TO BAKER’S astonishment the gates of the big police compound were wide open. Everything looked normal and peaceful. In the shade of a big flame-of-the-forest tree a motorist was undergoing a test for a driving licence. He was trying to reverse his car into a square formed by four moveable poles. If he touched one he would fail, but he was given three attempts. His last succeeded. The policeman conducting the test was full of goodwill and was delighted.
In another part of the compound several policemen in white shorts and singlets were playing a leisurely game of volleyball.
‘Those stupid bastards in Government House,’ said Baker, ‘think they’ve got authority terrified. It doesn’t look like it. Why didn’t they try to take over this place?’
‘Because they didn’t want bloodshed,’ said Sandilands.
‘You could be right. You know what, Sandilands, it would be bloody easy now, at this very minute, to slip out of the country. Christ, you could buy an air ticket to Hong Kong. There’s a flight about four, isn’t there? If I was you I’d try to get Leila on it.’
Sandilands shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t come.’
‘A pity. It almost looks as if they’re being given a chance to escape. It would certainly save a lot of trouble for everybody.’
Sandilands got out of the car.
‘I’ll stay here if you don’t mind,’ said Baker. ‘I don’t like police stations.’
In the air-conditioned reception hall the sergeant in charge at the desk was in shirt sleeves. Above him was a large portrait of the Sultan in military uniform, with many decorations from various foreign States.
Sandilands approached the desk. ‘I’d like to see Mr Maitland, the Deputy Commissioner,’ he said, in Malay. ‘My name’s Sandilands. I’m Principal of the Teachers’ Training College.’
The sergeant smiled. ‘I know who you are, Mr Sandilands. My brother Salim was a student at your College.’
Salim, the jolly traitor.
Did the sergeant also know that Sandilands was the husband of the now notorious rebel Dr Abad’s daughter?
Other policemen came and went, all smiling, all looking relieved. They were like men from whom a painful and dangerous duty had been taken. They had been given orders to carry on as usual until the soldiers arrived. It would be the soldiers, strangers, who would do the killing or the dying. It could well be that some of the police had relatives or friends among the rebels.
‘Mr Maitland’s been trying to reach you all morning,’ said the sergeant. ‘He will be pleased to see you.’
Maitland’s office was upstairs. It would have made every Chief Constable in Britain covetous: air-conditioned, spacious, luxuriously carpeted, a huge desk of teak, leather armchairs, a portrait of the Sultan in an ornate frame, paintings on the walls of Savu scenes.
Maitland rose from his desk to greet Sandilands. Being Scotsmen they did not shake hands.
‘Glad to see you, Andrew. I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’
‘Why? What have you to tell me?’
‘Sit down. This is a hell of a business, isn’t it?’
There was a faint bruise above Maitland’s right eye. The hat that had been knocked off hung on a peg, quite undamaged.
‘I believe you’ve just come from Government House,’ he said. ‘What’s going on there? Did you see your wife?’
‘Yes, I saw her.’ Sandilands could not keep bitterness out of his voice.
Maitland noticed it. On the desk was a photograph of his own wife, with his two daughters.
‘I expect you asked her to give it up and come home.’
‘Yes.’
‘And she refused?’
‘Yes.’
‘Too bad. Anyway it would have been too late. They’re in too deep, Andrew. Armed rebellion. Treason. Unlawful assembly. There will be executions.’
‘Have troops been sent for?’
‘They’re on their way. They should arrive during the night. From a Scottish regiment, I believe. You know, I thought Leila was an intelligent woman.’
‘She is an intelligent woman.’
‘Then why the hell has she got mixed up in this imbecile caper?’
‘She doesn’t think it’s an imbecile caper. She thinks, they all think, that they’re fighting for their rights.’
‘Their rights? What’s that got to do with anything? I happen to believe they were badly cheated. I wouldn’t be surprised if His Mightiness up there would admit it in private. But that doesn’t alter the fact that they’re taking part in an armed rebellion, and the penalty for that in this country is death. I warned you about that at the Residency, if you remember. But leave that aside. What I want to tell you, Andrew, is that as I sit here I don’t know what my orders are. It looks as if the Sultan and his councillors don’t know either. So in the meantime I’ve got nobody watching the airport or the harbour. I wanted you to tell Leila that. Go back to her now, Andrew, and tell her, while there’s still time. Just her. Not the others. If I get my orders, and they could come at any time, I’ll have to carry them out.’
Sandilands shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t come.’ Especially if the others, including her father, were to be left behind.
‘I didn’t think she would. So far nobody’s been badly hurt. I want to keep it that way.’
‘What about Major Simbin?’
‘That damned fool. He’s all right. A badly swollen nose. Not a hospital case. Just as well. They’ve taken over the hospital. Some revolutionaries! They leave this place and the airport alone and take over the hospital.’
‘Is Jean all right?’
‘Jean’s in her element. She’s got them working for her. Just what she needed, she said: a gang of hard-working scrubbers. The hospital’s never been so clean. She’s anxious about you. We all are. You’re absolutely sure Leila won’t leave?’
‘Yes.’
‘I spoke to Abad on the telephone earlier. Perhaps I exceeded my authority but I’ll be leaving soon and I’d like to go with a reasonably clear conscience.’
‘What did you say to him?’
‘I think I promised to do what I could to help if they gave themselves up.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Some nonsense about never deserting his people. Are they his people? I understood he was born in Malaya and he married a Scotswoman, didn’t he? Leila’s half-Scottish, isn’t she? It’s one hell of a mess. I feel partly responsible. I shouldn’t have tried to arrest the old man. I’m afraid I lost my temper.’
‘Would it be possible for me to speak to Leila on the telephone?’
‘If some bastard hasn’t cut the wires.’
Maitland picked up the telephone. ‘It’s still working.’ He waited. Then he spoke, in Malay. ‘This is the Deputy Commissioner speaking. Hold on. I’ve got Mr Sandilands here. He’d like to talk to his wife. All right, Madam Azaharri, if that’s what you want to call her. Yes, we’ll wait.’
‘They’ve gone to tell her,’ he said. ‘They insist on calling her Madam Azaharri. She’s in council, it seems.’
‘They’ve formed a new government and are passing new laws.’
‘Bloody idiots. Like children playing games.’
‘They think they had a right to do it, since they won the elections.’
‘They certainly did that.’
‘Yet British soldiers are on their way to arrest them and maybe kill them. Do the British people know that?’
‘I doubt it. But if they did it wouldn’t keep them off their sleep. Savu’s too far away and full of wogs.’
Then he was listening to the telephone. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked. ‘What authority have you to speak for her? Here’s her husband. Tell him.’
But when he handed the telephone to Sandilands the person at the other end had hung up.
‘He’s hung up,’ muttered Sandilands. ‘Did he say who he was?’
‘No. Sounded as if he was young.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That Madam Azaharri did not want to speak to Mr Sandilands.’
‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’
‘Do you think he was?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry, Andrew. There’s still a chance they’ll give up when the soldiers arrive. Those soldiers will have experience of this kind of thing.’
‘Of crushing democracy?’
‘You know what I mean. They’ll use minimum force. It could be that nobody will be hurt.’
‘But they’ll all be arrested.’
‘Aye, they will.’
‘What will happen to them then?’
Maitland stared at the photograph of his family. ‘Some might get off with prison sentences.’
‘And some will be hanged?’
Maitland nodded. ‘They were warned, Andrew.’
‘I could appeal to the Sultan.’
‘You could. You know him personally better than I do.’
‘I could write to the British press, telling them that a democratic party’s been suppressed by British soldiers, on behalf of a dictator.’
‘I doubt if it would be printed. Certainly not in those terms and not on the front pages. The Sultan, you know, has it in his power to do a great deal of damage to the British economy, by withdrawing his money.’
Sandilands sighed. It was almost a whimper. ‘What do you think I should do, Alec?’
‘You want an honest answer?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t really know you all that well, Andrew. You’re like me, you’ve kept yourself too private, but if I was in your place I’d go home, as soon as possible. They’ll let you have your full pension, considering the circumstances. They’ll give you a good testimonial, as you deserve. You’ll easily find a good job in Edinburgh. And – you said you wanted an honest answer – I’d ask Jean to go with me. She’s still very fond of you. She’s been talking about going home herself. She’d help you get over this.’
‘I’m still married.’
There was a pause.
‘Even if she was in prison for twenty years I’d wait for her.’
‘Aye, I’d wait for Kate for twenty years.’
‘They wouldn’t hang a woman, would they?’
‘It’s been done before. They wouldn’t waste any time either. There’d be no trial, in public anyway. The sentence would be carried out immediately. There would be the briefest of announcements.’
The telephone rang. Both men were startled. Maitland picked it up. His expression hardly changed as he listened.
‘Right,’ he muttered, and put the telephone down.
‘Too bad, Andrew. I’ve got my orders. Nobody’s to be allowed to leave the country. They’ve lost their chance.’
He got up, put on his hat, picked up his cane, tapped Sandilands on the shoulder with it, and hurried out.
Sandilands wiped tears and sweat from his face with his handkerchief. He waited for a minute or two to try and compose himself. He must show himself worthy of Leila.
Downstairs he found a great difference. The hive had been disturbed. No one as much as looked at him. Out in the compound vehicles were already leaving, crammed with policemen. All were armed.
‘What the hell’s happening?’ said Baker, as Sandilands got into the car.
‘He’s got his orders. Nobody’s to be allowed to leave the country.’
‘Does he have to obey his fucking orders? I always thought he was a bit of a fascist. What about the soldiers? Are they coming?’
‘They’ll arrive during the night.’
‘And that will be bloody that. There’s nothing more you can do, Sandilands. For Christ’s sake let’s get back to the College. I’m knackered. Christ knows how you must feel.’
‘I have to pick up Mary.’
‘Oh.’ Like everybody else Baker had been amazed by the quixotic decision to adopt the daughter of the woman charged with murder. He hadn’t, like Mr Srinavasan, thought it an affront to God, in that the child as well as the mother deserved to be punished and not ‘pampered’. It wasn’t, however, the sort of gesture he himself could have made, being too sensible and, to be honest, not possessing the necessary moral courage. If it had been a difficult undertaking for Sandilands with his wife’s co-operation it was surely next to impossible for the Scotsman on his own. Baker had a wife in Sydney who, if he’d brought home a Malay kid who spoke little English and whose mother had been hanged for murder, would have wanted to know if he had gone off his fucking head.
‘Where is she?’ he asked.
‘At the beach, I think.’
‘What’s going to happen to her now, Sandilands?’
‘I intend to take her home with me, to Scotland, if they let me.’
The airport was now in sight. The Cathay Pacific plane for Hong Kong was still on the runway.
At a PWD house near the beach Sandilands got out of the car and called up to three women on the verandah, asking them where Mary was. One replied that she was on the beach. They were white and, in Baker’s view, deserving of praise themselves for allowing their own daughters to play with a kid who wasn’t just poor and brown-skinned, usually a repellent combination, but was into the bargain the child of a murderess; and, to add to the grisly catalogue, whose foster mother stood a good chance of being hanged too.
‘What’s happening in the town, Andrew?’ asked one of the women. ‘We’ve heard there’s been trouble. Is it all over? Why are there so many policemen at the airport?’
‘It’s not quite over, Mrs Moore.’
‘Do you think our husbands will be all right?’
‘I’m sure they will.’
‘Are they expecting trouble at the airport?’
‘Soldiers are arriving tonight.’
‘Why? Is there going to be a war?’
‘No, not a war.’
‘British soldiers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is your wife all right, Andrew?’ asked another of the women.
‘I hope so, Mrs Pettigrew.’ His voice at last was a little shaky.
Baker felt ashamed. He had been under the sneaky impression that Sandilands, though upset about his wife, as any man would be, wasn’t altogether shattered by it. Now he realised that Sandilands was suffering torture but didn’t dare show it lest he break down and weep. What would a hero have done? Not much different.
The little girls, five of them, four white and one brown, were enjoying themselves on the sand. Mary was not shouting with joy like her friends but she didn’t look miserable or sorry for herself. Baker felt more moved than he would have given himself credit for as he sat in the car watching Sandilands go down onto the sand and be greeted by the little dark-faced flat-nosed girl as if he was indeed her father. He chatted amiably to the other girls as she dried her feet and put on her socks and sandals.
She smiled at Baker as she got into the car and asked a question that chilled his scalp. ‘Where is Leila?’ He did not have much Malay but he understood that. What answer could poor Sandilands give her?
Whatever it was it was in Malay, so that Baker did not quite catch it, but it couldn’t have been the truth, for it seemed to reassure her. Baker almost loved Sandilands then for the lie, whatever it was.
As the car passed the house the women stood up and waved. Baker found himself waving back. It was his way of saluting them. In a world full of bastards it was as well to admit that there were some decent people.
No more was said until the car stopped outside Sandilands’ house.
‘Can I do anything?’ asked Baker.
‘Perhaps you could go and see that the students are all right.’
‘Sure.’
Saidee came hurrying down the steps to help Mary out of the car. She was in tears. She knew about Leila. The whole town would know by now.
‘Would it be worth it, appealing to His Highness?’ asked Baker, as he sat astride his motor-bicycle. ‘You’re a pal of his, in a way. I’d have a go, Sandilands.’
Saidee had a message for Sandilands. Jean Hislop had telephoned.
He thought about Jean and what Maitland had said. He had humiliated her and yet she still loved him, in a way that did not demand too much from him. She wasn’t interested in politics. ‘I’d vote Tory, like my parents, but to tell you the truth I don’t trust anybody who says they’re in it to help people. As far as I’m concerned they’re all in it to help themselves.’ So she had said in the days before he had met Leila. He had agreed with her. Did he do so now? What were Leila’s motives? A desire to bring democracy and freedom to her native country? To be fair she had seldom used those shop-soiled words.
The telephone rang. He let it ring. So anguished and confused was he that he did not know whether he wanted it to be Jean or Leila. It kept on ringing.
Saidee could bear it no longer. She ran in and snatched up the telephone. From her scowl of disappointment he knew it must be Jean.
It was Jean. Her voice was sad but affectionate and the accent was blessedly Scottish.
‘Hello, Andrew.’
‘Hello, Jean.’ His own voice was hoarse.
‘Poor Andrew. It’s awful, isn’t it? I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’
‘Thanks, Jean.’
There was a pause.
But Leila had to be mentioned and she did it, resolutely. ‘I’ve just heard about Leila. From Alec.’
There was another pause.
‘I can’t believe it. It’s happened so suddenly. Such a talented woman. How could she be so foolish?’
Foolish? The word showed surely a lack of imagination. Yes, she would vote Tory, and wear a hat in church, and send her children to a private school. Would those children be his too?
‘How are things at the hospital?’ he asked.
Her voice brightened. ‘You’d scarcely believe it, Andrew. I ordered them to put down their guns and weapons. Do you know what? They did it, very neatly on the floor. They were so polite the whole time they were here. I told them not to disturb the patients and they kept so quiet. I told them to go home but it was too late by then, the police were waiting for them. They were all arrested. I hope nothing terrible happens to them. Alec says they could get ten years in prison. Most of them are so young.’
She could not quite subdue her elation. ‘If I can help in any way, Andrew, you know I’ll be very glad to. That little girl you were going to adopt, where is she? What’s going to happen to her?’
‘She’s here. I intend to adopt her, if I can.’
‘Will they let you?’ Evidently she thought, and perhaps hoped, that they wouldn’t.
‘I don’t know. Probably not.’
‘What would happen to her in that case? Did you know they’ve got quite a good well-run orphanage here? I’ve met the woman in charge. She’d be well looked after there.’
He heard the roar of Baker’s motor-bicycle. ‘I’ll have to go now, Jean. Thanks for telephoning.’
‘Would you mind if I came over this evening? I wouldn’t stay long.’
‘If you like.’ He couldn’t forgive her for her too ready suggestion that Mary could be put into the orphanage.
‘Good. About seven then. Love.’
He went onto the verandah to hear Baker’s report.
‘They’re all safely back, except Dusing of course. I think you should go and talk to them, Sandilands. They’re in a state of shock. The girls particularly. Weeping and wailing and tearing their hair. Literally. I’ve been a crass bastard. I didn’t realise how much it mattered to them; how much Leila mattered to them. Be seeing you.’
He shot off then towards the teachers’ flats.