THE DAY of the elections was also a holiday. From early morning there were queues of patient smiling men and women at all the polling stations in Savu Town and elsewhere in the country. It was assumed that this eagerness to vote was because they were the first elections in the country’s history. They were therefore a kind of celebration. When asked where they had put their crosses, whether opposite the water buffalo that represented the People’s Party or the tiger of the Sultan they had politely declined to say. ‘Is it not confidential, sir?’ they replied, with secret smiles.
Sandilands and Leila drove into town in the morning to do some shopping. They met Mr Srinavasan and his wife outside Huat Lee’s Cold Storage.
Mr Srinavasan had been to watch people voting. ‘Such simple souls,’ he cried, laughing. ‘They go into the polling station as if it were a holy temple. We know what that portends, do we not? They are seeing it as an opportunity to show their loyalty and gratitude for their esteemed ruler. It is not a good omen for you, Mrs Sandilands. Prepare, I am sorry to say, for humiliation. Your Party, alas, will be fortunate to gain a single seat. I do not think that in Mr Huat Lee’s emporium you should purchase a bottle of champagne.’
He went off, giggling.
‘Just for his bloody cheek,’ said Sandilands, ‘we will buy a bottle of champagne, the best in the shop.’
‘What will we be celebrating, Andrew?’
‘Ourselves.’
That afternoon they were going to visit the child that Leila wished to adopt.
She held his arm tightly as they went into the shop.
It was a favourite meeting place for white expatriates. They met several. The men particularly were friendly and sympathetic towards Leila.
‘So this is the big day, Mrs Sandilands?’
‘Don’t be too disappointed.’
‘Democracy’s a concept beyond most of them.’
She smiled. ‘You are going to get a big surprise.’
They laughed. She was almost British, they thought, in the way that she could take it on the chin and still smile.
Sandilands backed her up. ‘Look, we’ve got the champagne ready.’
‘Well anyway, we’re going to be in the Town Hall tomorrow night. See you there.’
Tomorrow night the results were to be declared in the Town Hall. The voting papers were being brought by helicopter from the remote parts. They were to be counted in public by impartial tellers brought from Malaya. The Sultan wanted everything to be fair and to be seen to be fair. The results would be flashed up on a large screen. They would be announced from the platform by the Speaker of the National Council, wearing his official wig. There was to be free food and drink. It was going to be a celebration party. His Highness might attend. Though the Town Hall was grand and spacious it was thought that there wouldn’t be room for everyone. Arrangements had been made to relay the results to the crowd outside.
Sandilands and Leila had been invited to lunch at her father’s house. A number of the People’s Party’s candidates were to be present. Sandilands was curious to see them. He had wondered where in Savu were there enough men of education and experience to form a government, even of a country whose population was just half that of Edinburgh.
He mentioned it in the car as they drove to Dr Abad’s.
‘They’ll be a lot more competent than the Sultan’s appointees,’ she said, scornfully.
‘Yes, but the Sultan’s got the backing of the British government. Wouldn’t your People’s Party get rid of the Resident?’
‘We would, immediately.’
‘And the Gurkhas?’
‘They’d go too.’
‘Who would protect you then? Would you have an army of your own?’
‘We don’t need an army. Who’s going to attack us?’
‘Someone might, for the oil. What about the expatriates? They fill most of the top jobs. In a sense they run the country.’
‘We’d keep those we considered necessary, but we’d see to it that Savuans were trained to take their places.’
‘That might take a long time.’
‘We’re patient people.’
‘What about the Principal of the Teachers’ Training College? Would he be replaced by a Savuan?’
‘Isn’t he a Savuan himself? By marriage?’
He laughed and pressed her knee. ‘Yes, he is. What do they do for a living, these colleagues of yours?’
‘Teachers, accountants, lawyers, businessmen. You’ll find them intelligent and concerned.’
So he did, but what impressed him most was their good-natured confidence. They did not boast, boasting not being in the Savuan nature, but they talked quietly of victory. That was surely stupid, and yet none of these well-dressed prosperous men looked or sounded stupid. They pointed out that they knew the people. Besides, they added, teasing him, did they not have his lovely wife on their side? Was he aware that she was the most trusted person in Savu?
He was convinced that there was no faction likely to resort to armed rebellion.
When he asked a group of them what they would do if they lost they assured him they would try another time. But what if there was no other time? What if His Highness decided that they had been given their chance and the people had rejected them, once and for all. What would they do in that case?
A white-bearded Chinese replied that they would leave it to their children or grandchildren. Another, a plump Malay, added, not at all ironically, that their children would be better educated, thanks to Mr Sandilands’ excellently trained teachers.
Chia and Lo were present, acting as waiters. Sandilands had a brief private word with them. They said that they didn’t regret having left their jobs: winning the election was much more important. In any case, their jobs were safe: their headmasters were supporters of the People’s Party. Whether the elections were lost or won they had promised to go back. There was valuable work to be done, educating the children of the interior.
‘The verdict of the people must be respected,’ said Chia, solemnly.
Alec Maitland’s spies must have been exaggerating or lying.