that his father would not inform his mother of the conversation.
Dr Abad gave his daughter away. He did it with his usual mild good nature, though he had not yet given his blessing to the marriage.
David Anderson, the Principal, was best man. He too thought the marriage a mistake. Andrew, he had hinted, lacked the recklessness that would be needed.
Sandilands had been afraid that Jean would show up, not angry or resentful, at any rate not showing anger or resentment, but deliberately radiant, with her fair hair conspicuous among all the black, and her blue eyes among all the brown. She would want to show him that she wasn’t pining. Once, late at night, she had telephoned to tell him that, thank God, she wasn’t pregnant.
Two of her friends were present in the church, though not invited. They sat at the back, as unobtrusive as spies. He wondered if Jean had asked them to attend.
If they told the truth they would have to report that the bride had looked lovely in a light-blue costume, with a bouquet of orchids in her hand. As for the groom, well, Jean would be pleased to hear that he had looked more anxious than triumphant. She would say that it was because he was getting married and so committing himself for life. It wouldn’t have mattered who the woman was.
The spies, though, wouldn’t have noticed his glances at the little girl Christina, acting as a bridesmaid with her friend Mary Robinson.
Mary’s parents were in the church. They were afterwards to be reproved for it.
A meeting had been held in the Golf Club at which it was decided that, considering how badly he had treated Jean Hislop, no one should accept Sandilands’ invitation to the reception in the Gardenia. By marrying Abad’s daughter he had let the side down. God knew why he was doing it. Was it ambition? Did he think that the People’s Party would win the elections and through his wife’s influence he would become Minister of Education? That would never happen, of course. What would happen was that, to use one of his Scots words, he’d soon find himself scunnered, surrounded by dark-skinned aliens, including, it could be, his own half-caste children. Jean needn’t worry. The big bugger had a punishment in store for him that would serve him bloody well right.
One member, rash with drink, had proposed that Sandilands’ name be deleted from the list of past captains and also the list of past club champions, on which it appeared six times. This proposal, after much debate, was rejected. After all, he held the course record and, to be fair, he had always conducted himself like a gentleman, even when playing with duffers. Also, through his pal the Sultan he had got the Club a number of useful little privileges.
One member, though, did attend. This was Alec Maitland, in civilian clothes.
All the College lecturers, with one exception, attended both ceremony and reception. Miss Leithbridge sulked at home.
Saidee, Sandilands’ amah, was present, looking very proud. When they returned from their honeymoon she was to continue in their service. In the Principal’s large house several servants would be needed.
Thomas Harvey, deputy to His Excellency the British Resident, telephoned Sandilands to say that he was looking forward to attending the wedding (although he hadn’t been invited) and to insinuate, in his bland oblique English way, that Sandilands, as husband of Abad’s daughter, would be in an excellent position to pass on information about the People’s Party, if he thought such information would be helpful to the proper authorities. There had been suave mumbles about it being to everyone’s advantage to keep subversive elements out.