THE RESIDENCY behind its high walls was guarded by British soldiers, seconded from God knew where and for what purpose. There might be monkeys skulking in the trees and bushes but never assassins.
The soldier who challenged Sandilands at the gate was a Scot, from Glasgow by the sound of him.
‘Mr Sandilands, sir?’ he asked, with a grin. ‘Could I see some identity, sir?’
‘What the hell for?’
‘New orders, sir. But in you go. I was told you were Scottish.’
Well, it was an accent known and respected in countries even more remote than Savu.
There were already two cars in the compound, a Mercedes belonging to Thomas Harvey, the Resident’s deputy (rumoured to be a member of the Secret Service) and Alec Maitland’s Ford. So it was security that was to be discussed. Were students again under suspicion? Was it known that Chia and Lo were back in Savu Town?
In the big marble-floored hall the Queen was gazing down glumly at Sandilands and he was looking back at her dourly when Sir Hugo himself came in, dressed in white as if for cricket, except for the red silk cravat.
‘Thank you for coming, Sandilands,’ he said.
On the telephone it had been Andrew. This of course was the Resident’s own midden-heap – a thing of marble and mahogany – where his crowing was loudest. He would have liked Sandilands to bow and salute but did not expect it. He was expecting, though, to be addressed as ‘sir’. Sandilands was damned if he would. He felt Leila had been slighted. What a pity the People’s Party had no chance of winning. How pleasant it would be to see this polite, pompous official being sent home to his polite, pompous masters.
The meeting was held in the study, where the walls were lined with leather-bound books so imposing that they were probably never disturbed, or read. Harvey and Maitland were seated in armchairs, drinking whisky. The former looked at ease, the latter anxious. Both were wearing jackets and ties. Sandilands was glad he had come in an open-necked short-sleeved shirt. Leila had not approved.
‘Please sit down,’ said Sir Hugo. ‘What would you like to drink? Whisky?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
But why was Sir Hugo himself dispensing the drinks? There were at least six servants, all Savuans. Was Sir Hugo afraid there might be a spy among them? If there was, Sandilands hoped he or she was more competent than Salim, whose guilty grins had given him away. Now a sergeant in the police he still grinned, but no longer guiltily, whenever he saw Sandilands in town. Indeed, he let Sandilands park where others were prohibited.
‘The Commissioner will put you in the picture,’ said Sir Hugo, ‘but I would like to make it clear that Dr Abad, leader of the People’s Party, is in our opinion, and in the opinion of His Highness too, well intentioned and sincere, if somewhat naïve, in his desire for some degree of democracy. As citizens of one of the oldest democracies in the world we can scarcely find fault with that.’
‘Does this apply to the doctor’s daughter?’ asked Sandilands.
Disconcerted, Sir Hugo looked at Harvey, who nodded, with a sly smile.
Alec Maitland was gazing up at the chandelier, glittering playground of chichaks.
‘When your wife was in Singapore some weeks ago,’ said Harvey, ‘she visited Dr Wong, though she must have known him to be a notorious Communist sympathiser.’
Keep calm, Sandilands told himself. This is a bastard trained never to lose his temper so that he can tell lies with conviction. ‘She knew him to be a professor of philosophy,’ he said.
‘Dismissed and disgraced for the dissemination of pernicious doctrines.’
‘Dismissed for speaking out for democracy. I believe his students demonstrated against his dismissal. I take it you know that I went with my wife to see him?’
‘Yes, we know that, Mr Sandilands.’
‘I expect the secret police who followed us told you.’
‘We have our sources of information.’
‘Do these include secret police here in Savu itself? Were you informed that this was an old man, over eighty, a friend of Dr Abad’s, whom my wife had known since childhood? When she learned that he was dying should she have refused to go and see him?’
‘Let’s say it would have been more prudent.’
‘Let’s say it would have been bloody callous and cowardly, and my wife is not callous or cowardly.’
Sir Hugo now appealed to Maitland. ‘Commissioner, perhaps you had better explain to Sandilands.’
Maitland brought his eyes down from the chandelier.
‘Andrew, Sir Hugo asked you here so that you could pass on a warning – no, wrong word, a piece of information, shall we say? – to Dr Abad, as leader of the People’s Party. We have reason to believe that there is a faction, small but desperate, in his party, which has no intention of accepting the people’s verdict in the elections. It sees an opportunity or excuse to provoke an uprising against the Sultan’s rule. Chinese, most of them. Young fanatics. Your former students Chia and Lo are among them. If you remember, they were expelled for subversive activities.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Sandilands, angrily. ‘They were expelled for reading books like Animal Farm; a charge so bloody stupid that they were immediately reinstated. I know Chia and Lo. I’ve taught them. They’re no friends of Red China. (Though they did think that that country had as much right to have nuclear bombs as Britain and America.) Their trouble is they have too idealistic a view of democracy. They’re Christians, for Christ’s sake. The idea of their taking part in an armed uprising is idiotic.’
‘There have been break-ins at police posts,’ said Maitland. ‘Guns and ammunition were stolen.’
‘It wasn’t in the newspapers.’
‘No.’
‘If it ever happened then it certainly wasn’t Chia and Lo and their friends who were responsible.’
‘You seem very sure of that, Andrew.’
‘I am very sure. My wife knows and trusts these young men. You’re not accusing her of being in the plot, are you?’
‘Your wife is a very ambitious woman,’ said Harvey.
‘What the hell do you mean by that?’
Harvey shrugged his shoulders.
‘Anybody who tried to provoke an uprising here would be bloody mad,’ said Sandilands. ‘The Savuans are not that kind of people. They hate violence. They like a quiet life. And they’re not stupid. They’d know they’d have against them the police, who are armed, the palace guards, the Gurkhas, and British troops who could be flown in in a day or two. They’d be massacred.’
‘That could be the intention,’ said Harvey, ‘to gain sympathy.’
Sandilands got to his feet. Protocol demanded that he must not leave without permission. Fuck protocol. ‘Are you sure your intention isn’t to provoke an uprising as an excuse to call off the elections? Could it be you’re not all that certain your side – the undemocratic side, remember – will come out on top?’
‘There is no need to adopt that tone, Sandilands,’ said Sir Hugo.
‘Good evening.’ Sandilands marched out.
Maitland came hurrying after him.
They stood by Sandilands’ car.
A soldier whistled cheerfully. A bird joined in. The stars were brilliant. Yonder was the Southern Cross.
‘If I may say so, Andrew, you didn’t handle that very well.’
‘I don’t trust those buggers. If it’s a choice of siding with them or with Leila do you think I’d hesitate for a minute?’
‘No, but let me say this as a friend, as a fellow Scot, and not as a policeman; you don’t know Leila all that well, do you? You can’t. Her background’s so different from yours. You got married so suddenly.’
‘What are you trying to say, Alec?’
‘I don’t really know, Andrew, to tell you the truth. But here’s my advice. Take some leave – they’ll give it to you like a shot – and go and stay with David Anderson in Malaya for a week or two, till these damned elections are over and done with. Take Leila with you. You’re her man. She’ll do what you tell her.’
‘I couldn’t ask her to do that. Besides, she’s got this woman to defend.’
‘Aye, so she has. She’ll not be able to save her, though. And the penalty here for murder is hanging. For rebellion, too; only in that case it’s done in public. Goodnight.’
Maitland then turned and ran up the steps into the house.
It was the Glasgow soldier who opened the gate for Sandilands.
‘I heard on the wireless it’s snawing in Scotland,’ he said, ‘but whit wouldnae I gie to be walking doon Sauchiehall Street wi’ my muffler up ower my ears.’