ON THE plane, trying to sort out his feelings, Sandilands could hardly believe that this beautiful woman beside him, in so many ways still a stranger, was now his wife. Surely it had all happened, and was still happening, not to him, not to the person he had known all his life and had often disliked, but to someone else hidden in him. It must have been that other person that Leila had fallen in love with and that Christina at the airport had embraced and kissed. Who was it then, as his elbow touched Leila’s, felt this immense and yet humble joy? And who was it remembering the little girl with affection and pride?
Leila had said something. She had to repeat it, with a smile. ‘This friend who’s coming to see me in Singapore, perhaps I should warn you, has just been released from prison.’
‘What was he in prison for?’
‘Political reasons. You must not, at your peril, criticise the leadership in Singapore. Nor must you wear your hair too long.’
In spite of the humorous remark, made no doubt to conciliate him, he could not help frowning. This was the familiar Andrew Sandilands. He objected to having his honeymoon spoiled by grubby politics.
‘How long was he in prison?’ he asked.
‘Five years. He has been let out because he’s old and very ill. In fact, he’s dying.’
The old Andrew Sandilands would have felt a vague sympathy for the old ‘martyr’ but would have seen it as none of his business. This other liberated Andrew Sandilands, because Leila was involved, wanted to be involved too.
‘Is he Malay?’
‘No. Chinese. He’s really a friend of my father’s but I’ve known him for years. A wise, kind, cultured, hopeful old man.’
‘Hopeful?’
‘Yes. He thinks that in the end we shall learn to love one another.’
The Sandilands of only six weeks ago would have sneered at such absurd optimism, which surely was contradicted by history and by the old man’s own experience. The Sandilands of now was sceptical but did not sneer. What he did was think of Christina. Love might not be the solution but it was the only consolation.
He looked out at the stars. ‘I hope Christina’s all right,’ he said.
‘Of course she’ll be all right. The Robinsons are kind people. They’ll take good care of her.’
‘And your father will keep an eye on her.’
‘Yes, but she’s not a baby, you know. She’s quite self-reliant. They say she’s very like what I was at her age.’
He smiled. ‘I’m sure she is. But perhaps we should have brought her with us.’
‘On our honeymoon?’ Leila laughed. ‘She understood. She said she’d rather stay at home and play with her friends.’
There was a little incident as they were going through immigration. The Chinese official examining passports looked at Leila’s and then at her and then went through the door behind him, saying ‘One moment, please.’ Seconds later another officer, his superior, came out with Leila’s passport in his hand.
‘Mrs Azaharri?’ he asked, smiling.
She still had her old passport. There hadn’t been time to have it changed.
‘Now Mrs Sandilands,’ she said. ‘I was married this morning. This is my husband.’
‘Is there anything wrong?’ asked Sandilands. ‘I am a British citizen. So, therefore, is my wife.’
‘She still has her Savu passport.’
‘There wasn’t time to change it.’
‘I see.’ He handed Leila her passport. ‘Have a pleasant honeymoon.’
‘What was all that about?’ asked Sandilands, as they moved on to collect their luggage.
‘It seems they have my name on their list.’
‘What list?’
Of course he knew about those lists that governments had, of suspicious and dangerous characters, but they had meant nothing to him in the past. They had represented a world of mess and misery far removed from his. Now it had come close, in the person of his beautiful wife.
‘Don’t look so alarmed,’ she said, smiling. ‘They’re letting me in, aren’t they?’
Yes, but would they have her, and therefore him too, followed?
He could not help thinking that Jean Hislop’s name would never be on any of those lists.