MAITLAND TOOK Dr Abad to the airport to pick up his car before taking Sandilands and Leila to the house by the sea. That was Leila’s wish. She had said she would like a walk on the beach.
At the airport Maitland held the car door open for Dr Abad. In his uniform he was as deferential as a chauffeur. ‘Will you be all right, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Maitland. You have been very kind.’ The old doctor looked into the car. ‘Good night, my pet. Take care of her, Andrew.’
‘Yes, I will.’
If he could. He himself was thoroughly exhausted, after that long painful day; but even after he was rested would he be able to comfort her?
God knew how she was feeling.
The car bumped along the track through the jungle. The night was busy and loud with many insects. The rest of the world seemed very far away.
‘Do you really like living here?’ muttered Maitland.
‘Yes. I used to, anyway.’
When he had been content with his own company. It was very different now.
The house was in darkness. As they got out of the car Sandilands thanked Maitland. It did not occur to him to thank the driver too. Leila did.
‘You’re a brave woman, Mrs Sandilands,’ said Maitland, ‘and Andrew’s a very lucky man. I think you both should go away for a bit. Take her to Scotland, Andrew. It’ll be cold at this time of year, but it could be the change you both need. Good luck anyway.’
As the car drove off Sandilands noticed the driver giving Leila a smile and a wave.
The house was now lit up. Saidee appeared on the verandah. She was weeping and felt that she was being impertinent. A small, squat, ugly little peasant woman had no right to weep in sympathy with this tall lady who was a lawyer and the daughter of a doctor, who spoke English as well as she did Malay, and who was related to His Highness.
It didn’t occur to Sandilands that poor Saidee needed to be comforted. But that was what Leila did, as if it had been Saidee’s child who had been killed.
The telephone rang. He hurried in to answer it. It was Jean, to say that Mary Robinson had died.